One Left
Dragonsfall Weyr
Amber Hills Hold
Vintner Hall
Healer Hall
Hidden Meadows
Dolphin Cove Weyr
Dolphin Hall
Emerald Falls Hold
Harper Hall
Printer Hall
Green Valley Hold
Leeward Lagoon Hold
Barrier Lake Weyr
Sunstone Seahold
Citrus Bay Hold
Writers: Corrin, Sia
Date Posted: 17th April 2025
Characters: Q'helias, Q'vettan
Description: Qelhelias left the weyr, but a sudden reassignment brought him back…
Location: Dragonsfall Weyr
Date: month 5, day 10 of Turn 12
Notes: Mentioned: Vestian slander (not by name)
A chorus of young voices sang out, filling the stone room with the proud echoes of history. Junior Journeyman Qelhelias stood at the head of the class, neatly dressed in Harper blue, with one arm draped over the tall lectern and the other carving gracefully through the air as he guided his charges through the teaching ballad. His high baritone was smooth and steady, rich with the weight of the words.
“Again,” he called. “From the top of the last stanza. Remember, we _breathe_ with the song! This is our heritage, our birthright-- Don’t just sing it, live it as your ancestors did!”
He started them again with an exacting flourish and the youngsters scrambled to match his energy. This time was better. Their voices growing more confident as they followed his lead. It was a tale of power and pride, of fire and blood. Even the youngest children seem to grasp the importance of the words, their little chests inflating with pride.
Qelhelias felt proud too, as they finished in perfect unison. “Much better. Remember, history isn’t just dates and places-- it’s about the lives of those who came before us. The things they did, the lessons they passed down. That’s what we have to learn and carry forward.”
“You’re free to go now,” he continued with a smile. “Remember to practice for the solo recitations next month.”
The children quickly gathered their things and shuffled out, skirting shy around the older gentleman who stood waiting in the doorway of the classroom.
Q'vettan watched the last of the children file past him with the same sharp-eyed scrutiny he applied to everything. A few of them looked up at him as they passed, and some of them might have recognized the Barrier Lake purple of his knots or the Weyrharper design. He missed this age, though he was never one that enjoyed repeating the teaching ballads. His own children would have been grown now, could have had children of their own.
"You handle a classroom well. Not every harper can." The bronzerider said easily as he stepped further into the classroom. "How are you settling in? You must have just gotten used to the circuit when you were reassigned."
Qelhelias didn’t startle. He had spotted Q’vettan earlier when the man let himself in to catch the end of class. It was a bit of a surprise seeing him at Dragonsfall, but perhaps it shouldn’t be, given recent events…
Tidying up some of the sheet music Qelhelias answered honestly, “It’s an adjustment to be sure. I had gotten used to the independence… Having my own space. The quiet. The holds on my assignment were good too. They were kind to me, and respectful.” It was a heady thing for a twenty one turn old who had grown up in the warrens of the weyr and it seemed to have done him well. He stood taller these days and there was an air of maturity about him now that hadn’t been there before his travels.
He met his fathers eyes. They were of a height now. “I still don’t know _why_ they reassigned me. I thought I was doing well.” He let the statement--the question--hang in the air. Had his father had anything to do with it?
Q'vettan smiled, his silence offering an answer. One did not talk openly nor plainly about these things, after all. His boy was smart enough to know that. "You've always been good at reading the room." He said. A non-answer. "It's not a matter of how well you're doing. Reassignments are common at your age. Not every contract gets renewed. The Weyrharper can recognize skill when he sees it, even if that Hallmaster doesn't look up from his paintings long enough to notice much."
“I suppose I should be flattered then,’ said Qelhelias dryly. “Though I’ve yet to see what it is at the Weyr that so urgently needed my skills. My new duties are just teaching the young ones. I was making a far bigger difference out on the circuit.”
Qelhelias paused, his lips pressing together into a thin line. His father’s tacit admission wasn’t a surprise, but it still hurt. “I just wish The Weyrharper had _asked_ me. I want to walk the tables next Turn. I need to be out there, getting experience.”
Q'vettan studied his son for a moment, head tilting just slightly, assessing the set of Qelhelias' shoulders, the line of his mouth. He saw himself in that boy. It was hard to admit that he recognized that look, but it was necessary. "You can work on your Journeyman here. You have plenty of time to run circuits across Pern, if that's what you decide you want to do next. Besides, it seems like all the action is happening here these days."
“It _is_ what I want to do _now_.” All the action. More like all the _eggs_ are here, thought Qelhelias cynically. He suspected that was the real reason his father had gotten him reassigned back to the weyr. But would the man say it? “As fascinating as the holdless situation is, I doubt they’ll let a junior like me get involved. So it’ll just be a Turn of teaching the basic ballads and babysitting. I may start tweaking instruments out of tune on purpose-- just to feel something."
He sighed. “Father.” Kyperian was Dad. Q’vettan was Father. “If I was going to Impress it would have happened already. It’s been hundreds of dragons by now. I’m a Harper. I’m happy. Or I was. Isn’t that enough?”
Q'vettan's expression didn't change. Not in any overt way. But there was something behind his eyes; a flicker, a shift, that hinted at all the things he wasn't saying. “Halia said the same thing,” Q'vettan said at last, his voice quiet, unaccusing. “Right before she Impressed that little green of hers. What's another turn, just to be sure? You can go back to deliberating over the repair of every cotholder's shared fence in the rear end of nowhere when you're twenty-two."
His son’s laugh was short and hollow. “It’s not the same.”
Qelhelias shook his head, turning away to fuss with the hides still on his lectern. “Halia didn’t have a craft. She didn’t have any other path open to her. She _had_ to keep trying.”
“But I have something else.” His jaw tightened. “Something I’ve worked for. Something I’m _good_ at. And everytime I stand for a clutch it’s like stepping backwards in time… Suddenly I’m just a knot-less boy, hoping and waiting… watching children half my age Impress while I just stand there like a lump on a log. Passed over again and again--” His voice cracked a little and he fell silent for a moment.
“You don’t know what it’s like,” he said more quietly. “You can’t. You Impressed the first time you Stood. You’ve never _once_ felt the ache of it. Nevermind the constant disappointment.”
He exhaled, long and slow, staring at a crease in the hides. “I just… I thought I was finally done hurting over it. I thought I could move on.”
Q'vettan watched him, watched the tenseness in his shoulders like it was the distance between them. "You're right, I don't." He admitted, "The clutches were smaller back then, and further between. We only saw a few when we were eligible, and we didn't dare stray too far. You aren't here as a punishment. You're smart, you're ambitious. You'll do great things, whether or not you Impress. Why not give it one more shot? I'd rather be disappointed one last time than live knowing that a dragonet could have died on the Sands because you weren't there."
“One last time,” Qelhelias echoed softly, almost to himself. “You make it sound so easy.”
His hands curled tightly over the edge of the lectern. “Why is it so important to you? And don’t tell me you actually believe that whole one dragon, one destined rider nonsense.”
"No," Q'vettan admitted. He didn't, not really, but it was the perfect piece for the teaching ballads. It encouraged others to Stand, to accept Search. "It's about giving you, and the dragonets, every chance. Regret clings harder than disappointment does." He looked away from Qelhelias then, looking around at the empty classroom. A classroom that both he and him had grown up in, decades apart. A storied history of the Weyr.
"I don't care if you Impress. I'm proud of who you are now. I care that you're closing doors before you need to. Keep the option open. It is _only_ one more turn. You have the rest of your life ahead of you."
Qelhelias didn’t answer right away.
The silence stretched and his grip on the lectern didn’t lessen. For all his eloquence, he found himself without the right words, just a tangle of pride and pain and an ache he thought he’d left behind.
“Alright,” he said at last, straightening to sweep the hides in front of him into a carrying case. “One more Turn. So I’ll have done everything I could-- and so will you. No regrets for either of us. After that, I go back out on the circuit-- and you stop meddling in my assignments.”
Q'vettan watched the tension in the whiteness of Qelhelias' knuckles. He didn't know how to bridge the distance between them. He never had. Two children gone, one left. And he didn't know how to love this one without breaking him, too. He nodded, then cleared his throat. "You must have another class soon. I'll let you go."
Last updated on the April 25th 2025