Dragonman

Writers: Iluva
Date Posted: 19th May 2025

Characters: M'rhas
Description: Merhaskel Impresses
Location: Dragonsfall Weyr
Date: month 3, day 22 of Turn 12
Notes: Mentioned: C'uren, T'mhas, M'thos, Malaka (NPC), Torotam (NPC), Varethos, Lemhask, Tannock (NPC), Z'renh, Nosarre, E’kirim, L’kayric

M'rhas

Striding onto the Hatching Sands with the same long, ambling gait as he always did, Merhaskel -- well-fed, white-robbed, slightly grouchy -- had forgotten just how uncomfortable it was in here. How intense. Worse than he remembered. The sweltering heat drew out his sweat in record time and the humming gently shaking the air spun soft halos around each light and glow bracket.

If he was any sort of soft-stomached, he might’ve even felt nauseous from it all -- the weight of the situation, the pressure, the constricting confines of his robe.

But it didn't matter, not today.

It didn't matter that his breakfast sat like a dead weight in his gut, or that his robe was more than a little too tight, shoulders straining at their crooked stitches. What was initially a pleasing discovery -- because look, he’d grown even _more_ since last time -- was decidedly less pleasant when he had to walk or move around it, or fidget in it, growing more and more annoyed. Ugh. He should have tried it on in between hatchings.

Almost by accident he caught sight of his mother, waving excitedly. There wasn’t enough fabric to reciprocate and he was slightly worried about flashing the entire Sands and then probably getting kicked out. Merhaskel smiled up at her instead.

More and more stark white robes were filing in beside him, and it was a shame that there was no time to gloat about getting the best and most visible spot on the Sands -- he was too busy dying of heat stroke.

Thankfully the hunt for his other parents had been easy; M’thos, T’mhas, even the grandparents from Agate Valley Hold had made it. Good. All were about to witness true greatness here today. Around them the Stands were overflowing with what must have been lords and their ladies from all over, each dressed in their expensive finery, all eager to see the miracle of dragons. Good. Whoever they were, good.

He’d been looking forward to this day for too long to get distracted (he needed to be ready, _alert_). Unfortunately for him, more faces and more robes were rustling beside him, jostling him like the sea, and with so many eyes on them, Merhaskel reluctantly chose to be a man about it. He _tolerated_ it, letting the next number of candidates usher him down the shore in awkward bumps and near-misses of his toes until he was as far from where he _wanted_ to Stand as possible.

Faranth, did the cotholds even have kids left in them anymore?

He didn't recognize a lot of them. A brief challenging look for whoever _this_ was beside him, just oh so casually bumping into him one more time. And another, like this guy was maybe trying to start something? What was his problem? No, no. No Rhas. Focus. Shards, who even cared about him? Whoever this was didn't matter. The dragons probably wouldn’t want that one, anyway, not when Rhas had _finally_ gotten close enough for Chioneth to bite his head off.

So, in lieu of shoving someone he didn't know and didn’t want to know out of his face and attracting one or more father's keen eyes, Merhaskel squinted against the brightness of the cavern.

He did a lot of squinting as he waited.

Further down the line he spotted Lemhask, but his brother didn't really see him or anyone other than things in the shape of Tannock these days. Crackdust, what a pair. Merhaskel imagined that before Tannock there was just a blank space waiting for him in Lem’s mind. There'd be other eggs and other chances to Stand, but there was only one Tannock, and Tannock’s hand wasn’t going to hold itself.

With the mental equivalent of a snort, Merhaskel's eyes next sought their brother, Varethos, looking far calmer and more at ease than Rhas felt right now, truthfully. Still, a quick exchange of grins was all they had time for before the excitement and chatter swelled to the ceiling, Rhas winking cool confidence at his brother. A wink that said: oh yeah. This was it. This was their clutch.

Drawing a deep, hot breath, all eyes flying forward as the first dragon emerged, Rhas' heart raced with his many, many expectations.

Then someone gasped and the noise level soared to incredible heights. A big bronze.

No. A massive bronze.

The guy next to him bumped him _again_, eagerly trying to get a look of his own and Merhaskel felt a growl rise in his throat, annoyed, ready -- but stopped it. That was all he needed -- start a fight on the Sands. Get eaten by Chioneth. Have his dad drag him out by his ear. Whatever was left of him would get banned from Standing, if it could at all.

Merhaskel just did his best to tune him _and_ Ceauren out, despite _still_ hearing his ‘pep talks’ from the barracks to the Sands. But any trace of a bad mood diffused as a surge of hope and fear struck through his chest like a hot knife, even some amusement as the hilariously huge bronze lumbered forward. Coming forward. Coming forward -- almost right to him. Merhaskel's heart stopped. Could this be it?

Oh. Nope.

Okay. That's uh, fine. Just shake it off and… Quizzically he watched each subsequent dragon find their lifemate in someone else, and someone else. And someone else.

Merhaskel frowned, trying to push away all the creeping tendrils of doubt, let go of any possibility that his dragon was anywhere else. This was _it_. Today was their day. He knew it in his blood and felt it in his bones and nothing could convince him otherwise.

But anyway, that all came to an abrupt halt when for some reason a perfect little green having a particularly hard time decided she wanted to have a hard time for the rest of her life and Merhaskel could only watch, amazed, as those huge adoring eyes stared up at _Nosarre_ like that. He jerked his eyes away and made an audible noise of disgust, desperately seeking another dragonet to want. To want him.

Faranth, this was depressing. This whole thing almost made him want to throw up.

You know what. Maybe he would.

No need for that, thankfully, as soon another big bronze appeared, this one as dull as the sharding desert, but at least a bit more balanced than the first. Merhaskel’s stomach flipped back upright and his gaze hovered on that new arrival carefully, desperately.

On some level he knew it wasn’t just Adamanth or Norrianth that he was staring at; emblazoned on the backs of his eyelids was the flaming image of his father and Ghraisath when he had been a boy, a _tiny_ boy, with the tallest dad in the world home from Thread with half his jacket eaten off and still smiling in front of his dragon. No, smiling _with_ his dragon.

Merhaskel swallowed, a quiet litany of the usual bronzerider propaganda circulating through his fifteen Turn old brain. Status and power and bragging rights and the bemused way people stared at them. The glory. The adulation. Although privately bemoaning even the idea of the extra work a bronze might entail, he didn't exactly hate the idea of being in charge, either. He wouldn't say no to that flex. Nah, it couldn't be that hard, anyway.

Now the bronze looked sure, and Merhaskel was too. He felt his breathing stop. He felt it happening. Their bond was springing to life--

Oh. No.

Rhas craned his neck in time to see the bronze nudge Ekirim. Huh. Crackdust.

Normally, what burned him the most was that he never really knew what the dragonets thought of him. It wasn’t like any had ever come close enough for him to get a glimpse or inkling or hint (which was something he never admitted to anyone but Vare), and it was started to drive him a little crazy.

All this silence from them over the Turns was the same as refusal, and whatever was happening on Lakayric's face now was the exact opposite of refusal, or rejection, or indifference. Well, la di da - oh. Rhas noticed people clapping, so he clapped as well. Was his heart in it? No. But was he happy L'kayric was enlightened by some precious, eternal truth? Well, no, but ugh, _sure_, if he had to be.

After that things went fuzzy, got soft, his attention growing fatigued from the repeated rejections.

He even felt embarassed for his bitterness at everyone else’s joy, like he’d tore up something meaningful without any hope of putting it back together. Hmm, now there was a strange… feeling. Was this what real guilt felt like? It was odd. It got under his skin in a way he normally never allowed himself, perplexingly strong. Like it had opened up in him without ever having to try, only, on the flipside, now he could finally take a full, deep breath again.

It was strange how powerful, how quietly certain it was.

Was he simply resigned to his fate? To be alone? Unwanted, unsuitable? Was he just going to be fine with it? It sure seemed like it. Up until a moment ago he’d felt desperate, beyond desperate. Longing for one dragon to look his way. Just one, any one. Let one look at him. Let Kiziolth come back and realize she'd made a terrible mistake and find him here waiting with open arms. He never wanted anything else this badly.

But all thoughts of colors and ranks and who was above whom fell away watching so many familiar faces transforming with utter joy. He willed it quietly in his mind, fists clenched for fear that his eyes would close and he'd miss something. Just one. Just one.

**Just one.**

But he… he must have squeezed too hard, because although eggs were still cracking and popping, suddenly all sounds receded, almost like they were shuffling behind them. Everything that wasn’t in his own head was still there, only a soft breeze had carefully swept away the edges.

It was as if he just... stopped caring and whatever dragons were out of reach no longer mattered -- had never mattered. The longing in his veins slowed, becoming sated and calm. It was strange, and yet weirdly not strange at all, that, for once, he didn’t feel like he had to do anything. Everything within him just felt vindicated and growing more fulfilled by the moment; even the air felt softer, the warmth of the cavern all around and bleeding through him.

Merhaskel realized the feeling was someone. Feeling him before he saw him. The gentleness in his mind was foreign yet familiar, like someone had finally come home, shut a door he couldn’t quite reach and now he finally had silence, space to think. For the first time, he felt like he _understood_.

He only had to look forward - nowhere else, to find him: the dark blue hatchling hovering close to the remnants of his egg, looking out over the sea of options as the air quivered with the memory of one of Chioneth's hatchlings going /between/ without their lifemate.

The hatchling looked at Chioneth, like he was debating something, then took a cautious step forward. And then another. And another. Until he had marched his timid way up to Merhaskel and said, }:I'm Alzaryth,:{ his damp wings fluttering open and closed. The voice wove in quietly, like the finest of silks, like it was so happy to see him again and just trying not to startle him. Enfolding him, holding him. }:Can you feed me?:{

“Yes,” He breathed hoarsely, because each measured step had been an eternity as Merhaskel watched. Alzaryth moved the way some of the more elegant greens did, carefully, smoothly. That was how his voice was, too, and --

“YES!” Merhaskel heard himself shout-laugh in the absence of all harshness, all the fiery abrasiveness that so often colored his tone. That voice was cool ocean air to his fiery mind, so sweet that Merhaskel didn't need to try to fight it, or pay any attention to it. Didn't need to _try_ at all. He was nearly bowled over by what almost felt like nothing -- just lightness, tenderness, and devotion. Nothing booming or brazen or battering ramming into his brain. Not at all like he'd expected.

Now grinning, completely giddy, he knew instantly who he was. Who they were, _together_. Holy faranth... was he... was he crying?

}:Oh my, who is that?:{ Alzaryth shrank back from the spike in clapping and hollering, their bond of Impression unmistakable.

M’rhas didn’t answer him aloud, finally hearing who Alzaryth was talking about.

There above the din and the insistence of the flustered people around him, T'mhas. Still yelling, still pulling yet another bewildered person into his orbit, crushing them in an aggressively ecstatic embrace. "There he is! That’s my boy! That one there! Look at him! Merry! Merry, he's done it! You've done it, Rhaaaas!"

M'rhas’ wet smile widened with pride, threatening to break his entire face. "That's my dad." He said finally.

}:Dad?:{

“Uh, well, yeah." He paused. "Like, a sire?”

}: _That's_ your sire? :{ Alzaryth echoed warily, weaving lizard-like between M'rhas' long legs. }:Goodness, he seems large and… loud. But why is he the only one yelling? Is he angry? Is he yelling about you?:{

“No,” M’rhas snorted. “He’s yelling about us. Probably ‘cause he's so excited to meet you.” He patted him delightedly. “Everyone is!”

}:Me?:{ The little blue balked at the very idea, dipping his head low, like he was trying to disappear simply by being gentler, softer, quieter. }:Oh no, no. That's quite alright.:{

M'rhas stared. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Thinking. He pulled that blue head up into his arms, the seams of his robe losing their fight. "Oh yes, you! Of course you! Faranth, just _look_ at you. I gotta show you the world. I gotta show you _to_ the whole world. _We’re_ gonna show _the whole world_, baby!”

The little blue pressed his head eagerly to M’rhas’ palms, and M’rhas was amazed at the sudden transformation of his touch -- the magic he could suddenly perform. His lifemate -- _his_ lifemate! -- eased so quickly that his heart gripped a little too tight. He watched his blue's eyes filling with the colors of his heart, his confidence, his enthusiasm, bravery.

Then, slowly, emboldened, Alzaryth craned enough to regard the Stands, the mass of faces beaming their way, still uncertain.

"We don't have to do it yet, though.” He assured him brightly. “You need something to eat, dontcha?" The little blue crooned with relief, happily shadowing each of M’rhas’ proud steps.

The histories would tell of this day. Songs would be sung, tales would be told. For today, in the first of a long series of things they would do together, M'rhas had been chosen by Alzaryth, and he was finally a _man_.

Last updated on the May 19th 2025

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