To Summon the Storm

Writers: Halyonix
Date Posted: 21st May 2025
Series: Bronze and Blue Entwined

Characters: I'serin, A'len
Description: I'serin and A'len have a very big fight
Location: Dragonsfall Weyr
Date: month 6, day 17 of Turn 12
Notes: Mentioned: K'mai, Saibra, E'tariax

I'serin

Notes:
~*~

You are necessary to me.

It had only been ten days since he had said those words. How had I’serin gone back on them so quickly? How _could_ he have gone back on them? His words had always been his honor, his integrity, and now…

“Do not touch me,” he snapped with unchecked emotion as a rider got too close to him, most likely to offer some sort of connection or comfort after a hard Fall and the death of a dragon. He would hate himself for that little damage done tomorrow but right now, I’serin stalked the corridors towards his office with the gravity of an unstoppable force, ignoring the raised voices behind him.

How could he have made

So.

Many.

Mistakes?!

Not just about speaking untruthfully about K’mai. Calling the wrong Threadfall pattern. Causing countless injuries. Not stopping himself from reacting when someone walked in on them. For hiding for so long. Letting his father bully him so much. The altercations with the Holdless. How was it that I’serin had made so many careful decisions, only to have them thrown back at him at a damning rate?

Beneath all of his thoughts was a rising beast of realization that the patterns and processes that had protected him for so long, that had projected him this far in life were no longer working. It was tearing him apart internally. He would never be perfect, he knew that, but he had to remember that he was enough, at least for Aluneth. He had to extend grace to himself like E’tariax had advised him.

Not today. Today, I’serin was not his usual collected, composed self. Today, he yearned to destroy something in some perverse method of atoning.

Even if that something was himself.

He grabbed the first available object in his office -- one of the wooden dragons he had commissioned for the Wingleaders -- and threw it at the wall, furiously satisfied to watch it splinter. Like his life. He went to grab the next thing, intending to repeat the process until he destroyed his entire office, except that he heard a familiar, hated voice say, “That was the dumbest Threadfall call you could have made, boy, costing us that drago--”

“YOU!” an incandescently angry I’serin snapped as he whirled on his father. “Is this the counsel you come to give me? As though I am not _aware_ of my mistake? As though I am not aware of _any_ of my mistakes throughout the course of my life?”

“Don’t you use that volume with me! I taught you better! Switching the crossover patterns--”

“Was my decision, my error to make! And you, you taught me nothing except a _lifetime_ of unachievable expectations! You have spent every moment of my life, sculpting me into _your_ standards, burdening me with _your_ dreams. Did you think that I desired to be anything more than a Wingrider? Or Wingsecond? Were my dreams not good enough? No! You had to push me, from childhood until now, dismissing any ambitions I had as not good enough because _you_ needed someone to attain a goal that you did not.”

A’len’s expression darkened dangerously. “Don’t you forget that I was a Wingleader--”

“I am the _WEYRLEADER_!” I’serin roared with such force that he heard Aluneth’s startled warble outside. His fury unquenched, he continued with, “I have spent my life under your command, allowing you to bully me into something that I am no longer complacent in being. But I am no longer a _child_, A’len, and you are no longer a _Wingleader_. You have _no_ right to my life like you used to and you certainly do not have any rights to my rank!” Mistakes or no, the burden of responsibility rested upon I’serin, not upon someone trying to live vicariously through him.

Now it was A’len’s turn to bristle. He encroached aggressively into I’serin’s personal space, just inches from his son’s face. “Listen here, you little brat, if you think you can boss me around now that you have the knots to back you up, by Tirenth’s egg, I will--”

“Do what, A’len? What _threat_ could you possibly levy at me that would give you the control you seek? Would you dare maim Aluneth? Or myself? Add another death to our tally?” I’serin was perversely rewarded by the shock that appeared in his father’s eyes. “There is none! And even if I relinquish my knots, it still does not give you what you want: control. _That_ is what you want most. Control of this Weyr, control of _me_.”

I’serin was beginning to shake with the sheer emotion of his words. “And I…am _tired_ of giving you that control,” he said in a lower but no less dangerous volume. He would not be reasoned with. He would not compromise. He would not allow his boundaries to be crossed any longer. His mistakes might damn him but he would stand as I’serin, not the pawn of A’len, for those mistakes.

It was then that A’len made the wrong move. “That stupid bluerider friend of yours has been filling your head with mindhealer nonsen--”

“GET. OUT!”

I’serin did not remember pushing his father but suddenly A’len was against the doorframe, staggering as though he had been hit. Perhaps he had. I’serin was too worked up to feel anything except the awful tearing in his chest, like he had cracked apart something within himself, something monstrous that would never return to its easily ignored shell.

“You’ve lost it,” A’len was muttering with surprise in his tone, “You’ve absolutely lost your mind. I’ll bring you before the Weyrwoman. She’ll…she’ll…” He did not finish his sentence. He must have seen something terrifying in his son’s hazel eyes because he made a hurried departure from the office. I’serin let him go.

And then, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened, he walked towards his desk, intending to continue venting his rage on inanimate objects, when he noticed the book on his desk, sitting next to a wineglass waiting to be filled. The book that K’mai had surprised him with from the book exchange. K’mai, who he kept hurting with his secrets and mistakes. K’mai, who was almost one of the casualties from today.

K’mai, who was necessary to him.

With an animalistic shout, I’serin slammed his fist on the desk with such force that glass shards exploded like a tiny star around him.

Pain enveloped his hand.

}: What have you done?! :{ Aluneth bellowed. Heaving great breaths, I’serin looked down, his perspective shifting to something dissociative, like he was looking at someone else’s hand, watching another’s blood inch across the desk, counting the shards that were piercing a stranger’s skin. From far away, he could hear Aluneth bellowing, calling…someone.

Still staring at someone else’s wounded hand, I’serin sat down and waited for that someone to arrive.

Last updated on the May 27th 2025

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To Summon the Storm