Drowning

Writers: Halyonix, Sia
Date Posted: 27th August 2025

Characters: E'tariax, I'serin
Description: I'serin talks to E'tariax about his father's death
Location: Dolphin Cove Weyr
Date: month 8, day 6 of Turn 12

I'serin

I’serin realized that he was not looking forward to this mindhealing session.

And yet, he did not halt Aluneth as the dragon descended upon Aphirith’s ledge. In the days since A’len’s death, I’serin had only just begun to feel human again, rather than a carved out shell of himself. His sessions with E’tariax were cataclysmic on good days. And I’serin was not having good days lately. He dismounted but did not leave Aluneth, his hand resting on his dragon, his anchor.

Aphirith rumbled a greeting and E'tariax appeared shortly after, bringing two well-loved chairs meant for the beach with him. They worked just as well when he wanted to spend time outdoors but not out of his own space, and the children had especially enjoyed sitting out with Aphirith when they were small. "We don't have to go inside." He said gently. "I'm sure Aluneth doesn't mind listening in on our conversation."

I’serin opened his mouth to state that he did not want others watching but before the words tumbled free, Aluneth had already maneuvered his bulk to shield the men from view. Concealed, I’serin sank down into one of the chairs with a long sigh. “I take it you heard,” he said in opening.

Aphirith oozed around to take up the opposite side, settling a little ways behind E'tariax's chair.

"The dragons feel it." E'tariax said. "I didn't know him well, but I know that he was important to you."

The word ‘important’ had the wrong connotation for how I’serin felt about his father but as he mulled the denotation over, he decided that it perversely fit. His father had been important to him in ways that I’serin had not wanted someone to be and there were a lot of lessons to be learned from that. “He…was my father,” I’serin said.

And then, something monstrous unfurled within him, expanding his ribs, trying to escape his skin. A feeling that had been chained and repressed for so long that its freedom was a different type of pain. It sat adjacent to anger but held hands with grief. Almost as though it had a voice of its own, I’serin heard himself say, “And I h-hated him.”

“That’s a hard truth to say out loud,” E’tariax said gently. “Especially now. And that makes the grief even more complicated. There's no wrong way to process that. ”

There was not. And that was where I’serin was struggling. Some days, he felt numb and hollow. Other days, he felt as he did just then -- uncharacteristically uncontrolled. He wanted to scream, he wanted to tear something apart, he wanted to fight a man who was dead but knew if that same man suddenly appeared that he would go right back to the same relationship dynamic that they had had. He loathed the roiling emotions within him because they simply would not stay in their careful little compartments. A lifetime of discipline and all it took was one errant memory to set I’serin’s mind aflame.

He threaded his fingers into his thick hair, tugging it as though that would relieve some of the pain. Unbidden, he began to tell E’tariax a history. His history. Of being the eldest son with expectations that were always moving, always pushing him. Of being bullied, not just by fellow weyrbrats but by his own father to do _better_. Of a mother who showed him love but only as far as his father allowed.

It was not until he got to the part of his history where Aluneth entered the frame that the bitterly plaintive tone left his voice.

E’tariax watched I’serin closely, quiet while he spoke, until there was a pause long enough to invite something more.

“What would you have said to him, if you’d had the chance?” he asked, voice low.

That question.

Opened a flood.

“I could never be myself around him,” I’serin began with. “Every statement I made came under his scrutiny. Every decision was criticized. Even from my childhood. I could not recall a time of his praise when it did not come with some dissection. I was never _enough_.” That last word was said with wounded emphasis, a child in an adult body trying to understand why that pain existed. “Every move, every word, every moment of my life was crafted to _his_ expectations until I kept everything within myself so that I could at least have _something_ that was untouched by him.”

Taking a shaky breath and getting to E’tariax’s question, I’serin continued. “I wanted to be _myself_. Why could he -- you not let me be that? Why, even after I Impressed Aluneth, did you still feel the need to meddle in every aspect of my life? I could have no friends, though I was _aching_ for one. I could have no fun, no dream, I could have no _identity_ that was not some extension of you.”

By now, I’serin’s tone had shifted into a pained, feverish pitch. “I wanted to be _happy_. I wanted to be _myself_! Why could you not let me _do_ that?! Why did you see me as something to change? Why did you see me as your pawn instead of just letting me be? Why did I have to carry out _your_ ambitions? I had my own, and it was _not_ to be Weyrleader. Why was that not enough?!”

I’serin clenched his fists tightly, noting how quickly his breathing had become. He thought to rein it in but it refused. Again, that feeling of something monstrous unfurling its wings within his chest. Would it one day split his ribs and escape? He closed his eyes against hot tears forming. “I did not understand,” he whispered fiercely. “I just wanted. to be. myself. And you could not let me do that.”

“That's a lot." E'tariax said gently. "And despite everything, I don't think A'len would have allowed this conversation when he was alive. It is awful to leave it unresolved, but it probably would have been left unresolved regardless. You're describing a lifetime where your sense of self was dictated, trimmed down, replaced by someone else’s script. That would not have been easily changed.

“That kind of shaping doesn’t vanish easily, not from him, not with his death. It sits in the body, in the mind." He shifted slightly forward in his chair, folding his hands loosely. “You said you hated him. Do you hate him for who he was, or do you hate him for who you couldn’t be because of him? It matters, because your grief is tangled in that difference. If you grieve who he was, you’re mourning the relationship you wanted but never got. If you grieve who you couldn’t be, you’re mourning yourself. Both can be true. Both deserve space.”

There was a long silence from the bronzerider while he ran his mental fingers through the tapestry of that grief, teasing out the tangles until he had the right thread. He had not hated A’len the bronzerider, for, in some ways, I’serin had wanted to be that loved, that charming, that powerful. But he had hated A’len the father who had not allowed his son to be himself, who framed their entire relationship upon conditions. “Because of who I could not be,” he answered.

E’tariax inclined his head, his voice steady. “And he’s gone now, I’serin. Whatever that relationship was, however much it hurt, there will never be a chance to change it. But what remains is you. The grief isn’t only for him, it’s for the years you lost to his shadow. Both deserve to be mourned. And both can be survived.”

Something about those words, or maybe the tone in which they were said, loosened something in I’serin’s chest. A choking feeling tugged at his throat, the prelude of tears. And before he could get any words out, grief pulled him beneath its waves yet again and the Weyrleader of Dragonsfall Weyr was crying for so many things that he could not articulate through the pain.

Last updated on the September 2nd 2025

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Drowning