Bronze Marks: Q'vettan

Writers: Corrin, Sia
Date Posted: 24th September 2025

Characters: M'kadja, Q'vettan
Description: Akadja stalks a weyrleader through the weyr…
Location: Dragonsfall Weyr
Date: month 11, day 22 of Turn 12
Notes: Mentioned: I’serin, Saibra

M'kadja

Q'vettan

Akadja had been on an errand in the Lower Caverns when he spotted a man with an unusual set of rank knots. He had been doing his best to learn them in his time at the weyr and the loops, the metallic thread could only mean-- a weyrleader. Barrier Lake, if he had the colors right. That piqued Akadja’s interest and he discreetly circled back around to follow the man in hopes of seeing what a great dragon-lord was up to in the bowels of a weyr--

Unfortunately it seemed he was just on his way out.

Akadja followed his mark up a set of stairs and down a long hall that he knew led out into the weyrbowl, his mind whirling. It was past dinnertime, past any reasonable meeting time. The man was likely heading out to call his dragon and fly away. There was nothing _wrong_ with that, per say, but there was a fire now in Akadja’s chest, a little burn that sang: here was an opportunity. An opportunity to talk to one of the masters of Pern, if he could only manage it.

Turns out luck was on his side. In a matter of speaking.

As they neared the end of the hall, it became apparent it was pouring buckets outside. Perfect. Surely the man would have to stop to wait out the rain, and then Akadja could--

“Why are you following me?” Q'vettan asked. He'd noticed the boy’s shadow not long after he’d left the Caverns. At first, he’d dismissed it; Weyrs were full of bustling folk, half of them nosy, but when the footsteps didn’t peel away, when the rhythm of them matched his turns down the corridors, he began to watch more closely. He affected unawareness and reached for his pipe and matches in his pocket. Tzenketh had already protested leaving the cover of Iokath's weyr, and so his walk slowed to a stroll as he reached the edge of the plateau.

Akadja took one look at the man’s keen dark eyes and decided honesty would serve best here. “I just wanted a word, sir. About your dragon.”

Q’vettan drew on his pipe, letting the ember glow briefly before he exhaled a steady stream of smoke that curled and wreathed in the damp air of the archway. His eyes flicked to the white candidate knots, considering. "All right, pup," he said mildly, "What is it you think you want to know?"

“_Everything_,” said Akadja. “What he likes, what he doesn't. Why he Impressed to you, if you have any notion-- most riders don't seem to, but I'm thinking you're not like most riders.”

He was right about that. Still, "What _do_ dragonets want, fresh out of the egg? We wax poetic that our dragons are paired due to some machinations of fate, that we're bonded together before the eggs are even laid. You've heard those ballads, surely?" Q'vettan mused, "The dragonets don't fully understand themselves, or they don't have the words to express it until they've forgotten, and so the debate continues: are our Impressions predetermined somehow, or are they looking for something more?"

“Yeah, I’ve heard the ballads,” agreed Akadja with casual ease. Some of them anyway, enough to have a good enough idea of the fantasy they sold. “So what side are you on since you Impressed your bronze? Is he your fated lifemate and no one else would do, or were you in the right place at
the right time and he liked the look of you?”

}: Standing in the dark, small and desperate. Trying to look big and important. :{ Tzenketh said mildly. Q'vettan's eyes unfocused for a second, typical of a man conferring with his dragon. He exhaled a slow stream of smoke.

"Tzenketh knew what he wanted, and he searched the hatching grounds for exactly that." Q'vettan said, "What that is, exactly, is anyone's guess. I was twelve turns old, and I didn't understand much either. Did he know what we'd become, or just that I was too small to stop him from gorging during his first breakfast? All the dragons are different. We see so many would-be Weyrleaders Impressing strong-willed greens. That should have been the most likely outcome for me."

“You think you could have Impressed a green?” Akadja didn’t hide the surprise in his voice. “I gotta say, that’s not something I ever thought I’d hear a weyrleader admit. I guess you’re really not on the Fate side, huh?” That was somewhat good to hear. Dragons Impressing according to fate would be a hard system to game, but dodging all the stupid greens on the sands was starting to seem like a steep challenge too.

"Wait until you see Tzenketh. You won't be so surprised." Q'vettan said mildly, his tone fond with the barest hint of teasing. "And better minds can argue over whether fate has any say in it. If I had been a different boy, would he still have wanted me? I think not."

}: You wouldn't have been you.:{

"And what do you want, candidate? Are you the latest would-be Weyrleader of Dragonsfall?"

Akadja had hoped a _weyrleader_ might have firmer ideas on Impression, but unfortunately it seemed this man was as faffy about it as the rest. Oh well, there was nothing for it. He shrugged lightly and flashed a crooked grin. “Maybe. I don’t see the point in dreaming small. I want to climb as far as I can climb.”

"No one that chooses to Stand dreams small, even those happy for a green or blue." Q'vettan said. "Every dragon demands something. Sometimes it means ambition. Sometimes it means patience. Sometimes it means the dragonet figured you dumb enough to let it do what it wants. As far as I'm concerned, the dragons don't care who you are or who you want to become. You would be lucky to be on the Sands with a dragonet whose mix of traits match yours. You have to be ready to accept that, and accept that no matter what your 'potential' is, your likely fate is to be eaten by Thread."

“That doesn’t scare me,” said Akadja, resolute. Well, the idea of some common green latching on to him gave him pause, but not the latter warning. “Life’s hard. I’ll risk some danger on dragonback for everything else that comes with it. It sure beats a hard life on the road and death in a ditch somewhere, stabbed for a crust of bread. That’s a ‘likely’ fate I’ve been dodging all my life. …I’m pretty good at dodging now.”

Ah. One of the lingering holdless, Q'vettan thought grimly, and the word carried every ounce of disdain it always had. Why did the Weyrs so love their bleeding-heart charity? "So what do you know of leading, then, when all you know is survival? That makes you a tunnelsnake, not a bronzerider. Can you handle having hundreds of lives hinging on every decision you make?"

“I expect I know as much or more about leading than you did at twelve,” Akadja shot back. He’d resented that tunnelsnake remark, or at least the dismissive way the weyrleader said it. “And one life or one hundred lives-- what’s the difference? The hundred wants to survive too. I can make the hard choices to see that they do.” His smile turned sharp and sardonic, “And I’m used to judgement.”

His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied the candidate knot on the boy’s shoulder, then the way Akadja held himself-- too loose, too cocky, like someone who thought being allowed into the Weyr meant he belonged here. The boy’s talk of climbing and leading grated more with each passing breath.

"Perhaps, but you are not twelve." Q'vettan said. He’d seen that kind of hunger before; wild, desperate, feral. It made his lip curl before he could stop it. "And the men who fly beside you need more than a survivor at their flank. They need someone who understands discipline, order, sacrifice. You’ve lived outside all that. Don’t pretend it’s the same thing."

Tzenketh finally braved the rain to backwing down onto the weyrbowl, landing near enough for a wing to provide at least some shelter from the rain.

“You want my opinion?” Q'vettan asked as he tucked the pipe into his jacket pocket. “I don’t think the Weyr should waste its eggs on the holdless. Dragons aren’t meant for the rootless, the reckless, or the desperate. You say you’re good at surviving. Fine. Keep surviving. But don’t mistake that for being worthy of a dragon’s trust.”

Akadja’s sharp smile didn’t fade, but he grit his teeth. It was clear that revealing his origins had turned this conversation sour. He had been curious, testing his boundaries. Apparently I’serin and Saibra were softer than their peers. Or this peer at least. But easy as it might have been to hide behind his candidate knots for this one conversation, to fabricate a home in a cothold somewhere, Akadja wasn’t actually one to enjoy hiding. He’d take what he could, as himself, and they could all choke on it.

“Guess it’s a good thing you aren’t weyrleader here,” he said, holding the older man’s gaze with unflinching heat. “We’ll see who’s worthy of a dragon.”

"It is." Q'vettan agreed without any humour. "I've seen it all happen before, boy. You aren't the first, and nor will you be the last. The dragonets may not care about your past, but they'll demand more of you than you've ever given anyone. If you can't rise to that, the burden will eat you alive."

With that, he turned toward his bronze, leaving the candidate to stew in the rain.

Last updated on the October 3rd 2025

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Bronze Marks: Q'vettan