You Don't Belong in the Skies

Writers: Corrin, Devin
Date Posted: 18th October 2025

Characters: M'sar, Sybana
Description: Mesarian and Sybana have some philosophical differences.
Location: Dragonsfall Weyr
Date: month 11, day 6 of Turn 12
Notes: Mentioned: Reveroth

Sybana

Up close, the gold was even more massive. If Mesarian hadn't spent the past few months around dragons, he might have been intimidated. But right now all that bothered him was that she'd be a lot more to wash than a green -- and that he'd need to be on his best behavior because she was likely (hopefully) the mother of his future dragon.

"Ain't no missing her, that's for sure," he said as he set his bucket of sweetsand at the edge of the winter lake.

"No, there's no missing her," Sybana agreed warmly, glancing over to see the young man and his bucket-- and no dragon of his own. He appeared to be a candidate, and certainly looked strong enough in a wiry sort of way. Perfect. "That's a lot of sweetsand, I don't suppose you've come to help a lady out?" She gestured hopefully to the gold in the water.

Galgaith, for her part, chose that moment to finish rinsing and surged back into the shallows, sending up a wave that rolled over the tops of Mesarian's boots as she approached and lowered her great head to regard him with whirling eyes.

}:Of course, he should help us. Who else would he wash? Emspeth? Korilath?:{ Galgaith rumbled to her rider, dismissively listing the other dragons at the lake. }:They are small. They do not need it.:{

"I'm on dragon washing duty. Figured I'd stake my claim on the gold before someone else did."

"Very commendable."

Mesarian stripped off his tunic and then kicked off his boots so he could pull off his pants. Months of scrubbing dragons -- and more importantly, three square meals a day -- had made him fill out from scrawny to lean. "She's gonna lay a pretty little green for me, ain't ya?" He held a hand out toward her massive head.

Galgaith's hot breath gusted over the outstretched hand and she drew closer, the great wedge head cocking slightly to the side as though considering him. Her nostrils flared. Then she gave a short, sharp rumble that vibrated through Mesarian, through the cavern.

"She said she will lay many greens," Sybana translated, quietly wishing she could share her dragon's iron confidence in that. "Whether one is for you or not, depends on if you are worthy." She looked him over, as though considering that question herself. Actually she was considering the information that he very openly wanted a green. He admitted it so easily-- well, the weyr was the place for them, wasn't it? It sounded like he knew what he was, and now she did too. In a way it made things easier. She wouldn't have to be as mindful of her neckline as she worked, or fret about how a wet blouse might cling.

"You can start trying to prove that now," she teased, picking up her own supplies and getting to work. "Let's see what you're made of. Start on her flank. Don't worry about using too much pressure, you can't."

"Been washing dragons for months. I know what I'm doing." He tried to shake off the prickle of uncertainty. Worthy? He'd never been worthy of anything. But then again, Reveroth had _chosen_ him, said he'd be good for a dragon. Mesarian soaped up his brush and started scrubbing Galgaith. "She's my first gold, though."

"It's mostly the same, just a lot _more_," Sybana admitted. She'd move to work along Galgaith's face and neck, areas the gold preferred only her rider to scrub. "So, months is it? I take it you're not weyrborn then." She had assumed he was. "Where are you from? What's your name? I suppose you know ours."

"I'm Mesarian. I'm from nowhere," he said nonchalantly.

Sybana’s brush stilled on Galgaith’s neck. Nowhere. Alarm flared in her chest and she cursed her complacency. She had heard they were accepting holdless into the candidacy. She should have known it’d only be a matter of time until one of the ruffians ambushed her again. She glanced down the gold’s length to where Mesarian was working away, reassessing him.

Part of what made the holdless so dangerous was that they could look like normal people-- and maybe he was. Maybe he merely meant he was from a nothing of a cothold in the depths of the south. But now that she considered it she remembered a roughness in his accent and the scars along his arms. She was almost certain her instincts were correct, but she had caution enough to probe a little deeper.

“Nowhere?” she echoed with a lightness she didn't feel. “That’s an odd way of putting it. Surely your home had a name. Or were you part of a Trader caravan?”

"Ain't got no home," he said darkly. If it was so easy to get rid of him, he'd never had a home to begin with. The Weyr didn't feel like home, either, mostly because it was too good to be true and he was afraid it would somehow be taken away from him. "Holdless." He flicked a curious look at her. She hadn't said anything about him wanting a green, so if the goldrider was going to judge him, at least it would be for being Holdless and not for who he slept with.

She had braced for it, but the confirmation still made her pulse race. Holdless. Like Darvald, who had beat his wife so badly that-- or Kestern, who had used his prize fighting to kill three men. Viccam, who's gross neglect and dereliction of duty caused a partial mine collapse and was to blame for all the tragedy that followed. Those were just the crimes she'd lived through in Opal Cove and Skyvale, there were more in the hold records. Who knew what black deeds this Mesarian was linked to-- if that was even his real name.

Sybana turned quickly back to the washing just as he glanced her way. It wouldn't do to be caught staring, nor would it do for him to see her casting about for the weyrguard that shadowed her. She had to trust that the guard was somewhere in the cavern, watching.

}:And I'm here.:{ Galgaith rumbled, shifting contentedly in the water. }:I will not let him do anything bad. And he scrubs well.:{

That steadied her somewhat. She had Galgaith and they had a bath to finish. This was Her weyr, Her... home. She would not be cowed, here, by the likes of him. She drew a slow breath and set her brush carefully back to Galgaith's hide, movements deliberate, controlled-- though her grip was tight and white knuckled beneath the suds. "And why is it you want to be a dragonrider?"

He debated what to say and decided to go with the truth. "Cause I belong here, or at least I _fit_ here. Weyrfolk don't sneer at me for wanting men. And I've been fightin' half my life, I'd just be doing it with dragon flame instead of knives and fists."

"I assume you've been fighting _for_ your life," said Sybana, working to keep her voice even. It was a natural assumption considering that comment about men. "The fighting done here is different. Here we don't just fight for ourselves. We fight for everyone. It's one of the most selfless things you can be called to do. Are you ready for that kind of sacrifice?"

Mesarian shrugged. "Don't care about everyone else. I know dragonriders make it sound all noble, but they're really just fighting Thread because if the crops burn then they don't eat. Protecting my food? Yeah, I can do that."

"You don't _care_ about everyone else?" Sybana echoed. Her brush stilled again and her words took on a dangerous edge. She was incredulous, disgusted-- and triumphant. She _knew_ the holdless didn't belong at the weyr. This was another reason why. She turned to face him, green eyes flashing. "Yes, dragonriders need food like any other man, but if all a rider thought of was their stomach and their own skin, what's to stop them from breaking ranks over a small cothold with a meager tithe? It is duty, not hunger, that helps a dragonman hold his place when there is life below him and death above."

Her words quickened, hot with passion. "We did not spread Weyrs over two continents just so that a fortunate few can fly high and eat well. Dragonriders subsist on the blood and sweat of the Holds and Halls. That covenant is the foundation of our very civilization. When a rider flys Fall, he needs to know that he isn't just saving his own bread-- he needs to know that he is repaying _his end_ of the bargain, that he owes a _duty_ to the society that supports his existence. If a rider forgets that, or worse -- doesn't _care_ -- then it all breaks down."

Her gaze raked over Mesarian, searing with disdain. "If you just want the freedom to indulge your... proclivities, there's room enough in the Lower Caverns. You don't belong in the skies."

"_You_ don't get to decide that." He stepped back to give her a full glare. Anger and resentment and fear that he'd fail at the first thing he'd really, truly _wanted_ in a long, long time swirled inside him. "The dragons do. Just because I screw lots of men and look out for myself doesn't make me less than you. You ain't better than me cause you're some fancy Holder lady. Dragons have picked Holdless before."

"Holdless with a modicum of fellow feeling, perhaps," Sybana bit out. "Any dragon would be a fool to pick you, someone only looking out for themself. Even putting aside the rest of Pern, you'd be a burden on your wing with that mindset. No rider wants a wingmate that won't risk themselves to come to their aid."

Galgaith stirred in the water, curving her neck around Sybana to regard Mesarian again-- this time, with mounting irritation. She didn't care for the intricacies of politics and duty, but she cared for her lifemate. }:He is upsetting you. Nip him. Remind him of his place.:{

**I am,** promised Sybana. Standing in the shallows, her gold coiling protectively around her, Sybana met Mesarian glare for glare. "We're done here. Galgaith doesn't need your hands and I certainly don't need your company. I suggest you go think long and hard about your candidacy, because right now your reasons to Stand are as pathetic as they are selfish. If I can see that, so will a dragon. Go."

Mesarian hurled his brush as far into the lake as he could. "I'm gonna Impress a green. I don't care how small the clutch is, there's gotta be at least one, and it's _mine_. I'll show you. I'll show _all_ of you!"

Last updated on the October 18th 2025

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You Don't Belong in the Skies