Mon Jun 15, 2020 8:40 am
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Failure of White Disappointmenth
Nova of White Scryth - High Reaches Weyr, 2770 (2761, 2757)
Scryth was tired. They'd just hatched, and that had been quite the ordeal. Nova, however, couldn't sleep. They glared at Scryth's sleeping form, their mind wandering as they stoked the fires of this injustice within their heart. How many bronzes had passed them up? And Aldoeith, choosing a different candidate? All that could be forgiven, but...they were now tied down. And to Scryth. Their dreams of ruling the Weyr upon gold or bronze, of returning High Reaches to the golden era that their father had loved so much...gone. They were inferior, now. A failure, rider of a disappointment. They had failed. What would their father think? Well. They knew that well enough, didn't they?
The turn was 2761, an unassuming day in Winter.
A young Nova stood in their father's weyr. It just so happened that today, this lovely winter evening, was this young individual's birthday. Though it was fifteen turns ago they were given life, it was only today that they would become a candidate.
A'raen looked at them--the only child he accepted as his own, regardless of his traditional nature, and Nova's new pronouns. Proud, despite the low rank of his child as of today, he placed his hands on Nova's shoulders. "Nova. Today you take your place as a candidate. Keep in mind, you are not like those lowly other candidates. You are destined for greatness. Gold or bronze, it matters not--but you have the blood of bronzes in your veins."
They nodded, beaming up at the bronzerider. "Yes, father," they said, eyes wide. They were destined for greatness! A'raen was right. They may be a candidate, but they would not be for long. No matter how they waited, eventually, their bronze or gold would be worth it.
"Good. I will not accept any less from you. Some of your classmates will be chromaticriders, but their lowly role will be none of your concern. Others may even ride white. You ought not associate with these failures." His face softened. "I am so, so proud of you, Nova. You are taking your first steps towards coming into your own. You will become one of Golre's favored metallic riders." They smiled at their father, and A'raen smiled back. Soon, they would stand for their first hatching, and prove their worth at High Reaches.
Oh, how they looked forward to their Impression.
Now that Nova had Impressed, however...they only felt bitter. A'raen would have scorned them, disowned them, of that they were certain. No amount of love could forgive Impressing Scryth. As they looked back to their white dragon, their brow now knitted, as their anger faded to pain, hurt. A'raen was the only one who had mattered to them, even after he was gone, and here Nova was, the lowest of the low. Even other white dragons weren't as useless as they would be. Flightless and weak, could Scryth even be in a ground crew?
Dubious. They gave a soft sigh. Here, in their weyr, they could relax. How had it come to this? How had they become a failure? Were they even worth anything, anymore? Without a gold or bronze, and with...Scryth...they were, undeniably, a failure, they thought to themselves. As the memory of their father remained, a tear came to their eye. They couldn't keep his legacy alive. He would be ashamed of them, and now that he was gone, well...perhaps it made it worse. They knew he wouldn't accept them, but he wouldn't have the chance to disown them. Each time they had declared themselves the child of A'raen, the bronzerider, they had prepared his name to be dragged even further through the mud.
And their own name, as well. Ashamed. Not of how they had behaved, but of what they had Impressed. They put their head into their hands, a soft sniffle sounding from them. Here, in the privacy of their new rooms, they allowed themselves to feel sorrow. No one would ever take them seriously. They would never BE anyone. They had fallen from grace, fallen from their powerful place. Now they were nothing. Bitterly, they hated the world. Hated High Reaches. Hated the other weyrlings. Hated Aldoeith and Toki. Hated Scryth. Everyone except their father.
2757. Nova was nineteen. A'raen had left with Golre to fight Fort, and they eagerly awaited word of his return, his victory. Golre, who would lead them to salvation, and A'raen, who would, someday,be her second in command. Perhaps someday, Nova would even take the mantle from one of them. But for now, they just waited.
Until...the sound of keening, strong and all at once, touched their ears. "Who? Who was it?" they asked, to no one in particular. They looked around the weyrbowl, noting how each rider either lowered their gaze, or lifted it towards the skies. Hope, written on some faces. Joy, even. Joy? How? Some riders seemed mournful, as was proper, but...surely, it couldn't be Golre, could it?
"Golre. And the bronzes. All of them." A bluerider, from her knots, spoke softly. She, despite her rank, at least had the decency to mourn.
"A'raen? Allordrith?" Nova's voice was pleading, a change from the chilly, disinterested, even disdainful tone they usually used.
For a while, the bluerider did not respond. Finally, she turned towards Nova, meeting their eyes. "I'm sorry." Nova just stared, as their hands balled into fists. No. No, this rider was wrong! Lying! Lying, filthy blueriders! Useless, beneath them!
But, as they would discover, it was not a lie. Their father was gone. Golre was gone. And now...now, they had no choice but to usher High Reaches towards it's second golden era.
They hadn't realized it, but they were crying, now. Scryth lifted their head, slowly crawling towards their rider. They placed their head on Nova's lap, and their rider looked down at them, tears in their eyes. You are not a failure, even if I am a disappointment. I will...help you through this, if you will let me, they said, softly, nuzzling their rider's stomach, despite the effort it took.
If you tell anyone about this, I will kill you. Dragonless or not. Nova's empty threat, no matter how cruel, was accompanied by them wrapping their arms gently around the tiny dragon, sobbing. Any comfort, even if it was Scryth, was welcome, right now. They just needed someone. Anyone. In this moment--and the moment wouldn't last forever--their heart entwined with Scryth's, and they sobbed into their hide. Dignified, regal, arrogant Nova...where were they? Now they were nothing. Had nothing. Their hopes and dreams--no, their expectations and entitlement--all gone. And Scryth was to blame.
They would hate Scryth again in the morning, but for now, they simply clung to their dragon and cried. What were they crying about? Everything. Absolutely everything. Everything they'd built themselves up to be, all the expectations that had been put on them--even if by themselves. Suddenly, the weight of their pride crushed them. They had nothing. They were no one.
Worse. They were Nova of White Scryth.
