Despair wrecked the young boy’s mind and body

Despair wrecked the young boy’s mind and body. He had disgraced his father. Disgraced his Weyr. Disgraced Pern.

Telenet walked slowly toward his sleeping quarters, his shoulders hunched and his head down. His heart was heavy as he flopped down onto the thick furs on the stone floor of his small room. He never really had found being a Dragon Rider his future, but the thought that he had not even impressed pulled at his gut. Telenet had made it a point not to run into his father when leaving the Hatching Grounds.

Telenet sighed. His father being the Weyrleader should have been an automatic confirmation that he would impress, even more specifically a Bronze. But, no. Even the smallest Blue rejected his mind. Though he had to admit, his mind was not very welcoming to the small creatures that would tear a poor boy to shreds just to get to his companion. They were violent at birth, some even bringing their violence on into their adulthood, if their riders were specifically aggressive. Telenet would never have felt safe with such power so willingly under his command.

Telenet rolled over onto his side. He closed his eyes, but jerked them open suddenly as heavy footsteps sounded in the hall just outside of his open door. Telenet jumped up and raced to the door, peering out into the dim hall. A figure made its way toward his room, a silhouette against the dull glows. Telenet’s heart raced as he realized he was trapped. He looked frantically around his room, searching for a place he could hide.

T’ret felt his was down the hall, grumbling. When was the last time anyone had changed these glows? Certainly the Weyrling Master was keeping up with the young ones, making sure they did their chores. Of course, the Weyrlings were not as steady with their duties as the children at the Holds and Crafthalls, T’ret snorted. The thought tended to aggravate the Weyrleader. But finally he made it to the last room, darkness filling it as thickly as numbweed as it boiled in the pots.

T’ret peered into the dark room, searching for the covered glow. When he finally felt his hand bump a small basket, he felt for the thin cloth covering, gently pulling it off. Light did not flood, but rather trickled into the room as the Weyrleader realized that this glow had been neglected as well. He frowned as he peered around the seemingly empty room.

“Telenet?” he called softly, scanning the room for any sign of his son. When no one answered, he walked further into the room, looking under the thick furs and behind the wooden dresser. Again, he called. “Telenet?” and again, no one answered. Sighing, T’ret hung his head and walked back out of the room, placing the cloth back on top of the dying glow.

Telenet raced around his room, searching for his necessities; clothes, a small brush, a flask, and anything else he could use to carry food. He was just tying a small bundle when a younger boy entered. The boy’s presence caught Telenet by total surprise and he had to shove the small bundle underneath the first thing he could find: his tunic. The boy looked quizzically at Telenet’s unusually large and lumpy stomach, but decided against asking, much to Telenet’s relief.

“The feast’s about to start, Telenet, and the Weyrwoman is wondering where you are.” Telenet frowned. Certainly his mother was only concerned about his location because she was hoping to avoid him.

“I’m on my way, Shmel” Telenet replied, smoothing his hair down. One more visit with his mother would not do too much harm.

Telenet followed Shmel down the hall, mentally smacking his head as he realized the dim glows were because of him. Sighing, Telenet shook himself of the duty. He would no longer be here to do it anyway, why waste doing the job now.

When Telenet and Shmel walked into the great hall, Shmel automatically went toward the kitchen, his job to help the cooks serve the guests. Telenet walked slowly through the crowd, falling in step with someone whenever his father was in eye view. He wanted to ignore the many confused stares given him, but knew it was impossible to keep his mind off them. He was doing pretty well with hiding from his father, perhaps too well.

“Telenet!” Telenet turned to see his mother racing toward him. Shells! He had been so concerned with his father that he had forgotten her. Telenet turned to his mother, forcing his head high. What he was not expecting was for the Weyrwoman to wrap her arms tightly around him, embracing his shamed self.

“Oh, Telenet, I’ve been looking everywhere for you! How do you feel? Are you hungry?” Telenet looked deeply into his mother’s eyes, noting the loving compassion she held there. Perhaps she was not shamed after all. Perhaps she understood his feelings and was trying to help him forget his mistake. Telenet shook his head. No, she was only acting as if she had not rejected him because there were others watching. Telenet was sure she would disown him as soon as the feast was over and everyone had gone

Telenet slowly nodded his head twice. Yes, he was fine and, yes, he was in fact hungry. The Weyrwoman smiled and stood up, grabbing hold of Telenet’s hand. She guided him to a chair on the left of his father, herself taking the seat on the right. Telenet swallowed a large lump that had formed in his throat and did not make eye contact with his father. The Weyrleader noticed this and turned to his mate, frowning, but the Weyrwoman only smiled weakly, her gaze looking understandingly upon her first and only son.

Telenet ate mostly in silence, answering ‘no’ only when Shmel would come out and ask him if he needed anything else. The Weyrleader was constantly looking upon the boy, his heart saddened by the destroyed look upon his son’s face. Even more heart-wrenching was the fact that, no matter how many times he tried to catch Telenet’s eyes, the boy would deliberately avoid him, turning either to his food or down where his feet just touched the stone floor.

The feast slowly died down and eventually everyone was either heading toward their runner beasts or climbing up onto the blue and green dragons that were to take them back to their hold or craft. The Weyrfolk were busy cleaning the dining room and some Dragonmen were lending a hand while others were seeing to their beasts. All the Weyrlings were settled into their dormitory and their newfound friends were in their new weyr, their eyes resting as their minds stayed fully connected with their weyrmates.

T’ret walked hastily down to hallway, smiling as he noticed that these glows were still being checked on. He breathed, slow, long breaths, trying to calm himself. He had kept a Masterharper waiting, something Harper apprentices learned not to do when they were much younger than he. He quickened his pace as Selenth, his bronze dragon, warned him of the impatience of the waiting Harper. T’ret did not even stop to catch his breath as he slung open the door to his quarters and nodded to the Harper. The Masterharper nodded and forced a smile, not to T’ret’s relief.

“Weyrleader,” the Harper said, his head bowed slightly. T’ret frowned, then smiled.

“Masterharper. I am truly sorry for keeping you, I was attending to Weyrling business,” T’ret replied, remembering the small boy who had claimed to have lost communication with his dragon. It had taken half an hour just to get the boy to stop crying.

“Weyrleader.” The Masterharper nodded toward T’ret. “I understand, though I had hoped that High Reaches had a more punctual leader.” T’ret bit his lip, a bit embarrassed.

“And now, what is it you wanted to speak with me, Masterharper Pelen?” T’ret asked, wanting desperately to change the subject. Pelen frowned a deeper frown.

“I am here to speak to you about your son.” Pelen raised his hand to silence any retorts from T’ret. “I do not see it a particularly big problem, but others may. I am not here to argue or tell you what to do; I am only here to warn you about the consequences of your boy not impressing.” T’ret dipped his head, sighing.

“I know.” T’ret was silent for a second before lifting his head, his eyes bright with determination. “But I will not abandon my son. I am not ashamed of him; he is a very talented boy. He is just not cut out for Weyr life, that’s all.” T’ret watched for Pelen’s answer, but got nothing but a sigh. Finally, Masterharper Pelen spoke.

“I thought you would say that, but that still does not change anything. You are going to be questioned. Others will wonder of your worth. Though it may not seem so, when a Weyrleader’s own son does not impress, all Pern worries. It has only happened once before, and the father ended up abandoning his son because he could not cope with all the insults his own family threw at him.” T’ret frowned, but held his head even higher.

“I shall not give up Telenet, not even if my own Weyr turns against me. And if I must send my son fleeing, I shall go with him. He may not make a Dragonrider, but that does not mean he won’t be important to Pern.” T’ret stepped toward the Masterharper, seeming to grow taller before Pelen’s very eyes. He raised his voice as he continued, “Mark my words, Harper, Telenet shall become the most important being on Pern, and anyone who criticizes him for being the son of a Weyrleader and without a dragon, shall have me to deal with!” T’ret turned sharply on his heals before stomping out the door and disappearing around a further bend in the hall. Masterharper Pelen stood by himself in the darkening room, his head bowed. Things were bad, and they were only going to get worse.