Chapter Text
“So…” K’thael said after the hatching was over and High Reaches’ newest clutch was napping alongside their riders. They handed the weyrlingmaster his chalkboard while he sat sprawled across an overstuffed chair in the barracks’ common room, enjoying his respite before the celebratory feast.
“So…” Gr’lin replied, wearily scanning the list of unfamiliar names. “It begins again.” He paused, reflecting on what life had been like last time he had a list like this. He’d been missing Z’rell, afraid to fly home, surrounded by discontent transfers from Southern, defending Sprilth’s right to training, and desperately striving to piece together some sort of lesson plan for the new weyrlings. At the thought of starting over, something in his chest clenched, as did his jaw.
“Yeah, but,” K’thael sat on the edge of a nearby chair before sliding back into a more relaxed position, “you’re not starting from scratch this time. And you and Fendalth aren’t alone this time.” They gave him a meaningful look.
“I’m lucky to have him putting up with my sorry self,” Gr’lin said with a self-depreciating smile. “To think, he could go between this whole time, chase greens…” he shook his head. “I was holding him back because of my own fear. Dragons are remarkable creatures.”
“They are. And to have Sprilth forgive me for all of my stupidity since he hatched, my self destruction… we have two of the best.” K’thael squeezed their fingers. “Do you remember what you said that night, after you rescued me from the woods?”
Gr’lin furrowed his brow. He remembered searching for them in the snow, months and months ago, because they’d been fully blocking their dragon. It was not too long after the poisoning, and they’d been upset about their friend. They’d had a conversation, once they got back, but he couldn’t remember the details.
“You told me that we keep flying because we have to - because if you don’t fly, you’ll fall. And riders don’t let each other fall.” K’thael paused before trying to explain again. “What I mean is… last time, you only had Fendalth. And now, you have at least a whole wing’s worth of dragons and riders on your side. You don’t have to worry about falling.”
Gr’lin set the chalkboard on the small table to his side, thinking about their words. “What about… I mean, you named yourselves the Cursed Class. So many unforeseen, terrible things happened. Do you think the curse was broken? What if… what if it’s me that’s cursed?” He voiced his fear aloud for the first time, that the curse had started at Ista and he’d inadvertently brought it north to destroy young lives - that all of the tragedy and pain at High Reaches somehow stemmed from him.
Instead of laughing at him like he expected, or simply blowing him off, the bluerider thought for a moment before responding. “It could just as easily be me. You said it was bad luck to have me on a blue, right? Maybe I Impressed the wrong dragon, and all of this happened because of that. Or I screwed everything up when I tried to stop L’tan. Maybe I am the curse. Does it matter?”
The weyrlingmaster sat up straighter in his seat. K’thael did have a point. If curses were real, there were a wide range of possibilities - but none of them changed what had happened. The bluerider stood up and tugged down their sleeves. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that we can’t change what's already happened. Whatever caused the storm, whether it's curse or just chance, we’ve got to fly through it. And we’ve got to fly together.”