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“What now?” Weyrleader D’ram kicked his shoes off after the long night was finally over, the creases around his eyes slightly deeper than usual. He shrugged off his jacket, hanging it on a hook before beginning to unbutton his shirt.
“What now what?” Weyrwoman Fanna replied, already contentedly sprawled out on their bed. “Mirath and Tiroth produced another beautiful clutch of hatchlings, and our Gram Impressed one of them. You have two dragonrider sons now - isn’t that what you wanted?”
“A brown, Fanna!” D’ram struggled with his belt in frustration. “He’ll never make wingleader on a brown, much less weyrleader.”
“He knows Weyr traditions about dragon colors, D’ram. He seemed perfectly happy with his little… Fandelth, I think it was.” She patted the spot next to her, encouraging her weyrmate to join her in bed.
D’ram barely noticed. Instead, he hung his belt and button-up on the bedpost and began pacing around the room. “You’re right, he knows - I reminded him. And he didn’t listen! Didn’t seem to care in the least!”
“DENEDRAM!” Fanna sat up straight, shocked. “You didn’t!”
“What?” The weyrleader paused in his pacing just long enough to look up and see the anger in his weyrmate’s eyes. “The way he was behaving, I thought it slipped his mind.”
“He’s proud - as he should be!! As I am, and you should be, too,” Fanna huffed and rolled toward the wall. “Your own son, Impressing a dragon, and all you can think is to remind him that it’s not a bronze. Despicable.”
“But it’s not a bronze. His brother is always going to outrank him now. The other bronzeriders, too. And there’s nothing I can do about it.” D’ram rolled the seam of his undershirt, walking around the bed to see the scowl on Fanna’s face. “Unless that little brown magically catches a queen some day, Gram can never be… anything now.”
The scowl turned to daggers. Fanna’s feet dropped to the floor. “Say that again, D’ram,” she challenged. She stood up and walked toward him, her shoulders slightly higher than her weyrmate’s. “Tell me again that my son - OUR son - will never amount to anything.”
D’ram backed up a few steps, putting his palms out in defense. “That’s not what I meant, Fanna! I just meant he and Fondueth… they won’t have the same opportunities. Even the brightest, most skilled browns can only be wingseconds. If I tried to promote him beyond that…” he looked at her helplessly.
“There are goals in life beyond rank, D’ram,” she narrowed her eyes testily. “Your son’s happiness matters far more than any color hide or twist in a cord. Gram is happy with Findanth. Didn’t you see his face? He’s ecstatic, and he doesn’t give a shit about being wingleader.”
D’ram paused, letting the weyrwoman’s words sink in. “You think… he doesn’t expect me to…” he searched her eyes, the fabric squeezed tightly between his fingers, “fix it? Promote him anyway? On a brown?” She shook her head, releasing the words to start tumbling out of him. “Thank Faranth, you know I would if I could, in a couple of turns, but not with a brown, and the boy is so soft! The wingleaders would hang me up by my toenails if I-”
“Shhhh…” Fanna was standing before him, pressing her finger to his lips. “Gram isn’t soft, he’s just not a meathead like you and G’dened. If you paid any attention at all, you’d know that he didn’t want a bronze. He told me he’d be fine with any other color.”
“Not a green,” D’ram straightened his shoulders, lowering his voice just a touch. “Surely, my boy would never ride a green.” Fanna smirked, glancing out toward the weyrbowl. “They all do, on occasion, don’t they? And what would it matter? He’d still be our Gramlinden even with no dragon at all.” Her warm hand reached out to graze his shoulder, his muscles relaxing beneath her touch. She’d won the argument, if that’s what it was, and they both knew it.
“Hmph.” D’ram sulked for lack of a reply, begrudgingly climbing into bed. It was true. The brown may have been a shock, but only because he’d held his own expectations for the boy, and he’d get over it. As long as Gram - Gr’lin, he reminded himself - was happy and healthy, he had no cause to be upset. That didn’t mean he knew how to advise a young brownrider, though. “Anything but bronze,” he grumbled, pulling the blankets up around himself and Fanna, “what's wrong with that kid?”