You Can't Escape [M, Anyone Welcome!]

D'ren was miserable.

His head pounded fiercely as he went about his paperwork, trying hard to think about anything and everything except the one thing he seemed able to think about; the argument, and it's result.

How could he have agreed to let them lash that boy? How could he have snapped under that ridiculous pressure?

It was the wrong thing to do. D'ren knew he'd made questionable decisions in the past. They were hard decisions, things that had no easy answers. How could he have let it come to this, though? He knew what the Weyr was saying. They were blaming Tsuen. She was, after all, the one who continued to refuse to take them home. She was the one who shot down all of D'ren's plans, strictly on the basis that he could plan all he wanted...but no dragon would leave the south with Nirinath's edict in place.

It was frustrating. D'ren loved Tsuen. She was his partner through hardship, his greatest confidant, and the mother of his precious daughter. But she had gone crazy. Only a turn before (or was it even a turn?) she was uncomfortable with the very notion of lashing. She was pleased to see a little gold, which brought them one step closer to going home. But now, she not only endorsed the torture of prisoners, but pushed for it?

How had this happened?

D'ren couldn't find it in his heart to give up on Tsuen. He loved her, he wanted to protect her...but this was inexcusable. She wasn't the one at fault, though; he was. How could he have let her influence him like this? How could he have caved to the pressure? He was a bronzerider, the Weyrleader! He was supposed to stand strong. He was the one who made the hard decisions. He was the one to accept the consequences when the outcomes weren't perfect.

And yet now, he was hiding in his hut?

The lashing had a purpose, he knew. The insubordination was a problem. But it didn't need to be a public spectacle. For the longest time, D'ren sat alone with his guilt, trying to decide what he would do in the aftermath of the disaster.

Then, he felt the stirrings of distress.

D'ren! Oh, D'ren! Ronarth cried, his soft voice rippling horribly through the old bronzerider's mind. D'ren immediately rubbed his temples. What is it,  Ronarth?

Larrikith has called to me! It's....it's a disaster! the bronze stammered. D'ren's eyes widened in horror as images of the events flashed into his mind, channeled from dragon to dragon and finally to human.

Shards, it was a mess out there!

D'ren shot to his feet. Tell B'jin to come here, now. I want him out of there. Tell him to come look after Tsereni while I'm gone he ordered his dragon as he stormed towards the door. By the time he stepped outside, he'd already broken into a fevered sweat.

No. No. This would not happen, not in his Weyr.

D'ren climbed onto Ronarth's neck. The pair took wing and quickly disappeared between, reappearing over the gathering square as a great shadow. Ronarth let out a furious bellow, his anxiety fueled by his rider's uncharacteristic surge of determined rage.

D'ren lept from the dragon's neck at the first possible moment. He wasn't young anymore, but he was still a dragonrider. He wasn't a corpse yet.

"STOP!" he bellowed. His face was red and his teeth clenched in fury as he surveyed the scene. Before him he saw N'gelt, poised to lay the final cruel lash on Sanderon's exposed flesh. He saw Jada and Lymsleia, grappling with each other in the wake of the argument Ronarth had warned of. He saw many other familiar faces in the crowd as well; an envious and obviously angry S'kef, a silently weeping I'shan...

Talian was nowhere to be seen, but it was as D'ren expected. That boy would see enough of the aftermath. He didn't need to be present.

D'ren held his breath for a moment as the crowd fell silent, cowed perhaps by his own presence, but just as likely by Ronarth's irritable screeching. The bronze carried on violently until D'ren lifted one hand, a simple gesture accompanied by a strong force of will. The dragon squeaked once, startled by the subtle yet heavy command, and immediately settled into silence.

It was so quiet it hurt.

D'ren turned his angry eyes on N'gelt. "Don't you dare drop that whip one more time," he hissed, his voice audible only to those nearby. He stalked towards his new Weyrsecond, murder in his eyes, as he lifted one accusing finger. "You were given clearance to punish this boy for an escape attempt, not make a show or it or add additional lashes!" he spat, his voice low. "I suggest you go home for the day, N'gelt. We'll talk about this tomorrow."

Tsuen opened her mouth to speak, but D'ren cut her off. "What the SHARDS is wrong with you?" he boomed suddenly. He lifted one hand in a suspiciously violent gesture, but he never actually moved to strike her. His rage disturbed Ronarth, who coiled against the ground and let out a miserable creel.

"Letting this spectacle go on without intervening? Letting these girls argue in public over this poor boy's fate? Letting a sharding candidate challenge the Weyrsecond to a knife fight and saying nothing to calm the tension? Doing nothing to keep this from devolving into threadfall?" His eyes widened as he made his appeal, so shocked by Tsuen's display of incompetence that he couldn't think of anything else to say. He stared at her for a long, tense moment, and finally his eyes began to water. He reached out, placing his hands on her cheeks, and frowned.

"What's gotten into you, Tsu?" he purred sadly. With that, he frowned and peeled himself away from her.

And yet, there were targets that remained. He walked towards the crowd, noticing with shame how some of them backed away. He moved directly towards Jada and Lymsleia.

Jada...he was so proud of her. He cast her a sad, knowing glance before giving her a gentle motion to stand down. "Thank you," he said to her, his gaze gradually shifting to Lym.

"Lymsleia. I have had enough out of you," he warned her, his voice stern, but lacking the pure anger it had carried moments before. "You mistakenly assume that we have the means or interest to support your naive ideas of how things should work. I wish we could afford to adhere to your childish ideas, but that's a luxury we don't have. Maybe one day you'll understand, but for now, I think it's best you keep quiet and stop acting like a child."

He pointed the same accusing finger art her. "And threatening N'gelt with a knife is unacceptable for anyone, dragonrider and nonrider alike. We will be discussing this."

Shards, what else? Still ablaze with adrenaline, the bronzerider paced back out before the crowd.

"This is a mistake!" he roared, pointing emphatically at Sanderon. He paused, breathing in ragged huffs as he tried to collect himself. He tried to remember diplomacy and political correctness, but he couldn't. His emotions of the past turns surged forward in an uncontrollable wave.

"There have been many mistakes!" he shouted. "All of you know this! We have suffered turn after turn of exile, struggling to rebuild everything we had before the plague.  We watched our friends and loved ones die! We suffered in loneliness and despair, clinging on to any shred of hope we could find! We scraped and clawed for every inch, we worked hard for little return! It's been hard!"

"And now look what we've done! We've unjustly forced our own hardships on the innocent, taking them from their homes and forcing them to endure the same hardships that we complain about so bitterly ourselves! It's wrong, Katila. It is wrong, but no one should suffer blame for it except for me. I am the one responsible for this." He turned, casting a momentarily soft, apologetic expression to Sanderon.

"What's done is done," he said, starting off lowly before the passion again stirred in his voice. "What was done...was done out of cruel necessity. We brought these children here because we needed their help, not to torture them. And we do need them, just as they now need us." Now, he addressed the northerners.  "What happened to you is wrong. And I, as the man personally responsible, am sorry. I can't erase the past, but I want Katila to be a home to you, not a prison!"

"That said, we are all here together now...and regardless of how we feel about one another, we need each other to survive." His voice quavered. He felt his throat tighten. "We are alone, friends. We are drifting at sea, and if we don't work together, our lifeboat will sink very quickly..."

He paused and wiped some sweat from his brow. He was exhausted. His hands were shaking. Still, he stood tall. "...I promise, all of us can see our homes again. We can see the Weyrs flourish again. We can all know peace again. But that can never happen if we continue to fight among ourselves. The dragonriders are meant to the protectors of Pern. We've failed our own legacy, but we did it to survive. We must survive. And if we survive today, we will still be here to protect the world tomorrow."

He sighed and looked down for a long moment. "There will be changes," he said at length. "And this? This is over. I'm not saying it's the end of punishment for rulebreakers, nor do I intend to show bias to any one group," he said, a touch of anger resurfacing in his voice. "There is no such thing as a northerner and a southerner. We are all Katilans, and we are all northerners. The North is our home; all of us. One day, we will go home together. None of us will ever make it alone."

"...From this day forward, no punishment will be public except by extraordinary circumstances. Northerners and riders will be subject to the same penalties, which I will approve personally through blind reports. And within the next sevenday...expect a new charter outlining penalties to be posted for public viewing. I will not tolerate spectacles like this. I will not tolerate public fighting and threats. And I will not tolerate further abuse of power." The anger resurfaced in his voice.

"...Now please, go home. Chores and other duties are excused for the day. Go, and relax. Think of the future. Think of what we all want, and what we can all help each other obtain. No one is going north without dragons...and without those to stand, there will be no dragons. Think of where togetherness can take us."

He sighed, and practically wilted. Without answering the barrage of questions he started to receive, he walked calmly over to Sanderon. The Weyrleader knelt to release the young man's bonds.

"Come with me, son. Let's get you to the infirmary."