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Menolly sat on her cot with her legs curled under her. With cheeks wet with silent tears and aware of every breath she tried to focus on it, in and out; Silvina had agreed to say nothing to Robinton of their discovery until Menolly herself had had a little time to come to terms with the shock herself and consider her course of action. Consumed as she had been with her recent studies to achieve her Mastery at a young age she simply hadn't noticed the lack of menstruation, irregular as it had always been. She hadn't missed her herbs as far as she could recall and her harper-trained memory was exceptional, nor had she been in any serious relationships as her studies were her priority and peers often journeying. Menolly's situation was further complicated by the fact she was extremely aware that she would stand as an example of craftswomen in a traditionally male profession and cited as such. It didn't help that as Robinton's journeywoman and early to achieve the rank her profile was higher than if she had been an apprentice, unsearched for and easy enough to hide from public exposure for a few months.

      The only possible time she could have conceived was when Beauty last flew or Kimi, both events within six sevendays or so and with two different partners. She'd been ill around that time so the only thing Silvina had been able to suggest was herb failure due to illness. Menolly had thought the lingering nausea and tiredness was simply due to a longer recovery and exam stress. It was only Silvina's experience and observations that had shattered that simple explanation, and there it was, Menolly was pregnant. She'd always considered girls in what was now her current situation to be a little careless or at least unfortunate; sitting alone now it felt as though there were rocks in her stomach.

      She did not sleep that night. Silvina had said she would come to Menolly's room in the morning to discuss options, which were by now rather limited, and the practical implications of every possibility quite significant, each having their own risks. The headwoman had also sworn not to approach Robinton until she had Menolly's decision and to be moral support for Menolly during that conversation.

     Turning it over in her mind hurt but by the time the dawn light lit the tower heights she had an answer for Silvina. If this had happened to HER it had happened to others, that much she was sure of, and it would keep happening as firelizards spread and matured. She was next to the Healer hall, not in an isolated hold or surrounded by ignorance, she might be shamed but she would not be forced to expose the child after bearing it. She would be at far smaller risk with her proximity to the healer hall than those girls. She could try to cover it up and pretend this never happened or she could deal with the pain it would bring and endure the malicious gossip. What would make it all the harder was that there were two possible fathers. One was Sebell, acceptable to most as a negligent mistake. The other was Master Robinton.

On the one hand it could compromise his respected position across Pern. It WOULD compromise her position as his journeywoman and call into question her rank.

On the other it may not be his child. She was also aware of Camo's parentage and how much a child would mean to him, it scared her that a baby she bore could be damaged, or that the birth could endanger her.  

   The more she had turned it over in her mind the more she realised that somebody in a reasonably protected position had to be the first to accept the consequences of firelizard behaviour. Poorer girls would be at risk of abuse for finding themselves in her position. Daughters of Lords Holder would be punished in other ways, not all of them but she could not know which Lord's daughter would fall first. Certainly in her former situation as youngest daughter of the seaholder things would have been VERY different; Mavi did not include the use of herbs in her daughters education, preventative or abortifacient, physical violence towards women was accepted as a fact of life rather than recognised as assault, and birth was a risky business attended often only by aunts or women of experience. No. She had Robinton and Silvina, she had access to healers and tacit recognition of bodily autonomy as a chartered right.

Perhaps it was time for some new teaching songs, however distasteful some may find it. In many places women had been stripped of basic rights and there were still those that had supported Fax hidden among the masses and those who had learned under that regime. It was time to challenge the facade that these things never happened, certainly not to nice girls, respectable girls. The prospect still filled her with dread.

Menolly had been expecting to be sent out again with the next assignments; it could have been her last field assignment to prove herself before attaining Mastery if she had been out long enough and proven capable of that status. Now that would have to be put on hold.

Perhaps she could request that the sections be rearranged so that her fieldwork element was done later and a theory section brought forward. At least she would have an abundance of material to write about. She only hoped some would be deemed worthy of distribution and reach those that needed to hear it.  Shortly before the bell was due to call everyone to breakfast there was a gentle knock at her door. Silvina entered holding a tray of buttered toast and mug of hot klah.

Thanking her Menolly motioned Silvina to the bed, thankful for the sensitivity and understanding that was characteristic of the Headwoman, At her questioning glance Menolly nodded. "Yes I have an answer for you. I'd like you to come with me to tell Robinton today- and would you please come with me to the Healer. I'll keep the babe but I'm still afraid."

She found herself in the older woman's strong embrace, while it didn't help banish the sense of foreboding she felt it did at least assure her that she was not alone or to be abandoned.

She realised she was crying again. At least there were no witnesses this time.

As they stood before the door of Robinton's office later that morning she knew that the last time she felt so nervous and unsettled was the day she'd been swept off from Benden to the safety of this very Hall. Strange that a place that had for so long symbolised security and care now seemed so daunting when nothing but herself had changed; feeling for Silvina's hand she took a deep breath and knocked on the door before her.

"Enter!" Robinton's voice. Her Master and friend she told herself. Together the women stepped into his office and closed the heavy door behind them. This was it.

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Robinton looked up from his desk, she doubted he had slept more than a few hours judging by his worn appearance but seeing his Journeywoman he smiled, their encounter some weeks ago now hadn't dramatically altered the student-Master relationship, he was an expert in compartmentalising things and she was a quiet soul wanting to maintain their close professional roles. The smile faded as he noted the trembling of her hands, anxiety written on her features and Silvina's presence, evidently this wasn't his usual wake up call.

"Sit down Menolly girl, what's troubling you? 'Vina, I assume you are a part of this too." The smile this time didn't reach his eyes but Silvina was used to his masks, she'd known Robinton all his life and he'd never yet been able to fool her with his admittedly brilliant acting skills. He knew her just as intimately and while it was advantageous to the hall and residents she wished on this one occasion that schooling her expression was sufficient.

Menolly didn't think she'd ever seen Master Robinton speechless before, he was the man who always knew what to say, quick thinking and responsive. Not this time. Usually she could read him well, that happened when you worked closely with someone for almost 5 turns, but not now when she most desperately wanted and needed to know his thoughts and actions.

"I'm almost certain it's yours Master. Beauty flew at the time Silvina estimates conception occurred, Kimi flew about 4 or 5 sevendays later, when I was already feeling nauseous. It's just possible that it's Sebell's. Master, this isn't like me, I don't sleep around with just anyone, nor often it's just that Beauty and having three firelizards in pursuit was too much this time, but it's not just me. Your reputation as well might be questioned wrongfully and my qualifications...

"Master I've made my choice but I know it won't be simple or without consequence."

   Robinton's face was pale as his stomach knotted, he noticed his own hands resting on the desk were now trembling and concentrated on his breathing to control it, seeing the guilt written on her face. Of all the people for this to happen to, all the times it could occur, why now? He was old enough to be her grandfather, not the father of her child! Their child if she was correct- and he trusted Silvina's ample experience. Shards. This was going to fuck things up. When he could finally rely on his voice not to crack- and wasn't that a rare problem for a master harper! He cleared his throat and dared to speak.

  Her Master and one time lover met her eyes at last and she read in them so many different emotions, like looking into dragon eyes she thought and a tune began to niggle at the back of her mind, always at the worst times. "So what is your decision then? As you say you have chosen your course."

He kept his voice carefully neutral wanting not to pressure her at her most vulnerable. He couldn't hide the slight smile as she tilted her chin and said quietly, calmly "I'm keeping it. Him or her. If you want to claim parentage and be involved I would be glad, if you want to remain silent and watch from a distance I understand. I am not ashamed Master Robinton. I was not forced into this, it was my choice and I knew this was a possible outcome however unlikely it ought to have been." He nodded, relieved, then took her hands gently,

"Of course I want to be involved, how could I not love a child of yours? Or mine? You are not and will not be alone in this and I WANT to be a part of our baby's life. Whatever happens. You are however correct about the implications and I need you to understand that what I am going to suggest is not a rejection of you or done out of regret and shame. I will stand by you and support you in whatever capacity you need.” Even if it's not the capacity I want, he squashed that thought as soon as it surfaced.

“I will talk to Domick before class today and assign you as his special, an extra. The man may be curt but he's no fool, when he asks tell him the truth. In a hall of men and boys exactly the same behaviour can be kept almost invisible to most and certainly neither he nor I are prudish.

You can use it as an opportunity to focus on your song-crafting, perhaps clean up the one you are nodding your head to just now. As Master harper I am ordering you to see Oldive as soon as humanly possible and as the likely father I'm asking you for an honest report."

I'll continue to oversee your work, which is in actuality a crucial influence on the political and social opinion of the common man and less literate among us, and expect you to report daily to Silvina, just as the expectant staff are required to. It's doubtful this is the first occasion the situation has arisen but undeniably unfortunate given your exposed position and the lack of many other woman Harpers. We'll discuss your studies for Mastery later, you look unhealthily pale and in need of a rest."

She rose to leave and as she turned he caught her in his embrace, "Thank you Menolly. Thank you for telling me, for your courage and care." in a softer voice, the one he used alone with her he added quietly, "I know this was not easy for you to do, for who you are and what you are choosing I will always love you." He released her then and as the door of his study closed he sagged to the floor. On the other side Menolly finally let the tears of relief and confusion flow as Silvina held her steady. At least now he knew. She was excused classes for the rest of the day on 'health grounds' as she went over things with Silvina and with her help sought the healer hall, she doubted her own Mother would have done the same but from what she had seen of 'normal' families Silvina appeared to have taken on that role for now in every way that mattered.

 As she lay in her cot that evening having skipped the meal due to a hyper sensitive sense of smell she chanted over and over as a mantra

‘I Am Not alone, never alone, not now or ever alone again’. As her firelizards began to croon along with her reassuringly she hoped desperately that it was true.

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I am her and she is me,

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The next morning she reported to Master Domick before regular classes commenced. She really had no idea of what his reaction would be, after five turns the man was one of the few people who could still surprise her, that fact seemed for some reason to please him and he was not above using it or teasing relentlessly.

The intense look he gave her when she knocked and entered his room was far from teasing or light as his eyes seemed to burn into her core; "So Robinton has finally curtailed your journeying and reallocated you to another Master. I think you and I both know there are only three possible reasons he would do that; option one, you have caused a diplomatic incident with someone of significance. You have not done so in all your turns at the hall even with minimal experience, with the slight anomaly of Benis that first week. Option two, you have become too recognisable and exposed to safely journey right now and require distancing for himself. Or option three, the indiscretions of youth have resulted in a condition that requires you to be rested and sheltered, again not under Master Robinton and due to your gender visible. The third seems most likely, am I correct?"

       The deep blush spoke the answer for her and he nodded thoughtfully. "Honestly Menolly I'm surprised this day didn't come sooner, you have nine firelizards who are frankly unsubtle about their own conquests, it is unfortunate that you are as exposed and unfair that no male harper's misdemeanors are so advertised. I'm guessing your presence in my study indicates you will not be riding between?"

     Dropping her eyes Menolly shook her head, trying to radiate a calm she did not feel. She was shocked to feel Domick's hand gently on her shoulder and looked at him questioningly, "Menolly lass, it may not be the Weyr but you are not the first good woman to birth a bastard and certainly won't be the last. Talmor’s mother was one for a start and it certainly hasn’t ruined him. The standard practice is for the craft to raise them. People will gossip and judge until the next scandal overshadows your own and interest will wither like redfruit blossoms in the High Reaches. When you need a breathing space day or night the back room can be used, I'll get you a key later. At least you'll have plenty of fodder for material while exiled to me.

Class is at the usual time, bring pipes, you can brush up for when a guitar won't fit you- oh and Menolly, being birthed by an unwed youngster never ruined me either. Just made me cynical. Dismissed." He went back to correcting exercises leaving Menolly mouth agape to find her way out of the suddenly surreal set of rooms. It was by far the longest speech he'd made in her hearing, at least without it being a spirit crushing rant about incompetence. No fool indeed.

       If Domick had worked it out so easily she wondered how many others would and in the Harper hall rumour spread like thread infestation. She'd wanted longer to wrap her own head around things but suddenly that had gone from unlikely to impossible. The truth won out. She realised that in her musing she had wandered into the mess hall and noticing that the klah was out on the serving hatch as usual.  Fetching herself a mug she sat down at the as yet empty table and began to hum the tune that bubbled in the back of her mind. If indeed it was already being whispered about she was going to make damn sure most heard from her first and knew it was her decision, drumming the beat on the table helped to organise her thoughts. She had a first draft for Domick by lunch and if a few odd looks were directed her way she was well able by now to play disinterested and oblivious when the situation demanded it. As she gave the music to her new Master she wondered if he would show it unpolished to Robinton or if he would deal with it alone.        

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Menolly's whole life had required her to use strategy and calculation to some degree or another and harper training had refined and honed a natural ability. Her first instinct was to go to Robinton, he had been more than just any master, he had become a friend and a trusted colleague, her lover, he knew her so well and she had begun to understand him intimately herself. Resisting going straight up to his apartments to talk physically hurt but she was unsure whether he was actively avoiding her, taking time to get used to the idea of being a father again or trying to give her space to think.

  After turning things over half a hundred times mentally, she resolved to go to him in the morning. If someone asked her outright for the truth she would give it to them, she'd be shocked if it took another 36 hours, even 24 was optimistic in this hall, oh how the tables had turned on her! Oldive had confirmed that her dates did not fit with her brief encounter with Sebell ruling, him out as the other parent. At least it would be easier to explain with him out of the hall; unfortunately it left her with even fewer people to speak to honestly about the ridiculously complicated situation, Sebell being one of the few in the hall who knew her, not just her identity as The Harper's special Journeywoman and established as able to keep secrets when required without leaking.

   In a way the confirmation of him not being the father was a relief. Sebell was an honourable man and would probably have offered to wed her but his defining characteristics seemed to be loyalty and self control, he had a sense of humour certainly and respected her but there was no spark or excitement, no attraction beyond close friendship without firelizard lust and in her heart of hearts she was very unsure that he was looking for a woman in that way at all.

It was subtle and he was discreet but he seemed to prefer a Weyr style of love life, and as far as Menolly was concerned it was none of her business until it interfered with Harper business. Sebell never allowed it to and so she never pried, but she could never condemn him to a sham relationship, or do that to herself. Harpers were in hushed tones acknowledged as being second only to the Weyrs in their lack of stringent or enforced rules about relationships.

It was just unfortunate for her that one dynamic still strictly frowned upon was personal Master- 'special' student amorous activities; there were good reasons for it and the reality was that otherwise some opportunists would exploit a lack of restrictions on that in a predatory manner. It was not that way between her and Robinton. If he was younger....or she older, how different it could have been!  Then as Mavi had been fond of pointing out, ifs and buts were an unproductive indulgence no woman had any business engaging in. She had been raised in an environment that elevated the worth of practicality, it wasn't without cause, being fundamentally necessary for seahold survival and had saved her life on more than one occasion- not least in her cave so long ago. Now she was determined to use that for the child's welfare as far as she could. Even as active as her mind was, the sheer physical exhaustion the growing another human caused dragged her into sleep fully clothed on her cot without a covering. When Silvina checked later on her, bringing a mug of klah and some dry crackers for beside the bed she chuckled, it was hard not to remember her own experience of so many turns ago and harder not to let Menolly pick up on her concern. The Harpress was a strong woman both mentally and physically but she was not the ideal proportions for easy childbearing and Rob had a large head, the thought raised a slight smile. Merelan had had a hard birth with him; and Camo... well Oldive had to be aware of the history.

Either way she would remind him, and planned to use her considerable influence within the hall to ground the young woman for the month before her expected birthing.  Not every male harper would think logically given she was due around turnover. Oh dear. Domick. He'd just have to train a back up understudy for their little quartet. She'd let Master Robinton break that news to him and couldn't quite suppress a girlish giggle at the thought of his likely reaction, at least he was no Petiron. She'd take Rob some cake and wine to disarm him before telling him the babe was due at turnover- with Menolly's permission granted of course.

    She had no intention of allowing or encouraging a distance or break between the two of them but was certain they'd make things work together, there was a genuine love evident to anyone who was willing to see and she was a friend to both, a guardian to Menolly in her professional capacity and had always had something of a soft spot for the girl. No, she corrected herself, not girl, woman. Silvina had some insight into how it felt to be in Menolly's place but she had never been as exposed, as scrutinised. She had not stood as an example to all women working in her profession. Menolly did. Silvina couldn't help but be proud of the decision Menolly had taken, she had courage that one, the thought was quickly followed by  a grimace- she was going to need it, of that the Headwoman was certain.

    When Menolly began to toss and turn Silvina quietly withdrew, it was likely only one of the first of vivid and unavoidable pregnancy dreams, in a hall of men and boys she was going to need a friend to come to and hopefully could speak to another female friend without being hurt by them. She  wondered how long they should wait before addressing Menolly's quarters, they were adequate for an apprentice and even for a single Journeywoman but would not accommodate a Journeywoman, nine firelizards AND a baby, her current room was also on one of the higher floors and the necessary not comfortably close. She'd talk to Rob before discussing it with Menolly anyway who was sure to protest and say it would be unfair but ultimately would acknowledge the sense in the older woman's argument and reasoning.

   She found Robinton unsurprisingly still awake but for once didn't chastise him or direct him bedwards, it wasn't only political machinations and hall business that had him burning the midnight glows and she knew that even if he went to bed or drank a full skin of wine it would not help. He gave her a tired smile which she returned.

"Hello old friend," she laid a hand on his broad shoulders, "I don't believe I have congratulated you yet."

Robinton put down the quill, "And do you think they are due 'Vina? How could I have let this happen to her? Been the instrument of subverting her Mastery even."

"Faranth's egg Robinton, just listen for a moment and break out of that unhealthy circle of self condemnation you've got going on here! Firstly, stop being such a drama king- it doesn't suit you. Second, Yes, congratulations are due and this baby will be loved by both of you. You are not Petiron and she is no Mavi. Thirdly, she is young, she is continuing her studies and will just do things in a different order than you both had in mind originally, there is time; she also needs you to  keep open tracks of communication. Finally, you have other things to worry about."

Her eyes twinkled and he raised an eyebrow, "Menolly's due at turnover. Domick needs an understudy."

   Robinton stared at her for a second before he finally started laughing and continued to laugh until his eyes watered with the release of tension that he'd felt since that conversation with his Journeywoman- he could never truly think of her as someone else's journeywoman.

"Just when I thought it could get no more difficult, I suppose you want me to tell him?"

"Well you are the Masterharper, who else should?"

“Thank you ‘Vina. For all of us.” The simplicity of his words was in itself an indication of his state of mind, Robinton usually responded to stressful scenarios with even more eloquence than his usual elegant speech and mastery of performance. She stayed with him for a candlemark after that, not saying anything only providing some support by her presence when he finally wearied sufficiently to drift off in his chair she covered him with a fur and left for her own bed, if she read Menolly’s intent correctly they would all need the rest for tomorrow. On the other side of the hall Domick was scribbling furiously in his study. There were very few people he wrote music for but on one or two occasions it had been known to happen, tonight he wrote for Menolly and the child she carried. He knew exactly what she was doing and understood the full meaning of her newest tune, she was almost daring the hall, challenging the craft at a basic level. He intended to demonstrate that she did not do so alone and without backing; Domick realised the power of music and it’s form more than almost anyone else alive today and there was no doubt in his mind of the part she would play in spreading new ideas and teaching, subtly influencing politics and societies. They were different composers in style and nature but at a fundamental level Domick and Menolly were kindred spirits, living and breathing music as they both did.

He cleaned up Menolly’s piece to show her and give a choice on a tight deadline, he’d been in the Hall most of his life and was well aware of the gossiping that went on, a juicy secret or scandal anywhere spread like a thread burrow and honestly he liked the young woman. She was talented, modest, not coy and had never used her position or gender to gain favour or manipulate without being on Rob’s orders. He appreciated her dedication and tenacity and had no intention of losing her to ignorant public shaming, nor was he under any illusions about the nature of the dynamic between Menolly and Robinton, the affection was mutual and dalliance consensual.  Menolly was a grown woman from a backwater hold that frequently wed girls at 14, then had them birth a babe every turn or two. Menolly by comparison was a craftswoman of unquestionable skill, able to support a child, not worn down by a hard life and repeated pregnancies from what he considered childhood.

Capable, intelligent, determined. Just like his own mother really he thought, but given the opportunity to learn.

She could handle the majority. He would have something to address the great and the good when word spread that a woman few people actually knew was having a baby with a man greatly admired but encountered by few, who was older and not married to the young lady in question. Domick did not appreciate idle tongue wagging.

He finally set down the staves as the birds began their predawn chorus, later than he'd thought but hardly an hour he was unfamiliar with, it was rather soothing really to listen to the near silence in a place that was filled dawn 'til dark with noise of varying standards. He wondered how things might be different by the next morning. He had full faith in Master Robinton but given his involvement he had to trust that his hall had learned lessons and practiced civility and compassion. He saw a firelizard rise above the turret and was struck by an idea, walking back to has rooms he began to compose the letter he needed to send.

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When Robinton approached her door that morning it was with a sense of trepidation that he hadn’t felt towards women since Kasia, at least in the same way. He’d thought over Silvina’s visit the night before (and had asked Zair his opinion, not that he’d own to doing so). Yes, he was The Masterharper and ought to have exercised more self control, their little friends were not the same as dragons in flight, only exerting persuasion and exciting hormones in their impressed human. Yes, he was too old for this father gig and he had certainly opened both of them up to a barrage of criticism, but this was their reality now and he was not about to make Menolly endure it alone. Especially if it could cost them the joy that had been so elusive in their personal lives and that they could potentially share together, no; he was thinking too far ahead. They still had to break the news to- well anyone really.

It was true that he had once felt only a paternal protectiveness over her and admiration for her  but that was before he had really known her, spent time with her as a person and trusted her so intimately. It was before she had gone from girl to woman and the recognition of her adulthood had come as rather a shock to him but broken one of the careful barriers he had erected. They had long since in most ways regarded each other as colleagues before the subtly different student-teacher relationship. He sent her on political errands, she had been known to match wits in the same way he did with the few he considered friends, he had in required circumstances allowed her to speak for him and leant his authority to her words. He sighed, a man such as himself, trained in reading people, an expert in the human condition should have recognised it sooner. Ought to have distanced himself or assigned her temporarily to another Master on ‘placement’. Still, he could not bring himself to regret their baby, and in one way he was freer to treat her as he wanted to openly instead of denying their attraction or affection.

   It was unlike Menolly to sleep late. Hard earned as the privilege of practising music and learning had been she never skived, did not take unauthorised absences, dragged herself to classes unless she contracted something particularly severe- usually acquired during authorised absences. Unfortunately it meant that her failure to attend would be noted by students, more unfortunately the missed class was in fact one she was teaching. A concerned apprentice, new, scrawny and bubbling with enthusiasm still had run to fetch a Master and just so happened to find him first.  

      He knocked on the door and opened it a crack only to find that she wasn’t asleep but staring down a cracker as though it was the most revolting thing she’d ever seen with watering eyes.  Her face was peaky and every muscle tensed while she apparently was performing breathing exercises with a dedication that would impress Shonagar himself. Her eyes flicked to him and she beckoned a welcome while managing to keep her head perfectly still.

“Your class has been covered, I’ve sent a junior journeyman in your place to cut his teeth a little, it will be good for him. Can I persuade you to see Silvina?” Menolly drew a measured breath,

“Honestly Robinton I’d rather not move from this position even a little right now. Some sweetening would be appreciated though if you can find some. I’m sorry, I should have been there, I left and was on my way when I got hit by a wave of something malodorous and barely made it to the necessary in time. I don’t yet trust my body to move without living to regret it.”

Master Robinton was almost relieved that she would not ignore her own needs to this extent,

“Next time just send Beauty to me with a message, I’m going to have your substitute take the early morning for now, we’ll switch you to a later class and see if the evening ones work better. You know if there’s anything you need..” the remaining colour drained from her face, “a bucket. Quick.” Snatching up the waste bin he held her hair out of the way as she was overtaken by retching, when it finally finished she was shaking. “That’s it, I’m fetching Silvina.” Menolly grabbed his hand impulsively and he sighed, Zair winked out to run the message on his behalf. Robinton silently cursed himself for not noticing before, how long had she been like this, alone? Too long he guessed. He sat quietly next to her just rubbing her back in circles until Silvina appeared at the door, she took one look at the miserable journeywoman, eyes flicking over the covered bucket and untouched cracker. “I’m moving you to a better suited room. With a necessary you don’t have to share.” Menolly didn’t argue. The benefit of a personal room attached far outweighed any drawbacks to being treated differently for appearances sake, this was how Silvina had discovered her the sevenday before. Silvina first removed the bucket, the smell would not help settle a stomach, “I brought you some mint tea, it may help and at least smells good. Is there anything you actually feel like eating?”  That at least raised a smile. “Yes actually. But it’s redfruit and dry bread that’s old enough to have lost it’s smell.” She grimaced, “I don’t like smells, so much so I may have to write a very rude and insulting song about them later!” Humour helped lighten the mood and Silvina smiled, at least Menolly hadn’t lost her ability to laugh yet, that helped a good deal in such situations.

“Well then redfruit and stale bread shall be sent up, have a wash, it’ll help you to feel normal and we’ll see you soon”, the Headwoman rose and left.

“Master I think it’s time. I missed a class, you’re temporarily changing the teacher, they need an explanation. I wanted more time, but it doesn’t seem like that is an option still open to us. Half the hall may as well be spies and I’d rather they heard from me than the old aunties’ maid!”

Robinton nodded thoughtfully. “Very well. Plan for after the evening meal, We’ll ventilate it a bit.” The last was softened by a slight quirk of his expressive lips. He was rewarded by a soft chuckle, “You’d better! Otherwise my stage performance may be compromised.” For the first time in a few days it really did feel like things were going to be okay,

“Best not disobey Silvina, go and have that wash when you can. I’ll notify Domick as to my awareness of you missing this morning and your intention to be there this afternoon for his but possible absence.”

“You were right you know master, he guessed. He doesn’t care, and not in the bad way, he just seems to think it irrelevant as long as I continue to pursue the craft, and I will.”

Robinton wondered if Menolly had thought about whether she’d foster or not yet, he doubted  it, too soon and yet she was the sort to consider the practical in a crisis ahead of emotional, unusual in a harper. He wanted and needed to let her take the lead on this.

“Master Robinton? Would you perhaps talk to the Masters and senior Journeymen about it being ours together before the hall at large finds out? If you talk to them first then  the shock and horror or recriminations won’t be gossip for ill mannered apprentices or sport. Whatever differences there are between Masters should stay between them.” He kissed her cheek at that, even now she displayed a rare understanding of craft and wisdom. She was going to be a great Master one day, and a wonderful mother.  “Don’t worry for me Menolly, I’ve faced down Ramoth and Mnementh, at least masters don’t have teeth.”

A drudge with the craved food items arrived at the door almost on cue, taking the plate and placing it on the table. Robinton left her then allowing her to go to the bathing room and have some time to herself before facing the world.

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Over the course of the afternoon Robinton managed to contact the senior masters of the hall to notify them of the information to become public that night, all except Morshall. His reaction was certain and others were not, Robinton was a little surprised when several requested a Masters meeting with Menolly present due to the complex nature of the parentage and the outcome. For all their mischief and drawbacks their little friends really could be a blessing at times for swift communication! By way of Zair and Beauty a meeting was set up for after supper on the basis that it was not an opportunity to humiliate the Journeywoman, make wild accusations, and that public acknowledgement would be delayed until the Masters had reached a consensus with Menolly and Robinton on how to proceed. Robinton noted how well she maintained her composure at the evening meal despite what she was expecting to be met with after it, she even managed to eat a little of it. Once the chore allocations were read out Robinton signalled the dismissal and all filed out until only the Masters were left, Morshall as per usual had vacated the hall to his rooms as soon as it ended, too wrapped up in himself to notice others were lingering.

    The agreed venue was the Masterharper’s meeting room, reserved for such functions and the men arrived to find wine, klah and pastry waiting, Silvina unobtrusively watching in the corner and Menolly sat at the ‘head’ of the table. Due to the equal rank of each master someone in the distant past had gifted the hall a solid round table to avoid egos disrupting proceedings, as a result the ‘head’ was denoted by seat only and in the place usually occupied by  Robinton sat Menolly. It was a clear indication of how the dynamic of the meeting was to be and the conduct expected. Placing her effectively in control provided her with the right to refuse to answer questions while simultaneously affirming her adult status and competence.

Her new Master had said nothing more on the matter and Jerint barely noticed other hall occupants unless they shared his love of instrument craft, she doubted he would care overly much given his lack of involvement in the more social and political functions of harpers. The others she was less certain of, Morshall was notable by his absence thank Faranth, but the fact remained that a special meeting had been requested  and some of the apprentices too curious for their own good would notice.

That it had drawn Shonagar from his hall unsettled her, especially when he waved aside the snacks peremptorily, “We weren’t  summoned just so that you could have company for a late night picnic Rob so let’s get on with it shall we.” His voice never sounded any less mesmerising regardless of mood Menolly thought absently although he was the only one in the hall to call the Masterharper that, Master Robinton nodded an acknowledgement.

“No sadly not, although the company is pleasant tonight. Be seated all.”

“As I expect you have already surmised I will not be conducting tonight’s gathering, I will however open by saying that it is not done under formal circumstance, no minutes need be

taken, and anyone who cannot be civil is not welcome to stay for the remainder. It is a gathering of the collective wisdom and considerations of the hall Masters, speak freely within these walls tonight. “

Robinton seated himself in the decidedly less comfortable chair next to Menolly as the various Masters looked at each other and at the scene before them, as the room settled Menolly began.

“Please listen to what I have to say before passing judgement and interrupting, there will be time for all to speak their peace before retiring and for questions to be asked.

“When I came to this hall I brought with me nine firelizards, I came from a quiet Hold and had so much to prove, everyone sitting here tonight have enabled me to prove myself and break traditions that have held Pern back and restricted our understanding. You all showed me the truth of our craft, the possibilities and I have learned from everyone present more than I ever expected to be shown. I want to thank you all for your  teaching, guidance and generosity of spirit. I also wish to express my gratitude for the tolerance and friendship you have extended towards my winged friends in their youth.

Today I sit with you as a harpress. I want to tell you together and avoid the spread of insidious rumours that about a  sevenday ago it was found that I am pregnant, I have chosen to have the baby and wish to raise him or her in the craft as far as possible.” She cast a long look at Robinton on her right and he almost imperceptibly nodded, “We have consulted the Master healer and confirmed through their expertise that the timing would make Robinton the child’s father when Zair flew Beauty.” There was an audible intake of breath around the table as several tongues were firmly bitten.

“I want you all to understand this was not against my will. Unplanned but not against my will. I fully intend to continue my studies towards attaining Mastery but for obvious reasons will now be doing so under Master Domick  instead of Robinton. For any here who are in doubt of my legitimacy of rank now I am willing to prove that and although it is not strictly your concern  Master Robinton and I were not engaged in any romantic or sexual relationship prior to the one off occasion of the firelizard flight.” She couldn’t help the blush that suffused her at that but was relieved her voice remained steady. “

I am sure you all know of male journeymen currently resident or journeying who have acted less responsibly and more wildly so would ask you to think first before making accusations that ultimately boil down to gender. The reason for this meeting is that I wished you all to know before it became a matter of gossip and guessing, whatever is said tonight is between Masters stays between us. In public we represent our craft with dignity.”

 There followed an awkward silence as the men collected their thoughts and were in several cases confronted uncomfortably with deep seated prejudices they had not been aware of. Domick watched proceedings quietly but looked straight at Menolly and gave a barely perceptible nod of approval.

Shonagar was the first to break the silence, his rich voice almost soothing to Menolly after the silence. “If anyone here wishes to pass judgement let it not be directed solely at this Journeywoman but more than jointly towards the Father of her child, who ought to have known better, mature as he is. Given Master Domick’s silence and Menolly’s reallocation I assume he was already aware of this development, I take that as an indication of your willing acceptance and lack of concern about the potential implications?”

Domick inclined his head, “It did occur to me that relationships between responsible adults are not my concern if their dedication to the craft is not impaired and musicality remains. As Menolly’s skill is not in doubt given her performance history of my more challenging compositions, her rank earned at a young age, taking up to a turn out will not in fact delay her Mastery long.”

Shonagar gave him a pointed look, he was old enough to remember Domick’s arrival as a bulshy and defensive apprentice, “Perhaps. This however involves The Master of our craft and his integrity will be scrutinised as a result. You know perfectly well that this is craft business and there must be some planning for such a major transition, just as I prepare students for the day their voice changes whilst concentrating on their present skills and lives. Do not insult Menolly’s intelligence by trivialising this, and you know better than to play our resident performer.”

     Domick grimaced, dry meetings and intrusive interviews irritated him, almost as much as being called out publicly, he did respect the Voice Master though and knew what he raised was accurate.

“Robinton, you did right in reassigning Journeywoman Menolly upon being informed of her pregnancy but I am sure you’re aware of the many ways it could be misinterpreted, particularly by those wishing to deride her or exploit this mishap. You did not behave responsibly Robinton. Before further comment I wish to know if you both have resolved questions around your relationship and how you will answer the questions about that?” For the first time that night Menolly dropped her eyes and a faint blush coloured her cheeks, Shonagar nodded slowly, eyeing the Masterharper and seeing the same questions in the depth of those eyes. “Well then it seems that the two of you have much to discuss before I can ask or offer any more.” Menolly’s throat had started to feel dry and scratchy.

The one angry chauvinist that was present had turned a rather impressive purple colour by now and could no longer hold back, “Sharding right it was irresponsible! This is what happens when you allow women to mock a man’s craft, when you pander to girlish demands. The slut should have stayed at the weyr with her loose ways and corruption! She’s obviously used her sex to buy a journeying status. It’s journeyman.  How do you even know it’s yours Robinton? Can the girl prove it? No. She can’t. Ever.” He was utterly incensed, spitting as he yelled vituperatively.

     How dare she cheapen his craft, he’d always known the lizards were trouble. Always hated them- snakes with wings, that’s what they were, and once she had arrived so dramatically bringing nine of the repulsive things everyone above apprentice level seemed to want one of the vermin. He must have been thinking it too hard as all of them suddenly rose to haunches hissing at him, no wonder no one had the balls to tell her straight. It never occurred to the man that he innately felt threatened by the creatures as they served the same purpose as drums, only with the advantage of privacy. He wasn’t the type to see or acknowledge flaws in himself, and it was so much easier to blame Menolly and the things, he was glad they’d finally proven their true damaging natures so obviously.

No one would ignore something so heinous, and certainly no man would ever take on a tainted women like herself who also cared more for harpering than for anyone’s wellbeing. She’d be alone with them and serve her right! Consumed by his fury he failed to note the stunned looks at his lack of decorum and apparent hate. No one knew him very well but he’d never openly demonstrated such hatred.

“Get out. You have made your opinion very clear and are not welcome to stay at a meeting for adults with self control.” Robinton’s voice was cold and calm, his features set and adopted stance uncompromising”. Still blistering the air with curses Olodkey swept from the room and slammed the door behind them.

Menolly’s hands were trembling in spite of her efforts to control them, Shonagar didn’t miss the gesture of Robinton’s long fingers curling around hers to still them. It was both reassuring and concerning. He knew Rob, he’d only ever loved one woman as much as his music but he acknowledged his son even when Camo was capable only of drudging, Menolly’s heart was involved, Rob was harder to read and Shonagar was fond enough of the harper girl to wish her unhurt.

Jerint was a man accustomed to patience, watching and waiting strategically in his area of the craft and did the same in meetings such as this one. There were many ways to view most situations, this one would need careful handling, like the creation of a beautiful fiddle, imprudent handling could sour the tone completely.

Taking a sip of his drink he began, “I agree with previous comments about irresponsibility, there is a lack of care demonstrated but this is your reality now, what if’s are a waste of energy and regrets are not constructive, so what we must do is concentrate on how best to facilitate the Masterharper and Journeywoman Menolly in their continuing contribution to the Harper craft.

If I may suggest something?” Menolly signalled him to continue, Jerint may be quiet but when he did speak it was worth listening to his contributions.

“I am not convinced that Menolly necessarily must stop journeying for the full length of this pregnancy. The typical hold may exhibit ignorance or discriminate but we are not far from Fort Weyr and she already has friends at Benden, both of whom currently have harpers who are impressed and could use someone with Menolly’s experience. If when the time comes that travelling is safe she is feeling well enough a short placement may offer some respite and count towards her Mastery. It would of course be her decision to make at that time.” To Menolly’s surprise there were murmurs of agreement around the table, she wondered idly how many at the table had been in Robinton’s position in the past, how many women like her they had left behind.

It wasn’t the time for that sort of questioning though. She wasn’t naive enough to believe that reactions behind closed doors were the ones she could expect in public. Even harpers could be drawn into the crowd sometimes or worry about the way they would be perceived, a legitimate concern for those in teaching positions.

Tonight it didn’t matter, she had the backup of at least some masters and it was enough, exhaling heavily she called Zair to her; if the fact she could do so surprised some of the men present Menolly didn’t notice. She took a small piece of parchment from the table drawer and tied it to Zair’s leg then thought the instructions to him, the little bronze gave a chirp that sounded distinctly disapproving and vanished.

“Zair has gone to summon Master Morshall now that the rest of you have had the opportunity to voice any concerns without being drowned out by an opinion that he has already made very clear. With regards to the classes I currently teach the most likely outcome is that we will introduce a classroom assistant, either a very senior apprentice or junior Journeyman who needs or wants extra credit as a training exercise.”

At that moment the door swung open as Morshall entered gracelessly, he was at his most obnoxious when feeling slighted or aggrieved and it wore all the Masters down, even those who initially had agreed with him that the hall was not a place for women and questioned the value in educating them. “What is the meaning of this?! I was enjoying the one small part of the day when I am not swamped by ignorant, apathetic boys and suddenly there’s a demented flutterbug in my rooms diving at me chittering like a swarm of apprentices!”

Robinton had to suppress a smile at the sheer ridiculousness of the man, he was never sure how the egotist had managed to achieve his Mastery but Genell had always had his reasons and yet for decades it had managed to elude the man that the reason he was baited so much was the reaction he gave and the sense of victimisation he maintained.

“Ah Master Morshall I am glad you could join us, I assume then that my Zair found you after all, please take a seat.” He grumbled and muttered something non-committal, he couldn’t see any difference between the creatures and tended to default to the assumption that any one to irritate him belonged to her, Robinton’s jovial tone was not to be trusted either.

Seeing no point in delaying the inevitable outburst Menolly decided on the direct approach, tact would do her no good with him and anything else would cause him to believe she was ashamed of herself. “Master Morshall you were invited here tonight so that the Masters are the first but Oldive to know that I am carrying Robinton’s baby, I will be continuing in the craft and pursuing my mastery. Understand this is a courtesy recognising the position of the teaching Hall Masters to prevent you hearing corruptions via apprentice gossip, it is not done seeking the masters validation, permission or accepting abuse. I owe you nothing and do not study under you and neither parent is a child.”

Domick quirked an eyebrow at her defensive speech that bordered on the patronising, apparently five turns of tolerating that old gasbag’s fork tail was enough.

For a moment Morshall was stunned into silence then his face darkened twisting into an almost sinister sneer that had Beauty and her bronzes rising to their haunches with hissing; “Well, well, the weyrslut finally fell from her perch. You really think you can stay in the hall now and blacken our reputation with you immorality and whoring? Think again. You’ll be driven from us, away from civilised folk just as your own kin disowned you!”

Robinton rose then, cold wrath evident on his features belying the too calm voice in which he spoke. “Dismissed. I will discuss your abusive behaviour to those of lesser rank and greater skill in my office tomorrow morning, your class will be taken by another more trusted Master, understood?” Morshall looked around the room and was surprised to find no one spoke in his

defence, the girl had coloured the Masterharper’s judgement, could they not see how she had manipulated him? “You know it’s true. Cowards the lot of you! Destroying us by your weakness.”

As he stormed out contemptuously there was an uncomfortable silence over the room. They had all expected his anger towards Menolly but he had gone further even than that, most disturbing of all he had openly derided the entire senior staff and cast doubt on their cognitive abilities and moral standing. That more than anything would need addressing, it would wait for another meeting though without Menolly and Silvina present.

“If no one else has anything to add tonight I think now would be a good time to end our gathering. I think the easiest route to take now would be to explain to Menolly’s morning class the reason for their substitute teacher and just allow the apprentices to do the rest, we answer the questions honestly and it makes any announcement unnecessary, the more normal and casually we behave with regards to our expected addition the less unusual and scandalous it may be treated.  Are we in accord?” There was a ripple of consensus.

Silvina went to Menolly as the men filed from the room, most of them deep in reflection. In a way she thought, Morshall had done them a favour by demonstrating just what bitterness and prejudice could turn them into, his accusation of cowardice had challenged them and his vile words shocked them enough to jolt one or two into examining their private opinions in a wider sense than just the harper girl- no she corrected herself, not girl. Menolly had been a woman for a long time, not really a child even when she had come to them. The now Headwoman had once turned Robinton’s proposal down gently and lightly said there were too many to love , Silvina was not a woman to harbour jealousy and cared for Menolly as a daughter. Even though they both loved the Harper neither could ever have been rivals nor would be. She sincerely hoped though that Menolly’s babe would not be like Camo. She loved him no less but sometimes it was hard to watch him struggle. Privately she also thought Jerint’s suggestion of a weyr placement was a very good idea for when a break would be useful. Menolly was no drudge or even ancillary staff but perhaps it was time, if anyone could force a reshuffle in societies perception it was Robinton and Menolly. She hugged the younger woman close and whispered an encouragement before following the others quietly out leaving the two new parents alone to talk.

Chapter Text

 Robinton smiled softly at his Journeywoman and raised a hand to her cheek and stroked gently with his thumb, appreciating her unusual height. “You did well tonight.” He remembered a time he’d felt similarly to tonight standing before the then Lord of Tillek and quelled that quickly. Menolly was not Kasia and was not going to fade before her time, he would make sure of it.

“It was a good performance for those that needed to see you composed.”

“Well I did learn from the best.” Robinton grimaced at the honesty of her quip.

Menolly fell silent for a long moment, her fingers involuntarily tightening around his own, “Robinton I don’t want to be wed. I love you more than any other man I’ve known and I think I always will, but I don’t need that to understand you care and will love our child. You belong to the hall, to all harpers everywhere and too many people would misread such a mating as done out of shame and a lack of any other choice. If I were ever to take a husband I would not be willing to do so in a bow shot wedding and certainly not simply to spare the delicate sensibilities of certain Holderfolk and hidebound Aunties scrabbling for gossip fodder. I think… I think Master that some of us just aren’t meant to live the ballad.” She was biting her lip when she finished sadly, having adopted the nervous habit in place of fiddling with hair now cropped short, though it had begun to curl past the nape of her neck again lately, symbolic of the time it had been since she had last been between.

“You may be right in that, but dear one” he tilted her head up and flicked off a lone tear from her cheek, “Some of us just have a longer story and more intricate refrain.” They stood that way until Robinton realised Menolly’s lids were closed more from sheer exhaustion than anything else and she was no longer holding herself up unaided. He was old but thankfully less decrepit than some preferred to believe him to be and swept her up into his arms to carry her through to her own chambers. His were closer but he suspected he’d be under subtle surveillance by several Masters for a while making the easier option foolishness. She felt the same as she had the first day he had met her, carrying a blushing girl from the burning sands completely unaware of her significance, it brought a warm smile of remembrance to his face, genuine and soft this time and he found he could not regret anything with Menolly. She was his joy. An old man he was now but it was hard to remember that in the presence of one who lived every moment wholly and with such passion. He had believed once that a heart could be given only once and had felt safe in that conviction and she had taken his certainties and cast them away like yesterdays glows. How could he regret any of that?

She was already snoring gently when he laid her down on the bed and he had to chuckle when Uncle and Rocky joined her in an odd sort of harmony, especially considering her usual grace and dignity. He removed the scuffed shoes and drawing the furs carefully over her gently kissed her  forehead, he maintained his own poise until the heavy doors of his apartments closed behind him, only then did he allow himself to examine and consider her words regarding any commitment as Robinton-the-man. It ought not to hurt him, he certainly hadn’t planned consciously to ask it of her and scorned those so-called men who regarded impregnating a woman the same way they saw staking a claim to land. Yet it did, it caused a dull ache in him  knowing where he stood right now and he was unsure whether he was relieved that she had been the one to reject the possibility out of hand or grieved at the loss of something he’d never even believed they had a chance at. Was it any wonder that so very many of the songs written were of the human heart? Wine. He checked the back room, oh blessed Silvina, there was a fresh skin waiting and while he doubted the answer was also hidden within it perhaps the release of sleep was. He sure as the star was going to need it in the morning.

------------------------

Menolly was roused by Beauty not long after sunrise and groaned, she had very recently discovered the art of holding her body completely and totally still and blessed Master Shonager for his obsession with proper breath control and focusing on the techniques. She wished the tapping would stop- shards! Tapping. Knocking. Someone making the knocking. With agonising slowness the neurons began to fire until she realised someone was at the door. Not yet trusting her rebellious body to move without vomiting or her mind to function adequately until after a cup of klah she tried to project her voice appropriately. “Come in! It’s open.” At least she hoped it was. Her recollection of last night was a little fragmented, it was a hazard of early mornings with multiple firelizard perspectives jostling against her own.

The door opened a crack and someone slipped in with a tray, someone mercifully quiet she realised. Very, very slowly Menolly raised herself to sitting and smiled her gratitude as the girl handed her a mug of steaming klah, and a plate of dry toast, nodding was too risky still. She felt a spark of recognition when she met the drudge’s eyes and saw something more there than detached service. There was a name, something about the girl she ought to remember and couldn’t quite reach, it hit her as she took a sip of the klah, Lisette. Her name was Lisette and she had arrived earlier in the turn with one of the paying students as a ‘maid’ despite all assurances that provision was made for all those who studied at the hall, and had remained in the service of the decorative barnacle until about six sevendays ago when Menolly had stumbled across the wherfaced ‘student’ belting the poor child.

The girl’s ‘owner’ as she described herself had insisted she was only disciplining a recalcitrant drudge who was simply too stupid to understand anything else. None of the paying students knew Camo’s parentage.

Upon seeing the fresh wounds that were being laid down upon old scars and noting a poorly healed break, she had removed Lisette from whatever her name had been and refused to allow anyone to serve until Robinton had conducted a full inquiry and authorised it. It appeared the Holder’s daughter had a long history of cruelty towards those she deemed of lesser value and The Master had contacted Lord Larad with a report and notification of her expulsion. It was unfortunate for the sadistic girl that he was her over-Lord and had had more than enough of power hungry, spoiled, manipulative women to deal with. He was no doting father she could manage. The hall had taken Lisette on as staff and in just the few weeks of relative freedom she looked different enough to tax Menolly’s recognition.

More curious than anything Menolly decided to see if she spoke, sometimes drudges could not, more often they were just so used to being ignored or having the assumption of vapidness made they didn’t try to engage, or as in Lisette’s case were simply afraid of overstepping boundaries. Harpers were known to be less inflexible in that assumption however and it was not so long ago really that Menolly herself had been nursing Old Uncle, scrubbing greens and taking food to Petiron. More notably the Benden Weyrwoman had been a drudge and ‘drudge’ was the most common disguise any harper used to gather information.

“Good morning Lisette” Her usually velvety alto still had the sound of sleep but she couldn’t help the grin at Lisette’s reaction to hearing her name. Menolly wondered when she had last heard it from someone other than Silvina. The reply was stammered and hesitant but just loud enough to hear, “Guid mornin’ miss”. Menolly smiled, as focused on universal literacy and linguistic preservation as the hall was she sometimes missed the rural accents that were so delightfully varied, not that she’d dare utter such a sentiment around Masters Shonagar or Arnor!

“Headwoman Silvina asked if ye would like some redfruit afore ye come down miss, an’ I’m to take your washin’ down iffen that’s acceptable to ye miss”.

Menolly smiled, Silvina didn’t miss a trick, “That would be very helpful Lisette and you may tell Silvina that I would appreciate some of her redfruit, perhaps you’d be able to assist with feeding my friends after the morning meal? Piemur seems to have disappeared lately and Diver misses him.” Menolly wondered at the look of apprehension that crossed Lisette’s face at the offer  but the drudge was unaccustomed to having a choice of any kind, she knew that feeling.

Muttering an affirmative she near fled from the room leaving Menolly confused but finally able to sit without nausea overwhelming her. Faranth’s egg it couldn’t wear off quick enough!

            Some time later after a bath and a dash to the necessary and a firelizard feeding with an extremely nervous drudge Menolly trudged into the mess hall and waited for the silent judgement of the Masters who now knew or thought they knew her in a different way. She hoped that her appearance did not match the way she felt and was glad to be seated near a window that allowed fresh air in and made the smells just a little less torturous. She did not fail to notice the appraising looks cast at her when it was announced Journeyman Timiny would be taking her class and that Master Talmor would be teaching Morshall’s until further notice. The second change caused a wave of whispering to go around the room.  It was in essence a public suspension from duty that only occurred if there was an inquiry centred around the Crafter concerned. Menolly was tempted to close her eyes to shut out the calculations she could see clearly, the connections being made, some accurate and others ridiculously wide of the mark. She wondered if Timiny knew. He was a nice kid but still quite innocent for a journeyman, particularly a harper.  He was more likely than any other to give her the benefit of any doubt and restrain himself among gossips. It would be his first teaching trial and she hoped it would go smoothly.  The class usually did and lacked the trouble that some were known for but then Menolly had always been an engaging teacher. If he needed help he knew where she was though and it was a good opportunity for the boy to grow in his craft. No harper learned every skill at the hall but every Harper learned to teach. Robinton and his predecessor had both held firm that there was no point in training someone in a skill that they would be unable to pass on to an interested youth, noting that there was a decrease in critical skills and a loss of knowledge that had to be prevented as far as possible. It was a view that had drawn Master Fandarel into a friendship with the Harper and had ruffled some feathers but if a person wished to advance beyond very junior Journeyman they learned to educate others. The only negative outgrowth of this appeared to be Morshall.

The senior Masters had met before the morning meal as they occasionally did to discuss the day’s business to address Master Morshall’s disgraceful behaviour the previous night. Enough thought had gone into reviewing his display after the night’s meeting had broken up that it had been decided to put him on probation and consider a stripping of his rank subject to the outcome of an investigation into his behaviour. A few of the Master’s had been concerned at his complete lack of self control and made the point that if he was willing to behave so in front of his peers his behaviour may in fact be worse when no one of rank was witness. It had prompted them to quietly arrange some interviews with Morshall’s students to gather information and to place a box in the corner of the classroom. Master Talmor had been instructed to explain that it was to allow those who wished to remain anonymous to make a report or request.

Talmor had been selected to take over specifically because his temperament was so completely different to Morshall’s in order to make a clean break. In place of a sullen and brooding darkness he was open and smiling, instead of terse and mocking he was encouraging and patient. He was not resentful of apprentices but took pride in his work and tried to instill that pride in his students and to Menolly’s surprise he had come to  breakfast clean shaven after four turns of tending a full beard apparently intending to avoid as many physical similarities as possible. If as a result of her pregnancy Morshall was removed the sickness just might be worth it she thought, holding her breath as a plate of porridge was carried past her. Standing, she left the hall before breakfast was finished, walking as smoothly as she had ever done and closing her eyes upon breathing the fresh air outside.

She felt a light touch on her arm and turning was surprised to see it was  Domick. He turned over her palm and pressed a silver key into it, quickly wrapping her fingers over it, “For my study and the back room. Threadfall’s tonight and the hall will be full of fools and food.” She no longer misread the gruffness in his voice, knowing that he was a man of actions who expressed himself best in music and poorly in these situations verbally. Her throat closed as he turned on his heel to leave and slip back to the head table. “Thank you, Master” she managed and saw him nod once. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected but this was not it.

        Menolly stared at the key in her hand for a long moment, feeling it burn into her palm.  It covered her scar  and in that instant she knew it didn’t matter where she was, she would always be Menolly, the first woman Harper. She took off at a brisk pace to the rooms she had been granted as a refuge and put pen to parchment as soon as she found it in a deep drawer. Domick was right, she may have trouble keeping up with herself for a while.

Chapter Text

Silvina had discreetly watched Lisette’s interactions with the firelizards from a distance.  It confirmed her suspicions about some of the older, better healed scars, they were made by firelizards, that was worrying and she knew would require some digging. If her conclusions were favourable towards the girl she intended to assign her to Menolly as a personal drudge but she had to be sure first that the child would cope with the firelizard fair.

By leaving early Menolly had managed to avoid the swarming harpers as they spilled into the courtyard but had also added fuel to the rumour mill, she desperately hoped to resume teaching the first class soon yet was so exhausted that she feared her own studies may begin to suffer if she pushed for that. If they gave her a teaching assistant though it could work, Timiny was competent but irritated her after a while, one of the journeymen who were best taken in small doses. Doses. Teaching….she needed Dermently, he knew the archives better than anyone with the exception of Master Arnor, Menolly left at a pace brisker than any she’d attempted for over a week leaving sheets strewn on the desk with half jotted down tunes.

Where were the teaching songs for women? Surely there had to be at least one, there were fishing songs, mining songs, lewd songs, bitter songs, joyful songs, songs about harvesting, about the trials of men and their comings of age. So where were the songs for women and young girls specifically?

She found Dermently in his usual place, he ruled the archives in the morning and taught later in the day.  Now a Master he had taken over the bulk of Arnor’s tasks as the old man’s sight faded away and had ‘tapped’ an apprentice of his own. At her request to see the section for women’s songs and in particular the teaching songs he was shocked, then puzzled as he considered her question. It hadn’t occurred to him before but now that she raised it, as though it was obvious there would be some, he realised how very few useful songs he had that were intended to teach girls. He helped her search the shelves where such things would be and after an hour of sifting through the recorded music the two of them had found three that fitted the terms of Menolly’s search.  She regarded the table where they sat with open disdain.

“Half the population. We make up half of all Pern Dermently and we get three songs?! One of which is so repulsive and infuriating I can’t understand why you still have it stored in here!”

Damn hormones, she was on the brink of tears, anger was more acceptable in the hall for some reason.

“For historical integrity Menolly. We keep it to remember those who suffered under such teachings and to protect ourselves from repeating mistakes with history being rewritten. We keep it to remember.”

It made sense she supposed but left only two songs that were actually for women, it vividly demonstrated the structure of their society and the gaps in education and opportunity. No more she decided, she may not be able to rearrange Pern the way Robinton did but this was a gap that she could fill. All harper Journeymen had to submit a project and dissertation to be reviewed by the Hall Masters, Menolly had just found hers.

She schooled her expression and turn to the acting Master Archivist,

“Thank you Dermently for your help, it means more than you know.” He smiled, it was nice to be thanked after dealing with apprentices who so often forgot, he didn’t correct her statement, just handed her a sheaf of staves.

“Good luck reaching the masses.” He meant it, Dermently was intimately familiar with the problems created by stifling learning and Menolly was a friend, as well as being one of his most frequent visitors for more supplies.

She left with a mess of melodies swirling in the back of her mind and topics competing for her attention and so focused that she walked straight into Master Talmor, the unexpected jolt sent a wave of nausea through her and she blanched and sat very carefully down on the ground concentrating on breathing. Talmor nodded and picked up the staves she had dropped.

“Can I take you to Silvina?” His voice was full of concern, a tone that was beginning to get very annoying, especially from single men.   

“No. You can’t.” She knew it was terse but words required not controlling her breathing sufficiently. Wanting to escape she got hurriedly to her feet intending to snatch the sheaf and stalk to Domick’s rooms, instead she instantly realised it was a terrible choice and vomited into the gutter. Chagrined and feeling embarrassed she found that it  was Talmor’s arms supporting her and hoped the parchment was safe.  He saw her look,

“They’re ok Menolly, I’ll ensure they reach the right place. You are going to Silvina right now, and I’m taking you because otherwise you won’t go!” She found it was simply too much energy to argue and having lost her dignity already she didn’t want to damage it any more by openly bickering with a friend who was trying blindly to help her.

Talmor delivered her into Silvina’s office who promptly handed Menolly a ginger infusion and dry biscuit she apparently had on hand and sat her down.  Noting the distinctive scent Talmor raised an eyebrow in surprise but managed not to say anything tactless.

       “Well, why are you still here? Don’t you have a class waiting? Off you go, Shoo!” Silvina was possibly the only person in the hall who could speak so to a master and have instant obedience, for himself Talmor was grateful she’d sent him away and saved him from himself, aware that he had been gawking at Menolly before Silvina’s merciful intervention. Still clutching the supplies she had dropped he set off at a run, living as long as he had in the hall a man got to know the short cuts and passageways which wound through it. Today it would save him from being late to his first class as Morshall’s replacement.

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          “Thanks Silvina” Menolly looked ruefully over the mug at the Headwoman, “I moved too suddenly in frustration and… Does it ever get any easier?” Silvina shot her an intense look and replied without missing a beat.

“No. Never. It never becomes easier now, but it is ever changing and never stagnant. I don’t know a healer in history who has ever succeeded in making pregnancy ‘easy’, and the person who discovers how to make being a parent easy will be a very wealthy man or woman.” She softened her response with a smile that Menolly returned. She’d already known the answer really but some things had to be said and some questions always had to be asked just to hear the answer spoken aloud.

“Sit until you can move about without losing the biscuit and you can go when you are ready.”

Silvina left and Menolly stared at the liquid in her mug, it was unfamiliar but at least the smell didn’t turn her stomach. The calm helped ease her remaining tension and her mind turned back to the project she had so recently conceived of.  She wondered what Domick would think of it and whether she would have his approval in this endeavour. Dermently had reminded her earlier that harpers were so much more than mere musicians, the hall acted as a repository of knowledge, they tuned society, they were record keepers and fundamental to the justice systems.

When she was finally able to stand again without a problem, Menolly set off for Domick’s office. She had an hour or two before her next class with which to start planning her final major piece before she could hope for her Mastery and was beginning to feel a sense of anticipation in spite of her body failing to co operate.

“You look surprisingly pleased with yourself there.” Menolly was startled from her reverie by her new master’s voice and looked up to see him lounging against the doorframe

“Actually sir, there is something I would appreciate your input on if you’ve a few minutes to spare before you’re due somewhere else. Given I’m essentially grounded for a while and only have the final placement and dissertation left I have a proposal for you to look over that I think has not been done before.”

Domick was intrigued, he liked people who were intelligent and could surprise him, Menolly was challenging  and very few harpers could ever present him with a true challenge. She watched him carefully as he read her draft plan and saw his thick eyebrows climb higher. When he reached the end he took the seat next to her and looked piercingly at her as he spoke,

“Are you sure about this? It’s a risk right now. If you are certain that you wish to use the history and collected wisdom of women as your final submission I will be happy to work with you on it.  In any event it will be far less dull than reading yet another analysis of harper hall development or barbaric dissection of classic sagas. If you are going to do this, do it with confidence and conviction. Be uncompromising. Otherwise you do your sex no favours and they are better having only two dedicated songs and two epics, I’m crediting fatigue for you forgetting Moreta’s ride and Lessa’s, those are stored in the section specific to dragonriders.”

Domick smiled warmly at her and she wondered how he was thought to be so cold, “Well I’m happy to sign off on this and authorise you to study it in an official capacity,” he cleared his throat and put his seal to the brief. “If that’s all, you are teaching compositional theory to a rabble of senior apprentices in ten minutes so you’d best go now, I want to see a revised copy of that proposal by the end of the week and will see you for practice tonight. Dismissed.”

It was odd how things worked, Menolly mused as she made her way to the classroom, if she’d been concentrating on her departure for fieldwork she highly doubted she’d have discovered the lack of teaching for women and identified it as part of the perpetuated disparity of male and female opportunities. She certainly couldn’t have addressed it in any way until her return to the hall. Tomorrow she’d make an appointment with Silvina to discuss her project and seek her permission to begin her research.

Chapter Text

 Talmor had taught many classes at several different levels but he had never seen a group of pupils exhibit such raw fear in a classroom, it was palpable as soon as he walked in. There was no low rumble of conversation as the apprentices settled down, no apparent class clown to attempting to needle the ‘new’ teacher, the boys watched him the way he would have watched a tunnel snake found on his pillow and it rang  every alarm bell he had. Over the course of the next hour he was horrified to discover how patchy the boys understanding was and that there was not one question asked. By the end of his first class Talmor had been forced to conclude that the only fair way to address their inadequate foundation was to begin again and in essence resit the entire turn. To do so he would need Master Robinton’s approval. His biggest concern was the fear though, the apprentices exhibited abnormal apprehension and Talmor intended to remedy it, there was an expectation of older apprentices to informally support younger or more junior ones. Apparently that informality had disadvantaged Morshall’s students and the older apprentices who didn’t have the experience to deal with some of the emerging problems. He already had a mental list of seniors he planned to ask to enroll in a trial mentoring program and train to deal with more complicated issues that might arise.

Even if Morshall was permitted to stay in the hall Talmor had absolutely no intention of allowing him to teach again or abuse his position further. In fact the more he learned, the more certain he was that exile was the best course of action, but fortunately the duty of taking the final decision would never fall to him and it was a task he did not envy Robinton.

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Menolly was relieved to get through her senior apprentice class without any complications or awkward questions.  She had always looked forward to Domick’s classes and enjoyed them but she now found herself anticipating them in a new way. Practices and sessions for such advanced Journeymen as herself were always rather informal in recognition of the imminence of their transition to equal rank and a level of skill that created a sense of comradery.

Now the prospect of a rehearsal with Domick, Talmor and whoever her new ‘Master’ chose as a fourth while Sebell was out of the hall filled her with a sense of calm and tranquillity quite at odds with her current dominant state of mind.

        She was surprised to find that she was the first one to arrive and examining the pieces they were doing today, ran through the positions on the different instruments. She was surprised when Talmor crossed in front of her to bring over sufficient music stands for all the players.

She tried to ignore the long look he gave her and failed, turning with a sigh towards him; “What? What is it Talmor that is bothering you so much that you’ve been staring at me as though I could bite you?”

He took a step back in surprise when Menolly rounded on him, it wasn’t like her yet when he thought back he realised that recently she’d been far more unpredictable than the usual stable, confident woman he was used to working with, he was beginning to worry about his friend. More so as he began to notice patterns in her behaviour.

“Look, I don’t want you to take this wrongly because it’s not meant as an insult but I’m worried about you and I know you’ve been sick for a while now,” Menolly groaned inwardly, she was so sure she’d managed to keep that quiet, “I know you aren’t in your old room as I came over to drop some extra supplies to find it bare and you are stubbornly attached to that room for all it’s draughty and away from the main accommodation. Silvina didn’t seem concerned earlier and she may as well be the hall healer so is there any news you have been carefully not sharing?  If my guess is correct I would be happy to help if I can and support your lack of sharing.”

Talmor had kept an eye on her firelizards knowing they acted as a fairly accurate indicator of Menolly’s emotions and reactions, particularly sensitive to any need for defence they sensed or attacks on their mistress. Menolly couldn’t help the chuckle that spilled from her,

“Talmor that is quite possibly the most over cautious personal question I have heard from a harper in all my time within these walls, I appreciate the inept effort to ask gently. Yes, you guess correctly, I suspect you are not the only one either, only the bravest or most foolhardy of all, or maybe it’s just that you can speak freely because you are my friend. I hope it’s the last one. All I can tell you as yet is that yes I am pregnant and it is a recent discovery. Oldive estimates the babe is due around turnover, Silvina knows and was the one to notice, and the father is Master Robinton.”

She added the last in a rush and heard Talmor suck in his breath at that having listened quite calmly to the rest apparently completely undisturbed by it; Domick must have been listening at the door Menolly thought as he entered at that moment not allowing Talmor the chance to respond immediately to her.

“You knew as well then sir.” It wasn’t a question and Master Domick inclined his head towards him,

“Well there were not many possible reasons for Menolly to be switched from being Master Robinton’s special to my own and don’t think I hadn’t made the argument before.”

Domick’s voice was gruff and it reassured Talmor that his friend was in the right place, he knew that the man sounded so when he cared and did not wish to show that he was not quite as rough as was commonly believed.

“Enough chatter. Take your seats and stop wasting time on gossip, Talmor first fiddle, Menolly first guitar. In the interests of curbing the apparent outbreak of auntie-like blethering with no relevance to music Menolly will also learn the flute part in the next two sevendays and Talmor the kora part, Timiny now that you have seen fit to join us you may start with the second guitar and will also be expected to know second fiddle by that time.”

        Talmor and Menolly smothered the amusement at his nervous obedience.  She doubted that he would be late again, Timiny was still unaccustomed to working with Domick or indeed any Masters in such an informal setting. As much as she found he irritated her after a while Menolly recognised that it would be beneficial to his teaching though to foster self confidence in his musical skills, and if they were lucky it might make him easier to be around.

Timiny had been confident as an apprentice as part of a group and was trying to find that sense of belonging again, that was something that participation in a small and intensive group of musicians ought to help with, it had certainly helped Menolly when she came to the hall and that was a much harder task.

Domick raised his hands and all thoughts of anything but the music were banished, all contributing equally to the joy of the other three as the music flowed through them all.

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         For Menolly the next day started in much the same way but with the huge improvement of an en suite necessary and bathing room.  If nothing else the upgrade would out her, people were always aware of surprised improvements in the living arrangements of others in the hall.

She woke feeling vile and desiring not to move one millimetre, and still lost her stomach before Lisette delivered her klah, dry ginger biscuits and toast and agreed with just slightly less apprehension to helping feed firelizards. Honestly, anyone would think she’d threatened to feed the poor girl to the firelizards as a snack…suddenly something clicked into place for Menolly, the scars and beatings, the rank of the girl’s ex-owner, shards had the porcine threatened her with or set the lizard on her? She wanted to believe that no-one was so lost to decency but Menolly had seen enough of the world to know there were such people, and she knew first hand that unlike dragons, firelizards reacted not to facts but to the perceptions of those they impressed, making it entirely possible, however unlikely that a confused lizard could act in such a way. She’d mention it to Silvina and leave it with her, continuing to invite or ask Lisette to help with her nine in the knowledge they would behave themselves. This time she also remembered to take down some extra leather for protection from claws.  It hadn’t occurred to her before as Piemur and Camo had their own but the help really was appreciated now that she only had Camo guaranteed.

            Menolly went to Silvina’s office so as to avoid the kitchen and any of it’s vents and left a detailed note on her desk requesting a meeting with her as soon as was convenient and left. Deciding that it would be unwise to go to breakfast this morning due to the serving of bacon that until recently had been her favourite morning morsel, as it was for most of the hall inhabitants, she would get a full report from Talmor of everything she needed to know. Instead she went and let herself in to Domick’s back room, thankful he’d given her that option and began to experiment with ideas for sections of her project and potential sources. She wouldn’t be able to do much of it today as she was teaching three classes later even with Timiny taking over one group. Before she would simply have stayed up to the early hours but now she fell into bed as soon as was humanly possible without missing anything essential.

She heard a key turn in the lock of the main door and froze, he may have given her a key but she doubted he expected her to use it so freely- she certainly hadn’t. He entered and stopped at the threshold. Why did all craftmasters seem to have a sixth sense about any disturbance in their craftrooms however slight? It was a bit unnerving.

“Come out whoever and wherever you are, into the light.” Domick’s voice was sharp and she exhaled heavily, but obeyed cursing the wave of dizziness that washed over her;

“Why aren’t you at morning meal for the notices Journeywoman?”

“Well why aren’t you, Master” Menolly retorted. Domick stared at her for a minute and she held her breath wondering what had possessed her to dare him until he quite unexpectedly burst out laughing, unrestrained glee that left Menolly gaping at him in sheer confusion.

“Master Domick I don’t understand, I thought you were annoyed to find me here”, She gave up when apparently this was also hilarious and just walked out of the workshop shaking her head. Hopefully he’d explain later, he usually did but one was never quite sure with Domick.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11

Robinton couldn’t concentrate. There was more than enough work to lose himself in and for once he just couldn’t do it, whatever he tried to do Menolly and their child was always in the back of his mind. He missed her just being around, drifting in and out of his office and workrooms, turning up uninvited with klah and a cake, humming in a corner sucking a pencil. Somehow his rooms just seemed much emptier and less cheerful. He had worked a long, long time before Menolly ever came to the hall so surely he must be able to continue doing so now as he had until her arrival. More than anything he wished he could just have her back as a staple in his days. He had given her space as she had seemed to desire that but it was time now to end the dance, it was frustrating that if he was anything other than the Masterharper it would hardly matter, few people would care. He had noticed her earlier absence and wasn’t keen to press that, bacon seemed always to trigger sickness, instead Robinton sent Zair with a basic summons for a time he knew she ought to be free.

     Silvina had updated him on Menolly’s multiple appearances in the healing room recently and was recommending he order her one full day off a week for a while, which as his Headwoman had pointed out would mean less trouble arranging cover for midwife appointments or accusations of women being unreliable.

It was late afternoon before Menolly had a chance to see Robinton and she couldn’t have hidden the exhaustion if she had tried, and so elected not to waste energy on a doomed attempt.  After not seeing her for a few days Robinton wondered how he could have missed how worn she was looking. He was usually so observant, prided himself on it and yet he had missed something so important.

Menolly knocked once and entered without waiting for an answer, she rarely did these days and slumped into ‘her’ chair as though she had only been out for five minutes. The act and presumption warmed Robinton and he brought through a blanket  and a glass of water thinking that Silvina was right. Menolly mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like an apology. He locked the door and held her  hand in his own, murmuring soothing nothings as her eyes closed. Robinton had always loved hands because they told you so much about a person’s character and story. When he stroked Menolly’s he could feel the scar on her palm, the guitar calluses and the hours of practice, the dedication such calluses took to earn, the fingernails kept short telling of someone who was not a mere ornament. If he closed his eyes and felt only her hands he knew why he loved her, opening them and looking to the youthful face told him they were impossible, but very occasionally impossible things happened and on very, very rare occasions they worked.

       In that moment alone in his office he could almost believe there was a chance for them until they were unexpectedly disturbed and the illusion dissolved. Zair gave him a scant second’s warning before  Merga appeared at his window chirping a greeting and chittering at Zair.  Lord Groghe was one of the few Lords that Robinton personally agreed deserved a firelizard. The man had many vices but he had always abhorred cruelty and injustice, a trait that Robinton knew to his sorrow was often lacking in the high born Holders.

The Lord of Fort Hold had finally chosen an heir apparent and steward now that the south had been opened and thus the risks of fraternal feuding greatly reduced but he still held the reins and Robinton had no doubt that the stubborn old man would do so until his death.

Merga had a message tube strapped to her leg and his heart sank as he read the contents, apparently the hall had a leak and a malicious one at that.  His first thought was Morshall but that nasty creature was still restricted to quarters and had no firelizard indicating that if it was him he must have an accomplice to facilitate. The drums hadn’t broadcast anything of the kind so he could discount Master Olodkey and any of his Journeymen, all of whom avoided firelizards, apprentices were not skilled enough- well Piemur had been but he was a special case.

Whoever it was had earnestly been trying to damage his reputation and Menolly’s, jealousy perhaps? Grudges? Hate? Master Robinton drew a hand over his face and silently cursed, should he tell Menolly or go and answer the Lord’s summons on his own.  He doubted Menolly  would forgive him that- given how much this was her concern. After weighing his options, Master Robinton decided replying in equally formal tones was best and invited Lord Groghe to discuss any concerns he had with regards to the crafthall  in the harper Crafthall at his first convenience.

It was not the news he would have liked Menolly to awake to but Lord Groghe had always been skilled at making time for things he deemed important on short notice, sighing he send Zair to find and bring Silvina up.

So it was that Menolly opened her eyes to Silvina gently shaking her and waving a ginger infusion towards her and was jolted quite suddenly into consciousness,

“Silvina there was something I needed to ask you, if I wait I’ll forget again; can I have your permission to interview some of the kitchen staff, and laundry, oh and you, really any willing women are welcome to contribute and I can withhold actual names like in some Hold-court records….”

Silvina held up a hand to stem the onslaught, “Yes you do, yes you can, yes I am a willing source provided you discuss details with me and explain properly, but we'll talk later Menolly girl. Right now you have other concerns and the biggest of them is Lord Groghe who has heard some twisted gossip and is planning to visit Master Robinton early this evening in response to that. It is my belief and Robinton’s that you ought to be present and involved in any discussion that ultimately centres around you, particularly those between only men.”

Menolly felt an intense anger building in her, a fury kindled that burned her throat and stung her eyes. She wanted to find the person who had not only betrayed them but perverted the truth so far that Lord Groghe was concerning himself with it and coming on a fact finding mission that he often now delegated.

Noting the suggestions made in Merga’s message, the usually calm Masterharper struggled to keep his temper in check, not helped by the fact he had earlier stripped Morshall of his Mastery after reading through the sickening reports in the anonymous box. He had intended to hand over the evidence, statements and ex-master to Lord Groghe to punish according to Hold law as many of the boys the man had taught were holdbred and the Masterharper knew Lord Groghe would be an impartial judge where he himself could not be. Now it could look like a distraction or attempt to lessen the magnitude of his own actions and consequences,  drawing focus away from him and Journeywoman Menolly and yet he wanted Morshall out as soon as was possible.

       He realised then that if Groghe was delegating important matters to his son, it would not be inappropriate for him to do the same thing on the pretext of preparing the next generation.

“Silvina, I want you to find Talmor, if necessary take him out of class and have whoever is in the mess hall cover it, he’s about to put his journeying experience to the test.”

Silvina caught his eye and nodded slowly, “Yes Master Robinton.” He cringed at the title coming from her but bent to scrawl the note of request to the visiting Lord to bring his second in command as there was another matter that had arisen that was urgent and needed attending to.

   “Oh and Silvina, we need to locate Morshall’s special apprentice and Journeyman as soon as we possibly can. There is a chance they may be in danger or a danger to others right now.”

Menolly had been closely watching the exchange and gaining a sense of context through her observation. Silvina stood to leave and turning to Menolly, promised to send up Lisette to help her appear less rumpled and more professional for the imminent visit, privately adding that it would give the two of them an alibi should questions be asked about being alone together. Despite her personal opinion that it ought not to matter now.

When the door closed Menolly rose and went to Robinton, unwilling to allow the separation everyone but the two of them seemed to desire to hold and almost instinctively he wrapped his arms around her. Odd that; when she was his Journeywoman he had almost always managed to be restrained and now that restraint seemed to have frayed with the removal of the constant reminder of their respective positions and age.

“Do you really think Morshall’s taps are so dangerous?” Menolly’s voice was still pleasantly sleep fuzzed,

“I don’t know, it’s just a niggling suspicion I have, never worth taking that risk though if it’s not necessary to.” Robinton hoped she bought his vague response and didn’t push right now, So far only Talmor had full disclosure on the investigation and the Master’s meeting had been delayed by Lord Groghe’s presumption.

The irony that it was Lord Groghe, the man who had as many acknowledged bastards as legitimate children who was expressing concern was not lost on Robinton. He felt a sense of loss of something precious when Menolly sprung back from where she had been nestled against him at the gentle but insistent knocking at his door.

     “Enter!” Robinton released Menolly but kept her hand in his, only taking his eyes from her when a young drudge slipped a tray with a pot of hot klah onto the table.

“Ah, Lisette is it? Silvina said you’d be up to help Menolly here prepare a little for some visitors, would you happen to have a fresh tunic or a dress to hand?” She nodded, “I’d appreciate it if you would stay close to be able to help if needed after our meeting, and I’ll ask Silvina to send up some supper.” Lost for words the girl resorted to training and habit of silent courtesy and obedience.

Chapter Text

Chapter 12..   

    When it seemed that Morshall’s Journeyman and special apprentice were indeed missing Silvina began to worry that Robinton’s suspicion may be well placed, he always had had good instincts. It was one of the things that made him such a brilliant CraftMaster and earned the trust of so many. She checked carefully at supper and neither of them were present there either, checking their dorm cots she found them empty and almost bare and lacking in all essentials or valuables, it looked as though they were no longer in the hall and had not left in a hurry but a planned and premeditated departure.

Her already low opinion of Morshall’s teaching caused her to worry that the boys would swiftly find themselves in difficulties they were unprepared for, particularly if they were attempting to pass unrecognised and contact the most effective gossip networks. It was important for Robinton to know but she was loathe to disturb the delicate visit of Lord Groghe, given the circumstances it would just have to wait until he left. Nothing was ever simple.

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By the time Lord Groghe arrived with his son in full official garb, Lisette had managed to make Menolly look presentable and sufficiently dignified to engage in formal meetings with the Lord of Fort. Silvina had sent up a dress Menolly hadn’t seen before with an empire cut and gauzey sleeves that was surprisingly comfortable after the tunic, which had begun to feel distinctly tight, and restrictive, and hot.  The ease of movement increased her confidence a little which was always required in the old Lord’s presence.

They convened in the meeting room as arranged and without dithering Lord Groghe took his seat, signalling to Lisette to fill his goblet, Master Robinton and Menolly joined him at the table with their own drinks, Menolly keeping to water as the smell of wine now made her vomit.

Groghe nodded deeply, “The Harper girl is here, good. If you had kept her from this I’d have been concerned, inclusion in these discussions would not indicate a wish to conceal anything or unwillingness on her part. Never did trust gossips, only ever a kernel of truth, got to seek that for yourself. So here I am, seeking the truth from you two, without that I can’t correct any untruths spreading like thread in my Hold, neither condemn nor confirm, so go on. Speak your peace both of you.”

Menolly looked at Robinton, hoping he would talk first and he drew in a calming breath,

“It is well that you sought us out to hear the truth at the source and your insistence upon doing so has contributed to your reputation as a just Lord. Journeywoman Menolly and I have worked closely together for five turns now and until very recently were careful not to breach commonly accepted guidelines on Master-Journeyman relationships. A few months ago now Zair flew Beauty and we engaged for the first and only time in a sexual relationship. I have a great affection for Menolly and deep abiding respect. It troubles me that someone within the hall has been casting doubt on her integrity and making unfounded accusations. Journeywoman Menolly has never employed any favours or manipulative strategies to advance her position and has earned everything through dedication and skill. Nor have I forced her into anything against her will or taken advantage of her as is apparently being suggested.” Groghe nodded thoughtfully and gestured to Menolly,  inviting her contribution.

“As Master Robinton has told you there was nothing non consensual about our union. Perhaps I should have regrets about my actions and our consequences but I find I cannot regret this baby in spite of the complications it has brought. Not that it should matter but the herbs failed and I chose to take the pregnancy to term. How many of your own partners were of equal rank? How many were not, that malicious gossips could have attacked as they now attack me? I do not believe it would be just of them to question your integrity based on the position of those women and technically, as Masterharper Robinton’s rank is equal to your own, should that prohibit him from any amorous activities?”

However composed she appeared on the surface, Menolly was still exhausted, her hormones surging and her usual diplomacy as a result was lacking.  She was shocked to see a wry smile on Groghe’s face.

“I believe you Menolly girl”, as much as it grated that he still referred to her as ‘girl’ in this situation, she was slightly relieved at the sign of his regard for her being relatively unchanged.

“Always was one to stand in defense of the defenseless, fight against the tide. I am glad I came for clarification and found it as I expected to have a grain of truth in a broth of conjecture, but Master Robinton for all my reputation as an unrepentant womaniser I always stayed away from all fosterlings.

You are likely already aware that in the minds of many holders that is the comparison and most will not be aware that it has been five turns since ‘the lost apprentice’ was found, I only find it easy to notice standing in her presence. I suppose it is fitting that the first girl to impress a firelizard and a queen at that should be the first to openly show the truth of what impression can mean when they mature.

I’ll do my best to correct any forktail in the Hold but I think you need to be prepared for some of the less open minded Holders to withdraw female paying students citing corruption and immorality. Sadly many of the same girls have firelizards as a show of status and would learn much here.”

The Lord looked at Master Robinton with a piercing gaze, his bushy brows meeting above hardened eyes,

“I will be watching Robinton, if Menolly is treated well, cared for and respected I would be glad to send some of my girls here, so many sons now I have grandaughters swarming everywhere that need to learn more than basic sewing. My good Lady wife instructed me to ensure this package reached Journeywoman Menolly safely.”   He drew a package from beneath his long cloak and turned to pass it to her and instead began to chuckle.  Puzzled for a moment Robinton looked to the source of his amusement and had to join him, despite making every effort to remain conscious Menolly had drifted into sleep and slumped down a little. Neither man had the heart to wake her,

“You are a foolish man when you let your heart lead my friend but it is a long time since I have seen you so genuinely happy.  I can chastise you for stupidity but you already know it all, so take care of her Rob, do not hurt her, that one is special. And keep Oldive involved, I almost lost Benoria more than once and I am more grateful than I can say for him and his Master midwives. They don’t bear the title but they should for that. How far along is she?”

Robinton smiled warmly, the initial conflict resolved for now. “Just over three months now, she’s still sick though, and teaching full time.” He shot Groghe a mild warning look,

“She has transferred to Master Domick as his Journeywoman to finish her studies for Mastery, which should have been possible in less than a turn.  We do not wish there to be any doubt around the validity of her attaining that rank.” Groghe cast a measuring look at Robinton,

“Benoria asked that I extend her congratulations to Menolly if she was happy and also an invitation to talk to her as a more experienced woman, seems to help the young.” His voice was gruffer than usual but when all the more  formal exchanges had been made the two men relaxed more into the habitual informality that had developed between them over the past decades. Lord Groghe stayed only long enough to have a cup of wine before departing with a very sombre looking son and Merga perching on his shoulder.

Master Robinton roused Menolly as gently as he could and guided her through the doors

with a supporting arm around her waist, summoning Lisette from where she had been waiting for them, pensively nursing a mug of klah.

Moving swiftly, she went ahead of them opening doors to Menolly’s rooms and set the glows, and removed the slippers of the woman she fully believed had saved her despite Menolly insisting otherwise. Master Robinton tenderly kissed the cheek of her saviour and stroked the dark tangle of curls back from her face.

“Get some sleep Menolly, you’re going to need it for the morning.”

Her eyes were already closing as he shut the door quietly behind him.

Perhaps the rooms were indiscreetly close to the Masterharper’s but Silvina was always thinking ahead with regards to the personal lives of all she regarded as her charges and knew Robinton to be as involved a father as was possible. Discretion was now of limited value anyway and the two were going to need each other.  She doubted the two lovers would formalise their liaison but the child would bind them closer than any legal ties could.

The two harpers had a more complicated relationship than any other Silvina had encountered in all her turns at the hall, both complementing each other and filling a need of the other, yet both unhealthily coloured by past traumas.  There was Petiron Robinton’s father who had neglected him only to save her from an openly abusive family and encourage the talent where he had ignored his own son’s.  Menolly, grateful to Robinton and reminded of her first protector.  Robinton, drawn back to his youth before his heart had been crushed by the loss of Kasia of the seagreen eyes. Robinton was younger than Petiron and Menolly almost the age Robinton had committed to a true spouse.

Shards! No wonder the two of them for all their collective intelligence were confused.

Though there had been shows of affection before neither had seemed to be lusting after the other and self control had always prevailed when each was vulnerable, making the result of their one moment of weakness seem outright unfair.

Silvina wondered if it would almost have been fairer to Menolly to allow the masses to believe she’d slept with a passing journeyman or had a shameful fling than be truthful, certainly it would have been more politically savvy, yet only the Masters in the hall had known of the true parentage and there had been hints that it may have remained so as the child would be raised by the craft family in any case.

Sometimes she was very tempted to slap grown men for their lack of common sense. Especially harpers.

When she brought her report of missing students to the Harper he appeared more drained than he had for a month and she hated to add more stress at that moment but it was his hall and ultimately the fate of these boys, who thought themselves men, was his responsibility.  Waiting could be disastrous for all involved.

“You need Pinch Rob, you were right.”

Shells did he hate being right so often.

Chapter Text

Chapter 13

Menolly went straight to Silvina the next morning as soon as her stomach settled sufficiently to do so and found her sorting through the day’s work lists. Domick was hoping to have a more detailed plan for her final submission tomorrow and due to her intended subject she had concluded that Silvina would be a valuable source of input and advice.

Menolly wanted to record the voices of those who were so often neglected and not just relegate their value to skivvies and childrearers, not that those things were not needed but women were so much more than that, even just within the hall.  She wanted to acknowledge the vital roles they had played in history but also in the present and consider the future.  The best way she had been able to think of to achieve her aims was to break it into sections.

Silvina had agreed to grant her full access to any woman in the hall who agreed to an interview, asking only that there be a protection  of the identities of those giving sensitive information or responses and that Abuna’s co operation be requested regarding her own staff as they worked strange shifts. Menolly was hoping that she could manage to get a broad range of testimonies across different classes and backgrounds but hadn’t considered one of the places that Silvina felt was obvious. The healer hall.

In particular the midwives but also study specific, willing patients or Journeymen guaranteeing full anonymity.  The Headwoman had been delighted by her proposal for a number of reasons, primarily that it was long overdue and a neglected area of study despite the number of extended examinations of the chartered rights.  In a broader sense, the implications for their current societal structure had often been ignored.

Silvina rather thought that Menolly’s decision to keep her child was influenced subconsciously by the fact that had she still been Seahold bound she would have been long married with a number of children by now.  From things unsaid in the past, Silvina had deduced that one reason Menolly’s mother had been so exasperated with her was that her appearance and need for music was making her difficult to marry off, in part things that had changed as she matured. It was uncommon for isolated holds to wait as long as the craftbred to wed and bed women. Ironic that it was such Holds who were most outraged by the sexual ‘immorality’ of others.

Menolly had worked through most of her bitterness and resentment over her family homelife in the past couple of turns, her study and observation of social structures and patterns had helped her to process her experiences. Silvina knew the Journeywoman had no intention of renewing contact but her anger towards Mavi had faded with the dawning understanding that most of her parenting failures were driven by fear and desperation. In times of danger people often fell back on tradition and old ways, perceiving them to provide safety and stability.  The world Menolly had been born into had been politically unstable and unsafe for women before thread ever returned, and when it did, her parents’ world had come crashing down.

Mavi had been trying to secure her daughters’ futures in the only way she knew how to, as so many before her had done and continued to do, wanting their children protected.  Menolly was in a privileged position to be able to offer her own children a choice and most importantly an education.

Silvina was one of those who were so accustomed to long term planning that it interfered with all decisions and interactions, much as Menolly could not speak to others anymore without a harper aspect.

She was pleased that Menolly had stated her wish to gather a wide range of data as it gave her a legitimate reason to visit the weyr later so that she would be less obviously taking refuge. That also suggested Benden as an appropriate stationing as Mirrim was historically significant, as was Lessa and if it was not cruel to speak to her, then Brekke. The only drawback was her firelizards but that could probably be worked around.

Given Menolly’s choice of final study Silvina thought Domick may actually be a better mentor for it than Robinton would have been and he certainly would be less likely to edit things that may make an impact on the basis of his political involvement. Silvina had requested a read of Menolly’s project before it was presented to a council of Masters as her sole condition for full access and found that she actually did look forward to the experience.

Menolly spent her allotted time for personal study that morning composing a list of people she wanted to interview and cover, divided by order of importance and feasibility in groups of craft, Hold or Weyr. When her study time ended she went with a spring in her step to her class with a confidence she had been missing for far too long.  She usually enjoyed teaching and knew herself to be good at it and that enjoyment had been compromised recently as self doubt bled over into the rest of her consciousness.

When she entered the room there was absolute silence and looking around the room at the boys faces she sighed; some seemed shocked, others disgusted, still others were trying to hide smiles. One appeared to be having trouble closing his mouth but only four in the room could meet her eyes.  Oooh it was going to be a long day.  She took a deep breath.

“Can I assume by your ridiculous expressions that you have heard some rumours sweeping the hall?” There were nods from various students.

“Then this is your chance to speak freely and ask a few questions, your only chance, understand me?”

An awkward silence fell over the room until finally a blonde boy at the back dared raise his hand and was granted permission to speak,

“Are you really pregnant?” He seemed almost disbelieving.

“Yes I am, the babe is due around turnover, anyone else?”

Another boy who was quite new to the hall visibly swallowed and she indicated him to begin,

“Mistress Menolly?” He hadn’t quite become accustomed to the proper titles in the hall but spoke respectfully and so it was accepted for now, “Is it a dragonman’s? Do you know who’s it is?”

Menolly tried hard not to be offended by the suggestion that she may not know the identity of her father, apparently the rumour mongers had been busy.

“No, it is not the child of a dragonman, yes I do know who the father is, no I will not tell you at this time and no I am not carrying some human-firelizard hybrid, is that clear?”

One of her favourite shy students shifted uncomfortably in his seat, making an effort to avoid her gaze, “Nolan is there something you want to say before we move on to dynamic techniques?”   

“Um..no?..I mean..It’s just my Mam always said that..that only bad women had babies with no man and...and that they shouldn’t be with other people to infect good women with perverse weyr habits. I don’t want you to go ‘cus you’re nice and make sense of concepts.”

Menolly’s jaw clenched but she kept her expression pleasant,

“Well, apprentice Nolan, let me assure you that there is nothing ‘infectious’ about me, and if you speak to the Headwoman about biology she can confirm that it is not how babies are made.” Some of the other boys sniggered, “Your Mam probably meant well but she is mistaken in her education and I guarantee you that I will not be leaving the craft or being driven from the Hall.  Do you really think that if you lowly apprentices have heard that the Masters are unaware? No. I thought not. I’ll get you an extra lesson with Master Shonagar to aid with your stammer, now is everyone ready?”

There were nods of assent from a gaggle of boys anxious to avoid extra time with the Voice Master. Most of them made at least a half decent attempt to concentrate on the lesson at hand; Menolly hoped that the dynamics weren’t the only one that they would reflect on later. She was in a way grateful that it was one of her apprentices that had been first to betray the confusion of teachings and conflicting experience. So far things had been almost too smooth and she had felt rather like she had in Halfcircle when everyone was just waiting for a storm to break.  The waiting and anticipation was always the worst. Her peers had so far maintained a professional front with only Talmor directly addressing the situation, but now that the rumours had filtered down she expected that the next time they were alone in the Journeyman’s social room it would arise in conversation. After another lesson with similar questions she felt a little better prepared to deal with those next encounters.  

 Master Domick’s class seemed to be a long way off but it was beginning to be the time she most looked forward to each day as the rest had become….complicated. Her stomach flipped again and she groaned audibly and tried to control it with some breathing techniques Oldive’s assigned midwife had suggested and sipped at the flask of mint tea she’d been given by Lisette. Something about the reserved drudge nagged at Menolly and it frustrated  her that she couldn’t place what it was as she was usually very insightful and empathetic; perhaps that was a good place to begin her research. She wished Sebell was there to talk to, or better a female friend but she never did have many. Mirrim.

Mirrim was raised in the weyr, she rode green Path, she might be a little temperamental at times  and fiesty but that seemed to be a character trait common to many dragonriding women with Brekke the exception to that rule. Mirrim had always been appreciative of the singing fair of firelizards and tended to save the sharp edge of her tongue for men and the most obnoxious of weyrbrats. Menolly smiled as Beauty crooned into her hair curiously and began to write a private letter to her friend in Benden.  They had both been too busy recently to properly see each other much but had kept in touch between visits. Mirrim had seemed somewhat calmer last time they met, enjoying a stable pairing with a special bronze rider, probably the first time Mirrim had felt truly secure in a very long time and it suited her very well. She was a young woman that like herself was forging new paths and would be a good source of information for academic purposes but mostly she was Menolly’s first friend and one of the few who may genuinely consider her pregnancy a cause for joy and celebration. Right now she would give much just for someone to be happy for her. Except in times of extreme scarcity, children were precious. At least that was what conventional teaching was; it appeared that too many now added a qualification to exactly which children were precious. Worrisome was the implication that her child was not always making the cut.

Finishing the note in her usual elegant script Menolly tied the message tube securely to Beauty’s readily outstretched leg and sent her to deliver it to the greenrider at Benden.

As people began to be less guarded about their gossiping they also seemed to care less about her dignity and position and by evening Menolly felt as though she was being pulled down by a powerful undertow that swirled hidden just below the surface.

People she had thought better of were staring unabashed at her in the long hallways until her eyes stung and throat burned with the effort not to stoop and pander to their provocation. She disgusted them? Well they disgusted her with their need for inventing salacious lies and abusing others to feel superior or vindicated. Harpers were often the worst for prying and garnering information but there was a reason for the phrase ‘discreet as a harper’ and there were a few individuals she noted that were being distinctly indiscreet. Her sense of the ridiculous finally won out as she fell into a rythmic walk, humming to herself a ditty about discreet indiscretions.

   Talmor hugged her tightly as soon as the door closed behind her, causing Menolly to wonder what her friend had heard since they last spoke.  For all Talmor was openly affectionate and tactile with his friends, he was often more circumspect. Maybe he'd simply concluded that she couldn't get any more pregnant so appearances were less likely to be misconstrued between the two of them. In any case he already held the favour of a pretty, freshfaced and very obliging kitchen maid and had no reason to cultivate his friend’s interest and much motivation to discourage it .

    She was glad that Master Domick made no mention of the rumour mill or Lord Groghe's visit and treated her as he always had, no better or worse. He was, for all his brusque demeanour and sarcasm perhaps the most honest of harpers, his performances limited to his music and plays. It was refreshing Menolly realised, one of the reasons that his class was so calming was that nothing was hidden or unjust. He had the same high expectations of all of his students and expected them to be as invested as he was in the craft.

She was managing it well but still plagued by nausea a good deal of the time and was forced to quietly request to play a part today that involved no blowing or buzzing at all that resulted in a switch to first fiddle. If there were a few raised eyebrows when she decided to stay behind and continue playing alone no one commented on it but disbanded in good spirits as Timiny headed to his dorm and Talmor to the Masters lounge.

Domick saw her pensive expression and tilted her chin upwards and smiled softly at her, “Don’t give up Menolly, you will never succumb to that sort of poisonous mindrotting talk, you’re stronger than that. Always have been. I’m not entirely sure it’s not the main reason I enjoy having you as a student or peer, so take some time here in solitude but I want you to promise me as your Master that when you leave you will walk out of here with your head high and your self respect mended. If you need me then find me  but otherwise I will respect you as an adult and advanced student. You’ve never yet known me to be swayed by tongue wagging have you?”

He cocked an eyebrow at her and mock scowled so that she had to chuckle.

“No Sir. You are not known for your great desire for popularity and interest in idle chatter, no one can accuse you of false pretences.” He ignored the hurt that flared momentarily in her eyes,

“The Masterharper may ask any of us here to take on a special Menolly, but he cannot force us or demand it, I chose you and have no regrets about that; I am offering you my respect and it is not given lightly, so you now can choose to listen to me and accept what I am telling and trying to teach you or you can listen to snot nosed boys, bitter bachelors and jealous wenches.” Menolly wasn’t accustomed to being left speechless but it seemed her new master had a knack for eliciting that when he wished to. Domick flicked through his file and withdrew what she recognised as her modified proposal already stamped with his seal of authorisation and handed it to her with a similar folder to his own. She accepted it automatically and thanked him, he had to have read it directly upon receiving her proposal to have it ready to return so swiftly and the thought buoyed her. He really did believe in her. Menolly turned to ask him and found emptiness where he had been moments ago. Sitting down she saw an unopened letter attached to the front page addressed to her in an uneven hand she did not recognise.

What she did recognise was Tolly and Beauty’s arrival breaching the quiet of her room- no, his room- both wearing message tubes. One for herself and one apparently intended for Silvina that employed her full title, now wasn’t that curious? Exercising admirable restraint she sent Tolly on with an image of the hall’s Headwoman and opened only her own tube. “My dear Menolly…”

Chapter Text

Chapter 14

         Robinton was frustrated, there was very little that went on in his hall that he did not know about and he was making a valiant effort to remain calm and restrain himself from reacting poorly to the predictable responses. There was an irritating knock at his office door that he seriously considered ignoring but at least it would give him a distraction.  He knew he sounded terse responding and for once couldn’t bring himself to neutralise it.

“Come in.” He pushed his chair back to swing the door open sullenly, shells he was carrying on like a scorned apprentice, that wouldn’t do at all! He took a deep, measured breath to calm himself.

He was startled to find standing in the doorway not someone running errands or summoning him to a dispute but Shonagar.  Robinton respected almost all of his harpers but Shonagar more than most, even after all these turns. The Masterharper waved him in and indicated a well padded seat, “Hello old friend.” Ah. It was going to be one of those talks.

“It’s good to see you too Shonagar, it reassures me to see you out of the voicehall dispelling the apprentice rumours.” He sat down in the chair opposite with a generous goblet of wine.

“Now that is one of the things I came up to discuss Rob. Rumours. If there is anyone on the face of Pern who understands the power of rumour and suggestion it is you.  You seed them, spread them, squash and excise them, you lived through Fax and the uprising of the holds. So why are you allowing malicious gossip to spread like thread and leaving Menolly to fight it herself? You know exactly what this could do to her, to her reputation and to the child- your child. I’ve known you a long, long time Rob, I knew Robbie and I know the Masterharper of Pern and this is not you, so why don’t you tell me what the ‘star is going on here?”

The Voicemaster’s eyes were flashing and the set of his jaw uncompromising, brows drawn together as he watched Robinton absorb his words. Robinton held himself completely still for a moment before offering a response of any kind.

“Silvina and I have discovered that certain individuals within the hall are trying to sabotage Menolly; we were hoping to allow them to reveal themselves in order to have proven grounds for dismissal, without proof we cannot remove them from the hall permanently. What would you have me do?” He took a long swig of wine as though to wash out the bitterness.

If Shonagar was surprised he gave no sign of it, “What would I have you do? Defend her. Back Menolly. You’re trying to avoid making it worse and losing her Rob, but the cold truth is that you can’t make it worse for her right now except by leaving her to face this alone or giving her detractors reasons to falsely insinuate that you have abandoned her or are ashamed of her. I know you are afraid of losing her Robinton and I do not blame you for that fear after Kasia and Silvina, and Camo but unless you stand with her now you’ve already lost her.

Did you two decide what you intend your relationship to be? Don’t think I haven’t seen how you feel about the lass, and she loves you. Sincerely, not the girlish infatuation that a few mistakenly believe. If you love her, don’t hide or deny it. Give her that much.”

It was almost a relief to have someone speak to him about the situation, it seemed as though everyone had been carefully avoiding mentioning it to him and Robinton did not have an abundance of friends to share with.

“It’s not my choice to make Shonagar, Menolly doesn’t want to formalise anything” he chuckled mirthlessly, “It’s so similar to when Silvina...I don’t know if I could stand to lose Menolly. Silvina almost died birthing Camo, my Mother almost died with me, to lose both Menolly and our child would be unbearable. The patterns in my life appear to repeat and they are ugly as people fade out.”

Shonagar stared at him for a minute; “Robinton, that is the most ridiculous amount of runnershit I have ever heard from your lips! Shells man you are supposed to be intelligent, right now Zair here seems to be the sensible one.”

Master Robinton sat frozen for a moment at Shonagar’s uncharacteristic outburst before he buckled over laughing until even Shonagar gave a gruff chuckle. When Robinton was composed once more his friend leaned over and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Here’s what you are going to do Robinton; you are going to eat some proper food as you haven’t tonight, then you are going to take some redfruit and soup to Menolly’s quarters and you are going to sit and listen. She needs you to be involved here and now, visibly. It’s not the way you would have planned to have children but it is your opportunity to do so with someone you care for the way she cares for you and it is right to be with her through all of this. You are going to recall Sebell and delegate some of the administration and business to him, he needs to understand it anyway as there’s no way Menolly can take over from you now even if it ever had been. He’ll understand.

You won’t be wed as I understand it but the child will bind you together.  Menolly is young so if you cannot offer her a permanent relationship or she does not wish it you will one day have to give your blessing to another. Enjoy these moments together and allow yourself to remember how precious they are.

Ask to hear her lullabies man, let her share them with you!”

Robinton

closed his eyes and nodded. “Thank you old friend. You’re a good man and a better friend, and possibly the only one in this hall other than Silvina who will give me a kick when I need it- not that it happens often.”

“Even you need friends Rob, just remember you still have a few.” Shonagar rose and left Master Robinton alone swirling the wine in his cup thoughtfully, he breathed deeply and downed it and then headed towards the kitchen. Few harpers knew the ‘secret’ passages of the hall as well as he did and he could go most places without having to be seen if he wished not to be, they were often used more by drudges than anyone else, tonight he took that route to the kitchen and picked up the food Shonagar had suggested. Tempted for a moment to take a similar route to Menolly’s quarters he realised exactly what Shonagar had meant by leaving Menolly lonely and decided that from that moment any visits would be easily noticed, not suggestive of any wrongdoing. He knocked on her door, smiling warmly until he heard muffled sobs coming from inside the room.  Disregarding his usual rules for allowing full privacy without being specifically invited into anyone’s personal rooms (barring inspections of apprentice dormitories) Robinton entered and setting the tray beside the bed gathered the young woman into his arms, simply holding her as she wept.

Menolly finally fell asleep with her head in his lap as he stroked her hair. He couldn’t leave her this way but there were several papers that needed his attention tonight, looking between Menolly and the firelizards curled in various nooks around the room he sighed.

Robinton glanced at Zair and Beauty, the two oblivious to the trouble they had caused and asked Zair to have Silvina bring the particularly urgent papers to him in Menolly’s room with writing materials. Menolly’s room was furnished with a composing table to suit his needs and she was not going to wake alone this time.

He saw a tear stained letter then lying on the bed and mentally cursed. It would be too invasive to read it without Menolly’s consent and yet it was so tempting to just reach over and skim it.

No. It was a woeful lack of self control that had got them here in the first place, he would not let go of his self control again, especially if it could risk hurting his Menolly. He grimaced; if Shonagar had noticed then he’d better give Domick a wide berth for a few days, which would be much easier if he didn’t actually need to talk to the man!

Resting quietly it struck him again how young and vulnerable she looked and how mismatched her wisdom and wit was to that youth but when his eyes dropped to her hand resting over her slightly rounded stomach he had to smile, and when he covered her long fingers with his own he saw her face blossom in a matching one. Lullabies Shonagar has said, well their child didn’t have only one parent who thought in music, if he wanted to keep up he’d better get started, and every baby loved the music of their parents. Even Camo had loved to be sung to, and suddenly he found himself looking forward to being a father again, singing their child to sleep and telling stories.  He wondered what the babe would look like. He didn’t really care, all babies were beautiful- even the ones that looked like Lord Groghe- something about the potential and innocence of a new life he thought.

He was lost in thought when Silvina tapped lightly and slipped in carrying the requested documents and submissions, raising an eyebrow when she saw the two on the bed and Menolly’s puffy eyes but saying nothing as she caught Robinton’s warning look and the finger he raised to his lips. The Headwoman nodded and left, they’d speak in the morning in detail. When he was confident Menolly wouldn’t wake he slipped out and covered her with the furs and drank the klah he’d brought. He disliked it but it did help one to stay awake for marking and reading reports, and he had a backlog that he wished to clear before Sebell landed him with another large pile to process.  Scribbling a letter to him with instructions to call in a favour from N’ton, and tying the message tube carefully to Zair’s leg , he stroked the firelizard's headknobs and thought a clear image of Sebell. "Go to Sebell my fine boy, find Sebell". Zair made a soft happy warble before launching himself into the air and going between.  Shonagar was right, it was time he got someone to help on a longer term basis to whom the training would be beneficial.  He'd inform Sebell after breakfast at his debriefing, assuming the midnight flit had no ill effects beyond irritability. That settled he turned his attention to the task at hand feeling lighter than he had for a long time and finally able to concentrate the way he ought to.

Chapter Text

Chapter 15

   Menolly woke just before dawn for yet another trip to the necessary. It was beginning to irritate her now, and yelped when she nearly tripped over Robinton in the darkness,

“What are you doing here?” Robinton looked at her, still bleary eyed from reading for hours in the dim lighting and being abruptly woken,

“Huh?” He stared blankly up for a second, blinking hard, “Oh. Oh! Me. Well, you were on your own and it seemed you could use a- a friend, after last night I didn’t want to just leave you to wake alone...again” It was strange how beautiful his rich voice sounded even when she just wanted him to stop talking, it was too hard to think right now and the nightmare she’d just woken from still hung around her like a loathesome cloak she couldn’t shed, they had happened far too often recently. Walking very carefully in order to avoid any jarring to set off nausea that had yet to fully wear off she went to relieve herself; returning she found Robinton slightly less lethargic, a pile of parchments and reed papers next to him.

“You brought your work here Master?” Her voice was still thick with sleep and her tone unplaceable,

“Robinton, not Master. You were sobbing and I couldn’t leave you that way, not you. You can still talk to me you know Menolly, even more than in the past, I want you to be open with me and for us to do this together and not for you to suffer in silence again.”

She sat on the bed and drew the fur around herself tightly, cursing her vulnerability and the wretched hormones that allowed her lip to tremble. He wasn’t meant to see her this way, no one was supposed to see and she pressed her nails harder in her palms.

“Please Menolly don’t try to do this without me. I respect you even more now and it is my honour to be part of your journey; I’ve heard what is being said and they are wrong, the Hall masters know that the accusations of gossips and rumour mongers are false, no one else has a say in your future here.”

Menolly blinked hard and sank down beside her Master and friend to clasp his hand hard.

“No, they don’t, but as a harper my reputation matters. I have to teach and have the respect of my students; I need to be reliable enough for my word to stand in a court of law, and I need to be

permitted to meet and be around people without being subject to doubt of my integrity. Who will allow girls to study here now? What will my folly do to the chances of girls everywhere to be educated in more than homemaking? I could have just cost some desperate child everything!”

A hot tear slipped down her cheek as self directed anger crept into her tone and her nails dug into Robinton’s hand though he gave no sign.

“Look at me Menolly”, he placed a gentle finger under her chin and she resisted for a moment before meeting his intense gaze.

“You are not doing this selfishly, you were careful and still accepted the consequences of our foolishness in an adult  manner, you have carried and conducted yourself with dignity in the face of judgement and lies, are fighting injustice in the high wing and doing so self sacrificially. Yes, we may have delayed someone’s access to learning but we also may have saved her life and that of her child. Don’t torment yourself in solitude and darkness only to face tormentors in the light of day.”

He brushed the silent tears away.

“I’m sorry Master. It feels unfair somehow that I have tried so hard to be taken seriously, put music first and delayed any courting only to find myself in this sharding position. Cruelest is that it is with you.”

Robinton tried to suppress his flinch as she continued, “The one person that I would have chosen but can’t ever truly have, the one man who can’t belong to us…” She froze when Robinton silenced her by pressing a chaste kiss to her lips.

“Menolly girl, I know that you understand really why we can’t...can’t have that ballad life. If I was younger maybe or you were not a student…..I care for you very deeply”, he wondered if she could see what he was holding back and carefully not saying. Menolly usually did.
“I wish that things could be different and I could take away your pain but I cannot. You are the most talented and brilliant woman I know, you are the most compassionate and forgiving friend and it is my honour to be a father to your child. I will always love you my Menolly, but I will not bind you unwillingly or act jealously should you find another lover. It is neither impossible nor wrong dear Menolly to love more than one person, it is simply that few individuals have such an abundance.”

Threaded hormones. Menolly found that her face was buried in his neck and his tunic was damp, but this time the tears were cleansing and healing, it felt as though a weight she hadn’t even been aware of had lifted, the air was clearer.

When she finally felt confident that her voice would work she raised her head enough to see him clearly, “Thank you. Robinton. Just...thank you.”

He stroked her hair quietly and tried to quiet his own pain at the night’s confessions.

If he couldn’t have his happy ending perhaps she could. He hoped she could- no, not she he corrected himself, them. Robinton knew himself to be more vital and fitter than most men his age outside of the weyrs but he had no illusions about his own mortality, the turns of Fax’s persecution had taught him well the fragility of life, Kasia had.

No. Best not to follow that train of thought. Still he wanted Menolly to be happy and he knew that for her, that meant not being alone even when he had to leave them behind.  He wanted to keep her and to be enough and yet he knew that despite Menolly today being unable to imagine loving someone the way she loved him, there would come a day when she could.

They remained that way for some time before she broke the embrace, “Robinton? Is there any water? I don’t think I’ve any left in my body”. Her voice was rough and lips dry as he chuckled slightly and poured her a cup which she drained and held out for a refill.

“You want to know why I was weeping earlier don’t you?” The harpress lifted an eyebrow in his direction, it was a statement more than a question..

Keeping his expression bland Robinton answered, “It had occurred yes. I would very much appreciate it if you feel able to tell me.”

Chapter Text

Menolly stifled a yawn and nodded sleepily,

“You must have seen the letter, you notice everything- well almost everything.” Robinton murmured an affirmative, “It’s from Mirrim.  She’s invited me to the Weyr for a visit, she’s the first person except Silvina to congratulate me without qualification and to be genuinely happy for me. After the day I had yesterday and the insults hurled and whispered it was a little overwhelming. I wanted to run and not look back, to flee and melt away once again but that is impossible. Wherever I would go,  I take my problems. I felt guilty for wishing our baby had never existed, I’m so exhausted that I fall asleep every time I sit down and don’t want to sleep because my dreams are so vivid and nightmares so realistic. So it was everything together, I was managing to keep my reactions reasonably contained until I read the letter. I want to go but I won’t run, I will not be driven from my home to hide this time.”

Master Robinton closed his eyes, carefully weighing his options as he kept a long fingered hand on hers.

“You know Menolly, it is not cowardice to strategically retreat in a battle to regroup and rest. It is safe for you to fly at this stage and not later in your pregnancy, you’ve been advised by Oldive to be here for the latter part of it and be next to the healer hall. I think that it may be wise to accept Mirrim’s invitation. I have some legitimate harper business anyway at Benden. Not that  kind of Harper Business” he added as her eyebrows rose, “Just a request from the Weyr harper for some support in teaching the youngsters their basics as he has been elected a wing second recently. It shouldn’t be long hours and is technically a shared full time post. No one then can accuse you of leaving the craft or similar gripes. You would in other circumstances have been out in a hold right now anyway, the Hall Masters back you and certainly Shonagar and Jerint approve of Mirrim’s suggestion.”  Looking at the relief Menolly couldn’t quite disguise Robinton knew he was right to let her go, she would be more likely to come back rested and well knowing she had his support in doing what was best for herself and their child. Child. She had started to feel odd flutterings and had started to jot down a tune to them in between everything else as it became more real and tangible to her.

Robinton was quiet, lost in thought until he felt her head slip heavily to his shoulder and heard soft snores coming from his Journeywoman. It was rather a pity for her sake that Sebell was not interested in more than friendship but Menolly had never seemed surprised at his tendencies, she always had had a grasp of interpersonal relationships and such subtleties, it was one of her most useful attributes as a field harpress. Possibly developed as a survival skill at an early age. Robinton knew how critical reading the room could be in a tense home situation, even with one loving parent and wider support network, Menolly had had none. She’d mentioned a brother who had defended her and tried to alleviate things, even complimented her a few times when there were no witnesses present. Perhaps he may wish to know about her child? Or might he disown her too for the breach of propriety? Not worth the risk.

Robinton did not want to see Menolly leave the hall even for a few sevendays, he wanted to be with her and that wasn’t possible if she was in Benden and he trapped in the Hall, at least there were firelizards now to enable private communication.

It would be easier to deal with the troublemakers in the hall without her presence though and he was almost certain of their identity now, if they couldn’t draw them out easily he’d have to arrange a thorough overturning of their quarters and project areas. It wasn’t subtle but necessary. Robinton grimaced, he hated this part of his job, it always felt as though he’d failed the student involved.

He was responsible for every individual in the hall and at their postings and felt that responsibility keenly, that he had taken on board Silvina’s observation that the apprentices were all like sons to them (she had been correct) caused him to doubt his ability as a father. Yet he knew that despite Camo’s...limitations...he had always done his utmost to ensure his blood-son’s happiness and safety. He would do the same for his and Menolly’s child.

Assured that she was sleeping soundly he lay her down on the bed and dropped a kiss on her forehead, Beauty looked at him as though judging his intent- or his worth- Robinton was privately of the opinion that like dragons the firelizards impressed to one person but could read others if they so desired, simply not finding most people interesting or relevant to themselves and their impressed. The faceted eyes gave the distinct sense that they could see into a person's soul. He rather hoped he was wrong.

When he tried to rise from the cot Beauty’s eyes began to whirl red. Sitting down he tried to send her calming thoughts and reassure the little gold, but when he tried once again to stand she hissed. Suppressing a groan Robinton sat down. If her queen was upset or angry Menolly would feel it through their link and with the bad dreams she had mentioned it wasn’t what she needed. Shards, he’d just have to stay next to her on the bed until Beauty fell asleep and stopped regarding him with such suspicion and reproof, so he lay down on the mattress intending to rest a little while he waited on the gold to calm and sleep. At least that was the plan. When he opened his eyes it was to the dawn light and a light tapping at the door as Menolly mumbled something that sounded very much like “go away’ and a curse. So much for subtlety. Oh well, he was reasonably sure it could only be Silvina or the youngster she’d assigned to Menolly.  Swinging his long legs over the side of the bed he strode to the door, at least he was fully clad in his day clothes already. He opened it and beckoned to the slight drudge to enter, indicating to be quiet and allow Menolly to wake naturally, as he could see her stirring and her fair would wake her shortly if she didn’t before then. Hungry firelizards were not quiet.

Lisette watched slack jawed as the door to her mistress’ quarters swung shut behind The Harper. She supposed she oughtn’t be surprised, but still, Master Robinton was a legendary figure, had been almost mythical to her until recently and it was strange to her that he was Mistress Menolly’s-whatever they were.

She placed the tray of klah, dry toast and fruit on the bedside stand and set out the tunics and dress that Silvina had sent up with her ready on the chair and the back of the door. Obedient to the Master’s wishes she drew a piece of scrap parchment from her pocket, charcoal from the other and sank cross legged to the floor to draw for the few minutes it would take Menolly to rouse fully.

Chapter Text

Chapter 16

 Sebell was waiting in Robinton’s study with a large mug of steaming klah in one hand and a half eaten sweetbread in the other. Even after his late night summons to return to the Hall he was expecting the Master to emerge from his own rooms, instead, Robinton swept in the heavy doors from the corridor, having clearly not slept in his own bed. The younger Master was unsure of the correct response and thought there may not be one, the breach of so many accepted norms wasn’t to be taken lightly and yet as both Menolly and Robinton were his closest friends, now he felt pulled between them and his duty. It seemed wrong for the two of them to have been together and for Menolly to have a child outwith marriage.  He cringed at the realisation that his early teaching was still more ingrained than he had believed and colouring his reaction in a way it didn’t when he was abroad.

In his own way he loved them both, Menolly as much as he could love a woman, Robinton in much the same way but he had never compromised that relationship, knowing he was being trained with intent to be the next Craftmaster. The only potential rival he could have had was Menolly and now she could never be handed the position directly after Master Robinton.

Robinton’s genuine emotions were difficult to read at the best of times, consummate actor that he was; Sebell was fairly certain that at times the man could fool himself into recasting them. This morning though he managed to combine looking better rested than usual with a melancholy that puzzled his friend.  When the Harper saw Sebell lounging in his usual chair his entire demeanour changed, to Sebell it was like watching the man put on a mask. It saddened him that Robinton still felt the need to do so with only himself present but perhaps it had just been too long.

Robinton motioned to draw the chair closer to his own as he sat and curled his hands around the smooth arms, sighing.

“So, You have some questions for me now in addition to the news you have brought?”  

Sebell’s lips curled upwards, “You might say that sir, yes. Care to tell me what I’ve missed, as it appears some of the news here is of greater significance than my own report. The rumours are true then, Menolly is carrying your child?”

The Harper inclined his head towards the man, “She is, Sebell. Due around turnover and continuing was her own informed choice. We are not in a sexual relationship despite the rumours and she has neither bewitched nor seduced me, nor have I coerced her in any manner.  You have my word though it ought not to be needed.” Robinton cast him a mildly reprimanding look. Damn the man, he read people almost as well as dragons could.  Sebell fidgeted for a minute, swirling the liquid in his mug trying to gather his thoughts behind the thick closed doors before having to present the united front he knew was required.

“No, no it shouldn’t Master, I apologise, I’m merely..surprised at the turn of events. Menolly is usually so careful and guarded, it’s not like her- or you. Sir” He added the courtesy of address to mitigate the antagonism any perceived criticism of Menolly at a vulnerable point was sure to stir up in such a setting.

“So what are you going to do Master?” Sebell gazed levelly at Robinton over his mug as he sipped and waited for a response.

“We, Sebell. What are we going to do.” All traces of vulnerability or self doubt were gone and in it’s place a resolute expression, “WE?”

“Yes Sebell, you know well what you have been training for, consider this a trial period. It has been recently pointed out to me that I may have been overworking myself and it is time to start delegating to allow better prioritisation. I do not intend to send you back out for some time, instead you will be based in the Hall, the Masters know and respect you very well and are aware of my wishes for you to succeed me, this is supported.

Your presence in the hall will allow you to reconnect and become familiar with new faces, it shall reinforce in the minds of anyone with doubts that you belong here and are trusted with authority within the Hall even when I am present.  You have my full trust now as you have on your journeys abroad.

I have no intention of neglecting either Menolly or our child and as there is an undeniable burden on my time and attention as Masterharper, you will spend time learning the finer details and refining your existing knowledge and strategies. When my son or daughter is born you will, if you have proven yourself, be charged with a greater degree of responsibility for the first month."

So. Do you accept the challenge Master Sebell?” Robinton quirked a brow at him, the twinkle returning and dispelling the drawn look around his eyes. Damn the man, he didn’t know anyone other than the Weyrleaders who could refuse him.

“You know I will always answer when you call. I’ll do it.

Tell me about Menolly, I haven’t seen her since..I haven’t seen her for a long time.” He was fond of her, “Menolly is unique. I have some feathers to ruffle later as there have been a few malicious individuals making trouble that can no longer be tolerated.” The set of Robinton’s lips was grim, Sebell understood that he never wanted Menolly to weep, he felt the same way but she had never sought more from him than he offered and that was deep friendship. Menolly had lived holdless, was nearly fearless and yet the two of them still felt protective of her. It wasn’t entirely rational but the harpers had seen much that they didn’t want her to experience, or indeed anyone they cared for.

“So what does this mean for her attaining Mastery Robinton?  She has worked harder for it than anyone else I’ve seen and all the while battling the archaic ideas that some of the populace cling to over appropriate roles for females. Seriously Master, what happened between you, and why was the pregnancy continued?”

Master Robinton stared at the younger man for a long moment and breathed deeply.

“Why? Because Sebell I do not have any sort of rights over Menolly, it is her body and she has personal autonomy as enshrined in the charter. What sort of man would I be, what sort of Master would I be if I tried to conceal my mistakes at someone else’s expense and caused the woman I...the woman I care for pain in body and heart? Even if no one else ever knew we both would carry that forever and yes, I made a serious mistake but it was one I made and the consequences are my own doing. It was Menolly’s choice to continue, it could only ever be her choice, just as it ought to be for all women due to the punishment they endure for breaking expected norms.” The Masterharper’s voice became dangerously calm and soft in a tone Sebell knew well and wished to avoid being directed at him;

“That’s the last time I ever hear you question a man, any man in a way that

suggests that he has control over the body of his wife, partner, daughter, or friend, understand me?” Sebell nodded, swallowing hard.

Robinton’s face dissolved into a smile as though the past few moments had not occurred, it was a gift Sebell thought to be able to flick so easily between moods when he wished to.

“I know you’ve seen women damaged by childbirth.  In smallholds you will have come across loss of life that way.  It is less hazardous next to the healer hall or in big holds but not a risk to ignore. When it was discovered, Menolly was too far along for a trip between to be easy on her and you know her well, she has a depth of compassion that is rare to find, and a steel will forged in fire.”

Sebell looked at his friend and mentor, trying he thought to convince himself as well,

“I assume you’ve already been chewed out by the other hall Masters so I can skip that part?” Robinton gave an amused snort. “You could say that.”

“What can I do to help the three of you further, other than being your second?”

Robinton’s face was unreadable. “Later, not now Sebell.”

The Masterharper may have been aging but his hearing was as sharp as ever and by the time there was a knock on the door he was ready and masked again, “Enter!”

Menolly slipped in the door and her eyes flicking to Sebell, smiled brightly, “Master Robinton you left the reports on my desk earlier, I thought you’d need them!” There was a wicked twinkle in her eye at his oversight, one that he returned. When he took the heavy pile from her his hand lingered on hers just a little too long to be casual, until Sebell mildly cleared his throat.  It wasn’t that he wanted to disrupt them but there were reports that they really did have to cover early today. Menolly blushed prettily as she broke away.

“Have you decided what you want to do my dear?” It wasn’t a new term of affection between them but Sebell, accustomed to listening carefully for nuance heard a subtly different note that changed the quality of the endearment this time and sucked in his breath. Menolly had loved the Harper for a long time, but in all the time he had known Robinton he had never heard the tone that indicated he returned her feelings the same way, he’d never actually seen the Masterharper in love with anyone, even Silvina and they had remained close.

Menolly sighed as she sank into her chair.  She had missed this, the three of them discussing things over klah before the day properly began. She really wanted some fingerclaws with it though, badly, somehow she doubted she could wheedle those out of Silvina, they were difficult to get inland.

“Actually sir I have a request”, Robinton indicated her to continue with his mouth full of Klah and sweetbread.

“The young drudge, Lisette, has a skill that may be of use with refinement” If the men appeared surprised she did not notice, “This morning when I woke she was drawing- after setting things out- with charcoal on old parchment.  She is exceptionally good but is illiterate.

I want her to be apprenticed to Dermently for archives and illustrations but she’ll need intensive coaching in basic literacy. It shouldn’t be hard for her as under the accent she is actually very articulate. I can’t yet be a sponsor for her admission but if one of you would be willing….”

She looked intently at Robinton, “I want to know she’ll be safe while I’m away.” Sebell sat up sharply at that, eyes flicking between his friends, “You’re right Rob, I can’t go later and I need a refuge for a few weeks. I will miss you so much,” tears stung her eyes, “but it is the wisest way for now.  I can wind up my classes and do the handover this week and leave next to help at Benden. It may even be beneficial to my final study, at least widen the sources.” Robinton leaned over to brush a tear away that had slipped down her cheek. 

“I’ll sponsor her my Menolly”,  it wasn’t a conscious thing but Sebell took note of the slip,

“You are going then. I’ll arrange cover for your classes and you can work things out with Domick, remember to return on Oldive’s timetable, and if you need anything just send Beauty or the bronzes, I will always answer.” He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. She looked beautiful, cheeks more coloured, hair a little thicker, and courtesy of Silvina a flattering tunic that was more comfortable and cooler than other items. Talk turned to business and the normality and familiarity of it soothed Menolly. When it became a meeting that was only really between the two men she took her leave and walked towards Domick’s haven clutching a few leaves to her to polish.  The composition Master was one of the few individuals whose approval genuinely mattered to her and she knew he would never overlook things or be dishonest.  He kept her integrity intact by allowing his own free reign and maintaining a sense of justice and fairness. He wasn’t widely liked but to Menolly, raised around dour fishermen his manner was oddly comforting. There was a light in the back room already and she slowed until realising the door was propped open in tacit invitation. “Master?”

Chapter Text

“I have received a letter which is primarily intended for you. As your study supervisor I approved the project you tendered, listening to your reasoning I wrote to my mother and she has asked if you would be willing to record her story as a source or to meet with her.

She also has offered to help in any way she can. I hope you are not offended by the presumption but I did not wish to offer anything that I could not then supply due to lack of a note.”

Her throat felt rough when she took the second seat in the back room and felt the baby squirm, she wasn’t yet accustomed to the sensation and grimaced, Domick missed little and she caught his questioning look.

“The baby moving.” It wasn’t much of an explanation but enough to answer him and communicate her wish not to expand on that at this moment. She took several calming breaths,

“Thank her, I would be glad to hear her story and have another source from outside the Hall.  Do you think she would consider coming to me for interview? I won’t be doing any extra travelling; if that is not possible then could your mother write her own account for my collection of data?.”

Domick looked at his journeywoman thoughtfully before answering.

“I doubt she would consider travelling such a distance. I haven’t seen her much these past few years- more than a few in honesty. The Hall granted me a funded apprenticeship early, partly due to talent and also taking into account my rather precarious position in the Hold. Objectively speaking she was more secure and enabled with me here, was given some better work and met a good man eventually. It wasn’t her fault.

Anyway.

“You said ‘extra’ travelling in your response, can I then assume that you intend on doing some that isn’t defined as extra but as essential. Have you elected to follow Jerint’s suggestion or has a better offer been extended?”

She was touched by the genuine concern in his tone; how anyone could believe a man who could write such passionate, moving music as he did was cold or uncaring she didn’t understand. Domick was self contained by nature, unusual for a performer, but he had a rare depth of feeling that appealed to Menolly, she understood him better than she understood many of the more typically congenial harpers.

Her Master enjoyed the company of the young harpress, she was one of the few he had taught who like himself wrote music by instinct, thought and felt in music in a way that was uncommon and precious even among harpers. There was a kinship between such individuals that was difficult to describe.

Menolly would miss that, she had just begun to take it rather for granted as something that seemed so natural.

“Jerint’s suggestion sir. Mirrim has invited us,” She gestured to her fair, perched on various shelves and features around the room.

“We’ll leave soon; I need to finish the module my advanced class are on but that should be in the next sevenday, and organise a proper handover with my younger apprentices. Robinton appears...distracted and I think there are a few things he doesn’t want me to be witness to. Usually I’d argue, but in this case I am almost certain my presence would impede the most reasonable course of action, I listen.” She pulled a face, “You all taught me that from the day I arrived. If I am absent Master Robinton has a defence against the dimglows that try to insinuate I  am making decisions and being petty.”

Menolly glanced at Domick, allowing her turmoil to show through as she hadn’t even fully done with Robinton and Sebell earlier. There was no specific point that she could identify when the dynamic between them had changed to one that was pleasantly relaxed and friendly, but he was one of the few teaching Masters who seemed to deal quite naturally with the maturing of his students and accept it without difficulty. It never interfered with his ability and satisfaction in challenging them and he held every student to the same high standard regardless of his personal feelings.

Robinton shared many  of those traits and it saddened Menolly to think that because of one mating flight some would doubt his integrity. It was almost as hard to watch his reputation questioned as it was to hear the smears against her own. It was hard not to feel guilty and yet she had no doubt when thinking rationally that she had done nothing to feel guilty about; she had seen the behaviour of male apprentices and Journeymen and it was rare to have a celibate Journeying harper, or even older ones in the Hall. A few were boastful of conquests although most were more subtle, yet no one ever punished the few despite the fact that they often caused as much or more damage as herself. It was accepted and largely ignored and the sheer unfairness of that double standard was enough to make her want to scream.

Domick broke her reverie, “Menolly you are clenching your fists sufficiently to have turned your knuckles white, I would hate to find your violin work below your usual standard due to cramp. Do you want to talk about it or just use the practice room to vent while it’s empty?”

She bit her tongue hard as she rose and slipped into the practice room, almost growling when she discovered that she no longer fitted through a crack and had to properly open the door to pass.

    She was beginning to genuinely envy dragons and firelizards their egg laying method and external hatchling maturation. It was far more sensible than the mammalian way. Oddly Beauty seemed to be trying to tell her mistress where she was nesting, not something Menolly had ever been able to persuade her queen to share however much she tried. It would seem that she had been waiting for her friend to understand motherhood, although why the little queen had concluded that it was necessary to do so she had no idea. It wasn’t unusual for firelizard motives to be nonsensical or obscure however and after the years they’d spent together she just accepted it and didn’t question some of those.

    Humans however she could not disregard the same way. Their motives shaped behaviour and outcome, and even if they were illogical they required acknowledgement of some degree. Right now she was frustrated and hurt at many of them; even some of those wishing to be supportive seemed to regard her as a pawn in a long game, the more she turned it over in her mind the more she wanted to hide, just for a moment to catch up with everything and to feel less exposed to being constantly scrutinised.

Domick listened by the door to her playing furiously, it was a new song, full of energy and anger, refined it would arouse intense emotional response in those who heard it he thought and wondered what words she would put to it. For now though it was simply her release of pent up confusion and anger and hurt, pain and determination, defiant in tone, it was ridiculous of anyone to doubt her skill when she frequently displayed not only an innate affinity to music and composition but the ability to make almost any instrument speak for her so effectively. He snorted, he had already put two boys on water rations in the last sevenday for repeating repulsive accusations and suggesting she had somehow now seduced another Master despite being ‘used goods’. He had ensured that the rest of the classes understood the severity of punishment for any poison he heard uttered.

      As the mood of the music changed and calmed to a quieter and less frenetic pace she switched to a lower range and such poignant playing that it brought a tear to Domick’s eye and he moved out of earshot with a sense that he ought not to intrude on this moment. Not every tune was intended to be shared and Domick knew which ones were private expressions of the heart when words simply couldn’t suffice. Faranth knew he’d played enough of them himself though apprentices may  disbelieve that.

When the warning bell rang for first classes, Menolly set down her violin and emerged looking drained but composed and catching Domick’s eye inclined her head in silent gratitude.  She knew no words were needed as an understanding passed between them.  At his invitation she snagged a meatroll and held her head high as he had demanded, walking to her classroom exhibiting no sign of her true state of mind or the developments of the last twelve hours. Thread take her detractors. She was Menolly, a Journeywoman by her own effort and fight, survivor of threadfall,  impressed to nine firelizards and she was worthy of the respect of untried children. Though she did not prize her birthright she outranked most by that, she held rank of her own that she did claim and there wasn’t a man or woman on Pern who could take that from her. She felt a strong wave of encouragement and smiled up at Beauty stroking her headknob and projecting thanks, not noticing the puzzlement of the little queen as they reached the door and took their normal place, the place she belonged and was certain she always would.

      Far away a green dragon stretched her wings and grinned a toothy grin- or as close as a dragon could ever get to one- as her rider slept soundly next to Monarth’s rider. Monarth snorted in his sleep and Path laid her head against him, it was good she thought having a warm bronze to share her couch.  It didn’t take nearly as long to warm up the stone with two. Yes. Everything was right. Humans truly were gifted at overcomplicating things, especially clutching and mating, they never seemed to listen to dragons though and most of the others ignored it.  This one was different though, her thoughts were loud and they were clear but mostly her rider kept thinking about the clutching one. That made her important somehow but now was time to rest because Monarth was here and he was much more interesting than any human- except Mirrim of course. Her Mirrim.  

Chapter Text

Master Sebell sat grim faced in the Masterharper’s office, rage coiling within him in response to his findings, his jaw tightened.

“You were right Master, it was them. The room was stocked with filth of different sorts, the one lad I caught there tried to tell me it was a prank; we did not agree on the definitions of ‘prank’ or ‘mischief’. He is waiting to be dealt with but is above the age of choice, you know what that means even better than I do Sir.”

Robinton groaned and drew a long fingered hand down his face. If there was one thing he didn’t  need right now it was doling out severe punishments.

“How bad was it Sebell?” He really didn’t want to know but had to hear nonetheless.

His voice sounded strained as the younger man controlled his features,

“Come Master, you asked for my help, I am offering it. The students have been acting in what can only be described as a criminal way, as they are above the age of choice we are duty bound to try them for any such actions.

You are too close to  Menolly to take the lead on this case Master Robinton, until this tumour is excised from our Hall keep her SAFE!”

Robinton’s fists were clenched tightly, not a man typically prone to violence today he was sorely tempted to use it to solve one problem even if it left him with a new set of problems.

“Does Menolly need to know?” Sebell regarded his mentor and friend intently before answering slowly,

“No, not yet. She is not their only target and I strongly suspect this runs deeper than a couple of thread witted creeps. Menolly has only two days left here before her departure for the Weyr, but you know how quickly rumours spread in the Hall, the absentees will be noted at evening meal and I cannot promise what she will do to you if she discovers the concealment of such information. Consider carefully Robinton before you take that decision.”

Robinton fell silent and closed his eyes in thought steepling his fingers, remaining this way until Sebell wondered aloud whether he had fallen asleep.

“Asleep? Have I ever in all the time you’ve known me fallen asleep at troubling news?”

A wry smile spread over Sebell’s features, “Only  when Master Fandarel told you the wine had run dry Sir.” He was rewarded by a quiet chuckle.

Yes, thought Robinton, Shonagar had been wise in his advice, he had not realised how much he had missed Sebell and it was a relief to have someone to share the burdens and joys with, and that took him right back to Menolly again. He sighed, sounding to himself like a lovesick apprentice, He loved her. Would never stop loving her, but Robinton had long ago learned that love was a complex thing, immeasurable and vital, it sustained a person when all logic would indicate the hopelessness of a situation.

Sebell was not exaggerating, the man had the boys who shared the dorm and their closest friends gathered by the end of the afternoon and began the process of interviewing them, he did not want to give anyone connected the opportunity to cut and run to avoid the consequences of actions that endangered others.

“Please Robinton, you can use it as a test or not but let me deal with this one. At least until it is necessary to involve external authorities. Trust me with this as you have done with so many other things.”

Master Robinton railed internally against the calm of his friend, it was worrisome to him to recognise the truth in Sebell’s observation that his relationship with Menolly was colouring his approach to this particular problem, and yet surely it was natural to feel protective of someone carrying his child?

That Sebell was willing to challenge his Master, however gently it was done demonstrated the wisdom of his choice as the next Master, he was not intimidated by position nor willing to overlook what he judged to be compromised decision making. It eased Robinton’s distress a little to have that decision affirmed as best for the Hall.

He nodded, “You’re right of course, though this is supposed to happen in reverse, me lecturing you. I trust you Sebell, I knew a long time ago it would be you who followed me and the Hall Masters agree. Thank you for your honesty my friend.”

Sebell looked at the the older man with compassion, he knew that Robinton had intentionally given his journeymen ample opportunities to take their friendship further but Sebell simply hadn’t ever been interested in women that way, Menolly was understanding, even commenting on the practicality of such liaisons for a travelling craftsman who would not stay long in one place.
What they had was a close sibling-like bond and Sebell had seen what Menolly lived through, been a confidant as well as a peer, he was known for his discretion and his gentle approach within the craft. It had kindled in him a fierce protectiveness in him that would have embarrassed her had she known it and Sebell had always been confident, despite not needing overt attention from others, he did not doubt his capability and skill.

He was however able to include her in his investigation and case without placing more emphasis on her than on others at unexpected risk and right now his Master was not likely to be able to maintain that appearance of placing equal value on all. To compromise that would be to lose the unwavering support of Pern and open the Hall up to wrongful accusations. When he was calmer the Masterharper would be grateful he knew, and Sebell was certain that there were only two others the man would ever have allowed to see him so open and unmasked, his guard down.
The Harper disliked sleeping as much because nightmares plagued him as because of a naturally low requirement, this again was not common knowledge but Robinton carried much guilt and the things he had lived through had produced a man who was near ever-ready. After his travels Sebell had concluded that this was the case with many Masters and Holders of a certain age, and noticed also that there was much recent history that simply was never spoken of, topics that were carefully not mentioned, the occasional sharp topic change not related to his enquiry.

He dreaded that fate. All the more for expecting to spend much of his life alone, he could never have given up his profession though, nor the opportunity offered him in the potential position of Masterharper. That would wait for now, he’d address it when needed. A time when he had time and energy to concentrate on himself again.

         Robinton wrestled with himself, desperately wanting to protect her and yet equally anxious that she not feel he was pushing her way or not trusting her, he finally conceded that it was her right to be aware of the investigation and reason for the boys evening absence, telling her when they were alone once again in his quarters. It was strange how easily they  had fallen into the pattern and it struck him afresh how much he wished it could simply be this way, sharing living arrangements and spending evenings together - when they were both in the Hall. Their life was not a ballad though or mythical tale, at least if it was it must be one of the dark kind intended to ‘teach a lesson’ or discourage deviance. Nevertheless after the dormitory raids and discoveries made earlier Master Robinton found himself unable to allow Menolly to return to her own room, the Harper Hall did not typically admit fools and he knew that had he been so warped he would have immediately looked to the room of any person of interest and if associates were found and secured have gone to the most likely source of reports. Certainly there was a risk that any members of the group remaining at large may react by pushing ahead any plans early.

Sebell had been correct in his implication of Menolly’s likely reaction if Robinton had failed to inform her and she had made sure he understood fully how angry she would have been at any concealment, making both men wince and thank the egg they had attempted no such thing. She was magnificent when her anger was wakened, green eyes flashing, the whole image augmented by the firelizards surrounding her, the harpers both fully believed Beauty and her fair were serious in their aggressive overtures. Zair and Kimi always were.

Master Sebell wrote to Lord Groghe at dawn the next morning to arrange a meeting, there were serious matters to discuss, new information pertinent to the trial of ex-Master Morshall, and Sebell hoped to discuss an arrangement for security for a few individuals until they resolved the problem in it’s entirety. Despite his reputation as a womaniser the old Lord had always been a fair man and held great respect for women, moreover he had seen the immense damage ignoring or disregarding the actions of one perverse and charismatic individual could do. Fax had not begun as a totalitarian sadist, ruling an empire. Pern had had no surviving term for what that level of conquest was; he had begun as a bully, an intelligent and manipulative one who came to enjoy the suffering of others and not challenged early enough.

Lord Groghe had sworn to himself and his land Never Again. Even if it meant the next would-be Fax died by his hand he would never again watch that darkness spread over Pern. Now of course they had the Weyrs, there were dragons in the skies, logically it couldn’t occur during the Pass, yet he had never been able to tolerate apathy and he was fiercely independent, shirking unpleasant duties was not the way of a proper Holder to his mind. He was conscious of duty and was highly aware of the link between rights and responsibility, the man had taught the finer points of the Charter and the histories to so many now that he could recall exact references and recite most of the damn thing. There was no denying though that it served him well.

Master Sebell didn’t know where the infection had begun but he knew that it was present in both his Hall and Lord Groghe’s Hold. If anyone could aid him in swiftly burning it out permanently it was Groghe, and now it seemed they had little choice.

   Silvina had sent Lisette up to help Menolly as usual that morning but the poor lass had been frozen to the spot when she glimpsed Master Robinton, not the illustrious man of stories she had heard before or the Head of the Hall with a beautiful voice but a man in a bathrobe with mussed hair and a creeling bronze firelizard  who appeared to be rubbing his cheek against it.

Robinton waved his hand vaguely in the direction of his bedroom and muttered something that sounded like a direction to go to Menolly in there. It wouldn’t have made a difference to her that he’d slept on the couch or that he hadn’t laid an improper finger on Menolly, but it was unfortunate that being in his presence had that effect on the maid. WIth the possibility of training Menolly was insisting that she not be referred to as a ‘drudge’, it was a small thing and so only Robinton and Silvina had extrapolated the logical extensions of that marked difference. The girl would need to learn to be in a room with a man though, somehow, and Robinton would need her to consent to any arrangement, that had become a lower priority to him after seeing her name on the boys ‘list’  the previous day. He did not wish her to worry that she had done something wrong or was acting improperly but it was far harder to find someone to provide decent protection for ‘only’ a drudge than for a woman of rank. He intended to discuss with his- whatever Menolly now was to him- the possibility of taking Lisette with her to the Weyr for those six sevendays, it would be foreign and likely daunting to her but at least it wouldn’t be dangerous  and Benden had a reputation for treating their support staff better than most.

He smiled as Menolly’s lilting laughter washed over him and her low voice reach his ears, he should go and get some work  done, which he had nearly convinced himself had to be an improvement on yesterday when a flash of gold darted through the window that was plainly not Beauty and behaving rather manically, scolding Robinton soundly as he tried to disentangle her and reach the message she brought. Shells but he wished Lord Groghe was not a morning person, still getting some of the whole thing over with was at least productive and easier than trying to delay things without reasonable cause. Merga finally settled sufficiently for Robinton to attach a message to her leg and return with a promise to arrive as soon after breakfast as was at all possible, the Harper groaned loudly and Zair squawked at him, “Not you little one, him. You are lovely, and probably a much better breakfast guest if one ignores the blood but I expect you to be polite my bronze man and on best behaviour today. We are all going to need it for longer than I’d like.” Zair stared at his Master for a moment, opened his mouth as though to speak and instead burped so impressively that Robinton, usually the most dignified of men could not restrain the laughter that startled his bronze and unbalanced him from his perch on the harper’s shoulder pad so that he landed straight in a mug of klah and vanished between shrieking in outrage, leaving his poor partner laughing hysterically at his desk.

Chapter Text

Having made a decision and sent a note of confirmation to Mirrim of her glad acceptance of the invitation to visit, Menolly found the next few days easier, there was a break she could anticipate and a rest, even though she would technically be working.

She arranged appointments with Oldive and made plans and back-up plans with the birthing woman she had been referred to, had one with Robinton for support as he could not make the first one. Silvina gifted her several sets of clothes specially designed for harpering while pregnant and she was shocked by one of her apprentice classes giving her a box of redfruit pastries. Her craving for them had apparently become a source of amusement to some of them as the boys had begun to accept that she had not become a worse teacher or changed in skill or value. The rumours continued and the judgements from some seemed to intensify with each passing day as her pregnancy became more visible, and slowly began to merge with other gossip, perhaps being less visible for six sevendays or so would help the dissipation. Oldive didn’t want her to cut the safety margin for between travel too close and it was something Menolly took very seriously, knowing that taking unnecessary risks of that sort was foolish indeed and hazardous to a woman’s health as well as that of any babe.

     She spent the early mornings that week in Robinton’s quarters and Domick’s study, arranged with Dermently some specialist training for Lisette in her own absence and took every opportunity to be in Rob’s company that she could, a few evenings just falling asleep to the smooth, soothing sound of his voice. She wished they could have this together properly but knew that if she had never conceived their relationship would never have approximated this type of partnership. Menolly refused to draw a man into a formal arrangement against his will or even because of a child, it had to be a choice and on a selfish note she acknowledged that she needed physical attention and intimacy that wasn’t limited to the odd mating flight or followed by a gnawing guilt in the man she loved.

She would always love him, how could she not? Menolly thought though that she may, like Silvina, have the capacity to love more than one person.  It wasn’t a good thing in her personal opinion, she still believed that a loyal two-person union was the ideal and desired that, but she was unsure of Robinton’s wishes. She did not doubt that he returned her love, hadn’t for a long time and he had looked at her differently after her last extended journey. It had been hard and long, educational and divested her of what little innocence and naiveté she had still possessed; the Masterharper had known at a glance that she had returned a woman in every way.  Travelling now was not as dangerous as in the time of Fax when brutality became widespread and reports of atrocities distressingly common. Harpers had been disproportionately targeted and Robinton always worried when sending out his Journeymen now. He hoped never to see such cruelty again but that meant continuing to fight against ignorance and injustice everywhere it was found...apathy had brought disaster too many times already.

Menolly was aware of needs in herself that she was now sure Robinton could never quite bring himself to meet, certain though she was of his full acceptance and support of their child. How far would he be willing to share she wondered, it wasn’t an easy topic to raise in any scenario, let alone theirs! But Faranth she needed a man...the hormones were surging through her and it was now becoming distracting, she hadn’t managed to persuade Robinton to help relieve the tension and there was only so much she could do alone. If he wouldn’t or couldn’t provide that aspect of comfort and relief she would need to seek it somewhere else as permanent celibacy was not going to work for her, the weyr may be a good place to find a ‘solution’ to the problem.

Robinton was the most intelligent man she knew, that most people knew, he would have drawn the same conclusion.

Robinton had written more in the way of personal music in the last few weeks than he had in turns and Menolly began to relax around him properly again, it was refreshing, they laughed together as they had not done for far too long.

He did begin to kiss her tenderly occasionally but it was too little, he didn’t want to do anything more as far as Menolly could tell. It hurt in one way but that was irrational as in other circumstances she would have expected even less than that.

She didn’t want to hurt him, ever, but she also didn’t want to risk coming to resent Robinton for what he could not offer her.  She knew his heart was hers though it oughtn’t to be, but she could not predict what course of action Robinton may be coerced into and he was Masterharper before he was able to be Robinton. He had always put the Hall’s welfare before his own and would not, could not change that, if he was a different man she wouldn’t have loved him so in any case.

Life was never simple for either of them and she wished that just once it was.

If they were wed he would likely be willing to explore a deeper intimacy with her but she did not wish to be married because of a child conceived outside of wedlock and encourage the idea that she ought to be ashamed and try to fix her mistake, conceal it and act as though it did not happen. Menolly couldn’t help the stab of grief she felt for the loss of what she had never had, if he had asked her before the flight  to marry she would have consented, age difference or no.

    Instead she had lost something she had never thought she could have and it stung.

She wanted to run, to fly from everything, running was what she did wasn’t it? No. No she told herself. Running fearfully, fleeing in cowardice was not what Menolly did. She ran to safety and regrouped to face her fears and foes, she did not back down from a fight- even if they were now less physical than they once were. It was not weak to run or hide strategically; Lessa had hidden, she and Sebell had hidden to ‘observe’ things, this was no different surely.

      Mirrim had sent an enthusiastic reply that was almost bubbling over with congratulations, promising that either herself or T’gellan would come and collect her from the hall; the casual mention of T’gellan brought a smile to Menolly’s face. Apparently the two of them had finally formalised their longstanding ‘friendship’ and acknowledged the nature of that relationship- at least as formal an arrangement as the Weyr ever had-, shells the only thing that hadn’t been obvious last time was sex, and the Weyr didn’t have the same problems with that as most Holds. The only two people who had not been aware of the depth of their bond had been Mirrim and T’gellan!

Menolly was aware that Mirrim’s impression of Path had compromised her self confidence and trust in anyone demonstrating attraction, she was never sure if it was for her or for Path. Genuine or just due to the blanket reputation greenriders had of being particularly amorous and willing to tumble with anyone at all.

Mirrim had been subjected to public speculation and subjected to ignorant judgements by far too many people and it was Menolly’s private belief that this was the primary reason she had delayed making any commitments and engaging in any relationship openly.

For herself the experience had been less protracted,  but was certainly beginning to influence how she assessed possible courses of action.  Initially Menolly had really just assumed she would foster when it was possible so as to concentrate better on her gaining Mastery and building a good career for herself. Now she was leaning towards finding an alternative so that people would not assume she was trying to distance herself or hide the child away, either way she wanted to raise them in the hall. Perhaps they would not wish to pursue music but it was a gift she and Rob could give, it was their legacy, and music was not only for musicians!

Usually her journeys were longer or less...definite...in length than the six weeks she would be away this time but it had never felt so long or so daunting to leave her home. It had come as a surprise when Silvina presented her with a pile of papers three days before her planned departure.

It was with a warm smile and a glint in her eye that she had placed the stack on her desk when Menolly went in to see the Headwoman.

“Hello Menolly, it would seem that word spread quickly of your intended field of study. There are many women who are reticent about being interviewed and losing anonymity-even to you- but so many who still want their stories to be known, or the knowledge to be at your fingertips. I haven’t read these as they were not meant for me.  The women work for me but I have promised each one that I will ensure you get these. The literacy rates are...variable, so some are scribed, some fluent and some rather a challenge to decipher but they are all written by people who were shocked at anyone being interested in their story or their knowledge. You have brought joy to a great number of people my dear, you always do. Do not let anyone take that from you or persuade you to be less than you are, some will try and when they do just remember thread take them, they rely on targeting others to try and make themselves feel superior. They will forever be less because of that. Pity them but do not dwell on their empty words.”

“Every day since the first rumours were whispered of your project I have had women of different backgrounds bring me these and in the last two, since there was news of your placement at Benden, I have received some from women resident in Fort. This is going to be bigger than you thought Menolly, you have lit the glows of an idea and it is ideas my girl that change the world.

    Make sure you get some rest at the Weyr, it begins to seem you may need it more than some of our harperfolk thought.”

Silvina hugged her tightly, not quite able to suppress the surge of pride she felt for the young woman before her, who she had seen grow into herself since arriving at the hall insecure and anxious, disbelieving of her worth to them. It began to seem that her legacy would be unlike anything they had expected. She wondered if Pern was ready for what she sensed was to ripple through it’s people this generation, and if Menolly herself had any idea of the fire she had just started.

Menolly blinked back tears that threatened to spill over and relaxed against the older woman, drawing strength from her certainty and unwavering support,

“Thank you Silvina” Was all she could mutter into the Headwoman’s shoulder without her voice cracking. Silvina had a tremendous gift for helping people to focus on the future and moving forwards, not the what-could-have-beens and become mired in the past.

Menolly took the astonishingly large pile of pages in her arms and trudged up to her quarters to get the last bit of packing done, leaving out only a change of clothes and the instruments, she needed those to hand right now.

She added the data to her packing, already much more than it usually was but at least she would have the aid of a dragon to move it and she doubted any would have such problems as to struggle with bags! It sounded like thunder as a wave of amusement rumbled through the room but casting her eye to the skies she could see no cloud, her imagination was playing tricks on her again. Frustrating but not something she’d admit to as the next person to mention the word ‘hormones’ may just get an unapologetically violent response!

Chapter Text

“If I go early they’ve won. If I leave before I’m expected to do so it lends credence to this shit and Robinton, I understand your misgivings, I even share them but if I run now and let the the threadwits believe they ran me off and achieved something then what was this for, any of it? What. Is. The sharding. Point. In any of it?
This was never just about me or you, or even our baby, but I have somewhere to run and people to protect me and if you can honestly tell me that the same is true of every single person they have named I’ll go right now. If not,then what does it say if I walk away but that no one will defend them? If it was anyone but me Rob you’d say the same thing, I know it is tearing at you and I know what you feel every time we ‘lose’ a student but you could not have stopped them from accepting wrong teaching and it bothers you so greatly because we lose so few. You and I are together for now and I swear that I will leave the moment the pair arrive tomorrow, I’ll even avoid our usual pick up point to be extra cautious but please, accept my choice in this as you supported my choices until now.
I will not endanger myself or wriggler here unnecessarily but we should continue as planned. Not to mention this gets a whole lot messier if it comes to involve Hall, Hold and Weyr.  I don’t fancy explaining at Benden until you all have made some progress and settled the rest of the boys down.”

Master Robinton looked hard at Menolly, he had always admired her passion and the rare flashes of righteous anger but she was right to challenge him on actions she believed to be to the detriment of Pern. She was not the Masterharper though and in this office he was not wholly Robinton, it was too easy to forget that around her sometimes.

“I hear what you are saying and based on your arguments will delay the departure for now, but if I feel it necessary Journeywoman Menolly, you will go to the Weyr before nightfall, not because of our personal connection but because you are an asset to the Harper Hall and to Pernese culture. As Masterharper that is my decision to make and placing you in jeopardy when you are physically disadvantaged would be irresponsible of me in that role; songmaking and composition that comes naturally to you is valuable beyond my own time as Masterharper of Pern but only if I keep you alive and intact. Contrary to what you may think this is not about my personal feelings but the wisdom of allowing them to outweigh the greater wisdom that necessitates objectively quantifying the value of my harpers talents. Why do you think Domick never journeyed but that it was a waste of his actual gifts? Or Dermently forced to improve his abysmal instrument making?”

“Be angry if you wish, sulk if you must but outside these doors I know I can rely on you to act professionally and responsibly as we always have done,” He suppressed the urge to brush her cheek or compromise with her this time, she needed to remember that in this office he was still the Masterharper and not hers.”

Benden will hear one way or another, do not concern yourself with that Menolly, I have been Masterharper for a very long time and known the Weyrleaders since long before the Pass. Go. Domick will be up demanding an explanation for your lateness if you dither longer.”

Menolly did not miss the emphasis on her rank and found it was surprisingly difficult to process and not feel hurt; there was no insult in the reference, it was not different to the way she had been proud to be addressed mere weeks ago and she certainly didn’t want to leave on bad terms with Robinton, especially right now, she didn’t think she was wrong though to question his motives, everyone else would and perhaps best first from a- a friend.

  Distracted as she was, Menolly almost walked past the proper rooms until her name was called sharply and broke through her musings,

“You are late Journeyman Menolly.” The reminder irritated her and Domick cast her a penetrating look when she snapped at him in response,

“You’re the only one who seems to still be surprised when I fall short of expectations Sir, I didn’t think you gave students the benefit of a doubt.”

Domick allowed the stony silence to stretch on until she dropped her eyes, “Sorry sir”, it was barely above a whisper but Domick’s hearing was excellent and his features softened.

“You have more than enough critics already Menolly, do try not to alienate your friends. You are still improving in your craft and you remain an honest, conscientious student. That I recognise that is not a personal judgement but what I must act upon if I hold you to my usual standards and treat you as I do every other student your level. Let us then proceed in a spirit of mutual respect!”

He waved her towards the readied seat in the group and Menolly flushed as she noted Talmor sitting awkwardly with studiously averted eyes and Timiny with mouth agape apparently unable to look any less horrified.

Sebell had rejoined the group upon his return and was wearing his usual serene expression to cover any reaction, irrationally she found his reluctance to react frustrating but was at least aware of that silliness. Quashing her natural response Menolly firmly bit her tongue and mentally counted until the heat faded.  Ignoring the other two reactions she took her seat and began to tune up without another word. The journeymen looked to Sebell who merely shrugged and suggested they return to their own tuning that the practice could commence.

It felt longer than any practice Menolly could remember, everything hurt, muscles she didn’t know existed ached, the baby seemed to be trying to blindly  dance to the rhythm and she couldn’t concentrate with her head swimming and legs itching. The ‘glow’ was an old Auntie’s myth, a clever lie to reassure young women before they discovered the truth of it. Somehow she survived the session, though it all blurred to such a degree that she doubted she could accurately recall any of it, thank Faranth for the skill of sight-reading scores.

Domick watched her as she set aside the instrument and moved the stand back to it’s place, he was worried about his journeywoman- quite deeply concerned, but it appeared that she was not in a state to approach yet and certainly not to ask to remain when anyone may overhear such instructions. It was unlikely to be anything that he could help with or solve but she needed to talk to someone and he was struck by the glistening of hot tears that silently streaked her face.
Throughout everything Menolly had been impressively gracious and self controlled - for a pregnant woman. To see her let that slip indicated that the problem was something serious, but if it was going to happen at any point he supposed it ought to be now, just as the reality of leaving the Hall swept over her. He knew Menolly’s background and had taught Elgion before his assignment to Halfcircle.  Her Hold had never really been her home in the same way the Harper Hall was, Domick held that people chose their own home. Made their own home. He understood her apprehension about leaving that behind with a child to protect, this was not like prior journeys and it was not like other absences from Robinton’s side. Domick knew all too well that it didn’t matter what personal circumstances were unfolding, Pern kept turning, crops continued growing, thread continued falling. Time never stopped to allow a person to catch up and the wounds collected along the way were seldom clean cuts. Still if Rob broke Menolly’s heart Domick would not be gentle with him.

He hoped she herself would seek out Silvina and the Masterharper tonight, there was little time to repair any hurts before she would be gone from their hall and their care. Domick snorted, he must be getting soft in his old age. Not to be caught by the younger men he turned and gruffly admonished them to put the room to rights before leaving and remember to cover the glows, no one would follow him to the study believing him to be in a terse and sullen mood. Thankfully.

Stepping cautiously to avoid tripping over feet she could no longer quite see the Harpress approached the door to Master Robinton’s study and tapped lightly, unsure whether she wanted him to answer or not. When he did and smiled in relief she felt a warmth wash over her that had been missing all day and as the door closed behind her she melted into his arms like a wax candle. What finally broke them was that he allowed it and returned her need to hold Menolly solidly to him, he said nothing, simply taking her to the couch in his private rooms and slipping off their shoes to lie beside her stroking her hair. Zair didn’t even squeak in protest when Aunties one and two draped themselves over the Harper the little bronze believed was his own. Acutely aware of what he would miss when they left Robinton decided to let the paperwork wait and instead watched the one he loved sleep, waiting for her to wake.

The morning of her departure dawned and Menolly waited in the courtyard, making a great effort to maintain an appearance of calm composure as her heart pounded in her chest and a chill spread through her, stomach churning. It felt wrong to be leaving now but her choice had evaporated. Lisette stood next to her silently, it would be her first ride dragonback remembered Menolly, of course she’d be scared especially as she’d never set foot in a Weyr and had heard horror stories of them. She reached out a hand to the girl’s and gave it an encouraging squeeze, T’gellan’s words to her upon her arrival at the Harper Hall echoed in her mind, nothing to fear. Robinton had told her the same thing the previous night when they were curled together in his quarters, from anyone else it might have sounded an empty platitude but when her Master and partner spoke it was hard not to trust him. Especially when he sounded so assured, usually she could discern when he was lying or directing people and it had been a very long time since he had done so with her. She tried not to dwell too much on the possibility after they had spent the evening speaking completely openly and addressing their concerns about her visit to Benden and plans for her return. Neither had wanted to part on a bitter note and for Robinton it would have been impossible to do, the separation had in fact forced them to address some of the things both had been avoiding so carefully.

It felt appropriate that cold mists had obscured things this morning beyond a dragonlength or so and Menolly drew the richly hued blue cloak tightly around her. Despite the mists she knew Robinton watched from his windows and Menolly had even managed a grin at the flash of dark curls she caught slipping something into her bags.  She was very curious as to what that was and even more to what Piemur was doing back in the hall right now. Silvina had roundly scolded the Harper on his placement of Piemur with Olodkey but following the despicable exhibition at their Masters Meeting and his removal, all of the former drum  apprentices had been reallocated and placed under observation, Piemur placed in a much better position under Nip and Tuck and Olodkey replaced by the now acting-master Rokayas.

If Piemur was present there was mischief in the making and if there was mischief in the Hall the Harper was part of it. She sighed. It was hard not to succumb to self doubt when everyone around her seemed not to fully trust her judgements, no matter. Shouting at the sea had never stopped a storm from making. No more shouting to the deeps.

She was brought back to the present and out of her reflections by a strong downdraft from emerald wings and being hugged by a streak of dragonrider who seemed to be energy itself.  Casting a glance to Lisette, Menolly grinned, Mirrim left most people in somewhat of a state of shock.

Path lowered her head and looked at Menolly intently with whirling green eyes just a shade lighter than her hide, she was truly a beautiful creature. She didn’t expect the pleased sounding “Thank you” that sounded like a distant echo of Mirrim’s voice. Curious.

Mirrim was still talking as she slung the load up expertly.

Menolly found that conversation with Mirrim often required one to be rather an opportunist, watching for the moments she would stop to take a breath. Not fully listening to the chatter- there was time for that later- she began to try and work out how on Pern to get up, the last time she’d flown dragonback she had not had her own passenger! Path rumbled low in her throat and lowered her shoulder, Menolly thought she must have bespoken her rider as Mirrim broke off abruptly and began apologising, offering her friend support for balancing and a help up. Lisette settled behind her and holding Path tightly enough that Menolly feared she could bruise they finally took off and Menolly caught her breath as she looked down on the hall and the people she loved for a long moment before at Mirrim’s command, they winked between and the scene disappeared.

When she looked down and they began to come in to land, it had been replaced by the bustle of Benden Weyr and there were several people gathered to welcome the new ‘teaching harper’. One look at her friend and Mirrim promptly took over, clearing the area of people and helping Menolly to a seat.  Mirrim could be annoying and bossy but she was fiercely protective and a skilled director of people. Menolly was sure that if  she hadn’t impressed Path, Mirrim would have followed Manora as Benden’s headwoman. When only Menolly, Mirrim and Manora remained the greenrider had the grace to look at least a little abashed at Manora’s amused look.  Casting around she caught Menolly’s eye who began to chuckle and wave her finger, “Never change Mirrim, you never change!”

As Manora’s features broke into a grin Mirrim threw up her hands in mock disgust declaring loudly that “they were all in the way and noisesome!” Leaving the two of them and mumbling something about scrubbing Path, who protested to the contrary. She knew that Menolly was safe with Manora and the Headwoman had to do the standard introduction and basic settling anyway and she would be just as superfluous as the welcoming committee had been. Reaching for Path she grinned, the green was utterly besotted with Monarth and had gone to join him, it sounded like a very good idea and if Monarth was available it meant that a certain handsome bronze rider was too! She grinned wickedly. Today was going to be a very good day!

Chapter Text

Half Circle

Mavi couldn’t sleep, she’d heard the exchange between the brown rider and Harper Elgion and it couldn’t distract herself from it. As Holder’s wife there were few people she could discuss personal issues with, particularly when they would reflect badly on herself or Yanus’ capabilities, Yanus wasn’t an option as he had made it extremely clear that he no longer considered Menolly his daughter. He avoided any mention of her like a wrecking sandbar. Perhaps Elgion would be discreet and willing to help her.

Mavi had been disappointed in her youngest daughter and hurt but she would never be able to fully disown and disregard a child of her body, it would have been easier and less painful if she could. Despite still thinking of Menolly as selfish she had come to acknowledge that her daughter was more useful away from her birth hold and Mavi was a woman who appreciated the value of purpose and efficiency.

 Elgion had been very careful about his teaching and the new material he used in the hold, however so much of it was Menolly’s work or collaboration it was difficult to be both selective and retain integrity. He didn’t believe he should have to screen it but some were clearly drawing on elements of her past that would hold meaning in Halfcircle that they did not elsewhere.

      Mavi had been struck by one of the songs though that she had to admit was good, even if Yanus never would. It had helped her to understand better the desperation Menolly had felt and took her back to the longest nights sitting with her desperately pleading in delirium.

It spoke of losing part of oneself and never being able to be whole, a seaman anchored to land evermore, a dragon with wings torn to shreds n’ere again to fly or to soar, the lovers torn apart broken hearted. Her daughter had managed to communicate such desolation and despair it had brought her to tears. Yanus hadn’t liked it.

She understood but she missed the man he had once been, the young fisherman who could command men easily and was the best story teller she’d known, better than their harper had been even. Then the hard times had come, the child born too soon, Old Uncle’s accident that had made Yanus Seaholder in the first place and left him  without an advisor; and Thread. Seaholds bred tough folk, menfolk especially, and as their Holder Yanus could show no weakness to them, he simply couldn’t grasp that emotion wasn’t weakness now.

He hadn’t always been that way, his heart had hardened over time though and been chilled by life’s storms. Their marriage had been one of mercy initially; Mavi had never met him until the week before they wed.  Her father was wise enough to send her down from their small hold in Tillek when Fax began his conquest and the women had fled before his men, most arriving with tragic stories. Yanus had been fostered in Tillek and honing his skills in less familiar waters to gain experience.  Her father deemed him capable and as a Seaholders son he was duty bound to return to his home, which was conveniently distant from lands surrounding any of Fax’s possible targets.

She had never been close to her own mother, they simply had personalities that grated on one another, she was fairly certain her mother wouldn’t have chosen to have children but that was what women did in small holds. Children were an investment, they were the future and without the next generation a community swiftly withered and died.

There was a tradition though, a correct way to conduct oneself and to raise them and her daughter had breached that at the most basic levels, not only one taboo but several, and yet despite her frustration and disappointment in Menolly Mavi recalled how much she had wanted her mother or aunt present when she had her babies, and when she lost one. Yanus had put to sea and done much the same thing as he had with Menolly.

Mavi couldn’t let another child slip away, even if it was a recalcitrant inconsiderate daughter.

      Yanus would never allow her to send a message or any items, but he could only forbid what he was aware of. He was offshore and the weather was holding for now, Mavi allowed herself a smile; she couldn’t see her daughter, likely never would again but she could speak to Elgion and have him deliver something to Benden for Menolly. No one should believe themselves falsely to be unloved and the egg knew that pregnancy caused enough insecurities. She had some old furs and clothes that couldn’t be mended but had enough usable material left to make something for a little one, and the old aunts had yarn enough to make a basic shawl without it being noticed.

She remained conflicted about the situation and in a way it was a relief not to be dealing with her daughter directly, not least because she didn’t fully trust herself not to express the anger and frustration she still carried at a time she knew Menolly was vulnerable. Even when she had been glad of Menolly’s crippling it had been primarily motivated by a desire to protect her.  Yes she had been glad the dexterity was impaired without loss of basic function. If Menolly could not play she could not anger Yanus or a husband with it. If she could not use instruments she could still sing as befit a woman, but she would never endure a beating such as the one she had been so shocked by not long before the loss of her daughter. It rankled that Menolly had thought the seaholders wife was a position to resent, as though it was unworthy of the respect she ought to have given but all of that was in the past and ‘what if’ was a waste of energy and thought. Sleep came easier after she had resolved to act productively, she was always less tense when she was busy.

Elgion was grateful for the Seaholder’s absence when he received the news of Menolly’s stay at Benden and confirmation of her evident pregnancy. The brown rider had stopped after the early morning threadfall to ask Elgion to speak to the Holder with regards to permitting a search as the hold had not been offered the opportunity previously and Lessa was insisting they find out whether Menolly’s sensitivity was a wildcard or commonplace.
Privately Elgion was unsure the seaholders were aware of the concept of ‘sensitivity’. He had come to like them, brash as most were, at least honesty was almost universal and everyone had a role, no one was overlooked here.  It was something he hadn’t noticed before his assignment but in the crafthall and in large holds there were many people who were unseen, unnoticed, drudges, cooks, prostitutes, traders. Yanus and his wife had optimised the efficiency of the hold and it prospered in most ways. He hadn’t intended to stay but there were two people that had helped him adjust,  Alemi and a young lady who had been very affectionate and generous but unlike most of the others had not been clingy or dull. She had recently settled with him with the approval of all her family and made the grey land less bleak. She was one of the few who had dared openly mention Menolly and defended her despite not understanding why she had acted so disobediently and her sense of fairness was what had first drawn him to her. He wondered if it was safe to tell her the news but discreet as a harper was drilled into each and every harper before they could leave the hall and so he stayed silent. He was almost certain though that Mavi had overheard and it wasn’t something he could check, he’d have to wait for her to approach him and hope she did so of her own accord.

Chapter Text

              Menolly was trying to find the most comfortable way to sleep in the new bed and was close to deciding that there wasn’t one and she may never be comfortable again.

Blocking out the insistent buzzing was another, it was like being at a hatching but instead of pleasantly warming sensations and harmonic humming there was a troubling dissonance and competing tunes.

It was unfamiliar but almost impossible to ignore and exaggerated her physical discomfort further. At least since coming to the weyr the nightmares had ceased, the dreams though no less vivid were no longer dominated by distressing or frightening scenarios defined by danger.

When she did manage to sleep it was therefore actually restful, no images of blood or being unable to reach her crying baby, no bizarre situations where all was risked. Only odd. With vivid sex dreams, those had entirely different effects on her.

As the sheer exhaustion finally overtook her, Menolly’s last conscious thought was that at least she now had Mirrim to talk to; she was sure that someone wished her goodnight but that was impossible, it must be another trick of the Weyr’s strange acoustics.

The first day she had simply observed the classes with the weyrharper; the second she began to assess the ability and levels at which each student was working.

     The Weyrharper was doing what he could but had been right to request help, on days with fall before evening there were no structured classes.

One of the students definitely ought to be trained at the hall; three refused to invest any effort or demonstrate interest in learning, having decided that they would impress and therefore have no need of it.

All the children were very active. The next day she sat down and composed a plan, breaking up those of varying levels to optimise the classes, with only the one harper who had to split his time between a dragon, fighting thread and teaching that could not have been possible and contributed to in-class disruptions.

    One thing bothered her; she saw very few lower caverns over ten turns and no drudges, which she couldn’t accept was due to there being none.

It was puzzling to her as Weyrwoman Lessa had been a drudge herself for ten turns before orchestrating Fax’s demise. Master Robinton had always taught that change- real, lasting change took time and repetition, often with a transitional period.

Menolly threw herself into life at the weyr, it was a relief in some ways but for the first time in her life she felt homesick. She missed Domick’s back room and her chair in Robinton’s study; she missed seeing Camo’s uninhibited smile feeding the firelizards, and her cheeky, wise-cracking apprentices devising mischief.

Manora and Sanra had been very welcoming and pleased to have her again for a short while.  To Menolly’s surprise the women hadn’t commented on her pregnancy other than to offer congratulations and free access to the kitchen. One advantage that Menolly swiftly discovered was that the tithing system was amazing for pregnancy cravings, and spiderclaws were abundant! She wondered if any were from her birth hold and for the first time she felt no negative emotions at the unexpected intrusion.

Menolly was grateful to Manora for ensuring her room was very close to every area she might need to access, not up the hundreds of stairs that led to some of them.

She had begun to get breathless frustratingly easily. It had been difficult to leave the hall in the end, she still felt the pull of it but was sure that a stay in Benden was the right decision for her ‘safe travel’ period.

Mirrim was glad her friend had taken up the invitation and had tried to spend what time she could with Menolly but Path took up a lot of her time and she had only recently moved into a double weyr with T’gellan.

That news had delighted the harpress greatly as she had been aware of the dance between the two for a long time, Mirrim had never had any interest in any of the immature boys or  arrogant weyrlings. She had armoured herself to try and dissuade some of the more determined blues and browns from pursuing her for the sole reason of the quick flight they wanted. It had made her feel like prey being run into a corner; T’gellan had lent his support in such a way as to discourage most of them.  There were few blue or brown weyrlings who would challenge a seasoned bronze wingleader!

Even for a remarkable woman rider.

It was that protectiveness and an unwanted jealousy that had finally forced T’gellan to confront his true feelings for Mirrim, age was less of a problem in the weyr, provided that both partners were consenting and above the age of choice.

Flights rarely took into account such factors beyond strong rider preferences, making it irrational to fuss over such differences, punishing a dragon for who she or he was attracted to was nonsensical.

Mirrim had been required by circumstances to grow up fast and so immaturity simply irritated her.  She was interested in Menolly but they could never have worked even if it had been a  mutual  attraction. There was good reason for the custom of not mixing with Hold or Craft folk and after Kylara and Meron it had been further disapproved of, becoming less acceptable particularly in Benden.

Menolly was one of the few individuals who saw through her armour, and actively tried to, and recognised the woman it protected.  Harpers had to refine those abilities in order to fulfil their function she supposed.

Mirrim had so far managed to check on Menolly each night and have a drink together and there was something Menolly had mentioned that niggled at her. The green rider had been Brekke’s fosterling and heard her describing what it was like to hear all dragons and the buzz that Menolly mentioned sounded very similar to that.

With nine firelizards and none having absconded she obviously had some natural ability, the question for Mirrim was how much talent and how to learn more while respecting Menolly’s understandable desire to avoid Lessa, who still was rather antagonistic towards firelizards. The tensions between Benden and the Harpers were still uncomfortably recent and the Weyrwoman disliked being reminded of that particular episode after mending the relationship. It was too precious and important to leave compromised.

Mirrim knew that once the Weyr leadership had believed Menolly belonged with dragons but her friend had chosen music, it would always be her first love, but Mirrim was concerned that there was likely to be a hatching while Menolly was staying at Benden. It was vital that her friend not impress right now.

Mirrim was far less convinced that dragons were quite as restricted in their choices as was widely believed, as she had impressed in the stands to a green as stubborn as herself and seen Jaxom’s impression.  It was her personal conviction that dragons looked at the person and not the external factors.

Certainly Path had.

It seemed that they often perceived potential or skills in those they chose that had been missed by the humans, or maybe the bonding to a dragon triggered those characteristics and skills, it was hard to tell.

Mirrim was fully aware that she had served as an example of all possible female greenriders and had made great sacrifices to ensure that she ‘passed’ her trial almost perfectly, hoping that the Weyrleaders would open the candidacy to women once more. Menolly had managed to dig up some legible musty old records that affirmed women had once rode green dragons quite commonly, as much as being ‘the first’ was a pleasure Mirrim did not wish to remain ‘the only’. Not without very good reason.

Felena had been knitting a tiny set of first clothes and a thick blanket to provide Menolly’s baby protection against the bitter cold of a Fort winter in her leisure time, which was mandated in the Weyr for all the weyrfolk. It was one of the aspects of serving in the Weyr that drew so many failed candidates to remain in other roles.

By the third day as a teaching harper at Benden, Menolly had begun to take on more of the teaching than the present weyrharper, spending time particularly with the most advanced students who she felt deserved better stimulation and those who were struggling the most. One of the more skilled students she gave responsibility for aiding the youngest children and two she offered private instruction to, even if they wished to impress one day.  Menolly recalled being told that dragons liked music, though she was yet to hear one sing.

As she finished composing a tune about the singing dragon once the students left a female voice rumbled in her mind;

“I like it. I could try and sing little one”. So unexpected was the input that she dropped her stylus and cursed at having to pick it up from the floor as she tried to formulate a response. The logical conclusion given her location and the presence of so many dragons was that one of them had been listening in and commented, the first time she’d heard directly from  dragon.

“You could. I’m sure your rider would appreciate it whether or not they sing. What is your name?” Menolly knew it was impolite to ignore the names of dragons and there was something almost unsettling about the familiarity of that voice. The mind was gone already though, leaving Menolly puzzled and intrigued by her curious critic, at least she knew the voice was female which reduced the possible identities. Looking over her score Menolly began to hum the melody to herself and hoped that she would have a further opportunity to converse with her inquisitive draconic friend.

Chapter Text

In the Masterharper’s office Sebell sat next to his mentor and gazed into the flames that licked the grating as he tried to organise his thoughts. A short ride between would have made things so much easier! No he corrected himself, it would have made his life easier and likely Robinton’s but Menolly had the choice and the burden of that decision, that wasn’t his concern. The harpercraft was.

So far two boys had been placed in isolation to await an examination by himself, Robinton and Lord Groghe; three trusted Journeymen and Masters Jerint had combed the dormitories systematically and amassed significant evidence of a small ring of students who had seriously warped sensibilities. They were yet to establish how far the behaviour had gone and how severe any offences were. One boy identified was from Fort hold and would be discharged to Lord Groghe’s tender mercies.

He had a well earned reputation as a womaniser but had always been one of the fairest Lords in enforcing equal treatment of all his holderfolk, lesser known than his apparent incapability of monogamy was his recognition of violence within the home as wrongful abuse and addressing of it. This lad seemed to have been unaware of that fact.

Robinton seemed to be looking for the answer in his wine goblet, staring at the liquid  intently and twirling his glass. “How did things come to this Sebell? How could we have missed it?” He sighed sadly, “I’ve become complacent in my old age. Have I been so distracted by the grander dance of Pern to have missed a disease like this infecting my Hall?”

Sebell watched his Master in his musings carefully, better in his presence than that of another.

“No Master. You have not caused this, it was subtly done and brought into the Hall by students unwilling to learn a new way. Our primary purpose at the Harper Hall is to teach and to spread knowledge, if you allow admittance only to those who already know all of these things do you not limit learning and the spread of new ideas? Of course it would! If you are guilty of anything it is believing that everyone values justice and understanding as highly as you do. Now they have been discovered and we will excise the corrupt element and find those persons who are accountable.”
Robinton abandoned his cup on the desk and stood up, beginning to pace the rug,

“What’s the pattern Sebell? I’m missing something, something obvious. Such people find each other and weaker ones fall under the spell of predators who carefully choose targets so what is it that links these boys?” He looked sharply at the man who would likely succeed him.

“Find out Sebell. I only want to deal with this once and I am charging you with discovering the connections between them, anything pertinent to the investigation I want you to report immediately. Silvina and I will trace the girls named on the list and see what further action must be taken. Few could freely seek the weyr.”

Sebell left the office with a heart heavier than it had been since the terrible day that thread first fell and feeling less certain by the second that he wanted to ever be the Masterharper.  

Silvina was angry. It took a great deal to anger the woman who held the harper hall together through the worst storms and quashed the insolence of certain apprentices without missing a beat. She had followed up three names on the infamous list of whores and each time had found it difficult to coax the story from each, two of those had confirmed that others had also been harassed and were no longer in Fort Hold or the Hall. So far she had caught one youngster uttering the phrase “Well she was just asking for it”, fortunately too young to have been involved in anything further but deeply concerning. She hadn’t decided yet when he would come off water rations. As Headwoman she was proud of her Hall and as one harper- born she loved it as her home.  Someone had dared tarnish and defile that and she took it very personally. Let ballads be written of the cleansing of the Craft, she intended to sweep through the harpers like a hurricane and there was only one man who ever could stand in her way to defy her. Today she had no fear that Rob would attempt it. If she was angered his expression could only be defined as wrath, Sebell would be good for him though, the younger man exuded a soothing vibe that somehow seemed to calm those around him.

Lord Groghe looked at the scrap of a youth brought before him, face sullen and wrists bound. At one look from his Lord the guard volunteered that he had tried releasing them but had been struck by the man, requiring him to be restrained once more.
He hated cases in which the offenders were young, it always seemed unnatural and a greater loss to society of productive capable people and yet sometimes he had to pass judgement on those who were without remorse. It was his personal opinion that if they were unable to recognise any wrongdoing they were unable to be safely free within a Hold or rehabilitated.

Looking at the young man before him he was not hopeful. There was no acceptance of consequences or recognition of his wrongdoing apparent. When approach the man in custody spat at his feet and glared.

“Why am I here? You can’t keep me locked up for doing what’s right! Just because he wouldn’t!!”
Ah. It was easier when people confessed, however stupidly. Groghe sighed; “Son you are here not because of any righteous act, you are here in custody because you broke my laws and harmed my holders. You have been brought before me to make an account of yourself before this has to go to a public trial. Do not be so foolish as to squander the opportunity, I’ve a Hold to manage and little time for disruptive attention seeking boys.”

The ex senior apprentice bridled visibly before it seemed that understanding or the severity of his situation began to dawn on him and he paled.

“Laws? No we- I mean I didn’t do anything wrong and definitely not unlawful Sir! I only wanted them to see how unjust it was and what training women meant, not for anyone to get hurt, scaring someone isn’t illegal is it and they were asking for it really, especially that one who used the Harper. No one else gets off with it, flaunting themselves and harassing Masters. Even if we try no one else gets to be with a Master properly and the girls are rewarded for sex. That’s whoring and decent folk shouldn’t need to tolerate living with it. What if they started coming after us?”

Lord Groghe had kept his features bland throughout the youth’s hurried speech having found that it usually encouraged a greater account and the lad had proved very helpful to him.

“I think you will find that Harper business is no longer your business, so you need not concern yourself with women training there or any other element. Further I can assure you that there have been no ‘rewards’ for physical favours, in fact quite the opposite, and every single accredited female in the craft has been examined by all the resident Masters in their taught subject.  You were wrong in every assumption, and I do not think you need worry about anyone at all 'coming after' you as long as there is an unwashed semi-literate herder in an isolated Keroonian cothold, clear?
Accepting that prostitution does occur in many population centres you must be capable of recognising that a profession cannot continue if there is no custom and therefore your ‘decent folks’ must be providing that. If there were any prostitutes operating- and I doubt you saw any- then they would be in close proximity to their customer base. You may find it distasteful but to sell sex is not against the charter. Unlike violence and slander.”

The ex-apprentice attempted to protest.

“Silence! You may be unaware of the fact that I know the Harpress you have explicitly mentioned personally and have done so for a number of turns. You misrepresent her and insult a Master Craftsman whose rank is equal to mine- oh, you did not realise that? Slander earns you a caution, it is a serious offence by law as it compromises another’s standing and can damage their earnings and family by extension, among other things. Harassment and intimidation will be heard by a court at the next gather, you cannot be released until then as you are also accused of conspiracy to commit grievous bodily harm and suspected of concealing attacks, preventing the carrying out of justice.”

The young man sagged against his guard, shocked.

The old Lord looked shrewdly at him. The man was clearly weak willed and unusually for a harper apprentice apparently rather a dimglow, Groghe gestured in his direction;

“Perhaps we might be able to cut a deal. Maybe help a jury to believe you are worth a lenient punishment. You could give us the names of all those involved and anyone who may have been encouraging the misguided nonsense you have been spewing since you were received in my Hold. Of course if you don’t there is a good chance the prosecution may seek exile..”

The prisoner now trembling began to list the rest of the group before Lord Groghe even finished speaking; satisfied he left the room without a backwards nod and securing a note to Merga’s leg directed her to find Sebell and Kimi immediately. The quicker they resolved this the better. Hearing the ridiculous notions of a deluded mind from self important fools was fast wearing thin and he did so hate to waste his time and effort on the unappreciative sort. Menolly and Robinton’s dalliance seemed not to have spawned the sect as he had thought but instead brought it out into the open and caused them to overreach themselves. If so then he was glad to no longer suffer it within his walls or his lands.  He never had liked the double standards some men seemed to have internalised, fortunately he was in a position to do something about it and wasn’t that something to be thankful for!

Chapter Text

It quickly became apparent that her time at the Weyr would be spent primarily with those of the lower caverns and the women riders, the men smelled too strong to be around.

Menolly had always liked the distinctive smell of a dragonrider, the perfumed noblemen didn’t appeal to a woman who had been raised in a seahold.  It seemed somehow unnatural for men to display such behaviour, as though they could take no pride in their work or wished to diminish the appearance of masculinity. Someone for everyone she supposed.
Dragons had always smelled deliciously spicy and warm as though the fire was always smouldering in them, men of the Weyr tended to smell of activity and sweat, musky and oddly of strength. Does strength have a smell? She grimaced; everything had a smell.

Somehow even though she flew threadfall and rode Path, Mirrim always managed to smell amazing but that wasn’t something to dwell on! Mirrim was with T’gellan and as her friend the harpress wouldn’t risk jeopardising that. No, if she was to get any relief of that sort she’d have to stick to men to stop the rumours and risk escalating. She could hardly get any more pregnant now; if only they didn’t all turn her stomach….

Manora had insisted that Menolly see the Healer at least once a sevenday and more if there were any concerns about either mother or child, she had begun to filter the mental buzzing a little and no longer noticed it’s presence so strongly which aided her concentration- weakened as it was. She’d raise it with the Weyr midwife if it became a problem. The weyr seemed to take pregnancy more seriously than the Crafthalls or Holds that she had visited did, there seemed to be far greater expectations to make allowances and try to relieve the strains on expectant mothers than anywhere else she’d been. Perhaps they valued babies more highly but she suspected there were just a higher number of losses statistically than in the Halls and so greater caution.

There were old records of times when women did ride greens, Menolly had spent too many hours poring over musty old manuscripts trying to find the correct references to dispute hidebound protesters after Mirrim’s impression. There were no reasons given for the change in that custom but Menolly was at her core a practical person and doubted there would have been such an extensive shift without cause. In a Hold it was accepted wisdom that one had to replace oneself to keep a community alive and thriving. It was necessary for women to try and bear children for mutual survival, for food production and care in old age at the most fundamental level. The same principle applied in Weyrs but if there was a lack of pregnancies going to term, high mortality rate, or of women of reproductive age it could mean disaster for a community. Especially a Weyr.
Often desperate measures lived on after their cause was forgotten.  The archives were full of examples and the knowledge was locked away for safekeeping by all Masters and Lords. Privately Menolly thought it an unwise practice that disadvantaged those of low rank or limited education but Fort was not built in a day!

If there was one thing that Menolly truly hated about the Weyr it was the klaxon.  The blaring, throbbing, grating noise, dissonant and intentionally impossible to ignore that was a call to fight; it made the threadfall alarm at home seem like a firelizard aria. Worst of all her baby hated it too. No one had told him that he was not in fact a hatchling to take flight and she was certain that he was giving it his best attempt right now, she could just about sleep through the bladder kicks but apparently the baby had realised this and moved onto another organ for novelty which she could not ignore. Grumbling she sat up and pulled on her moccasins, wrapped a fur tightly around herself and headed towards the kitchen in search of some fingertails and sweetbread. Dignity be scorched.

To her relief there were very few of her students in the messhall or kitchens as most of them were involved already in the weyr effort, training much as the apprentices did and helping load firestone or with the casualties, tossing waterskins to thirsty riders or finding other ways to help. She was confident that two of her students would be making mischief somewhere but she remembered some of Piemur’s escapades and had to smile. She far preferred

fiery children to apathetic ones, imagination and innovation could redeem some of the worst rascals!

Sitting on the bench dipping sweetbread in her klah and nibbling fingertails, she was struck by a wave of loneliness, she was hardly alone here but she missed Robinton and Talmor, she missed Master Domick and his sanctuary. Beauty would carry any messages Menolly asked her to, but oh, how much easier it would be if humans could communicate across distances the way dragons did! Something chuckled warmly in her mind and as quickly as it had surfaced was gone. No doubt Rob would have something to say about that. It wasn’t going to be included in the day’s letter as she did not wish to cause any alarm or share with him a vague hunch without any hard facts. How unromantic that sounded! She would give much to hear his warm voice comfort her right now, of course that was wholly impossible but she couldn’t help wishing a little...just this once!

As the first shift of sweat soaked green and blue riders began to file into the hall Menolly realised it was time to leave if she wanted to keep her unorthodox breakfast down, knowing how stubbornly the stench  of firestone fumes clung and that those with weyrmates still in the air would be waiting for their safe return before retiring to get washed. It wasn’t a wait that she envied them!

Chapter Text

Mirrim slipped gratefully into a steaming bath, it didn’t matter how many times you flew thread, after a fall like todays every rider’s muscles felt abused and sore; the hot springs were the primary reason it was worth putting up with biting Benden winters to her mind. At least

today.

Path was sleeping already and as T’gellan was a wingleader she had some time to herself to simply relax and if she timed it well she may even be able to snaffle some leftover sweetbreads from the leaders review. Monarth’s kind habit of notifying her at just the right time was one more reason to love him and as the old saying went ‘like dragon like rider’!

Menolly’s head ached, it throbbed dully and was becoming harder to ignore without any external distractions but she did not wish to be seen visiting the healer and knew that after a bad fall there would be many human and dragon witnesses.

Eventually she decided it was worth the risk and made her way very carefully down the steps pausing frequently to steady herself, by the time she reached the healing bay she was decidedly light headed and wobbly. That the majority of wounds today were superficial or at

least uncomplicated was a reflection on the skill of Benden’s wings, a consequence of which was that someone noticed when the visiting harpress fainted in the corner. She came round to find herself braced against a young healer and something noxious being held under her nose, it served the intended purpose well but was a poor decision on the part of the free healer as her sensitive stomach immediately and violently expelled her breakfast. Menolly mumbled something in annoyance after having tried assiduously to avoid strong smelling substances only to have the effort ruined by a ridiculous little man. She must have managed to insult him comprehensibly as the youngster next to her chuckled  in response. It was a therapeutic sound that made the world seem somewhat more appealing than that sharding awful...ugh.

The Masterhealer gave her a thorough examination before deciding that she’d simply fainted as some pregnant women were wont to do but that they’d keep her under observation for a day. It did not improve her temper to hear that they intended that observation to be in the

healing rooms. “Pregnant, not ill!!” she almost yelled at the back of the messenger as he left.

Let them fuss little singer. They do not know like we do how to do this. Rest now, your clutch is safe, I will listen for you.

This time it did not matter who was speaking, it was a dragon, it was feminine and apparently knew who she was- or at least what she was. More importantly it was reassuring and in all her journeying she had found many liars, but as yet no dishonest dragons, they were it seemed

the most trustworthy of people. So she chose to believe this one and allowed her eyes to close in sleep. Her natural reaction was to resist simply to prove a point but 5 turns of training had somewhat curbed that,. Robinton placed great value on his harpers well-being and none more than his journeymen and apprentices. She should thank him one day…...another day.

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Robinton sat at his desk staring at a pile of reports, Sebell’s face was grave and worn from the worst week he could recall. It was one thing to investigate corruption and plots as an outside observer and another to be dealing with it in one’s own hall and trying to reconcile people or grant victims justice.

One of the first identified Journeymen involved and his senior apprentice had apparently been motivated by jealousy and certain that it was due to double standards. In Robinton’s experience few communities recognised or accepted that there existed humans who, like the

white dragon were asexual. Morshall had been one of them.  He may have been violent but his confusion at flirtation or solicitation was genuine, privately the Masterharper believed it had a lot to do with his antipathy towards women. In a world where he struggled to understand people (Faranth knows how he found his way into harpering) he relied on a stable protocol for interaction. Menolly had threatened everything

that provided him with fragile security.

The Journeyman awaiting trial had not considered alternative causes of his rebuffal. He would never make a bigger mistake.
Another senior apprentice had tried to force a girl in the laundry to ‘lose’ his baby, becoming forceful enough that she had left the hall without notice or explanation returning to her cothold; Lord Groghe had taken responsibility for judgement as he was originally from Forthold. The apprenticeship lost, he was to be put to work in the laundry under a trustedwasherwoman and half has earnings paid directly to the child’s mother. As the old Lord had said, it was easy to look down on those who held you up if you never tried bending yourself.

     …………………………………………………………………………………..

 Menolly heard her name, a familiar voice calling her out of a deep sleep.  She didn’t want to open her eyes lest it was the same person she last regained consciousness to see but they opened against her wishes. Thank Faranth! Mirrim. She had a sense of deja vu remembering how she first met the feisty young woman and  a smile tugged at her lips. She could always trust Mirrim to appear from between when it really mattered, and to be practical in her compassion, even if that meant berating half the healers in the Weyr for absence of common sense.

Mirrim was conflicted; she could keep her concerns about Menolly to herself as they were in all likelihood baseless, or she could share them and hope that they would not trigger an unwise reaction in anyone that might damage Menolly’s ‘rest’ and refuge.

On the one hand she felt as though it would be a betrayal of her friend and on the other the buzzing seemed to be getting worse as the eggs on the sands hardened, after seeing what ignoring dragons cost her foster mother, ignoring warning signs seemed to be reckless enough to risk Menolly’s ire.

 It frustrated Menolly that the day she’d been confined was one with threadfall, she felt as though her students had been let down. One of the primary reasons that the Weyr had been a constructive place for her to be was that their full time harper was now a part time teacher unable to hold class on any day he flew fall and on one occasion had been injured, requiring a recovery period. For all that was only a few days, it made clear the risks of placing extra responsibilities on individual dragonriders without a second crafter backing them.

 Finally left alone in her room Menolly discovered that though feeling far better than earlier, her frenzied mental activity was not matched by her capacity for movement. That was why she ended up sat in a bizarre position writing out her frustration. Before the sun dipped fully below the horizon she sent the first piece to Robinton. He’d understand what it meant.

 By the third tune the tone had become distinctly more restrained and muted, the buzzing in her mind had returned but this time it was oddly soothing and seemed clearer and more akin to murmuring or distant chatter, harder to ignore but less irritating. Beauty hummed in agreement.
Menolly was unsure whether her friends were hearing it in her mind or somehow receiving it in their own; if they were it would mean the buzzing was from an external source and not from within her own consciousness.
She couldn’t solve that puzzle right now, it would have to wait. She wasn’t going to let the classes she taught fall behind or miss learning, if she could not rely on her body to behave properly she could at least leave some extra lesson plans to follow. Being over prepared was in her experience infinitely better than under preparing for possibilities.

Mirrim sat sipping klah with Brekke. She really didn’t want to cause extra pain to any dragonless rider but couldn’t think of any other appropriate option; Manora was gentle and very experienced but not in the way Mirrim needed, she did not hear dragons and showed no inherent sensitivity to impressing. Lessa was needed right now after a fall day and moreover was the person to take concerns to after she had established that there was substance to her concern. She was also one of the very few people Mirrim still felt slightly awed by- at least enough to hold her tongue in the Weyrwoman’s presence.
That left Brekke as the only remaining person in the Weyr who had direct experience of hearing dragons not her own or a lover’s and with the disposition of a healer as a bonus.

“So Menolly hears buzzing. Hmmm...that is interesting indeed.”

“Path says it is growing in her mind, tickly when she tried to listen with Menolly.”

Brekke nodded thoughtfully and was quiet a long moment, “It sounds very likely that she is hearing background dragon chatter although it is very unusual for the talent to emerge so late. Perhaps the greater exposure has pushed her, or she might have suppressed any extra traits that would have worsened her isolation in the seahold. I tried to ignore it before F’nor found me.” Her voice softened more on the last few words.

“You’re a good friend Mirrim, Menolly is fortunate to have you as hers. Not everyone would have thought to question her buzzing. We will see what happens as the eggs harden, it is well that there is still plenty of time for you to observe and talk to her. Menolly is not weyrbred, she may not have considered all of the...possibilities…”

Brekke faded then into the trance like state that periodically appeared where she once would speak to Wirenth, they were very lucky that had not consumed her entirely

“Have you tried asking Path to reach out to her?”

I was not asked. I like Menolly and the little singing ones, she has a nice voice and thinks We are very beautiful!

The two women giggled at the indignant tone and the smug satisfaction Path expressed.

Dear one You like anyone who thinks you beautiful, human or otherwise! Can Menolly hear you?  Mirrim pulled a face as she accidentally drew in the bitter dregs of klah,

She hears, if we wait she answers but if we do not wait it does not distress her. Her mind is untidy.

Path may not have shared her rider’s need for order and organisation but she had learned much of it- enough to judge ‘tidiness’ in some ways, it didn’t surprise Mirrim that her friend’s mind was untidy, it ought not to surprise anyone who had seen inside her rooms! There were pages everywhere, writing quills, bathing cloths hanging in odd places, yet it seemed to work for her and certainly she was always able to find things.

 Brekke touched Mirrim’s hand lightly with her own. “It would appear we have an answer to the first question, Menolly can hear Path and at least one other dragon. I believe that communicating this to the Harper is not yet necessary and that after the initial emergence there is no way to know that distance or removal from the dragons would solve this any more than the Weyr hosting her solves or removes her pregnancy. Patience dear Mirrim, it often pays off.”

They sat in companionable silence until F’nor finally entered and broke it.  Knowing the time had not been easy on Brekke, Mirrim slipped out the back and left Brekke in the care of her weyrmate. She gladly climbed back up to her own as if F’nor was out of any meetings so would T’gellan be and Brekke had the right idea about being in someone’s strong, loving arms. Contrary to popular opinion, even Mirrim needed sleep sometimes. Path grumbled at her rider for taking so long, snorting when her rider sent her a nagging aunty image. She’d find a time to speak to Menolly without anyone inconveniently listening, hopefully before the arrival of either the harper baby or the new eggs on the sands.

Chapter Text

Menolly woke early, she itched and hurt and the only time it seemed to ease was when she tried singing to the bump or played guitar next to her fidgety passenger; it had begun to seem quite likely that her baby actually disliked her.

She doesn’t

It was a familiar voice; the one who had promised to listen for her, but why was she interested? It made no sense to the sleep deprived foggy mind.

"This is my Weyr. All the hatchlings and children are mine. We watch. I have many daughters and some try to stretch their wings too soon!

Be patient little singer."

There was the buzzing again and suddenly the baby calmed, a strange warm feeling washing over Menolly;

"That is better, she sleeps gently now."

Menolly tried to hold onto the connection but it was gone, leaving her alone again resting a hand on her stomach and questions that she had no answers to clouding her mind.  Perhaps it was time to include Robinton in this new development- Faranth knew she needed his insight!

She gathered the giant drying cloth Manora had provided her with and sought the bathing room, perhaps steam would help clear her head and it would at least help abused muscles and ligaments.

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The Masterharper felt his chest tighten as he read Menolly’s letter.  Every time he saw her relaxed scrawl he was reminded of what was missing from his life right now. His Journeywoman was perfectly capable of satisfying even old Arnor’s demanding standards of penmanship but when she was not transcribing music or records professionally Menolly never could quite keep her emotions from the skin. She had a way of infusing any message with the very essence of herself, an echo that he recognised as the hallmark of an enduring composer, the affection with which she wrote the hallmark of her deep affection for him.

     She knew that he had on occasion been spoken to by dragons and assumed rightly that it would not alarm him, yet he had never told her of his encounters as a child and the extent of that contact. It was unsettling that one of the dragons or more was already showing an interest in his unborn child. He didn’t know if Camo heard them, certainly he had an affinity with the ‘pretties’ but that was a pointless consideration, he hadn’t heard of any dragon though telling a baby to settle down! He chuckled as he imagined a great gold beast chastising a wobbling egg. Gold. Menolly may have missed it but her newest friend had claimed motherhood.  That eliminated the greens and left only three potential dragons as one queen at Benden was a juvenile; it was unusual enough to have a queen dragon converse with a non rider but it was evident from Menolly’s message that not only one dragon had voluntarily spoken to her but several and without her consciously seeking them out.

Perhaps that was it. Most people who went to the Weyrs were trying to gain something and focused on finding a dragon for themselves, very few were drawn to it by the dragons themselves.

Menolly was a highly intelligent young woman, capable and resourceful, but she did many things by instinct, even her composing was instinctive, only consciously refined. It was a trait had served her and the Hall she belonged to well but Robinton knew it was also something she fought with, only the firelizards had finally helped her to properly control those, particularly the protective tendencies.

If anything could strip away all those layers of control and restraint she carefully maintained it was pregnancy. Apparently queen dragons were much like human women that way, Robinton smothered a laugh as the image of a heavily pregnant Ramoth demanding that Mnementh bring her a nice fat herdbeast from Keroon with a bucket of sweetening at some forsaken time of night. Hopefully they weren’t exactly the same!

He read and reread her letter that day, each time hearing it in her warm voice and realised he needed to see her in the flesh. She was holding back and he wanted to be able to hold her, show her that she didn’t need to.

Of all the potential complications he had considered before confirming Menolly’s position at Benden this was one he had not anticipated or planned for. Even taking into account his or her mother’s unique talent for ignoring the rules, in utero dragon affinity was outside his experience and he doubted it would be found in any Hold or Hall record. Zair hummed and stroked his head against Robinton’s cheek.

“You have a lot to answer for young sir!” The little bronze chirped cheerfully, unfazed by his Master’s mock displeasure.

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Classes went mercifully smoothly for Menolly and she was sitting with her feet up after the children had left when there was a quiet knock on her door, grumbling she shouted an invitation hoping it carried through the door and she wasn’t required to move. She already felt ungainly most days, the door was a luxury here though, most internal ‘doorways’ were covered by thick curtains that allowed for privacy without impeding swift movement when the need arose. Less emphasis was placed on privacy here anyway; Menolly supposed that when one shared one’s mind and was never truly alone it was natural to be less concerned about superficial things.

When it was Brekke’s face that peered in with Berd wrapped around her neck, Menolly covered her surprise and gestured to the closest seat, the ex rider rarely ventured far from F’nor or sought out uncommon company.

“Hello.”

Menolly smiled; the first time she stayed in the Weyr the death of the queens was very recent and raw, she remembered Berd hissing at the baby queen and Brekke’s return to life but had not really seen her since. Given her position as an advanced healer that could be viewed as a good thing though.

“We need to talk Menolly, the buzzing is getting worse isn’t it? Beginning to seep into your dreams and distract you? I can see it in your eyes, they are often less focused than usual. I want to help you dear harpress to learn to control it.”

Menolly frowned at the uncannily accurate description, how could Brekke know?

“Do not be angry at Mirrim for telling me Menolly, she simply remembered what she has heard being raised in the Weyr and sought my reassurance. We believe- I believe that what you are hearing is dragon chatter and that is a wonderful gift but without being able to block it and open your mind at will is going to swiftly become a great pressure on you. That is not good for you or the baby. I intend to return you to your real home whole and healthy dear one.”

Brekke waited as Menolly gaped at her. Dragon chatter. Not only her two new friends- three?- but all the dragons of Benden. She groaned as the realisation sunk in, “Lessa. She wanted me to stay here the first time. I can’t now can I, I am a harper, it is who I am not what I do. With nine firelizards who do not disappear for a long time and I won’t send them away. Do I have to tell the Weyrleaders now or can I wait? Whatever you advise, Robinton must know first. I know what we have is not...conventional...but he deserves to know first especially if it involves our child, and I know that you understand wayward love. More than most do”

“Of course Menolly we wait, you should always know yourself first. We shall speak later you and I; I do think that you should write Robinton today- as soon as is possible, he wants the best for you and the baby. He loves you.”

Menolly nodded an acknowledgement and stared thoughtfully after the ex Weyrwoman long after she had vanished from sight.

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Lady Benoria had been in talks with her husband. For all his reputation for entertaining mistresses he had always been honest with her, always respectful and never had any interest in diminishing her position. Indeed she was aware that she played a greater part in the running of Fort Hold than many Ladies were granted the right to do. Groghe had involved her by consultation in the justice process and making her rank equal to his own when he had to be away from the Hold. Yet she knew that there had been a great deal of mockery over her tolerance of his dalliances and speculation periodically, she had learned to be almost impervious to such comments and gossip but once it had stung badly.

Having learned of Menolly’s intention to record and publish the experiences of women she had initially thought it to be based on solely the voices of traditionally ‘invisible’ women of lower rank but Groghe seemed to think otherwise. There was very little he could not find out if it interested him, she was proud to be the wife of someone as astute and dedicated to serving the Hold he was Lord of.

It was a risk but if Menolly was willing to put her future on the leading edge then she deserved backup from someone more visible than laundry maids. So it was that as Menolly awaited Beauty’s return from her Master she was instead surprised by the smaller gold she hadn’t seen since leaving the hall. Merga was as well trained as her own and held out her leg willingly for Menolly to remove the message tube and flitted as quickly back to her own master.

Chapter Text

Talmor watched as Sebell paced back and forth, he was worried about his friend, it was no secret that he was Robinton’s choice for his successor and that he had the backing of the hall Masters for the position.

The younger harper still felt that extra responsibilities had been thrust upon Sebell without fair warning; it was not a sentiment the future Masterharper shared he knew but Talmor rather thought his sometime partner had been tested too thoroughly. Sebell was calm, almost serene and highly intelligent but he would never refuse Robinton anything, even if it meant putting himself at risk. It seemed to Talmor to be more than simple loyalty, though he knew that there had never been any romantic or sexual liaisons between the Masterharper and his shadow.

For his part Sebell was grateful to his friend, even Lords and Masters had a few trusted advisors and most retained a few close friends. It was easy to strain relationships though when one was in a position of authority, particularly with anyone conscious of rank difference. He knew about Talmor’s doubts and had himself considered them, he was well aware of some speculation about his own relationship with the Harper, heightened in a few by the revelations about Menolly and Master Robinton. It had never been that way with him though and whilst he deeply loved his Master it was much more a filial love than any other, Robinton had been a father and mentor to him, had quite literally saved his life on a number of occasions and was stimulating company. Sebell was a quiet man but he found it soothing to spend time with intelligent people and had found that the closer one stuck to Robinton, the faster new ideas reached ones ears!!

The extra responsibilities did not entail any of the risk some previous assignments Sebell had undertaken and yet he was more exposed than ever before, his judgement under greater scrutiny. Particularly given his open support of the Masterharper and Menolly. Talmor was glad that he would never find himself in such a situation, even if he did encounter other difficulties for his choice of partners. His personal view that every child was a gift was far from universal during a pass, especially one that came on the heels of a fallen rule that had been brutal and devastated land, herd and harvests. In such a world the life of a bastard was often more problem than blessing.  That had been made explicitly and painfully clear to him by his mother’s family before he entered the Hall.

Sebell had made it a priority to try and deal with any of the work that could be done early in order to maximise the time the Masterharper was able to be available to his new family and to minimise the backlog that he would be fighting when he took on more of the work, even working as closely as he had with Robinton he hadn’t realised quite how much the Harper did and co ordinated. No wonder the man never slept.

Muttering an oath under his breath he drained the mug of klah that Talmor had brought him and sat at his once tidy desk and closing his eyes picked a pile of reports to begin on.

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Though initially irritated by Mirrim’s interference, Menolly knew that it was only because Mirrim worried, especially about the few friends she had, and knew no other way to be. It would be silly indeed for a harper to complain about interference!

If the weyrbrats were chaos incarnate, Brekke was the exact opposite; she seemed to exude an aura of sad serenity, a calm that was impossible to resist.

The more time Menolly spent with Brekke the greater her respect for the ex Weyrwoman became; Menolly may not be dragonless but she had glimpsed the despair of what life was like when a part of you was missing and a fundamental need impossible to express. She knew isolation and had felt the emptiness of waking to a reality devoid of joy.

Unlike herself, Brekke could never recover her wholeness and yet instead of succumbing or becoming bitter, the woman had turned her pain into compassion and a strengthened desire to heal others.

Now with each passing day the ‘buzz’ seemed to become clearer, like a sea mist clearing at dawn, the noise was less vague and she was learning to block it out properly when it was too much. It was beginning to influence her music, Domick’s most recent response had commented on the changing tone of her compositions, there was a sense of anticipation conveyed in more of the pieces, a delicate balance of clarity and mystery, and an unexpected innocence expressed in the last one.  

Menolly had never lost any of the freshness and originality her early work displayed but Master Domick was very curious as  to the new element in her most recent work.  Composing had never been hard work to Menolly, it was as natural to her as breathing and was the way she reacted to any life event, her coping mechanism and the way she expressed any strong emotions. Not every song was released, some were kept within a small group but she poured her soul into her music, it was the difference between the work of a natural composer and a forced book-taught one.

Menolly hadn’t forgotten that she was still working under Master Domick but was finding that the demands on her time were growing and increasing more than she had anticipated, at the same time her physical reserves and capacity was fast decreasing and she was aware that it was not sustainable.

She was beginning to feel increasingly anxious about Master Robinton’s visit, she had managed to keep busy enough to minimise any time spent thinking about how much she missed him but now that she knew he would be with her in just three short days every minute seemed to drag. Somewhere a dragon chuckled;

It is always like that little singer when you love someone. That is as it should be, your mate misses you too.

Dragons- at least some of them- had a distinct sense of their own wisdom and especially the females! Perhaps that was reflective of the riders that they chose, Or maybe it was simply indicative of the type of woman who would choose to be a friend to Menolly, she didn’t know.

She envied them their clarity, the way things were so black and white to dragons, mired as all things in her life were in politics and complexities; dragons rarely seemed to understand why humans created difficulties where none ought to be about mates. The only unions ever recorded in the Weyr were those that resulted in offspring, outside in the Holds things were quite different.

Sadly there were very patchy records in many places, some history burned in times like the conquest of Fax, others lost through non-constant occupation or during plague years. It left much untold and was damaging to Pernese culture to Menolly’s mind.

Records in the Harper Hall and the Weyrs were far more meticulously maintained, which in her opinion, bestowed a responsibility on them to try and record accurate information for more than just themselves.

Everything had become so complicated in such a short period of time.

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Menolly had quickly fallen into a routine and begun to thoroughly enjoy her teaching of the weyrlings. Each evening that Benden flew thread she wrote and composed, and on those without a Fall either Brekke or Mirrim would visit her weyr, a pattern that was not lost on either Manora or Lessa; the Headwoman and Weyrwoman worked together smoothly after years of practice and it was decided that Menolly fell more under Manora's guidance than Lessa's.

     The Journeywoman, having managed to sort her pupils by level and set appropriate work and learning material, finally reached that task that she had been putting off for weeks, hoping that it would be clarified and she would be more integrated before broaching the topic; the adults and the drudges.

Manora invited Menolly into her office when she appeared at a time of day Manora tried to reserve for 'appointments' and 'business' matters.

Smiling gratefully as the headwoman pulled out the comfortable seat for her- not that 'comfortable' was particularly achievable with a human being sitting under her ribs- Menolly slumped into it and downed the tumbler of water offered. Fardling thirsty baby. She waited until Manora was sat at her enormous desk, there was something about Headwomen she thought, they always seemed to project such a serene air, stay so calm in almost every situation.

"Why Manora? Why is it that the only people in my classes seem to be the children of dragon riders? What happens in the Weyr to all the children of the lower caverns after they are 7 turns, and to the sons and daughters of drudges? I need to know." Her voice dropped to a lower tone and intensified as she tried to maintain her own self control and repress the fear of which answer she may receive.

Manora looked at Menolly and read the earnestness in her features. There was no hint of harper-prying or dissemblance there, she nodded and raked in a desk drawer for a moment, withdrawing a thick file.

"Menolly, how many fighting dragons are there at  Benden right now? Considering that it takes five support staff to keep one pair fit and fighting, our population is the size of most major Holds on Pern and bigger than many of the most prestigious. These five men, women and children of the Weyr often have skills to pass on to the next generation, or a family happy to foster children and sponsor them to a craft should they show no inclination towards the dragons. There are many kinds of education after basic literacy is learned. It is said all across Pern that the Weyr takes care of it’s own. That is no empty platitude but a practice.  One of the earliest lessons any in the Weyr learns is to take care of each other in all possible ways.
That includes teaching. Foster Mothers and Fathers assume teaching duties as part of that role.  Currently Felena oversees the education of those women who have been deprived of it. How many grown women do you know that would be happy to sit in a class with children and ask for clarification?”

“Menolly you were 15 turns when we first met and I know you had been teaching the children of Halfcircle for some time before Petiron’s passing, that means that you yourself must have been teaching from at least 13 turns old, long before you ever believed you could become a harper. I solemnly swear to you that neither I nor my staff are slovenly or neglectful of anyone that lives with us, including yourself and the young drudge who accompanied you.”
Relief washed over Menolly, she hated to think the worst of people, she simply had too much curiosity and concern for others often led her to ask questions that others would politely ignore.

Manora watched the younger woman and was satisfied that she understood, more gently she laid a calloused hand over Menolly’s long fingers and spoke softly to her,
“Menolly, the Weyr is a family, more than any other settlement or people. We are bound not by the blood of birthright but by the blood of dragons. During a pass it is a tragic truth that many riders and dragons are wounded and too many are lost, especially the youngsters. Each time they fly there is a risk of not returning and it is not usually predictable; that risk and knowledge makes every child in the weyr a child of the whole Weyr.  Thread does not care how beloved a rider and dragon are and so in the Weyr we try to love all children as our own and all those grown as brothers and sisters. It has been this way as long as there are records for Benden. It must be this way, with dragons it can be no other, and it is the only way that the dragons themselves understand.”

Noting the tiredness evident in Menolly’s eyes and flagging concentration, Manora decided not to try asking about the visits with Brekke this time and instead arrange her time to have a proper chat with Menolly in a more relaxed environment. She helped the harpress to her feet and reminded her to go slowly- as if she could do otherwise! Menolly left the office feeling lighter, except her feet, which felt like lead.

  She lay down on the bed as soon as she reached her own Weyr and was asleep before even removing her boots, firelizards curled all around and over her trying their best to act as a fur. That was how Mirrim found her two candlemarks later when she came to ask why she was being specifically requested to make an unplanned trip to FortHold, and what it had to do with Menolly.

Chapter Text

Menolly clung to the wisps of her dream as it floated out of reach once more, she often found herself back at the cove where her life changed course these days when her eyes closed. She hoped that their cove wouldn’t be part of the land grab foreseen in the South- not that she could stop it or hold land as a crafter, even if she wanted to, which she certainly didn’t.

     It took Beauty getting excited by the prospect of seeing her friend for Menolly to remember through the sleepy haze that she had received a communication from Forthold, it was the wrong day for Robinton and he wouldn’t have requested Path anyway. He did not need any more questions about his interactions with young women.

“Benoria” she mumbled, as though that would clear everything up. It didn’t.
Mirrim prodded her and wafted some klah steam towards her. It helped;

“Lady Benoria wants to see me, she sent Merga with a message and I meant to ask you if you and Path could collect her from Fort Hold and forgot to. Sorry Mirrim.”

Mirrim tried to ignore the building exasperation and tempting as it was to give Menolly a tongue lashing instead counted to ten, reminding herself that she was practising patience because T’gellan was wrong.

“So what you are telling me Menolly, is that your ‘surprise’ visitor is not some mere harper or a ‘special friend’ but the Lady Holder of one of the most important Holds on Pern, without giving Manora any warning or tidying your weyr?? Seriously? Menolly if you weren’t my best friend….”
Mirrim was a doer. Cursing creatively to herself she hurriedly began tidying Menolly’s quarters or at least hiding what clutter she could. Menolly was in no way dirty, her rooms were always impeccably clean, she just seemed to leave books and writing materials and firelizard stuff around her private living spaces.”Lok, Tolly, take a message to Manora please and tell her that Menolly has rather an important guest visiting later today.” She gave the lizards a detailed picture of Lady Benoria, thankful for her excellent memory and the importance Brekke had placed on knowing faces and names during her childhood.

“Sorry Mirrim, I didn’t mean to cause you trouble. I didn’t expect her either, people rarely visit me specifically and well...Lady Benoria isn’t exactly my usual guest. You’ll like her though, she was quite delighted when you impressed Path! I think she’d secretly like to see more such pairings.”
Menolly had managed to get her cumbersome self upright and put slippers on and was now trying to help make her weyr look like she expected a visitor. “Where are your sweet candles?” Mirrim asked, her prior training for Headwoman surfacing,

“We’ll light a few and have someone give the floor an extra scrub, you go and jump in a bath to wake up a bit so that you’ll make more sense to your illustrious visitor and I’ll send Lok with a reply and arrange a time to collect her from Forthold. Do you have any suitable gowns that fit?” Menolly faintly shook her head, slightly overwhelmed by Mirrim’s taking control and rather relieved that she was willing to help right now.

“I thought not, we’ll find something, there are plenty of clothes for expectant mothers in stores and certain weyrmates closets!” Ushering Menolly to the bathing room with a large drying cloth and sweetsand Mirrim drew the heavy curtains across and swept from the room, mind and body whirring as she tried to reign in her exasperation.

Path hummed, projecting a sense of calm into two minds and steadying them, Mirrim mentally hugged her dragon back but Menolly latched onto the calming waves and held on desperately until it began to seep into her soul.

Menolly found herself singing softly in the bath and stroking her now knobbly bump. The bump poked back, Mirrim had been right about the bath, it was the one place that she could truly relax now. Water taking the weight off and supporting her provided comfort that was simply not possible on land, it seemed that her baby was mostly made of elbows and feet; she wondered how sea water would have differed, sometimes she missed it. Not the smell of exposed sea greens of course but the buoyancy might have interesting properties. Perhaps the healers would know.

Observing her now thoroughly wrinkled skin Menolly reluctantly clambered out, in her condition gracefulness when alone was wasted effort and she had no one to witness her awkwardness. Laid out on the bed was a loose blue dress in a light fabric, a new breast band, and some slipper shoes to match. Suffused with love for the friend who had always been her staunch defender and had such a depth of care for everyone Menolly sought Path’s mind and tried to show her gratitude, asking that the green pass it on to her rider.

The warm hum was acknowledgment enough to assure Menolly the message was received. She wondered what her life would have been like if she had stayed at Benden all those years ago when it was offered. Would she have impressed? Shared a mind? Before Mirrim there were no women riding greens, Menolly seriously doubted she would have ever have impressed a Queen- after all wasn’t that what she had been running from as much as the brutality of her parents? The unrelenting responsibility, a life defined wholly by position and child bearing, an absence of choice? No.Gold was not for her, Beauty was enough trouble all on her own! Menolly was too fiery as it was. Feisty. Free...well not right now but still…
No matter. It was idle imagining anyway, and she could never give up music, it was woven into her very soul. 

As she descended the stairs from her room Menolly refocused her attention on the task in hand and went in search of some energy dense food and klah strong enough to wake a sleeping dragon. Thank Faranth for the free pass she had been given on raiding the kitchens!

At Fort hold Lady Benoria was wrapping some precious documents and a particularly special tome carefully for a trip between. Being the Lady Holder might be challenging at times but at least there were some perks to co-leading the oldest Hold on Pern; access to information for one thing, and dragon rides between for another.Tucking the materials safely away in a carrisack she went to meet her pair in the courtyard smiling brightly, today she looked forward to meeting with some honest folk who were not in such awe of her as most she spent time with. At home it was healthy to have that kind of respect but just occasionally it drove her to distraction, her Benden trip was primarily to speak to Menolly but Manora was an old friend and an astute woman who she had a lot of time for. Path landed neatly about a length away from the Ladyholder and her rider dismounted gracefully to meet today’s unusual passenger with all due courtesies. Mirrim’s stance visibly softened when Fort’s Lady greeted Path by name and thanked her, easily settling herself after years of practice Benoria held her breath as they leapt towards the sky and winked between. One...two...three….

Chapter Text

Robinton looked at the pile of reports on his large desk, they were finally complete, submitted, read and stamped. Next to it was another stack of official documents, sponsorships and applications from various Holds for the next turn’s first intake.

He stretched his long legs under the heavy top and cracked his knuckles loudly- he shouldn’t really; Menolly hated it and would have shuddered had she been next to him. Shells but he missed her! She was special, unique and managed to break through his facade in a way only a handful of people had ever managed to do, she seemed to innately know when he was holding back or lying despite his consummate skill.

He eyed the third pile and smiled, feeling some of the stress ebb away. He and Menolly had fallen into a habit of exchanging compositions.  It was a way of communicating for them more intimate than any other, the music flowing unfettered from another soul and opening a

window on the composer’s frame of mind when a tune was written. It had become a game for them to compose a lullaby each sevenday for the child and every note he wrote increased his longing for a child he had never dared to hope for. Each bar helped to make it more real to him, vital without the constant visual reminder of Menolly’s advancing pregnancy; he felt foolish for envying Zair that wonderful sight with each delivery the bronze made to His Journeywoman.

Robinton had always thought of pregnant women as beautiful. Even when they felt least beautiful themselves with swollen feet or striped stomachs, or pale and nauseated; his journeying days and proximity to the Healer Hall had afforded him ample opportunity to observe, and on a personal level he had done extensive research when Silvina was carrying Camo.

Life was such a beautiful and complex thing, resilient and fragile in equal measure; anyone protecting, nurturing or creating that was, in Robinton’s estimation, a strong and wonderful person. Not everyone shared his opinion of course but he was used to that.

He put the quill to the vellum and allowed the music to spill from his heart on to the page.

Robinton doubted he could ever get bored of this method of communication, nor of writing for his son or daughter. As a result of Camo’s birth trauma Robinton daren’t expect any child to have full understanding of words or written messages but almost every infant loved a soothing melody, even the ones who could never carry a tune in a bucket.

Zair hopped onto the desk and carefully inspected his master’s progress, chirping; Robinton interpreted it as a firelizard encouragement. The little bronze smudged the wet ink leaving a uniquely firelizard signature beside the staves.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As Path came into land they could see Menolly waiting in the entranceway. Lady Benoria graciously thanked both rider and dragon after alighting and then headed towards the young harpress.

Mirrim was curious about the visit from the Lady of Fort hold but had managed to restrain herself...just. Greens were never told anything! Their reputation as gossips was undeserved really; they were no more gossipy than any other dragon-except maybe the Golds- they were only more numerous. It was simply one more thing that resulted from the stereotyping that seemed to be such a human attribute. Oh well. Maybe she could probe Menolly and find out a bit more later.

 Menolly managed to appear surprisingly graceful, the dress serving to cover the awkward gait and significant effort invested in appearing far more organised and composed than she really felt.

 Lady Benoria greeted her warmly, clasping hands and touching cheeks lightly, “Relax now harpress, I’ve carried enough babes to recognise the act.”

Some of the tension drained from her frame at the gentleness shown by the Lady Holder; it was easy to forget that Benoria was exactly the same as any other human woman in this mostnatural and uncertain process of childbearing. It was one of very few things that was completely disregarding of rank and social position, in this they were equals, and to Menolly it felt as though she was somehow being invited into a sisterhood of sorts, that she had been

completely unaware of until...well until she was a mother.

Mother.

Oh shards, how that one word filled her with dread and joy.

Her own mother had hardly been an example she wanted to follow; who then could she look to and truly trust? Who could she trust? What if…?

 No. Distraction. She mentally cursed herself for not paying attention, The Lady of Fort had not come all this way in person to discuss the price of wool in the bowl. Attention. She used to be so good at that. Starfire. She’d done it again.

Benoria was looking mildly amused as Menolly with effort, regained her focus.

“Back with us my girl?” A brief nod.

“Be unconcerned Menolly, I remember it well. Come. Sit with me.”

She gestured to the seating area and Menolly realised she had automatically been walking in the direction of her room.

Menolly was itching to know the reason for this visit and more than willing to comply with the sensible suggestion.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

She waited with baited breath as the Lady Holder closed the door and drew the

drapes. Benoria sat, placed the carrisak on the table between them and removed a parcel from it.

"The Weyr I am sure keep the same records but

it would be wise to keep them separate. One day my own story will join this collection but until recently I was confident it would be after I passed on. Now it seems less certain and as the one who lit the fuse it is fitting that you hear from me directly.” She paused as though considering whether she ought to continue or stop there; the silence between them seemed to stretch and just as Menolly was beginning to feel uncomfortable Lady Benoria sighed heavily.

 “Menolly I’ve seen so many changes in my lifetime. Peace and abundance, Fax, battle, strife.

The return of thread and rise of the Weyrs, so many political upheavals. In every movement, every pivotal moment there are leaders and individuals who hold in their hands the balance. However you feel about it, you are one of those people who has the potential to make history. Mother or not you will be a Master and I believe you have a calling. An important one.” Something-someone?- rumbled

in agreement.

 “If I am correct- and I usually am in these matters, you are going to need all the information you can get. Always remember Menolly, Knowledge is power.”

Benoria carefully placed the parcel she held, apparently so valuable that it

required guarding by no one less than the Lady Holder, on the table before them and neatly unwrapped it.

Inside was by far the biggest book Menolly had ever seen. So few now understood the art of processing the materials and binding them that such thing were rarer than honest Bitrans.

Opening the cover almost reverently the Harpress was shocked at what she saw.

Inside was cramped handwriting that suggested the writer was aware of that scarcity, yet the untidy scrawl made the teacher in her cringe! It rivalled Piemur’s hand as an apprentice in style.

 Perhaps it was written by a youngster but...no. The words were not those of a child. Anxious perhaps then? Hurried? Could these pages have been a secret? Or perhaps the privileged life had left the author for no appreciation of value. Menolly grimaced as she thought of certain paying students.

 The book had the distinctive musty smell that indicated significant age. Then she noticed the date at the top of the page and gasped, “Nooo. How could that be?”

A smile tugged at Benoria’s lips.

“It is the responsibility of every Lady Holder to keep meticulous records; personal as well as dry facts, though they are written and kept separately. I have brought with me those that take us back to the short interval. The older volumes are in the secure vault at Fort as I believe them to be too fragile to transport.

 Within these pages can be found not only the day to day productivity of the Hold and birth and death records but a personal account of the lives of each Lady Holder; their experiences and beliefs, their loves and their pain. I found it fascinating and often insightful, there is much to be learned from our past that can be applied to our present.”

“The women who wrote this story and lived it were not weak, nor passive. They were active, strong, they had personal convictions and troubles. Knowing who has gone before me has helped in times of doubt and darkness to draw courage and pride.

I want you to read it. Use the knowledge here and do not be discouraged. When you have done so… when you are ready...my story is waiting for you too. Always remember Menolly, First Harpress of Pern, things are rarely as they seem in public service; your Master is the best I’ve ever seen, but we won’t tell Groghe that. Shall we.” Menolly was momentarily stunned when Benoria- usually so restrained and proper- winked at her.

The book though was calling her. Calling at least as strongly as the dragons ever had; that was strange, she’d never thought of the dragons as calling and yet the stray thought sent a shiver down her spine as she recalled Benoria’s earlier comment. No. Silly brain, she already had enough to do, especially now she had been presented with this.

Menolly looked to a later page. The writing was different now, smoother, more confident. A different hand. Then, quite abruptly the confidence disappeared and in it’s place was a scratchier style, as though she had struggled to hold the quill steady and the unmistakable trace of tears. It was almost overwhelming, this gesture. She felt akin to an intruder reading the personal reflections of someone without permission, even if they were centuries dead.

The sheer number of conventions that Lady Benoria was overturning was shocking, she was breaching practices as old as civilisation itself!

Menolly closed the book quickly as she realised her own cheeks were wet with tears. Darned baby, taking control of her reactions again. Benoria reached out placing a feather light hand on Menolly’s knee.

“You were right Menolly. Your outrage was and is justified but no-one can change the world

alone. You are going to need allies; I am offering you the help and the backing of the Lady Holder of Fort Hold, in my official capacity. Use it.”

She looked away, pressing her lips together as though she meant to hold something back then seemed to reconsider, and when she looked back to Menolly she was again struck by the depth of the Journeywoman and how open she was.

“Menolly… the content of this book...every one of the volumes...It is raw and uncensored.

Some of the content is difficult to read, perhaps even painful, but that material is important because while times may change it seems that people at the core do not. For too long the pain of women has been ignored, their voices ignored, suppressed, attempts to rewrite history meant to hide the truth. Herein lies the truth Menolly, as far as my predecessors could tell it.”

For several minutes there was silence in the room.

“Thank you. For everything.” A whisper was all that Menolly could manage but the older woman understood. She had once been that young woman, in more ways than many people knew or at least cared to remember.

The magnitude of what was being offered had rather stunned Menolly and left her off balance.  Someone hummed reassuringly and she automatically reached out. So did the baby.

“OW!”

The hum increased in intensity and surrounded her but it was not warm and comforting anymore, now it seemed concerned. A worried hum, why wouldn’t they stop? and as she dropped to her knees she remembered. Hatchings, they hummed for hatchings, but wasn’t it too soon for that? She was certain it was, even in the haze that had overtaken her. No. Wait.

 Hatching. Did they...did they hum for humans? She’d never asked, never thought it was relevant. She was going back to the healer hall when it was time. Oh no. No, no, no, her babe was too small, it couldn’t come now, it was too soon. The last thing Menolly heard before she lost consciousness was the voice of a dragon, two dragons? More? singing. Singing to her daughter to stay.

 Benoria didn’t ask questions as a specialist team arrived and moved Menolly to the bed chamber, they had to have timed it. She sincerely hoped they had. She hoped that no-one had told Robinton yet, that man had enough pain in his life. Lord Groghe may have been less than discerning with sexual liaisons but he had picked his wife very carefully and as she tried to be as still as it is possible to be she had not missed the small yet unmistakable marks of blood. Faranth help them.

Outside the door Mirrim was shaking as she wept, She didn’t know how Path had known and she didn’t care, right now she felt more helpless than she had since Brekke and she was shut out.

The only mercy was that she knew Path was listening in; when there was news she’d know. She wasn’t going to say goodbye, not yet; but Path was right, it was too soon. Far, far too soon. Although it was unspoken and always had been, Mirrim could admit to herself that she loved Menolly more than anyone but T’gellan.

As though he heard her thoughts the bronze rider appeared, worry writ on his face and without saying a word took Mirrim in his arms and rocked her gently until the shaking stopped and she calmed. She had done everything she

could, now it was in the healers hands. She fervently hoped that those were the most damned skilled hands on Pern.

Chapter Text

Silently Benoria rewrapped the books carefully and set them out of of sight before slipping quietly from the room. From painful experience she knew that the healers worked best without distraction and that the next day could determine Menolly’s direction in life.
Unlike her husband she had never had much inclination towards impressing a firelizard; it wasn’t that she was averse to them like the Weyrwoman was, just indifferent. Groghe having Merga was a non-issue for her given his existing amorous tendencies and how used to it she already was.

Right now she wished she had just such an asset for entirely pragmatic reasons as the last thing she saw of the room was Master Robinton’s little Zair appearing in the room chittering wildly.

Shells, shards and shit! The last thing they needed was Robinton in the way.The little bronze let out an abrupt squawk and quite suddenly settled, alighting on the back of a chair. His eyes still whirled quickly but had the shade of worry rather than panic, if eye colours were the same between firelizards. She closed the door and almost walked straight into Green Rider Mirrim and T’gellan. She saw the fear in the girl’s eyes, and a question, one she knew was reflected in her own.

“I don’t know. The healers are with her now.” Lady Benoria moved on before Mirrim could ask anything. Loss was a fact of life in the Weyr, including loss of wanted children, and it still never stopped the hurt, a fact the holdbred seemed unaware of. Menolly didn’t ride though. She didn’t fight. That was good, it made it far more likely to be a ‘common’ complication.

Path sent her warmth and love; her rider was usually so calm and practical, the panic was unfamiliar to her dragon and a little confusing. Monarth agreed, though he thought he remembered a time his rider felt that way. Path liked Monarth’s rider, because Mirrim did and because he was good for her; she still liked Monarth more though, especially when he agreed with her.

It could only have been a few minutes between everything going dark and Menolly trying to open her eyes; there were too many people and none of them were Benoria. That was odd….it was wrong. She tried to move but found someone holding something to her lips and talking, at least she assumed they were talking, it was hard to know because her head suddenly felt so full, as though everyone at an entire gather was talking at her and she couldn’t make out a clear word. Suddenly it felt a little better and There was a gentle hand on her face and a fuzz of dark hair that morphed into Brekke’s face. “Here, drink this, the taste is very bitter so throw it back quickly.” Menolly loved Brekke’s voice, it was pleasant and measured, she had a natural mastery of it that most people had to train to achieve, but Brekke was a healer not a harper, and if Brekke was caring for you it was wise to do as instructed.

So Menolly did shoot it, and gagged, concentrating intently on not immediately ejecting it from her body. Brekke waited silently until her patient could breathe again, “Bloody, searing star, what was that?!” Her eyes showed amusement at the reaction but features remained serious. Oh.

“It’s probably best you don’t know the answer Menolly, but it should stop the contractions and at least give the babe a little longer to mature. The dragons probably just saved your child’s life.” Time slowed down and Menolly could hear her heartbeat loud in her ears, over the sound of Brekke and everything else. Heartbeat. One heartbeat. Was there still a second? there had to be, Brekke didn’t give out false hope. That was what was wrong though, the people and the missing minutes. “What happened Brekke. Why am I here, and how are the healers here?” Menolly’s voice was shaky, unreliable. She felt numb.

“You collapsed Menolly, you’re bleeding which is why we have you prone and the healers; they are here because of the dragons and in particular Path, who went with Mirrim to get the team from the Healer Hall. Insisted that you needed them and must have timed it to get them here so quickly. This once I forgive them.”

Menolly grasped two things from that; bleeding, and Path-Mirrim. “I’m bleeding, does that mean I’m going to lose him or her?”

“her”, came a soft dragon voice.
Brekke smiled at the look of amazement of Menolly’s face before responding. “I don’t know, dear Menolly. The records tell of equipment and techniques that could give us the answer to that, but the knowledge was lost. I do promise you that we will do everything, absolutely everything in our power to make sure that you do not. The decoction should halt any contractions. You aren’t losing water which is a good sign, and the baby’s moving a lot. Are you in any pain Menolly?” Her head felt foggy. “No. No pain.” Brekke squeezed her hand. “That’s positive, tell me as soon as you feel any.”

Feeling as though a Queen was sat on her chest Menolly clung to Brekke as though she was an anchor. “They’re in my head Brekke. I can hear them all.”
Brekke nodded in sudden understanding.  "Canth, can you help calm the others? I can’t reach Ramoth, she’s agitated and distracted. We need to limit the ‘listeners’ for Menolly. NOW."

Ramoth certainly was agitated, which was cause for concern, as it was rare for her to be completely unreachable and anything that upset Ramoth, upset the Weyr. Brekke ‘listened’ and heard the withdrawal of dragon after dragon.

What the star had they been thinking? No wonder Menolly collapsed. Her patient sighed in profound relief.
“Thank you Brekke.”

“Ssh. Rest Menolly. The master Healer wants you on full bedrest. No wandering off until they, and I, clear you, ok? The midwife would like to examine you to check a few things and listen to your daughter’s heartbeat.”

“Brekke? Please don’t leave me alone.” The ex rider did not let go of Menolly’s hand as someone joined them on the bed.

“Never, Menolly.” The young Journeywoman closed her eyes and tried to calm her racing mind. She was tired, oh so tired, and her limbs felt heavy. A man she did not recognise in healer green leant over her and put what looked like a brass instrument to her belly, placed the other end to his ear, and listened. The cold of the metal made her gasp and the baby thrashed. It made her notice how many of her clothes had been removed and she shivered as her body finally noticed the chill; Brekke now watching, pulled a thick blanket over Menolly’s legs and looked apologetic.

“We had to my dear, I’ll sort you out with clothes when the healers are done.” The man next to her put down the trumpet-like device and took out a measuring tape, equally cold, and took some measurements of her bump, making notes as he went. The bump moved. Good. That was good.

"Your daughter is strong, little singer. She will stay."

Fucking know it all dragons. What did they know? Laying eggs as Queens did. What can go wrong with a fucking egg? There was a wave of deep sorrow and Menolly realised that someone was listening who knew the answer. She tried to be sorry. You are sad, little singer. You are scared. You are forgiven. Sleep now and we will watch your clutch. Menolly didn’t have the energy to argue, she felt shaky and the dragon was right, she was sad, frightened, and exhausted. Before she succumbed to sleep she managed to hear the male healer, though it sounded as though he was underwater, telling her he thought the bleeding was stopping and that she needed water. Beauty rubbed her head against Menolly’s cheek and chirped. It was a worried chirp but Menolly clung to the fact that it was not a hum. The humming had stopped, at last.

“What do you really think Grest?” Brekke looked up from their patient to the master healer Path had delivered. He sighed. “I never give guarantees, but she is stable for now and so is the child. From what I can tell the blood is not the baby’s and there seems to be no abruption, the lack of pain is a good sign as labour would obviously cause that. Her waters are intact so she is not at high risk of infection. Sometimes we do not find a cause for bleeding. My best guess at this point is that it is an issue with the placenta. We will watch them carefully, I’ll take the first shift.

The green rider seemed very concerned for Menolly, I think that given the personal risk she took in timing it she should know about her friend.”

Brekke smiled. “Not ‘green rider’, her name is Mirrim. I’m glad it is you that she brought, I’ll go and speak to her, and send up some hot klah for you.”

Manora usually found writing easy, a relaxing activity. Now the words seemed to have abandoned her. Whichever order she tried to arrange them in the letter did not read properly. Masterharper Robinton was supposed to be arriving tomorrow to see Menolly and discuss arrangements for her return. She had to write to him rather than have him arrive without any idea of today’s dramatic events, and she seriously doubted that the man would have missed the arrival of a dragon at the healer hall, especially one without a patient.

Someone chirped, and a little bronze head that was not one of their resident firelizards, nudged her face. "Zair?" Manora stroked his head knob. The little bronze responded with happy shades in his eyes, and a happy sound, showing her his inky feet. “Was I thinking too loudly about your friend?” Zair blinked and squeaked. Great. Firelizard communication was often not particularly clear. This time it didn’t matter.
Manora asked for his leg and when Zair held it out she tied the message tube to it.

“Take this to Robinton, now, to Master Robinton.” She tried to imagine a vivid picture of the man and this time got a far more enthusiastic response from the little firelizard. Relieved that the message was sent, Manora left her office and sought their suddenly missing guest.
Opportunities to catch up with old friends were infrequent for Manora and right now she felt in need of some human contact with someone mature. Brekke found Mirrim in the weyr she shared with T’gellan, where Path had directed her. She saw that Mirrim had been crying and ached to tell her that everything would be ok and not to worry, but even when she was a child Mirrim had never been fooled by false promises. So instead Brekke told her what they knew, and that Menolly and the baby were stable, and with a gifted healer, sleeping to regain some strength.

Chapter Text

Ramoth was anxious. For the rest of the Weyr that meant treading very carefully around her and the Weyrwoman. It was difficult to know sometimes whether there was a genuine reason to be concerned or if one of them was ‘just’ in a bad mood, but this time no one was quietly moaning. While one part of the Weyr had been focused on the crisis with Menolly, the larger part had been distracted by the crisis in the hatching ground.  Two of the eggs had started wobbling wildly, which prompted the bronzes to hum, just as Menolly had collapsed.  Brekke had heard it all and was deeply concerned at the possibility of a link. A human labour could sometimes be stopped but no one could prevent an egg cracking too soon. Unless that egg was reacting to something outside it’s shell.  The moment Menolly had stabilised and her baby been calmed, so had the little eggs. Ramoth had to have known somehow, Brekke couldn’t think of any way that the great queen would have been drawn out of focusing solely on her children unless she felt some connection.
Few in Benden Weyr would sleep that night.  She wondered how many people had noticed the coincidence; and who would break it to Lessa.  The Weyrwoman avoided pregnant women when it was possible, but there was a good chance that if she saw a link between Menolly, and Ramoth’s clutch, she may try and micromanage Menolly’s care.

Brekke doubted that the healers would permit Menolly to travel back the next week as was first intended. She herself wouldn’t, and setting aside her opinion as a healer, the weyrwoman she had been would not have allowed Menolly to leave until after the hatching following a day like today.  Brekke expected Robinton to arrive with tomorrow’s dawn light. She hadn’t missed Zair’s careful supervision, he may not find the Weyr quite as he expected it to be. Her private opinion was that the dragonets life may very well depend on the survival of the harper child.  

F’nor sat with F’lar that evening whilst Lessa remained in the hatching grounds with Ramoth. The Weyrleader appreciated his half brother’s support even now, though he had long since relinquished any sense of priority over F’nor’s time. Any rider knew that anything and anyone who offered a measure of comfort to a dragonless man or woman was first and foremost theirs. For F’nor it was Brekke. He had sworn that she would never be alone and he had been true to his word.

If she had asked Canth he would have called F’nor back but Brekke felt certain that he was where he was needed. Just as her mate always was.  She poured herself some wine from their ‘special’ stash, she rarely had the stronger vintages but tonight it was warranted.  When F’nor returned to the weyr they shared he found a large cupful waiting for him, and his weyrmate curled up on the couch, wrapped in a heavy fur.  He scooped her up and carried her to bed, managing to transfer her without disturbing her sleep.

T’gellan held Mirrim against him as they sat on the ledge in the moonlight. Mirrim rarely cried but she had more care for her friends than many guessed from her often abrasive nature. It was a pity really that so few ever spent the time getting to know her.  He knew exactly how she felt about Menolly and, having seen the two of them together, was quite certain it was reciprocated.  That was very much a case of letting sleeping dragons lie though, Menolly’s situation was already very messy.  He smiled at the memory of how Menolly had arrived in Benden the first time, and the ruse that had been used to get Menolly to accept the offer of apprenticeship as genuine.  The turns had done her well.

They had heard about the eggs later than most of the weyrfolk but T’gellan could see Mirrim turning it over and over in her mind.  He was struggling with it himself really, but he did not have the added burden of healing knowledge. Sometimes knowing too much was even worse than knowing too little.

_______________________________________________________________________

 Robinton was pacing the floor.   His first inclination was to drop everything and call in a favour from N’ton to go early to Benden.  If he wasn’t Masterharper he might even have had the freedom to change a schedule without notice. As it was, the most reasonable option was to wait and follow the original plan leaving as soon as it would be sunrise, Benden time. 
Sebell watched his Master from his chair and noted the untouched wine. Wishing there was something he could do and knowing there was nothing.

“How did it happen, Robinton?” It penetrated enough for his mentor to pause.

 “They didn’t say.” Sebell sighed.

 “No master. How did the baby happen?”

 Robinton cocked an eyebrow, “Man, if you don’t know how it works now, you never will.”

 “You are being intentionally evasive sir. After all this time, after however many mating flights where I know Zair caught Beauty and you did not take your ease with each other, what happened, really?”

 Robinton closed his eyes and sat down heavily. Wearily.

“There was a typhoon that blew us off course, it surprised even Menolly and her weather sense is amazing. It was hardly the first excursion south but we made landfall in a completely unknown area. We barely made it to shore and the boat was next to destroyed.  She kept us steady enough, for long enough to give us a fighting chance and when we washed up on the beach she didn’t have the energy to stand. It was like reliving a nightmare Sebell. I couldn’t believe I was going to lose Menolly too, in the same way as Kasia.

For the next two days I took care of her while we waited to be ‘found’ by Master Idarolan, it being Southern we couldn’t exactly ask for help from the Weyr.  Menolly was exhausted but recovered, she didn’t sicken and by the second night could help find some food. If we’d been picked up  just one day earlier there would have been no pregnancy.

 I’ve put you in situations Sebell that are dangerous enough that you will be familiar with the after effects of narrowly surviving and how it can compromise judgement. Well on the third morning Beauty flew, and all of Menolly’s bronzes, and Zair.  There was no ‘stand-in’ for her, neither of us had proper clothes left after the violence of the storm and the place was completely abstracted from reality. We made a mistake.  I made a mistake. When Idarolan’s ship did find us in the afternoon life returned to ‘normal’ and as you might expect, neither of us spoke of what took place. We were just going to leave all of that on a beach in Southern, accept that it shouldn’t have happened and avoid a repeat. Obviously that did not work. If we hadn’t needed to come back by sea there would be no baby. If Menolly hadn’t been sick on her return, or without adequate herbs on the voyage the child wouldn’t exist...but against all of those odds there is a baby. Is that enough to satisfy you?”

Sebell understood, he really did.  He’d been in similar situations, and he had first hand experience of the difficulties when only one firelizard was mating, through Kimi. It was too easy to be caught up in a moment without other distractions. Men really were bloody lucky they couldn’t conceive.

He put a hand on his friend’s shoulder, “I’m sorry Robinton, I truly am.” They sat in silence for a long time after that, Sebell assiduously ignoring his master’s tears, knowing that he could never allow anyone else but Silvina to see his sorrow. At least he had taken a sip of the wine now. It would be a long, dark night, but Robinton was prone to dealing with everything alone these days, more a habit than nature. When he lost Kasia there had been F’lon. He had absolutely no intention of losing Menolly or their baby, and he didn’t doubt that if it seemed at all probable then Manora would have had him at her bedside already. The thought gave him hope.  Sebell offered an ear and a top up of wine. Mostly though, he offered himself, and an alternative to Robinton being left alone with his fears.

Sebell was, for now, suppressing his own fear for his best friend. He would talk to Talmor tomorrow, and Master Domick. Somehow he doubted that Master Robinton had remembered to include Menolly’s master in this update, and Manora wouldn’t know to  A good second filled in the gaps though, and Sebell was the best there was.

Chapter Text

It was dark when Menolly awoke, only one glow left uncovered. She very gently tried to stretch her left leg to help ease the cramp, only to find that this minimal movement resulted in a desperate need to relieve herself.  As carefully as possible she sat up, one arm automatically settling protectively across her bump. Moving caused the baby to wriggle and kick her in the bladder, painfully. Trying to move silently in the dark was far harder than she had initially hoped, and turning prompted a wave of vertigo and disorientation. Then she felt someone’s arms supporting her, helping her to stand. The someone opened a second glow and quietly guided Menolly to the necessary, then calmly and unexpectedly lifted her and carried her back to bed.

The urgency of physical needs diminished, Menolly was more able to focus on details and think in cogent terms.

“Who are you? I don’t recognise you from anywhere.”

Her helper placed Menolly as gently as was possible, onto the bed.  He liked honest women. Honest patients he reminded himself.

“My name is Grest, I was brought on Path from the Healer Hall as I am a Master Healer and have specialised in women’s health and neonatal, um, newborn, medicine.”
Menolly smiled, Mirrim must have known him somehow. Clever Path.

When she lay down Menolly found she could not close her eyes. Sleep had not been kind to her.  She clutched Grest’s hand tightly, trying to distract herself by counting.  A person could ignore all sorts of things simply by counting.

“Is something wrong?” The healer looked concerned, “Are you in pain?”

Menolly’s tongue felt thick and her mouth dry, she shook her head.

“Would you...would you be willing to sleep beside me tonight? It’s nothing inappropriate, I promise. It’s just… The nightmares are as vivid as the dreams. I would appreciate very much having another human next to me. I dreamt I was trying to rescue my baby from drowning in the bowl, but with every stroke she was further away and then the lake changed to blood…” Menolly’s voice cracked and Beauty was suddenly alert, Rocky hissing in his sleep. Of course! On top of hormones influencing dreams, the harpress had nine firelizard minds mirroring and amplifying her own feelings.

He thought quickly. Oldive wouldn’t approve, but then, he wouldn’t approve of leaving a patient in unnecessary pain either.

“I’ll bring over water and a cup Menolly, and I’ll lie next to you. I can stay with you until morning, then I’ll be replaced, probably by Brekke but we’ll see.”

The healer brought a full jug over and two cups. No point in risking infections.

Menolly closed her eyes as he lay down, bringing the extra fur with him of course. Grest had seen her perform before, the high quality of gather entertainment and concerts was an advantage of being based at the Healer hall. She always seemed so confident and passionate. Any time she played, or sang, there was standing room only, and the woman seemed to have a gift of imparting emotion directly to her listeners. Only the hardest of souls had a chance of resisting being drawn in.

Now, with legs drawn up almost foetally, exhausted, hair all tangled, and one hand placed protectively on her belly, she seemed fragile.  He wished he had more answers for her but to lie would potentially be far crueller. At least lying behind her allowed him a brief examination of her.  The bleeding had almost stopped, although that could be affected by positioning, and he managed to check her pulse, finding it slow and steady, a normal sleeping rhythm. Menolly may be less glad of him when he gave her the diet sheet that he wanted her to follow. She wasn’t stupid though, he knew he could trust her to co-operate with his recommendations. A nice change from some of the higher status Ladies he was accustomed to dealing with. His sex had put him at a disadvantage initially in his chosen specialty, yet he had come to appreciate that as he had had to work harder to prove his skill and knowledge. It had enabled him to excel in learning, because he had to, and slowly he had built up a reputation as one of the best.  Much as it seemed like Menolly had been forced to do in her own, male dominated craft.  

He had been sceptical of the whole ‘lost apprentice’ narrative, but had followed Menolly’s story well enough.  He had witnessed her throw a well earned punch at his cousin not long after her arrival. His uncle had made a point of requiring his sons and nephews to learn actual skills, partly because of the sheer multitude of them, partly because he point blank refused to support people who were non-productive by choice. It worked well.  

Grest was privately of the opinion that the inheritance of Lordship system was inherently flawed and that, at least in intervals, there should be a more merit-based form of leadership. Very few people were truly ‘born leaders’ by nature. Benis was definitely NOT one of them, and fortunately working with the smiths had helped channel some of the aggression.  The official line was that he had chosen to pursue an interest. Grest let that slip only for the sake of his patient.

He himself had never felt any inclination to pursue a position of leadership, or wealth in land, nor had any sense of jealousy. He had always wanted to heal. It was what he did, a part of who he was, and Groghe had been delighted to sponsor him to the Healer hall for training, on the condition that he worked hard. Lord Groghe was quite a progressive man really. He had heard the story of his grandfather’s death, and how his grandmother had chosen not to save him.  There had been a time that Grest wanted to study surgery further, before he had chosen women’s medicine. In many other branches one encountered death frequently, and in most cases there was little that could actually be done to change the outcome.  He lost patients too, could name every one, but at least they were always fighting for something, and often if one was lost, the other could be saved.  

Menolly was humming, checking, he confirmed that she was still asleep.

“Hear that, little one? Even in her sleep your Mama sings lullabies to you. Time to sleep for you too, while the moons and stars are out.”

Grest lay awake for a long time.  All healers learned quickly how to do long shifts, overnight care, keep very irregular hours, so he was surprised to wake up as the sun rose to the face of a little green firelizard in his own.

Menolly had greens didn’t she? He hoped it was one of hers as he very carefully moved his hand from her hip.

The green’s eyes changed colour and she chirruped, nudging him. At least she didn’t seem upset or worried, although other than that he had no idea of what she was trying to communicate to him. The look changed.  If firelizards could judge someone an idiot, apparently he was. His stomach gurgled, after all the drama yesterday the man hadn’t eaten since the midday meal; the green was right, he was an idiot for not thinking of hunger in the morning. Aah, now that was a happier noise! Most of the Weyrfolk rose early so he wouldn’t be the first to raid the kitchens, the only difficulty was his promise to Menolly that she would not wake alone.  The harpress had slept fitfully but without exhibiting the level of distress she had during the first part of the night.

Grest downed the water that was sitting on the night stand and stretched, joints cracking loudly. Sitting up and putting his feet down on the floor drew a curse from his lips as he missed the rug and stubbed several toes on the bedframe. There was a low chuckle behind him, blast.

“It’s a good thing you’ll never have to actually carry and birth a baby then,”

The healer grimaced, “You’d be surprised at the language I’ve heard come out of ladies that stubbed their toes, who never uttered a curse during labour!” It was true. No one ever really knew how they would deal with birth, but then no-one ever really managed to explain the proper way to the babies.

“Would you like anything to eat, Menolly? Before I re examine you and go over our current plan together. I’m sorry to leave but we both need to eat and I’d rather not wait longer than necessary.”

Menolly looked at him, he was oddly familiar, yet she was sure she would have remembered him had they met previously. She was trained to notice anomalies, anything different, unusual, or out of place, and Grest was certainly...different.

“Juice please. No klah, for me or in this room. Sorry, the smell still makes me sick. Some of the biscuits for cheese maybe? Without any cheese I mean.” Grest smiled.

“Oh, and meat, for the fair.” Menolly flicked a hand towards her hair, where Beauty’s eyes were visible through the nest of hair.

Grest nodded, “Gotcha, Juice, cheese biscuits with no cheese, meat for the firelizards, and under no circumstances should I bring klah.” Then he was gone. Like everyone else. She snuck to the necessary, not willing to risk waiting however long it might be until he returned, and tried to ignore the direction of her thoughts. As she slipped back under the furs someone soothing stroked her thoughts, could you even do that? Stroke a mind? Yet she had no better description for the touch of someone’s dragon. The dragonmind didn’t say anything, she was just present, another soul. When Menolly heard heavy footsteps on the stairs she felt the withdrawal and it left a space, one that Menolly was not at all sure she liked.

“Here.” Grest set down the tray and moved a heavy table across the room to be next to his patient’s bed, setting the juice, biscuits, and something green which looked evil, on the tabletop. “The meat is coming separately to prevent contamination. This time you eat first Journeywoman. For now, you take my orders as law. If I heard correctly you are expecting a visitor today so you won’t be without distraction, at this time you are still on strict bedrest and I will review things tonight, provided the day is without any major concerns. Brekke will be up soon to help you get dressed and washed without getting up properly.” He paused and looked towards the doorway, noticing before Menolly did,

“Ah, but I don’t think you will be needing much help with that for a little while will you.” He winked at her, and pointed.

“Master!” Grest had to smile at the look of joy and relief on her face.  He stood back and became silent, perhaps he could not give them their happy ever after, but he could give them this moment undisturbed. He desperately hoped he would see them rejoice at the birth of their child, not grieving. It never got easier, having to tell a parent their child was gone, and no midwife or healer would ever forget a single one of those children. There were several things nagging at him about the involvement of the dragons, and it irritated him that he couldn’t identify exactly what it was. Perhaps when he had more than two candle marks sleep, or perhaps just some klah would do the trick. He had been tempted to have a swig in the kitchen but pregnant women were notorious for detecting the very faintest trace of trigger foods.

It was impossible to believe that there was something sinister about Menolly’s pregnancy when the two harpers were seen together. True they were not all over each other, there was nothing erotic at all, yet their foreheads touching and interlaced fingers on Menolly’s abdomen was a picture of intimacy that, to him, was beautifully simple. Master Robinton perched awkwardly on the edge of her bed, the concern for his little family obvious. For Grest, dealing with people in his professional capacity, rank did not exist. In a birthing room, no one cared about the rank of anyone but the healer or birthing woman. All humans deserved to be treated equally and he followed that precept to the best of his ability. Looking at Menolly, Robinton, and the bump which contained their child he saw not a Mastercraftsman, or a trailmaking Journeywoman, but a mother, and father, who had all the same fears, hopes, and worries that anyone else would.  Grest was certain his life would be much easier if only more people could see past a title or the knots one wore. He raked in a pocket for his spare hair thong, the original having disappeared overnight, and pulled it back into a bun. As much as he hated to break up the reunion he did need to examine Menolly before he left them alone and so, stepping out of the shadows, he cleared his throat a few times and rejoined them, settling himself on the other side of the bed. Thankfully Menolly’s legs were slim. Robinton’s expression grew serious but he did not relinquish her hand or make any attempt to create an impression of distance between them. Good. Clearly the Harper understood well enough and was there to support Menolly. It was always easier when the men listened to him, especially if the woman was going to need some practical support. Hopefully that meant Master Robinton would also understand why Master Grest intended to impose a flying ban on Menolly, at least for the foreseeable future. There was no question about her flying between next sevenday. The complications for harpers were not his problem, keeping Menolly’s babe inside and both mother and child stable, was.

Chapter Text

Chapter 34

Robinton sat motionless and held his breath as the healer performed the necessary examination, taking notes as he went. It was brief but unhurried.

When he was done Grest returned the instruments to his bag.

“Well Menolly, the good news is that the bleeding has stopped, at least for now, and that both you and baby have lovely strong heartbeats. Your membranes are intact so there isn’t an infection risk, and from what I can gauge, the growth is normal. The bad news is that we don’t know why it happened, and that means I, and the rest of your care team, will need to be cautious for now. I’m putting you on full bedrest for the at least the next sevenday. However, I would recommend that you plan on being at the Weyr for while.  I can’t clear you to fly between for the foreseeable future, and with the...ah...draconic complications of yesterday I’m unsure about you leaving before the birth at all.”

He gave them a moment to absorb that bit of information before continuing, noting the line of Master Robinton’s lips, pressed thinly together.

“Look, I hope that I’m wrong, for your sake. I’m not going to lie to you though, and if I think there is even the slightest risk to either of you it is my duty as a healer to tell you of that. I intend to search the records to see if there are any similar cases to your own, I don’t recall coming across any before, but often you don’t find something until you look for it. In the meantime I want you to discuss an alternative plan for remaining in Benden and birthing here. I am sure that Brekke, and Mirrim, will be more than happy to make sure you have anyone you want here with you.”

The couple were quiet.  Not an experience often encountered with multiple harpers in the room. Any other time it would be amusing.

The Masterharper was the first to speak, carefully, calmly. “If I understand you correctly, the most important part of that, the only bit that truly matters, is that Menolly and our child are safe?”

Grest nodded, “Yes. Absolutely. For now.”

Robinton didn’t miss the stress on the qualification, shells, words were what he did. The healer was trying to keep them optimistic while also laying a groundwork to prepare them for the worst. Clearly harpers were not his primary patients. There was an unspoken acknowledgement that passed between them.

Robinton smiled, his expressive face managing to convey such an array of emotions in that one mask. He gazed at Menolly and squeezed her fingers gently, “Well then, I’d better get Dermently to arrange a delivery of supplies to you, hadn’t I?”

Menolly returned a smile that masked her turmoil. “I suppose you had, Master Harper.” The use of his title sounded almost like a term of affection between them, and the healer wondered how much they both danced around the others pain, how often it was expertly avoided. They were clearly well practiced.

Menolly’s voice was warm when she addressed him, “Thank you for helping us both, I will make that plan and try to have it ready for when you return.” As the healer went to stand up Robinton caught his eye once more. “Master Grest, would you please explain to me the meaning of ‘draconic complications’ in this context.” Ah. The healer thought quickly, if that detail hadn’t been communicated what did the Harper know and what had not been passed on?
In the end he wherried out. “Well, it’s not something I can explain yet in medical terms, you would be best asking Brekke really, and Menolly, both women are far more experienced in matters of a draconic nature than I am.”
Robinton knew an evasion when he saw one but the healer was right, it sounded like this news may be best coming from Menolly, especially given it had not been included in Manora’s letter.

“Excuse me, but I think you should have some time alone, before Brekke arrives to replace me. If you have any concerns, however small they seem, just call for me. I will be here.”

He left quietly and Menolly and Robinton were left alone.

When Robinton first spoke, Menolly didn’t really process the words. She had so missed that rich baritone voice. She was certain that even in old age she would remember how expertly he used it, the exact timbre, the way it made her feel…

“Menolly? Hello?”

She blinked, looking confused for a moment and Robinton chuckled, “My dear Menolly, you got none of that did you?” His Journeywoman blushed and shook her head,

“No, I was just listening Rob.” The abbreviation started him but the Harper covered it quickly, “I know, dear Menolly. I heard your voice so often there were nights I almost believed you were there, and in every letter you sent as well. I asked you about the dragons. What part do they play in this saga? The healer mentioned complications, and that he recalled no case like it, so what have you been doing to shake people up this time?” He swung his long legs on to the bed, wishing they didn’t creak quite so badly, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. He did love that they were broad enough not to leave most of his arm dangling awkwardly, although how anyone could have found her unfeminine was beyond him.

Menolly leaned into his frame, resting her head on his shoulder. “Well. He was certainly correct in describing it as complicated. I wrote to you about the dragons speaking to me, well, it’s been becoming clearer and more frequent, especially the female dragons.

Yesterday, when this began, I collapsed. I’m not sure if that was because of all the minds at once, or if they all rushed in because I collapsed, I have a lot to talk to Brekke about still. Path knew though, definitely. She timed it with Mirrim to get proper help to me, and I think they may be talking to our baby. I don’t know, but they seemed to be singing lullabies, and telling her to stay. It’s difficult to tell what was real and how much I imagined. I’m still exhausted, though that’s the case more often than not these days.”

Robinton covered the hand that had drifted to her belly with his own and felt a wriggle. It raised a genuine smile and he sighed, “Oh my Menolly, my wonderful, talented, beautiful Menolly. Perhaps I was wrong to steal you -no, I did, don’t disagree with me. The Weyrwoman always did want to keep you here, but how could I let you slip away then? I don’t think there has ever been another on Pern quite like you. In a way you fit everywhere and nowhere. Hold, Hall, and Weyr.” He held her tighter against him.

“Whatever happens, do what is right for you, and our child. You owe me nothing. I owe you everything. Perhaps what this world needs most right now is someone who can be of all three.  It has always been difficult to keep smooth relations between crafters, riders, and holders, none quite understanding the others. If the dragons are speaking to you then of course you must listen, and I am so very glad that they are listening for our child.

I promised you to help in any way, and if for now that means loaning you to the Weyr for a while then that is exactly what we shall do. Of course I want you back. I don’t think I will ever stop wanting you back by my side, but never at the cost of our child.

From your description and Master Grest’s I think I owe a great debt to the dragons of Benden, for both your life and the baby’s.”

Menolly’s head was buried in his shoulder and his tunic was getting wet. She was always so strong for others, and yet so tender hearted, it was a mark of immense trust for her to cry in the presence of others. The training of her early life had never fully left her in that way. Most people who were as artistically gifted were less controlled in who they allowed to see themselves, Menolly no longer feared those who would doubt or abuse her, but she was wary of sharing too much of herself. He was quite certain, though she had never mentioned it, that she learned, as he had, to ‘read the room’ almost from birth. At least, for all his failings and bad temper, Petiron had never been a violent father.

When she spoke it was muffled a little as she allowed herself the luxury of drawing strength from him, “Thank you Master. I am so glad you understand. I can’t leave until I know she is safe, and I think...I think I need to understand why the dragons saved her.”

She lifted her face to look into his, searching it, “We are having a daughter then?” Robinton kept his voice light, determined to help this wonderful young women find every single scrap of joy the two of them could.

“According to the dragons we are anyway. I wonder how they know.”

Robinton stroked her cheek with a long finger and dropped a kiss on her forehead,

“I don’t think it matters how they know. There are some things that just are. I wonder if she’ll have your eyes, or my eyebrows,” He waggled them and, as intended, Menolly started giggling. She had once likened them to lost, furry, grubs that crawled around his forehead and ever since it had been a private joke between them.

When the giggling stopped Robinton was surprised to find that she had fallen asleep on his shoulder, a look on her face far more peaceful than the one he had feared seeing.

When Brekke walked in to find the two of them that way and the Masterharper singing quietly an unfamiliar song to an unborn baby girl she froze, until the harper beckoned her in without missing a beat. She came in and sat on the low couch, waiting until the song ended to make any other movement or sound.

Chapter Text

“I don’t recognise that one, is it new?” Brekke was not a singer, but she did enjoy listening to others, and though it was difficult to carry babies as a weyrmate, she secretly hoped to be in need of lullabies one day soon.

Robinton shushed her and as gently as possible lay Menolly down, slipping his arm from her shoulders. As he was about to draw draw the curtain round her bed he remembered why Brekke was here and turning, walked across to join her. It was funny how deceiving distance would could be. At home, reading one of her letters he could feel as though Menolly was right beside him, and yet now that he was only feet from her sleeping platform, leaving her side felt like crossing the bowl.

There was a sense of rightness in this bubble, that there was nothing to force them apart here, in this weyr it felt almost possible for them to be a real family.

Brekke’s eyes always held a depth of sadness but today he could also see hope in them. Robinton paused. He always hated to bring up dragons with ex-riders, it wasn’t as if they could ever forget the loss, but it seemed cruel to poke an open wound.

“Every child needs their own song, Brekke, that one is hers. Can you talk to me about what is happening to Menolly, with the dragons? There seems to be rather a lot that I have missed, and many unanswered questions. Is she actually hearing all of them, or just some? Will it affect the baby?”

Brekke placed her hand gently on his arm before answering.

“I know. Honestly there are many things I do not know the answers to yet, but I believe we will find them Master Robinton. I can give you what information we do have, as Menolly has made clear that she consents to you being informed of anything. That isn’t just because you’re her craftmaster either.” Brekke smiled at him. The time she had spent with Menolly in the past weeks had brought the two of them close, and the usually reserved healer now felt at ease with Robinton.

“She doesn’t only hear some dragons Robinton. She hear all of them, sometimes all at once. I’ve been working with her to help her build up the ability to listen, and, more importantly, how to not listen. I believe it is possible that the impact of so many minds impacting hers all at once yesterday may have been what caused her to lose consciousness. It certainly was impeding her recovery. She didn’t want to worry you before. I know that she told you about hearing them though, you know that Menolly doesn’t exaggerate.”

Robinton grimaced. “I know. A small part of me had hoped though… The Weyr doesn’t have a history of letting women with that particular skill leave.” Brekke blanched and the Masterharper mentally kicked himself. Not a mistake he should have made.

“No Robinton, don’t. I never forget, that part of my soul is always gone, empty. Others ignoring that doesn’t make it hurt any less. I forgive you, and I thank you for remembering that I do hear more than Canth. Mirrim chose to ask me to help Menolly because the only other who can is Lessa. The Weyrwoman is a wonderful person but she is not known for her...tolerance...of other opinions or choices that don’t make sense to her.  They Weyrleaders have to put the Weyr first, but for myself, I can put the welfare of a patient, or a friend, first.

Menolly needs to stay with us. I don’t know how much she has learned or what conclusions she has reached, but I would strongly discourage her from leaving until we have a better idea of what we are dealing with. As far as I know, the baby is unharmed by any of this. You do  need to be aware though that if the child survives,” again the preparation for loss that twisted like a knife, “there may be some anomalies.”

Robinton’s heart raced. Camo, the ‘anomalies’ that finally gave away the devastating truth of his birth. He couldn’t prevent a tear escaping then. Master Robinton cleared his throat and tried to sound as composed as ever.

“What sort of ‘anomalies’ do you expect to find, and are they dangerous to our daughter?”

Brekke appeared puzzled by the question for a long moment, “Dangerous? Oh, no, you misunderstand me Master Robinton.  It isn’t that I fear physical abnormalities. More a case of unusual gifting. Path and Canth both insist that they can hear her, and that she can hear them. Not in words yet, but in Canth’s words ‘Like the mind of one in the egg still.’ I am not aware of another case like it. I can’t ask to access the old records today  about to draw the curtain round her bed he remembered why Brekke was here and turning after the recent events on the hatching ground either. Menolly’s case is intriguing, and to my knowledge, unique.”

Robinton found himself glad of the support of the chair. In utero dragon chatter. Small wonder they intervened! Apparently Menolly’s daughter fully intended to take after her mother and throw away the hidebound conventions. Unique Brekke said, unusual, but not abnormal. His trembling hands betrayed his emotions.

“Ah, Master, I believe that some wine may not go amiss?”

Robinton smiled weakly at her,  “Never, dear Brekke. Thank you for what you have done for Menolly. I can’t imagine it has been easy, but I suspect you may have saved her sanity, at least from what she wrote in the letters. I have complete faith in you.”

Shells, it was barely past breakfast and he felt as though he’d been rode over, rough shod by a trading wagon.

“I’ll bring a skin up. I’m recommending only watered wine for Menolly, if any, and unfortunately as part of her treatment I have been given strict orders to ensure she drinks at least two glasses of greens a day. Grest has left instructions with the kitchen staff. When anyone loses blood it is always recommended that they add extra leafy greens to their diet, Master Grest believes that this way- sort of an extra-mashed style- may speed up the benefits seen with it.” Robinton screwed up his face, he couldn’t imagine it being a particularly pleasant replacement for wine. Yes, he’d make a terrible woman.

A goblet of good Benden red later the Masterharper felt just about ready to ask the next question.  He poured a second cup, rather suspecting he was going to need it. He was having that kind of a day.

“You mentioned being unable to access records due to hatching ground activity, I’m not yet aware of any such drama, although no doubt Sebell is by now. 

Brekke did not look at him. Instead her gaze was fixed on the sleeping harpress on the bed. She was quiet long enough that Robinton wondered whether she would answer at all.

“THAT is part of what I don’t properly understand. At the same time Menolly started to bleed, two of the eggs on the hatching grounds began to rock. Vigorously. Then when we halted the contractions and slowed the bleeding, the rocking stopped too. For some reason there appears to be some connection between them, enough that Ramoth saw it. I think you and Menolly should expect the Weyrwoman to pursue that and want answers. Which we do not have. If Menolly is sleeping still, or napping later, I’d like you to take a look at some of the writing I do have full access to. We are going to keep your daughter inside as long as possible, but you are also going to learn the best care of early or premature babies. Just in case. Her Healer will help you find the texts this evening. Do try not to panic, I promise you, Mirrim brought the best.  He trained under the one who helped deliver Felessan and save Lessa, and Ramoth.”

She was unsure how Mirrim had remembered that or if Path had plucked it directly from the mind of her rider, either way Brekke was proud of her foster daughter.  Forced abruptly into adulthood, Mirrim had never complained about it, she had always been so capable in a crisis. She cringed at that word, it dredged up all sorts of memories, not all of them wanted.

Menolly stirred in her sleep and began to thrash. That was enough to bring both Robinton and Brekke rushing to her side, she was trying to say something and crying.  It didn’t make sense to either of them until Canth telepathically translated, sounding exasperated; ‘Mavi. It’s Mavi.’

Robinton cursed.

“Who or what is Mavi, Master Robinton?”

Robinton wasn’t really paying attention anymore, focused as he was now on trying to wake her. Brekke repeated the question.

“Hmmm? Oh. Mavi was- is- Menolly’s mother. Whatever she is dreaming right now, she doesn’t want to be.”

When Menolly did open her eyes they were wide and panicked, “Mavi?” She gasped, struggling to focus on Brekke, apparently not recognising her. Brekke checked her her forehead and was relieved to find none.  Just a wisp of dream then.

“No, love. There’s no Mavi, she isn’t here, none of them are, you’re safe at the Weyr.”

“I thought I heard her voice with yours.” Master Robinton brushed the hair from Menolly’s brow and stroked her cheek gently, “Nope. Just Brekke and I here, no-one else.”  She turned and tried to focus more clearly on the woman next to her. No, definitely not her mother. “Brekke?” The healer smiled reassuringly at her. “Thank you for being with Rob.”

“Whenever you need it my dear. Whenever he wants it. I’m going to prop you up a bit with some extra cushions, and we are going to get you fed.” Brekke efficiently fixed the bedding to allow Menolly to sit without wasting energy, and sitting with them explained to her the treatment plan. Unfortunately there was little certainty in pregnancy and a lot of luck, but there were many recommendations for preventative actions, and the healer hall were able to distinguish, for the most part, which were legitimate and which were old aunties tales.

With Menolly properly fed and feeling considerably less foggy, the three of them were able to talk about some of the last five sevendays, Menolly relating the antics of her students, and discussing some of her research with Master Robinton. It was a welcome distraction for them all. Especially when the claxon went to call all Riders to threadfall. Brekke pressed her lips together tightly. She always felt the stab of fear when F’nor and Canth flew thread, and she always felt the echo of pain whenever a pair were injured. The heightened anxiety caused her to flinch when Robinton touched her arm, “Brekke. Stay with us, he is experienced and skilled, they will return.” She nodded sharply, still not quite present.

“If this fall is a bad one and they...need me. For casualties. There is a possibility you might be moved down to the infirmary. If that does happen we’ll send someone up to carry you there, rather than have you walk today.”

Robinton was a little galled by the implication that he would be unable to safely carry Menolly down, but while his first inclination was to protest it and insist that he was happy to carry them anywhere, there was an uneasy part of him that wondered if he still could. He didn’t often feel so old, but occasionally he was reminded of that fact. Usually at the worst possible times.

Menolly’s body tensed beside him, Robinton reached over and gave her hand a squeeze. “I can feel it,” she whispered, “I can see what they are seeing.” Brekke swallowed hard, pushing her own pain aside.
“I know, Menolly. Look at me, focus on my face, remember what we practised? Use it. Don’t follow them, let them go.” Gradually, one by one her muscles began to relax, and her pupils returned to their normal size. Choose something Brekke had said, an anchor. She needed a new anchor. One that didn’t follow the dragons.

Brekke dabbed Menolly’s face with the handkerchief and saw the familiar mix of wonder and terror. “I know, dear Menolly. I know. Resist the pull. You can listen without being pulled in. The dragons didn’t mean to unsettle you.  You know Master Robinton better, try using him, and focus.”

Robinton forced himself to appear unperturbed, taking Menolly’s face gently in his hands, “Well I can’t argue with that Brekke,” he searched the face that he had long ago memorised.  She was trying to concentrate, but the firelizard’s eyes were whirling every shade of the rainbow and fidgeting, as Menolly’s pulse raced. Not good. They needed a distraction, one bigger than a flight of dragons. Robinton considered for a minute, and her pupils began to dilate again. He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers, snaking a hand into her dark hair as he kissed her, noting the shocked squeak from Beauty as her mistress was brought sharply back to her immediate surroundings. Menolly’s pulse may not have slowed much but at least she was seeing clearly through her own eyes again. He started to untangle his hand, stopped by one of hers covering it. She touched his forehead with her own, and concentrated on breathing, trying to slow hers to match his. Menolly made a mental note to thank Master Shonagar when she finally did return to the Hall, the man was a genius.
“Sing with me.” She spoke so softly that Robinton would have missed it had there been any space between them, he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, “Anything, love. What shall we sing today?” Menolly grimaced as the baby kicked her kidney particularly hard, “Something soothing, perhaps we can calm this wee one down. She is rather energetic right now. The first song you wrote for her, Rob, sing that.”

The Masterharper hadn’t felt such simple joy in a long, long time, as when Menolly’s warm voice joined his own in singing to their daughter, and apparently, the lullaby worked. The baby’s movements became less frantic and returned to a more normal pattern, glancing at Beauty, Robinton reconsidered that, if Menolly was calmer then of course her daughter would be. At least he was confident in his stamina for singing.

Brekke took the opportunity to nip briefly down to the kitchen to find the correct strength of fellis, better to be over prepared than find oneself without a useful sedative.

Chapter Text

Chapter 36

Ramoth remained in the hatching grounds when the Weyrwoman left to co-ordinate the Wings, and watched her clutch more carefully than she had in several turns. She was not happy about Mnementh flying today, though her mate had pointed out that she was being silly, and that even if he wasn’t fighting he could not have helped other than by bringing her a fat herdbeast. Which he had already done. Lessa sent her soothing thoughts and a promise of a swift return. Ramoth snorted. ‘Swift’ was entirely subjective, and dictated by the threadfall itself.

It was always a waiting game.

Ramoth hated waiting, almost as much as her rider did.

Still she lay down to watch her eggs, and listened to them dreaming.

Brekke took one step at a time, threadfall days were always the hardest. She almost took a detour by the healers, but decided against taking the risk of seeing an injured pair so early in the day.

Rejoining the harpers, she found them talking in low voices, looking for all the world like any other couple, except that Brekke knew from Menolly that they were not a couple in the conventional sense. Still,  that was a topic that needed discussion.

The why wasn’t entirely understood, but it was known by healers that certain types of intimate activities could induce contractions, or even labour in women near their time. Menolly was not, but in pregnancies deemed ‘at risk’ patients were always recommended to avoid sex, and even stimulation of the breasts. Brekke still had to consciously override her early Craft upbringing, in order to properly fulfil her role as a healer, but it was no longer a topic she was unable to mention.

She felt like an intruder on a personal serenade, and yet it was captivating to see them this way, apparently impervious to the chaos and the noise outside their bubble, betrayed only by the intense concentration visible on Menolly’s face, brows wrinkled in an expression that any friend would recognise. So intent on locking out the furious battle that raged in the skies, that no-one else appeared to hear, the fire and frenzy. Brekke knew it. She could hear, but only rarely did she dare to listen. The memories of fighting with Wirenth were too powerful , it was dangerous.

There was a break in the singing as one song came to a natural end. Menolly held onto Robinton as though he was the anchor that prevented her drifting.

Brekke heard Menolly’s soft voice as she spoke to Robinton, “ Rob, I was focused. I had something that ought to have grounded me. Her. I need to find out why it failed. Did I take the baby, or did she take me?” The emotional turmoil of everything was clear in her eyes. Brekke took advantage of their pause and cleared her throat before pulling up a stool next to the bed.  “I brought some fellis in case it was needed, Menolly. I can see though that you are much more settled, I am proud of you dear.” She turned towards Master Robinton, “Well, now that I have both of you together, there is one thing that you must know. I understand from Menolly that you are not in a physical relationship at this juncture, is that correct, Master Robinton?” The Masterharper nodded an acknowledgment, “It is.” Brekke didn’t miss the way his hand tightened fleetingly around Menolly’s. “Then this shouldn’t be directly applicable”. Robinton wondered if the healer was deliberately prodding him.

“It is important that for the foreseeable future, and potentially the remainder of this pregnancy, Menolly refrain from engaging in any sexual activities. We recommend it to anyone who has threatened preterm delivery, and there does seem to be a link in some women between orgasm and...uh...more persistent contractions.”

Brekke blushed as Menolly groaned in disgust while rolling her eyes, Robinton hope his daughter inherited those eyes.

“So that means not even without a partner then? Shells. I was rather hoping that the talk would have been about how no man has a dick long enough to whack the baby on the head.”

Robinton cocked an amused eyebrow at her, “Feeling frustrated? I shall expect to be seeing some entertaining songs very soon, that certainly do not qualify as intended for children.” Through years of experience Master Robinton knew better than to utter anything about how it would not be for long, she was nearly there, or risk his neck mentioning the H- word.

He knew her so well, Menolly’s strop was already setting itself to music and she grimaced. Presumptuous arse of a man. It was unfair that men didn’t get to at least share in the discomfort of growing a human, and yes, she knew it was irrational, and ridiculous, but she was still entitled to be frustrated and redirect her emotions as was most effective. Robinton rubbed her back soothingly, “I’m sorry love, if I could go back…”

“Shut up. Don’t you dare Robinton. Don’t you dare suggest a world without her. Not here. Not today!” Brekke, wondering if she should intervene, was saved from it by Robinton pulling Menolly into a strong embrace as one of the strongest women she had known fell apart in his arms. It was almost a relief for the healer to see, she had been waiting for that, it wasn’t healthy for people to try and contain everything in such situations.

Better that they not isolate themselves and create a rift. Master Robinton looked dejected, he was, she supposed, rarely in such a position as to be helpless. Until now, every time they had met he was clearly the Master of the room. The one taking the pulse, directing events more than any other individual. Even when things seemed hopeless, or the people combative he would remain calm and levelheaded. Now he found himself powerless against the unknown, unable to influence the outcome. She withdrew to give the troubled parents a degree of privacy, wishing that she had brought something to sew for a distraction, concentrating helped ignore the absence of her weyrmate.

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Mavi glanced skyward, not that there was anything to see, with every shutter down and barred. She hadn’t felt as nervous about a fall since the one following Menolly’s disappearance, and that one would haunt her forever. Yanus was at sea, at last, and she’d had Elgion raise the signal to, hopefully, attract the attention of a rider, and she hoped that no one in the hold would be watching too closely. She didn’t like going behind Yanus’s back but he had made clear his stance on any contact, however indirect, with his youngest daughter. Elgion knew, but he was a harper and kept many secrets, she was sure he would not betray his fellow crafters. If she was snappy that day no-one commented, nobody liked a dressing down from the Seaholder’s wife, and usually she was accurate in critiquing an individual’s productivity.

When the fall finally ended, and the sweep teams had been organised and sent out to scour the land, a large brown dragon at long last came to land just lengths from the seahold doors.

Mavi cautiously checked that no one was watching too closely, good, no footerin about. She grabbed the small parcel that she had planted near the entrance earlier, on the pretext of checking they were properly closed. Elgion was the only one who could see anything. The dragonrider was tall, heavily scarred and serious looking, his garb indicated he was a wing second. Someone who clearly took his oaths and responsibilities very seriously. Yanus would approve.

Trying to maintain a polite tone and not sound gruff Mavi offered a gesture of respect and formally thanked the Brownrider before stepping forward and shoving the parcel into his hands, irked that her throat ached, “Please, make sure this reaches my daughter. Tell Menolly...Tell her that I never stopped loving her, and never will.”  The brown rider held her gaze for a long moment before nodding solemnly, “Menolly. I shall deliver it into her hands myself. Mavi.” For an instant her eyes narrowed, but he was already mounting the brown, who while unthreatening, managed to radiate a distinct sense of antipathy. She couldn’t bring herself to watch them leave Halfcircle. In her own mind she knew that this was not a beginning, or a renewal, it was the most foolish thing she had done in a long, long time, but Mavi had needed to say goodbye, to tell Menolly she was not forgotten.

If Menolly survived birth, and the child did too, perhaps her lost daughter might finally understand. She would never want her mother by her side, like Sella had, but Mavi remembered her own experiences birthing, and she, stoic as the cliffs they lived on, had cried for a mother long gone. Setting her face to the wind and putting her grief back in it’s proper box she walked resolutely back into the Seahold and a secure life that had one disobedient, ungrateful, and precious day dreamer forever missing.

One old auntie, who had noticed the signal, smiled secretly to herself. Several smaller, woollen items had failed to meet with the Seaholder’s wife’s approval lately for minor faults, and the yarn vanished. If her own hat had come up a little on the small side it couldn’t be helped now, could it? If your eyes didn’t work so well there were a good many people that assumed you were becoming mentally frail as well. Gnarled fingers flying she studiously avoided making any eye contact as the Lady of the Hold brushed past her.

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Despite the thread  falling thick and in clumps, it was close to the end before Brekke was called upon to help with the injured. Menolly was carried down and given a bed away from the emergency area, Mirrim had joined the dragon healers, having flown the first shift this time, and caught sight of Menolly. Though concerned for her friend, especially at her presence down here, any questions would have to wait until all the injuries had been tended to.

It saddened Menolly that with the change of environment the dynamic between Robinton and herself was altered. She understood, really she did, but it still made her heart ache for what they couldn’t have, sighing she placed a hand on her abdomen and tapped a message in drum code, curious to see if the baby reacted. When the baby moved in the direction of her fingers and poked back the harpress felt a wave of delight that the child was still aware of her surroundings, at least enough to react to stimulus. Robinton was quiet, he had been since she had been carried by another man down to the healing rooms. It wasn’t in his nature to be jealous of something so innocuous, nevertheless he was far less animated than she was accustomed to seeing him, almost wistful. She noticed the healers drawing screens around the bed of someone who appeared to be badly injured and looked around her own. Keeping in mind his withdrawal Menolly nudged Master Robinton discreetly, “Master, you’re getting slow without me, pull the screens around us, no need for prying eyes...and the injured riders deserve what privacy we can give them. The pain of the dragons...I can feel it. I don’t want to behold it too. The anguish is indescribable. I am learning to not ‘hear’, but I don’t know if it is possible to learn a way of not feeling. I’m not sure I want to either, but please let us sit together? This is the business of weyrfolk and you and I, we are not of the Weyr.” Robinton was more than willing to comply, and if he sat a little closer to Menolly when they were separated from any others, she did not mention it.

He gazed at her, drinking in the sight as any desperate and fearful father might, but his guard was clearly up now.

Master Robinton appeared thoughtful as she reached for his hand, finally feeling long fingers covering hers. “Are you so sure about that Menolly?” Robinton ignored the hurt he saw reflected in her features, because he needed her to consider very carefully her situation, “Menolly, when I was a boy, I stayed at Benden Hold for a time, with my Mother. Then, there was only one Weyr and it was a very different place, but I made friends, and there were a couple of dragons willing to speak with me, I didn’t realise they did not speak to everyone. Had things been different, had there been more clutches... “

He sighed, “I don’t know, Menolly. I believe my path would always have been the same, but it could also have been very, very different. You, dear girl, you are something special. Unique. Before you ever set foot in a Weyr, before most people had even heard about firelizards, you had impressed nine of them. Nine! Oh, you should have seen the faces of the Lords and Ladies at that, a young girl, never heard of, from a backwater seahold, that was never Searched, appearing from the blue with a fair of of firelizards! Just like in the song, so it was said.” He smiled, and it was warm, and genuine, and full of pride in her. Beauty crooned prettily at him and he continued, “Of course when you did, before Lessa could demand that you stay here, someone whisked you away adragonback to the Harper Hall. After barely two sevendays here you began to hear all of the dragons distinctively, with Brekke’s help you are learning to control that, and it is apparent that those same dragons already sense our daughter. Menolly, my Menolly, it is possible to love two things at once. If ever anyone who walked on Pern had enough heart to love dragons and crafting at once, it is you. When the time comes for you to make a choice, whatever brings you to that point, make a decision for yourself. Not for what you believe you are obligated to do, or for other people. I could not be more proud of you than I already am.”

Menolly rarely sobbed. Her early life had well and truly stamped on her the importance and value of containing any outward sign of your emotions, especially ones that were improper, or distracting for others. It was a sign of her resilience and will to overcome that she was still able to cry at all really, and Robinton couldn’t help but be affected by her willingness to allow him to see her, the woman behind the Journeywoman, vulnerable. Now, she couldn’t help the tears that spilled over. Master Robinton offered her a handkerchief as she dashed them away with an elegant hand.

“Thank you Master. Thank you for offering me freedom, but I could never leave music, because music is freedom. I don’t think I could ever not think as a harper now, I know I can’t suppress the tunes and the  composition. I don’t think I’d be safe to fight thread sometimes, do you?” Robinton smirked, “I promise you that I’ll think about it though, you have an irritating habit of being right, I’ll not be the fool who ignores you, and our daughter does seem to have something of an affinity for dragons, doesn’t she?” Menolly’s expression softened, “I didn’t realise you stayed here as a child. Will you tell me about it? Please.”

Master Robinton stood, and moved to sit next to her on the large cot, she was his weakness, he had rarely denied her anything if he was able to provide it, and she had very rarely asked anything that he could not give. So he draped an arm around her and tucked her head under his chin and began to tell her tales of a time in his life that he himself rarely remembered these days, after the senseless death of F’lon, many of the memories had become bitter-sweet. He told Menolly about Merelan, and the ladies who thought themselves fancy, he related to her the pranks of the weyr boys- and of his own, and the disgust of F’lon at his banishment. It made Menolly think of the younger Piemur, before his voice changed. It helped her to begin to picture a child in the weyr.

That was how F’nor found them, he couldn’t have been long back, though he had shed the riding gear, he most certainly hadn’t shed the stench of firestone and ash.

“I believe Brekke is still working on a patient, Brown rider F’nor.” Menolly was almost always polite, but made a point of giving each dragonrider proper recognition if she saw them just after they had flown thread. Referencing the colour of their dragon was the only way she could think to grant respect to both halves of a pair.  F’nor appeared uncharacteristically distracted. He was holding something wrapped efficiently and secured with twine, tied in complicated knots, the dragonrider glanced at the Masterharper apologetically, “I’m sorry Master Robinton, but may I have a moment alone with Menolly, it won’t take long.” The Masterharper caught Menolly’s eye and she nodded almost imperceptibly.

“Of course, F’nor, I have been sat too long anyway, a man my age could get stiff, come on Zair.” He exaggerated the getting up enough to let the two know that he was in no way stiff and could easily come running if he had to.

With the Harper gone F’nor came to Menolly and offered her the tidy bundle. It shocked her. The twine was not just the common type, found everywhere. She knew that twine, Faranth’s eggs, the hours she had wasted making that twine! She raised it towards her face to test it, and sniffed. Beauty expressed her disgust at that. Menolly made herself calm, and adopted her teacher’s voice. “Where did you get this F’nor?”

Canth sent a wave of reassurance, and Menolly wondered which of them it was aimed at, F’nor chuckled. “Brekke’s absolutely right.” he paused then, “I was on the leading edge and we overflew a Hold requesting contact, when fall ended I was assigned to that seahold so went to fulfill a duty. The seaholders wife requested I deliver a parcel to her daughter, and a message.” Menolly hardly dared touch it, as though somehow holding something so tangible from her past could fling her right back into it, her hands trembling against her will.  “I didn’t look at it, and I don’t know what she has sent to you Menolly.” He did intend it as a reassurance.

“What did she say F’nor? What is Mavi’s message?” After all this time, her mind added.

The wingsecond looked at her piercingly and leaned in, so that no one could possible overhear, and whispered to her exactly what Mavi had so desperately wanted her daughter to know, and something inside Menolly broke, releasing her from a silent fear she hadn’t even known was there, and wouldn’t have thought could touch her now. F’nor withdrew without her noticing, and Menolly tentatively unwrapped the parcel, carefully undoing every intricate knot. Mavi. Always thinking about practicality. On her lap lay a small, but very serviceable sling, the wool would make it soft and warm, quick drying. Scribbled on a piece of reed were the words ‘Carry them close’.

Chapter Text

Chapter 37

Beauty trilled and Menolly reached up absent mindedly to scratch the little gold’s headknob, funny how such a small thing could still mean so much. Sending the sling meant that Mavi knew she was carrying a child. That it was given to F’nor meant she knew Menolly was at Benden Weyr. Yanus must know then.
Menolly  cringed.  The hold may have pretended otherwise, been able, or trained, to ignore it, but Yanus’s temper, while often directed at his youngest daughter, did not pass over others in his vicinity. More specifically those who were willing to challenge him. There had never been many, but Menolly had a few memories of her mother doing so. When she was younger she had hidden, afraid of Yanus turning on her if he knew she saw. When she was older she understood too well that there were some things no one wanted to be witnessed, and had tried to follow Mavi’s lead in ignoring her mother’s bruises. Unlike many women, Mavi never hid them, never altered her appearance to fit around her husband’s state of mind. An old auntie had once asked why, and believing they were alone, Mavi had simply said that she had nothing to be ashamed of.
Menolly hoped that he had no idea that Mavi had sent this, she didn’t want to think what the Seaholder’s reaction might be. With all of that in mind she stroked the sling with gratitude, and not a little respect for the woman who made it. The yarn was reused, but then Mavi could hardly have requested new materials from the Seaholder for this project. Like most of the clothing from Halfcircle it was dark. Life in a seahold was dirty, dragging nets, kneeling, dealing with oily fish,  so it made no sense to have everyone in colourful attire that stained quickly and showed wear sooner. The blankets were the same. One thing that did not change whether you were working within a craft, or in a hold, was the need for both hands, and babies didn’t change that.
     In the strangest way Mavi was expressing an acceptance of her youngest’s leaving and acknowledging that Menolly did work, though in a way that she would never understand. For the first time in turns Menolly felt a genuine desire to speak to the woman who raised her, and yet she knew that it was impossible. If she made contact, Yanus would want to know why, and he would never allow a response from any of his holders either. To reply would be putting Mavi at risk, and in truth, Menolly was quite sure that her mother did not want an acknowledgement, it was not something to seek. Perhaps she could embed a message in a song? No. Yanus was insensitive, not stupid. It was surreal. A message appearing, quite literally, from between, but if there was ever a time when there was one last thing to say, perhaps the kindest farewell was to tell someone that you never stopped loving them.  Aunties one and two curled around her bump. It was unusual now to see all nine of her fair in one place, but apparently they had been drawn together. She wondered what they understood of family. Beauty rubbed her head against her mistresses cheek.

"They define it as you, and each other. Not because of being of one clutch, but because you link them, as a Queen would link her fair in the wild. Without their queen, many times a firelizard fair will scatter, so wild loners are not uncommon."
Menolly took a minute to process that before responding.
“So what about you? How do dragons define and recognise families?”

She felt the wave of affection from her friend, Ramoth she thought, it was still very difficult to recognise individuals.
“Very good, little singer. You improve.” There was a rumble of amusement underlying that, 
“We are far more complicated than mere firelizards. Most dragons identify all of those in their Weyr as one family, but the Queens- and sometimes the sires- are more nuanced, we see smaller families within one big family. The queen will always be able to name every dragon from every clutch she ever laid, and we acknowledge between ourselves that there is a difference. It serves the Weyr, and Pern well for the other colours to ignore, or not perceive the distinction. As long as that is so, we leave them to bond and act as one whole. All dragons are agreed that you humans make little sense in this area.”

Interesting. Very interesting indeed.
“Please! Most of we humans agree that humans don’t make sense, and many of us envy dragons the apparent simplicity of relationships. Humans do have a very special way of creating needless complications” Menolly couldn’t help sharing her sense of frustration then.
    The Queen felt it from her, “You speak of your mate, the Harper.” As Menolly was about to deny it defensively, she realised how ridiculous that reaction was.  The dragons genuinely did not care who she chose to mate with, and even if they had done, the gossip she had overheard never came from Ramoth, who also did not often talk to humans who were not her rider or the Weyrleader, and all of that gossip, and conversation, was telepathic. A sigh escaped her.
“I speak of the Masterharper, yes. My mate? I don’t know. He sired my child,  and it is true that I love him. He may even love me in return and yet for all that we are not mated in the way that you are to Mnementh, or Path to Monarth, the feelings are more tangled though than they should be for one flight. It is a time that the dragons are right to think our ways of showing love nonsensical.”

Ramoth’s touch vanished for a minute, before briefly reappearing, “It would seem that both of our mates have returned, singer. Mnementh comes, and so does the Harper. If something makes no sense little one, then change it. Untangle the knots.” Then there was no more Queen in her mind, and a long shadow fell across her.
“Am I interrupting Menolly?” She smiled mirthlessly.
“Never, Rob. I’ve missed having you close since I left the Hall, knowing that if I needed you, you were only a few lengths away.” She budged over, making a space and gestured for him to come and sit with her.
“I miss talking with you by the fire, and our discussions not being tense, not trying to carefully manoeuvre around the dragonet in the room. Most of all I miss our partnership.”  Watching his reaction closely she asked him, “Don’t you?”
Infuriatingly, despite the complex emotions swirling within the man, he responded with simplicity, “More than anything.” Menolly willed her hand to relax when he reached for it.
“Did you find out what F’nor wanted, Menolly? He came to you before even seeing Brekke, it had to have been important.” Menolly mentally counted to twenty.
“I did, he brought a message from Halfcircle.” In most other situations she would have enjoyed the look of shock that Robinton forgot to hide. “I promise that I will explain Robinton, but not here. I can’t. I just ...can’t.” Menolly exhaled heavily, and Robinton imagined it must be rather like receiving word from Petiron out of the blue.  Though the man had caused him more pain than he cared to consider, Robinton was quite certain that his father was a large part of what had kept Menolly’s ability to feel from being crushed. That he had spent several years protecting Menolly was enough-just- to redeem him in Robinton’s eyes. “Of course dear Menolly, only when you are ready.” They sat silently, her head nestled in the crook of his shoulder, for a long time. Untangle the knots Ramoth had said. If it were only so easy. The only way around knots  was if there were no bloody knots! No knots. No rank. No rank, in theory the problem of suitability disappeared…

“NO!” Robinton’s command penetrated her musing. She glanced up at Robinton sharply.  “What do you mean ‘no’? I haven’t even said anything!”
Robinton rested his forehead against hers and savoured the touch of her skin. “Menolly, I know you, and you have been fiddling with your Journeywoman’s knots, and with my own, since I sat down. You were beginning to separate the threads. You have worked for five turns, and more than earned the right to show it. And I’m too old to learn another craft if you undo mine.”
Unable to meet his eyes,  Menolly concentrated on the rich blue strands, “But Master, what is the point of rank, or position if it forces one to live alone, if it prevents us finding happiness?” Aware of people moving around once more, now that there were no more injured pairs arriving or needing stabilised, Menolly’s voice was barely audible, and if it had not already broken so many times over, the ache and the echo of his own loneliness would have splintered Master Robinton’s heart.

“The point, Menolly, is that no one and nothing, has the right to strip from you, such fundamental parts of your identity as composer, harper, teacher, singer. No one has a right to persecute you for finding joy and fulfilment in that either, and whether we welcome it, or run from it, happiness is always waiting. It sometimes takes a little longer to find than we might like, but it’s always there waiting.”
Yes, thought Menolly, but are you?

She was prevented from replying to his remarks by the entry of the Master Healer from earlier, who was carrying what looked unappetisingly like mashed greens, cooked for a old uncle with too few teeth remaining.
“That you for your patience Journeywoman Menolly. I’m sure you are eager to be out of this section of the weyr.  If you will allow it, I would be very glad to convey you back to your own quarters, I’m sure the privacy it affords is preferable to this, and we often find that mothers and babies are more stable when they are in familiar surroundings.” Menolly was already swinging her legs over the side of the bed.
“Robinton, can you bring the bundle for me? Thanks.” The Masterharper was only too happy  to leave for somewhere they might be free-er to talk.  It was impossible not to relax in the arms of the healer.  Menolly could smell dragons on him, and sweat, and wondered how much sleep he’d actually managed to get before being pulled back in to help ease the strain that fighting thread always put on the emergency staff. She could hear a steady heartbeat in his chest, that soothed and calmed her on a primal level, a rhythm that her own began to mimic in response.      She felt some regret when he laid her down in her own sleeping place, which was  now cold. “I just need to take some measurements and pulse rates and as soon as you have drunk this I’ll be out of your way for a while. Do you mind if I doze on the couch? Towards the end fall was a bit chaotic, and one badly injured rider tried pretty hard to go between, his dragon forced him to stay, quite amazing to witness.”

She complied with each of the healer’s requests, obediently answered his questions, still seemingly distracted and weary, managing the bitter green concoction with a minimum of gagging and grimacing. When Master Grest finished and duly tidied away his instruments,  he went and curled up under a spare blanket as the two harpers slipped back into a more natural ambience. Master Robinton waited for Menolly to break the silence.
“F’nor brought me a parcel, and a message, from Mavi. Open it.” Without taking his eyes off Menolly, he did.  She was twisting her hair, a habit that only surfaced now in times of particular stress or throwing up complicated memories. This definitely qualified.  Robinton scrutinised the soft sling with it’s neat stitches, certainly Mavi would have given careful consideration to the risks before making such a thing.  The lack of adornment clearly marked it as different from the produce of many inland holds, but it was likely that animal fibres were far cheaper inland anyway, and easier to find. The risk of being caught though was no small thing to accept.
“It’s a kind gesture.” He kept his voice low and reassuring, “What was her message?”

Menolly’s mouth felt unaccountably dry and her throat tight. “She said that she has never stopped loving me, and never would.” Robinton nodded and gently wrapped an arm about her shoulders.
“I can’t tell her that it reached me, even though it stirred something in my heart.”
He stroked her palm, seeing her thumb begin to twitch.  “Mavi knows, love. She knows. We’ll make sure that our daughter never has cause to doubt that she is loved, whatever she decides to do in life. Once you become a parent, you never quite stop worrying about that child, there is never a day that passes without you thinking of them, even when those children become adults. Even if you never show it to others, that concern remains. I know Camo is safe. He has the protection of Silvina, Abuna, even the older Masters when I am not there, and I still worry about him.  Mavi may never show her feelings to anyone else, but she needed you to know before you held your own child, that she never forgets. It is up to you what you do with that knowledge, and with the carrier.”

Menolly closed her eyes and drew into herself, looking for a peace that seemed to have gone missing sometime during the afternoon. “I don’t know Rob.  Unless I knew Yanus was at sea, and there was a legitimate reason for a dragonrider to land at Halfcircle, I can’t think of a safe way to respond.”
Robinton’s eyes were dark with emotion as he sought hers, “You don’t need to, Menolly.”
The Masterharper remembered Petiron’s awkward acknowledgement and mellowing after Merelan’s death. Sometimes as adults, one was confronted with the realisation that a parent was still only a person. For some, it could be as jarring and profound as when a small child realised for the very first time that their Mother did not control everything, did not have every answer, usually when each parent felt very differently about the same thing. Occasionally, as in his case, and apparently in Menolly’s too, that issue was a child. Maturity brought perspective, and time did heal wounds, but memories were fickle things.
It comforted her to stay in his arms, his thumb soothingly stroking her palm, the quietness helping her centre herself again.  Reaching out she took the sling from Robinton’s hands and smiled softly. “Have you ever used one of these?” Menolly was unsurprised by the answering shake of his head. “Not once.”
       She smiled, amused. Some of her earliest memories were of being carried in something similar, although stronger. By the time a child could walk they were expected to do so, but no one wanted to take the risk of a little one falling in the docking cavern, or slipping on a particularly windy day. Before Alemi was old enough to sail in open water he had sometimes let her ride when she was ‘too old’, and had run! No one was stupid enough to do that unless they knew every contour of the land, every sod, stream, and bog, intimately. He had practised navigation, memorising routes, noticing the smallest indicator as a landmark, knowing that the skill could mean life or death on the waves. Star maps might be most important, but she saw how he had trained his mind. When Menolly had discovered music she had done almost the same thing, she couldn’t remember a time that she did not see tempo in the sway of reeds, rhythm in the wherries wings. Her favourite brother had also allowed her to observe the advanced knotwork that was not strictly necessary for proper women to use, though most were adaptable, without cliping,  and even answered a whispered question or two about the finickety details. Not that she’d ever tell the dragon riders, but she was pretty sure that Alemi could have fashioned a perfectly serviceable, and safe, harness, without any of the fancy hide work. He’d have to though, salt water was not good for hides.
     After those early races with her hair streaming behind her, Menolly had always loved to run and found it calming. Maybe that was why. Back then no-one had noticed that she was different, no one had hated her for being so, and even when she had begun to see it, no one truly saw a child in such Holds until they were old enough to be useful, productive members of the community. She hoped that her daughter’s life would be so very different!

“I want you to learn, Robinton. Let me teach an old trickster a new trick,” She softened the jibe with a smile, “‘Carry them close’ isn’t sentimentality, it’s an instruction. The closer to your body she is, the safer the carry. The sound of a heartbeat is what a baby is accustomed to, it can help to make them sleep, or allow a woman to feed her child without using hands. At least when an infant is a little older.” Menolly refused to consider a future in which she did not have to balance a baby and a craft. As though in agreement and gratitude the child gave an energetic punch. “Ow!” She rubbed the spot on her belly that had been jabbed and grinned.
“She agrees with me. Now you have to learn!” Master Robinton made a great show of cautiously accepting the sling, as though it could have hidden barbs, but began to appreciate the potential usefulness of such an item as Menolly described how to use it in different ways in meticulous detail.
“I need practice.” He sounded aggrieved at the audacity of a simple item not to immediately bend to his will without entanglement.
“You do. I like it on you.”
Robinton looked directly at her, “Then I have the two best reasons on Pern to refine it.”
      He very carefully removed the sling and carefully folded it the same way as she had, and folded himself next to Menolly, tucking her under his chin. She twitched briefly and yawned, wondering if the bitterness had actually been caused by fellis. “Ramoth says she likes it too, and that you can’t disagree or you won’t get a ride home.” Robinton chuckled. What a very strange world he had come to inhabit. “Then I am forced, dear Menolly, to absolutely agree with you all, and solemnly promise to become most excellently skilled in wearing my daughter.” She closed her eyes and permitted herself the small indulgence of dozing against his chest, as the drug began to take effect.
Someone rapped at the entrance, “I must add a fourth endorsement to the idea. Groghe was never inclined to do so, he cited dignity, I still don’t quite believe him.” Master Robinton looked up and smiled warmly, “Lady Benoria, welcome back. I trust you have been well cared for by the weyrfolk.”
“Manora has been more than kind, considering the circumstances. It has certainly been illuminating to stay in the Weyr during Threadfall, and witness the other side of things. Not that I saw any of the gory details, but certainly it was harder to forget the immediacy of the danger, and great personal risk that dragonriders take upon themselves. I will be returning, as soon as convenient, to Fort Hold.  I wonder if you would like to travel with me Masterharper, since you too must soon return.”
   It was not easy to be angry at the Lady holder, but Robinton still felt a wave of resentment at the reminder of his position and responsibilities, and the awareness that she knew exactly what she was doing. Telling him that this respite must end, and soon.  “You should be aware, Masterharper, that Menolly has been entrusted with some very valuable manuscripts. I intended them for her personal use, and have authorised the use of certain information that anyone editing, or marking the final submission may find sensitive. She ought not to be required to remove this if it is included. I’ll leave them with the other package, and a note, in case it has slipped her mind, in light of other concerns.”
   Robinton very carefully shifted, and gently rearranged Menolly’s limbs, so that he could slip out from under her. “Your concern for the dragons and their riders does you credit Lady Benoria. I should like to speak briefly to F’nor and Brekke before departing, but I don’t expect it will take long once they have eaten. Then I will be glad to accompany you. Have you arranged anything with Manora?” Robinton wasn’t about to ask questions about what sort of sensitive information Menolly might serve up, as long as she did not worry about it when she needed to concentrate on herself. 
        The Lady of Fort Hold was right to prod him though, he appreciated that as much as he loathed it. Left to himself, he would gladly have stretched it into days, weeks if he could, and as Masterharper he could not simply take restdays whenever he pleased.  Until recently he had had little reason to wish for such a luxury, now he wished dearly that the mantle of Masterharper was something one could put on and take off at will, and wondered how Master Gennell  before him had ever balanced the many elements of his life.
       Of course Benoria must have made arrangements, she was already a full day delayed, more than enough time for anyone even half capable to have made any number of elaborate plans. The Lady of Fort nodded briskly, “I am to meet Greenrider Mirrim in the bowl after she and Path have rested and refreshed themselves, the Headwoman says it will not be long now. I wished to give you what time I could with Journeywoman Menolly before any disturbance. May I stay, while you complete your business with F’nor and Brekke? Perhaps Zair could remain and be your eyes.” Robinton rubbed a hand down his face and ruefully chuckled when he caught the twinkle in her eye. 
“I’m sure that Menolly would be glad of your attentions, Lady. Thank you. “

    As it happened, F’nor was in a debriefing with the Weyrleaders and wingleaders, so Master Robinton spoke instead to Brekke, now that she was no longer distracted by Canth and F’nor’s fight, nor vitally needed by the injured pairs. He left with few answers, but a little more assured of there being a plan in place for Menolly, and of Brekke’s continued support of her.
“Mirrim is ready.” Lady Benoria informed him when he returned to them, “and wanted me to clarify that she will wait for you to say goodbye. You are not to disappear without giving Menolly that opportunity.” Robinton snorted, as if he would!
“Don’t try that on me Master Robinton. If anyone can vanish like a phantom it is you. More than your own hall keep spies.” With that cryptic remark the Lady Holder swept from the room, her heavy skirts seeming oddly out of place in the Weyr, where practicality trumped any other consideration. He smiled at the sight of Menolly, with her hair, longer than it had been for turns, strewn across the pillows. She must have been wild as a child. He could well imagine her tearing around, trying to look respectable and like a ‘proper’ girl, betrayed by the flyaway strands, and gleam of intelligence in curious eyes. He knelt down, ignoring the loud cracking of knees that refused to ignore the passage of time so well, and kissed her gently.  Long eyelashes fluttered open and she gazed at him , confused, “Master?” He smiled sadly,
“Aye. Exactly. I have to go back to the Hall now. Can’t have Sebell stealing all my ideas, and Path is waiting for me to move these old bones. Be careful, dear Menolly, take care of yourself, and our daughter, and I will return soon.”
Menolly tried a shaky smile as a tear slipped down her cheek and she brought his fingers to it. Demanding that her training not fail now she managed to stabilise and strengthen her voice, against her turbulent emotional state. “I know you cannot admit to it, but I can. I love you too Rob, and so will our daughter. I miss you, every day we are apart. My Master Harper.” He brushed the tear aside with a thumb and kissed her hand tenderly. “Goodbye, dear Menolly.”

Robinton left her and  bit by bit, rearmoured himself, wondering how he had ever become ‘The Masterharper’ so wholly, that so few ever realised the he was more than that. Striding out into the bowl to greet the waiting pair and apologise for having taken so long, he was surprised to see the tiny Weyrwoman with the other two. When she was rational-which was most of the time- she saw “him”. In fact he half believed that Lessa had grown up in such a way that she could mentally dissect a man, and evaluate him by skills, abilities, strengths, and weaknesses. Perhaps she couldn’t, but in the moments when her eyes took on the look of a predator, it was difficult to think otherwise. Fortunately that was not today. This time, while she had the calculating look that was never quite hidden, there was also compassion in those grey eyes.  Mirrim helped Lady Benoria mount, and swung up herself as the Master Harper approached. Lessa, usually not one for displays of affection, hugged him. “We’ll keep them safe. Don’t worry, Menolly and the child are not going anywhere, not with Ramoth listening in.  Be safe, Harper. Be wise.” She turned and walked towards the hatching grounds in such a confident manner, head high, that for a second, one could almost believe it within her power to make a child stay.  Unless they knew, as he did, the reason behind the passion and fury burned against anything that would dare take a child from their mother.
He climbed up and settled himself behind Mirrim and the Fort Lady. Path launched, wings beating strongly 3...2...1….Between

Chapter Text

Chapter 38

Lessa was brooding. She had spent her earliest turns at Benden Weyr staring at, and restoring records, and one of the ways she had found to preserve her own sanity- and to wind R’gul up without allowing him a comeback- was to rake up the most obscure texts.  Having discovered that the old Weyrleader had no interest in answering her genuine and important questions, she had taken to using the information and references to highlight his own ignorance. Making an artform of showing up his profound lack of knowledge in such a way that he could have no legitimate cause to criticise her. F’lar of course had known, but at that stage she was only slightly less antagonistic to him . A smile pulled at her lips, How he had infuriated her!  Even more that he so rarely had taken her bait.
As a result of those long hours spent on searching for something to confound arrogant bronze riders, she had a good grasp of Weyr history and obscure meetings. She had theorised that female green riders were entirely likely to re-emerge, prior to Mirrim’s impression, and while it irked her that that particular female had to be the first, it was primarily because of the sudden absence of any obvious successor to their imminently capable, but aging, Headwoman. She knew of a document that she hadn’t even show to the Weyrleader, which overturned the assumptions that many now made about the cause of the huge gender imbalance of riders in the Weyrs. One of the dustiest, mustiest, least pleasant rooms, had held records dating from the early third pass. She assumed that many of the minutes from meetings of Weyrleadership were purposely made difficult to find. The record showed that there had a been a series of losses around that time to all the Weyrs of Pern, of female pairs, due predominantly to childbirth and pregnancy complications. Reading more of the surrounding history she was convinced it was the result of damage from an epidemic two decades earlier, and the famine that followed, rather than a result of dragonriding itself. How did one even begin to go about overturning 2000 turns of tradition which had been founded on fear? Manipulating a room full of men was easy, but a whole society? That was what the harpers did. It required deliberation. It made good sense to put women on the hatching grounds at a higher age than men, if, as it seemed, there was a strong hereditary element to sensitivity and impression, it was necessary for the candidates to breed. Far preferable that they do so before impressing if they were of the female sex. Not that it mattered in her own case, but in Menolly’s there remained some time, Mirrim had had no reason to expect her life to turn in it’s current direction, but perhaps they could expand the education of weyr brats. Consent had been reintroduced to the teaching more recently, the expansion of Searches and increase in Holdbred candidates had necessitated it. Growing up in the Weyr it hadn’t been seen as a necessary lesson as people assumed that children learned by example, and they grew up in an environment where flights were just normal background activity.

Menolly was a problem. A lovely, talented, productive woman, but a problem. She posed a potential intersection of Craft and Weyr. The Weyrwoman well appreciated that the choice between two

positions and loyalties was not easy, and that it was often messy even if a person was fully committed to one.
She still had moments of yearning to sort difficulties at Ruatha, and flashes of anger when Lord Warder Lytol and Lord Jaxom dealt differently than she would have as Lady Holder. Ramoth mentally nudged her, huffily, and the Weyrwoman sent her mollifying thoughts. Of course she could never go back, and could never have been both.  Even though Jaxom now had Ruth, it was very different to trying to run a Weyr, and a Hold. She was viscerally against any one person controlling multiple major holds, or indeed Hold and Weyr, having survived the worst turns of Fax’s oppression. Yet at the same time, Jaxom and Ruth raised the possibility of a dragon living outside of a weyr, or an impressed ‘rider’ having a secondary purpose, which did not have any apparent precedent. Of course if someone impressed a Queen there could be no debate about remaining with the Weyr, and all those with the skill of hearing every dragon seemed to impress gold.

Which left the current Weyrleaders in a predicament. The probability of Menolly impressing had she stood as a candidate was high, and Lessa could find no examples of cases where people had begun to hear all dragons, then lost the ability. It would be rare indeed for someone with the skill to be passed over. When Menolly returned to the Harper hall, there was a very good chance that she would be present at future hatchings, which raised questions in itself. If she decided that she definitely did not wish to be weyrfolk, ought they advise her to avoid the events? Then there was the daughter. Ramoth seemed as concerned with the child as she was with the mother, and anyone that drew so much concentration from Ramoth, had Lessa’s attention too. She had promised the Harper that they would keep them safe, and intended to do so, although how, she did not yet know.

Ramoth remained in the hatching ground without her rider, but her mate was next to her, Lessa expected her own weyrmate to return shortly. He almost always had a glass with his wingsecond after a fall debriefing, and really Lessa didn’t mind the habit, he never drank to excess, and F’nor had always been a confidante and an advisor to F’lar. Long before she even impressed Ramoth. Once she had envied their bond. Now she simply enjoyed the moments of peace after the chaos and demands of leading the Queens wing, whilst also co-ordinating the others, and the quiet as others spent time resting rather than bringing her gossip or inane ‘problems’; or to talk to the Weyrleader and completely ignore her presence in her own weyr. That grated. Most of the riders weren’t stupid enough to try it, but every clutch had that one.

Time to borrow wisdom from her weyrmate’s wine stash.

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=The Harper Hall=

It was the longest trip between of the Masterharper’s life. He was troubled by some of the things he had learned at Benden. After Camo, he had never worried about the implications of having a child awkwardly gifted, as he was. Dispassionately Robinton knew himself to be that rarest of things, a genius who also understood humanity on a personal level, rather than abstract. Their daughter was already showing signs of being uncommonly talented, in one way at least, and that created a raft of new concerns that he hadn’t expected at all. A little girl who spoke to dragons from birth, would find life without them difficult indeed, perhaps fostering? Menolly seemed to be wavering over that idea, she had never been particularly inclined towards it.
Mirrim and Path delivered Lady Benoria home to Fort Hold first, where she was met by her two personal attendants and a contented Merga, before the pair returned the Masterharper to his Hall.

Robinton smiled warmly at Mirrim, hoping it conveyed reassurance and gratitude. He liked the young rider and appreciated her for showing Menolly warmth when she was first rescued by the Weyr, despite her own profound sorrows at the time. Mirrim hadn’t timed it, so the Masterharper was hesitant to say anything personal that could be overheard, without the cloak of darkness. Instead he fell back on a traditional exchange and waiting only long enough to see Path spring into the air, before seeking the sanctuary of his study. At least he could trust that only Sebell and Silvina would trespass there without invitation.

When he entered his study it was already occupied. Of course it was. Sebell looked up, surprised to see the worn look on his mentor’s face. Robinton had left at Benden’s dawn, and remained until nightfall, the time difference was always a little disorienting. Sebell gestured to the seat next to him, made specifically to fit Robinton, it was decidedly uncomfortable for anyone else. Robinton slid into it without any of his usual grace or decorum, and closed his eyes. The younger man could have sworn that his friend’s hair was whiter than it had been that morning; not a comforting observation. He held out a cup and a wineskin to the Masterharper. “How was she?”

Robinton smiled slowly, “Tired. Very tired, but Menolly is just as she always was.” Sebell watched as some of the worry lines on his Master’s face softened, “The weyrfolk are looking after her and our daughter very well. She will not be returning to us within the next couple of sevendays, as had been anticipated, due to potential risks to the baby of travel between.” Sebell nodded thoughtfully.
“Were the healers able to offer any further guidance or insight?” Robinton took a long swig of the wine before answering him, “Well it appears she and the baby have developed some unforeseen complications. They have placed Menolly on full bedrest, and for once she is listening to them, and right now she and the baby are stable, but it seems that both now hear dragons.” Robinton kept his expression bland as he added that, watching the younger man choke on his own wine.

“Shards! What do we do now?” Sebell had known Menolly since her first day in the hall and had formed a close bond with her, been a confidante even, he knew that Menolly had not possessed that particular trait prior to her placement at Benden Weyr. “You know it’s a girl? Are you sure that it’s both of them? Is that even possible ?”

Robinton stretched his legs out, rather enjoying Sebell’s shock. “Oh yes, Brekke confirms it, and Ramoth. I’m not sure that Menolly ever really accepted ‘impossible’ as being prohibitive though.” Sebell chuckled quietly, he could well believe it. Although the Masterharper’s face looked a little more drawn, and his true age a little more obvious, there was nothing in his demeanour to suggest that Robinton was concealing anything significant about his friend’s condition.

“You ought to get some rest Master, before the hordes realise you are returned and descend upon us. I even had one of Menolly’s junior apprentices brave coming to see me this morning, concerned for her. It seems that someone noticed your early departure and was loose lipped about the dragon. I expect that there shall be more enquiries before the day is through.” Master Robinton nodded an acknowledgment and drained his goblet, stood and turned on his heel, starting towards his bedchamber, he paused briefly. “Thank you Sebell.”
Sebell sighed as he heard the door lock. Shards. The Masterharper never locked his rooms, only his heart. He hoped Silvina had a better idea than he did of how to deal with this, so far following her advice of ‘giving Master Robinton space’ seemed to be making things worse rather than better. She had known him all his life though, so he had been guided thus far by her more intimate knowledge of >>> the man, but it was difficult to sit and watch events unfold that he could not influence.   Rank could never overpower basic biology.

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                                                                                                                                                                                                                           “Take me up Path. Take us high.”  Mirrim tried to push every thought out of her mind and concentrate on the immediate surroundings, moment by moment. The cold air that stung her face, the wind rushed past them as Path complied, Mirrim flattened herself against Path’s neck and felt the adrenaline pumping through her veins as the green executed a series of dives and acrobatic rolls rarely seen outside of a mating flight. It was how they shed stress though, one way that Mirrim usually loved to use up nervous energy, and one that reaffirmed her bond with Path. They were strong, beyond trouble, untouchable as they soared higher and further away from the complications that awaited them on the ground. It was liberating. Still, no one could escape reality, and Mirrim had no wish to make a habit of timing it for frivolous reasons. “Okay Path, here we go. One last dive, then back, T’gellan and Monarth will be waiting, and would worry if we are much longer.” If it were possible Mirrim held on even more tightly as the pair plunged toward the ground at a speed that would have them rebuked if any wingleader caught them. Pulling up just at the critical moment the green glided calmly for several minutes while her rider recovered her breath and lowered her heart rate, going between only when she was confident of Mirrim’s composure. They landed directly on the ledge to the weyr shared with Monarth and T’gellan, and Mirrim slithered off, giving Path a grateful parting rub after quickly stripping her of the flying straps.

Removing her helmet, she chucked it onto the couch, the uncharacteristic action drawing  T’gellan’s instant attention. Mirrim was always meticulous in keeping their weyr ‘proper’. His boots even had an allocated place. Before he could ask his mate anything though she silenced him with a deep kiss, wrapping herself around him as Path’s neck twined with Monarth’s. Mirrim’s need to feel alive after a difficult fall was one T’gellan was familiar with and very glad to satisfy, and so any further discussion was deferred until later, as T’gellan easily carried Mirrim into the bathing room and removed the rest of her riding gear, taking great delight in tossing it haphazardly out of the room.

Far below them Grest sat next to Menolly’s bed in silence. If she passed the night well and without incident then he would release her from the requirement of not being alone, his own opinion was that the placenta was probably wrongly positioned, a cause for concern, but more likely to resolve itself than not. There was little he could do right now other than wait. Fortunately he had brought with him supplies for occupying himself in such a situation, so while his patient slept, he brought out the needles and thread which were not strictly required by his craft, and began a new project supervised by two very curious firelizards. Evidently they had not been exposed much to sewing, either practical or recreational. It was pleasant to have an appreciative audience, though he was unaccustomed to such a thing; he smiled, firelizards were very much like toddlers in their inquisitiveness and trusting natures. Menolly must have had quite a time of it, trying to keep nine of them fed and entertained! He was cautiously optimistic about her prognosis but it was far too early to make any promises to anyone, and in his experience, unwise to do so. There was so much that had once been understood about the human body and it was frustrating to be so hampered by the gaps which now existed. Especially in his field. So often he came across situations where women had suffered from the prevalent view that birth was just part of nature, and nature wasn’t kind. That even blooded women were oft unwilling to discuss private matters with him if a man was present, and believed that having babies was just what women were useful for was an indication

of how deep the problem must run, and surely it could not have always been so. He cursed as the needle bit into his finger. “Should’ve been paying better attention.”, he told a startled firelizard, sticking it in his mouth and tasting blood. Rocky chirped as if confused, then with a closer look gave him a distinctly unimpressed stare. Great. Judgemental firelizards. Definitely a strong resemblance to toddlers. Menolly mumbled something unintelligible in her sleep and her cheeky bronze gave what seemed to so closely approximate an apology dragged from a misbehaving child by his mother that the healer couldn’t help but laugh. “I forgive you!”, he scratched the  eyeridges gently, “You were right anyway. Oldive would be appalled at that slip.” Chirping in agreement Rocky curled around the healer’s hand and closed his eyes, effectively preventing Grest from using it for anything other than a firelizard comforter.

Chapter Text

Silvina was worried. For the daughter of her heart, and for the Harper. It wasn’t fair but Master Robinton couldn’t afford to lend credence to any suggestion that Menolly was a distraction to him or detrimental to their craft. She twisted a stray hair into place, now beginning to show her age more obviously, not that she really minded but sometimes a lady wanted to misbehave. Not with Rob, they hadn’t been together for a long time now but remained the closest and dearest of friends, which was the ideal way for any Headwoman and Craftmaster to run a hall to her mind. Silvina had no illusions of Menolly returning to them as planned and after her own traumatic delivery of Camo did not want to press anyone to take risks, still she would be more relaxed with Menolly next to the healer hall. Menolly may be grown but Silvina took the responsibility for each student’s safety very seriously, and it remained so when they were away from ‘home’. She smiled. Menolly would soon discover that journeying anywhere  with a little one required as much planning as Robinton’s most elaborate schemes! He would just have to find someone else to have traipse around Southern and hiding in caravans of unsavoury characters Faranth knows where.  If he’d stop trying to do everything himself and just ask for advice he would avoid a dragonload of problems.  Kimi was sufficiently distressed by whatever was going on in Sebell’s mind that Silvina sent her back to him with a promise of coming to the office directly.

Leaving Abuna with strict instructions for the afternoon and evening the Headwoman proceeded with dignity to the stairs, which she took two at a time up to the floor Master Robinton was on, no one could be dignified all the time. She knocked on the thick door and entered without waiting for a response, Sebell stood to offer her a seat and she gave a small shake of her head, smiling and instead gently gesturing for him to vacate the room. “Let me talk to him alone first.” It was odd how habits so long established held such strength, even when one was under no obligation to obey the person. He paused next to Silvina, “Take care of the Master, please .”

“I always do Sebell. I always will.” Her air of quiet reassurance was well practised but Sebell chose to believe it this time, because he had to.

As soon as the door swung closed behind him she bolted the door into the office and tapped on the door to Master Robinton’s private quarters, withdrawing the appropriate key, hoping it would not be needed. Waiting and receiving no answer she tried again and this time heard activity coming from within. A muttered curse that drew a grimace from her, Master Robinton rarely cursed, being more than adequately equipped to express himself without obscenities.
“Robinton if you do not open this door this instant I shall cut off your wine supply!” Silence.

The lock clicked loudly and the latch was lifted as the Masterharper opened it a crack, his eyes sweeping the office. “Sebell?” he asked.

“He’s gone Rob, it’s only me. I lied. I brought a skin of Benden up.” His features softened and the door swung open. “Take a…” He smiled dryly as Silvina sat in the most comfortable spot on his couch, filling a cup, “seat.” She handed it to him smugly as he sat down opposite, creaking audibly. “I hope you have actually been taking the mixture Oldive prescribed you, Rob.” He looked as guilty as any apprentice caught passing over his greens.”Robinton! It isn’t going to do anything sitting in a bottle!”

He pulled a face, “It makes me feel old.” Silvina stared at him appalled, “What? And creaking when you move, joint pain, sitting by the fire and sleeping with an extra fur to warm them doesn’t? You are being foolish, dear Robinton. Here, let me rub some numbweed on those knees and knuckles, I assume it’s still in the bathing room where it should be.” The Harper smiled at her back as she left to rake through his medicinal supplies. She carefully knelt beside him on a large cushion and diligently massaged it in, avoiding his eyes. He couldn’t deny that it provided some relief. When she had finished and removed her gloves Robinton caught her graceful hands in his own, “Thank you ‘Vina, it helped.” She nodded, sitting next to him without pulling her hands away. They were quiet for a while, staring at the flames licking higher. Silvina took a deep breath before breaching it, “What’s the news from the Weyr, Rob? How are Menolly and the babe?” He idly stroked the palm of her hand. “Menolly is stable for the moment, and Mirrim, bless the girl, timed it to collect and deliver the best possible healer to her, apparently at Path’s urging. Ramoth has commanded the baby to stay, so she is quite possibly too frightened to ever dare leave the Weyr now. The dragons have collectively decided that the baby is female, and both Menolly and the child now talk to and hear dragons, so far without exception. Together with the fact Menolly has been put on strict bedrest, I doubt we will be seeing her back in the Hall for some time yet.” Silvina listened carefully.

“Well, they certainly have been busy.” He chuckled, “You could say that.”

She watched him intently, “So. What are you going to do if she decides to stay at the Weyr, or impresses? I had wondered, prior to this pregnancy, if you were keeping her with Sebell to train so that a second, Southern Hall would have a good Master to lead it, for that self-styled ‘lord’ Toric will become worse than Fax if left unchecked, he’s the ambition for it, and Sebell obviously must remain here.” Robinton kissed her forehead chastely, sometimes he forgot that there were others who were as deeply invested in the craft and it’s members as he was.

“You need someone who is not too young, someone able to understand that Fax started out not as a brutal overlord, but as an ambitious minor relative in obscurity, one who was charming and charismatic when it suited him.  Not unlike the Holder in Southern. You need someone who is not easily intimidated or overpowered, and has the self confidence to stand up to a bully. To thrive in Southern they’d also have to be accustomed to being ‘out’ in threadfall.” Robinton gave the astute Headwoman a wry look.

“Now that is a problem indeed.  Qualifications including unfazed by harsh weather, experience living holdless or not far off it, self confident but not cocky.  Do you have anyone in mind who may be suitable?” Regarding him calmly Silvina shook her head.

“No Rob, I’ve no one in mind, but perhaps Master Sebell or Talmor may?” Robinton hugged her, feeling the warmth of the woman who had carried his son, and raised a Hallful of boys many times over. Who comforted him selflessly, even when he tied himself in such complicated knots. He sighed deeply. “Hand me the wine ‘Vina, and I’ll answer what questions I can. It seems that our Menolly is determined to write her own chapter in history, and my daughter intends not to be outdone. “ Complying with the request she passed him the skin and waited until he had taken a sip.

“Well, with you two for parents she is going to need to be strong willed simply to be seen as her own person. How does one begin to meet expectations when both parents are living legends across Pern? Even if they are in some areas legends without decent morals or values!” She slipped into a mock hill-country accent, drawing a chuckle from Robinton.

“I know the feeling well. I was lucky that my young voice met the required minimum from Merelan’s offspring, unfortunately this is not a trial that I can lift from my own, however I do believe that her own story may lie in another direction. It would seem, dear Silvina, that Menolly’s daughter can communicate with every dragon, and no-one can decide whether the Mother’s ability is influencing the babe, or the babe is influencing the mother. Obviously it’s not ‘proper’ communication, but Path and Canth say it is like dragonets in the egg. Perhaps for all of the musical legacy she inherits, the Hall is not her true home. Time will tell. Speaking of homes, Mavi contacted Menolly at the weyr. Not directly of course, a baby sling delivered by F’nor, but the response to something so unexpected the gift evoked did surprise her, there are many memories I think that are bubbling close to the surface of her mind right now. Especially as regards parenthood and relationships.”

SIlvina looked at him shrewdly, “And your own relationship, Rob? What of that? You cannot expect me to believe that neither of you mentioned it in the first full day you have had together since the conception of the child.”

“No, I don’t. It was...spoken of. Her heart and mine are unchanged, unfortunately our minds also remain so. I do not know how to resolve it ‘Vina. I could wish for a nice simple problem like rogue Lords on the Rampage or Thread developing abilities to organise itself- strike that. Let us never be cursed with such terrible stuff.” He sighed.

“You know there is such a thing as over-thinking  your feelings Robinton. You and I were always very good friends, but neither of us ever thought that the other would be a wonderful spouse to the other. You never loved me like you loved your wife, and I never loved you to the exclusion of any others, certainly not enough to be ‘faithful’. No, don’t look away Rob. With Menolly though… I think that you do love her the way you loved Kasia. Do not withhold that from her because of your own stubbornness or pride. Pern may need you, but have you even considered being one of the Craftmasters that relinquish their post willingly? Without dying. You do have options dear Robinton. If Menolly’s heart is as unchanged as you say then she still loves you most ardently. If you are both mutually desirous of each other the question then becomes what compromises would either be willing to make to that end.”

Robinton rubbed his temples. His head ached fiercely, he truly envied Silvina her dragon-like regard of affairs of the heart. If the rest of Pern could only see it that way!

“She told me outright that she loves me.” Silvina’s eyebrows twitched but there was no other outward  sign of her thoughts at this, “Compromises.  Yes, I can very well see my offer of retirement to be a father going down favourably with Menolly there! She made very clear that a marriage is not up for debate, which is fair, however there are certain Masters in this revered Hall who have made equally clear that living in any way that might suggest openly that she is some kind of consort will not be tolerated.” Silvina rolled her eyes at that, “Both of which are only considerations if Menolly does not stay with the Weyr or form serious attachments there, which right now seems highly probable. Benden is hardly a place I could stay, Lessa wouldn’t put up with me and my meddling for long, half of Pern would believe me a spy,”

“Which you are.”

Robinton ignored her jibe.
“The Harper Hall has accommodation for only one dragon, and it’s occupied.  Masters Shonagar and Domick have both separately threatened me with various things if I cause harm to Menolly, apparently oblivious to the fact that if I ever did, there would be the wounds from nine mightily pissed off fire lizards to prove it.” He refilled the wine cup. It was aggravating that throughout his griping Silvina maintained an expression that bordered on serene. The absurdity of this response suddenly hit him and he broke into quiet laughter, catching the answer twinkle in her eyes.

“I’m being ridiculous amn’t I? That is your ‘stop sulking’ look right there.” Silvina smiled at him, “Well, maybe a little ridiculous. It sounds as though there is an outbreak of foolishness among the older men in this Hall, maybe you all need an equal seeing to!” The Masterharper looked at her,  gobsmacked, “ Silvina! Mid afternoon on a work day is hardly the time for that, especially if you mean to see to them all !” The Headwoman mock-cuffed him, “And you can get your mind out of the gutter an’ all you dirty old man! That is not the kind of seeing to I meant as you fine well know. Although I have to disagree with your assertion about the timing, the present is always the best time for loving and laughing, because one never knows what tomorrow may bring if you don’t take those opportunities.” She stroked his elegant hand, feeling the calluses of a lifetime in music, and spoke in a low tone. “Whatever you choose to do Rob, don’t do it only for others this time. It isn’t wrong to think of your own welfare in cases that others judge harshly sometimes, Menolly knows that, or she would never have left the seahold. Abandoning her hold was the right thing to do for her safety and sanity, and was in total opposition to everything she had been taught was socially correct. Allow yourself to at least think about possibilities, dear Harper, and please talk to Master Sebell. He is worried sick about you both, and he might actually be able to help if you allow him the chance to do so. Especially if you are willing to let him in as you had begun to do before the events of this spring. The man is an adult Robinton, soon to become one of the youngest Craftmasters. Given the circumstances I think he has managed things so far very well indeed. He’s secure enough not to need approval, but he does need companionship.”

Robinton nodded absently, “I had rather hoped that he and Menolly might find that comfort in each other, although he seems to prefer a different type of companion . The two travelled happily enough together as journeyman and journeywoman… but then there was a time that Groghe and I enjoyed travelling together well enough. She must be aware of his tastes though. Pern will have to find a way to accept firelizard flight babies, but I’m not sure that it is ready yet to accommodate a Craftmaster’s mating of that kind. One day it will be. Sustained change on a grander scale happens slowly though, does it not? Would that I could see them all happy!” He grimaced,

“I wish I could disagree about your assessment of Holder Toric but I get the same impression from him as you. It feels the same as interacting with Fax as Lord Faraguy’s nephew, before the title and slaughters. He was another who flattered and preyed upon youths to serve his own purposes.

Perhaps a few classes with Nip and Tuck for identifying certain traps and signals of a dangerous individual may not go amiss either, for whoever Talmor and Sebell volunteer for Southern.

If we are expecting any dealings of the sort Fax had early in his campaign I’d prefer to send two out together.  It’s better practice to have two trained harpers on unknown terrain anyway and Southern hold is growing, more than anyone expected. Faster than it really ought, especially with it’s turbulent recent history. Plenty of desperate people are willing to take big risks to find a better life for themselves, and they are always the most grateful for any chance…” Robinton stopped, silent.

“Shells, shards and shit! Of course they are. That tunnelsnake is hand picking them, getting someone to smuggle them down from the Igen holdless caverns. The ones who keep going missing, getting a job somewhere despite no significant skills and refusing to say where. He has to be the one getting a great deal out of this, Toric is no philanthropist but he’s no seaman either. Idarolan. I need to speak to Idarolan today, and Lord Laudey, and the Benden Weyrleaders, and klah. I’m going to need a lot of klah.” Silvina stared at him, open mouthed.

“No. Masterharper Robinton, you are the best and the most gifted man I know, but even you need to sleep sometimes . The people you just listed will cancel most things for any meeting that you mark as urgent, but Idarolan is most likely on a ship somewhere, too far from here to see you before the day is out. The Benden Weyrleaders just fought thread, and Lord Laudey will want to see proof before he does anything of consequence. Talk to Master Sebell today, and sleep. Talk to Benden tomorrow, and send Zair to Idarolan when you are rested enough to be a sensible Masterharper!”

In spite of the exasperated sigh and sour face he knew she was right.

“Thanks ‘Vina. Please send Sebell up when you see him, warn him I’m being a grumpy old uncle, but I’ll keep the door unlocked. We have plans to make, and then, then I will sleep, oh mighty Headwoman of my Hall.” Silvina smiled as she left the room, he was being silly. Silly was good. Unbarred doors were better. “Goodnight then.” she called, and the door swung shut as she disappeared into the hallway.

Chapter Text

Sebell stared blankly into the remaining klah, swirling it in the cup.

“It’s cold by now, Master Sebell.” Sebell took another sip and pulled a revolted face, “There must be something stronger than this, surely .” Domick clapped the man on the shoulder, “Oh there is, follow me.” Curious, he did so, until they were standing in the private office of the composition master, who proceeded to remove a small skin from a hidden cupboard. As soon as he opened it the familiar smell hit Sebell. “Moonshine! Domick! You cannot keep this in your office, what if the apprentices were to find it?” The dour harper raised an eyebrow and smirked, “Well you never did. Went missing from my own room turns back so these days if I get some it’s hidden in that cranny. Do you want some or not?”

He very nearly told his old tutor ‘ not’, before remembering his resolution to keep Master Domick apprised of Menolly’s situation whilst she remained at the Weyr. He sighed and slumped gracelessly into a chair. “Just a drop please.” Domick withdrew a half-sized cup from his desk’s top drawer and obliged him with a small dram. It was like drinking fire and left him coughing, and Kimi hissing. “Who sharding made that ? It’s worse than agenothree!” Domick grinned evilly and shrugged, “Maybe. I never ask what she uses, and she never tells. Good stuff though if you need a stiff drink.” Sebell swore.

“I think I’ll just stick to decent wine and klah thanks.” Domick chuckled, “Suit yourself lad.” He hid the skin again, ensuring the wall hanging properly covered the nook it was stored in. He sat down opposite Sebell. “You’ve a face like a wet turn, and posture to match, was there bad news from the Weyr?”

Sebell shook his head, “No, no, not bad per se, or necessarily good, just complicated.”

“News from Menolly usually is.”

“Hmm? Perhaps. She is resting, and being forced to by the healers, the baby is stable for now and has been commanded by Queen Ramoth to remain where she is. Neither can leave Benden in the expected timeframe, and as both have begun to hear and speak with the dragons there are questions as to whether they will, with a clutch on the sands at this moment. They are well cared for and Menolly has friends around her, and has been reliably informed that she is expecting a daughter.” Sebell explained to Menolly’s Master the basics of what he knew so far. When he finished Domick was smiling smugly.

“What is so funny Sir?” Sebell glared at the irritating man, as Domick casually waved a hand, “Oh nothing, nothing funny of course, I simply won a bet, that’s all.”

“A bet?” Sebell’s ire flickered as Domick nodded.

“With whom?” Betting and gambling was frowned upon among Masters in general.

“Myself. Calm down Sebell. I have copies of most of her music, including that which she has written since leaving us, but there was something subtly different about these. As though she was mentally composing on more than one instrument, there are dialogues in the measures, I wondered who the extra ‘voice’ was and my best candidate was a dragon.” The tension drained from Sebell, with the man’s grouchy demeanor and preference for music over people sometimes it was easy to forget how much of a person Domick could read in their music, or how much he cared. He had been one of Menolly’s favourite Masters from her very first sevenday in the Hall, despite other apprentices’ opinions of him. The two had a mutual regard for one another though, and a shared understanding, music was a living thing within both, a constant, and a source of joy that Sebell doubted even many harpers could appreciate. He was skilled, but he knew his friend’s mind operated very differently, it would not be at all surprising if some of her recent work was indeed recorded conversations with dragons. He wondered if dragons held opinions about music at all, and if they did, would they be able to create their own? He seriously doubted that Menolly could share her soul with anyone who did not love music, dragon or otherwise.

Sebell smiled, “Remind me to consult you about students more often, Master Domick, I’d be fascinated to know what you get from marking their assignments.”  Domick snorted, “A headache, more often than not.”

“No doubt, I’ve heard some of this turn’s intake interpret ‘sight reading’.” Sebell cringed at the recollection, “Thanks for the drink of -well whatever that was.  I’ll ensure you receive any updates about Menolly when The Harper or I know more.” Hearing the approaching rabble of Domick’s next class  he rose, “Your next victims I believe! Goodbye Master Domick.” Sebell smiled at the groan as his old teacher also stood and arranged his features in such a way as to make him best resemble a grumpy wher in daylight. “Go on then man, make your escape, I and my ears shall make the great sacrifice to their education and advancement, flee while you may!” The excess of theatrics and acting from the Domick cheered Sebell as he hastily left, with his own faux stern face carefully in place until he cleared the swarming boys with Kimi on his shoulder chattering. Unsure whether to return and finish some more of the letters in his current shared office he elected to instead perform an impromptu inspection of the classes being taught by current Journeymen. It was always beneficial to observe their normal interactions and performance, and their temperament. At turnover new postings would be issued and this time he was involved in the recommendations for which person would best suit each place, one responsibility he actually looked forward to taking on. Kimi trilled confidently, eyes whirling blue and green shades as they crossed the courtyard to begin in the classrooms of the newer apprentices.

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Menolly woke with a headache and intense hunger. Judging by the blanket of darkness she must have slept through a meal, not that eating felt very appealing right now but she had learned that the longer she left it the worse the nausea became. There had to be a way to get food without moving much. She wasn’t supposed to walk as far as the kitchens yet anyway.  Beauty cocked her head and chirped, then chittered at the bronzes. Rocky, Diver, and lazybones answered with the enthusiasm of an apprentice told the sweep the main courtyard alone, but obeyed, disappearing on their queen’s command. A few minutes later the firelizards reappeared carrying a meat roll, biscuit, and redfruit. Menolly sent them a shaft of gratitude and sat upright, taking their edible offerings, not minding the talon- holes in the redfruit that Rocky was scolded over by Beauty. Ramoth may be rather a bad influence on her tiny cousin, thought Menolly.

I am not! Ramoth sounded genuinely offended. Menolly frowned, she was still getting used to being overheard, and using the sort of mental privacy- screen that Brekke assured her could prevent thoughts from ‘leaking’.

She was hatched like that. Beauty’s eyes were picking up speed.

PEACE! Sorry Ramoth. Sorry Beauty. You are both very lovely and protective of your friends. Ramoth grumbled, somewhat mollified.

“I am NOT a bad influence.”  

Menolly sighed, perhaps sulky dragons were good practice for parenthood. “No dear, you are a good example to all in your Weyr, and lead them well, I am just weary and worried. Do dragon mothers also worry for their hatchlings always?”

The great Queen thought quietly before answering, “Yes. Not like humans. Lessa often thinks of F’lessan, she worries about many things for him, yet he is not an infant, and has Golanth. I worry about my clutch, and the hatchlings, but when they impress I know that their rider will care for them always. When they are bonded, the rider will worry for me.” There was a smile in the gold’s voice, “Until then it is my place. We always remember each dragonet, and will greet them even if our riders are bickering.”

Carefully chewing the meatroll Menolly nodded thoughtfully. “ It sounds a little like when humans have to grant responsibility for a child’s welfare to a foster parent, or perhaps a master. Many humans struggle when a child mates as it means ceding such rights to the mate. The way of the Queens sounds wise. Do you ever question a hatchlings choice of rider Ramoth?”

There was silence in her mind and Menolly briefly wondered if she had offended the Benden Queen. “No, little singer. I listen. Once, only once have I disagreed with a match, but a dragon always knows.” She sounded pained. Distressed. Menolly wondered who had caused such grief in the gold, so big that it seemed almost impossible for her to be so deeply wounded.

“ Prideth, little singer. Prideth. She saw something beautiful in her . I saw anger, coldness. Some saw it in MY rider, but they never saw her heart. And now no one will speak the name of my first daughter.” Menolly was sure that if dragons could cry, Ramoth would have, but they could not and so Menolly shed the tears for her.

“Prideth. I swear to you that she will not be forgotten. I can’t imagine having everyone ignore my daughter if...if anything were to happen to her.” Menolly shivered, for the first time she truly understood why the numbness of between was tempting to some hurting souls.

“Humans dislike pain. You are fragile. Many dragons forget, and even some riders think that we all forget losses, but I think the Queens, and sires rarely do. Blues and greens do not remember the same things.” Ramoth’s ‘voice’ was quiet and sad.

“All creatures wish to avoid pain, even stupid ovines know to run from a threat. It is a poor excuse for trying to erase the memory of a life.” Ramoth hummed in agreement.

The gold’s presence faded from her mind as a melody began to solidify, could there ever be space simultaneously for a dragon, and music? She reached for the meatroll, it was gone. A pile of crumbs assured her that it had been eaten already and not pinched by one of her friends while she wasn’t paying attention. At least the biscuit remained, and some water. She pulled a fur tightly around her shoulders and went to get up, and yelped as she caught sight of the figure watching from the corner, bemused. “Hello. I wondered if you would like some fresh water and a snack, but your talented fair came to your aid before I could offer. You seemed distracted so I was waiting, and then began to cry, is anything the matter?”
“I..No. No, nothings the matter, just...well nothing you can help with. Fresh water sounds good though, and staves. I need staves, and ink.”

Grest raised an eyebrow, but after turns of experience he easily recognised when someone was too distracted to sleep again, and the need of an outlet as a valuable aspect of preserving mental integrity. “Staves and ink. Where do you keep them? I know where to find water.”

Relief that he wasn’t about to argue or pry flooded Menolly. “Over there, at the table, they  need to be blank ones. Thank you.” The healer smiled. His patients had had a wide variety of ways of dealing with stress, and pain, but she was the first who had shown this particular response, and urgent need to compose. Interesting. As long as it did not place a greater strain on her he was happy to support it, but he would be keeping an close eye on how her vitals were, and ensuring that she remembered to eat and drink. Crafters could be prone to forgetting both. Fortunately pregnant women were less able to completely tune out all such necessities, and babies did not forget! He made a point of handing her the water first, and the ink only after she had taken a draught, and resettled himself quietly in the corner. With no thread expected today there was a long list of people who would be anxious to talk to Menolly, and he wanted her as settled as possible before either of the Weyrleaders, or Mirrim, appeared. He estimated that they had until dawn before anyone became insistent, so was resolved to enjoy the calm before the storm, as this one had the potential to makes waves enough to ripple across the whole of Pern. The harpress, writing furiously, was oblivious to anything else, certainly to anyone else, so he returned to his own project and watched, and waited.

Chapter Text

Mirrim roused well before the first dawn light spilled over the horizon. It had always been her habit to wake early, and stress disrupted and prevented her sleeping. It was a source of great frustration that T’gellan did not share the trait and could continue to snore through anything but the thread alarm.

Wriggling away from him she grimaced. There was simply no way on Pern to make sex clean, unless

you were content to keep every encounter to the bathing pool, and that had serious limitations. At

least theirs was a decent size. Leaving T’gellan sweaty and snoring loudly, she went immediately to

have a thorough wash. Path thought the hurry odd, but Mirrim was as generous with her green’s

baths as her own, and felt restless until she was clean, so Path made no comment.

When Mirrim emerged, wrapped in a thick drying cloth, hair twisted up in another, she was far more

relaxed mentally, but a quick look around the weyr told her that she had left too little in the way of

distraction. There was nothing to tidy, clean, prepare, or organise. Vexed she reached out to Path.

“Is Menolly awake, dear one? Can you hear her?” She waited, sensing her dragon reaching out to

check on her friend.

“The little singer is awake, but her mind is closed. Something is wrong, but it is not her clutch. Anger?

Sadness? Fear? She will not hear me.” Path sounded wistful.  Mirrim sighed deeply,

“Baby Path. Humans don’t clutch, remember? We usually have just one at a time too. If Menolly is

closed I’m sure she has a very good reason.”

Path hummed. Her rider liked babies, sometimes she wanted one badly, but at others they upset her

very much. Mostly she felt conflicted, with multiple emotions vying for dominance. Path privately

thought Mirrim would be good at looking after a baby, as she looked after everyone else, but when

humans had said such things to her rider it distressed her, and so Path did not tell her the same.

“Tell me when you can feel Menolly open again, my love. It’s important, but she may well spend a lot

of today off or troubled.”

She set out a fresh drying cloth for T’gellan, with a bag of sweetsand and departed to make up some

decent klah. The kitchens were one of the few places that were staffed and fully awake as early as

she often was, and sometimes the support staff and women of the lower caverns were more likable

than her fellow dragonriders. She missed the easy banter. As the only female, fighting rider, not on a

Queen, yet unwilling to try and ‘hide’ her sex simply to fit a flawed expectation, the camaraderie of

most brown, blue, and green riders often excluded her. Either deliberately or unintentionally, the effect

was the same. Her time in Southern hadn’t exactly helped either.  It had been a very different

environment. After turns back in Benden Weyr she still missed the Southern dawnsong, the sun, and

the freedom.  Avians in the North were extremely limited, and the fauna less varied in general. With

Brekke residing in Benden, and the current state of affairs with Oldtimers in the South many people

tried to avoid the topic. It was frustrating, both from a personal standpoint, and from a more objective

one.  Mirrim was pragmatic by nature, not callous, but an innate problem solver, and she was certain

that if she was considering the current state of the Southern continent, and it’s future, so were many

people outside of the Weyrs, who did not have the same restrictions and sensitivities. While the

Weyrs were bound by oaths and convention, others would be exploiting the lack of oversight.

Someone had to be keeping tabs. Gathering information and collating it sensibly at least. With a flash

of understanding she knew. Menolly was The Harper’s eyes and ears where he couldn’t be seen, as

Sebell was- or had been. Little wonder Menolly had avoided talking about how her child came to be,

and why it hadn’t been the talk of the hall long before her pregnancy was confirmed.  She was certain.

The Weyrleaders wouldn’t like it, so perhaps best not to confirm for now. She might be able to lie,

unwise as it may be, but Path couldn’t lie if Ramoth ever asked something directly, and Lessa had a

discomfiting habit of asking unexpected questions or drawing on an eerie intuition.

Mirrim didn’t pause, automatically brewing the klah, collecting the mugs she preferred, the

sweetening, and placing it all on a tray. Fruit spread and rolls for each of them, meat for Lok and

Tolly, and directions to one of the women who wasn’t looking busy enough to take meat for Menolly’s

fair, and water. It pleased Mirrim that the woman offered no protest and went willingly to see to the

task. She did wish sometimes that her weyr was slightly lower, closer to the common areas, but it

came at a cost of having to interact with distinctly immature weyrlings, or worse, candidates.

 Definitely not worthwhile trade simply for the proximity to food and lack of stairs, especially given the

restriction of choice when one was looking only at double weyrs big enough to fit a bronze dragon and

mate. Keen to avoid the wave of wretched looking people desiring the morning- after brew, as always

appeared after a rough fall and serious injuries, Mirrim made her escape and returned to Path and

T’gellan.

She wasn’t the only early riser in Benden Weyr. Even after fifteen turns in the safety of Benden the

Weyrwoman had never been able to shed that particular after effect of her turns as a drudge, and

always woke before sunrise. It did have the advantage of discouraging anyone from trying to slack off,

on the assumption that no-one ‘important’ would notice, Manora had found a similar effect in her own

early morning appearances in the kitchens and laundry.

Fortunately for the Weyrwoman, ill at ease with idleness, there was always plenty to occupy and

distract her. Boredom was something she rarely encountered and the demands on her time

numerous. Ramoth had informed her that the harper girl was awake, as per her request, but even

Lessa was not so rude as to appear at someone’s door before dawn when there was no emergency.

After breakfast she went instead to the hatching ground to spend some time alone with Ramoth, and

to admire the eggs of course. In many ways the dragonets felt like her own children, through

Ramoth’s maternal instinct and love, especially as her own son was the result of a flight with the same

sire.  No queen egg in this clutch, but she was inclined to believe that on this occasion it was a good

thing.  Menolly, as she was now, would have made an exceptional Weyrwoman, but there was little

doubt that her confidence and self assurance was due to her turns in the Harper Hall and her mentors

there. Had she remained at the Weyr she may have grown and developed quite differently. The very

thing that made her such a good potential leader was the same thing that prevented it from being

practical, or to Lessa’s mind sensible to place her in such a position, or present her as a candidate to

a gold. With no queen egg though…

Greens were a half mark a dozen, and historically had impressed to women. Consequently the green

pairs were vital to the Weyrs, and to Pern, but there were few enough scenarios that only one

particular pair could resolve to allow free time, and other interests.  If Menolly had to be caught

between Craft and Weyr, far better a green dragon than a Queen, and Lessa had found no record of a

human hearing all dragons, who had not gone on to impress one.

With it now almost certain that Menolly would be in Benden for the hatching, Lessa was inclined to

consider whether or not to risk another impression from the stands, or offer Menolly the opportunity of

standing as a candidate. She did not want Jaxom and Mirrim’s unanticipated impressions of Ruth and

Path to be regarded as setting a new precedent, and rumours about the harper journeywoman

already abounded. They did not need further fuelling. At least in Menolly’s case they had warning and

could discuss options before the hatching. It would be controversial either way. All Pern knew that

Menolly was Master Robinton’s joint second, and the Weyr could be accused of poaching essential

crafters, and then there were practicalities of her pregnancy and potential mobility restrictions to

inhibit her care of a dragonet, or even stand on the hatching grounds for a potentially extended time.

Of course all of this depended on whether or not Menolly even wanted to stand.

“She must.” Ramoth gazed at her clutch, steadily nearing their hatching day. “She is needed. She is

right.”

Lessa stroked Ramoth’s eyeridges soothingly. “Dear heart, we cannot force her to do this, it has to be

something she chooses freely.”

Ramoth huffed, “Why not?” Lessa smiled at the draconic stubbornness of her friend,

“Because, Dear one, not everyone is able to give themselves so wholly to another soul. Sometimes

people are fearful, or full of doubts.  You would not want that for any hatchling. There will be other

clutches, and it may be that Menolly is not yet ready.”

Ramoth’s eyes whirled faster, shades of yellow showing through the dominant blue-green. “Then she

must become so, very quickly.” The great queen’s tail twitched as she watched over her eggs, Lessa

leaning against her and sending calming waves of affection, scratching in just the right place. They

sat together in the quiet cavern until the first rays of sunlight spilled over the horizon, signalling the

beginning of the non-riders day.

Menolly placed her quill carefully to the side and blew gently on the ink, some of the agitation eased

by the cathartic composition, admittedly skeletal as as yet, and balance slowly returning to her mind.

Lessa knocked softly on her door, waiting for an invitation this time, due in part to the potential import

of this meeting and delicacy of her suggestions, and in part because of her own experiencing of

pregnancy complications. Additional emotional burdens were hardly what she needed right now, but

now was all she had and precious time was slipping away moment by moment. The Weyrwoman

needed an answer. At Menolly’s prompting Master Grest opened the door to allow Lessa entry. He

had long ago lost any reserve around her, but none of his respect. She nodded acknowledgement

and crossed to Menolly’s bedside, seating herself quietly.

“I imagine you are already sick of the restrictions but it is worth the frustration, and if anyone knows

healing, it’s Master Grest here.  He and Master Oldive are then reason F’lessan, and Ramoth and I,

are alive. Listen to him, even if you also want to hurt him.”

She paused and allowed the memories to wash over her and ebb away. “Ramoth said your mind

was...turbulent...earlier.  You know that my job as Weyrwoman entails listening to the concerns of my

riders, and of the dragons. As the only known person able to hear them all, other than myself and

Brekke, you also have a priority claim on my time.” Menolly stroked Beauty’s headknob,  avoiding

Lessa’s eyes, though she was obviously listening.

“Mmm. Time. It’s awful early in the day for a visit, isn’t it Weyrwoman?” The harpress fixed her with a

penetrating stare. “I appreciate the reassurance.  That isn’t why you are here at sun-up though, shall

we skip to the bit where we address the real reasons for the dawn visit?” She raised a knowing

eyebrow. Lessa smiled to herself, Menolly had always been particularly astute, but so often it was

hidden behind Master Robinton’s schemes or Master Sebell’s presence. Apparently talking to Ramoth

had convinced her that the Weyrwoman would not harm her simply for honesty or speaking without

ceremony.

“For what it’s worth, I do care about people as well as the dragons, especially the ones that like

Ramoth. I care very much about what happens to you, but I shan’t pretend that I don’t consider the

good of the Weyr and of Pern either. Like it or not, you are an integral part of our political network,

and have the potential to affect the precarious stability that we have worked so tirelessly to achieve

and maintain.”

Menolly bowed her head. “It was never my intention to become embroiled in power and politics, but I

can’t disagree, and I do understand the trap of never being able to think without filtering it through a

good-of-the-Weyr lens. I can’t think as a non-harper anymore either.”

Lessa watched her carefully. “Well, we could start with you now hearing all the dragons, or with the

egg which tried to hatch too soon, or that the dragons already sense your child. We could begin with

discussion of the dragons considering the when of your impression, or that they all crashed into your

mind, and after blacking out you woke up. I think they are all connected anyway. You, Menolly, have

some serious decisions to make, and a very limited time to deliberate.

Menolly nodded thoughtfully, Master Robinton had been correct, again. “I don’t know why the dragons

are talking to us, or what is going on with the eggs. Nothing I’ve done ought to have encouraged the

formation of any bonds, or interfered with the clutch. I was rather hoping that you would be able to

shed some light on the situation.”

Lessa’s lips curved upwards. “Not in this case, no. You are, to my knowledge, the first such situation

to arise, I certainly cannot find another in the records, so we must just do what we can with the limited

information we have, No one thought for a moment that you had tried to interfere with the eggs, and if

you had then Ramoth would be antagonistic towards you, rather than friendly.” Ramoth rumbled her

agreement. “Most of the Weyrfolk know that we had intended to present you- if you consented- to the

clutch when you stayed with us the first time, before Master Robinton swept you off to the harper hall.”

A look of vexation passed over Lessa’s features, "In light of recent hatchings resulting in Mirrim

impressing Path, and Jaxom to Ruth, the Weyrleader and I would prefer to minimise any impressions

from the stands. It’s also easier on both hatchling and candidate that way. The hidebound Lords have

a tendency to throw tantrums or panic whenever something they do not expect happens, and we’d all

prefer to avoid a repeat of the same ridiculous performance.” Lessa rolled her eyes, exasperation

evident.

Menolly shook her head, she had more than enough experience of the exact situation Lessa

described, where the harpers had to try and ‘prepare’ those same hidebound Lords and Holders for

the possibility of something new or unusual. She grimaced, and took a deep breath, “If you can

promise to place me in the most hidden spot, and the baby and I are well enough, I will don a white

robe for the day. I can’t pretend that I want to impress, it’s not why I came to Benden at all, but the

dragon always chooses, so I guess if I were to impress, it would be right. A lot of the best things in my

life so far have been somewhat unintentional. If I stand I would want to be as inconspicuous as

possible. Discreet.

I’ve discussed it with the Masterharper already, who has granted me full freedom to choose, but not

with my own master.” Menolly smiled wryly, “Domick doesn’t appreciate the unexpected quite the way

Robinton does. If there is a dragonet waiting for me, I believe he may hold a grudge against it forever.

There are a couple of people I would like to extend an invitation to, as an official candidate. As the

journeywoman of the composition Master, and former journeywoman to the Masterharper, it might be

wise to have someone present to mitigate any...misunderstandings.” Menolly grimaced.

Lessa smiled, agreeing gladly to the request, if the most prolific composer in living memory, the

second best known crafter on Pern, was to impress a fighting dragon whilst pregnant with the

Masterharper’s bastard child, she would want as much back up to dispel the early seeds of rumour as

possible.

“Name them.”

Menolly paused, “Masters Sebell and Domick. Robinton will be present anyway, and journeyman

harper Piemur.” It was more than the usual two people, but Menolly had no intention of extending the

offer to her family. “Talmor may be useful but with others absent the Hall may need him.” Menolly

wished that she could ask for Silvina, but the Hall would truly cease to function without her!

“Of course. We shall send the messages directly, as soon as the Weyrleader also has confirmation of

your decision to stand.” Menolly groaned, frustrated that yet another person wanted information from

her.

“Whomever you need will be fetched here at the appropriate time Menolly, or before if you need them.

If that is decided then there is far less urgency to the other things, other than your link with Ramoth’s

eggs- yes link, for there is no doubt of a connection, and as yet I cannot offer you any answers. You

may be unique, or the answers you want might be among the knowledge lost during the interval, 400

turns of neglect and weathering didn’t do the Weyr records much good. So     much was lost.” Lessa

sighed in frustration. She wished they’d been able to bring those forward but it would have been too

obvious, either way it was done now and no one was going back for them.

“I will have a candidate robe made up and delivered to you by sundown tomorrow, and as soon as the

healers allow you up we’ll introduce you properly to Ramoth’s eggs. Until then I want you to

concentrate on resting before any harpering duties, if you try returning too soon I will take it to

Masterharper Robinton.” Menolly almost smiled. The Benden Weyrwoman could  be rather amusing

when trying to express genuine care and concern. Not that anyone but F’lar would ever dare tell her

so!

“Thank you, Weyrwoman. I promise to obey the healers fully, though I cannot promise not to tune or

write as I’ve no wish to lie to you, and that is unavoidable. Especially here.” Ramoth mentally smirked

at her as Lessa chuckled. “Oh I don't think you are capable of refraining from that, even if you wished

to. Indeed it seems you think primarily in music. Ramoth quite enjoys listening.” Beauty chirped

affirmatively, cocking her head towards Lessa.

A droll smile spread over the harpress’ face. “Perhaps. Do I have to speak to the Weyrleader or will

your word do? It seems a little inefficient unless there is something specific he needs from me.” Lessa

grinned, the dragons liked honesty in a person and conversing with Ramoth had convinced an already

stretched Menolly that her rider would appreciate the same.

Like dragon like rider. Faranth’s egg, what would a dragon like Menolly look like? Tempting as it was

to speculate there was no point counting unclutched eggs, though she remembered informing F’lar

five turns ago that Menolly would impress. Then raged at him when she’d slipped away with the sly

Masterharper while the rest of them tried to process Jaxom’s impression. She shuddered in memory.

Though it was now clear that Ruth was entirely healthy, if a sport, at the time there had been a very

real fear that her family’s Hold could be thrown into contention if Ruth did not survive, and Pern

couldn’t afford to have a major Hold in contention. Benden Weyr couldn’t afford for it to be Ruatha.

The Lords had as much as demanded they hand Felessan over as insurance against it, and she

couldn’t quite suppress the smug smile at F’lar’s response to that one. The question hadn’t been

raised again. Her son had been fostered, but he was still her son. Menolly’s daughter would likely

have more complicated living arrangements, being shared between Craft and dragons. If Menolly

didn’t impress they really would have to have a word with N’ton when she returned to the harper hall.

If not for her, for the sake of the child.

“Do you want Zair here or should I have Ramoth ‘scare’ him off? Overprotective men can be a little

frustrating when they feel helpless, I know.”

Menolly’s eyebrow rose a little at the revelation that the Benden Weyrwoman, whose aversion to the

firelizards was common knowledge, remembered their names. Her eyes twinkled at the flash of

surprise in Menolly’s gaze. “No, no, I’ll send Zair off with a note for Robinton, though I expect he

already knows, sometimes he seems to  know me better than I know myself.”

Lessa nodded, she found the same with F’lar. “Thank you Menolly. I’ll leave you to write your letter in

peace then. If you need anything, speak to Ramoth and she will pass along any messages. If you’ve

no objections I’ll send the robe along with Mirrim? Good! Rest well harpress.” For a brief moment it

looked as though she may reach out, but quickly checked herself, instead standing and retreating

from the room in a hurry.

With her decision made, Menolly felt lighter, as if a dragon had stepped off her. She was still in a state

of limbo, no less confused than she had been the previous day, but at least she had a more solid plan

formulated for the immediate future. The note to Robinton took her several attempts to write. It wasn’t

exactly one she had ever rehearsed or thought she’d need to send. The line to Sebell was easier. She

sighed as she tied the message tubes to Zair and Beauty’s legs and sent them with clear instruction

to find the two Masters. Five minutes later, after a moment of dawning horror, Rocky followed them

carrying a third note, in slightly shakier handwriting, to Master Domick. For once she was glad of the

distance between herself and her home. She winced a little as she thought of the poor apprentices

who would bear the brunt of his reaction for the next sevenday or so. Oh well. Better he heard from

her than anyone else. She really didn’t want to have to face any more Weyrleaders, or anyone

Ranking today, but maybe she could persuade Mirrim and Path to visit. A hug from a friend would be

very welcome right about now.

Chapter Text

“Mmph” ….something sharp jabbed Sebell in the shoulder, “go ‘way Kimi, ‘s time for sleeping.” he mumbled, briefly opening his eyes. Just enough to register that the owner of this talon was definitely not Kimi. She was too long, smelled wrong, too feminine, and Sebell’s hand was as numb as usual from the weight of his own sleeping firelizard queen. Not Kimi then. “Beauty?” His voice sounded rough, especially when the little queen chirruped sweetly in greeting. Grumbling about disturbing a man’s well earned rest he sat up and noticed the message tube as Beauty extended her leg, chittering what sounded very like a rebuke. His protest died in his throat as he read the short letter from his friend. Even in his sleep deprived state that was definitely news worth waking up for, though he realised that any reply he wrote right now would almost certainly not make sense. Thinking to save Menolly worry he felt around on the bedside stand for scrap of parchment and scrawled ‘Message received. S.’ He’d formulate something better in the morning, well, in Fort’s morning. He couldn’t hold it against Menolly that the time difference had apparently slipped her mind given the chaos she must already been dealing with!

Master Robinton awoke suddenly to a familiar pair of whirling eyes inches from his own. Zair was sitting heavily on his chest. He smothered  a gasp, waking to being watched so closely never became less creepy.
“Zair! What are you doing here? I thought I told you to stay with Menolly.”

The little bronze cocked his head and had the grace to look just a little abashed, before holding out his leg to his master. It didn't occur to him to question the time, people all over the continent sent him messages at every hour, assuming he would be waiting. After a decade or two he was just glad that they didn't turn up in person quite so often; and that the messages were rarely news of yet another lost harper. He never quite shook the moment of fear, but it had eased. Ironically the return of thread had made his crafters safer.

“Ah, you were sent by her then.” Zair hummed and pictured Menolly writing furiously, and a grumpy looking Ramoth.  He nodded in understanding and looked fondly at him, “Then I forgive you my friend.” He smiled softly at the little bronze and untied the message tube and unrolled it. Robinton’s features froze as he read, a cold dread settling in his gut. While he had been the one to raise the possibility with Menolly, faced with the reality of her accepting the offer of candidacy he still felt a numbness spreading through his frame. The thought of Menolly not returning, of not seeing her smile or sharing sneaked sweetbreads together, not hearing her scathing evaluations of petulant Lords and antagonistic apprentices,  or her encouraging reports; no more pesky firelizards flitting around his office, singing at the crack of dawn. Of missing precious moments with his daughter… it was almost unthinkable, and yet that was what the logical implications of an impression were. Every instinct screamed to rush back to Benden and crush the precious girl to himself, savour every moment until she stood on the sands, and yet it was impossible. Perhaps it had always been impossible, Robinton was frozen, he couldn’t ask Menolly to refuse the offer of candidacy, he certainly understood the motivations of the Benden Weyrleaders, and whilst he may resent them he fully agreed with their reasoning. He’d even been the one to prompt Menolly to give some consideration to the possibility before it was presented to her. The knowledge did nothing to soothe the ache in his heart.

The Masterharper got up slowly. There would be no return to sleep for him tonight. Instead he dressed and left his rooms, hoping that a walk in the clear moonlight may help clear his head. He’d been out for almost an hour when he heard soft footsteps behind him and felt a hand on his shoulder, not gentle enough to be Silvina, but warmth enough to loosen the constriction in his chest enough to breathe.

“I’m sorry Robinton, I know what she means to you.” Robinton shook his head slightly and smiled sadly back at Domick. “No, you don’t, you’ve never been one to give your heart away, though not for a lack of care.” There was no bite to his words though and the composition master didn’t refute him. “True. I oversee her work though and that woman could bleed tears from a stone, especially with her unpublished pieces. There have been many about you over the years Rob, long before anything physical occurred between you. You both love with every fibre of your being, and no matter where your child lives she is going to have that.” Domick moved to stand beside him silently, simply being there. If they let him, Robinton would shut down and try to deal with everything alone, working himself into the ground until he collapsed from sheer fatigue.  Noticing the shadow that fell across his friend’s face, Domick pitched his voice lower and squeezed lightly, “You’re not him Rob, you never were. Petiron was my Master and I respected him, but you are a better man Robinton. A better father. Always were.”

Robinton sighed. He sometimes forgot that Domick had known Petiron well in the days before he mellowed. “Even from the other side of Pern? I never wished to be an absent father Domick, Over such a distance… and the Weyr…” he paused, drawing on his own childhood memories  from his time at Benden, and his lips curled upwards at the corner. “I spent some time as a child in Benden you know. Not as a true ‘weyrbrat’, but enough to make some very good friends, and explore some very dark tunnels. My mother was always overworked and in demand, but they became as much my family as those here. If my daughter must be raised in another place I can think of few I’d rather see her in.” Domick hummed an agreement. He couldn’t imagine any daughter of his Journeywoman content to be confined in a hold as she had been, suffocated by the rigid expectations of others. Yet the Harper Hall would hardly be a place free of expectations, especially given Robinton’s heritage. Privately he acknowledged that the Weyr may even offer a measure, a level of freedom, impossible in the Harper hall with two musical geniuses for parents.

“I brought wine.” Domick offered, breaking the silence, “Unless of course you think it’s too early for drinking, in which case I’ll just be returning this to stores…” He cocked his head and caught Master Robinton’s raised brow. “Too early for wine? Wherever did you come by that notion! Besides, it’s still night until sunrise.” Domick handed him the skin with a smirk and kept vigil with him until the predawn light heralded the awakening of the drudges and kitchen staff. When the two men parted ways, both had managed to regain at least some measure of equilibrium, despite a lingering feeling of unease.

Sebell was distinctly unimpressed by Kimi’s mood this morning. If he didn’t know better he’d think her proddy but she definitely shouldn’t be. He cursed as she scolded him for some imagined slight and was just reeling off a list of reasons that all women of every species were utterly mad and existed at least in part to confuse simple men when he walked straight into Silvina, and withered abruptly under her blistering glare. “What was that about women that I heard?” She asked sweetly.

“Ah, em, well. You know I’m actually very late for something important. You and all of your staff are of course lovely, it’s just Kimi here seems to have decided to be ornery this morning and bully… ouch! Sorry, sorry...ah, forcefully express herself after a disturbed night.” Kimi stopped diving at him and settled on Sebell’s shoulder giving him a clear ‘You’re an idiot’ look as he suddenly realised exactly how he might have offended the little madam, given how close she was to some of Menolly’s fair.

Glancing sheepishly at Silvina, who Sebell had no doubt either knew about the news from Benden or certainly would before breakfast and catching her raised eyebrow he winced inwardly, “You know I’ve just remembered that I left something in my quarters that is needed, and probably more important to reply to than anything else.” Silvina relented slightly, until she heard him barely halfway down the hall muttering to his still snarky gold, “There, will that appease you? Guilt tripping, hormonal lizard!” Silvina snorted, cold klah for Sebell it was then. Without sweetener.

*****************************************************

Benden Weyr

“Path? Is Mirrim busy?” A hum of acknowledgement.

“No little singer. She did not wish to crowd you. Do you wish for her company?” Menolly smiled softly, this was the gentle soul buried behind the brashness and layers of defence, this was why Mirrim remained one of her closest friends despite her acid comments and skill at alienating people.

I would very much appreciate her company if she is free to come, tell your rider that she is always welcome in my abode, although I may not be the best companion right now.

She heard the smile in Path’s voice in her response, “I have, she knows, and is on her way now. Mirrim asks if you would like some klah, or fellis.” The last word was said with distaste that reminded Menolly of Mirrim’s role as a healer, she must have needed Path’s help to procure the plants which were processed on such a large scale in the weyrs. Not many places needed so much of it, but then not many holds had dragon sized inhabitants she supposed. There was a mental echo of a dragon clearing her throat. Ah, yes, her attention had wandered again. At least she had what felt like a legitimate excuse this time. “Sorry Path. Yes, klah would be lovely thank you. I think I’ve slept as much as I can for now. The mental presence vanished as Path withdrew and Menolly had the sense of an empty space that she hadn’t noticed before. How had she not noticed that? Not painful, just...numb. Something nagged at the edges of her mind but she pushed it away. There were already too many things to think about, she didn’t want to add puzzles that could wait.

Five minutes later Mirrim quietly entered the room carrying a tray with two mugs, a bowl of sweeting, and something citrusy. Menolly suspected it may be one of the new things smuggled up from Southern, where No-one Went and wisely didn’t ask, especially on seeing Mirrim’s smirk.

“Just don’t tell Manora I’m pilfering the larder like a common weyrbrat.” She winked and sat down at the edge of Menolly’s bed, just as her friend let out a cry that wasn’t quite smothered in time and began to curse colourfully, prompting her fair’s swift disappearance with a squawk of outrage.

Stifling her initial alarm and going into healer-mode Mirrim quickly reviewed the scene before her and was immensely relieved to see her friend clutching not her midriff or hip but her calf. That she could help with. A few tears leaked down Menolly’s cheeks, drained as she was by the last few days, “Shh. Don’t worry now, breath and try to move it a little so I can reach. This is normal, the cramps are normal for expectant women, will you let me help Menolly? Believe it or not I give a good massage, T’gellan can attest to it!”

Menolly managed a weak chuckle through the pain as she nodded. “Trust me my friend, what you and T’gellan do on your own time is your business, I don’t need to hear him verify your..ah... skills ”

Mirrim snorted. “Get your mind out the gutter lady! After a fall or hard training everyone’s muscles ache. All riders need that skill . Of course it never hurts to have a reserve tactic .”

Menolly quickly realised it was no empty boast as the pain began to ebb away and her moans changed in tone from pained to pleasured. Mirrim tried to suppress her instinctive reaction to that. She would not lose a friend over a one sided attraction when all she had meant to do was distract Menolly and ease her pain. As she carefully removed her hands the harpress caught them in her own and forced the greenrider to meet her eyes, giving them a gentle squeeze.

“Thank you. That is much, much better. Perhaps next time you could bring oil and I can reciprocate a bit. I’d hate to be taking advantage of a friend after all.” She raised an elegant eyebrow and Mirrim wondered just how oblivious her friend truly was, or indeed how aware she might be. She wasn’t the kind to mock someone cruelly after all but…

No. Whatever else was going on now was not the time.

She realised that her hands had been released and Menolly was looking askance at her. Mirrim just shook her head and gestured to the tray that had been set down on the side table and forgotten. If they were lucky it might still be almost hot. She liberally added sweetener to the mug, deciding that Menolly needed it. She was right and Menolly couldn’t remember having a better cup, ever.  

Sitting up a little she sipped carefully. Not daring to meet Mirrim’s eyes as she gathered her rather scattered thoughts and tried to maintain some composure, Menolly controlled her breathing, focusing as intensely as Master Shonagar had made her do in countless lessons.

“The Weyrwoman visited me early this morning.” Mirrim grimaced, she appreciated the difference made by the omission of Lessa’s name.

“Ah. I assume from your sour expression that it was not simply a poorly timed delivery of flowers and fellis?”

Menolly’s lips twitched, “Not exactly. Mirrim, you were my first friend and I suspect I am going to need you, if for nothing else for my sanity. I am currently on bedrest and getting a little desperate for a distraction. As of this morning I am an official candidate for impression, I’ve missed a lot of preparation and am not native to the Weyr.  Please, will you and Path teach me?”

Watching her friend’s face carefully now, Mirrim noted her ill concealed tension.

“I’m scared Mirrim. I can’t give up music. They stole it once and it nearly killed me.” She spoke calmly, stating a fact, “I won’t give up my child, but I don’t want to keep her from Robinton, how could I give her and a dragonet adequate care alone? The firelizards were difficult enough! Did I ever tell you about the first time I had to oil them? All I could get was fish oil and the cave was revolting with all nine of them coated! Even keeping them fed was exhausting.”

The greenrider reached out to take one of her friend’s hands and rubbed small circles on the palm, realising that the fears were genuine and deep rooted.

“Menolly, do you truly believe you would be alone or abandoned? If you impressed you would stay, at least until your dragon matured, you would become weyrfolk, and the weyr take care of their own. If you stayed there would be an abundance of volunteers to help foster and love your daughter, who will not require you to hunt in order to offer sustenance, and do you truly believe anything on Pern could keep the Masterharper from her? I’ve seen how he feels about you two. The Weyrfolk are family, and so are you.

If you do not impress then there is no reason that you would not return as planned to the Harper Hall. Sebell most likely thinks he is going to be an uncle, Silvina has cared for thousands of boys, I hardly think one little girl would escape that, not to mention that she views you almost as her adopted daughter, thus your babe as her grandchild. Please Menolly, never fear you are alone in this.” She squeezed the harperess’ hand lightly, noticing the sheen of tears but not commenting.

Menolly swallowed hard, “Thank you.”

Five years of security hadn’t quite overridden the instincts learned as a child and adolescent to assume a crisis was to be handled discreetly, without unnecessary drama or distraction. Alone was safer . No longer true, but it was difficult to shrug off the conditioning that had led her to that point. She felt the gentle touch of Path in her mind, like a nuzzle or a hug. Warm.

Suddenly it was all rather overwhelming. Real. Would she be able to share her mind as naturally as Mirrim had done, how could she live that way forever…

Path rumbled and drew Menolly’s attention to the numb corner. It wasn’t just numb, it was empty , just like a part of her was waiting. The green sounded pleased at the route Menolly’s thoughts were taking.

Indeed, Little Singer. You will be ready.

“Mirrim?” Her voice was quieter than expected and her friend turned in response, worry colouring her reply.

“Yes?”

“I need you to hold us. You were right. I don’t have to do this all alone, but right now I need a hug.”

“Oh Menolly .” Mirrim wrapped lean arms around her friend, rubbing her back soothingly. She knew that feeling all too well, “Anything Menolly.  Anything you need.” They sat quietly for a long time, Menolly borrowing strength from her friend to supplement her own, Mirrim gladly offering it, until finally Menolly dozed off, tension draining from her frame.

Mirrim was initially suspicious, she knew just how good an actress the harpress was, but a quick comment from Path swiftly ended that.

‘Wait. YOU made her sleep??’

Path huffed.

‘She heals better with rest. I only nudged a little. The Little Singer’s mind was too busy, sleep will help that.’

Dragon logic was impossible to argue with, Mirrim knew. She couldn’t exactly disagree this time either, but it was still disturbing that Path seemed so relaxed about ‘nudging’ other human’s minds, apparently reading quite deeply too.

She heard the smirk in her dragon’s voice, ‘ You’re jealous!’

‘Am NOT.’ Well that sounded childish even in her own head.

‘Fine, maybe a little, but it’s complicated ok, just one of those weird human things.’

She felt the dragon equivalent of a shrug and sighed, trying to make herself more comfortable and ensure that her massage wasn’t completely useless, stroking Menolly’s hair softly from her face. She sighed. Mirrim had been well aware of her friends experiments and discreet liaisons, but also of her precautions and knowledge. Whatever had happened with Master Robinton she was struggling not to deck the man for the situation her best friend was caught in. The only thing keeping her fiery temper in check so far was the obvious affection between the two harpers, the anguish and tenderness. Love, it seemed, was not to be simple for either of them.

Perhaps it was true that all gifts came at a cost.

****************************************************************************

Southern

Piemur watched Farli carefully.  The little queen had been acting out of character for the last few days, giving flashes that made no sense, broadcasting emotions that weren’t related to his own, but the last  day had been the worst, she woke him with shrieks and whirling orange eyes, sending him images of a crying Menolly, but that couldn’t be right. Menolly didn’t cry, not like other girls, he’d only ever seen it that one time whilst they were briefly both apprentices.

He’d dismissed it out of hand.

Right up until a rather frantic looking Rocky turned up, twining necks tightly with Kimi, he watched her chirping and crooning at the bronze until his eyes had slowed down somewhat. At Menolly’s firelizard’s appearance he realised with a pang of regret that he had failed to keep in contact with his friend despite having his own queen, he had failed in the role if she truly was weeping and he had no idea what could possibly have caused it.  

Finally seeing the message tube attached to Rocky’s leg- smaller than the commonly used ones, indicating that the message must be confidential, not for notice. Piemur tempted him onto his arm with the nearest morsel of his breakfast and untied it, withdrawing a tightly rolled piece of parchment.

It was new, unused, and good quality, not like most of the messages he received. The seal was one that was easily identified, though not one he’d ever seen own his own correspondence, no-one would dare to try and misuse it. The interlinked symbols for ‘Weyr’, ‘Benden’, and ‘Weyrwoman’ were clear enough. He carefully broke the seal and hissed an intake of breath as he read the contents, the neat handwriting of an experienced archivist and the unembellished style of  one accustomed to writing urgent and critical messages. Information only.

No reason was given, but to ignore a personal summons to Benden Weyr from it’s Weyrwoman was bordering on madness, so he tried desperately to think what he may have said, done, or traded recently to draw her attention.. Several things of questionable legality certainly, but none of them new, or publicised, and none that would infringe on the Weyr’s wellbeing he was sure.

He hadn’t even been deliberately winding up Sebell or Robinton recently.

At least he wouldn’t have to wait too long for enlightenment, his ride was apparently due in the late afternoon. Just enough time, he realised, to clear a campsite. Not enough to scarper.

He wondered who would be sent to collect him, a rather mucky, unimportant Journeyman.

He was in for a shock.

Farli fed, campsite scoured and all his belongings in his pack once again, Piemur made his way down to the beach to be met by an imposing bronze dragon and his surly looking rider. Well, he never ought to have rated a bronze, but he was glad they hadn’t sent that harpy of Menolly’s for him. He wondered what the bronzerider- wingleader by his knots- knew about the summons.

He stood leaning against his dragon’s flank, arms folded, and raising one eyebrow at Piemur.

“Ready?”

The almost-harper nodded. He was. An unexpected wave of homesickness and nostalgia washed over him, strange as he now considered Southern to be his home. It really had been a long time, nearly two full turns since he’d returned to the North, and he was startled at how eager he was to see it again.

“Good. Do you need a hand mounting? Monarth isn’t the smallest of beasts.” The expression on the bronzerider’s face softened as he spoke the name and grinned up at his friend. Monarth snorted, it was clearly an old jibe.

“Ah...No, thank you. I’ll manage fine.” He was quietly relieved that he did indeed manage to swing up with some measure of grace, finally over his awkward stage.

“SO, what should I call you , rider of bronze Monarth, and pray tell me what I’ve done to be granted such an escort.” He could almost hear the eye roll in response.

“You can call me T’gellan. You haven’t done anything young sir, we do however have a mutual friend, and I have no interest in irritating my weyrmate simply to avoid your snarking. Believe me, she would have been your escort but has been extremely busy and has better things to use her time for than picking up harper brats.”

Piemur grimaced, sometimes he wondered if he really had been alone too long without human company, people used to be so easy .

“Well, let’s go, ready Monarth?” The bronze rumbled beneath them, and sprung into the air, catching the air currents coming off the sea just before they vanished between to emerge above the bowl of Benden Weyr.

Piemur swallowed hard. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to wait too long to find out why he was here after all. They landed and he was shrugged unceremoniously to the ground by a bronze who was clearly keen to be somewhere else already. One of the women from the lower cavern met him and began to drag him off to the kitchens, chattering about him not having eaten yet, and being in need of a good wash almost as much as a rider after fall. Rather annoying of her but at least her voice was pleasant, and her face certainly pretty enough. At her pointed comments he suddenly realised just how ripe he did indeed smell and that it certainly was not how he wished to greet anyone important, or attend any meetings he may have been summoned for. If he had been any less distracted he would have noticed Menolly’s name coming up in gossipy conversations very frequently. As it was, the offer of using Benden’s hot springs caught his attention more immediately and before he knew it he was being handed a bag of sweetsand, drying cloth, and a bone-comb, with directions to the baths. Unsubtle though it was at least  they were efficient.

When he emerged, feeling better than he had for a while and suitably clean for polite company, he found a neatly folded pile of fresh clothes, plain and practical but well made, and some still warm klah. He smiled, whatever happened he was at least less immediately offensive, and a better representative of his craft now.

Downing the klah he turned to leave for the communal areas, and found himself looking directly at the Benden Weyrwoman. It seemed wrong to be towering over Lessa, but the other option was to sit and leave her standing. He swallowed against the discomfort.

Lessa surveyed him, calmly and as closely as he had seen his father do to a herdbeast at market. He fought down the urge to show her his teeth and saw her smirk.

“You must be Piemur. I admit I found it difficult to recognise you, but then the last time we met you were just a boy, not the man you clearly are now. Tell me Piemur, what sort of man that is? Are you loyal? Resourceful of course, but then you learned from the best there. Clever or you wouldn’t have been given sensitive assignments, but can you be trusted?” Lessa’s eyes narrowed as Piemur tried not to squirm, calling on his turns of training for the control of his reactions.

“Yes my Lady.” Lessa snorted.

“Of course. The question is to whom is that loyalty given.” Piemur frowned, he hadn’t considered his loose association with Toric as a betrayal before.

“To The Harper, Weyrwoman.”

She looked at him intensely as though trying to gauge his sincerity before nodding. “Good. Then you may see her, but Piemur, if you do decide to betray my friends , think very carefully first. The star has no fury to compare to what I would unleash upon you. Now. I believe we understand each other. I will show you to our harper, she requested your presence, and Menolly is...important...to all of us. The dragons consider her Weyrfolk.”

Piemur was troubled over being requested . Menolly never did such things, she’d never needed to. Once she had realised that she was a harper on merit alone, and that her new home was secure the hesitance had fallen away, leaving the confident young woman with the amazing gift, and a bone deep love of music. Sure, he’d been away a while, but surely she couldn’t have changed that much.

He was wrong.

***************************************

Path kept Menolly resting all morning, much to the harpress’ chagrin when finally allowed to wake. Her hand drifted immediately to her abdomen and settled there for tangible reassurance.

It was a mildly repentant green dragon who sat through her rider’s lecture about it being rude to ‘nudge’ other minds without invitation, especially without asking the healer first, though Menolly certainly looked less drawn than she had earlier. Not that Mirrim was about to admit that to her, Path would be intolerably smug!

Menolly’s lips twisted in distaste when she was presented with another revolting looking greens based drink. Suppressing the shudder she drank it anyway and focused on keeping her breathing even until the sense of nausea ebbed. Master Grest offered a look of encouragement as he removed the offending mug from sight and quickly observed her vital signs again, nodding to himself.

“If you wish to do so, and swear to be careful, I am willing to release you for bathing. WIth an assistant. Is there a woman you’d prefer? Menolly shrugged. A bath sounded wonderful, as did the suggestion of help, though she was hardly body-conscious after being raised in a Seahold and living five turns as the only female journeywoman in her hall. Not to mention that it was a little late for any attempts to prevent dalliances.

“Either your own assistance or Mirrim’s would be greatly appreciated, but I’d rather not have anyone extra involved right now. Enough of Pern are already discussing my situation.” Beauty chirped and nuzzled her mistress’ hair gently, apparently giving instruction to the bronzes as she soothed her mistress.

Diver obediently brought over the sweetsand, and Rocky the washcloth, dropping them beside her.

Mirrim- the- healer smiled, and helped support Menolly to the bathing room, remembering the last time she’d done so, not long before her friend was whisked off in a blur to the Harper Hall, by T’gellan and Master Robinton no less. How meek they both had been then! Girls still, with the responsibilities of women.

Stripping to her underclothes Mirrim stepped into the relaxing water alongside her friend and began to pour water over her hair. It would be simpler to wash it now and leave in a plait than to wait, and more practical in case Menolly was ill, longer now than it had been in years, no longer cut to go under a flying helmet. Mirrim herself had chosen not to cut her own short, mostly to prove a point, that she would not pretend to be something she was not simply for the comfort of immature boys and stuffy Lords. T’gellan loved it and said it was a sign of her resilience.

Despite keeping the bath very short, by the end Mirrim was almost holding Menolly upright, glad of her own compact strength, and took much of her weight as she supported her out of the bathing pool to wrap in the soft, thick cloths.

Once she was satisfied that Menolly was as comfortable as possible for now, clean, her loosest fresh tunic on, and hair braided out of her way, Mirrim took her leave. Menolly needed her friend, but she also needed time alone to process everything. The attending Healer had returned so Mirrim tried to force herself not to worry so much, no such luck, Mirrim was a worrier, well hidden as it was, Brekke’s influence remained strong in her.

Seeking a distraction she went to organise meals for Menolly’s fair, the laundry, a candidate’s robe to fit her tall friend, and grant T’gellan some time. Going flying may help but she didn’t want to risk being so far from her friend yet.

**************************************************************

Left alone- or at least as alone as she could get in the Weyr- Menolly drew out the book which had been entrusted to her. It was beautiful. More than that it was precious, the voices of women who had lived before her. Women who had shaped their world, Pern’s history, her history. She stroked the cover almost reverently before opening the cover carefully, it wouldn’t do to damage such a thing! Master Arnor would weep!  

An hour later she was so deeply engrossed that she barely registered Ramoth’s voice calling her. She smiled as she closed the book gently, dragon voices really were beautiful, she had yet to hear one that was truly grating, she wondered idly if dragons could learn to sing. If they couldn’t do so vocally then perhaps telepathically linking… she shook her head to dispel such musings.

“ Yes Ramoth? ” She wondered if she would be more tolerant of draconic interruptions if she were bonded, or less.

“Lessa has found a friend of yours. She asks if you want to see him or if she ought to send him on his way to The Harper?”

Menolly tried to think back, there had definitely been mention of friends earlier, and her mind had gone blank of any but Mirrim and her fair, she sighed, admitting defeat.

“Which friend did she find Ramoth?”

“A strange smelling boy, dark on top.”

Sometimes she wished dragons paid slightly more attention to human names, but she supposed they might think colour was a valid identification marker, their own hierarchy being so structured.

“A harper or not a harper?”

Ramoth sounded slightly confused “His mind does not sing like yours does. He says he is a friend of You, and the Harper.  Monarth brought him from Southern.”

Finally! “Then it’s Piemur. I would like to see him before he returns to the hall if possible.”

Ramoth’s sudden absence was shocking, a chill spreading through her mind.

“She sends him.”

As Ramoth once again withdrew Beauty curled around Menolly’s neck, humming reassurance and affection. “Well I guess you have a visitor too, Beauty, if Piemur is here so will Farli.”

When Piemur did arrive he was shocked to see Menolly resting, the harpress was known to work herself into the ground, and to perform when others would have pulled out. Instead she was wrapped in what appeared to be luxurious furs, in bed, with what appeared to be a tumbler of green sludge next to her, and looking undeniably wan and pale.

“Menolly?” Piemur couldn’t quite keep the concern out of his voice, “What happened?”

His friend looked at him, as though considering what exactly to tell him, before visibly gathering her courage.

“Well Piemur, I guess it’s past time for this conversation...when a Mummy and a Daddy who love each other very much…” Piemur choked and looked at her incredulously, getting an eyeroll in return, “Fine, the firelizards flew while I was stranded on a beach somewhere and my herbs failed, ok? Consequently I am expecting what the dragons inform me is a daughter, and there were complications so the healers put me on bedrest. And, because you are better hearing this from me than the elaborate rumour mill at the hall, you may as well know that Robinton is the father, but I didn’t plot and scheme, we were not together before that, it was a one off, and my ‘feminine wiles’ are seriously over-estimated by some dirty old men.”

There was silence when she finished, and Piemur, who had been quite proud of his ability to remain un-shockable, was openly gawping at her.

“Wow, I’ve rendered you speechless, never thought I’d see the day. Sebell owes me a mark for that though.”

Piemur closed his mouth.

“Right. OK, you are accidentally pregnant by the Masterharper and far enough along that people know, and you can travel by dragon. That doesn't explain why you are in Benden Weyr.  Or why I was picked up by a bronze dragon and promptly delivered back to the North.” He decided not to share with Menolly his interview with the Weyrwoman. From the way she raised a brow at him he figured she guessed anyway.

“ They needed a teaching harper, and I needed a last position to complete that section of my Journeymanship, and to be somewhere that wasn’t working directly under Robinton, for the sake of both of our credibility. For some reason there were some tunnelsnakes who didn’t believe Domick was trustworthy. I may have written a song about them.”

Piemur nodded, he understood strategic placements. “So you haven’t seen each other? Even though you’re…” He gestured towards his friend, not yet able to state the obvious.

“Pregnant Piemur. You can say it. When you get back to the Hall everyone else will. We’ve seen  each other yes, but not much. I miss the Hall, but I’m in the right place for now.”

Piemur didn’t hide his sceptical look. “Hiding?” Menolly rolled her eyes at him, she almost felt sorry for Domick, having had to tolerate his most obnoxious phase.

“No Piemur, not hiding. Though after the tasks you have been trusted with you ought to have learned that there is no shame in strategic hiding, and in fact it is sometimes the most intelligent option.”

Piemur ducked his head, “Sorry Menolly, that was unfair to you. Of course you wouldn’t hide.” Menolly’s slight smile let him know he was forgiven, though he could see it didn’t reach her eyes properly.

“Are they looking after you properly?” His eyes flicked over her, noticing for the first time how fragile she truly looked. Menolly reached for his hand, “Yes they are, they are doing everything possible to look after us both , including the dragons. I think that Path may well have saved our lives. So I suggest you try  your best to be polite to her rider on the way to the Hall.” Piemur chuckled and leaned down to gather his friend in his arms as she protested, “I promise, Menolly. I’ll bite my tongue and never cheek Mirrim again if she keeps you safe.” Menolly snorted.

“What have I told you about making promises you cannot keep young man?”, her eyes twinkled though. Piemur stood and winked at her, “See, you’ll be a brilliant mother, already have plenty of practise with apprentices, and managing idiot harpers. Maybe I can’t be polite to Mirrim forever, but I can promise though that I will always be your friend.”

The moment was broken by a loud throat clearing from the doorway,  “Time’s up now, Journeyman Piemur. Mirrim and Path are waiting to take you to the Harper Hall. They are expecting you.” The young harper hesitated, loathe to leave his friend alone with the Benden Weyrwoman. Menolly cocked her head and gestured towards the door, “Go on then. If you leave now Silvina may even have some bubbly pies left for you.”

Piemur smiled, “Be careful Menolly. You know you can always reach me by firelizard.”

“I will. Goodbye Piemur… and don’t do anything reckless.”

She couldn’t see the eyeroll as he left but Menolly smiled anyway. It was nice to see the one who had first befriended her in the hall, uncaring of her rank, and better still to see that he would not turn away from her in disgust or disappointment now.

She did see the Weyrwoman shaking her head in amusement and cocked an eyebrow in question.  “Men. So many of them are funny at times like this. Especially when they get over protective or want to be useful.”  Lessa sat down next to the harpress, hands wrapped around two steaming mugs of klah.  She offered one to Menolly, who carefully sniffed it. ”It isn’t laced with anything except sweetening, this time.  I thought you might appreciate something less...healing.”  Well, she couldn’t argue the sentiment.

“Thank you.”  She sipped it slowly, just to be sure.

“Honestly, riders are even worse. Is there anyone else you wish to contact Menolly?”

Menolly forced down the wave of homesickness that seeing Piemur prompted and shook her head firmly, “No. There is no-one.  Anyone of consequence is able to send a message to Benden anyway.”  Lessa’s features softened a little, Menolly knew that the Weyrwoman rarely allowed others to see that side of herself and felt a warmth spread through her, not entirely due to the klah.

“Yes. I see. Well I wish more of the ranking candidates were as sensible.  You’d think they owned the hatching grounds the way some of them talk.” Menolly grimaced and spared a thought for the poor Weyrling master, she’d taught that type of holder-brat before and loathed it; the entitlement and pre-occupation with bloodlines.

Lessa nodded towards the desk, “I’ll send a drudge up with some more parchment and ink for you.  It looks as though your project and research is going well.  If you wish to interview an ex-Lord Holder’s daughter, ex-drudge, current Weyrwoman I will gladly volunteer any information you desire, although for political reasons my input would need to be anonymous.”

Menolly brushed away the tears that were beginning to drip into her mug.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m crying, it just happens these days….” Lessa nodded in understanding and lightly squeezed Menolly’s hand. “Don’t worry, it’s normal. Take it as an extra assurance that your little one is still fighting. A mother’s heart belongs to her child from the very beginning my dear, and they never quite let it go.”  Lessa’s lips pressed into a thin line, as though regretting dropping her mask. In response Menolly let her own defences relax a little more, and instantly felt the draconic minds brushing against her own, startling a gasp from her and a gruff mental command from Ramoth for the others to mind their own business. A small thumb brushed lightly across her palm before the Weyrwoman let go and stood up. “Get some rest Menolly girl, this is the calm before the storm. Use it well.”  Menolly appreciated the Weyrwoman withholding comment on her expectations for now, allowing her to think clearly about what she was about to undertake.

Chapter Text

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43.

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Mirrim was waiting for Piemur. Usually they avoided each other in order to keep the peace, but the one thing they did have in common was Menolly’s friendship, so she was willing to tolerate the boy long enough to deliver him to the Harper Hall. The green rider fully intended to invoke her right to hospitality if necessary, though the Head woman was always courteous to dragonriders and offered sup as a matter of course. She wanted to take the opportunity to observe the harpers and try to gauge the reaction of the masters at least to recent events.

Sebell would likely find a way to speak to her anyway, but Silvina didn’t have a firelizard,and there was no substitute for testing the atmosphere oneself. A Benden dragonrider would likely evoke the most honest unconscious response right now, and of all of them, she knew Menolly best.

She waved as she saw Piemur approaching, prompting him to speed up his pace, no one kept a dragon waiting. Not even idiot harper boys.

At that thought Path snorted, loudly.  Tolerant as she usually was the green could sense her rider’s suppressed irritation.

“Polite, Path, remember. For Menolly.”

“Are you sure? He doesn’t seem happy to see us.”

Mirrim sighed. He did look sullen.

“He hasn’t seen many people for a long time.I guess it’s a shock to be back with us. Or perhaps he’s just rude without Menolly to make him mind his manners. Still, we do not need a mammy to scold us into being courteous.”

“And you promised Monarth’s rider.” Caught. Damn smug dragons. She grimaced.

“Yes. And I promised T’gellan. He’ll make it worth your while.” Path snorted again but didn’t argue.

Piemur had inwardly cringed when he saw Mirrim standing, obviously waiting for him.

He’d had enough barely veiled threats on his way down to both irk him, and to reinforce his resolve to be on his best behaviour, and support Menolly as he was able.

Mirrim had always been open in her defense  of her few friends.

He seriously doubted it was coincidental that she was his escort today.

Path appeared short tempered enough that he offered her a slight bow

He was sure that if dragons could roll their eyes she would have. Oh well, flattery was worth a try at least.

“Ready?”

He nodded, and when Mirrim mounted he swung up behind her, realising as he did so how much easier it was than last time….then how much more awkward it was to sit behind Mirrim with his arms so long. As soon as he worked out where to put them, Path leapt into the air, great wings sweeping downwards. As soon as they were clear she winked between.

Piemur held his breath; shells he hated the sensory deprivation of between! How the dragonriders became accustomed to it he didn’t know.

1….2…...3…… They appeared above the courtyard in the harper hall and Path circled slowly in to land neatly on the stone. Piemur slid down Path’s flank, trying to be gentle. Remembering to thank Path for graciously carrying him he stood back and taking a deep breath turned. The courtyard was almost the same as he’d left it and yet felt almost foreign to him.  Perhaps it would just take him a little while to readjust.  He noticed the wistful and impressed faces at the windows of various classrooms and offices and smiled, so many times he had done the same, most memorably when a younger T’gellan had delivered Menolly to the Harper hall on the arm of the Masterharper.

He paused to consider where he ought to go first, deciding that he was probably best going immediately to the Masterharper’s office to report back, and trying to look less nervous than he felt. The knowledge that Master Robinton was the father of his friend’s baby was suddenly overwhelming, despite the facts of the situation being unchanged it felt somehow more wrong when standing in the Harper Hall.

He felt rather than saw Mirrim’s scowl.

Shards but she was defensive! If she was any other woman he’d have queried hormones; as it was he’d rather ask her dragon. It was safer.

Aware of the watching students he offered a slight bow to Path and her rider, it did no-one any good to encourage discourtesy to Hall visitors and dragonriders. Mirrim’s lips twitched as she stifled an amused snort, “Go on with you, I’m sure the Masterharper is keen to hear your report.” On cue Zair appeared beside them, chattering animatedly at Farli, and looking rather chastened by whatever her response was. Piemur chuckled. “Goodbye Mirrim. Take care of Menolly for me...for us. Thanks for the lift!” Confident that he had acquitted himself well enough to avoid a scolding next time he saw his friend he jogged towards the Masterharper’s study, leaving Mirrim to seek out the kitchens alone, directing Path to join the watch dragon.

Headwoman Silvina intercepted her neatly just as she tried to slip into the kitchens, handing her a full plate and a mug of steaming klah with a  welcoming smile and gesturing to follow her.

“Come.”

Mirrim was prone to resistance but understood well enough that the Headwoman here was standing in the stead of Menolly’s mother, so followed obediently. She deserved to have her questions answered in private, before the apprentices started seeding further rumours.

Menolly held the Headwoman in very high regard, and Mirrim understood that her friend considered the Harper Hall residents to be her family, but Silvina held a special place in her heart, so Mirrim would treat her as such. The older woman produced a tin of biscuits from a bland looking cupboard and handed one to Mirrim as she took one herself, and placed it carefully next to her as she sat down cradling her klah, inviting the dragonrider to join her and allowing a smile to grace her features..

“I see you found our wanderer. I hope he hasn’t caused you any trouble.”

Mirrim snorted and shook her head, “Oddly enough no he hasn’t. I think seeing Menolly was enough of a shock to quash any notions of mischief making. He was even polite to Path.”

Silvina arched one elegant brow. “Is that so? He must have had quite the shock. May I assume by your presence and escort that he has been in Benden Weyr today?” Mirrim smiled wryly, “You can, and that he has seen and spoken to Menolly. It was her that summoned him...well, requested. The Weyrwoman consequently arranged a rendezvous with Journeyman Piemur. My Weyrmate informs me he is far more pleasant after thorough washing.” Here Mirrim wrinkled her nose expressively.

“A yes, the life of an adolescent journeyman does tend to result in a certain pungency . I am more than happy to leave that particular delight of the crafters to the Masterharper.” The use of his title made Mirrim question whether she might be missing something between them. The astute Headwoman huffed, “No lass, I’ve no bitterness towards him, nor Menolly. We’ve just had certain people who do have unrelated issues, most long in the past, who have been questioning his authority and her ability. Anything I can do to protect them, I love them both, but you already knew that.”

Mirrim nodded almost absently, “Yes. There is that. A flash of memory flared and Mirrim felt the air rush out of herself. “My Lady, you said you wish to protect Menolly. Would you perhaps be willing to visit her at the Weyr? I’d normally expect a mother or a sister to check up in such circumstances but….

And since neither of those is available, and even if they were it would last only until a dragon recognised their aura and removed them, I wondered if you might be willing to stand in their place if Path and I escort you there and back? Please.”

Silvina couldn’t hide the flush of pleasure as she saw that the young rider was indeed in earnest. “That would very much depend on whether Menolly wished me to be there or not or if you are inviting me without her knowledge dear. I suspect that she hasn’t had a lack of guardians or visitors recently, and a great deal to process. Perhaps after you have spoken to her about your offer?”  Mirrim’s cheeks coloured in a way they rarely did anymore and she nodded in agreement.

“Of course, though my offer stands,”

Silvina smiled warmly, “Menolly is fortunate to have a friend like you Mirrim.”

The greenrider huffed to herself, “Not nearly as fortunate as I am to have her.” A comfortable silence settled as the two women sipped the hot klah together, Mirrim humming appreciatively as it warmed her. Finishing, she placed the mug gently down on the heavy desk before them.

“Is there anything that you would like Path and I to take back with us for Menolly? Anything she left here?” Silvina shook her head with certainty, “No. Menolly was never a materialistic or covetous girl. Practical to the point of thrift that one; you should have seen her face when I first had her measured for dresses and decent tunics! I swear she’d all the colour of chalk.” Mirrim chuckled, she well remembered meeting her friend, fresh off the beaches, feet shredded, and an enigma she never quite solved. Perhaps the Weyrleader intended her for candidacy even then. It wouldn’t surprise her, though she was glad that the Masterharper had enabled her friend to heal instead. She’d be a better rider for the years at the Harper Hall, and while Mirrim didn’t trust her own judgement of candidate potential, she had absolute faith in Path, and Path was convinced that there was a dragon waiting for her.

Silvina was watching her with shrewd eyes and Mirrim wondered briefly if the woman could read her thoughts as easily as a dragon. She relaxed as the Headwoman’s look softened.

“ She may not have much but there are a few things I would appreciate you delivering on our behalf.”  Mirrim could feel Path’s approval through their bond.

“I assume you can wait half a candlemark while I gather some things but you are welcome to any hospitality, I expect that the Masterharper may seek you out once he is finished speaking to acting Journeyman Piemur.” Standing and straightening her leather jerkin Mirrim caught the glint of humour in Manora’s eye as she used Piemur-the-harper-brat’s new title. She smirked back, “I would be glad  to speak with Master Robinton if he wishes it, and Path and I will wait as long as necessary for anything that you want to send Menolly.”  They exited the office and were just in time to hear the hurried footfalls of a nosey apprentice scurrying away. Mirrim closed her eyes and counted to ten for patience. The Headwoman of Harpers was a bloody saint!  Privately Mirrim wondered if she’d be able to get Path to leave without Silvina’s parcel; she suspected not.

Parting ways, Mirrim strode into the courtyard, casting an eye over it and noting the scarcity of Actual harpers milling about. Staff aplenty, but not who she was interested in. She’d have to wait until lessons finished, interruption would surely skew their reactions and put them on guard. Sighing she reminded herself of Brekke’s insistence that patience is a virtue, whilst wishing that she had T’gellan’s rank. Or his easier going nature.

Patience always did come more naturally to him, it was one reason that the weyrlings often sought his guidance; less rationally his manhood made people less prone to questioning his presence or purpose.

Mirrim tried to recall which Masters had direct involvement or attachments to Menolly. The Masterharper, obviously, Sebell, and perhaps a Domick? She now regretted not paying closer attention to the names. Too much time with dragons she supposed. Path never cared for names.

A draconic snort followed that.

“We care about people .”

Well. That was better than half the humans she'd met in holds.

Path hummed her agreement.

Walking further into the Hall she noticed people averting their eyes, and her own narrowed.

“Down girl.” came a calm voice, shot through with amusement.  She whirled angrily on him, ready to take out any threat, surprised to find a stocky man step out of the shadows, arrogance clear in his posture, smirking as he took in her surprise.

Just what she needed, a self important arse with an ego, she muttered a curse.

“Easy. I hope you don’t greet my journeywoman with that mouth.” He raised one thick eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest, mock-glaring as though she was some bratty apprentice.

Fine. If that was how he wanted to play it, she’d dealt with far worse from riders in the healing rooms or after a failed flight. Fuck him.

Mirrim mirrored the gesture, bracing herself, “I only greet one Journeywoman and she sure as shards isn’t yours. She belongs to no-one but herself. Oh, and I don’t care who you are, stop judging my mouth before my dragon gives you a close up of hers.” Whatever reaction Mirrim was expecting it certainly wasn’t to be clapped on the shoulder as the Master dissolved into full belly laughs. If she had needed any further proof of the insanity of harpers there it was. She shook her head disbelievingly  until the man finally calmed enough to speak coherently, holding out his hand for her to grasp. “Thank you for that, lately I’ve been missing the laughter Menolly always brought to our sessions. Come, perhaps a more private location may suit our business better, as it is the junior apprentices shall be speculating and gossiping about this at supper enough. Perhaps Menolly is right after all about composers mellowing as they age. You can call me Domick. I took over as Menolly’s assigned Master after the complications arose with her previous supervising Master.” He could see Mirrim bristling again and snorted derisively, “Please, I know those two, they had denial down to a fine art. Those who are questioning her capability or his integrity are mostly jealous or incompetents who can’t tell arse from elbow.”

Mirrim pursed her lips at the confirmation that there were people openly criticising her friend and stirring problems. They came to the end of a quiet corridor and opened the heavy door to a large room. There was sheet music everywhere, covering every available surface, complete, incomplete, a forgotten mug of klah, and more instruments that anyone could possibly need.

Actually it resembled Menolly’s rooms quite closely.

“Sit.” Curious now about the man who seemed to be so complex and have an apparently genuine fondness for ‘his’ Journeywoman. Mirrim did so, a little irritated by the familiar smirk he cast her as he followed. It cleared as he leaned towards her.

“Stop looking Mirrim, you are being too obvious. If you have questions you may direct them to myself or to Silvina, but right now you do your friend no favours by feeding rumours of Menolly appealing to the Weyr or badmouthing harpers, nor Master Robinton any favours by broadcasting a distrust of all harpers.” He held up a hand as she automatically tensed to defend herself. “No, greenrider Mirrim. I know you did not intend it thus. You simply wanted to check on the safety and security of a friend, but for now this is harper business, not yours, though I am given to understand that it may shortly become both and so may be in our mutual best interests to preserve a good relationship, and at least the illusion of trust. Hmm?”

Mirrim growled an affirmative. She’d need to get Menolly to train her before ever going up against a Master Harper again, they were impossible and very, very frustrating. Thank Faranth for the simplicity of bronzeriders. Path vehemently agreed with her, apparently she wasn’t overly impressed with Fort Hold or the Hall. She particularly endorsed the bronze who she assured Mirrim was waiting patiently for their return, and keen to be reunited with his mate. She smiled indulgently in Path’s direction, “ As you wish my love.”

Domick rolled his eyes as the young woman’s eyes took on the unfocused look of a rider speaking to her dragon, honestly it was worse than dealing with an infatuated teenager!

Her eyes refocused and Domick nodded towards the desk, “If you are now paying attention again” he groused, “On the desk are the grades and critique of Menolly’s last few pieces, and a review of her introduction before she resolves which direction to take her final major submission. I’ve also included a couple of my own pieces for her to practice at leisure when she starts to try and throttle anyone in the immediate vicinity. For all she is missed I can’t say I’m sad to be far, far away from her firelizard fair whilst she gestates. I don’t think Beauty has ever fully forgiven me for scaring her mistress when we first met.

NOW, if you are ready to stop watching us all like a spooked wherry, let me tie these and seal them and you can head straight to the Masterharper. You have my permission to punch him but do try not to damage him visibly.” Mirrim saw his lips curve upwards. One day was clearly insufficient to get used to Domick’s ways, or humour.

When the man held out a well made and lined, apparently between-proof leather bag she looked at him, puzzled. “Shell’s sake woman, you’re not an idiot, take the bag of music and papers. This won’t be the last time we meet and you are Menolly’s best friend in Benden, of course you’ll return it later. Now go! Shoo. Before that dragonlass of yours starts getting annoyed by the apprentices, classes are due to finish shortly, and as things stand, I don’t particularly fancy explaining to the sick-minded why a young lady and I were shut in together given my public support of Master Robinton.” Mirrim grimaced, she could imagine that sort of ignorance becoming very wearing. She was overwhelmingly glad to have been born to the weyr. Every time she got a brief look into the workings of hold life she was shocked by the common attitudes It was alarming that of all the crafts the Harpercraft was considered most open minded if this was their reaction to something as simple as a one night stand and a bastard child. She sighed. She was just leaving when the same cocky voice stopped her, sincere this time rather than mocking; “Thank you Mirrim. For what you are doing for our Menolly….and for that reaction to the idiocy of the masses. It encourages me.” She looked over her shoulder but he was facing away, apparently concentrating on something else, still she smiled softly and nodded before allowing the door to close behind her.

No more putting it off then. Mirrim took the stairs to Master Robinton’s office with the same enthusiasm as a first year apprentice sent for insolence.

Strange since he’d always been warm and approachable in the past. She had plenty of good memories of him to draw on, mostly from various Hatchings that he’d attended, yet now that man, the Masterharper, seemed disconnected from Robinton.- sire-of- Menolly’s child. She was well aware that the attraction between them was mutual, not something based on a taste for younger women. He certainly had never invited any of the women at the weyr, no matter how willing some were, nor shown any interest in audience members. Menolly was the exception.

The skill, talent, her fire and sheer stubbornness, her absolute need for music drew him.

Mirrim doubted that Menolly could accept anything less than someone who could wholeheartedly support her in that and love her for it. She chuckled as she imagined Beauty screening her mistress’ suitors, flanked by the other eight and disallowing each man on increasingly spurious grounds.

Such a person would be difficult to find in the Weyr, but by no means impossible, and in the meantime no one would judge her for exploring her options. In fact it was far more frowned upon to throw an inexperienced virgin into a marriage or mating without a care for their comfort and security, as was common practice in the small holds.

Mirrim had made a point of searching them.

One of the advantages she could see following an impression by Menolly was the possibility of openly searching women when no Queen egg was on the sands. The Benden Weyrleaders were far less hidebound than the others, but even they had shied away from further tipping the political balance further when she had impressed, so instead of being only the first female greenrider in  memory she had been cast as an exception. T’gellan and Menolly had helped her not to become embittered by that, but she still wanted to extend the option to other girls. Until then, if she just so happened to make the occasional mistake regarding the potential for impression of a girl wed too young, or a woman bruised too badly, she knew that it would be entirely overlooked by the Weyrfolk.

The closed door looked forbidding, the intricate carving for once drawing her attention to the Masterharper having equal rank to a Lord Holder. Funny how when it was one of them siring bastards on those below them society appeared to look the other way. That realisation, of how it was normalised for all others of his status, so much as in to be joked about for some major Holds, made her understand that this was not about the ethics and morality for the populous, but about the people. Menolly had made many enemies; Robinton had made even more.

There were those who had been eager to tear them down, waiting for an excuse to justify their hate and defamation of character, Menolly’s pregnancy gave them exactly that.

This wasn’t only wrong, it was personal.

Master Robinton may deserve her fury, but what he and Menolly both needed now was her unequivocal support. Dammit, now Menolly was rubbing off on her, trying to make her be a ‘better person’. She could almost hear her friend chuckling. ‘ Fine’ she thought sharply, ‘but only because it’s you.’   Path sent her a wave of disgruntlement at that, “Ugh! Ok, fine, you too! I can’t keep you out anyway, and apparently you have boundary issues with Menolly, may as well throw my mind open.”

Mirrim drew in a steadying breath and rapped smartly, unsure what response to expect.

It wasn’t to have Piemur instantly open the door grimacing. Noting her puzzlement he gestured dismissively to point above his head. “Farli notified us of your presence. Dramatically .” He rolled his eyes as though his little queen was an over active toddler. Really she thought, if anyone should be disallowed from complaints about over-dramatic reactions it was him .

“We were just on our way out anyway.” Mirrim could have sworn he winked at her as he edged past.

“No need to dawdle in the doorway, come in.”

Mirrim had heard many disagree with the Masterharper at various points, but never actually seen anyone outright disobey him. There was something in the gentle, self-assured baritone that invited compliance. Interesting.

She carefully closed the door behind her, wanting to be certain there was no-one listening without his knowledge, and walked calmly to the seat the Piemur had so recently vacated, slinging the bag Master Domick had given her over the back of the chair and sitting as gracefully as she could manage.

Robinton steepled his fingers, watching her thoughtfully.

A silence stretched between them, looking at the Masterharper, Mirrim found all her words abandoning her.

She took a steadying breath, Robinton seemed to be patiently waiting for her to speak first.  

“Hello.” He raised an eyebrow and she tried again “Hello Master Robinton, I believe you will want an update on Menolly’s current condition, I know that she sent a message with Zair earlier, I know that I am merely a greenrider, but do you have any questions?”  She watched his lips curl into a smile. “You are not ‘merely’ anything Greenrider Mirrim. My- Journeywoman Menolly is welcoming and warm to everyone until they do something to lose the privilege, but she is very careful in her choice of friends. You know well enough that she does not bestow her friendship lightly, and her confidence even less freely. You have it. So please, in this office speak freely. You know that I...care...deeply for Menolly, and for our child. As she does sometimes try to avoid causing me worry by under emphasising things and holding back her concerns I would appreciate your honest input.”

Mirrim relaxed slowly, taking the goblet of wine he proffered, nodding.  “She misses you. More than she’d like, and wants to be out of bed already and able to distract herself. Of course even if she was able to attempt it Path, Ramoth, and Monarth would intervene and notify us. Not worth being scolded by Benden’s Queen really.”

Robinton could see that Mirrim included the Weyrwoman in that entity.

“Indeed. Has she managed to rest at all? Tell me Mirrim, how best can I help her right now, without placing even more pressure on her than she will put on herself.”

Watching the Masterharper now she could see the man behind the mask, the willingness to set aside the control he always seemed to have, the man she knew that her friend loved deeply.

She sighed. “Keep talking to her. Whatever happens will happen, even the best of healers know that they cannot fix everything, but Menolly is a practical woman and is listening to them, resting a lot. The blood loss has left her tired, and she is anxious, but she’s stubborn and fierce, being fed vile concoctions to try and speed up blood replacement and energy. Your daughter seems to have inherited those traits.  RIght now knowing that she is loved unconditionally, and sleep, are the best things for Menolly. If there’s anything you’d like me to take to her I would be glad to oblige.”

He gestured towards his chambers and cocked his head to the side, “Yes, as it happens, I have something for them. How is she reacting to candidacy?”
Mirrim grinned. “More gracefully than most of our hold and craft girls do. I think it is giving her a distraction that she needs right now, but Path and I are watching  her carefully. This clutch doesn’t have a Queen egg on the sands, which is a shame as Menolly would be an outstandingly good Weyrwoman, but she knows herself well and told me she couldn’t give herself fully. She’s right too, music is in her soul; but the dragons have all decided her impressing is a foregone conclusion, and I’ve never known Path to be wrong.
Lessa doesn’t want to have the political fallout of yet another impression from the stands if it can be avoided, especially given the sensitive nature of Menolly’s staying in Benden Weyr and the wherfaced Lordlings who have been outspoken in their shaming. They seem happy to forget their own indiscretions quickly enough, and wildly cast aspersions on women.” She couldn’t keep the derision from colouring her voice.  

Robinton suppressed an approving smile.

“Menolly understands politics. She’d always ignore them where she could, it was always too duplicitous for her taste, though she has skill enough at it, and is naturally intuitive. In truth she could have succeeded me as easily as Sebell.  They would have made quite the team for our craft.”

Mirrim shook her head ruefully, “Menolly would never have done that to him, she respects Sebell, and wouldn’t subject a friend to a political marriage that goes against his inclination any more than she’d consent to one.”

Robinton drew his brows together.

“Now that is a fact I’d appreciate you keeping to yourself. It isn’t common knowledge, even among the masters.”

Mirrim rolled her eyes.

“As if I give a shard who he wants to take to bed. It’s none of my business, it isn’t even craft business . It’s his and his lover’s alone. End of.”

“You assume that there is a lover.”

Mirrim shrugged. “If there isn’t now then there will be. The man isn’t made of stone. He has a stressful job and a queen firelizard.” She indicated her own, curled up in the corner, “How naive would you have me feign, Sir?” Her eyes twinkled at him.

Robinton looked at Zair, perched patiently on his shoulder and felt the remaining tension drain away in a rush, “Of course not. You’re as cheeky as she is you know.” He ran a finger lightly over Zair’s headknob, stroking him gently for a minute until the bronze chirped, breaking into his thoughts.  

Excuse me for a few minutes, Greenrider. I must fetch something.” He swept from the room, his absence palpable as she was left alone with her thoughts.

As promised he returned shortly after with two carefully wrapped parcels. The first was an intricately engraved wooden box, about the length of her forearm. The second  was a stack of pages of music, written by him, she assumed, and wrapped in a piece of soft material, tied with a ribbon dyed deep blue that secured a letter with them.

“Give these to her, please. I am sorry that I cannot be there for her all the time, but I will always be there if she needs me, and I will absolutely be at the hatching, right beside her. Mirrim nodded and took them carefully from him.

“Of course, Masterharper. I will deliver them to her myself. In lieu of being here herself I must remind you on Menolly’s behalf to remember to eat, sleep, and that wine is not a foodgroup.” Robinton shook his head in mock despair, “Away with you now Mirrim; and make sure you continue to  take good care of my Menolly.” She met his weighty gaze and nodded seriously.

“Always Masterharper Robinton. You have my word.”  Simple words, but to her, and to Path, it was a solemn oath. Clearly he saw that as his expression cleared

“Well. I suspect that despite your ill concealed wish to observe for longer, Manora and the Weyrleaders will have you on rather a strict timetable, and Menolly would definitely disapprove of you timing it for something so petty. Thank you for keeping me informed Mirrim, if there is anything urgent your are welcome to send a message with one of your little friends, or better one of hers. You’d best go back and see Silvina, she’ll be waiting for you by now.”

Mirrim heard the dismissal and nodded, slipping the two gifts into Domick’s bag.

Leaving without looking back she didn’t see Master Robinton rubbing his chest as the door closed behind her.

Managing to avoid the notice of Robinton’s second in command, Mirrim took a side entrance into the corridor that led to Silvina’s office, and knocked twice on the door, glad that it opened promptly to admit her. Looking around the office she felt suddenly lighter. “I thought it was only a few things.”

Silvina nodded, “It was meant to be, but someone spotted the Benden dragon and an apprentice with a wagging tongue gave away your presence. As it turns out I am not the only one to miss Menolly and worry for her, these are only from the kitchen girls and sneakiest apprentices.”

Mirrim couldn’t keep from smiling, “There’s no way that Path and I can take everything today!”

“I know that lass, I’ve put the important bits in a pack here, I’ll organise the rest. Even if we have to make some of that fruit into a preserve!” Mirrim wished that her friend could see this, that she could see herself how much the harpers here loved her. Path was there as she always was, sending her rider soothing thoughts, though they were tinged with a plaintive wish to see Monarth properly.

‘Thank you dear heart, we’re almost done here. If you’re ready I’d like to bring some..um...gifts for our friend.’

‘Friends’

Mirrim allowed Path to see her confusion.

‘You said ‘friend’ singular. I did not.’

‘I’m sorry Path. I will try to remember dear one.’

If she was slipping like that it was definitely time to go home. “Is Path ready then?” Mirrim wondered if she’d missed a question, until Silvina sighed exasperatedly.

“You looked vacant, unfocused, then were suddenly back, obviously talking to her. So?”

Smiling Mirrim swung the biggest pack over her shoulder and picked up a small basket. “Always.” Mirrim stalked towards the door with gusto. “I’d better get these to the intended recipient as soon as possible then, hadn’t I.”

SIlvina reached to draw the young woman into a hug. “Thank you my girl. You can pass that on to her and all. I’ll come see you off.”

True to her word the Headwoman helped load Path and Mirrim up and remained in the courtyard until the pair winked between again to return to Benden Weyr, minus one irritating harper-brat, and considerably heavier laden. When they emerged in the bowl the night was drawing in and there was just about enough light to land with ease and unload Path so that she could take a well-earned trip to the hunting grounds as her rider made her way up to Menolly’s weyr. Halfway to her destination T’gellan appeared beside her, relieving Mirrim of the heaviest pack. “They thought sending this stuff to sort through was a good idea for a invalid?!” Mirrim looked up at him, “IT’s an expression of care T’gellan, they want to help.”

The bronzerider shook his head. “Yep, definitely crazy.”  He caught his weyrmate’s corresponding glare and winced, “I mean kind. Crazy and kind.” She snorted. “So close. And yet…” She raised a mocking eyebrow at him and he only chuckled, beginning to take the steps unfairly quickly. When they entered Menolly’s room and deposited the load it was to find Menolly herself curled tightly on the bed, arms cradled protectively across her abdomen. A large, empty tumbler was next to her bed, some traces of a vile, green concoction still visible, and the healer a silent guard at her side. A book of records of some sort lay open next to her. Mirrim, knowing her friend would be distraught if it was damaged at all closed it and placed it safely with her music. She could leave most of the gifts here and explain them later, but the ones from Masters Domick and Robinton were different, they needed an explanation, and so she kept that one leather satchel on, and leaned down to kiss Menolly’s brow and smooth the hair off her forehead, covered her shoulders with the blankets to keep off the chill, and took the gifts back to her own weyr for the night., she’d bring them up in the morning.

That night Menolly’s dreams were particularly vivid, spinning through a myriad of perspectives, the images fractured and glittering, full of whispers and harmonies that she could never quite grasp. When she woke she told herself the vividness was normal, and tried to ignore the nagging feeling in her gut, glad that there was fresh water at her bedside each time. She hoped that she hadn’t been calling out in her sleep like some green apprentice. Healers might be known for their silence but she had hoped to save some shred of her dignity.

She was very glad of the soothing warmth and spicy smell of the firelizards who curled around her body. It was Beauty’s soothing presence that helped ease her back to sleep just before the first rays of sun sneaked past the horizon.

Chapter Text

Menolly was shocked to notice a number of parcels when she properly woke.  She had always been a light sleeper, always part alert, yet apparently someone had been able to sneak into her chambers while she slept, either multiple times or multiple someones to deliver these. It caused a shiver to run down her spine to realise how incredibly vulnerable she and her daughter had truly been, and yet she knew with bone-deep certainty that she was in no danger here. Her friends had clearly detected no threat to her, and she was quite certain that the dragons wouldn’t allow her to be harmed in such a situation.  

Her first truly safe place had been the Harper hall; it would seem that this was her second.

Though still rather dizzy and shaky, Menolly managed to reach the necessary without assistance this morning, and  allowed herself to feel quietly proud of the achievement. As she sat down on the edge of her cot Beauty alighted on her shoulder to nuzzle her head, and a sense of calm spread through her. Hearing someone in the passageway had her scrambling to appear less vulnerable, though the mild panic dissolved as soon as she felt the light mind-touch of an interfering green dragon, overlaid with amusement.

Menolly smiled as she reached over to search her nightstand for a comb equal to the task of taming her neglected tresses. She recalled Silvina’s horror at discovering the state of her clothing and possessions when they were still newly acquainted, and her insistence on maintaining a certain level of appearance to uphold Harper reputation. While she was certain that SIlvina would chide her for it were she here, beginning with something small gave Menolly a task, and a sense of not being completely idle.

When Mirrim entered the room, carrying a tray of breakfast, tonics, and a star-blighted ‘medicine’, with an old bag slung over one shoulder, Menolly had almost finished tying her hair back in a plait. Though Mirrim’s raised eyebrow betrayed her opinion, thankfully on this occasion she bit her tongue. Setting the tray down on the low table and accepting the gesture to the seat next to her friend’s cot as an invitation rather than commenting on harper stubbornness.

She nodded to where Beauty was vainly attempting to aid her mistress’ efforts,  “Sure you don’t want a hand there?”

Mirrim chuckled at her friend’s glare. “Right.” She paused, considering how to explain her failed attempt at recon at the Harper hall after delivering Piemur the day before. Path huffed impatiently, apparently in both  their minds.

Do you like the things we brought? Mirrim’s mate thought there were too many, but we disagreed. Then Monarth told him to bring his own mate something soft or shiny. Do you like shiny things too little Singer?

Menolly couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her then.

Sometimes I do like shiny things Path, or soft things. It’s a human thing. Like if Monarth brought you an especially delicious herdbeast, or saved you the warmest sunny spot on a cold day. Like when a dragon pair twine necks.

Path grunted, apparently understanding the motivation, but still puzzled by exactly why her rider might like to be presented with something shiny and not particularly useful.

You really are very strange creatures sometimes.

Menolly smiled wryly,’ Yes Path. Yes we are.’

Refocusing on her immediate surroundings Menolly saw her friend watching her with a bemused smile, “If you’ve completely finished gossiping with my dragon I have a few things to give you. We dropped Piemur off after warning the Hall that he was coming, and I tried to have a look around.” She grimaced, “It didn’t work. I’d never make a harper. I did run into several friends of yours though, most of whom wanted to be sure that you were being taken care off, and apparently thought that drowning you in gifts and donations was a good plan.” Mirrim rolled her eyes.

“T’gellan and I brought most of the things up last night, you didn’t wake so must have needed the rest. There were a couple though that I...I wasn’t comfortable just leaving, I gave my word I’d ensure you got them.”

Menolly looked the room over. “I might need some help sorting all this out,if you know anyone who might be willing to help?” Her eyes twinkled at the greenrider, known widely for her uncompromising ‘honesty’, Menolly usually enjoyed listening to her critiques when they were kept impersonal, sorting gifts together could be quite entertaining.

Mirrim smiled back, “Oh, I suppose I might be able to find someone to take on the task.”

Reaching into the satchel Mirrim withdrew the intricately carved box Master Robinton had given her and the letter which apparently went with it..

“This was given to us by the Masterharper, it seemed to be precious.” Mirrim fidgeted awkwardly, unsure if she ought to be present for Menolly opening the letter or not, the Harper may not be her lover in a conventional sense, but Mirrim thought that in some ways, what they shared was more intimate.

Menolly seemed to notice the change in her friend’s manner and caught her hand lightly, “Stay. Please.” Not wanting to make Menolly feel even more exposed Mirrim simply nodded and stilled, her presence an anchor for the young harpress.

Silent tears slipped down Menolly’s cheeks as she read, her elegant fingers absently caressing the complex lines on Robinton’s gift. If she hadn’t been listening to closely Mirrim might have missed the hitch in breath as one hand flew to her mouth and she set the letter aside, visibly trembling.

“Menolly? What’s wrong?”

Menolly shivered, looking up and seeing the concern writ on Mirrim’s features. “Did he tell you what it was at all?”

Mirrim shook her head in denial.

Menolly let out a shuddering sigh and, running her fingers reverently over the smooth wood, opened the box  with the greatest of care. Despite having read the accompanying message Menolly let out a soft gasp as she saw the exquisite necklace it contained.

A delicate string of pearls and tiny silver beads lay on a velvet pad, in the centre a silver d Master harper’s knot, delicately worked and set with a harper-blue sapphire.

Mirrim was speechless. Dragonriders wanted for nothing, and keeping the company she did, displays of wealth were not foreign to her, but this, this was different. Someone had intentionally commissioned this piece, undoubtedly crafted by a Master, and even she couldn’t guess at the value.

More significantly, though it was common to give one’s spouse a ring when one wed, or in some areas swap bracelets, the necklace was not quite pointed enough to be making a claim, nor to offend any hidebound tunnelsnakes, but more than clear enough to reveal someone’s heart.

“He had this made for you?” She finally asked her friend, and received a watery smile in return. “Oh no. Petiron had it made for Merelan. It belonged to Rob’s Mother. She was a Master Singer, but the Hall didn’t offer knots for that. For all she was respected, her rank as Master was never confirmed by the Harpercraft. In protest of her being denied official recognition Petiron decided to grant her knots that she could wear openly. He was proud of her at least.” She took a moment to recompose herself.

“Robinton’s kept it all this time, not given it to anyone else.”

Mirrim squeezed her hand in encouragement. “He didn’t love anyone else, did he.”

“He wants me to wear it to the impression feast.”

Mirrim watched Menolly carefully as she traced the silver knot. At least the man was being practical and not suggesting she wear it on the sands, the dress code rules existed for a reason.  Menolly seemed to be only half paying attention until Path demanded to see ‘the pretty’, drawing a more relaxed smile from the women, Mirrim shaking her head in amusement as Path huffed.

“Will you?”

Menolly hummed pensively. “I don’t know. Probably….What if someone notices though, or spreads rumours? He might change his mind…”

Mirrim couldn’t suppress the snort of disbelief then. “Menolly, he just gave you his Mother’s one of a kind, heirloom necklace. You don’t do that on a whim. He’s giving you his blessing publicly and at least to the poncy Lady holders who notice such things, he is openly declaring you as highly valued as a wife, approved by his family even. Not claiming you or trying to deter other men, just, y’know, expressing sentiment and regard. Plus, who could possibly be suited to  wear a harper-knot necklace better than you?”

Menolly felt tingly as she absorbed all the implications of his ‘simple’ gift.

She giggled and dashed a few stray tears from her eyes. “Well when you put it like that… It would be a crime to hide this away in a drawer for another ten or so turns.”

Mirrim joined her in giggling and the two quickly dissolved into hysterics. It was as they were recovering from this that the Masterhealer came upon them. The twinge of concern he felt at seeing Menolly so engaged was swiftly disregarded as he noted the healthier flush on her cheeks and recalled his Craftmaster openly declaring that laughter was the best medicine, anecdotal though the evidence was.

He’d have to interrupt to give her actual medicine, and water, but he could allow them their interlude, for now choosing to observe carefully.

When the two women had fully calmed Grest approached with his standard healer’s kit, and ordered Mirrim to stand back if she wished to remain, with Menolly’s permission of course

Mirrim was considering leaving when Menolly caught her wrist, a silent request for her to stay. She was surprised at the gentleness apparent in the Healer’s touch, the care he took over measuring everything correctly, though she supposed that she ought not to be. Accustomed as she was to treating dragons and wounded riders in emergency situations she often faced time constraints, and draconic injuries often required a great deal of strength to adequately treat. While Mirrim was no Brekke, she had learned much the way an apprentice healer would have, on the job, and without time to dither.  Menolly was far less abrasive than most injured riders though.

Mirrim never wanted to be treating her friend for threadscore, or worse.

The healer tidied everything neatly away and set his bag down, assured that he could still hear two heartbeats, and though still pale, Menolly seemed to be regaining strength.

He departed to fetch the appropriate teas and salve, added to the list of necessities having noted the tension in his patient’s muscles, and Mirrim had the satisfaction of returning to her place before he even left the room.

“If you feel up to getting dressed we could try one of the gowns or tunics sent over from the Hall. Faranth knows there’s enough to find something you like here. Don’t worry, I’ll help you balance.”

Menolly let Mirrim root through the maternity clothes for something ‘suitable’, knowing it soothed the woman to be doing something useful, and enjoying the feeling of being cared for more than she expected to.

“Ha! There.” She waved a dark green, knee-length tunic in Menolly’s direction. “It’s soft, easy to launder, loose sleeves for when they want to check you, and pretty enough without unnecessary embellishment. Comfortable and functional, without being mustard yellow or grey. I don’t think you are off bedrest right now really, so it’s not like you need to be attired for company or meetings…. and matching slippers! Well, almost matching. Same colour at least. I know your feet are still sensitive. An underskirt would only hinder mobility and right now yours is compromised enough.”

Menolly gratefully accepted. She missed her students and peers, not to mention certain Masters at the hall, but it was nice to have some down to earth female company, she doubted her fellow Journeymen would be quite as at ease, Or useful in such a situation. Not even Sebell.

“Thanks Mirrim, that’s ideal. All I have to do now is make it through the day without attracting any more attention or creating any further dissent.”

Of course if her life had ever been that simple she would never have found herself in this situation.

By the time Master Grest returned with his delivery Menolly had managed, with Mirrim’s help, to don some clean day wear and the two were studiously looking over the music and lyrics that two Master Harpers had sent, Menolly humming the tune for her almost musically illiterate friend.

Tucking himself neatly into the corner with a project was fine, and it was easy to ‘not listen’ to the girls conversation, as Master Oldive insisted they all learn to do. It was harder to not notice when the humming became multi-tonal, and steadily louder

When The Weyrleaders burst into the chamber, buzzing with energy, it was no longer possible and he gave up the fight.

F’lar was staring at the Harpress as she sang with the firelizard chorus, oblivious with her eyes closed until an unmistakable voice broke through her concentration.

“You! So you are the reason that Mnementh was panicking about my Queen humming in the hatching ground?” Mirrim winced. Shrill Lessa was never a good sign.

“You owe the Weyrleader and Mnementh quite the apology for that. May I assume from the choir in here and sheet-music you are holding that Ramoth’s humming is not in fact indicative of a premature hatching, and the bronzes can kindly stand down?”

Menolly felt the blush spread through her, mortified by the apparent effect on the Weyr residents.

“NO, I mean no, it wasn’t intentional, Weyrwoman. I was only...I was practising, singing a lullaby, I didn’t realise anyone was listening. I’m sorry. Weyrleader F’lar, Weyrwoman Lessa, it won’t happen again.”

‘I hope’ she added mentally. Somewhere a bronze dragon snorted, and F’lar’s eyes unfocused, allowing the twitching at the side of his mouth to turn into a true smile.

“Just try to make sure it doesn’t. Mnementh says that he thinks a personal apology from you to each bronze is punishment enough, and also that your daughter is fortunate to have such soothing rhythms to listen to. Apparently he believes that had I the talent you possess my own hatchling may have been...calmer.”

The little weyrwoman appeared to stop seething as her mate spoke, of course she could hear Mnementh easily and would have eavesdropped the conversation.

“Not likely. F’lessan was never going to be docile. Fine. I agree,a  personal apology to each over involved bronze, and when the declare you fit enough, you can go and serenade the clutch for a set. With Ramoth.” Menolly tried to smother her groan and failed. Shells and shards. Maybe if she actually tried to be a nuisance she’d have a quieter life. Oh dear.

As the Weyrleaders swept from the room to return to...well whatever they were supposed to be doing, Mirrim unfroze, grimacing. “I guess you have a lot of ridiculous apologising to paranoid bronzes to do, I’ll leave you to get on with it. Oh, and skip Monarth, I’ll make sure he and T’gellan get a talking to.” She winked and left Menolly to her task, and her music. At least Ramoth seemed to enjoy it, and surely that was more important.

Perhaps she could listen in on Menolly’s mind later, and not panic all the males in the Weyr by joining in.

Chapter Text

After that Menolly was without visitors for a day and a half, left with only the healer when she was awake. It took her half of that time to recall that Benden was due to fly threadfall yesterday, which meant all hands on deck, no one old enough to carry water was left unoccupied.

The relative peace was surprisingly pleasant, a relief from their visits and fussing. Her restless fair took up defensive positions, and the greens disappeared during the actual threadfall, she assumed to fight, but no one else appeared, leaving her to occupy herself.

Most of this she spent immersing herself in the ancient personal diaries of various Lady Holders, and allowing Robinton’s music to seep into her soul.

It was a revelation.

She wondered just how many of the ranking women alive today were in a constant personal battle, whether the ridiculous elaborate costumes worn to gathers might not be better regarded as battle armour. The complexities and pressures revealed in the words of long dead women were at once obvious, and shocking. All wives were expected to breed, of course they were, else who would work the land or provide when one was elderly or infirm? The Lady holders however had the expectations of not only their husband and family, but the entire Hold, and apparently the other Lady Holders, if they expected to retain their rank.

Failure could mean civil conflict, blood feuds, a major Hold in contention. She hadn’t understood turns ago why Jaxom’s impression had been greeted with more hostility and anger than congratulations or pleasure. Now she did, as a Harpress, she had spent more time than she’d like to playing politics and nudging people in the ‘correct’ direction. Subtlety was key, ideally the subject would never realise they were being manipulated at all. Yet as long as she had been engaging in such games, and missions, she had always had the sanctuary of the Harper Hall waiting for her. She had never been without any refuge from that arena, where one mistake could have consequences that stretched generations.
The Lady Holder’s apartments may serve thus if her marriage was amiable, but too easily that could be compromised, and she knew there were too many records here for all of them to have been happy ever after ballads. She had a romantic heart, but Menolly was no fool, and romanticism without pragmatism could be deadly. Sometimes she wished she could be so foolhardy, then she might be brave enough to have accepted Master Robinton, yet she could never quite quell the logic, and the evaluative contemplation that had saved her turns ago, then allowed her to not only survive the male dominated harper hall and overwhelming opposition, but thrive there.

Masterharper Robinton was so central a character in Pernese establishment and political dynamics anyone connected to him was endangering themselves, willingly for the most part.  Anyone he was seen to be at all intimate with became a pressure point, and a way to get to the Harper. She had never wanted that, though Sebell had seemed almost entirely immune to it. Of course he never had to dissuade quite so many heir-apparents to back off and leave him be. Yet another good reason to forgo the fine frocks in favour of practical tunic and trous, in her opinion, as it seemed to act as a deterrent, nonsensical as that was.

She doubted that the perception of ‘boyishness’ would hold now though, perhaps it’s replacements of ‘whore’, and ‘slut’ would suffice, she mentally rolled her eyes and ruthlessly cut off that train of thought. There was nothing to be gained from that.

Thrown out of her reading when she came across the first mention of a bastard of the blood, Menolly sighed and set it aside deliberately. She knew it was common to find promiscuity in the Lords and their sons, but still found herself stung by the blatant double standards.

It was time for a break anyway. She turned to find that whilst she had been absorbed in her reading the healer had brought her a glass and a jug of fresh water. Pouring herself some and sipping slowly she felt the cool liquid soothe the ache in her throat. Sharding hormones. She really would like to get through a day without crying. One day. This day though she would allow herself to feel freely  and weep if the tears came. Today she would take any evidence that her little one was still fighting. She allowed herself to smile as she tasted salt, and accepted the emotional turmoil, feeling her conscious mind drifting into unconsciousness. When she awoke it was to find that her furs had been tucked carefully around her on the couch she’d fallen asleep on, Brekke was sitting next to her murmuring soothing nonsense to her, and brushing the hair back from her face.

The fog of sleep began to clear and Menolly’s hand automatically went to her abdomen, unconsciously seeking reassurance. Propping herself up she rubbed her eyes, grimacing as she realised her face badly needed washing to feel vaguely normal.

Menolly mumbled her thanks as the older woman proffered a mug of water, and some dry toast, still warm. The healer must have noticed her stirring and expected this. Faranth she hated the nausea that still so often greeted her in the morning.

As her focus returned the harpress remembered that her friends had flown thread earlier and was struck by a wave of concern for their absence, “Mirrim?” She managed to ask in a steady voice, recalling Brekke’s own personal experience with threadscoring and harm.

Shaking her head very slightly Brekke brushed her fingers across Menolly’s and held her gaze, “She’s fine, and Path, but T’gellan was caught very slightly earlier, so I doubt she’ll be up for a while. It’s always a shock, and she’ll have a need to take care of him, after she verbally eviscerates the man for scaring her.” Menolly relaxed.  If Brekke could smile and tease then there really wasn’t any need to worry, and she could be confident it was a mild injury. The fact that it had happened at all though made her shudder, and made the whole idea of her own candidacy seem at once more immediate and more abstract.   It was suddenly hard to breathe as the enormity of what she was risking hit her. Not that she hadn’t considered it at all, but she was beset by many other concerns that had worked to distract her insofar. T’gellan’s brush with thread removed that protective lack of immediacy, she could feel the room beginning to spin and hear Brekke’s anxious voice as though a tunnel, yet the words didn’t make sense. Suddenly a sharp voice pierced through her distress, male this time, calm and commanding. Menolly closed her eyes to stop the spinning and focused on the draconic anchor, the unfamiliar mind flooding her with a sense of calm and peacefulness, gently grounding her and directing. Brekke. He wanted her to reassure Brekke. She could do that, that was simple, open her mouth. Speak. She did as she told, wondering why he needed that, what Brekke was to him.

MIne. She is F’nor’s, and F’nor is mine. That makes Brekke also mine.

Okay. Well that made a kind of sense at least. Menolly opened her eyes to see Brekke standing before her, white as snow. She frowned, noticing the gentle woman swallow hard, before she seemed to control herself and take her seat again, deciding to ignore the fact that her hands were still trembling slightly, unusual in the steadfast and reliable healer.

Menolly smoothed out her expression, hoping to set her friend more at ease. Brekke was easy to be with. Able to sit in companionable silence or radiate comfort in a way that was rare, at least in Menolly’s experience, and the two women genuinely enjoyed spending time together, often having a quiet chat over klah, especially when the riders were busy, and non-riders were left to their own tasks or leisure. Leisure time was no less novel to Menolly now than when she had first been introduced to the concept of ‘restday’s. No one in a Seahold got ‘restdays’.  She suspected that was the case for most small holders, at least those who were ruled by the wind and weather. Or breeding seasons, she supposed.  

For obvious reasons Brekke hated being left without a task at such times, and needed distractions, or at the very least companionship.

As the toast that Brekke had kindly brought settled in her stomach, klah began to seem to Menolly  like a very good idea indeed.  

Brekke was glad that when Menolly suggested some fresh klah for them she didn’t notice how closely Brekke was watching her lips move and concentrating. Perhaps it had been an anomaly, she wanted to think mistake , but Brekke was no fool, and with any patient, friend or no, she was always alert. Definitely not something to pass onto Lessa. At least not yet.

Bloody harper woman.

She loved her friend but sometimes it was tempting to shake the woman for her insistence on defying every rule or norm. Even the ones no one had noticed.

It was too early for this shit.

Klah. They needed klah. Questions would be asked if she took the Benden red. Especially to a pregnant woman. Brekke made her way slowly to the kitchens. This was one thing she was more than happy to leave to Ramoth’s keen observation. She felt as though involving either of the Weyrleaders would be a betrayal of Menolly, and though she knew what she had ‘heard’, she still planned to have a quiet discussion with Canth, who had been inside Menolly’s mind.

 So far all that she had managed to get from him was that he liked Menolly’s mind and it was ‘warm and open’, whatever that meant.

Absorbed in her reflections Brekke almost walked straight into Manora, only avoiding a collision when the Headwoman ducked out of the way, gasping she apologised profusely, but the old woman merely dusted off her apron and smiled gently at her.

As far as Manora was concerned, Brekke was her daughter in all but blood, and for all she’d told the Weyrwoman long ago the those of the lower caverns disregarded blood relationships, Manora was absolutely certain that without Brekke, F’nor’s self appointed mission to the Redstar would have been fatal.  She would be forever grateful to the girl for saving him, and for keeping Canth here .

She almost asked what had the woman so agitated that she didn’t notice her surroundings, but something about the confusion visible in Brekke’s eyes held her back. If it was important F’nor’s weyrmate would come to her later, when she had composed her own thoughts. Manora was old enough to appreciate the value of patience. So often exercising just a little would grant far better results than pursuing a topic someone was not ready to discuss, or share. Instead she smiled warmly at the flustered woman and carried on her way, leaving the usually composed healer in her wake.

When Brekke returned to Menolly’s chambers with their klah, she found the Master healer just finishing his exam.

“A full sevenday of proper bedrest. If you remain stable we'll consider you resuming light teaching duties. I’ll have Manora assign you an assistant from the older children for any fetching and carrying. If you want to do this then you will use that assistance.”

Brekke chuckled. She could well imagine the independent harpress pushing the boundaries too soon. The warning was well placed.

As he tidied away the tools of their craft, Brekke brought over their drink and joined Menolly on the couch. Once again the lessening of anxiety showed in her features, and the relaxing of her posture.

“So, are you going to send one of your fair to tell Master Robinton? Perhaps SIlvina too, judging by the abundance of provisions she sent over?”

Menolly nodded, feeling calmer than she had for a long time.

“Yes. Beauty and Diver can carry the messages. I think I’ll send Rocky to Domick too, he’s quite involved with everything, and cares more than he’d like anyone to know. Grinning, Brekke handed her a full mug of steaming klah, “Just like so many good men. Stubborn, and bad at feelings?” Menolly shook her head, smirking.

“How he expects to convince everyone he’s a cold-hearted, cynical bastard, when he writes such astonishing and moving music, I don’t know. How so many believe it is even more puzzling, they’re all idiots.” Brekke couldn’t hold back the giggle that rose at the sight of Menolly’s disgusted expression.

“I’m sure they are. Nevertheless it is the reputation he wants , for whatever reason. Most people are less sensitive to the passion in music than you are. I suspect that you are one of the few on Pern that are privileged to hear every element of such beautiful music as he writes.”

It wasn’t a point that Menolly could argue.

She couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for those who were unable to understand the intricacy of music like a second language. Even Beauty seemed to understand. She wondered if it was a natural trait or an influence from her mistress. Perhaps the dragons would know; she made a mental note to ask later and see what they thought. For now she resolved to try and relax with a friend after she sent the necessary messages to the Hall.

Chapter Text

Harper Hall

Master Oldive sneaked into the Hall after dark, insofar as he could sneak. It wouldn't do to be seen visiting the Masterharper. People were so very prone to panic.

He couldn't help being a little concerned for his friend though. Robinton would keep working with one good arm, and never sought out a healer for anything non serious. For him to ask now was… Not good.

When he arrived at Robinton’s chambers he found the fire well stoked, his favourite chair out, and a tray of drinks. Either it was a social summons, or something serious. Looking carefully at his friend he realised it was the second and felt a wave of sadness wash over him. Lips not as pink as they ought to be, a slight tinge to his skin that suggested poor oxygen flow. Oldive knew what that meant, and had no way to compensate for or prevent age. His own old bones and aching joints were testament to that.

The news was unwelcome to Master Robinton, but not unexpected after the episodes he had been having recently.

The grim look Oldive had worn as he left reinforced his own somber mood.

He no longer had the luxury of time. Most of the Lords knew Sebell well now, it was time to openly hand over more duties. Oldive had been clear. Working this intensely, neglecting himself, with so much stress, he’d have maybe another 6 months before his heart could not continue. If he was to pass on the mantle and reduce his activities to less stressful ones, he might get another two turns before that happened. It certainly simplified his choice of whether or not to retire, as Silvina had suggested.

He’d always found ‘pride and joy’ an odd turn of phrase. In Robinton’s experience there was very little that was more of an obstacle to joy than pride.

Now that he was presented with the choice of his personal pride as Masterharper, or seeing the joy of his family with Menolly, unorthodox as they may be, it really couldn’t have been simpler.

The warning had been issued, he now must heed it, and prepare his craftsmen for his successor taking over. He’d still be involved, he couldn’t leave all he’d ever known, and he’d still be on hand to consult, but the leadership would pass to Master Sebell.

The one other certainty he held, was that he would never tell Menolly of his meeting with Oldive. She would notice soon enough, even with her blindness to his age, but until then he would try to provide her with security and happiness to the best of his ability.

Only a handful of people would openly question what prompted the decision, none of whom leaked. Domick was unnervingly observant when it suited him, Silvina had known him since girlhood and could read him better than anyone, and Shonagar had known him as long. They’d never believe he chose to give up his position without a serious push.

Fortunately he had a little time to organise it.  A decent night’s sleep was in order, and then he could summon Sebell in the morning. They had plans to make. He smiled. At least this way they would both be at the Benden hatching to support Menolly. He was not the only man who was introducing the next in line steadily. No eyebrows would be raised over this, especially not with the far better gossip of an illegitimate child to overwhelm such things.

Robinton settled down for the night and let sleep take him

………….

………….

Benden Weyr

Menolly was glad to see her fair settle down after their disturbed night. She had ended up sending the two bronzes out for a night flight to get some rest. She knew from experience that they often had reason for being agitated, but since none of the nine had been able to provide a coherent image or thought, Menolly had sent them off in exasperation.

The following dawn found them calm and so she gave it no further thought. There was enough already to worry about, and she felt more wherry brained than ever, her slips raising smiles from Brekke, and giggles from Mirrim. She found that their company buoyed her more than she had expected. The men of the Harper Hall were by no means uncaring, and she didn't doubt that her male friends would have been protective and done their level best to support her. Somehow despite knowing that, she still found the female companionship a boon, and more comforting than it ought to be. Silvina had been correct again. Not that that was unusual.

She was almost recovered enough to begin discussing practical details with the Weyrwoman when Lessa came around that afternoon, her only warning given by Ramoth, mere moments before her rider blew into Menolly’s quarters.

Mirrim, who had been with her, quickly stood and gestured ‘good luck’ to her friend.

Lessa rolled her eyes. “You may stay, if Menolly permits it.” A glance at her friend and the answering nod had her sitting silently back down.

“Oh, for Faranth sake! I am not going to eat you! Stop looking like you are waiting for a snake bite if you want to avoid weyrling watching next rest day.” Mirrim shuddered, she had quite enough experience in that, and as T’gellan’s weyrmate she often ended up helping with the training anyway.

A snigger escaped the harpress at the sight of her friend being chastised like a simple weyrbrat. Path found it less funny. If her rider got stuck with the weyrlings, she got lumbered with the energetic antics of their dragonets.

She would never make the mistake of underestimating the Benden Weyrwoman, but she wondered how much of her prickly nature was a defence mechanism.

There seemed to be only three people who the older woman could relax in the presence of, and Menolly knew that it was difficult to be friends with those who had to obey you. Not many were capable of fully maintaining the differentiation of two relationships, and the Weyrwoman outranked everyone. In and outside of the Weyr.

Menolly however had maintained both personal and professional relationships with the Masterharper, the Master composer, and to a certain extent Lord Groghe, strictly off the records of course. Well, she amended, thinking back to her hidden gift, off most of the records.

Mirrim had been raised in the Weyrs, where the senior Weyrwoman was the ultimate authority. Rebellion against that kind of training was not easy. She ought to know.

There was a long suffering sigh from beside her. “Honestly Menolly, concentrate girl. Ramoth can't come and fish you out of your own mind every time you get lost in it. She's a busy Queen.” If the amused snort was any indication, Ramoth harboured no such sentiment.

“Is that the real reason for making me a candidate? I am distracting your own, personal companion and it's annoying?” her voice was teasing and expression plainly mock innocent. She did not want to create misunderstandings between Craft and Weyr, but refused to compromise her own character after finally carving a place for herself. If she was to give it up to remain here, she needed to be certain that she would be welcome as she was. Otherwise resentment would grow, life partner or no.

Lessa cocked an eyebrow,  “Someone is feeling better.” Menolly felt herself relax.

Waving in the vague direction of a seat she ignored Mirrim’s look.

“It is most definitely not the reason, only a benefit of draconic jealousy of their riders attention, especially to other dragons.” the twinkle in her eye gave lie to her words.

“You have been considering things since agreeing to stand and have questions, obviously. I wish to address your concerns if possible.”

Menolly felt some of the worries she'd had lifting.

“I don't want to be separated from my baby. If I do impress though I expect there will be many demands on my time, especially as the hatchling grows, so if there is a suitable woman in the lower caverns willing to act as a wetnurse when I cannot be present I would like to meet her.

I have no idea what to do about fostering. I won’t consider it before the babe is weaned, and need to be an active part of raising her, here or at the Hall. Her father and I will decide together. A weyr will need to have space for her, as well as a dragonet, but a little one won't take up much space.

The robe for standing on the sands needs let out a little, and my needlework skills are out of practice, so if it is an important garment you might prefer to let someone else loose on it.”

Lessa nodded impatiently, they already knew all of this, but she had allowed Manora to persuade her into asking anyway. F’nor’s mother was not Headwoman for nothing, and had spent time with Menolly in the past. Moreover, she spent much more time with expectant mothers than Lessa had.

In her drudging turns pregnancy and childbirth became extremely risky for Ruathan Holder women. Any woman under Fax’s tyranny really.  Helping them meant visibility, and that meant risking what was wrongly termed ‘vengeance’.

Not worth it.

After F’lessan’s birth she had avoided expectant mothers intentionally for a period, though thankfully the only one to mention it was Manora. Now of course she took the wellbeing of the Weyr and weyrfolk as paramount and such things were hardly significant, but she often delegating certain matters to the Headwoman, especially if it primarily concerned non-riders and those of the lower caverns. She and her second organised any fostering required, so Menolly’s situation was somewhat outside of the Weyrwoman’s comfort zone.

Give her dragons and politics of crises any day over emotional women.

Shaking herself out of such reflections Lessa waved a hand curtly. “Yes, yes, of course that will be easily sorted, though I cannot say I hold any great attachment to the majority of such robes, even my own. A basket or small cot can certainly be easily arranged, and I’ll speak to Manora about organising a wet nurse. If there is no one suitable in the lower caverns then we will just have to bring in a suitable girl, perhaps in a similar position to yourself.”

Menolly’s brow rose “A harlot you mean?”,  but her eyes sparkled with mirth and Lessa’s lips twitched. She appreciated the harpress’s ability to maintain a sense of humour in such circumstances, and more that dark humour did not offend the young woman.  A weyr was always a place that practiced a certain level of gallows humour, existing as they did alongside constant danger.

“Oh definitely, the sluttiest of harlots that ever was seen.  I think  I’ll let Ramoth pick. She likes you and the little one.” Menolly nodded, knowing that the Weyrwoman and Headwoman would ensure that only someone who was completely free of any diseases would ever be brought to live at the Weyr. They may have had looser rules regarding promiscuity and relationships, but they were assiduous about sexual health as a result, and kept clear records of births. Especially as there were fewer than in holds, due to the frequent trips between that made it harder to carry to term.

Mirrim was quiet, watching the two, unaccustomed to seeing her friend at ease and confident as she spoke with the elite of Pern. Knowing the Menolly who was the Masterharper’s joint second, his ears and his voice in his absence, and seeing the effects of that in practice was not the same thing. It was fascinating in a way. She remained silent, certain that the moment her presence was remembered the Weyrwoman would  instantly stiffen again, donning what apparently was the mask of cold authority she always displayed around mere greenriders and weyrbrats.

“Then I think that for now all we can do is wait and see what happens”, Menolly continued.

“The dragons may always know, but even they shouldn’t count eggs before they hatch. If all of the most immediate needs are taken care of then the rest will come in time. I...I don’t want to tempt danger. So little is certain.”

Lessa nodded, she knew well the tight, hard ball of fear and uncertainty that remained in the pit of your stomach after such complications. The one that didn’t quite dissolve until you held the baby safe in your arms, if you got to do so. The way you never quite say the words, just in case, no matter how little you may believe in silly superstitions.

Menolly had shared some of the more bizarre ones from the Hold she grew up in, sailors being particularly superstitious folk as a group. Isolation did strange things to people.

Really it was amazing that Menolly had turned out as well as she had.

Ramoth hummed her agreement through both women’s minds, flushing Menolly’s cheeks.

Clearing her throat, Lessa stood awkwardly,  banter was fine, but sentiment still left her uncomfortable, especially if there were any witnesses . Dragons didn’t count.

“Yes, well, that’s plenty to be getting on with I suppose. If you’ve the robe to hand I can take that to Manora now, since there are things we must discuss anyway.”

Menolly shifted, indicating the neatly folded garment.

“You will of course update Ramoth if anything changes or occurs, she is the fastest way to communicate with the Weyr leadership should such a thing be necessary.  Do try and get some rest harper-girl. If you can with all the bustle and noise.” Menolly understood that she meant more than simply the people, but shared the experience of trying to bar the external stimuli of dragon chatter from a tired mind.

“I will. Thank you Weyrwoman.”

She hoped that the use of Lessa’s title would indicate that she could be both human, and still have Menolly’s full respect as a Weyrwoman, allaying any concern rather than cause her to close off further. It appeared to as the tiny woman straightened up and left without her shoulders stiffening or lips pressing into the thin line that was one of her tells for displeasure. Master Robinton had it drilled into his own ‘taps’ to identify such things, to subtly study the expressions, unconscious habits of those around them. It was useful, and could stop all but the most stuffy of Lords actually boring you to sleep.   That was emphatically discouraged.

Really there was only one major concern that she had yet to raise with the weyrleadership, and as it was strictly off the record and need to know only, Mirrim couldn’t be present for the discussion. Nor could Brekke really.

Her baby had been conceived on Southern shores, but that was hardly the only trip harpers had made, and much of it was due to a certain power- hungry Holder. Settlement was a sensitive issue and she had been a minor part of negotiations earlier that turn, before realising her condition.  The plans that had not been shared with Benden would have required her to take on a more significant part in that over the next few turns. She wasn’t sure what the revised plans would entail, but the man was dangerous for too many reasons. In her own experience the slick tongued ‘charming’ men were far more dangerous than your average rough- edged crafter or crude cotholder. That was one lesson that her mother had given all of her daughters. She grimaced. Not that it had exactly done the job of keeping every grandbaby the right side of the marriage furs, but close enough.

She snorted as she recalled her sister’s mooning over Petiron’s replacement. The man wasn’t like Sebell, but he had certainly managed to escape the clutches of what he’d termed ‘harridans and poachers’. She couldn’t really disagree, especially when he’d listed Alemi as the best wife of the lot.  His name was long forgotten, irrelevant as it had seemed to her new life, but they’d crossed paths a few times, and after he’d apologised profusely and infuriatingly  for what he perceived as a failing, she’d enjoyed his sense of humour. He was much happier with his  current teaching position, landlocked as it was. She understood. Even after five full turns in Fort she sometimes missed the sea air, the taste of salt and sound of whistling reeds.

She wondered what sounds and tastes her daughter would miss. Where she would grow, what she would learn..

Another mental voice called her name, Path this time she knew, sending a wave of appreciation and seeing her friend chuckle next to her. Raising the klah to her lips and sipping she grimaced.

“Shards that’s awful. Cold, and bitter. It’s not drugged, is it?”

“Not this time. Just the baby getting her own back I think by making everything taste wrong.”

“She didn’t make it cold.”

Mirrim shook her head, smiling, “Nope. That happened all on it’s own while your mind was between. I can blame the Weyrwoman if you like…” Mirrim smirked as she took the offending mug.

“Faranth, no! I’m not sure I’d try that even with a full grown dragon at my back.”  There was silence for a long moment, before Mirrim started cackling, drawing Menolly in again, and grounding her firmly once more in the present.

Chapter Text

The Harper Hall

Sebell  accepted his delightfully hot klah with a sigh of relief, apparently he was out of the wher kennel with the female staff today.  Taking Kimi, perched on his shoulder, to the kitchens for some of the offal and offcuts they set aside for the resident firelizards he was surprised to find not a kitchen drudge, but Silvina, waiting by the tables. The pinched look and dark smudges under her eyes were obvious enough to grab his attention even before she took his elbow and steered him rapidly away from the common areas.

As soon as they could speak more freely Silvina started speaking in hushed tones. “Whatever is said in there this morning, you are not going to share, and I want your word that you will think very carefully before you speak. The Harper has never been good at taking care of himself, never really prioritising it, and that has taken it’s toll. It’s beginning to catch up with him. You are ready for whatever comes next.”

She left him as they rounded the corner to the Masterharper’s study.

From the second he entered the room Sebell knew that something was different. The atmosphere was heavy, and Master Robinton was leaning back in his chair, his eyes closed, a relaxed look on his face that didn’t look familiar and spread unease through the younger man.

“Master Robinton?” The Masterharper looked up and catching Sebell’s eye smiled, though it did little to alleviate his concern.

“Good morning Sebell, take a seat, please. Tell me, how is Kimi this morning?” Sebell cleared his throat, he ought to have realised Robinton would notice that.

“AH...Much better Sir. I think I may even be forgiven by the kitchen staff now.”

Robinton steepled his fingers under his chin and observed the man before him. Someone he’d watched grow from a boy into a capable, calm man. He was well able to lead now, respected and trusted by the other craftmasters, known by the Blooded families. He’d known it would be a bittersweet thing to pass on the mantle, even to begin the transition, but he knew that he would serve the Harpercraft, and the people of Pern to the very best of his abilities. Just as he himself had, and would, he knew, continue to do, albeit in an altered capacity.

A slow smile spread across his face.

“Come Sebell, there is much to discuss, and even more to do.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Benden Weyr

Menolly had managed to recreate some of the barriers in her mind, that had muted the dragon chatter again. She was glad of the exposure to such background noise at the harperhall as the training of ignoring tuning, scales, drums, chatter, and more now came in useful.

She was almost comfortable with the faint hum that still got through but, it was nice when one mind blocked the others from her periphery.

Good Morning Ramoth.

Indeed, Little Singer. Mnementh brought me a particularly plump herdbeast this morning.

The satisfaction was clear in her tone and Menolly chuckled, she sounded just like a woman whose lover had brought her fancy sweetbreads or fruits.

That was kind of him. Guarding the clutch must make it difficult at times. She paused, unsure how to continue with the queen.

Ramoth, you told me of… of a daughter. Of Prideth. I promised then that she would be remembered, but before I can fulfil that I need your permission to give something to Lessa, and to the Masterharper. I couldn’t sleep, I kept dreaming. When I was awake I kept hearing wisps of a melody, and I had to write them down. I have the raw version of Prideth’s song, but I want to know what you wish me to do with that. Allow it to be played when polished, or give it to you, Mnementh, and the Weyrleaders alone.

Ramoth’s tone was tight, and laden with her emotion.  Even if Menolly had been unable to feel the intensity of draconic feelings she would have understood.

Thank you Little Singer. We will not forget this. You have my permission to allow your Masters to look over it when you are happy to show them. I will make my decision about it being played when you are satisfied with the refinement.

As Ramoth withdrew from Menolly’s mind and left a lingering sense of calm, the master healer approached, offering a quiet greeting as he noticed the pensive look on her face.  

Menolly offered him a small smile in response, glad he respected her mood without prying.

They were working out a smoother morning routine now, the examination taking minimal time and Menolly getting used to the vile concoctions she was expected to drink. She could tell by the colour how revolting they would be.

This morning’s offering  was murky green. She glared at it to no avail.

Mirrim says to close your eyes and down it.  No looking, no thinking, and she promises to bring you a reward if you are good.

Menolly mentally grumbled at her friend’s green.

Traitor.

She got the feeling that if grown dragons could stick their tongues out, Path would be doing so right now.

Sometimes dragons could be surprisingly childish. For some reason it made a warmth bloom in her chest, a feeling she didn’t want to dwell on too much.

Recognising the wisdom in her friend’s suggestion she followed the advice, quashing her stomach’s rebellion and controlling her breathing, blessing the hours with Master Shonagar that he insisted every apprentice and Journeyman put in on basic exercises until it became instinct.

It may be the most bewailed class in the Hall, outside of Morshall’s, but it most certainly paid dividends. She resolved to get him a decent gift for turnover, he didn’t like mid-term ones as there were always a couple of misguided students who attempted bribery. A giggle escaped her as she realised just how well she knew the senior masters as people, not just figures. Knew their foibles and habits, personal likes and dislikes. Only five turns ago they were as close to legend as Moreta herself, and she had fully expected them to remain so

They had become her family.

As the only woman at the hall she had always had to be careful to maintain a measure of decorum to combat the rumours that she had shagged her way into the good graces of various masters. She was surprised there wasn’t a hole worn in the back of her door where she had thumped her head after particularly infuriating days. She had plenty of loyal defenders, human and firelizard, thankfully, and apparently now draconic, but it still seemed ridiculous to need them.

Of course now she was the anomaly in yet another place, and didn’t that just confirm that she was an oddity all over Pern, Hold, Craft, and Weyr. She could almost hear Robinton’s voice telling her that she was being melodramatic, and wouldn’t he just know!

Mirrim walked in with nary a knock or a call, apparently assuming that Path’s assurance that Menolly was awake and adequately nourished as more or less an invitation to stop by her chambers. Catching Menolly’s undignified snort at her imaginings she lifted an eyebrow in question.

“Nothing. Morning Mirrim.”

She smiled in response and waved something with obvious enthusiasm, “I brought you redfruit! The best kind, illicit and delicious.” Menolly grinned. Sassy Mirrim always did cheer her up.

“Thanks. I hope you ‘acquired’ some for yourself too.” The greenrider threw her a cheeky wink.

“Oh yes. The beauty of weyring with a bronze wingleader who appreciates you. Although I may have to show a little extra appreciation myself tonight. Just to reinforce the lesson.” Mirrim was clearly rather looking forward to that as well, and as much as she loved her friend, Menolly decided this was one of the times it was better not to ask. She’d already had the benefit of some extremely detailed descriptions of certain pleasurable activities, and Menolly much preferred hers direct than vicariously.

She wondered if her preferences might have been different if she hadn’t impressed nine firelizards. Really she’d been too young at the time to have developed an awareness of her own tastes or patterns, and had far too many other things to be concentrating on to worry about such things, which were often classed with sentimentality by the holder women-  when they weren’t featuring in bawdy songs.

For her it was irrelevant now. Clearly now there was greater awareness of the nature of firelizards and so impression and gifts of firelizard eggs were more informed now, but there were certainly a great many young men and women who had stumbled upon the physical aspect of mating cycles unexpectedly.  How does one educate a population with little access to written texts and materials but with songs. A smile spread across her face as she contemplated it. As she began to consider what she should include her mirth bubbled over and Mirrim nudged her, “Now you have to tell me what has you laughing so, or I’ll be forced to have Path tell me. When Menolly could catch her breath enough to speak Mirrim stared at her for a full minute before she too collapsed in a fit of giggles. “Shards and shells, you have got to show me the unedited version of that! I’d help, but I honestly don’t think I could improve on your musical instruction manual for this. Oh my stars, please, please let me show T’gellan.”

Menolly tried to look sternly in her direction, but failed spectacularly, triggering another fit of giggling. Mirrim wiped tears from her eyes, righting herself. “Oh Menolly, thank you! I needed that. I solemnly promise to leave you to it, and not offer any immature suggestions, or practical advice if you promise to share it.”

Menolly shook her head, lips turned upwards. “Well clearly there is no hope for your redemption my wanton, depraved fiend- oops, friend. Depraved friend .”

Mirrim gave her a mock predatory look. “Well of course. Where’s the fun in wide eyed innocence when the weyr is full of so many delectable riders?”

Privately Menolly agreed. “Never trust wide eyed innocence. I stayed with holder girls, and they are the worst flirts. I swear, accessibility is the only possible reason dresses are insisted on over practical breeches.”

Mirrim’s mouth dropped open, “Oh my… You know I actually can’t think of a single other reason right now. Oh Faranth, the next time we’ve all the good Lords and Ladies assembled in their finery and frocks that’s all I’ll be able to think. The finer the frock the filthier the skirt flipping it  hides.”

“Nooo, Oh, that was  cruel Mirrim, you just..did you have to do that? The Hall is at Fort you know. Hard enough having to ignore the ridiculous number of sons the Lord Groghe has knocking about without that image in mind.” She shuddered expressively, matching Mirrim’s grimace.

“True enough. Maybe some of them just appear? Or are found by the fireplace?” Menolly spluttered, “Ok. Changelings then?”

Menolly looked momentarily horrified before reaching out.

“Path. I’m afraid your rider has misplaced her sanity. I have not had enough wine for this conversation. What do you think I should I do with her?

She heard Path pause as though thinking about the question.

‘If that is the problem, then send her to fetch more wine?’ came the cheeky response.

‘Why on Pern did I ever think you would help me against your rider? Overgrown lizard.’

Menolly smiled at Path’s feigned outrage.

“Oi! Stop insulting my dragon you… you foul-tongued harper!

Menolly arched a brow at her friend “Why Mirrim, I had no idea you had such delicate sensibilities. Perhaps the full version of my educational songs may be too much for such a fragile spirit.” Menolly saw her attempt a glare, which fell completely flat, Mirrim not having received the same training as the harpress had in acting, for performance or other, less public roles. “Hmm. Not bad. Could use some serious work though. I wouldn’t suggest challenging Lessa or Brekke with that mask.” Her friend gave up the approach of maturity and chose the childish response.

“Oh good, I feel most reassured about the responsible adult in charge of new weyrlings setting a positive example. Excellent.”

“No one ever said adults weren’t allowed to pull faces.”
Menolly snorted, “Only because they figured it wasn’t necessary.”

The two women fell quiet as a calm settled over the room- encouraged Menolly thought, by Path. She wondered if it felt this way to others when dragons reached out, or if their contribution all too often went unnoticed. Perhaps mating flight lust wasn’t an isolated phenomenon, merely an exaggeration of something always present, far less tangibly

Ramoth listened at a distance, trying to remember if her own rider had considered the level of effect that the dragon moods affected those around them.

It would be difficult to accurately measure, especially given how intensely her rider sometimes projected. Menolly was more open, more receptive, and really needed to learn to control her own emotions better, it was like being around a hatchling at times. Perhaps Lessa would help her; or Canth’s broken woman. Otherwise they would have to find some kind of mental fur to cover her mind with. It didn’t seem to bother the blues and greens in the slightest, but Ramoth and a couple of the bronzes found the leaking almost as distracting as Menolly had found their own. The Queen in her hoped fervently that adding a dragonet would not amplify Menolly’s thoughts. Maybe when the baby was born her emotions would stabilise enough for it to be a useful skill.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Harper Hall

Sebell looked at the pile of documents on the Masterharper’s desk as Robinton gazed out of the window onto the courtyard below.. There was no training that could fully prepare a person for this level of responsibility he reflected.

“I suggest, dear Sebell, that you are officially my deputy for another four sevendays, at which point we will hold a council of Masters and the election of a new Masterharper can take place. This time it’s really just a formality. I have made my choice quite clear, and the only one who could ever have presented a serious challenge is no longer able to do so. Obviously the voting itself is closed, but you will be included in the discussions beforehand, where any concerns or assurances may be aired prior to that.”
Sebell swallowed hard, nodding his understanding without interrupting his Master and friend.

“You will not have to do this alone, and I would urge you to choose one or two confidantes who you trust, and may draw strength and wisdom from. Not cynical old coots like myself or Domick, though you will always be welcome to ask.” He gave Sebell a measuring look and returned to his seat.

“Sebell, there is a passage between my chambers and the one that is often used by the spouse of the Masterharper. I cannot tell you what to do or make such a decision for you, but I will ask you to consider it for Talmor’s usage when he is in the Hall. Few of the younger masters and journeymen know of the connection to its traditional purpose, and the older ones that do will not comment. I know what he means to you, and though nothing with the human heart  is guaranteed, I believe that he will remain loyal to you, and trustworthy. He is a good man, and he cares about you as a person, not an authority figure. You will need that when you take my place. Someone to ground you. Someone to tell you when you are being an ass. Someone willing to drug you when you refuse to sleep.” He smiled, fond memories sweeping over him.

“Silvina has been my own confidante and close friend for many turns, alongside a couple of others, but she has been my ally for so long I cannot imagine doing any of it without her. She will help you to adjust too, and set the pattern for the Hall staff to defer to you and respect any orders you give. More recently there was My Menolly of course, and yourself, but her future is somewhat uncertain, the new opportunities make it difficult to predict well where she may end up. ”

Sebell breathed deeply, and drained the last of his klah. “And you sir? What will you do with all this freedom? It sounds as though you do not intend to stay in the Hall.”

Robinton smiled. Good, Sebell was paying attention.

“No, I don’t. It’s been my home for so long. I’ll miss it terribly, but I do believe that I ought to do a little exploring without it being on harper business, at least for a little while, don’t you? Plus, I have a hatching to attend, and a family to spoil. That’s tricky to do when you are working all the hours of the day you know. I realise your own family may be as unorthodox as my own, dear Sebell, and I encourage you, as Silvina once did for me, to consider all of your apprentices as your own sons- and hopefully daughters. It is difficult not to come to care for them in such a way when you see them grow and learn.

Before you can take on further duties for assigning or sorting various harpers you’ll need to read all of their files. There is basic information, notes on training, any significant incidents, and a personality profile, often with a portrait, but not always. Then we can review the plans for Turnover, some may need to be altered a little with this turn of events.”

Sebell felt a tight ball of fear in his gut. He knew his master, and he could see the tightness around his eyes, the pallor of his cheeks, and he knew that this was not pre-planned. Yes the response may be influenced by Menolly’s situation, but Sebell could see under that careful mask, that his master was hurting.

Strangely enough this was one of the situations that in the past Sebell would have delegated to Menolly, who could always reach their master somehow, and had an almost unbelievable talent for reading a room and managing the emotions of those around her. The intensity in her songs was testament to her empathy. It was one of the few things he’d ever envied her, never the musical talent that was woven into her core, but the ability to connect and understand what people didn’t say. He could do it. Had to as a Harper. Even more as a Masterharper. He always had to put effort into it though, concentrate a little, and Menolly barely noticed it was a thing.

“Sir? Robinton, are you ok? Will you tell me why now ? What the hurry to this is. It’s been discussed before, but you never truly committed; there was always something that just ‘came up’ or had to be resolved first. I know something happened.” Sebell quashed the urge to ask the one question that would taste like ash on his tongue.

Never had Robinton been more glad of his brilliant acting abilities and perfected control of his expressions. Careful to keep his tone neutral he allowed Sebell to see the seriousness in his own

“I required a visit from Master Oldive last night with regards to an old problem, and he expressed some concern about my work habits, rightly pointing out that I am no longer twenty turns. He suggested I may want to have a ...break… to spend time with my family. Babies do grow so very fast.” He wore an indulgent smile as he remembered Camo toddling around on pudgy legs and tugging at his mother’s skirts

Sebell kept his own expression neutral and tried to calm his pulse, he could easily read the meaning behind the Harper’s carefully chosen response.

“Menolly will be overjoyed to see you more often. I don’t think there’s anywhere on Pern you haven’t seen, but I knew a wise man once, who told me that there’s always something new to learn.”

Robinton smiled warmly as he grasped the younger man’s shoulder, “Thank you.” a roughness to his tone that surprised him, “For everything, thank you.”, and suddenly he was pulled into a tight hug. Refusing to let his sadness show Sebell returned the hug. “You have my word Robinton, whatever happens I will protect them. Menolly and your daughter will always have a safe place.”

Drawing back Robinton cleared his throat and located his goblet to soothe the burning ache in his throat, allowing him to sound cheery again. “You know I haven’t seen very much of the Southern continent yet. It’s just the type of weather recommended for old decrepit bones you know. Perhaps it’s about time for me to call in a few favours from old friends.” and Robinton threw Sebell a wink.

The Masterharper-in -waiting laughed, hoping that his friend and mentor would never change, whatever time was granted him. Whatever Robinton had been told was for him alone, and for now Sebell would enjoy his company and charisma.

If Robinton was serious about Southern though, it might just be worth pulling in some favours of his own, Sebell smirked.

“Well? Don’t just stand and daydream! You have reading to do Sebell. Off you go.” Master Robinton gestured towards his desk and grinned darkly.

Sebell looked at the large number of files and swore. “You are truly a harsh and merciless taskmaster, Sir.”

“And don’t you forget it, young man.”

Sebell smiled, a wave of affection sweeping over him. He knew today was different, it marked a change in his life, in both their lives but it was time, he knew, and if Sebell could give his master, and his friend some well deserved happiness together with Menolly, he would do so gladly. Turning his attention to the reports, Sebell found himself quickly absorbed enough to barely notice when Robinton left, citing a meeting with Master Domick.

Good. Thought Robinton. As it should be. He really did have something to discuss with Domick after all, so it wasn’t really a lie, and Robinton had always been somewhat flexible with the truth.

Chapter Text

Domick hadn't expected to see Robinton that day, certainly not loitering outside his quarters when classes had finished. He well knew the schedule of every teaching master, so at least the man couldn't have been waiting long. He was eager to warm up by a fire though, as would the Masterharper be. Domick had long since been banished to the furthest corner of the hall, gaining some notoriety turns ago as an anti-social, moody man, who kept any neighbours up by playing and composing at obscene hours. After a confrontation in the middle of the night it had been deemed best to assign Domick an apartment where he would cause least disruption. The only downside as far as he was concerned, was the poor heating. Worth it if he got peace from everyone else.

“Good afternoon Master Robinton. How surprising to see you here. Come in and I'll serve us some of the good  wine.“”

He accepted gladly. Following his friend into the living room he relaxed into the first available seat, trusting that Domick would have the sense not to comment. He did, simply raising a brow.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the company Rob, but  why have I been graced with a visit to the far reaches of your domain instead of the usual summons- disguised- as invitation?” He passed the Masterharper a cup. Goblets and really, anything prone to destruction, had rarely lasted long for Domick, and he was a practical man. Now almost all his possessions could survive being thrown in frustration, or dropped in a moment of inspiration… or knocked over by whooping, spinning firelizards.  

Those which were fragile with the sole exception of instruments,  hadn’t survived his driven tantrums and Menolly’s winged friends. Whoever had built the hall had not taken the flighty creatures into account.

He had no interest in acquiring one of his own, but had found he rather enjoyed the company of hers at times. They were well trained, loyal to a fault, and well used to a companion consumed by their composing. Watching the dynamics between Beauty and the others in her fair entertained him and had been a visual aid on more than one occasion for what he wished to do with sound.

Zair seemed to sense this consideration of his brethren and craned his neck to look at his master’s dour friend.

Robinton allowed himself a deep draught of the wine before responding, humming his appreciation of the vintage.

“Never were any flies on you Domick. If you can’t guess you at least have theories.”

The composition master snorted, “Theories are of no benefit to anyone without evidence, I can see what sits before me, but you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want to tell me. SO. I’m listening, old friend. Talk.”

     Robinton chuckled. He really hadn’t spared as much time as he’d have liked for enjoying company, as busy as he was always kept he hadn’t really noticed the lack in recent times.

He stretched his legs out until the joint’s cracked sighed. “Last night I had to call Master Oldive.” He grimaced, “Our good Masterhealer, in essence, diagnosed me with age. On the surface I have a choice, but you’re a sensible man, you know what that means. I was not- quite- ordered to hand over the reins of my position to my successor.”
“Sebell.”

Robinton nodded. “Obviously.”

Domick was silent for a long moment. “He’s a good choice. Not you, but he’s a solid harper, and dedicated. The younger ones look up to and admire him. We might have a problem with some of the older masters, over his young age.”

Robinton rolled his eyes. “I was at least as young when Genell tapped me for following him.”

DOmik cast a sharp look at him, “Your situation was different Rob, and you know it, even if you don’t like thinking about it. DO you want me to lean on our possible obstacles.”

Robinton felt guilt prickling at his consciousness. Huh. He didn’t think that his conscience was so sensitive these days. “Not really. I may however  need you to. Dropping a few hints ought to be enough for any in the Hall.”

Domick nodded and stroked his chin thoughtfully, eyes clouding. “Done. Or at least it will be, discreetly.”

Robinton’s eyes crinkled with suppressed mirth, “I’m never quite sure whether to be glad of your questionable scruples, or glad of the lack thereof.”

“Glad Rob, always choose glad, if it’s an option. I assume by your personal- touch visit that this is not common knowledge and you haven’t told Menolly yet?”

“You’re getting to be unnervingly perceptive about our interactions, you know that?”

Domick shrugged. “She hasn’t sent me any notes, or raw music, and Beauty isn’t present. Are you going to tell her?”

Robinton didn’t need to ask him what.

“What would that achieve? Menolly already has more to worry about than anyone should.

“You don’t think she’s going to guess? Shells man, she reads you better than all but a handful of people on Pern, do you think she’ll be grateful if you require Sebell to keep it from her? I don’t see her forgiving him that very easily, and I know you wanted them to be a support to one another.”

Anger flashed briefly across Robinton’s face, “Things changed Domick. Everything changed and this time I can’t make it right. Whatever I do, she is still going to be left alone sooner than later to raise my child. Everything I tried to prepare…. I promised her a place as a harper, and in the end I made it so much harder for her.” His voice softened as his gaze shifted to the fireplace, “She was supposed to have the happy ending Domick, to be free, and loved.”

Domick shook his head, seeing the outburst for what it was, and sensing his underlying despair. Leaning forward he placed a hand on Robinton’s aching knee. “Of course things changed. You have been part of the dynamic of change for longer than even I have known you, Rob. You have shown many of us not to fear it, Menolly included. She is an adult Robinton, and none of the decisions she has taken here have been forced upon her. You gave her choices that would have been denied her in many other places, and this is what she has chosen. Menolly’s not a fool Robinton. As much as she may deny it  because of her love for you- love, Rob, not infatuation, she is aware of your age, and that your life has not been a gentle one. Who do you think used to report you to Silvina if you didn’t use your salve on cold days? Certainly not me.

She is free, you gave her that, and she is more loved than almost anyone else I know.

Do you honestly think that she would never have been searched by a weyr if just one thing had been different? You’d have sent her to so many hatchings. Sebell may yet do so, and if you think that she will be alone without you, you need to get your head out your arse. Sir.”

Master Robinton felt the knot in his gut loosen. This was one of the reasons he appreciated Domick as a friend, he wasn’t intimidated by the title Masterharper, and he spoke bluntly enough to break through a self deprecating, guilty fog. He also was well able to deliver a tongue lashing as eloquent as any Robinton could bestow, but would have been wasted anywhere but in composing.

Would Menolly be? She had proven to be far more adaptable than most journeymen thusfar, and settled quite easily at the weyr. Wherever she went she would be invaluable. He smiled.

“Thank you. You’re right of course. I shall endeavour to be less arrogant. I will tell her, but only when I think she is ready, and it will not place undue stress on the two of them. As you were good enough to point out, she is...very attached...to me, and I do return that affection. As Masterharper there was little I could do to act on it, even without the controversial age difference. If there is one good thing that comes of this fall’s choice perhaps it is the chance we have for a few happy turns.”

Domick leaned back in his seat and crossed his legs, “Would you be able to watch her with another if she impresses? Without your own dragon, hers will fly and she’ll have sex with someone else, repeatedly.”

Robinton steepled his fingers, he didn’t have to think about his answer, “Yes. My heart is hers, but she does not belong to me, never has, I have watched Silvina all these turns without jealousy, and I am not so irrational as to think that a roll in the furs now and then with someone else makes her care for me less. I was hardly unaware of Menolly’s activities before our encounter in Southern, if she continues them or not has no bearing on her feelings or mine.”

He couldn’t restrain the eyeroll, he appreciated Domick’s concern for his Journeywoman, really he did, but the man had known him long enough to be well aware of Robinton’s private approach to sexual relationships. He was willing to overlook almost anything that was consensual between adults, and not an abuse of authority, so long as a couple were sensible and health aware.

“You know, usually I look forward to speaking with Menolly. I think this may be the first time I have ever truly feared it.”

FInishing his drink Domick shrugged, “Have a little more faith in her, Robinton, you always have trusted her, don’t doubt her now. If you truly cannot find the words, then speak to her heart. Write the notes instead. She’ll understand.”

Robinton stayed with Domick far longer than he’d initially intended to, enjoying the opportunity to discuss turnover plans, some of the possibilities he might explore, and simply the warm company.  If he had to accept the he was finally getting old, he was going to at least enjoy some of it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Menolly could feel nerves begin to creep over her, the Weyrleaders appeared to be keen for her to view the eggs as soon as it was deemed safe. So did Ramoth. Even more after Menolly shared Prideth’s song.

She had been getting steadily stronger again, but was as aware as any grown woman on Pern that pregnancy was dangerous for mother and baby. Access to a master healer was a privilege she did not take lightly, and so she was more than willing to listen to his guidance.

Beauty seemed a little jumpy, but that could be the presence of a broody gold dragon. Something niggled at her that it was more than that, but nothing obvious enough to identify. It left her uneasy. Menolly’s instincts were well honed, and she had learned to trust them, if not hers then her firelizards.

For now all she could do was wait for the niggle to be assuaged, or identified.

As was her customary way of dealing with strong emotions, Menolly found herself playing it out, noticing that her gitar no longer sat properly, and deciding the next time she’d need to use the fiddle pipes. These required breath that she found herself sometimes lacking right now, but with her perfect pitch and excellent memory she could easily compose for them mentally.

Mirrim checked on her several times, but found her friend in almost a trance-state. Assuring herself that Menolly was in no immediate danger, and managing to get her to unconsciously drink something each time, Path’s rider decided to leave her to her composing, and have her dragon listen in, in order to notify her when the harpress was once more aware of externals.

It was well into the evening before Path called her rider to attention.

Menolly’s back! I can feel her again. She is satisfied. She is in discomfort? Her clutch is awake.

Mirrim sighed. “Baby, Path. Humans have babies.”, she drawled.

‘Silly. Humans clutch their babies more than any Queen does eggs. Even once they can use their legs properly.’

‘Those are called cuddles, hugs, or holding, Path. It is to keep the young ones safe before they understand danger, and to convey love or closeness. Sometimes we also use it to share heat.’

She could almost hear her dragon’s frown as she considered.

‘Humans are terribly breakable, especially the youngest. No wonder you have such small clutches.’

‘And thank Faranth for that!’ she thought back.

Mirrim fairly flew down the stairs from her weyr to the kitchens, grabbing the still- fresh soup from the cauldron, and loading a plate with soft bread and butter. Tolly she sent ahead with another delicious redfuit, her last from T’gellan’s gift, and hoped he wouldn’t startle her friend too badly.

“Hey, I thought you might be hungry.  That’s the longest writing session you’ve put in in a while, and I don’t think you ate any lunch.” She eyed the untouched plate on the desk, and glared at the healer on duty, who shrugged mildly, “She seemed like she needed to write, and kept well  hydrated, I was willing to let her have until supper before forcing anything more substantial.”

Her expression conveyed well her lack of forgiveness.

Mirrim slid the tray of food onto the table top and poured two tumblers of watered wine for them both.

“What type is the soup today?”

Mirrim stirred it dubiously. “Wherry broth I think, heavy on the root veg though. I think they are setting aside some of the meat rations for the hatching feast. WIth the number of people that attend they have to skim it off somewhere, and the Lords take it personally if you expect them to moderate their meat intake. Faranth knows most of them could stand to reduce their intake a bit.”

Menolly looked at her friend and arched a brow, “Why Mirrim, it almost sounds like you dislike the attitude of entitlement and expectation of choice food that comes with Rank by blood.”

Mirrim snorted in disgust, “ Please , I used to work in the kitchens every hatching, I know exactly how much is consumed by those walking stomachs, and how much they drink. It’s a wonder they can even find their way home at the end of a night.”

Menolly wisely hid her smile in her cup.

When nothing remained of their meal the two women loaded the crockery back onto the tray  and slowly stood, stretching, Menolly’s joints popping audibly enough to make her friend cringe.

“How would you feel about a gentle stroll this evening, on the condition that you tell me as soon as you feel dizzy or need to stop? Nothing strenuous but you need some fresh air. At least, Brekke was always recommending it to her patients.”

Glancing towards the master healer sitting unobtrusively in the corner and noting his subtle nod of permission, Menolly grinned. “Shells yes, I was beginning to go a little mad, sometimes you can have too much time to think.” Mirrim hummed her agreement and caught her friend around the waist. “Cloak on, and then we can go. Lean on me if you need to.”

Obediently she donned the nearest cloak, a blue velvet thing that hung to her calves and was elegantly trimmed in soft fur. How strange to think that the first time she had been welcomed in this Weyr she had arrived with but the clothes on her back, and her firelizards, secret as they were. Even her shoes had been shredded, and here she was only five turns later, clad in soft slippers and elegant robes that were never owned by anyone else. She knew without a doubt that her fifteen turn old self would never have recognised the woman she would become.

She linked an arm through Mirrim’s as they walked slowly through the passages, allowing her to choose their route, simply appreciating no longer being limited exclusively to her chambers.

Mirrim took them a route that Menolly didn’t recognise until they reached a small door that Mirrim rapped on sharply, pushing open without waiting for a response, dragging Menolly with her into a double weyr.

“Mirrim! You can’t just walk in, what if the couple were busy . Alone.”

“Ugh. You really do still have the holder streak in there. I won’t make you a voyeur. At least not against your will, but Brekke and F’nor aren’t like that anyway, their living room is used for living. Not so much for sex. She’s caught me far more times than I’ve ever walked in on them .”

Menolly shook her head. “That’s not as reassuring as you think Mirrim. Honestly, I think you missed the lessons on good manners. Or privacy.”

Mirrim looked amused at Menolly’s scolding, “You do realise how ridiculous sex looks, right? I swear to you, there was no lesson given on the good manners of shagging. In fact, if there was such a class, I would love to take it, because I honestly want to know what codes I’ve been missing out on here.”

Brekke cleared her throat loudly, folding her arms across her chest. “Well girls, I hope I’m not disturbing anything important. How about having a seat and explaining what you are doing here, instead of Menolly’s rooms, and what led to the discussion of sex manners.”

Even holdbred as she was, Brekke didn’t so much as flush. Menolly groaned, sometimes she honestly missed the prudishness of those living outside of the weyrs. Not often, but definitely once gossipy green dragons started joining in. F’nor came in from riding patrol and strode towards his weyrmate as he removed his helmet and wherhide, dropping a kiss on her forehead. Menolly heard Canth dropping a hint as his rider looked up and his eyes widened suddenly, holding up his hands in mock defence he grinned and backed silently away, leaving the three women alone to talk. F’lar had a little time tonight, and even a night with his weyrwoman sounded safer right now than with the three currently cackling in his own weyr. F’nor was a brave man, but he wasn’t a stupid one. Canth could tell him when it was safe to return, but he was glad for them all to see Menolly again, Brekke had been so worried, he hoped this would set her mind at ease. Brekke regarded Menolly much the same way she regarded her foster daughter, and both of them could always use another friend. For some reason many of the woman riders seemed to find it difficult to make or maintain friendships, and he was keen to encourage any healthy ones. Especially for his family.

The weyrleaders knew he was coming before he reached them, Lessa’s less than helpful response to his surprise being that of course she did, the dragons being so chatty recently. Chatty. He hoped that Canth wasn't included in the generalisation but had a sinking feeling that he probably was. Browns were not supposed to gossip like old aunties, he was sure.

At least they had set out a third goblet of wine in anticipation.

Canth’s rumbling laughter reached him moments later and he saw Lessa trying to hide her smile. It made her look younger he realised. More than that it reminded him how little she ever let down her guard around others. Even Brekke was not exempt from the caution, though he could understand that there must be a reason. Even if he was not convinced it was a good one. He certainly did not envy his brother the passionate but volatile Weyrwoman he had chosen! Unlike many he was privy to some of their more private interactions and knew that despite it being a practical and political pairing in the interests of Pern, the two shared a deep and abiding love. Nothing had come easily to them, everything had been fought for and earned, but it had been more than worth it for them both, and for the people they led.

For himself he would far rather have the gentle and patient woman who had given everything she was, and even when lost had saved his life and his dragon. Brekke had reached all of Pern in her pain and hope, and given it all to him.

He was extremely relieved to find that she was unlikely now to lose Menolly too. Especially since she was much calmer than any of the other women around Brekke, at least when not ruled by pregnancy hormones.

He reached for the goblet and found Lessa smirking at him. Apparently it was not safe to think around the woman.

He must have done something right though as she passed him a plate with a generous slice of honey cake.

“I don't think you need telling not to mention that, but since there are only two, don’t. You can take a slice back for Brekke later, but no more.”

Her tone was serious but he could see her teasing in the softer expression. The wink F’lar sent over her shoulder didn't hurt either.

“Sit down F’nor. Canth will call you back when it's safe.” A mumbled confirmation from one decidedly sleepy brown was unconvincing, but when Lessa added that Path would notify her he held out the cup for a top up, and took the plate of precious cake to a low couch, grinning. It had been too long since he last had a night to relax with his brother. A Weyrleader rarely had free time for leisure. He would enjoy tonight, and try not to question the Weyrwoman’s generosity too much.

When he did return to his own weyr, several hours later, he found a young harpress tucked up in his bed, his mate beside her stroking the girl’s hair as she slept and smiling softly.

“She was far too tired to make it back up to her own rooms, and was all set to attempt it. I couldn't let her, so made her come and use our bed for now. I’m a healer anyway, so she's safe. And the dragons are guarding them.”

Brekke didn't look round, but he set the covered bowl on their table and felt his chest warm seeing her caring for another.

“Of course love. I’ll sleep on the couch with the spare furs, and see you in the morning. Try to get some sleep dearest.”

Brekke nodded absently, lost in thought.

“Goodnight my love.”

Eventually she fell asleep curled protectively around her young friend as darkness covered them.

Chapter Text

F’nor covered most of the glows and made himself comfortable on the couch. A true dragonman could sleep anywhere, Thread respected no-one’s need for rest at convenient times.

He roused enough to help Menolly to the necessary and back to bed when she stumbled in the unfamiliar weyr, stubbing her toe on a stool, and tucked the furs around her and his weyrmate warmly.

When he woke again it was to the low murmur of female voices and the smell of fresh klah. “You brought me a peace offering.” His voice was rough with sleep as he blinked blearily at Mirrim.

“I’ve always found it useful in waking T’gellan to have klah to hand” she replied.

He grunted a response.

“There’s a meatroll at the table. I have to get Menolly back before too many people notice she’s missing.  Not that anything gets past Ramoth, but the sooner I return my stolen harpress the better for all of us.”

The klah beginning to take effect, F’nor noticed that Menolly was about as awake as he was, but found himself agreeing with Mirrim and Brekke’s assessment.

“Do you need any help?”

Mirrim shook her head, “No thanks. I’ll get her back, you try and get Brekke to sleep properly for a couple of hours, I know she’ll have been up and down to check last night.”

F’nor smiled, he always appreciated seeing the softer side of his mate’s foster daughter, it was a sign of trust she gave very few people these days.  “Deal. Be careful. Try not to get caught.”

She chuckled, “Always, F’nor.”

Slipping an arm around Menolly’s waist she guided her friend carefully out and towards her own quarter, ensuring that there was no chance of her tripping or knocking into anything.

“There is hot klah and toast waiting for you too, no redfruit today, but some marsh-berries from the most recent  harvest train. Up we go.”

Menolly attempted co-operation, “ You are far too cheerful this early in the morning. You ought to come with a health warning Mirrim. Do not use before breakfast.”

Mirrim grinned easily, “I come with klah. It’s almost the same thing. We’re nearly there anyway.”

Trying to ignore the ache in her hips Menolly let herself be jollied along, relieved to find that Mirrim hadn’t been lying.

Making certain that her friend was sat at the table and sipping rich, sweetened klah, Mirrim took her leave, with tithes to process, she’d be grafted in to help by Manora and Lessa, especially if they noticed she’d pilfered the fresh berries for Menolly. Her weyr-brat learned skills may have been blunted from being out of practice, but at least she hadn’t been caught.

Beauty immediately nuzzled into her mistress’s hair, coiling around her neck, careful not to apply any pressure, Rocky and Diver settled on the table, both eyeing the fruit suspiciously. Neither bronze had ever really understood why humans ate not-meat.

Lazybones and Brownie had taken up with Reppa and Lok these past few sevendays, staying well out of Ramoth’s way, a habit that she was trying not to think too hard about. Not that she blamed them, it really was a very sensible choice.

The aunties were missing, but Menolly knew that if she closed her eyes and concentrated hard enough she could see what they were seeing. Really the fragmenting and mental sorting she had become accustomed to had been very good practice for coping with the draconic minds that surrounded her. Without that she rather suspected that she’d have been completely overwhelmed.

Beauty trilled to Menolly, feeling the waves of gratitude that washed over her, and the answering caress of her headknob.

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Robinton was staring at the blank parchment before him. Having accepted that he did in fact have to talk to Menolly he now had to arrange a visit, that wasn’t in an official ‘Harper Business’ capacity, without causing alarm.

He had broken the decades long habit of avoiding any kind of sleeping draght, even requesting one from Silvina after his lecture from Oldive. It was harder to wake from nightmares after drinking them, and everyone who had lived through the end of the last interval and early years of the Pass had their own. Never spoken of, or publicly acknowledged, but resolutely not commented upon by any adult on Pern. One’s nightmares were one’s own.

Finally, finally he had begun to have dreams again .

Eventually he had something that he was satisfied with. He would have to inform the Weyrleaders soon of his retirement, but Menolly deserved to hear the news first from his own lips. Zair’s message tube was securely tied and he leapt between to take the first note to his mate’s mistress.  He picked up on Robinton’s wish to send a second message to the rider of Big Bronze, and expressed his disappointment at the lack of time with his own queen.

Robinton looked at him sternly, “After it’s done, Zair. You’ll see plenty of them soon enough anyway. You and I are going for a little visit to the Big Ones, and Beauty.” Zair chirped a question, “Yes Zair, and my mate.”  If he was a human, Robinton was quite sure he’d have been pouting, but the little bronze seemed mollified by the promise of a proper visit with what he considered his own fair.

He had been decidedly put out at his master’s insistence on delivering messages before spending any time playing with his fair, but understood that his master would at least acknowledge such offenses with extra snacks. Humans might be confusing, but ‘snacks’ were a great idea, and unless one was a queen, it was a concept limited mostly to humans.

------------------------

Menolly had insisted on finishing the klah before accepting the decidedly less appealing sludge. Mirrim may no longer be a part of the kitchen team but she had a true gift with the dark drink, and Menolly’s never came close, even when she followed her friend’s instructions. She’d given up trying long since, and simply enjoyed it now. Mirrim insisted it was practice from having to rouse riders at all hours and ensure they were at least somewhat alert. Menolly still wasn’t convinced.

She had been subjected to a lecture by Master Grest, though it was nothing compared to what the Weyrwoman could dish out, so the harpress had considered herself fortunate not to have been greeted with that for breakfast. He’d been more forgiving than he intended as she appeared to be better for her venture, relieved to find she was alright despite knowing rationally that if there had been an emergency either the dragons, or Mirrim would have immediately alerted him. He’d joined the weyrhealer in the infirmary the previous day, unwilling to waste his time knowing that there were always dragonriders wounded or in some stage of recovery, and frequently minor injuries for the Weyr’s other inhabitants, especially the children.

In the end he had settled for glaring until she obediently drank the ‘evil potion’ and extracting a promise to stay close by, and make sure he knew where she’d be. Just in case.

Satisfied that she would be safe enough for a little while, not to mention appreciate a little privacy, Grest grimaced as he recalled the few times during his training that he’d been sick enough to need intensive care and shuddered. The Healers considered it practically a rite of passage. Working with the sick and afflicted meant exposure to everything , and immunity took a while to develop. When apprentices bewailed the injustice they were usually tartly informed that it would help them to develop a greater understanding and compassion for their patients.

He considered one of the very best things about specialising in pregnancy and birth was that they were not contagious, and by the egg was he grateful for it.  

He looked her over before leaving and noted her unconsciously rubbing her lower back, something to watch but nothing out of the ordinary. He left just before the arrival of a fluttery, fidgety bronze firelizard.

Most of the time Menolly could discern enough of firelizard communication to make sense of it, but not now, Zair was hopping about all over the place and chattering like she’d never heard! Everytime she thought he was settling he moved. Menolly gave up and rolled her eyes, no point in wasting energy, “Beauty? Please can you tell your friend here to settle down long enough for me to get the message tube off him.” Chirping agreeably her queen alighted on her shoulder, foreleg resting on an ear, and seemed to whistle, prompting Zair to turn towards her and still. She began in a scolding tone and suddenly stopped, leaning toward him. She swooped over and crooned in a much softer way that made Menolly’s breath catch, and notice the speed of Zair’s eyes. She shoved away the fear that it induced in her. If Zair was here then Robinton was not in any danger, the bronze wouldn’t have left him otherwise.

Now that he seemed less anxious and frantic Menolly held out her hand to him and projected comfort and welcome. Apparently she needed to refine that as Beauty took it to be and invitation to wrap herself tightly around her mistress’ neck and upper arm. The rest of her fair had appeared at the ‘invitation’ as well and draped themselves around her, with the result when the Benden Weyrwoman strode into her chambers she was confronted with a rather exasperated harpress. Firelizards perched on each arm, curled in her lap, sprawled awkwardly on the table, and one predictably playing with the now empty message tube the way weyrkids played with a ball.

Lessa had not been sure what to expect when she set out to see Menolly, but it wasn’t this.

So far she had done a good job of keeping the firelizards out of the way of the Weyrwoman and Ramoth, enough that Lessa had managed to forget just how many looked to her. Seeing them being quite so awkward and toddler-like in their expectation of affection and attention startled a laugh from her. When Menolly noticed her visitor her look of chagrin was enough to set the usually composed woman to  giggling. Finally calming herself, Lessa joined her at the table, looking much younger as the seat emphasised her small stature, not that anyone would dare to point it out. Menolly was almost certain the only person on Pern who could get away with it was the Weyrleader. The strength of that partnership was well known, it had held Pern together at times, but the genuine trust, fondness and love that existed between the two was far less widely known. Menolly wondered how common it was outside weyrs for that to grow between a pair that were thrown together by circumstance or in an arranged marriage. Perhaps Lady Benoria’s book might help answer that question.

“Aren’t you popular today. Shall I have Ramoth tell them to let you breathe?” The weyrwoman arched her brow, clearly still amused enough not to do so if Menolly truly wanted them to stay.

Menolly rolled her eyes and reached up to stroke Beauty’s head, “You can stay dear, but this lot need to go for now, I don’t have enough to give you all breakfast anyway. Time to send them off to hunt their own.” She winked and Beauty rose to her haunches, immediately issuing a string of what were obvious orders to each one, even dividing them into apparent groups, all of whom obediently left at her command. Relaxing she nuzzled into Menolly’s hair again.

At Lessa’s evident interest Menolly shrugged, “They’ll listen to me happily enough, but seem to actively enjoy pleasing  their Queen. Especially the boys, much like humans in that way actually. Inexperienced ones anyway.”

It pleased Lessa that the oblique reference to ‘experience’ brought no blush to the harpress cheeks. That was one of the hardest things to counteract with the holdbred girls, deeply indoctrinated as they were to regard sexual activity as a way to ruin, or expect pain. It needn’t be, and the current Weyrleaders for personal reasons strongly encouraged their weyrlings not to save their first experience for flights, which were not always gentle. At least that wouldn’t be yet another difficulty Menolly faced.

“Any sane male does the same when his Queen commands him like that.” She grinned, “You just watch all the brave bronze and brown riders, they’ll face thread before inviting the wrath of the lower caverns, or any weyrmate. T’gellan thinks he’s being subtle sneaking things back from his expeditions for Mirrim,” She snorted, “He forgets where he heard the suggestions, and that he is not the first to be sent on such missions.” She smiled without any of her usual bite, “F’nor has had ‘words’ with the man who set his eye on his foster daughter, needless though that was.”

Menolly chuckled, “As though Mirrim wouldn’t defend herself if he so much as tried anything.”

Lessa pressed her lips together. “Maybe so, but she is more alone than she shows, and that’s not easy. Having someone on your side is worth a great deal. You certainly made full use of that yesterday, you have Ramoth to thank for not being dragged back by F’lar, she took your side.” Trying not to squirm like some errant apprentice  Menolly muttered an acknowledgement and apology, sending gratitude towards Ramoth.

“Yes, well. Since it appears to have done you and your daughter no harm you are invited to the hatching ground today.” The stern look that accompanied it left no doubt that ‘invitation’ was not optional and her attendance was expected, “Ramoth is quite looking forward to showing you her eggs.” Lessa’s voice softened at her dragon’s name.

Menolly smiled, it made sense really. Human women were always keen to show off their own new babies, Queen’s likely felt the same instinctual pride in their eggs.  

Menolly reached out to the Gold and felt her mind, warm and oddly comforting,

Thank you Ramoth, I would be delighted to come and meet your clutch, I am sure they are lovely.

Her fingers drifted over her abdomen, feeling her daughter squirm. She wondered what Ramoth would think of her baby.

She will be welcomed of course, I would like to see your baby when she comes. It has been a long time since Lessa showed me hers.

Then I will bring her to you when she is here. F’lessan has not been a baby for many turns now, or he would not be Golanth’s rider, would he? How wonderful that your son and Lessa’s are a pair.

Menolly made sure to keep her emotions open to the Queen whilst speaking, it was slowly becoming easier to consciously choose the extent to which she opened her mind and Ramoth felt like a safe person- no, dragon to practice with. She found herself wanting to be open with the Queen, though it may be more complicated if she impressed. Apparently she had leaked that thought as she could feel the draconic eyerolling.

So, are you planning to tell Lessa of your mate’s visit or not?

Menolly squirmed. Of course Ramoth would know. Nosey.

It’s rude to dig around you know. Or so I’m told.

Hmph. Have you also been told it’s ill-mannered to broadcast your news?

Menolly stuck her tongue out on instinct, forgetting her audience for a moment before catching the Weyrwoman’s arched brow.

“Would you care to share with me what you are gossiping about with my dragon to prompt such a response, young lady?”

Menolly called on her training to affect a false composure. “Babies, Weyrwoman… and manners.”

Lessa chuckled, “Clearly a much needed discussion. Best not to let your pupils see your example I think. Anything that I should know?”

Menolly considered denying it, but decided that would come back to bite her. “I got a message this morning from the Hall, Zair had just delivered it. Robinton- I mean Masterharper Robinton intends to visit me later, though he has not explained why yet.”

Lessa pressed her lips together and shook her head. “You meant Robinton. Perhaps he simply misses you or wishes to see for himself that you are recovering. He would have done so even before you were not only his Journeywoman.” Menolly indicated an agreement she did not feel. Then he would have arranged it with the Weyrleaders, not herself. She didn’t know why yet, but today mattered.

“Well, let’s get you ready and presentable. Hatching grounds first, then your not-mate, yes, of course she told me.” Menolly opted for co-operation. It really was the easiest way to deal with the Benden Weyrwoman. Lessa briskly she started laying out clothes, and soft boots, a cloak, and comb. It was a strange juxtaposition Menolly thought, where the dignified and stern Weyrwoman of legend showed her past experience as a servant and inherent practicality.

“After that you and I have an appointment with the archives, where you are going to stay off your feet, either before or after you nap.”

Menolly groaned. “Yes Ma’am.” She smiled as a warmth spread through her at once again being occupied, and the realisation that the weyrfolk truly did consider her one of them blossomed. Perhaps it could be her second real Home after all.

‘It already is’

rumbled a slightly offended sounding Ramoth, and Menolly knew her rider had heard as a soft chuckle came from the direction of the busy Weyrwoman.

Chapter Text

One thing at a time, Menolly told herself.

She stepped carefully into the cavern, remembering a time long ago that she’s done so with burning, throbbing soles, still so uncertain of her place and desperate to not be noticed, lest they send her back to what she’d fled. Now, no longer that apprehensive youth, she realised that they never would have done that, and  she doubted the dragons would have taken her anyway.

That had been the first time Robinton had swept her off her feet, far more literally and innocently than he had the more mature and self assured woman.

The memory brought a smile to her face and an unconscious release of the tension in her frame.

Her left hand drifted down to her abdomen and she was struck by an overwhelming sense of connection with Ramoth, curled protectively around her clutch, a sameness in their protective gestures. Judging by Ramoth’s gentle rumble she felt it too. Intriguing. Menolly wondered just how much dragons could truly share with humans, the emotions were so familiar. So human .

Yours are strangely dragon actually.

Menolly chuckled, well it was Ramoth’s hatching ground,

Perhaps you’re right, or perhaps it’s what makes impression possible. May I see your eggs? I have watched from the stands before but never been close enough to fully appreciate them.

A pleased hum came from the golden queen.

Please come forward, few who come to view my clutch are so considerate.

So close to them the eggs seemed larger than at a distance, but she could see the subtle differences in shells clearly, patterns that were mesmerising, flowing, that reminded her of the pearls that were so highly prized. Walking among them she felt humbled, within these fragile shells grew the future protectors of her world. She couldn’t hear any words coming from them but the grounds were awash with openly broadcast feelings, dreamlike. Much like she would imagine an infant’s mind to be, based on instinct and sensation. These not-yet- hatchlings dominant feeling seemed to be of warmth and safety. Menolly hoped that her own daughter felt the same way as Ramoth’s, wishing it was as easy to listen for her . As they passed one particular egg Menolly felt her baby move as though turning, adding a kidney punch for good measure. One was enough. She couldn’t imagine how Queens managed to carry so many eggs and honestly didn’t want to. It was the stuff of nightmares!

They are worth it. All of the discomfort and irritability, fussing males, our children are enough. Whether a clutch is of one, or forty-one.

Menolly caught the note of smugness in that last part and an answering wave of pride from Mnementh. He did not seem to be present but Menolly suspected that he was well aware of everything that occurred in his mate’s vicinity whilst she was guarding their young. If he was anything like human males, Ramoth was likely relieved to have him out from underfoot and doing something useful.

If Ramoth could smirk, she’d be wearing one now. My mate is the strongest, his pride is well placed. I am not easy to catch, and our clutches are known to be the best.

There wasn’t really a correct response to that kind of draconic boasting, at least not that she’d been informed of, so Menolly found herself simply nodding in agreement, much of it was acknowledged as fact anyway. Human mothers had boasted of less sensible things.

Plus the eggs truly were beautiful. Far more than many human newborns really, who arrived slimy, often squalling and strangely coloured. Looking closely, colours could be seen in the patterns. Some clear, others ambiguous, and some that had several different hues. Menolly couldn’t guess the colours of more than two, even looking carefully. They were different from firelizard eggs, which she had handled many times, not unexpected, since she already knew that there were obvious differences. Some that appeared to shimmer she suspected more likely to be bronze than brown, and some that bore more likeness to semi-precious stones were distinctly smaller than others. Maybe there was a more practical reason for the larger percentage of blues and greens than the naturally larger eggs, one she empathised strongly with as her own body changed to accommodate her clutch. No, baby. Damn, she’d been talking to bloody dragons too much lately.

Menolly snatched her hand back as she realised she had reached out to stroke one.

You may touch the eggs, I know you to be gentle

Menolly smiled, understanding the trust Ramoth showed in offering the privilege rather than merely tolerating it to reduce injuries.

I would never harm your children my Queen, but if one is to be mine I would rather not influence them, or caress one who belongs to another before they are together. This way whatever happens I may be sure that I have not tampered with or compromised their choices. Plus’ her mental voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, I’m pretty sure that this one is asleep. No-one wakes a sleeping baby.

Ramoth rumbled approvingly.

You are wise, young Menolly, She will find you when it is time. Go now, your own body needs nourishment. Come and visit them again, and you will see the difference.

Lessa appeared at her side, apparently well able to move silently as a harper spy, and took her elbow, as ridiculous as it seemed to be supported by the tiny woman.

“Come, there is food waiting, F’lar recalls with surprising clarity what I was like whilst pregnant, when not sick. Are you able to spend some time in the archives if we keep you off your feet?” She even managed to make it a question, which Menolly still found strange, accustomed as she was to hearing the Benden Weyrwoman issue orders and command meetings. As the Masterharper’s Journeywoman she had seen Lord Holders intimidated into retracting their words by Lessa. Even when she asked questions at those the authority rang clear in her voice. Now she waited for a response from a mere harpress, not even a master-yet. Menolly couldn’t quite hold back the giggle, and saw Lessa’s eyebrow arch in response. “Nothing, just- yes. Yes, that sounds nice actually. I know it’s unlikely, but I don’t suppose the Weyrleader managed to claim any redfruit? It’s like wherry teeth to get a hold of in this season.”

She kept her features almost deadpan, they both knew fine well it wasn’t fresh on the Northern continent so late in the turn.

“We may have noticed a volcanic island previously ignored where a small supply is available, not for the masses of course with such limited supply, but I believe we could...liberate...a few from stores. After all, being Weyrwoman has to have some advantages, does it not.”

“It does indeed, Weyrwoman, why certainly the concentration required for such responsibilities takes a certain amount of energy that must be restored.”

Sure enough, when they reached the study room next to the archives there were two plates waiting with meatrolls and cheese, a bowl of fresh redfruit in the middle, and a large jug of juice and as if on cue Menolly’s stomach growled. She went to fill her plate without hesitation, if she didn’t, she had no chance of concentrating through whatever the Weyrwoman had in mind, and she could see a large pile of scrolls and skins neatly arrange on one of the large writing desks. She sighed as the light increased, Lessa brightening the glows.

“Go ahead, it was brought with you in mind, F’lar knew my intentions already.” She grimaced.  “One of the downsides of a permanent weyrmate, you inevitably get to know each others tells or likely course of action. Absolutely one of the most useful benefits at the same time. In such situations as a Weyr must exist of course, everyone comes to anticipate the actions of others in some things. An integral part of that is trust. You may not have lived as part of the weyr for long, nor had a partner of the type I have mentioned, but certainly you have experience of such a thing with the Masterharper- no, I’m not making accusations. I saw you five turns ago, and he looked at you as one to be taught, a student like any other. You grew closer as you matured, to his other Journeyman too, as close as a brother.” Menolly cocked her head, it was uncommon for anyone to gauge her relationship with Sebell so accurately. “Please, I’ve seen him at hatching feasts, and playing sets for us. It was never the serving girls arses that drew his eye. He treats you like an elder brother would a beloved sister. He trusts you as he trusts few others. The caution makes him a good choice, but your experience with them makes you a good choice for any dragon.” A serious expression fell over the Weyrwoman face and she froze, as though considering whether or not she was about to make a huge mistake. Seeming to come to some decision she sighed and ensured that the door to the room was shut, before bolting it properly. She sat opposite Menolly and smoothed the skirt of her gown.

“What I intend to share with you here is a testimony which must be recorded for the sake of history, and for future Weyrwomen. It also is intended to provide you with a wider range of material to draw on for your final work as a Journeywoman. Obviously not everything can be shared, for many reasons, but some of it is not applicable to me alone.

I don’t believe I’ve ever told anyone how I first met Robinton. He was no Masterharper then, just a travelling Journeyman, like yourself. I was a tiny scrap of a girl still, and so sure I could keep up with the older… my older siblings. Of course I couldn’t stay awake until the end, but I still remember his face now, he performed for us that night, music I hadn’t heard yet, and a story I didn’t understand at four turns, but the adults seemed to enjoy. I fell asleep that night in my father’s lap. He was the Lord of Ruatha. He was… He cared about his people. Fairness and being just was most important to him, he always wanted us to try and live up to the hopes of those beholden to us. We were not to abuse power but wield it wisely. I wish I could ask him what he would have done had he known what would come, but what if’s are a waste of time, and time should not be meddled with lightly.” She smiled slightly, “He had us learn to ride, every one of us, as soon as we could run. I haven’t ridden a runner in turns, but I can’t say I’ve wasted those early lessons. I had my own before. If things hadn’t unfolded as they did, I could have ended up traded to one of the other Lords sons.” She grimaced. “I know them all now. We’d never have lasted. I might have run away to the Weyr myself. There are many skills though that I have used in a different capacity here than I might have as a Lady Holder. Anyway. In those days a man began to draw others to himself. Men who were easily corrupted and prone to violence. Mercenaries and others eager for riches they need not work for. Possessions or people. Few recognised the danger he truly posed. None responded in time. The Lords chose not to deal with the problems when the group attacked small holds, despite their brutality escalating. They were practising. Honing their skills on small targets to find their weak points and address them. The men became like nothing Pern had ever seen before. When they moved through a valley they would not simply raid or take a smallhold, they would raze the crops, slaughter the bovines, and men, taking the women of child bearing age. Those who survived sword and axe often succumbed to infection or starvation. It was a dark time for Pern and that monster has cast a long, long shadow. The self declared, false-Lord Fax rule of Terror culminated in the bloody massacre that occurred.” Lessa paused and shuddered “that devastated Ruatha Hold. One single member of the bloodline survived, a girl small enough to stay hidden in the back of a wher kennel until the bodies of her household had burned. Hidden in the darkness, the watchwher shared his water with his new mistress. He saved her, before she knew she wanted to be saved. The child could not cry, for fear of discovery, discovery would bring death. Fax’s men spared no children, not even the infants. No bastards of the blood. The screams and the wails of grief had quieted with the threat of punishment when hunger drove the child from her hiding place, but blood still ran in the streets, and the smell of burned hair, and flesh still lingered.” Lessa took a steadying breath. “This needs to be recorded, but it is not an easy one to make. I am sorry to ask you to write, but the writing must be clear , it cannot be compromised, and though I have tried it is the one thing that I find my body betrays me for.” The Weyrwoman raised a hand to Menolly and allowed her to see the shaking.

The younger woman now fully understood the Weyrwoman’s care in choosing a secluded room and bolting the door. She had never been more glad of her training to maintain composure during a difficult transcription, or of Robinton’s insistence on Senior Journeymen’s participation in record keeping for Lord Groghe’s trials.

“I understand, Weyrwoman. I am honoured by your request. Please take as much time as you need.”

Lessa rolls her eyes, “It’s not rational. All of these things are history, distant.” A warmth and wave of gentleness filled the small room, Ramoth’s protective presence tangible around them.

“She was still in a nightdress, fortunately, a daytime dress of hers would have been impossible to disguise as less than noble, and the girl was not being as careful as she ought. The nightdress though was soiled from the wher kennel, and torn by then, the girl’s face stained by the soot and grime that seemed to coat and taint everyone. It was equally fortunate that everyone was too wrapped up in their own immediate fate not to recognise the child behind the tangled hair. She was too shocked to form a plan yet, and was pulled into a way of survival by little more than an accident. One of Fax’s followers who did not know Ruath made a mistake, one he would come to regret. He grabbed her by her hair  and dragged her to a dark corner. He assumed she was a drudge, skiving work, decided she needed taught her place. The only survivor of Ruathan blood felt the blow and lost consciousness. When she regained consciousness she knew what must be done to survive, and the bruising helped conceal her identity from any who might recognise her, unlikely as it was.”

Lessa took a steadying breath.

“For the next ten turns she survived as a drudge, in a place where they were considered less than human. Now, to survive in an impossible situation, the best thing one can do is find a way to blend into the background, To become invisible.

Now, for your research you require a variety of experiences of Pernese women. I can offer you some insight into Hold girls, but not from an adult perspective. From the desperately deprived aspect, I may not have been a woman for all of those turns, but I can give you a great deal of information about the way they lived. Some of the things that were done.” An expression of pain twisted her features. “If you go to Ruatha today and ask, you will find far fewer women your age who are native than boys. The pain that many drudges endured resulted in a higher rate of pregnancy ‘loss’, and a disproportionate rate of ‘stillborn’ girls, in a place where we slept on the floor every woman gave birth with the heaviest blanket. No-one ever asked when a woman wept silently, and no one could tell them they were wrong. After a few turns no-one was unscarred. Some overseers were less brutal, others more so, but every woman tried to appear as unremarkable and unattractive as possible. Most were treated like whores, though if they had been that at least they would have been paid. They couldn’t leave though. No-one ever left alive. I never told the future Lord Holder, but there is a mass grave not far from the Hold Walls. Few remain who could confirm if, but the bones are there. Anyone who tried had an unfortunate accident or disappeared. Even I cannot tell you their names. We had little use for true names, and many who had been widowed found it unsafe.

If a woman openly bore the child of a guard they might be given a little more value, but in those rare cases the child was often stolen from her, especially a male child, to be raised as his own. Many who did concealed the parentage. Sickness was rife as we were crowded, weakened by overwork, and not allowed access to healers.

On my last day in my first Home. The Hold I almost ruled, could have. That day I saw the Lady wife of Fax. Lady Gemma. That day he killed her, she died birthing their son, and her last act brought about his downfall.

Her life was full of furs and gems, and yet she was trapped by a brute, pain relief and gentleness withheld, no one stepped in to alleviate her pain, until her very last day. One that was pivotal in Pernese history. It closed the darkest chapter in our recorded history, and was the beginning of a new one. The tyrant was killed by the Bronze Rider F’lar, when he lost a duel that was witnessed.

With that event the daughter of Ruatha no longer had to hide and could claim her birthright. Something changed though, that altered the course of Pern’s history forever.

The young woman met her first dragon, and that my dear, that changed everything. ”

Lessa looked as Menolly shifted slightly. “I think that is more than enough for today, the records that I think will interest you shall wait, and a rest before your not-mate arrives would be beneficial. Come Menolly girl, let me see you back to your chamber and I shall make sure to have some redfruit, and Benden red delivered to you both upon his arrival.” The Weyrwoman reached up to cover the glows. Menolly wondered how she could just shut the door on everything that had just been described. A necessary skill. Lessa saw it in her face and huffed quietly, “Practice. If one does not separate things or dwells on a broken past it consumes them, and can occlude the possibility of a better future. You do the same yourself. Now move. Before that pesky swarm of yours descends upon us. They have been gone far too long not to be caught up in some mischief.”

Menolly allowed herself to be steered by the completely composed Weyrwoman back to her bedchambers. “Go on now, either give yourself a chance to process everything, or one of them is going to nudge you into sleep.”

“They’d do that?” Menolly wasn’t sure that dragons deciding when she should be awake and not was at all good. “Oh no dear, not do . Have done . Although I’ve only caught one of them at it.” The disapproval was clear in her voice.

“Um...RIght, well I’d really prefer them to not be doing that without my permission being given.”
Lessa’s eyes briefly unfocused, Ramoth will ensure they understand. Now, bed, or I’ll delay her message.”Menolly realised how weary she was as she sank back on the pillows behind her and fell asleep almost before her head hit the pillow.

Chapter Text

At first she thought that she had been woken by the weight of Beauty on her excruciatingly sensitive breasts, the eyes that met hers were less than a handspan from her face and for some reason she seemed...impatient?

Very carefully not moving the weight suddenly, Menolly lifted Beauty off and offered her the vacated warm spot. Glancing down she sighed, at least she was wearing proper clothes, he’d just have to put up with the ridiculously crumpled fabric and mussed hair. Her inner Mirrim pointed out the bed hair might not be what she wanted to start with, and really, how much time would it taken to run a brush through her hair?

More than she had, apparently, as she spotted Robinton relaxing on the couch, legs propped on the low stool and crossed at the ankles, for once not bringing work with him.

“Shards! How long was I asleep for?”

A slow smile grew, “Not long. I didn’t want to wake you when you needed it, and your guardians made me promise not to before allowing me in. Don’t feel you have to get up on my account.”

She cocked her head towards him,”Silly man, of course I do. Do you know how much I’ve missed your presence? Come here, you can give me a hand up. It’s your fault I’m so stiff anyway.”

Her voice was teasing, gentle. It was her . He moved without thinking, helping her to her feet and holding her until the wave of dizziness passed. The couch was designed to be big enough for two people, allowing Menolly to curl into Robinton and breathe in his scent, one advantage of her heightened olfactory abilities.

His arm draped easily around her, the decision he had come to easing some of the guilt he had carried when he did so before. She’d notice, he knew, and appreciated her not questioning it yet.  “I missed you too. Both of you. I am sorry I couldn’t be here sooner, the Harper’s work is never done is it? Something came up.” Menolly reached up a hand to his face, running the pad of her thumb along his cheek bones and gazing at him in that way she had of stripping the layers from a man. “Yes,” She breathed, “Yes it did.” Resting his forehead against hers he mirrored her gesture, “I am sorry my Menolly. I couldn’t risk anyone scaring you. I am not in any immediate danger, but it seems that life is finally catching up with me.”

Menolly rolled her eyes at him, “If I scared easily do you really think I’d still be here with you?
“I suppose not, no. You’ve always been the bravest of us all.”

“Oh, another compliment, now I know something is wrong.” She pressed one hand gently to his chest as the other traced the lines of his face.

“Sebell is ready, and we are preparing for the transition and election of a new Masterharper, though. I can’t not be a Masterharper in my heart, but intend to step down and be a resource that Master Sebell can call upon only when needed.”

Menolly swallowed the tears that threatened. “How long?”

Robinton wrapped his arms around her, willing her to feel the strength that remained, “I don’t know. Longer if I’m a very good boy and listen to my healer.” He dropped a kiss on her temple. “I can’t promise you a life together, but what I can give you is the truth. You already hold my heart, it’s no longer my own, all I can offer you is myself, for however long we have.” There was never any point in lying to Menolly.

Looking down he saw the tears on her cheeks and had to kiss them away, he hated to see her cry, especially because of him, but when she looked back to him her voice was steady. “Then I accept. I would never expect you to stop being The Masterharper, I know well, you never could. I know you .  You lack no heart, because you have stolen mine away. Robinton,  tomorrow is promised to no man or woman. Only today. You have my today. You have our today my love. That is enough.” She laced their fingers together.

“Now shush, and concentrate. There is someone else who missed you, and wants to be noticed. With that she pressed their joined hands to her belly, burying her head in his shoulder and enjoying his warmth. She could grieve later, she was Menolly of Pern, the girl who outran Thread, a friend of dragons, she would not waste the precious time they had been granted together. They were going to make this count . He still had to return to the hall, and there were still so many unanswered questions, but he was hers, and now she knew it. Without the storm, she was sure that he never would have, nor would she, and how much she would have lost without ever knowing it!

Doing as he was told for once Robinton allowed himself to enjoy the stillness, perhaps most men experienced this moment far earlier in their lives, but as he rested their joined hands over the swell of their child and felt her moving against them he knew there was nowhere he’d rather be. With shining eyes he silently swore an oath to their child, that he would be there for her first smile, and her first steps. He rather suspected that his daughter would have a draconic sibling to help catch them by then, and the thought warmed him more than he expected.

They sat wrapped in each other until a gentle knock sounded from the doorway. “Menolly? Master Robinton?”

Recognising the soft voice, Menolly called out an invitation to Brekke.

“Sorry to disturb you, but Menolly’s not really been helping herself today and if she doesn’t want to end up on full bedrest I expect full co-operation with her healers.”
Menolly mock sighed. “It’s green sludge time again, isn’t it.” reaching to take the cup.

“Hey, be glad you aren’t living in a beasthold, their equivalent was far less pleasant.” Brekke commented as she watchedto be sure Menolly had managed it all. “I’ll have some grape juice sent up for you.” She smirked at the Masterharper, “Put the pout away, I’ll make sure they send you up a good skin of vintage red.”

“Thanks Brekke. I promise I won’t waste your efforts.”

The healer nodded, knowing how much was contained in the acknowledgement.

She closed the door quietly behind her.

“Robinton?”

“Yes?” He stroked a lock of hair back from her eyes tenderly.

“What was Lessa like as a child?”

His hand froze.

“What makes you ask that, Menolly?”

She bit her lip, “Never mind.”

Robinton watched as her eyes darted around.

“Sit in front of me. Come on. Close your eyes.”

Choosing no to argue Menolly obeyed, and he lifted her hair out of the way, “I like it this way. Well, Lessa was… she was cute. So independent already, and not afraid at four turns to show it. Even then she was daring. She has her father’s eyes, and when they were next to each other the resemblance was obvious, even though she looked almost fragile.  Of course all of that was before I became Masterharper, and then later, travelling that way became dangerous.”

Menolly shivered. She knew what he meant. The Crafters looked after their own just as much as the Weyr did, and there were cots set aside near the healer hall for those who had suffered the consequences of doing what they must, what their conscience dictated. Many could still teach certain classes, but not all.

“And when you next met it was as adults?”

“Hmm. I saw the immediate aftermath, but it seemed clear that none of the Blood still lived. To meet Lessa as a fiery, dragon- ordering woman, was a balm to the soul. Against all odds she lived.  In choosing the Weyr she still left her people hope, and a reason to fight, to rebuild.”

Menolly nodded. “That sounds about right.” She fell quiet and he felt her fingers tighten in hers,

“Do you think they’ll forgive me? The others.” Robinton chuckled dryly.

“Oh Menolly, They are so sharding proud of you! There is nothing to forgive. I still fully intend on standing with Sebell as he awards you your full Mastery within a turn.”

Menolly’s warm laughter washed over him. “Good to know your faith in me remains strong. That makes the list of expectations of me for the turn.  Birthing a harper- dragon girl, standing for impression, finishing a dissertation and sorting through about one hundred and fifty turns- or more of information, whilst attaining my Mastery, and composing the next generations lullabies. Plus the adults-only book that Mirrim requested. Oh, and in between, breathing .”

“Menolly mine, I could never lose faith in you. You are the impossible woman. You’ve never been fettered by the expectations of others yet, so don’t start now. Trust yourself, as I trust you. As Sebell, Domick, and SIlvina trust you; and apparently most of the great and good at Benden do.”  The hand that wasn’t tangled with hers had moved to stroking her hair without conscious thought but as she leaned into his touch Robinton relaxed into it.

“So are you going to tell me what prompted your earlier questions?”

“Mm, no love. I’m not.”

To her surprise he smiled. The masterharper smiled. “She chose well. I always knew you were special.”

Menolly rolled her eyes, knowing that any good harper was meant to be a vault for secrets.  “Wasted flattery there. Is that why you were so eager to sweep me off my feet and steal me away a-dragonback?” Her eyes twinkled brightly.

“That was just a happy coincidence my dear, and a surprisingly cunning Headwoman.”

Menolly sighed into his chest, “Remind me to thank Manora later.”

“You already have, Menolly.”

They settled into a comfortable silence then, each simply soaking in the other’s presence, both feeling the heightened awareness of the fragility of life, and trying to use every precious moment.

Neither noticed anyone bringing wine and nourishment, but when Menolly’s stomach inevitably began to grumble she realised someone must have done so. Ah, Brekke, she’d brought the grain crackers and cheese that Menolly liked.

The two harpers spent most of the afternoon comparing and indulging in new music, as various dragons tried to listen in. There were two that Menolly felt she owed at least a little. Plus, Ramoth might enjoy some of the tunes written for her baby, and she certainly should be included in the song for Prideth. Path was sufficiently interested that Menolly knew she’d be pestered constantly until she did share the music.

Really it was a shame that Mirrim had no interest in anything beyond singing in tune, although at least she had a pleasant voice. Many of the wingleaders ended up with roughened voices from shouting orders over the wind. She was well familiar with the effect as it was identical to fishermen shouting to be heard over the roaring of wind and wave. Fortunately for her, the effect didn’t seem to occur in those who could bespeak all dragons, as it was actually far more efficient to just do that, and there was no muting effect in non-vocal communication. It would be so much easier if humans could do the same thing as dragons. Until she considered the implications in a classroom setting. The horror that an apprentice like Piemur could unleash given that weapon did not bear thinking about!

No wonder the full grown dragons had limited patience for weyrling pair tricks.

The time slipped away from them far too quickly for Menolly’s liking, but reality always did intrude on their time together. She knew that even if there was a time she did not have to share him, it would never match a time when he did not have to share her.  It was the one thing she truly envied about a boring, ‘normal’ life. She could never have been truly happy that way though, and certainly neither would Robinton, even if they were closer in age. Menolly rather thought that they were each born when Pern needed them. Robinton was right. Rigid expectations never did work for her. Perhaps she would be a New thing.

The Queen of Benden clearly approved, sending a dizzying wave of happiness towards them, laced with a slightly exasperated note of finally .

“Come on Rob, eat with me before you return to the Hall. Sebell needs the practice of holding the Hall anyway. He won’t break it- plus if you thought he would, you never would have nominated him.” She winked, knowing her friend had long been a Masterharper- in- waiting the same way Jaxom was acknowledged as Lord Holder when confirmed. The vote was a formality. Only the Weyrs had truly unknowable outcomes of leadership contests.

“Give him my congratulations when you return. Oh, never mind, I’ll write them a note each.”

Robinton lifted a thick brow, “Them?”

“Sebell and Talmor of course, Sebell has Kimi, but she’ll be so busy today the poor thing probably has wing- ache and needs a good oiling by now! And Talmor was just never interested in a firelizard of his own, although perhaps he’ll change his mind when Sebell’s hours become even more unpredictable. Oh no, don’t give me that look, I stayed up in that room long enough to hear the comings and goings at strange times. Not. Fooled. Robinton.”

He swirled the wine around, admiring the deep claret colour. “You rarely are. Of course both of you were called in or reporting at odd hours yourselves, so I don’t think you can fairly question the wisdom there.”

Menolly pursed her lips and watched him take a deep draught of the wine. “This is me, questioning the wisdom of keeping such abominable hours. I wish to report anonymously, the terrible and relentless abuse of poor, defenceless Journeymen and women, the atrocious hours and outrageous disguises expected of them. In particular I wish to report a most abhorrently itchy fake moustache, and side burns.” She carefully kept her face deadpan.

Robinton choked on his wine, “Well, in my defence you did lose the bet my dear, and the sideburns were Sebell’s fault. However, you should definitely lodge a complaint, it’s probably against some rule or other.”

“I’m quite sure that turning up for a debrief before dawn, still drunk, is against the rules, so how about a truce? I shall promise not to create paperwork, if you agree never to mention how the future Masterharper and I stumbled into your chamber singing inappropriate songs one fine turnover?” She grinned at the memory.

“Hmm. Tempting, Menolly mine, but I fear I must exact a higher price for my silence on such a matter. One kiss and I swear, no one shall ever know how well you wear a moustache.”

Menolly rolled her eyes, “ Oh no , how will I manage so steep a claim?”

Before he could second guess himself Menolly reached over to brush a gentle kiss to his lips. He knew how it would have developed had he been a younger man, but found himself untroubled that there was no heat to it and he knew that was indicative of their personal relationship. His Journeywoman was soothed by his presence, they had an easy intimacy, and genuinely enjoyed each other. For all they were choosing not to focus on his illness, she clearly understood and was accepting of him  in spite of that.

It was more revealing of her heart than anything more demanding could have been.

He pulled her just as gently into an embrace, smiling as he tucked her head under his chin, he had always liked her height for that reason.

“Thank you for sharing this with me Menolly, you have given an old man more than he could ever have hoped for, and it is my greatest privilege to be a part of your family.”

Menolly let herself melt into him for as long as she could, but eventually forced herself to step away. “It’s time Master, isn’t it? I am banning you from timing it, and Zair will tell me if you try, so if you want to prevent a panic, and you do, love, we’re out of time for now. We’ve built up enough favours that we can call them in for facilitating visits. If Silvina tells you to rest, do it, if she tells you to eat, don’t argue. Promise me.”

Robinton gave her hand a last squeeze. “I promise. I will see you both soon. Time to put on a show then my dear. You be as careful for me.”

“Monarth is waiting for you in the bowl, go on. We will be careful.”

Then he was gone.

As his warmth faded, Menolly’s bravado faltered, and folded. As the first tears began to fall she felt slight, strong arms slip around her, supporting her to the couch and wrapping a fur around her shoulders. “Path said you would need me Menolly. I am here for as long as you do. You are safe here, and guarded by dragons.”

She leaned into Mirrim, borrowing strength from her friend, her own reserves exhausted.

“Thank you.” She tried, “I’m sorry, sorry, I shouldn’t… this isn’t.. Oh Mirrim..” Her voice broke as she finally gave in to the overwhelming emotions and upheavals that had rocked her life recently.

“Hush now, no apologies for this, never for this.” Mirrim’s hand stroked over Menolly’s back gently soothing and offering only comfort.

Every dragonrider was familiar with such episodes.

Most had a weyrmate or wingmate close enough to offer support or guarantee privacy. Right now what Menolly needed most was a friend, and Mirrim was deeply grateful to Path for remaining attuned to Menolly’s emotions enough to alert her rider to her distress. As she held her friend Mirrim asked no questions, simply letting her sob against her shoulder until her strength gave out. There would be time for questions later. When Menolly quieted and began to drop off Mirrim slid out from under her, arranging a cushion under her head and removing the soft shoes. Her heart hurt for the harpress. One by one her firelizards appeared, curling around their mistress  with worried croons and comforting purrs. Beauty gave a sharp order and they stopped nosing and poking at her and settled down, ensuring that when she did wake up she would not feel alone.

Chapter Text

Ramoth was disgruntled. The Harper visiting Menolly was supposed to make her feel happy and settled, and instead her not-mate had upset her. Even Mnementh agreed that was bad form from a sire, without any prompting from her. When one’s Queen was with egg, one did not cause her distress. Nor was it wise for any male to disagree with her. Or mention that she may be over-reacting to something. Why human males seemed to take so long to learn such basic things caused many bronzes much confusion. Especially the Queens mate’s. If your Queen on the hatching sands requested a herdbeast and was disappointed you didn’t bring a wherry, it was common sense to go and get a wherry.

Making the clutching Queen happy was the Sire’s job.

Ramoth considered giving the Harper a reprimand, but decided that she would not stoop to speaking with him. Lessa would be willing to deliver that. Mnementh wondered if he should intervene and explain how one was supposed to treat a clutching mother.

It was puzzling, because whenever his rider thought of the Harper, he thought of a wise man, someone who offered sound counsel and exercised good judgement.

Path’s rider had gone to the Little Singer, they would question her later.

She is sad now that he is gone. Perhaps she wanted him to stay longer.

I will not let someone who upsets her stay.

She may be able to explain to you later.

The Harper must apologise first.

Mnementh sighed. Humans were tricky at the best of times. So were Mates.

Yes, dear heart.

Did she manage to visit your eggs today as you hoped?

He felt his Queen’s mental smile and confirmation. It still made him proud to see her delight in their clutches, he felt honoured each time she chose him.  

Any mention of her clutch was guaranteed to get a favourable response.

----------------------------------------

“So do we know what is behind the unorthodox nature of Master Robinton’s earlier visit, dear heart?” F’lar handed Lessa a generously filled goblet.

“Define know .”

The Weyrleader cast a warning glance at his weyrmate, “Lessa…”

She rolled her eyes at him, “Fine. I don’t know anything for sure. Zair is anxious and jumpy. His mind felt itchy . Menolly is currently weeping on a greenrider and doesn’t want me to know.”

“So you know because?...”

“Because Our dragons are listening in of course! Not to each word, just the overall tone.”

F’lar took a drink. “Of course. How could I expect otherwise.”

“Hypocrite.”

“Fine. Maybe a little, I rarely ‘watch’ people though.”

“You watched me.”
F’lar grinned and waggled his eyebrows suggestively, “I still do, and the view is always fantastic .” It drew a giggle from the Weyrwoman who threw a cushion at him.

“Concentrate!”

“Yes dear.”

Lessa’s lips pressed into a thin line as she began to pace, “I hope it’s not because of earlier. She seemed ok when I left her, perhaps I misjudged? No, that doesn’t make sense, Ramoth would have said something. The pair seem to have bonded over young. I was very careful. Hormones though..”

F’lar almost asked what his weyrmate had done but wisely bit his tongue, if it became something he needed to know she would tell him. The female candidates were Lessa’s business, and he avoided interfering without her requesting it.

“Sounds like her visitor upset her then, rather than you, although on this one occasion I believe I’d rather it was something we’d done.”

“Mm. Robinton  would certainly not want to have upset her though, that man would rather suffer himself than cause her any pain. Unavoidable then.” F’lar stepped forward to wrap Lessa in his arms. “Perhaps we can enjoy this calm before the storm, because if anything, is a red flag for one, it is a sobbing Harper woman who fears neither thread nor public opinion. We won’t have long to wait for your answer love, but you needn’t worry that you caused any distress.”

He could feel the tension remaining in her slight frame and sighed, stroking her back, “Come lie with me, who knows when we’ll next get the chance to rest together; you can tell me what you are worrying over when you’re ready. Mnementh says Ramoth is angry at the Harper, and wants him appropriately lectured. Apparently that’s our job, since she also refuses to speak to or acknowledge the man.”

Lessa allowed him to distract her and smooth some of the tightness from her muscles, “I’ll think about it. Mnementh is also debating giving Master Robinton ‘a talk’ if you don’t.” Lessa smirked.

“Oh yes, and how do you think that would go? Telling a man as old as my father about biology and babies.”

Lessa smirked against his chest. “Not well. I’d gladly watch you try though. You’re always better at the practical applications though. In fact I wouldn’t mind a demonstration right now, if you don’t mind, Weyrleader sir. ”

F’lar laced his fingers through his mate’s dark hair and tilted her head up, lowering his own, “Well, I certainly can’t have the Weyrwoman forgetting such vital things, can I? Come on, no time to waste. As soon as anyone notices we’re both missing there’ll appear an emergency from between!” Closing the distance he brought his mouth down on hers and swung her up into a bridal carry and strode towards their bedchamber with his giggling, and suitably distracted, weyrmate.

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As Robinton made his way over to T’gellan and Monarth he was careful to give nothing away in his gait. Dragon riders were the worst gossips. As he felt the difference in weight of the wherhide he was handed to the one he usually used, he realised it was impossible to fool Weyrwomen, and apparently Menolly’s friends.

Readying himself to take up his role as Masterharper once more he gripped T’gellan’s wrist and opened his mouth to speak, but was stopped as the bronze rider raised a hand, “Not a word, I swear. Silent as a harper.” He winked and swung up to settle himself in position and gestured to Master Robinton to do the same. If Monarth dipped a little lower than usual Robinton made no comment, though he appreciated the gesture.

Moments later they were in the air and soaring high above the bowl before T’gellan gave the command to go Between. The sensation- or rather the lack thereof had never bothered him before, even as a child, but suddenly Robinton found himself having to fight back irrational panic as the similarity to the other night of not feeling himself breathing properly almost overwhelmed him. As suddenly, it was over, and the fear disappeared, in it’s place a weariness that he hadn’t expected to feel. Another thing he hadn’t expected was to see Silvina waiting for them in the courtyard, hands on her hips, looking ready to breathe fire. They hovered briefly.

“I think you’re in trouble, Master Robinton.”
“Really? You’ll face thread, but not a Headwoman?”

T’gellan scoffed, “Looking like that, not a chance. You’re on your own mate.”

Wise man, thought Robinton. “Coward.” is what he said, a twinkle in his eye.

“Every time. Angry Headwomen and angry Weyrmates, are far more terrifying than mindless Thread that only wants to eat me.” Robinton snorted.

“I’ll certainly grant you that, bronze rider. Wish me luck then.”

T’gellan smiled, “Good luck Master Robinton. You ready?”

Robinton nodded gestured. “Take me down.”

Monarth landed neatly, he always did, and noticing the tiredness that the Harper was radiating tried to make it easier to dismount.

As soon as his feet touched the ground and he turned around his Headwoman stalked towards him, “Master. Harper. Robinton.” She grit out, “Get to your rooms right this second before I rip you a new one right now, full view or not, you utterly reckless idiot man. I’ll be right behind you. Don’t dawdle like a stroppy apprentice.”

“T’gellan. Thank you, please pass on my best wishes to Mirrim and Menolly. You are welcome to avail yourself of refreshments, I am unfortunately unavailable for now.”

He grinned, “Oh I think you have everything under control my Lady, I’d best be getting back though.  I’ll make sure your message reaches them. Besides, I’m not supposed to ‘dawdle’ either.” He winked at her as Silvina blushed, and winked between as Silvina followed the Harper to his apartments.

Master Robinton had slipped off his boots in favour of slippers, and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders as he allowed himself to relax into a chair. Funny, he actually did feel rather like an apprentice caught in the middle of pulling a prank. The comparison drew a chuckle from him.

“Weeeell, I’m glad to see that someone’s amused. By the red star, Robinton, do you have any idea how dangerous what you just did was? You bloody idiot . How can someone so clever be so blindingly stupid? ” The smile had faded fast from his face.

“What on Pern were you thinking Rob? Really, what made you think that this was a good idea? You went between . The rules are there for a reason. If the rider who took you had had any idea what state you were in she would never  have agreed to take you and you know it.”

Robinton sighed, “I had to Silvina, you know how rumours spread, I couldn’t let Menolly hear anything frightening or inflated. What would you have me do?”

Silvina continued to glare at him. “Don’t even try it. You could have sent Zair. Shells Rob, you could have sent me , or Sebell, or Domick; and don’t bother trying to tell me it isn’t that bad, because if it wasn’t then you’d be talking about stepping down in a turn or so, not in terms of sevendays. I’m not a fool Rob, don’t treat me like one.”

Robinton closed his mouth, swallowing the denials he was about to make. She was right.

“I’m sorry Silvina, truly.” He stretched out an arm and pulled her gently down next to him. “I should have been more careful and taken your concerns into consideration. The decision was not one of my best and I can only plead sentimentality. My desire to see Menolly and prevent her from being hurt over ruled good sense.”

Silvina felt the anger leaching from her at his contrite expression, and wished she could remain furious at him. “Don’t let it happen again. Promise me Rob. How much more hurt would she be if you arrived there needing emergency care, or worse, especially if you were doing it to see her. In any other situation Menolly would be ripping you a new one, and the only reason she hasn’t already done so is because she’s distracted and vulnerable right now. For once she’s focused on herself more than you, so you are going to have to listen to me and try not to neglect your own wellbeing. I am angry at you on her behalf Robinton, completely aside from my own fears for you. I turned you down years ago- decades even- and that was right . I don’t regret that choice, but you have been one of my closest friends even longer than that, and I hate that you put yourself at risk so willingly. I can’t imagine this Hall without you Rob. My whole life you’ve been there, always in the centre of things, always so passionate. I don’t want to think about a day when that is gone. So don’t you dare act as though this doesn’t matter.” Silvina didn’t bother to disguise her raw emotion, letting the tears run. She was a pragmatic woman, had lived long enough to lose people both to the frailties of age, and unexpectedly.

None had been as devastating as she knew losing Robinton would be.

Robinton wrapped his arms around her and let her cry on his shoulder. “I won’t. I promise. I’m still here Silvina, right next to you. No goodbyes ok?”

“Ok.” She mumbled into his shoulder. “You take care of yourself properly, and I won’t cry on you or say goodbye, deal?”

Robinton smiled gently and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I will always be your friend Silvina, you know that. Thank you for always speaking your mind and being honest. You are too good for me.”

Silvina gave a watery laugh, “I can’t say anyone has ever accused me of being too good before. It was always too bossy, or too naughty.”

“Must have been jealous of someone being capable and beautiful.”

“Careful Robinton. I might think you’re trying to distract me from being cross with you.”
“Mmm. Is it working?”

“No it is not. I know you far too well; I can see the exhaustion showing through the cracks dear.  At least we know you’ve not lost your charm though.” She pulled back from him and brushed the remaining tears from her face and cleared her throat.

“You can prove your sincerity by getting yourself into bed for a rest whilst I go and wash my face, and get you some wine.” She disappeared into his washroom for longer than he expected, but when she came out he could barely tell that she had been crying so recently, appearing every inch the composed, serene Headwoman. He really didn’t deserve either of them.

“What are you still doing there? I gave you an instruction. Bed, now! Oh, and Robinton? I will make sure you get no wine if you aren’t under the furs by the time I return.”

The Masterharper grumbled, only partly feigned. “You’re going to lace the wine, aren’t you.”

Silvina paused at the door and raised a brow at him. “Silly man. Of course I’m lacing it. I’m still annoyed at you, but even if I wasn’t I’d be lacing it. No more antics for today. No one is bleeding significantly, nothing is on fire, there’s no thread, and the Lords aren’t baying at the gates. Sebell’s doing what you’ve groomed him for, and the rest of it will still be there to puzzle over in the morning. Go on now.” She swept from the room before he could respond but as he moved to obey he felt lighter than when he arrived in the courtyard.

When Silvina returned with the promised wine he was indeed under furs, and he was sure it wouldn’t have taken him long to slip into sleep even without the drugged wine. He really hoped that Zair wouldn’t tell on him. His little bronze tended to be terrible at keeping anything from Beauty, and what Beauty knew, Menolly knew. Bloody firelizards. If he was lucky Zair would relay the image of his master tucked up nicely in bed, not anything that would give away how much his trip had exerted him.  The chances of that were not good, but he would choose optimism every time.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Text

Too young, too old

One story, truth untold

Too cautious, too bold

As so many watch the story unfold.

Their own hesitation

Invited great tribulations

So much speculation

Around a private situation.

Close by and far afield

Faithful friends, and hidden foes are revealed.

Kith and kin, can suddenly power wield

But no, not Me.
I will not yield.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

In another life

Fighting through different strife

I’d have been someone’s wife

Survived by hook and knife.

How many try to break the mold

Just to be drawn back to the fold

How  afraid that they’ll be sold

And bred like sows until they’re finally too old.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

An invisible prison

Born with shackles already locked

Around their wrists.

What crime can one commit at birth?

How can it change what they are worth?

It’s simple.

Swaddled tightly

Hidden from sight

As blankets are opened, the world redefines their rights.

No child can understand

The vast difference in the demands

Made of them.

One day of realisation

A girl is assaulted by the reality

Of her own station.

Born of love, born of hate

For now there is no

Safe escape.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

How many unmarked graves there are

That Pern’s magnificent landscape mar

A mass grave there

A battle scar

An empty cot all soot and tar.

We care so little

Look away

We’ll ponder it another day

Don’t you know we’re all too busy

To name those lying encased in clay.

Did you not see

Have you not learned

Those who record truth will always get burned.

Focus on those who are free

Not all who were lost and still go unmourned.

What happens when atrocities

Are covered up

By those who flee

In fear

Or men who did take part

Who lie awake with guilty hearts

For not all those who followed him

The self declared Lord

False and cruel

Of such darkness the source.

You who knew

You who saw

You who followed

You who swallowed

All of that pain

Let us remember

And never forget

Lest those who live long turns after

Be led astray by another upstart

Ignorant of what they may suffer.

Though we lock away that darkest day

The consequences linger

As the turns pass we may

Recover from the many led astray

Actions never declared

Have left too many scarred and scared

The nameless dead lie underneath,

Our world is built on them

There is an account

A debt to pay

Fail them not

Lest it be your last thought.

And of those who lived in terror

Never knowing which one of them was next

Let the future ever be brighter

May your paths now ever be blessed

Your past is yours alone

And your future, yours to own.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Each passing breath

brings us closer to death

And so I’ll treasure each moment

‘Til not a single one is left

There’s only silence

------------------------------------------------------------------

As long as the sun beats on Istan sands

As long as the tide pulls on Nerat’s lands

As long as the forests of Lemos Hold stands

You’ll hold my heart in your tiny hands

------------------------------------------------------------------

A queen so rare

A daughter fair,

Are such precious treasures

A privilege to share

The egg’s soft golden glow

Just barely shows

A hint of the beauty, protected within

The hatchling queen who’ll follow

And as she breaks

Her fragile shell

A mother’s heart aches

And with pride swells

For today goes forth

The hope of Pern

The weight of a world on her wings

Sent away far too soon from the North.

A brave hatchling chooses

Little knowing what she loses

By accepting she is caught

Seeing something others did not.

A new world she braves

And an old world she saves

Sacrificing her happiness

To preserve many lives

She long bears the pain

Of a rider hardly sane

So well, no one can see the strain.

But her fight was always in vain.

The final battle

In agony ends

In bitterness gilded

Destruction of friends

The deaths of two sisters

Their glory cut short

Lives stolen by selfishness

Greed and distress

The dragons by instinct

Driven and desperate

Pushed to the brink

When two queens rose to mate.

Let us not shame

And let no one blame

The golden defenders

Failed by human riders

Speak once more their names

Proclaim them again

For Prideth and Wirenth

Protected all,

And were cruelly slain.

Prideth who soared,

O’er a Pern that despaired,

And brought joy to

Her great dragon kin.

Wirenth who served

Selflessly poured

Herself out

To heal, and mend hurts.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Little one, beloved one

Cherished, adored.

Little one, precious one,

Please don’t leave these shores.

I will protect you, defend you

Surround you,

Never shall harm come

To thee,

I’ll be your shield

You are my delight

In this darkness, my light

Each day you’ll grow stronger

My sweetest wee daughter

My baby you’ll be

Forever and always

One day you’ll see

I’m forever your mummy,

And you’re my baby.

-----------------------------------------------

In the soft moonlight

Silence

I feel you stir

Those delicate movements

Assure me you fight

Softly and surely

My hand against yours

Stay with me

My love.

One day I’ll cradle you

Warm in my arms

Wrapped in a swaddling cloth

And embrace

------------------------------------------------------------

Hear me, O hear me

My darling sleep sound

Dear one, O sweet one

For one has been found

One who will care for you

Carry you too

A mother who’ll sing you to sleep with a smile

A father who’ll rock you so your dreams will be mild.

Hear me, yes hear me,

My darling sleep sound

For dear one, O sweet one

They wait for you now.

--------------------------------------------------

Ice in my veins and a chill in my bones

Between clawing inside my soul

There are no words to express

The sorrow I feel

At these bittersweet days

Deepest joy and darkest pain

Mixing, churning, on all sides pressed

Blind I stumble through the maze

And try to feel the way

Between one breath and the next

Everything has changed

No longer sure what to expect

Dazed, all too strange

Moment by moment

One day at a time

Empty words

A time to shine

All things begin

All things have an end

What’s left behind

Is ours to defend

Chapter Text

Menolly’s eyes felt hot and gritty as she pried them open.

She wasn’t alone, but the presence was non-threatening, and Beauty was relaxed enough to sleep through it. An arm was looped lightly around her waist, lighter and slimmer than any she would have expected to be there. The press of a familiar mind against hers elicited a sigh and her fingers clutched convulsively at Mirrim’s arm as her most recent memories became clearer.

Behind her the greenrider mumbled something, and Menolly was filled with gratitude to her friends. The pair were doubtless the reason she had not been plagued with nightmares as she slept.

“Stay”

Menolly huffed. “you realise that this isn't your bed, right?” snuggling into her anyway.

“Obviously. The space is not all occupied by sweaty man.”

“Warm is good.”

She meant it. It had been far too long since Menolly had woken next to another warm body. Even longer since she’d slept with an arm around her. She hadn't realised how much she missed it.

She wondered if it would ever be with him.

“ You don't have to tell me, but I will always listen if you do want to.”

“I know, Mirrim. Thank you. I don’t think I’m ready to talk to anyone about all of this, I mean not coherently.”

Mirrim shrugged sleepily, “Sometimes things don’t  make sense. They don’t have to really.  You can rage or cry, or rejoice, and half the time it’s all jumbled up. Flying thread is a bit like that. Never could untangle all the emotions and thoughts. T’gellan can, but I guess it helps when he’s a wingleader. The conflict of emotion and thought is one reason that weyrmates are often split into different wings.  Aaaand it’s way too early in the bloody morning for this kind of chat. Klah. I need about two hands of it first.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed.

The change in the dip of the mattress sent Menolly rushing to the necessary.

“I’ll order some of your grim green sludge then,” Mirrim called, smirking at Menolly’s audible groan. “Don’t worry, I’ll add in some fruit, dry biscuits and smoked fish you crazy woman.”

“Not crazy, just pregnant. Not my fault the baby wants fish on a mountain and fruit out of season.”

Mirrim grinned as her friend reappeared. “Of course. Blame the baby while you can.” She winked at Menolly.

“Careful. Your dragon likes this baby.”

Mirrim rolled her eyes, “My dragon likes you , the baby is just a bonus.”

Path growled. “Ugh, I stand corrected. Path likes your baby and I am to apologise. There . Are you satisfied now?” Menolly smirked as her snarky friend apologised to appease the absent green dragon.

“I need to go speak to T’gellan before we have to get ready for Fall. Are you going to be ok?”

“I’m always ok Mirrim.” She didn’t even have to think about her mask anymore.

Mirrim cocked her head to one side, “I don’t believe that for a minute. I’ll be busy later but back to check on you.

“Thanks Mirrim, for everything. Though if you could keep last night’s breakdown to yourself I would be forever grateful.”

Mirrim pulled her friend into a tight hug, carefully avoiding her over sensitive breasts. “Of course I will, every rider does.”

Withdrawing, Mirrim gave Menolly’s shoulder a last squeeze and departed for her own weyr.

Sitting down heaving on the couch the harpress rubbed her back in an attempt to ease the ache that persisted.

She allowed the calm and quiet to wash over her and stayed that way for several minutes, only breaking from her reverie when a throat was cleared.

Brekke stood in the doorway, carrying a tray with the promised fish, fruit, and ugh- green slime. Damn Mirrim for trying to look after her.

As Brekke set the tray down on the table she noticed the tumbler of fellis that had joined the breakfast order. Seeing the flash of disgust on Menolly’s face Brekke smiled softly. “Mirrim said you looked sore this morning, and wasn’t sure if you’d time for a warm bath for relief. It’s why she’s my first choice for an assistant when one is needed.”

Menolly looked longingly in the direction of the bath. It was much more tempting than the fellis. She couldn’t justify two baths in one day however, and sighed, she’d need one come nightfall, and it wasn’t that bad yet.

“Thank you.” She grumbled.  She needed a distraction, keeping busy would limit the time she spent worrying, and she knew there would be no surprising demands from the Weyrwoman today. Ramoth might not be fit to fly until her clutch hatched, but Lessa was an integral part of co-ordinating the Wings.

To call what happened throughout the Weyr on days they flew Thread chaos would have been unfair, it was strictly ordered, organised, and a certain grim confidence swept through the weyrfolk. What it was was extremely busy, no-one lacked for tasks, and Menolly knew that in her current state she would be more hindrance than help to the effort.

That left her with few options.

Brekke had argued in Menolly’s favour that the dragons were still listening in, and so having healers with her rather than  the infirmary was a waste of their skills when there would be wounded riders and dragons. There were always some injuries.

There was a tension in Brekke's slender frame that betrayed her outward calm. It was a stress visible in every weyrmate on fall days, ending only when their man or woman swung safely to the ground. Stinking of phosphorus, sweat soaked and grime covered, and gloriously safe for another day.

Drinking the slime was one of the few things she could do to alleviate some of Brekke’s concern, and the ex-rider was desperately needed in the Healing rooms.

“Go on, Brekke. They’ll need you far more than I do, and I’m not going to be doing anything taxing. Canth says his rider wants his good luck kiss anyway.”

Brekke’s startled look was unsettling, but she said nothing, so Menolly supposed it was unimportant enough to ignore.

“Stay safe. I’ll be back to check on you afterwards. Don’t go doing anything reckless.”

Menolly smiled slightly, hand drifting to her abdomen, “Not anymore. I promise.”

The brisk nod she received in response was enough for Menolly to know that her meaning was understood, before Brekke rose and left quickly, anxious to see F’nor and Canth. She knew better than most that one could never know which flight was the last, and made a point of seeing the pair off each time.

The silence was almost eerie, as though the whole of Benden was holding their breath. Menolly sighed, and stretched, she would be extremely glad when she stopped discovering new places to hurt. The food was appealing enough though to make up for not enjoying the luxury of a bath this morning. That was one of the perks of staying at the Weyr. While the Harper hall may have a greater degree of comforts than the Hold she hailed from, they certainly didn’t have the same hot springs and bathing privileges that had been prioritised in the Weyrs.

Deciding that she may as well start on the day’s project as soon as she’d eaten, Menolly gathered her parchment, ink, and notebook, and brought her precious book out of its hiding place to her writing table.

The voices that echoed through the Pages were as clear today as when they were first recorded. What intrigued Menolly most was that though the characters varied, many of their concerns were the same. Human nature it seemed was unchanged, though the society and environment clearly evolved around them.

Having begun at the first entry and found the differences rather jarring, Menolly had revised her approach to beginning with the most recent entry, and working backwards. From the history she was most familiar with, further back into the clouded past.

Lady Benoria’s predecessor, she realised with a shock, was actually gruff Lord Groghe’s Mother! As she settled to the story - that was no story, she began to understand why the existence of such records was not common knowledge. Strange really that it wasn’t assumed, as logically the Lady Holder in any major Hold would need to be literate and have at least a modicum of intelligence. Well, that or the Lord’s mistress.

In the nobility there was an acceptance of pragmatic marriages to secure inter- hold relationships, so it was common enough for a Lord to have a Lady holder and a lover, almost expected.The strongest leaders seemed to be those with a strong emotional bond and trust, but they were not always love- pairings in the beginning. The current Weyrleaders were an example of that, Menolly thought. She didn’t believe for a moment that Lessa had easily accepted a weyrmate from the severely depleted ranks of bronzeriders.

Lord Groghe’s mother though seemed in her writings to be well pleased with her situation, though Menolly didn’t think she’d get on very well with the woman in person.

She seemed to have been one of the rather fragile society girls that Lord Groghe had always had so little patience with. Caught up in rivalries and drama.  She wondered how exactly the current Lord’s distaste for such had developed if he was raised by such a woman.

Ah, of course, foster mothers or nannies were common, and would certainly have been a part of his upbringing. Perhaps it was as simple as that influence, thought she doubted it.

As she read on, sucked further into the narrative it became clear that nothing was so simple. Reading a personal account of a pre- Thread Pern, where no-one truly expected it’s imminent return was fascinating. The weyrleaders were mentioned with exasperation, scorn even. Gathers where the crafters camped under cloth and wicker.

Unthinkable now, but not noteworthy at the time.

Evidently the Ladies of Fort Hold and Ruatha had been very close and enjoyed visits together, sending missives frequently, though the lack of firelizards clearly made things much more complicated than communication was now.  She reached out absently to stroke Beauty’s headknob as she curled around her mistress’ upper arm.

Menolly’s breath caught as it struck her how fundamentally her little friends had changed the fabric of their society. If they had been rediscovered earlier, could more have been saved in the first Falls of the Pass? From the terror of Fax?

It appeared that this Lady Holder would have been one to see the firelizards as elegant accessories or status symbols, but from experience Menolly was certain they couldn’t all have been so inclined.

She needed to organise her thoughts.

Menolly sighed and took out her writing tools again.

There were too many contrasts, she needed to start simple.

Class was probably easiest she thought, plenty of space within that to have layers, but those of the bloodlines, down to the cotholders gave some structure. Perhaps a separation of Craft, Hold, and Weyr, as was so vaunted in other ways. Yes, that would do.

She began to set down her plan and add details, warmed when she felt the child within her stretching in response.

It was well into the afternoon when Menolly realised how hungry she was- and how desperately she had to pee.

The fight would be almost over by now, the exhausted riders returning.

Menolly tentatively opened her mind to reach out and brush the minds of Path and Ramoth, seeking confirmation of which stage the battle was at, careful not to be invasive.

Both dragons were still tightly focused, so Menolly  didn’t pursue them, she needed to move though, and eat before the blasted nausea returned. Even now it was a fine balance to keep to manage the sickness. Fortunately once it was milder, there were plenty options of teas and decoctions provided by Healers and Headwomen. The better ones tasted less of seaweed and more of spices and berries, though Menolly would take effectiveness over taste every time.

Taking the last opportunity of a relatively uncrowded dining hall before it filled with returned riders getting deep in their cups, Menolly went in search of some hot food and fresh klah.

The women of the lower cavern had managed to overpower the odour of the fight for the first wave of riders back, few blues and greens flew a full Fall after all, she suspected they may have added something extra to the cauldrons over the fires. To a hungry pregnant woman it smelled amazing. Growing up in a fishing Hold stovies had been rare, and always used wherry meat- making it more like stew. Livestock didn’t tend to thrive next to the sea, at least not during a pass, so the most common land comfort- foods of the cold months still felt like a treat. Five turns might be enough to adjust to a massive change in rank and circumstance, but some things took longer to get used to. Her daughter would not be a child of the sea though. Born either in the mountains of Benden, or the valleys of Fort Hold, those lands and lakes would be her playground.

-----------------------------------------------------

Harper Hall

Sebell had almost caught up on the reports of each student now, glad he’d always made sure to memorise students’ names. Domick and Shonagar had worked out most of the performances for the imminent harvest-gathers, and were beginning to work on turnover plans. One of his more pleasing roles as Masterharper would be awarding the next masteries, and announcing the new journeymen, something he was looking forward to, and that would simplify the organisation of public performances.

Menolly’s Diver appearing had been a pleasant surprise, as Kimi was particularly fond of him, and seemed to enjoy racing when not near mating. It drew a smile from him when he realised that Menolly must be fully absorbed in something, especially since Diver didn’t seem too badly on edge, and firelizards almost always reflected their friends mood. He was glad that it appeared she was calm. If he ever managed to get ahead of his new workload, he hoped to be able to visit her before the Hatching. It seemed surreal, and yet Sebell was certain that Menolly would be a confident and capable weyrwoman or rider. With her fair of firelizards it was almost more surprising that she hadn’t been presented as a candidate before now than that she was standing this time. How much truth was there he wondered in the old joke that Masterharper Robinton had kidnapped Menolly from the Weyr while the Benden weyrwoman was distracted?

Honestly there were times that Sebell wondered whether Robinton himself could always tell anymore when he was scheming and when he wasn’t.

He played so many tunes it was rather alarming thinking how many he would have to take on, over and above his own current repertoire.

Kimi and Diver popped in and out, indulging in risky looking aerial acrobatics that left them giggling. Well, as close to giggling as firelizards could get.

Watching them play was always good for comic relief.

Leaning back he reached for the klah and finding it cold grimaced, he had a new appreciation for Robinton’s favouring of wine. He’d lost count in only a few days of the number of wasted cups, and had only managed to get one hot meal while it was still hot!

Little wonder that Silvina had long made a habit of forcing the Masterharper to take care of himself and remember the basics like food and drink. When he wasn’t actually working, there was always a Master or six needing his attention, inevitably a few apprentices sent to see him for one reason or another, and that didn’t even begin to touch on the Lords Holder of Pern, some of whom were worse nags than the paying harpies who stayed with Dunca.

He needed his own SIlvina.If nothing else to make sure he occasionally got a mug of hot klah.

Robinton had been right again. He penned a short note and tied it to Kimi’s leg before sending her to Talmor. He was going to need allies, so he may as well bring them in on his terms, and he and Talmor had often worked together in musical arrangements and on more official visits around the continent. They worked together as organically as he had with Menolly. He could admit to himself that she was one of his two closest friends, and would have been invaluable in exactly this situation, would have been a brilliant co-craftmaster.

Instead, they were going to do something new.

A slow grin snuck over Sebell’s features, he had a feeling the next turn was going to be very interesting.

Chapter Text

Talmor knew before almost anyone else that things had changed in the Harper Hall. No secrets remained so for long, not in a hall that was literally focused on communication and teaching.

He had been closer to the Masterharper’s ‘taps’ than almost any of their other peers over the last several turns, in different guises, so when Sebell began to take up more responsibilities, and spend more time in the Masterharper’s study it didn’t take long for him to realise the transition was underway.

Master Sebell’s summons wasn’t unexpected but he had hoped to have longer before his friend had decided to officially break off any non-professional arrangement they had enjoyed. He had known what he was getting into, that Sebell would most likely one day be Masterharper, and not free to have ‘loose morals’ or green-tendencies. He’d never really intended to involve his heart, but then, it seemed that was often the way of things.  He was no naive apprentice, caught up in his first crush, and had never had any illusions about a real future with Sebell, Craftmasters were expected to be wholesome and respectable. Like many of the women crafters, men like Sebell were often expected to choose between their work, or their personal lives. No one would care about his choices, thankfully, but it still felt wrong to be made to choose.

No point in putting it off though, dithering wasn’t going to change the outcome, and, Talmor told himself, he was a big boy. He would gladly remain friends and nothing more as they had been before, and support him in his position as Masterharper.

His feet dragged only a little on the way up to the office next to the current Masterharper’s.He was rather glad of the greater privacy for their meeting than if it had been the Masterharper’s office, which Sebell and Menolly had both shared not infrequently with their Master.

      The serious look on Talmor’s face when Sebell opened the door to him was unexpected; he had deliberately made the note neutral and simple. He smiled softly, trying to ease some of his friend’s concern, troubled when it seemed to have the opposite effect. Sighing he gestured to Talmor to take the extra seat, it was the most awkward things had been between them since they’d shared a dorm as apprentices. Not at all how he had intended their meeting to begin.

“Sit down.” Sebell passed him a mug of fresh klah.

Talmor accepted it warily, certainly he needed it today.

Sebell slipped into his own, now padded, chair. “I thought you would realise why I asked you here, but you are clearly distressed. What can I do to help?”

He had never lied to Talmor, short of ‘harper business’ assignments, and allowed his concern to show through.

Talmor huffed. Sebell wasn’t the type to draw out a friend’s discomfort or enjoy torturing them.

“Well observed. I am..upset. Not surprised, I mean, I’ve always known how we end, but it turns out that I was..ahm..less prepared for this conversation than I had thought.”

Sebell was stunned. Of all the reactions he’d considered, somehow he’d missed this one. Of course that rather reinforced his belief that a second perspective would be very useful. Clearly Talmor has misunderstood his intentions, and he cursed himself for not being clearer before.

Taking a calming breath and counting backwards from ten he started again.

“I am sorry Talmor, if I have caused you undue distress. It seems I have not been clear about what you...mean...to me. I won’t deny that I have some concerns about us, but I am certain of you. I trust you Talmor, more than most, and in discussions with Master Robinton and the happenings of the last few days, I was forced to accept that this is not a task I can take on alone. It is one I will need the support of a friend and advisor with, who will be honest with me, see the man rather than the title. Forgive the ridiculous hours, and remind me to eat when I forget. I didn’t call you here to banish you from my side. I asked you here because I wanted to invite you to…. I want you to be that friend Talmor. I want you to be there at ridiculous hours to remind me of sleep, to mock me if I am being arsey, to make sure I don’t entirely lose my sense of humour. I won’t order  you, or make it an assignment against your will, I will never force you or demand your loyalty, but it would mean a great deal to me if you would accept the position freely.”

Talmor’s eyes stung. He pushed down the sentiment that rose in his chest. He wasn’t a bloody teenage holdergirl. “You don’t have to demand something I gave you long ago, Sebell. You have my loyalty, and my confidence. Actually you possess quite a lot more. I would be proud to stand beside you, or help in the shadows. I always thought that it would be Menolly and you, before the weyr nicked her.”

Sebell chuckled, relief that he didn’t care to examine too closely flooding through him. “No, Menolly and I were always friends, very close ones, but we were never more. She’s more little sister to me than any of my blood siblings. If she permits it I’ll be an uncle to her children, but anything more would just be wrong. Not least because she knows. Not about you, I think, but definitely about me.”

Talmor lifted a brow and folded his arms. “ Really Sebell. If she knows about you , then she knows about us. Menolly isn’t an idiot, or you’d never have been friends.”

Sebell grimaced. He wasn’t wrong. “Yes, she will. Is that a problem for you?”

Talmor shook his head, “Menolly’s no gossip. In time though, there will be rumours about you and I, if I am to be your Silvina. I’ve no desire to become a subject of speculation but I won’t give you up just because some auntie, or failed apprentice is bitter or jealous. You don’t have to protect me Sebell. I’ve made my choice.”

Sebell reached over and grasped Talmor’s hand in gratitude, “Thank you my friend.” He paused, enjoying the quiet now that he had an answer.

He watched as Talmor’s eyes dilated and had to clear his throat, “Did I mention that theposition comes with a new set of chambers? They happen to be joined to those of the Masterharper. For convenience of course.”

Talmor grinned, “Of course. Now that makes the..ah.. position  impossible to refuse now, doesn’t it.”

In the corner of the study Kimi rolled her eyes. Humans . They were silly things, never saying what they meant. Impossible creatures, no others made such a mess of these things.

Deciding she had been patient enough now Kimi took off to look for some sensible friends. Rocky and Diver were much more fun to fly with, at least when Beauty allowed them to play. Perhaps the Other One would get a nice bronze that she could have without needing the older Queen’s permission. Yes, that would be good. If she could have a pretty bronze then Sebell may keep the Other One.

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Benden Weyr

Mirrim moaned and pulled the blankets further over head head. Never.

She was never drinking again, not even if that awful porcine of a slimy blue rider tried to goad her into it. His tolerance for wine was abnormal. Clearly, being three hands taller did have some advantages, even if he was still a revolting person. She had a vague recollection of trying to match him drink for drink, and T’gellan neatly decking him, though exactly why remained unclear. She tried to sit up and quickly gave up as her stomach protested. Her tongue felt too thick and something may actually have died in her mouth.

“Come on braveheart, wake up. Drink the water and the fellis. I promise you’ll feel better.”

“T’gellan?” Mirrim resolutely refused to open her eyes, the light was offensively bright and the thought that she’s overslept did nothing to improve her already sour mood.

“The same.” She could hear his amusement. “Come on love, the sooner you get it down you the quicker you’ll feel better.”

“F’ck off.”

“I love you too.”

She moaned pitifully.  Clearly her weyrmate was committed to annoying her into wakefulness today.  “Remind me next time-”

“Never to drink again. Yes, I know the script.” He smiled softly down at her.

Actually it was very rare for Mirrim to be reckless or to ignore her body’s limits.

He’d been hauled up by the Weyrleader already, just after dawn, to ‘discuss’ his actions against a certain blue rider. Fortunately F’lar had let him off with a verbal warning about violence between riders after hearing that the man he punched had failed to listen to Mirrim’s rejection when intoxicated.

The relationship between the two riders was well known, and outside flights, neither of them shared. T’gellan had agreed to be more tactful in future, and F’lar had taken the name of the ass who had upset Mirrim.

“How nice of him to volunteer to fly patrols over Bitra just as that bitter weather system is heading in. We’ll see if a sevenday of freezing hail helps cool him off. I believe our Weyrwoman has a few minutes available to remind him of his duties.”

That meeting had gone much harder he knew.

T’gellan watched his weyrmate as she groggily sat up and attempted to drink the medicine.

“It won’t work.”

He chuckled at his stubbornly scowling lover, “It’s a start. The bacon and fried stuff is in the dining cavern so you’ll just have to stagger down there. There are plenty of others in this state after last night, always are after clumps.”

“I hate that you’re right you know.”

T’gellan’s lips twitched at that grouchy admission, and he almost gave a teasing reply. Then he caught a glimpse of Path out of the corner of his eye.  AH. Well that certainly explained a lot, and teasing? Definitely not a good plan with a hungover, proddy green rider. Quick and efficient help to cure said hangover was absolutely in his best interests.

“I know, but it’s in high demand, so the sooner we get there, the more bacon you’ll get. Come on.”

Slowly Mirrim dragged herself upright. The light was no less evil, but for the promise of morning after breakfast she would tolerate it. “Just let me wash my face first. And make sure I don’t have to speak to anyone until I don’t feel like I’m dying.”

T’gellan smothered his amusement, he ran interference for his mate often enough that it was automatic now. Even before they shared a weyr he had been her friend and defender.

Monarth was watching his mate as she fidgeted. He had time. She was in no rush, but his Path was very much unavailable , she was his only. He could be patient and wait for her.

Usually Mirrim would have noticed the coiling in her gut, the itching as her skin felt too small, the moment she woke up, this time the disorientation and discomfort were masked.

T’gellan sighed in relief as she finally managed upright and pulled a dressing gown tightly around herself, and a comb through her hair just enough to make it look a little less like a rodents nest.

She grabbed T’gellan’s arm and he let her lead him out and towards the recovery breakfast.

There was an understanding among the kitchen staff that after particularly difficult falls they would offer hangover- food as an unspoken acknowledgement of the consequences and injuries. The riders flew in full knowledge and acceptance of the risks. They weren’t stupid. Nor arrogant as a rule, but there had to be either a strong streak of thrill seeking, or a steadfast, bone deep sense of duty to ignore the pain that so often touched them. Eventually a man would develop a tolerance to fellis, and to any of the stronger pain medicines, and the unwelcome truth was that many experienced riders had scars, or nerve damage from their fights. Some injuries were obvious, like the one who lost an eye, and others were hidden. Most riders avoided using analgesics and sedatives on a regular basis, just in case they one day really needed them to work.

It probably contributed to the high rate of consumption of Benden wine, but the Master Vintner at Benden Hold had stated that he’d need as much to be pissed enough to even get on a dragon to fly Thread, asserting that ‘no one sane and sober would’.  If they kept his vineyards thread free and his family safe, he’d see they got some of his best produce.  

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Menolly awoke restless, a sort of energy crackling over her skin when she reached her mind out. She moaned as a wave of nausea washed over her. It would seem that the brief respite from that was at an end. At least she didn’t feel sick in her legs this time. She didn’t know how that was possible, but it was! Whoever had made up those lines about glowing pregnant women, and blooming was a sadist. A lying sadist. She hurt in places she hadn’t known existed, her body wasn’t her own anymore, and she didn’t recognise it.

Everytime she checked, something had changed, and she didn’t know whether she was paranoid, or what to actually be concerned about. The sea bred tough souls, and though pregnancy was common, often enough no-one could be spared. Even those who could not stand had to mend nets and sails or spin yarn; idleness was simply not tolerated. Survival depended on everyone, and that included surviving until birth. Seeing the care extended to craftbred girls had been eye opening for Menolly, and her Weyr experience even more so. Still, her last five turns, the ones that had exposed her to this aspect of life, and made the knowledge relevant to her, had been spent primarily with men. More than that, her peers as Journeymen were oft- unmarried, so for obvious reasons the topic had never come up, her closest colleagues had been Robinton, Sebell, and Domick.  One had carefully avoided discussing anything sexual with her, she would be lying if she denied being attracted to him even at just sixteen turns, and Sebell had been certain he’d never need the knowledge, no attraction of that sort existing there .

She snorted, bloody firelizards hadn’t even taken that on board, stranded together as they had been. She had been intimate with Sebell a grand total of three times in five turns, all of them when Kimi mated during a difficult or isolating assignment. Menolly had accepted it for what it was, not expecting or seeking a different connection that neither of them wanted or would enjoy out of Kimi’s heat, and enjoyed her before and after position as his favourite sister.

She really needed to do something about Talmor’s lack of a firelizard, at least he couldn’t accidentally present Sebell a bastard.

Just as well really.

She wasn’t sure the Harper Hall could cope with the shock of another one.

Suddenly she realised why the prickling, crawling sensation was familiar and groaned. Her fair weren’t even due for a flight yet, and were curled and perched around the room in varying states of wakefulness, none luminescent or radiating lust,  so it had to be courtesy of someone else’s friends.

Brekke knocked, and opened the door without waiting for a response, appearing uncharacteristically twitchy for someone so calm. “I thought it was only fair to check, but are you feeling..um.. unsettled this morning? Irritated or tense?”

Menolly rolled her eyes hard. “No. I’m feeling uncomfortable and aroused, frustrated at inconveniently generous sharing of firelizards and dragons. Definitely grumpy and horny, and rather pissed off at the current rules on my responses.”

Brekke grimaced. Yes, definitely grumpy. “I thought that might be the case, I was hoping you wouldn’t be affected yet, seeing as you’re not impressed, but it was unlikely. Everyone who hears all of them is a bit... sensitive to the hormonal cycles of certain dragons, especially ones they know well, and you do know Path well. Her rider won’t be around for a day or three. I think, given the situation, we need to lift the rule on no-release for you. I’m putting you back on bedrest until it’s over, and leaving you the healer Grest, just in case of emergency, he’s discreet enough, and agreed this came under cruel and unusual punishment. Neither Lessa nor I will be visiting until that pair are done. Most green flights are no more irritating than firelizards, but the involvement of a bronze always makes it more intense, and both you and I are close to Path. F’lar and Lessa are stuck in meetings today, which means she has no option but to put up with it, so avoidance of her is more survival strategy than anything else.”

Brekke twitched and rubbed her arm lightly, the hyper awareness momentarily distracting her from the awkwardness, “Um… Would you rather be left alone for now, or is there anyone you’d like to ah, invite up for ‘klah’?”  

Thinking about it Menolly realised that there really wasn’t anyone in particular who was both available, and appealing enough to her for an unplanned tumble. She did wish that she had some better toys to hand though. Brekke raised a brow as Menolly considered. “Not this time I think, though I’ll certainly be more prepared for this next time. I assume that for those of us who hear every dragon not all canbe blocked well enough to ignore?”
Brekke sighed. “Practice helps dear. In time it won’t truly bother you unless it’s a close friend, just be a mild distraction, but the first time was deeply shocking for me, and as you can see,it’s still difficult when one is close to the pair in question. I need to go. If there’s no-one, then I suggest you try and put up some defences, lest your other draconic friends listen in or relay anything. No sense of boundaries on this front, and worse gossips than you harpers.”

Menolly shrugged noncommittally. “Well thanks, I think. Go on, F’nor’s probably expecting you.” She grinned cheekily, “ DO have fun, and I expect you to make the lack of warning up to me with details! I need to get my kicks vicariously for now, you owe me!”

Brekke giggled, “I owe you nothing! I’ll see you later though. When I don’t have an enthusiastic weyrmate waiting.”

Letting the smile fall from her face as Brekke’s footsteps faded Menolly fell back against her bed and let the frustration wash over her. Bloody lizards, amplifying everything. If she didn’t think it would make things worse, and her boys would go off to chase the nearest green she’d send them away, but clearly that was the least sensible option available to her.

The second least productive was to declare it all unfair like a petulant child, and glare.  She chose that one, and stomping off to the bath to see if she could soak some of the tension out, hoping that Path would just fly soon and be done with it.

Chapter Text

The next day was, in Menolly’s opinion, utterly miserable. Despite it being the reason for her current predicament, past mating flights had always had their advantages, and this one absolutely did not. Alone barely took the edge off, so without the usual companion available it was distressing enough- The healer had removed that option anyway as it was recommended to spur on the overdue- but the more agitated her draconic friends became, the more intense their broadcasting was. Her mental shields were simply inadequate to block out the torrent of emotion and sensation.

By the time Path had finally been caught and satisfied, her mental defenses had been practically obliterated, and the only ones able to help her rebuild them were distinctly unavailable  for now, and the low level buzzing was once again impossible to filter.  

So it was with a deep sense of relief that she finally succumbed to the blackness.

When Menolly came back to consciousness it was to the worried eyes of the Benden Weyrwoman fixed on her, and Manora murmuring something in soothing tones. Menolly had never found such things effective, as in her experience, soothing muttering meant danger or to expect bad news. Harpers learned the tricks as well as any healer.

She nervously felt around the edges of her mind, bracing for the type of blistered pain that had caused her to curl into the foetal position she remained in. To her surprise and pleasure she found instead of a raw, burned sensation, there was instead a cool numbness around the edges, a protective barrier, but it was not her own. Someone else had placed the protection there. No, someone else was there still.

Ramoth?

Welcome back Little Singer. Do not be concerned, I’ll keep the others out. You just need practice, and Impression will go a long way to preventing episodes like that one. Path is sorry, she didn’t mean to spill into you like that.

Star above, Ramoth, I really don’t want to do this again, It’s like having burns, but without any numbweed.  Thank you though, for the shield.

You are welcome, You will need to develop your own, stronger than the last. I doubt that even running from the Weyrs would stop them, distance doesn’t have much effect on this type of communication.”

Menolly suspected that might not be entirely true, and that if she were a blue rider they might have less power than the Queen appeared to be suggesting.

Menolly, to escape the voices of dragons, Lessa must be in a time without them. I cannot presume to speak for the Broken one. If there are dragons on Pern, anywhere, they can be heard by those rare humans like you and Lessa.

Are you louder when the distance is shorter?

Only when we roar or hum. Is not your own physical voice louder when you are closer to an audience. Menolly could hear the Queen’s amusement.

Nope. We only sound louder with close proximity, the voice control and dynamics remain unchanged. Only the perception of them. She allowed the teasing to show in her tone.

Quite. Ever aware of who’s listening. Not a bad trait in a leader, Menolly.

Part of her chilled; I never wanted to be a leader. I was glad to follow Robinton, and happy to help Sebell, Power is not something I have ever sought.

And that is what makes you a good person to wield it. You were born with power Little one. It is not something that can be bought or cast away, what you will choose is how you use it. For the benefit of all, or for selfish ends. I have no doubts that you will make the right choice, and neither do my rider or Mate.

I thought the sands were now open?

Ramoth paused, considering the harpress.  Experience has taught me that sometimes restricting an infant's choice, when a deep flaw is paired with strength, may be to their benefit overall. There have always been particularly close pairings, and those that are less natural blends. No one really knows why, but I suspect that there may be a few in hard times who do ‘settle’. As some humans do when choosing mates.  This time Menolly heard the grimace of confusion at the end.

There are reasons for that at times, and not everyone has the same priorities, but I don’t think I could ever ‘settle’, and I don’t think anyone should have to.

Not even dragons?

Especially not dragons. She meant it too.

Humans had their own social structure, oh so different from the dragons, and there were plenty of women she’d known who were quite prepared to wed someone reliable, a man they could trust and expect to be reasonable. Love or chemistry were really of no consequence, but a mutual respect was considered important in a potential spouse, if one was not marrying for the sake of an unplanned babe. Dragons chose their riders to be bonded to irrevocably for life, and their mates either to strengthen their breed, or on the basis of who their riders wished to tumble.

Concentrate. My Own is worried for you.

Worried, for her? Oh yes, there were people there. They were asking….questions?

“Back with us again I see.” Menolly groaned, her mouth felt too dry to answer properly.

“Come on, let’s sit you up and you can have some of this wine.”

No, she didn’t want wine. The Weyrwoman turned a stern look on her, “No. You are going to drink this, and then you can complain as much as you like. After you do as the Healer has told you, and I  am satisfied.”

Shards she hated wine at times like this. Her head already felt fogged up, how they thought that alcohol would help she didn’t know. She drank it anyway, for someone so small, the Benden Weyrwoman exuded an authority which was difficult to defy, and Menolly was not as resilient to blatant intimidation tactics as usual. Really, that was an indicator of just how unsettled she was.

Some kind person had decided to spoil her, as the wine was not at all what she was expecting but warmly spiced, and that was usually only available to the great and good of Pern, and then only at certain times of year. The Fall equinox, or Turnover. Lessa was smirking at her now.

“I do listen you know. Useful to know things about those under my protection.”

Menolly’s  cheeks warmed at the implication.

“Not to worry, the next turn of ciders and ales will be set to brewing soon enough, though little enough of that is sent here in tithes. More of that sort go in to Fort Weyr.”

Menolly wondered if sometimes Lessa missed the food of her childhood too and saw the Weyrwoman’s lips tug upwards, “Not really my girl, I wasn’t yet allowed to many of the proper banquets, my Father was strict about watering all the children’s drinks, and after that- well let’s just say that the diet of a drudge during famine years isn’t something to get sentimental over. When F’lar brought me here I couldn’t quite believe the abundance and variety, didn’t trust it either after knowing true hunger. He wouldn’t touch it until I had, and in my limited experience back then, that could easily mean poison or a test.”

“Ramoth?”

The weyrwoman shrugged, it shouldn’t have looked so dignified thought Menolly, “She is guarding your mind and was curious too. You are leaking thoughts and emotions, she can’t help it.”

She shook her head, chagrined, “No more sharing without asking, Ramoth, even if you are curious.”

The Benden Queen grumbled her assent.

“Bored. The hatching grounds are empty and Mnementh is busy”

Menolly chuckled, “I see, so I am your entertainment for the moment?”

“No. Well yes, You need me to provide a barrier, the amusement is more of a bonus than the purpose.”

Menolly nodded, assuming this time that Lessa could hear the conversation. In some ways it was a relief to have someone who understood what it was like to have voices and personalities popping up in your head without invitation.

“Don’t panic dear. This isn’t common, but I think you are a unique case, so we are simply trying to be cautious. For your sake and the babe’s.”

Menolly swallowed hard. It was unspoken but she knew that there had to be a high percentage of weyrwomen and weyrmates who had experienced loss, it was so easy not to realise you were pregnant early on. She certainly hadn’t.

Little wonder that children were considered so precious here.

Ramoth bathed her in a wave of compassion that had undertones of confirmation. It hadn’t escaped her notice either that there were fewer children by oldtimers and those who had spent significant periods Timing it. If she did impress it was something she intended to discuss with the weyr healer in more depth, though she had no intentions of ever mentioning her suspicions to anyone else.

Perhaps it was a blessing that her child had been created before all of these new complications.

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Mirrim woke slowly, the wonderful, sated feeling that always followed a good mating flight leaving her more relaxed than she had felt in sevendays’. She grimaced as she stretched, her well used muscles aching and sore, her skin covered in delightfully acquired marks and sticky, a heavy arm draped over her that made movement significantly trickier. She grinned. She knew that arm as well as her own, every callus, every scar, and the distinctive scent of her T’gellan. Being a dragonrider wasn’t easy, it meant sacrifice and effort, but at times like this there were definite perks.

Managing to peel his arm from her chest and giving T’gellan a shove she managed to slip from the bed to make her way to their necessary and bathing room. Mating flights always left one filthy, at least if you were doing it properly. Another reason she was grateful for the hot springs that kept Benden weyr well supplied.

Path and Monarth were still deeply asleep, curled together so that every possible point was touching. Their obvious love and devotion brought a lump to MIrrim’s throat. So many people forgot that dragons had feelings too, and it was beyond wonderful when dragons and riders were in harmony when it came to mates. A gentle smile touched her lips. It was only in the quiet moments that she permitted herself the luxury of softness.

Slipping into the deliciously hot water she felt the sweat, grime, and sex washing away, the luxurious sweet sand scrub that T’gellan had given her as a gift filled the bathing room with a beautiful rich scent. She suspected it was from the Southern continent as the floral scent was a distinctive but subtle one she wasn’t familiar with, and as a healer with experience equivalent to a Journeywoman she was expected to recognise plants with ease.

In the mountainous areas like Benden most scented things used either herbs, or easily locally sourced flowers like wild roses, mountain lilies, hyssop and heather. There were, after all, far more women in the lower caverns, and lowly greenriders, than fancy Ladies and Queenriders, and only they could justify the expense of a luxury item like imported exotic oils or extracts. It was as much a sign of status as the quality of fabric one’s gowns were made of.

From him it was a gift placing her at the same value.

Part of her loved that he was so happy to show his affection, and was romantic, another part  rebelled, furious at her own response. He had always been inventive. So good at finding ways of showing her what she meant to him, without it being blatant and visible to others, or him staking some sort of physical claim.

Well. Outside of their personal Weyr.

Mirrim could predict many things, but even after turns as his friend and then weyrmate she couldn’t predict T’gellan. She rather hoped she never would.

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As our winged friends take flight

Climbing higher and higher

Through tightly formed bonds

Set their friends blood afire

Want, need, desire ,

Sparks over our skin

Their mating lust spirals

Dragging us in

Drowning in feelings, sensation, connection,

Mind and body demand

We must complete the union

Burning, consuming, one touch of a hand

Drawn together, shared breaths

The world fades away

Passion blazing in breasts

Chasing the bliss night or day

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A frenzy of yearning

Heated skin burning

Breathless with ardour

Spiralling rapture

Fire in our veins

Elation and chains

Locked together in

Body and mind

The touch of your lips

The thrust of our hips

fingertips running

Every one of us coming

Every moment

Each movement

Oh how we need each other

Our own flight-day lovers.  

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One kiss from you could never be enough

I knew that right  from the start

One tender caress would never suffice

And I could never have borne it when we had to part.

To feel your arms wrap me up warm

The ache in my chest all but gone

A blanket of safety, security, charm,

His strength and protection, gladly I’d lean on

How could anyone ever expect

That one taste would last me forever

When I am so completely captivated

My pride and my comfort, my joy beyond measure

One kiss could never be nearly enough

So I will seek none, demand no such touch

My adoration freely is given, my wonder, my love

You will find me, my love, whenever you wish

And i will cherish each moment with you

Day by day, beat by beat

The dance of my heart

Shall follow your lead

I will forever treasure the day that we met

I cannot have you, you are not mine to take

Cherishing my heart would be a mistake

I would rather be close to you, bask in the light

Gladness, and joyfulness, each day I wake

We will be each other’s secret delight.

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Chapter Text

I am your sunset

You are my dawn

I am your sunshine

You are my rain

I am your dancer

You play my set

You are my freedom

I am your gaol

You are my harbour

I am your storm

You are my fire

I am your flood

You are my fire

I am your rock

I am your Lady

You are my Lord

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Masterharper Robinton lay awake. Usually about now he would give up on resting and get up to wander or use his time productively, but he knew Silvina was watching him closely, and would not put it past her to have eyes on him to report any concerns. He had pride enough to shun being tattled on like a petulant apprentice ignoring curfew.

Robinton had discovered long ago that underestimating any Headwoman was a mistake to be avoided at all costs.

Bored .

Zair cocked his head as though confused. “You heard me.”

The little bronze drew him a distinctly unimpressed look and placed his delicate head back on his forepaws, apparently going back to sleep.

If his bed was a little less empty at least he could enjoy a distraction. Robinton frowned. At almost 70 turns it wasn’t something he considered that often. It possibly wasn’t fair of him to be immediately suspicious of Zair projecting dreams, but really it was like having a mental connection to someone who 80% of the time was at the level of maturity of a five turns child, and the other 20% at the level of sophistication of a horny teenager. A state he thought himself long past. Actually, he’d thought the majority of his peers beyond that stage, with the notable exception of Lord Groghe, and even he agreed with Menolly’s look of horror on the rare occasions that came up. Sebell pointedly ignored her mime of mock vomiting on the rare occasions that her bronzes chased gold Merga, though he was certain that the self control had faltered when a sevenday later there was an insulting but very carefully non-humiliating verse that all the Journeymen had heard.

He loved that she was so grounded and intelligent, but he couldn’t deny that he loved seeing her wicked streak from time to time. He considered the Hall fortunate for the age difference between Menolly or Piemur, or Faranth knew there would be far more Masters going grey, if they hadn’t quit and become hermits.

Life had treated Robinton rather harshly and his own features bore the evidence, he wasn’t a vain man, but he did appreciate the fact that his own locks were still strong, if almost white; he really wouldn’t have suited being bald. Lovely bones he’d been told. Not a face to pair with baldness.

Camo had inherited his height, and his parentage was clear, but he had as much of his mother, Robinton was always careful to only consider the physical aspects of his son in moments like these, it was automatic now. What would his daughter look like? Tall, he thought. Menolly was tall too, and dark hair he’d guess. Would she have her mother’s sparkling sea eyes, or his? Menolly’s mouth, or something more akin to his mother’s? Answering that question was worth tolerating every bit of coddling. He did need to recoup the energy he would need to preside over the meetings he had in mind and to visit another old man who had a unique perspective. He’d need to convince their stationed dragonrider to fly him to and from Ruatha, and be out of sight whilst he was there.

Thinking about what he could do for their child himself was a pleasant way to occupy his thoughts and he found he had several ideas that were practical. Lullabies and airas aside. Shells but their child would probably provoke a huge swell of soothing compositions from her mother alone! Not that he wouldn’t express himself, his own father’s reserve and coldness had been immensely damaging and in the knowledge that it was likely he would not have many turns to indulge as a father, he fully intended to leave her some record and legacy for the days he missed. He would give her no reason to doubt her value, and Faranth help him, even if the worst should happen to Menolly.  After all, Larna had died in childbed as a healthy young woman, his own birth had been complicated and Lessa had almost died. Menolly understood the risk she was taking, and he would not undermine that. He could hardly blame their babe for fighting for life. She must have Menolly’s heart he thought. Menolly’s tenacity. He hoped so.

As far as he was concerned, the more traits his daughter inherited from her remarkable mother, the better for all of them.

It had been a long, long time since Robinton had done any significant woodwork, but conveniently he did have a Master who taught instrument crafting. A cradle couldn’t be that much different from a gitar or a lyre surely. He knew Jerint’s face would be a picture if he had to ask for help. He knew just as well that he’d make the other harper check every single join before placing any child in one.

Robinton was scrupulously avoiding anything that might be rendered pointless by any impairment. No one knew better than he that any fantasy could be dangerous and some things were beyond prediction. He would not risk exposing Menolly to the pain of having to sort through things that their child would not use, so he would need to keep them as a secret. The more he considered how to make sure his absence in body would not mean a full absence of his care, the more he realised was possible, and even needed by a child.
Even a child who could not understand instruments; as Camo hadn’t seen the drum. He had kept it, as a reminder of Silvina’s acceptance and his own, and her wise words about viewing all the students as their wards. He’d done it too, until his Menolly.

All children needed clothes. They needed shoes, and a warm place to sleep. These were things that he could help provide. The one thing that would be only useful in a healthy girl, was a dowry. Whoever his daughter chose to mate, if she chose to do so, it was usually a father’s responsibility to provide that for her. Well, being the Masterharper for decades did have the advantage of forming friendships and alliances with certain skilled craftmasters. The Master Smith for example, and the Masterweaver. He grinned. Oh yes, he might just enjoy this little project. Master Fandarel had been training his niece for turns now and some of her silverwork was absolutely exquisite. Perhaps his friend would allow her to take on some custom work. Something with sapphire and silver for his child’s harper heritage, a garnet and onyx piece for the Benden weyrfolk who saved her life. Something she would have free reign over to put towards her advancement in recognition of Menolly’s stubborn refusal to do otherwise.

In the event that a dowry was never needed, he would still have granted her a reserve to provide for her welfare, if she wanted to pursue a craft, or if she ever needed to be cared for.

He had seen the mountain of blankets that Silvina and her army of serving staff had organised, so the babe would be warm until at least three turns with those alone! A quilt then, for when she outgrew those or to share with Menolly. He still recalled those nights of peace when he would crawl into his own mother’s bed, only in Petiron’s absence of course. He’d never have dared to try otherwise. Silvina would know about children’s clothes. She would also laugh herself silly if he asked her about what was in style enough of the time to work. He vaguely recalled seeing little hold girls running about in pinafores and simple shifts for what seemed like a long time. It was practical he supposed. He had yet to meet a child who didn’t seem to actively attract debris and dirt, although it was possible that was due to most of his experience of children being Hall and craft based. Somehow he doubted that the rockpool collecting and greens gathering Menolly had mentioned was stain-free work. Especially if one was drawn to cliff climbing the way Menolly apparently had been.

That was more than enough to start with.

Lytol might have some ideas. He had after all had more recent experience with children- well, one child. Not so much a child now, especially if the rumours that had reached his ears proved true. He suspected that once Jaxom took to the skies his tolerance of the coddling and demands might begin to wear thin. A less patient kid would have lost it long ago. Perhaps Ruth kept him more balanced. Or maybe he was simply desperate to prove to everyone how completely different he was from his tyrant of a father.

In Robinton’s experience it was not very common to find children deliberately trying to emulate their parents during mid to late adolescence, even when that parent wasn’t a sadistic megalomaniac who slaughtered entire holds.

On second thoughts it was probably in Jaxom’s best interests to be patient a few more turns and ‘prove’ to the older Lords that he was not the next despot, this time armed with a dragon.

People could be dangerous when they were afraid, and people in general were easily frightened.

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Sebell found himself seriously considering just moving his bed into his office. Really it would be more efficient for everyone. Kimi had long since given up and gone to sleep, and his chambers felt like they may as well be on the other side of the courtyard.

He needed to rest though, he’d be no use to anyone if he succumbed to burn out in the beginning, it would make him useless to everyone. Just as he noticed that the candles had burned right down and the glows were beginning to dim there was a quiet knock on the door and a familiar face. Talmor smiled gently at him. “I believe that this comes under the new duties you mentioned? He held out a mug of mint tea. “It seemed too late for klah, and you really have to sleep a bit.”

Sebell grimaced, “And this was this best  substitute they had?”

“Nope. There was wine, but I’m not going to help you develop a reliance on it. This was better than the orange root juice and off milk.”

“Hmm, fair point. Thank you Talmor, bed then?”

As Talmor reached and pulled Sebell to his feet he was struck by how normal it felt to be ending the day this way and had to consciously not draw back, lest it alert Sebell to his reaction.

He was thankful that while the man’s eyes narrowed slightly he didn’t say anything about badgered into bed, perhaps he ought to be careful to not accidentally become...well… domestic.

It might work well for Silvina, already a Headwoman, it was definitely not his best suit.

“Go on, I’ll catch up in a minute.” Robinton was unlikely to appreciate the hall catching afire from neglected glows and candles mere days after he commenced the handover of leadership!

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Menolly wondered if there was such a thing as a flight hangover, or maybe just a mindblast hangover. If there wasn’t already then it needed a word.

“Lessa? Did it feel like this for you?”

The weyrwoman smiled, “No dear, but I didn’t exactly realise it was uncommon, and don’t remember a time I couldn’t speak to dragons. The first time was when I was around four turns. The dragonriders only came rarely then, so it didn’t matter. When I came here it was a useful skill, but the dragons never said anything to their riders, and things were very, very different then. There was no one to ask, and no other Weyrwomen, only me. Whatever I was, was what a weyrwoman was.I doubt if I’d had this reaction to every flight it would have gone unnoticed for long. No matter how resistant I was.”

“Do you think it might just be Beauty and the others? Amplifying things?”

Lessa looked at her sympathetically, “I sincerely hope not, for your sake. I do think that whatever the cause, you will become more resilient, especially now you know it can happen, and remember, you are close to both Path and her rider, so that bond may have played a part. There are..um..there are certain pairings that I respond more to than others. I suspect it’s the same for others like us. It’s not something I’ve ever asked. There was never really a reason to. Most of the Weyrwoman have been less tender or sensitive than yourself though, with the exception of Brekke.” Menolly sighed.

“Yes, she was in rather a hurry yesterday,” She chuckled warmly, “Some sort of urgent appointment to get to, keeping a man waiting.” Menolly couldn’t quite keep the smirk from her face.

“Of course, some of them are sorely lacking patience.”  Lessa’s eyes twinkled.

“Have you tried disciplining them? I hear spanking is very effective, or restraints to aid with developing patience.” Menolly deadpanned. The weyrwoman caught her keen gaze and promptly fell about cackling, until Menolly felt her mask slipping and her own laughter echoed through the chamber.

Chapter Text

Menolly could feel Ramoth’s curiousity at her rider’s reaction and the Queen not quite managing not to peek, oh no, she was not entertainment. She concentrated hard on one image and felt the faint echo of shock from Ramoth,

Menolly! That is not what safety straps are for.

Teasing her Menolly mentally leered, “ Maybe not Yet. What about riding gloves?”

The image changed and she let Ramoth feel her amusement and was rewarded with a draconic snort.

“Oi, stop corrupting my dragon! What is it with you harpers.”

“I can’t imagine what you mean, Weyrwoman.”  She flashed a grin at the woman she couldn’t quite consider a friend- yet- and couldn’t consider as less, realising how similar it felt to the quiet times she had enjoyed with Master Domick, and on occasion Silvina, when she knew more about their errands than any other harpers and conspired with The Harper’s Journeyman and woman.

Working in such a craft, especially in her position as a  teaching Journeywoman, she had come to understand that age had little bearing on maturity or connection, and she enjoyed her time with the masters as much as she had her own peers. Certainly more than the company of the spoiled paying students. There had admittedly been a few she’d been close enough to to keep in touch with, though none as much as Audiva, who had defended Menolly since her early days in the Harper hall.

She really missed having a mentor the way she had for so long and she wondered if Lessa was taking the role deliberately or without noticing.

All too soon the Weyrwoman had to return to her usual duties, which could be neglected no longer, as Brekke took her place keeping watch on Menolly. Healer to her core, Brekke had brought up the green mush, some kind of orange fruit that she’d only seen once before in Ista, and some of the blessed salve for itching that Mirrim had introduced to her. She could kiss her for remembering. Though she couldn’t help envying the warm glow around the woman, who’s whole aura could only be described as sated.  Wicked of her thought Menolly.

Be nice! Came the warning in a deep rumbling- Male?- voice.

When am I not?  She shot back.

The dragon- ah, Canth, arched a brow ridge at her mentally, “No sensible male answers that. Or assumes an answer. All females are unpredictable and irritable when clutching. You broadcast envy. I protect the Brekke.”

Ugh. Men. Apparently the sentiment applied to dragons as well as humans. She wondered fleetingly how Ramoth didn’t completely lose her temper in a Weyr with quite so many of them or scorch any of them on Bad Days.

“Yes. Like that.”

Menolly sent him a rude gesture and he obligingly withdrew, leaving her to smile sweetly at Brekke and hope she didn’t realise her weyrmate’s dragon had been interfering. It failed.

The other woman’s lips turned upwards as she tried to suppress a giggle. “I won’t ask what they are saying, but Menolly dear, please drop the manic grin, it looks like you either want to pounce on me or kill someone. Not that I would blame you particularly, life isn’t giving you an easy ride right now… but creepy really doesn’t suit you.”

“Thanks. Come in then, have a seat. I’ve promised Canth I won’t break you; probably destroyed any lingering illusions he had about elegant Harper manners too. I’ll make you a deal though, and drink those atrocious looking concoctions without complaint for your agreed vicarious details!”

Brekke chuckled, “Shall I forewarn Mirrim?”

Menolly shook her head, “Oh no, Mirrim has earned herself quite the punishment with Path’s latest stunt.”

The older woman grimaced at that, “I heard about that. I can help you build up some defences, but there is an element of exposure to the ‘noise’ in training your mind. Lessa and I have both had turns with dragons to become accustomed to it, and you are older than is typical for the skill to arise, and haven’t stayed for long in Weyrs.”

“Actually I was fifteen turns the first time I stayed here.”

Brekke smiled, “Yes, I know. The thing is Menolly, the dragons remember you . Dragons in general remember those who are important to their own riders on a personal level. Otherwise humans are to them about as memorable as canines and runners are to you and I. Remembering someone who stayed only briefly, or who is not a personal friend of their own riders is rare, and it isn’t only Monarth and Path who remember you- Monarth delivered you with the Harper to the Hall when you left, then brought boots under threat from Felena. You may only now be aware of speaking with and hearing them, but they recognise your mind innately, and always have.”

Menolly snorted, “And yet none of those I’ve ridden before felt it polite to tell me this, even when we exchanged greetings.”

Brekke rolled her eyes. “Like you never thought fit to tell Master Robinton you did so?”

“ I had a reason. It’s not as if I had long conversations with them, it just seemed rude to treat them like a mere runnerbeast. I couldn’t risk being sent back in the first couple of turns, and then there was never a good time, and it no longer made any difference.”

The flat, sceptical look directed her way arrested Menolly’s defense. “Oh, of course. No difference. I’ll just go and explain that to Ramoth shall I? Sorry Ma’am, but your harpress only hears you all a little bit . Definitely not significant.” The mocking voice was gentle enough but still made her skin prickle uncomfortably.

“Maybe not my best decision ever, no, but I doubt it would have made any difference. I would still have remained there, still been fully committed to harpering, and I would still have loved him. No change it the path of events. Maybe slightly less vulnerable from a mental perspective, but I doubt it, as that would mean sharing with others, and there was never a reason to.”

Stubborn bloody harpers.

Brekke sighed, she was right, it made no difference now.

“Fine. Drink the slush and the tonic, and I’ll give you all the vicarious thrills you want, then you can argue with your Healer that it wasn’t the lifting of that restriction yesterday that put you in this position today.” Menolly frowned, she hadn’t considered that interpretation. Oh well, they couldn’t actually enforce an orgasm ban, even if they wanted to.

She downed the green stuff they insisted would strengthen her and restore blood faster, trying hard not to retch at the texture, while glaring at Brekke, though she accepted it wasn’t actually her fault, and gratefully accepted the lemon water she held out. Apparently someone had been to Ista recently. Or the Southern continent.

Brekke accepted the glass back, as calm as ever, and leaned back, settling in as she began to relate her experience of the build up and flight. After all, she always honoured her promises.

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Harper Hall

Master Domick sat with a thick file on his desk, containing hundreds of leaves of lyrics and staves. A slice of history if he were being honest, and Domick was many things, impatient, sarcastic, and if you listened to the journeyman he’d disciplined earlier ‘an impeccable arsehole’, but he was not a liar.

Menolly’s work was outstanding. Her early pieces were clearly rough and unguided, and he could easily see her professional and personal development through the pages. It filled him with a warmth and sense of pride that he had had a hand in shaping the girl into the woman he had no doubt would change Pern as much as her Master had done, and that her music would survive long after she had gone. Longer, he suspected, than much of his own.

He loved music, and he loved Menolly as his soul kin, very differently to the way Master Robinton did.

He found so few individuals who truly understood, it didn’t surprise him that Menolly had bonded with Petiron as a child. Or that she had been isolated.

Really, he suspected isolation would have been a big part of her childhood wherever she was raised. It was difficult to fully understand those who thought so very differently from oneself, and Menolly was different. Pern had already greatly benefited from it.

It amused him as he considered that he now used copying her work as a punishment, knowing that there was always a place for it in any pack going out of the Hall. When she had first arrived at the Hall the poor child would have fainted at the very suggestion this could happen.

Of course now she was no shy young girl anymore, hesitant and afraid.

He offered no-one false flattery, but he had no respect for false modesty either. Hard work and dedication deserved acknowledgement, and Menolly had given her all to the Harpercraft. Even he had been surprised by the sheer volume of work, and her prolific Journeymanship. He had only seen one other like her, and that was - well that was the man she fell in love with.

Domick had taken the time to re-acquaint himself with her development in order to accurately judge her current work and submissions. He now found himself looking forward with genuine glee to her final project. She might not have realised the significance of it at the time, but he certainly did. Her decision to consult others and accept the experiences of different women had both pleased him and concerned him as she seemed initially unaware of the scale of the undertaking . He was quite sure that it was enough for a lifetime, or several lifetimes of study.

Few harpers were released to do that on a long term basis outside of sabbaticals though.

He fully intended to try and ‘encourage’ future students into expanding what he considered a rediscovered field, for there was no way that it had never existed.

Master Domick’s private suspicion was that there had been a deliberate effort at some time in their history to erase records and subdue the contribution and place of women in their society. No one accidentally misplaced such a large set of documentation of daily life. There were always traces, records of purchases, apprentice sponsorships, invoices to Holds long gone to ruin. Unless it was intentional.

He had seen it under Fax, where many were stripped of all rights, sold and given, and never, ever educated. An anomaly in their society, Fax had not been the only man to espouse such beliefs, and when one person abused their power, giving voice openly to hatred, it gave the masses, who did not hold such power, a freedom to do so, and put their prejudices into practice.

He held no illusions about those who had followed the brutal tyrant, they may have settled in obscurity, but many would have kept the wives they had ‘acquired’ during the campaign, and the wealth that had been stripped of victims still funded them. Ideally the rightful heirs would have been found and their inheritance returned, but Domick was a cynical bastard and sentiment had no place in such a situation, he doubted any would find it worth tracing the survivors who had either fled or ‘disappeared’, becoming someone else. Dead bodies needed no income.

It had been done 400 turns earlier, albeit with more altruistic motives. The Weyrs had disappeared overnight, leaving a gaping hole in the fabric of their society, and yet carefully orchestrating it to leave only the tiniest clues. Even the existence of Timing it was erased. Forgotten .

Had the story of women been intentionally forgotten so thoroughly too? If his suspicions were correct had it been for sinister gains, or had it happened without true ill intent?

He knew it was extremely unlikely that he would ever know the answer.

It was finally being corrected now, once Menolly had pointed the lack out, and began to address the lack. He knew that others would begin to recognise it, and the very shrewd would likely see that there were wider opportunities for study or professional advancement where there were fewer men and women in direct competition. No-one ever wanted to ‘go first’, although that may be influenced by the drain of the Weyr on a certain personality type. The risk takers and adrenaline junkies were necessary to fly thread. Caution, risk assessment skills and the ability to work in a team would keep them alive, but getting a man up in the air, on the back of a flaming dragon? He snorted. Risk takers only need apply. The very brave, and a small number of also very stupid- as long as they could follow orders the lower ranks didn’t necessarily have to glow particularly bright.

Those higher, well. One need only look at Lessa, F’lar, D’ram, and the company they chose to keep outside official functions. Menolly was not an anomaly in that at least. She’d never last surrounded by dimglows and hidebound boring folk.

It would be her childhood all over again, and this Menolly knew she had autonomy and the power to choose a different way.

Smiling, he wondered if Benden fully understood what they’d be getting in Mistress Menolly.

He was old enough to remember the chaos and panic when thread returned, and close enough to The Harper to be privvy to certain facts that were not common knowledge. Such as Lessa’s near coup. That she had forced the duel at Ruatha and successfully manipulated a room full of dragonriders and soldiers without detection . The part she played in the routing of the Lords Holder when they marched on Benden Weyr. The stealing of the Ladies, and the rebirth of the Weyrs.

Menolly was a far calmer and more forgiving woman, but he had no doubt that she was well able to orchestrate such things if the fancy should ever strike her. She may be one of the few on Pern who could stand her ground against the Benden Weyrwoman- Domick included himself in the number who wouldn’t even try, and not only because of the giant golden dragon who happened to be bonded to her!

He had begun to discuss a strategy for the coming transition with Master Shonagar, the man was wily beyond all ken when it was actually called for, but then, he’d have had to be as Robinton’s senior all those turns ago.

Menolly was already well versed in politics, and the complicated morality that exists within power structures, she had pre-existing bonds with some significant players on the stage, and had for turns been involved in the social engineering that Robinton often indulged in, both at a personal level, and in providing the lyrics and new tunes to dance to. Her mind had shaped the next generation already. His Journeywoman had leadership skills and experience in diplomacy, her genius in music aside, the woman had a ridiculous number of accomplishments and assets to her name. Though she may not have realised it yet, Menolly was set to be a very wealthy woman from copies and commissions of her work. Until her Mastery, a percentage went to the Hall to fund her training and that of others, but the moment she had her knots the debt was absolutely settled. All Masters still paid in to their Craft, but what they earned was their own.

Before full nightfall another leaf had been added and Domick was left laughing heartily at the tightly rolled sheet Diver had delivered to him. No need to inquire about her stay today then, the jagged frustration, and blatant lust in the tune made her mood completely clear.

Diver had been fidgety and looked as though he wilted a little as Domick mock-scowled at him and demanded that he return to his mistress without chasing or pestering Kimi. The flighty lizards may have grown on him, but Domick remained of the opinion that they needed handling like a stubborn three turn old at a gathering. If the creatures could pout, Domick was certain it would be doing so, as the eyes whirled a little more slowly and he whined.

Yes. Definitely three turns. Maybe four. “Don’t ‘but why’ me. I’m not one of her students, nor a soft kitchen lass. You did well, and helped Menolly. Time to go home now so she knows it got here, go on.” He gestured in the rough direction of Benden  and received a resigned chirrup that he filed under ‘ok, if I have to.’ in firelizard speak before the bronze launched himself and vanished between. He studiously ignored the fact that he had been drawn into talking to them like people. Sentience didn’t necessarily make someone a great conversationalist. Faranth knew he’d met enough humans who were less intelligent than Menolly’s lizards!

Chapter Text

What does one do when even the things that are familiar feel foreign? When you are torn between two homes, neither quite fitting you fully anymore.

Menolly supposed it was a stage in life almost everyone would reach for one reason or another. Not one she’d ever had in connection with her birth hold, but she remembered feeling a little emotional when she collected her meagre possessions from her cliffside cave.

Well, her sense of ‘home’ might lack clarity, but her family had multiplied greatly. Not only with her daughter but the aunties the child would have in Mirrim, and Brekke, the adoptive grand dams of Manora, Silvina, and Lessa, her own non-blood brothers Sebell, Talmor, Piemur, T’gellan, and F’nor. Though she felt less like she fully belonged to any place than before, she shared a sense of belonging with more people than ever before. Plus the dragons. They didn’t really fit anywhere in a human family, it but in a way their acceptance was all the more precious for its rarity, and most of them regarded her fair as either little brothers and sisters, or toddlers who mostly try to help and end up getting in the way more often than not, better than humans ever had managed.

The Hall had got used to them turns ago, but they still turned heads when she journeyed. They also identified her to people who had never before met her and had no idea what she looked like.

It had made undercover surveillance more of a challenge. A tradeoff she was willing to accept for the ease of reporting back across a whole continent in a matter of seconds, rather than the far riskier alternatives. There was still a significant lack of Harpers of a certain age as a result of those very risky systems during less peaceful times. Never openly discussed, as no one liked to dwell on past trauma, and really they had enough crises on a regular basis without adding the results of older ones.

The anomaly had bothered Menolly, who, coming from a seahold was well aware of occupational hazards. Most fishermen or those who sailed the open ocean retired young , or suffered notable injuries. When she told Sebell that his hands would give him away instantly she had spoken only the truth.

Typical expected injuries to harpers should have been disease in the joints, deteriorating eyesight, possibly issues with hearing. Instead there was a section that seemed to be missing to her, judging by the number of apprentices and journeymen.  It had troubled her enough that she had approached Master archivist Arnor some turns ago and asked him about it, he was old enough to know the answer. The old man considered himself something of a guardian of truth, so reluctantly had explained to her. He knew that the memory of society only lasted about a generation, and would do whatever he could to ensure it as long as possible.

The hunting of the harpers was the reason certain poorer masters had held positions they were not suited for. She had visited the cots where those who no longer travelled and taught were cared for on a few occasions and it had shocked her to the core. That had brought to stark relief her responsibility as a Harper, and the vital role they played in Pernese society. Some of the injuries had turned her stomach and made her wonder if death might not have been more merciful. The man who had his hands severed and tongue cut out- a popular torture for those who ‘spread lies’ in those brutal turns. The one who had burned.

The Harpers had been as popular as the ‘parasitic’ Weyr by then.

She needed to have another look at the Benden archives.

She always had been too curious for her own good; it got her into no end of trouble as a child, with only Petrion and Alemi ever willing to listen or see any value in questions, and then, as now they had bubbled inside her constantly.

Menolly wanted to know why with a matriarchal structure there were so few women riders. Mirrim was proof that greens were happy to impress them.

She wanted to know why the weyrs didn’t Search girls for them. There had to be a reason.

She wanted to know when it changed, because the Oldtimers sought every opportunity to criticise Benden’s departure from tradition, and yet said nothing about that. The Masterharper had trained his Journeywoman and successor to carefully note what wasn’t said as much as what was. Oftentimes vital information was to be found in the ghosts and empty spaces of conversations, as much as in the words spoken. Perhaps that might prove true of written records as well.

Fortunately, Lessa appeared quite happy for her to familiarise herself with Weyr accounting and record keeping, and willing to record the truth, even if that part was hidden quietly in the proper records.

She fully intended to include parts of Lessa’s story  in her final submission, but Menolly had no intention of unsettling things further politically, or exposing the Weyr’s vulnerabilities, meaning that any contribution would need heavy editing.

Beyond that, she wanted to tell the stories of those without privilege or opportunity initially.

One of the problems she was now facing was not the one she had anticipated of insufficient data and a lack of volunteers, but an overabundance , and how to sift through it. She sighed. How did one choose who’s story to tell? Which girls to remember.

She needed another self.

Maybe another two.

Unfortunately apprentices didn’t have the skills yet to help her, and most weyrbrats lacked the interest, even if they had had the skills, so a lone harpress and the will to move mountains it would have to be.

When Mirrim was finally satisfied she was clean and suitably attired to be seen, dark hair tamed just enough, she left T’gellan asleep and headed up to check on Menolly, quite unaware of the effect they had had on her friend. By the time she made it to her way rooms though, she had picked up on enough of the low gossip and strange glances cast her way to be feeling agitated and anxious. It surprised her then to find her foster mother and friend giggling together, apparently undamaged and very aware, judging by the wide smirk when she noticed Mirrim standing in the doorway.

“Come on then, don’t just stand and prop up the walls, you owe me details after that bloody torture! Thanks to your dragon’s friendliness I may as well have tagged along.”

Mirrim obeyed instantly, the shock clear on her face.

“Tag along?” Her voice may have wavered a little.

Menolly rolled her eyes expressively, “I felt it Mirrim. I felt him catch her .” ‘Catch you’ was carefully left unspoken.

“I’m sorry, I had no idea it could happen to any non-rider.”

Menolly shot her a wry smile, “You were not the only one labouring under that assumption, dear Mirrim.”

The pallor not fully dispelled she swallowed hard and smiled weakly, “I ah...I will try and rein Path in the next time, that’s um...probably not something you needed to hear.”

Menolly quirked an elegant brow and snorted. Unellegantly. “Good luck with that. Although I have been reliably informed that it is at least half my fault and my flighty friends. The egg knows they don’t need any great encouragement to involve themselves in an orgy- sorry, mating flight .”

Mirrim grimaced, still feeling responsible.

“So was it a one off then, or is it too much to hope that I shall never feel this awkward with you again?”

“I don’t know yet. I rather suspect that it will take more than once to get used to shoring up my defences. Next time I plan on it being more enjoyable though and less excruciatingly uncomfortable. You can make it up to me I’m sure.”

At the frozen look on her usually sassy and self assured friend’s face Menolly finally broke into peals of laughter, “At least help me pick someone not completely vile to play with.”

Allowing the last of the tension to drain away Mirrim smiled back at her. “I’m sure we can find someone suitably entertaining by then.”

“He’ll have to do most of the work I think. And have a thing for fuzz. It’s ridiculous Mirrim, I wouldn’t mind the much vaunted ‘thicker hair’ if it was only limited to my head, but nooo , that would be too simple, too convenient. Instead, why not just have extra hair everywhere .”

Mirrim raised a brow as she broke off some of the sweetroll she had smuggled. “I have no solutions for you there. Keep the hair though, bald is not your look. There are plenty of folk in the weyr, if it comes to it I’m sure we can find one with the kink you require if it comes to it.”

Menolly almost choked then. Yes, the Weyr definitely had some differences in decorum.

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Sebell may not have been the genius that Master Robinton was, but he was by no means slow. Robinton retiring would never happen if he remained in residence at the Harper Hall, and there were certain other leaders who would never believe that the reins had truly been handed over to Master Sebell should he stay, believing that Robinton’s ‘puppetry’ would continue. Sebell snorted. Robinton was willing to manipulate, he had no problem backing unreasonable men into corners and ‘helping’ them choose the correct way, but no man or woman of conviction and strength would be used thus. He was not a puppet-master in the derogatory sense the accusation had been made. More accurately he was a protector, a voice for those without one. Sebell had observed and learned from him, and knew his own strengths and weaknesses having trained so closely with the man, learning the strengths and weaknesses of the leaders on Pern by travelling and watching, most often from the shadows, but more openly in the past few turns, making his own contacts and cultivating strategic relationships.

If Master Robinton was to leave the Hall, then they needed to make a place for him, not in the Weyr, there was too much potential for conspiracy accusations, plus he was terrible at following orders and too accustomed to outranking everyone! The Weyrwoman would have a meltdown within a month and evict him.

The Masterharper was Hall born and bred, so could hardly choose a Hold without being perceived as conferring favour or drawing that Hold into political maneuvers. There was only one solution, they would have to create a new home for their Master. Simplicity would be to build within easy reach of Benden, but the land there was already carefully worked, the mountains were rocky, and the weather often cold enough to cause pain to old joints. It was also already owned , and he did not want to begin his time as the next Masterharper by compromising any relationships or threatening the prized autonomy  of Hold and Craft.

Unclaimed land though…

The Southern continent was the obvious answer. It was warm, it belonged to no man, it would keep Robinton active and motivated, and if she impressed at the Weyr, Menolly would be able to travel back and forth easily enough. If she didn’t, well, an opening Southern continent was going to need a Harper presence. They needed to have a toe-hold to build from, just as Southern Weyr had grown from the Ramoth’s first clutch and their support crew.

Sebell could think of no one better suited to building a second centre than Menolly, especially if she had Master Robinton’s experience to draw on and appease the older craft Masters. He already had an idea of where to base it, drawing on his own journeys, Menolly’s, and Piemur’s maps. The cove that Menolly and Robinton were stranded in was practical, accessible, and would hold sentimental meaning for only those two. It would keep the Harpers free of Toric’s thumb, vital as far as Sebell was concerned. One Fax was enough.

That the currents happened to run that way would enable trading ships to find the place easily enough, at least once Idarolan got his cartographers on it.

The area had plenty in the way of resources, and trees would need clearing for space to build their new Hall, certainly enough for the timbers for inside any hold or hall. Basic to start with, they could expand as it became needed, and seem non-threatening to those who might otherwise resent their presence. Both he and Menolly had caught some unofficial migrants being exploited during their trips South, informing them of their rights each time, but he knew it was an intentional obfuscation by those seeking power. They couldn’t afford to leave a whole populace without proper education and legal defences for turns. He grimaced. He couldn’t help wishing that Robinton had drawn up some plans before his health restricted him.  Kimi’s loud chirp next to his ear startled him from his reverie and reminded him that she was waiting for him to get on with it so that she could get on with doing the deliveries. She flashed him an image of a marketstall in Fort Hold’s dancing square with some lamb kidney and liver on offer and he snorted. Wishful thinking he sent back to her.

Kimi made an outraged sound and her eyes whirled orange. He received a very clear impression of Lord Groghe strolling through and Merga being fed something particularly tasty, so could she go and have some with her friend already?  Sebell’s attempt at soothing thoughts was ruined by his obvious amusement and she glared balefully at him.

“Alright, alright, I’ll just finish this and you can take it to Idarolan at the Fishercraft Hall, and go meet your friend. I’d tell you not to gossip, but it never did work, so can you try to gossip usefully this time?” Kimi cocked her head and chirruped, which Sebell decided to take as an affirmative. At least her eyes had slowed, so he assumed she at least had forgiven him.

Setting aside his quill Sebell blew on the ink, sealing the letter with blue wax as soon as it dried. Pigment wasn’t cheap, so the blue would tell anyone it was directly from the office of the Masterharper before they ever checked the stamp. Having seen the accounts for the cost of harpers robes, formal attire, and anything requiring dyes, Sebell couldn’t help but wish his craft had chosen a different colour. After all, iron ore was so much cheaper .

Maybe he could change it.

Kimi head butted him. “Ok, we’ll keep things blue.” Kimi nodded and matched her eyes to his request. He couldn’t keep from chuckling. “Yes, blue. Well done, you are all  colour co-ordinated now, Merga will be jealous.” Kimi preened for a moment, seeming to agree with him, before quickly turning and launching herself into the air.

Chapter Text

Idarolan had been a friend of Master Robinton since before either of them had made craftmaster, having met initially in Tillek, many turns ago, and was more than happy to offer help.

Master Sebell was possessed of rare loyalty, but he was a sensible man, politically astute, and as much as Idarolan had observed his involvement in public affairs growing, it came as no surprise that there should be a change in Craft leadership in the foreseeable future. He was not as unaware of his old friend’s aging as many were, having known him so long and yet not seeing him on a daily basis, which often prevented people from noticing the changes in those close to them. It was a wise move on Sebell’s part to choose a second site on the Southern continent for a number of reasons, and for Robinton to benefit from spending some time there. Fort winters were often harsh, especially on old bones, and Idarolan would be glad to have some supervision of the recent upstart Toric down there. He had no desire to see a second Fax in his lifetime, and Master Robinton had more than his share of experience with that brutal bastard. Anything the Master fishman could do to limit the spread of such ideas he would do gladly, and consider it his duty.

Most of the more recent harper excursions featuring sailing had required his involvement in some capacity, so Sebell knew him well enough, and the dour fishcrafter had a soft spot for Menolly, as the only harper to ever turn up with any idea which way was port, or how to tie a decent bowline and sheetbend.

He’d also known Menolly long enough to have seen the depth of her devotion to her Master, witnessed her capability and practicality. There was no way he’d be swayed by gossiping fishwives or slander. Menolly had always focused on her craft and the task at hand, not flighty, romantic notions, even dismissing the superstitions common to many Seaholders, without setting any noses out of joint. A feat in itself.

As it happened there was a young man, recently made a master fisherman, who had discreetly applied to Idarolan for assistance in relocating without leaving his Hold short of men to provide for the harsh winter ahead.  His Holder was known to be very capable, but stubborn as a dragon, and hardest on those closest to him.

Difficult for a son who had reached an impasse with him about something- and Idarolan could hazard a very good guess as to what they argued about. Fortunately for both of them, Alemi was not the eldest son so did not stand to inherit the Seahold, and if he was correct, Idarolan and Alemi were very much of an accord in the situation. Sebell’s request for help was well timed and provided an excellent opportunity for master Alemi, and his replacement. A good man, proven on the open seas, but not prone to missing excitement and novelty, his own small seahold simply didn’t offer any womenfolk he wasn’t related to and having gained his mastery, he wished to have someone to return to. Half circle Seahold couldn’t offer him that.

Idarolan smiled broadly. He liked mornings such as these, when he could arrange things smoothly and even grant a few extra wishes.

Menolly never mentioned her father, but she had asked after her brother’s wellbeing on a couple of occasions, and expressed some pride on hearing he had earned his captaincy.

Yanus had made a point of rejecting firelizards, somehow blaming them for his youngest daughter’s final defiance. Alemi had no such qualms, fortunately, and with his brothers had finally convinced Yanus last turn that allowing a couple in the hold was only sensible as it allowed communication between ships, and early warning for rough weather. Thus it wouldn’t look too unusual for Alemi to receive a message in this way. What he chose to tell his Holder was none of Idarolan’s concern, but he fully expected to see the lad within the sevenday.

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Half circle seahold.

Alemi stood looking at the parchment as though the letters might rearrange themselves if he looked away.  After the plea he had confidentially sent to Fishmaster Idarolan he had not been at all confident of a favourable outcome, only that he would be considered for a transfer. Life had become unbearable for him in the time since news of his sister’s bastard broke, with the rumours flying and vile slander from people who had never even known her.  He had kept his responses short and avoided the topic to the best of his ability, having no desire to foster dissent or conflict. Telling no-one of his intentions had seemed sensible when he expected to have fair warning and to be required to wait for months. Now he was rather regretting that choice, and dreading the conversation he knew was coming.

He had a great deal of respect for his parents. His Father had always put the welfare of the Hold before himself, he was a solid leader, played no favourites, demanding the same commitment to the community’s welfare from each of his holders according to their abilities. The youngest would go in pairs with an older child to gather closest to the hold, or watch to learn the skills, threading the needles for the old aunts.

Alemi was old enough to remember before Thread came. He had been a boy then, still excited to finally be allowed to join the men shipping out. Like so many of them, his heart had never lain with the land.

He had sulked at having to stay in the hold that first day when they saw what they thought was a storm coming. None of the ships at sea that day had returned, and Alemi had lost his best friend to a danger they hadn’t even realised was there. He considered that event the end of his own childhood, young as he was. There was a single memorial held for all the men and boys lost at sea that day, as was customary when a vessel was lost, and far too many devastated faces in the bay. He had forced himself not to run from it, and stay for his fallen friend. He had made a vow to never leave a crew’s women weeping and wailing on the shore without their men, and he’d done a damn good job of keeping it.

Yanus had been an excellent seaman, calm in a crisis, and a capable, fair Holder, but as a Father he was deeply flawed. Most seaholds now had more women than men, and rebellious women were not a sought after commodity. His father, like many work hardened men, had sought security in tradition, looked to it for guidance to navigate the shift from Interval to Pass, and it had been valuable, but had blinded him even further to the possibilities for his daughters beyond marriage and homemaking. Careful not to make decisions on Half Circle’s welfare based on strong emotions, Yanus had taken his frustrations out on his family when trapped ashore, and Mavi and Menolly had borne the brunt of it, despite Alemi’s efforts as little more than a boy to shield them, just by being present most often. Sella had blamed Menolly often for their father’s moods and punished her for it, knowing that Yanus would not penalise her for doing so.

He never did like anyone openly disagreeing with him, and Menolly had never been able to submit to what she believed was unjust. As a girl she had fought him openly, and others on behalf of anyone who was unable to defend themselves. As any good lass did, she had the strength developed through using her whole body from her earliest turns. There had been moments when she stood in defence of children or an old auntie to one arrogant young man or another- or more often over them, when he’d thought he’d even seen a gleam of pride in Yanus’ eyes. As though he saw potential in her and it frustrated him more that he could not direct it. Menolly had tried, he’d watched her, but she had never fully mastered fading into the background, even her absence was always pointed and obvious. Alemi smiled softly to himself, she had never been meant for something so ordinary.

All those turns ago when he took Elgion to look for firelizard eggs, he had spoken only the truth when he said he hoped she lived and that she’d be happier elsewhere. He’d very carefully not spoken what he believed, unwilling to trust anyone so new to the Seahold and with loyalty to the Seaholder yet to prove.

He knew Mavi had managed to get a message to her daughter recently, and unlike some of their community had not joined in the open condemnation, though she carefully did not offer any defense against it. Alemi thought it possible Yanus suspected the truth and had truly been trying to avoid an open fight with his Seaholder. He’d finally reached breaking point the week before and submitted a request to Master Idarolan, but he’d expected to be waiting a long time, or end up in the back end of nowhere for turns. What he was being offered was so much more than he had dared hope for, and an opportunity for a new life.

As far as Alemi was concerned the Masterharper had saved his sister’s life. He had watched as her spirit ebbed away in her last days at Half-circle, music was in the girl’s soul. It always had been, obvious to him from the time a three turn old Menolly ran to him to sing the newest learning ballad she’d heard and got lost adding another verse to it, as well as correcting the drumming of the other children.

He may have been shocked to hear about her carrying the Masterharper’s bastard, but there had been equally judgemental mutterings about her avoidance of alliances in the past. He hadn’t once seen her flipping her skirts or encouraging any man as some of her sisters had done. It had occurred to him turns back that she may have been one of the rare girls who simply weren’t attracted to men , and had taken it upon himself to subtly discourage his mother and aunties from pushing a couple of young men insistently at her. Their misguided enthusiasm certainly hadn’t helped Menolly to see her family as safe. Petiron had been the only one to hold her attention so well, and that had been in the way of an old uncle.

The Masterharper had no reputation, as some did, of targeting or even inviting any youngsters, female or male, to bed. There were none who stepped forward and no accusations, so Alemi was inclined to believe that his sister had simply fallen for a man who was a kindred spirit with no regard for his age. If the other option had been a marriage to someone who would not have supported her, punished her for talent, Alemi would give the affair his blessing and hope she was protected from heartbreak.

There had been a limit to what he could do to help her in life so far. He hadn’t seen his youngest sister in over five turns, so perhaps helping her craft and her new family this way would go some way to repaying that. Alemi knew that the harpers had been glad to educate Menolly, Elgion had been very clear with Alemi about the determination of the craftmasters to track down ‘the lost apprentice’, but he was well aware that any boy would have had his apprenticeship financially supported, and she had lacked that. Menolly earned her way, but to Alemi’s mind his family owed the Harpercraft a debt, and Petiron had been training her long before she was ever rescued and taken to the Hall. Materials, accommodation, food, travel, journeys, instruments, lessons, the Masters, everything added up, and he knew that it was a balancing act when their Hold took on apprentice fishermen or shipwrights. Every craft operated on the same principle, and Menolly- to his mind- ought never have had to rely on the craft’s Goodwill fund, like some holdless vagrant. Alemi resolutely pushed aside the rage burning low in his gut. That was a needless waste of energy.

He wasn’t accustomed to captaining a cargo ship, so would be second on this particular assignment, always better that way in unfamiliar waters, but he felt the excitement building as he thought of different seas to learn and couldn’t keep the grin from his face. The adrenaline rush of discovering new tides and chasing the horizon was unlike anything else he knew, the thought of the unknown had him grimacing though, Idarolan had better sort out a decent cartographer for them. Alemi couldn’t draw a straight line with a ruler, even if he was inclined to. The prospect of leaving was made much simpler by the fact he didn’t have a wife yet, tempting though the idea was, the reality was not. For now he was happy to enjoy the company of a willing lass from time to time. He was one of those seamen who always would have two mistresses, and so far, the Sea was winning.  He owned little enough, only the basics really, and a handful of sentimental items. He’d already buried his childhood treasures deep, like a hoard, after listening to a saga Petiron told. It wouldn’t even take him an evening to physically prepare. He’d invite Elgion over for some ale tonight, either celebratory or numbing; possibly both. Probably both.

All he had to do now was tell Mavi, and his Seaholder.

At least it was an immediate summons. That was easier and would give them less time to argue against his decision. He steadied his breathing and set his shoulders. Yanus always dealt better with news delivered with conviction than uncertainty, better to get it over with fast than delay and turn wherry headed. Alemi turned and headed directly towards the harbour, knowing he’d find his Father there. Wishing he knew whether it would be the last time he saw the man look at him, or not.

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Benden

Menolly had all the glows uncovered. It was one thing she did miss about the Hall being built as it was. Most of the Weyr was darker than she had grown accustomed to, spending as much time as she had under open sky when journeying, and often having a lighter room in the Hall. Silvina had chosen, wisely, to keep Menolly and her nine imperious young fire lizards to a private room, rather than in a shared dorm. The journeyman’s dorms might be less crowded than the apprentice’s but not by enough to compensate for that type of invasion! Her age had been a factor too, as at fifteen turns Menolly was physically mature, and the boys her age roiling masses of hormones, a few turns either way made all the difference! It was however the only difference between her and her counterparts, the expectations and demands the masters made of them all the same. The journeyman harpers had overwhelmingly accepted her, as Menolly was willing to fully commit to any endeavour, never expected any favours or coddling, and had been ‘one of the boys’ more often than not. Sebell had intervened as her senior on two occasions when she was younger, where he felt others were putting her in needless danger, and trying to sabotage her, and overnight the two men had found their lives became very difficult indeed. Nothing dramatic and violent, nothing that they could take to the Masterharper, just minor things like all of the quills being blunt or bent, ‘running out’ of staves, being delayed by seniors just long enough to be late to every lesson and publicly chastised for slovenliness. Washing that wasn’t starched properly or was returned itchy. Subtle enough that no true problems arose, but persistent enough to send them a message. That Menolly hadn’t reported any of the hazing or folded like a sheet-press went a long way to alleviating the few remaining doubts circulating and solidifying her position in their ranks.

It had proven invaluable to have the support and respect of the other journeymen, despite the unanticipated circumstances, and she wondered if it was a universal experience or not, if the girls she had roomed with and taught had found that sort of community in their homes.

Piemur and Sebell had been the first to explain to her that her own treatment had been wrong, to express any distaste towards it at all, and even five turns later mentions of ‘Hold life’ caused her an uncomfortable chill.

It was her hope that those paying students had more to look forward to than an arranged marriage to an unsuited partner, and a conditional warm room. Even the bitchy ones. Cutting words like Pona’s didn’t deserve a lifetime of servitude, and while that child might be safe with Lord Groghe and Lady Benoria for Grandparents, she was the exception. Much as it pained Menolly to admit that. Rank was no protection in itself, in fact Ranking girls were sometimes even more at risk of being seen as commodities than poor ones, traded in marriage by their own families, or given as collateral. Just as at the mercy of their Lord’s whims as any other if not more.

She hadn’t reached out in the turns since she fled Half-circle, but she wondered now whether her own sisters had found comfort. She didn’t consider their happiness , as Mavi wouldn’t have seen the importance and told all her daughters that that was a choice they made in whatever circumstances they found themselves. Instinctively rebelling against the sentiment, a calmer part of Menolly wondered if that wasn’t exactly what she herself had done in her own situation.

Sella had definitely wanted to find a man of her own and settle early, and had been frustrated by Yanus’ delaying it, though no acceptable man would want a woman before she proved able to bear children, and though she tolerated beatings, Mavi had drawn a sacrosanct line at courting any of her daughters before they bled.

Masterhealer Oldive had been adamant in the classes that Silvina insisted the apprentices attend, that any girl before that point was a child and physically unready to bear one of their own. Unlike the paying students, as a junior journeywoman, Menolly had been required to have the same instruction as all the boys, with certain enhancements . The Headwoman was unwilling to risk ignorance leading to terrible life choices, and everyone of twelve turns and over was required to have an adequate working knowledge- that including contraceptives and abortifacients. After observing the development of certain apprentices Silvina had also had Oldive offer a voluntary class for the safe pursuit of the green-rider tendencies. The poor man had been rather overcome, and extremely enthusiastic about the prospect, declaring that he had seen enough of such unnecessary injuries to last him a lifetime and longer. Faranth, but Menolly hoped the Weyrs went through that with their young riders before their first flights, because from what she’d heard and felt, during a flight was not the gentlest introduction to that aspect of life. At all. Her first sexual experience had involved her fair, so had been overwhelming enough, but both participants had at least retained enough presence of mind to avoid causing any pain and be confident of no coercion. She had still felt bruised in places she hadn’t known existed the following morning. Dragons were a different scale entirely.

She needed a distraction.

Just then Beauty perked up, uncurling and cocking her head to listen, as though in expectation. “What’s wrong?”

A bronze streak darted past her to greet his queen sweetly, and landed on her shoulder, holding out a leg as Zair had always been trained to do. Hurriedly she removed the message tube and opened the rolled hide, fearful of being given more bad news. Only to find three drawings, without explanation, only one line that read “Which do you prefer dear?”

Looking, she eyed the designs critically. The first was a beautiful harp, very similar to her own and a flurry of five notes either side. Underneath were two firelizards that formed a circle framed by intricate knots, and in the third image a dragon curled protectively around a woman and baby.

It was easy to recognise Robinton’s hand after five turns at his side, though she was unsure of why he wanted to know her opinion. She couldn’t think of what specifically he would need to know for, but Robinton never asked questions without purpose, no matter what some might think, so she took her time considering them. Each of them were elegant and delicate, but she was undeniably drawn to the third as she remembered the fiercely protective instincts she’d felt from Ramoth, and the way Path had pulled her back, timing it to bring a healer for her baby. Menolly nodded as a warmth spread through her chest, and neatly wrote a response on the hide before rolling it neatly and tying the tube back onto Zair’s leg, stroking his headknob gently before sending him back to her Master and love. She was well used to finding out about Robinton’s plans one bit at a time, and rarely knowing his every detail until very recently, though he hid little enough from her , and was content that she would find out soon enough.

Beauty trilled a question to her mistress and hopped down next to her mate cheerily, pushing at Menolly’s fingers for the same attention, “Oh go on, have some fun little one, and come back for dinner.” She cringed slightly as she heard herself and realised she had slipped into ‘group mum’ mode. It didn’t count until she carried snacks surely?  Menolly firmly ignored her habit of taking supplies with her wherever they had travelled. That was being prepared.

His errand successfully completed Zair returned to Robinton’s desk, trilling happily as he found a fire roaring in the hearth, and stretched out his leg, impatient for his master to remove the message tube so that he could go and sprawl on the heated hearthstone before the grate. It didn’t seem to matter how many times he was told not to do that, Robinton was cast a ‘humans are idiots, of course I’d move before burning’ look. Human survival skills seemed to leave firelizards distinctly underwhelmed, perhaps unsurprising for a species who could literally disappear between at the merest whisper of potential threats. The moment it was done there were two happy firelizards lazily adorning his hearthstone.

The old Masterharper smiled as he unrolled the hide and thanked his friend. Zair cracked open one eye and chirped before closing it again, already sprawled on his belly in front of the fire.

Taking more care on the stairs than usual, Robinton descended the stairs to the workshop complex, knowing that he would find Jerint there. He’d known the man since they were both apprentices, and hoped that if he wasn’t willing to take on the task, he would at least know a woodworker who would.

The moment Robinton entered the one that Jerint was most often to be found lurking in, his senses were assaulted by a cacophony of sawing, sanding, hammering from the next room, and the smells of glue, varnish, and curing wood mixing. As much as he had enjoyed shaping his own instruments, he’d always found the varnish induced headaches and nothing compared to actually playing and creating music, but it had always brought Jerint joy. He was careful not to sneak up behind the man but approach from the side for safety and do so noisily, successful enough that Jerint stopped his machine before he reached the man, and removed his safety mask and goggles, turning to clap him on the shoulder, cringing as he realised the state of his hands and wiping them thoroughly on the rag out for that purpose.

“Master Robinton, what can I do for you? Not your usual haunt man. Come into my office, the fumes aren’t quite so overpowering in there.”

Smiling at the instrument master he followed agreeably, smiling at the smudge on his cheek.

As the heavy door fell shut Jerint leaned against the desk, catching Robinton’s questioning look, “Ach, if I sit down I’ll no get up again and that one needs finished th’ night.” He nodded towards his current project behind the door. “So how can I help.” He smiled crookedly, making Robinton think that one day Piemur might end up looking very similar to the old craftsman, “Ahm, well I actually don’t know if this is something you’d do,”

“Not like you to be unsure, is it. Go on then, if it isn’t I’m sure one of t’others will.”

Robinton hesitated and berated himself for it, he’d known the man since they were snotty apprentices for goodness sake! “I’m getting old Jerint, and I’ve certainly lived what could be considered a hard life, every day is extra at this point,” He looked meaningfully at his friend who sucked in a breath. “Right. Ok. Whatever I can help with Sir. You’ve always had my loyalty and always will.” Robinton saw the honesty in Jerint’s eyes and was warmed by it.

“I want to commission something. Discreetly . Oldive has been rather honest in his dealings with me, and whilst I regret that Menolly and I couldn’t have the turns and happiness together she deserves, I need to do what I can to ensure that she and my daughter are valued and their importance to me clear. Obviously the Hall, or The Weyr would provide basics, even if Menolly wasn’t one of the most talented harpers of the pass, but I want to make sure that they know they are always loved , even when I’m not present to prove it to them.”

Jerint pressed his lips together and nodded jerkily. “Ok. How long?”

Robinton shook his head, grateful that Jerint wasn’t going to argue or waste words on false comfort. “I don’t know. Even Oldive can’t say that. Enough to meet our daughter.  Longer if I step down.”
The other man hummed, “Who knows so far? I’m assuming it is to be kept to a minimum and handled quietly for the time being.”

“So far only Masters Oldive and Sebell, Silvina, Menolly, and Domick. I did bend the rules enough to see that Menolly heard it from me, but need to be cleared by Oldive before I can really travel between. I doubt Lessa and F’lar would thank me for appearing in the bowl in need of a Healer. I can just imagine the lecture for recklessness from the Weyrwoman and Menolly.” He shuddered.

“Well then, best tell me what you’d like made, but I’ll tell you at the outset, I don’t make toddler sized violins.” Robinton smiled at Jerint’s mock-stern mask.

Most people who knew Camo’s parentage were careful not to mention children’s achievements blatantly to him, but Robinton had never felt anger towards the children, or their parents. Envy at times, oh yes, but not a wish for the others to struggle. The ache for his son remained, but the boy, now a man, had inherited some of his father’s determination, and his mother’s gentleness. It wasn’t what struck most, who still expected Robinton to be bitter, but he had long ago accepted the reality over the dream, and he was proud of how far his son had come. Once there had been a question over whether he would ever walk, and then if he could learn to feed himself, or any other skills. Each milestone that others would dismiss as barely worth focusing on had been significant for them, every achievement signified so much more than ‘usual’. Yes, of course he hoped that this time would be different, but he had to admit that he was far more concerned for Menolly’s safety than for the ultimate capabilities of his daughter. Both Silvina and Merelan had had such a difficult time bearing children that he had been forced to wonder if it was something inherent about his line. Oldive had told him it was not so, but even with the dragons he certainty felt anxious. He reminded himself again that should the worst happen, Menolly was under the same healers whose skills had saved the life of Benden’s fierce Weyrwoman and her son. A costly and brutal operation, but indisputably the only reason she still lived, and Pern with her. Robinton had been witness to the strong bond between the Weyrleaders and had no doubt that even if F’lar had retained the weyrleadership, Lessa’s loss would have broken him. Even more so now. After fifteen turns together they were true equals in their endeavours, and what they shared was a rare and beautiful thing. The kind of life he wished he could still offer to Menolly, and knew he could never give her.

“Robinton? Master Robinton?”

“Hm? Oh yes, must still be a little sleepy with all the tonics, fellis, and powders. I know it’s not your usual forte Jerint, but how would you feel about making a cradle? Menolly gave up on single cots as effective five turns ago, and no matter how few she falls asleep with there are always nine firelizards come morning sprawled or curled around her. It’s not ideal to add a babe to that, if only for the sake of scratches that are acquired in their sleep.”

Jerint smiled widely, “What sort of cradle did you have in mind? No, wait… give me the specifications you want, an approximate size, and leave it with me. You don’t need it in a rush do you- no of course, near Turnover, no no, don’t tell me man, write the damn things down, otherwise it’ll get lost and muddled in the mass of numbers and measurements knocking around my mind and come out looking like a giant misshapen gitar and I can’t be a part of that, I refuse. If it’s going to be done we do it properly .” Robinton shook his head at his old friends antics, taking the proffered hide and ink and writing down all the information  he had asked for, and adding the roll he’d used to gauge Menolly’s preferences.

“I see, and properly means your way does it?” The old Masterharper’s eyes sparkled,

“In ‘ere it does, as it always has done.” His gaze softened and it was his old friend who saw him again, “Don’t worry so much Robinton, whatever happens, we’ll make sure everything is done as you want, I haven’t seen you this tangled up since your engagement. Everyone who matters to either of you knows . This I’ll do for pleasure. So. Before I completely seize up, go on, get out of my workshop, some of us have honest work to be doing, and deadlines and whatnot.” Jerint winked cheekily over his shoulder. “Can’t leave the junior Journeymen too long unattended, they’ve a terrible habit of forgetting to wear their masks and getting themselves drunk on the sodding fumes. Not that the resultant headaches are worth it, but not all are blessed with an abundance of brains, fortunately it doesn’t prevent them from sanding things excellently and less than pleasant varnishing.” The old instrument crafter started making shooing motions at his friend, and Robinton left chuckling, content to leave it in Jerint’s capable hands.

He called Zair, and he appeared obediently, this time with his queen at his side showing slight annoyance at being disturbed,

Smithcraft Hall

Fandarel was puzzled. Robinton commissioned high end pieces often enough, every Master was granted a brooch or variant when they were accorded that rank, and as a Craftmaster he was expected to offer gifts of appropriate quality for such things as noble weddings, political events, confirmations and the like. What he was suggesting was like nothing he’d requested before. Nothing less than a legacy, and it was that thought that had a warmth spreading in his chest. It would certainly take time to do properly, but he smiled at the additional request that Jancis be allowed to work on the projects. His grandaughter by blood she was a daughter of his heart and had been raised primarily by his wife, rather than her own mother, having displayed an early interest in smithing.

Master Robinton had left him a lot of room in the way of designs, recognising him as the expert in this area, only being specific about a couple of items. One he was certain was Menolly’s mastery piece, and Fandarel grinned, oh yes, that was one piece of history that he would be doing. With her colouring she would suit silver more than gold, but perhaps with her firelizards they could add a thread to link them. Bracelets would be inconvenient for such a musician,  and she never had any piercings like many ranking women did, and rings would irritate delicate firelizard skin, or dragonets during oiling. Hair ornaments that were efficient- he would get Jancis’ opinion, fastening brooches, and a storage chest.

So it was that the Mastersmith found himself hours later, sitting at a desk that was covered with a variety of different designs, blowing on the drying ink, with his niece tucked into the corner sketching her own ideas.

He hoped that Robinton would agree to a set of cloak pins to match her Mastery as a set, and an intricate upper arm torc of twined fire lizards. Fandarel enjoyed clients who appreciated artistry and skill, and Robinton definitely did, so the Mastersmith included a few sketches that were more whimsy and wishes than something he expected to do. The designs for the ordered dagger were simpler, damascus steel and a handle suited to her grasp, a pretty blade with no bite was worth less than a plain one with good steel, and the harpress wouldn’t see any value in a decorative but unusable one.

The only drawback to the trade was that he’d have to deal with Nicat, who was currently not  on the best terms with the Harper Hall, and would know exactly who the buyer of high quality sapphires was. Bartering with someone who held a personal grudge was always unpleasant business. A practical man at heart, Fandarel avoided politics if he could, much preferring to work with his hands and the more predictable elements of the land than humans, at least the non-smithing ones. Impractical smiths were rare things indeed.

Masterharper Robinton would get his sheaf and initial briefing back tonight.

For anyone else the price would likely be prohibitive, but while it wasn’t discussed in company, the Craftmasters as a rule had wealth to match their Rank as equals to Lord Holders. Earned through skill, not bloodright, and Robinton was a generous man but had not needed to support a growing family, and was as gifted as he’d ever been. His friend was more than able to pay any bill Fandarel cared to present him with, even if he hadn’t been the honest man he was.

For Robinton, who had always been an ally to Fandarel, and had a true interest in his inventions, the Mastersmith would always grant priority. As he bound up the parchments for the message tubes he looked forward to hearing Robinton’s response, and discussing the possibilities. Frowning, he cursed, in his enthusiasm for the project he had forgotten the moving part. He looked over to his niece, “Jancis? Who in this building might have a reliable firelizard available? It’ll take more than one trip I’m afraid.” He could almost hear her eye-rolling over the giggles. “I’ll go and look Grandfather.” She left smiling and shaking her head.

He grumbled quietly about inconveniently placed harpers and jumped back as he turned and saw whirling green eyes a handspan from his own, and felt a full body shiver as something prickled against his scalp. The sensation quickly explained by the bossy sounding chirp.

“Oh no, off you get. You are exactly who I need right now, but your manners need work. It is considered rude to land on a person’s head without first warning them.” An outraged chirp. Gold then. He felt the lifting of the talons as the little queen settled on a bit of pipe. “Well that’s much better. He looked carefully but found himself frustrated. Fandarel could tell with a look the quality of copper or iron ore, but he struggled to discern the tiny differences between specific firelizards.

“Ok. Help me out, I was concentrating on messages to the Masterharper, so you are either Kimi, or Beauty, and this bronze fellow is Zair.” As the gold purred as he said ‘ Beauty’ he assumed it must be Menolly’s. “Come on then. The message is ready to go, you just need to hold still long enough for me to attach this, and promise me young lady, that you will not under any circumstances, tell your mistress about this. Keep it a secret and I’ll even make sure that you get something pretty to match, ok?” By the almost coy tilt of her head Fandarel was sure that if firelizards could smile Beauty would be. Zair watched his mate closely, and seemed to radiate amusement. It was very much like watching a Journeyman and his paramour at a gather.

“And you, lad. Best not keep her waiting long.”

Zair bobbed his head and held out a delicate leg.

By the time Jancis returned with the news that the nearest reliable firelizard was over in a precious metals workshop on the other side of the Hall the harpers firelizards both were gone.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Benden

Menolly sat at her desk, the discomfort difficult to ignore, but it didn’t seem to matter which position she adopted, it just altered the specific type of discomfort she was in. She was feeling genuinely proud of not shrieking in frustration when she was interrupted by a soothing croon in the back of her mind. About to reply she noticed the different feel, it was deeper, masculine. Huh.  Mnementh rumbled and an odd sense of calm settled through her, providing a steadying presence.

“Ramoth often feels the same little singer, you were picking up on each other’s discomfort and reinforcing it. I wished to break the loop without distressing either of you. My Queen is glaring at me, but is not shifting about so much. It is my hope that you are also less uneasy.”

He paused, still present in her head as she felt him considering something.

Do you wish me to speak with the sire of your child? Ramoth believes he is causing you heartache and is lacking understanding of his role.”

The image of the huge bronze trying to sit Robinton down and have a serious conversation about parental duties and proper treatment of one’s mate sent Menolly into a fit of giggles. She felt amusement and mild confusion from Mnementh and responded warmly.

“It’s a kind offer, but you can assure your queen that he was not upsetting me himself, he just had to deliver some bad news, he wanted me to hear the truth and was protecting me from an embellished rumour form. The Masterharper is not rejecting us by leaving, he simply has other responsibilities. Like you both, and the Weyrleaders sometimes must serve others instead of your own hearts. My not-mate and I must do the same for now. The knowing does not cancel the feelings sometimes, but I will try not to broadcast them in future, you must think me ill-mannered by now.”

She could imagine the big bronze cocking his head as he listened and ‘heard’ the snort.

“I think you young. All those who are new to talking must practise, dragon or human. You may not be a hatchling, but how often have you been around others who hear when you ‘shout’. As you can ignore the excited exclamations of your young ones it is something we are accustomed to. To tell a child off for what they cannot yet help is considered bad form is it not? Instead you set an example and show them how. It is what Canth and I did with Lessa, Brekke was always quiet by nature. You are like neither of them, but more like your music. Emotion makes you harder to not hear, and when you concentrate on something or are calm and centred your mind is the same.  It is not rude to still be learning. Would you chastise a weyrling for not knowing a lesson they had not been taught? Of course not! You would teach the lesson, and then the next until they understood.”

Menolly’s eyes had closed and a her lips curled in a slow smile .

“You know you are rather wise my friend.” She heard the smile in his answering mental voice

“Don’t  tell that to my rider, he’d gleefully tell you how I learned it all.  Ramoth is calmer now. It is good that the Harper knows his duty to both Pern and his mate.”

Menolly sighed, wondering if it was worth arguing the point before adding half heartedly. “We’re not mated.”

Mnementh projected confusion. “Do you care for him?”

Menolly was startled, “Of course”

“More than any friend”
“Yes. Though at times I wish I didn’t” A soft sigh escaped her at the admission.

“You act in his best interests?”  Mnementh questioned without offering any judgement.
“I do”
“You live with him when duty allows?”
Menolly grimaced, “Sort of, it’s complicated.”
“He mated you and sired a child with you?”

Obviously, she thought.

“He did. I hadn’t intended to have one.”

“And yet you chose not to go between , or take the potion that makes Lessa cry.”

“I...yes.” She hadn’t known that, but it wasn’t difficult to guess which potion Mnementh meant.

“You could not destroy what was created together.”

Menolly cringed at the question and the wave of emotion that rolled through her.

“No. I couldn’t.”

“He cares for you this same way.” The bronze’s tone was calm and firm.

“He… he does. Though he shouldn’t.”

“That wasn’t a question. He brings you joy when you think of him, and his presence makes you feel safer, more secure.”

“Yes it does. He does.” She felt surer of herself now.

“You do the same for him. You support one another and defend the other from any threats.”
“Always. When it’s possible. Not all threats can be fought.” She felt her gut twist, knowing that they were up against several right now.
“But you face those together little singer. Tell me then, little one, in what way is the Harper not your mate?”

It was something that left Menolly without an answer. Explained that way, by a dragon no less, it seemed so simple. They were bonded in every way two humans could be but in law. Ink on paper. It really was that small. For all they were not sexually active together now, the two harpers shared more intimacy than many married couples did after years together. When she finally felt herself composed enough and looked to answer Mnementh she realised he was gone, having left her alone with her thoughts.

Sneaky bastard.

Now she had to actually address her feelings and consider that perhaps, despite their unconventional relationship, Robinton truly was more mate to her than she had wanted to acknowledge, and maybe , just maybe, by denying that she was denying them both something that would change nothing, but potentially bring the two people she loved most joy.

It wasn’t something to decide based solely on a conversation with a bronze dragon who wondered if he had to have  ‘a talk’ with the Masterharper.

She really needed a human for this.

A worried sounding chirp brought her attention to the fact she was rubbing her left hand, a nervous habit that only showed now when she was truly bothered by something, it had caused Sebell anxiety and to be overprotective when they travelled or worked together so she had made a conscious effort to stop. In return he had to stop picking at his nails, as it irritated Menolly and she just couldn’t miss the opportunity to make him stop.

In the Hall, if she had man problems she would usually speak to Sebell, firstly because he was the only one allowed to know half of what she did, then because he was a man, and after getting to know him very well, because he wanted to discuss man-troubles on occasion. Although on those nights they usually had a skin of wine between them, and stolen cakes. Now she was not allowed any wine, and she had a sneaking suspicion that cakes obtained legitimately probably didn’t taste as good as pilfered ones.

Talmor was useless even when he wasn’t half a continent away, and she lacked many close friends. Domick was now her official Master, and under the direct authority of the man she needed advice about, and if that wasn’t a conflict of interests she didn’t know what was. That left her with Brekke, Mirrim, and Lessa, all of whom had certain quirks to their relationships, but who also had very active weyrmates, who were all connected to dragons. What she was considering was more like… well actually it was more like what Lord Groghe and Lady Benoria appeared to practise. She blushed hotly, she had no wish to go chasing after young skirts or trous  and have a whole clutch of babes that everyone might know her exploits, but should she impress her own dragon she would be involved in their mating flights, and there was always gossip around those. Menolly certainly had no desire for a harlots reputation, though she firmly believed it was no-one’s business who she bedded but her own, whether prompted by flights, or by her own, exclusively human desires.

Despite his well known dalliances, Groghe treated his wife with open respect, and would tolerate no word or deed against her. Menolly happened to know that while their chambers were close, the pair did not share sleeping quarters, and there seemed to be no resentment from it. There was a deep bond between Fort Hold’s Lord and Lady, a mutual respect that extended far enough that Lady Benoria held the authority to speak on her Lord’s behalf, and if Lord Groghe declared something, it could be trusted he was taking her arguments into account.

As Masterharper Robinton’s Journeywoman she had held the same rights, though not the same station. If she was to Impress, then she would take lovers to her bed, but she knew that while he lived, only Robinton could hold her heart.

It reflected that union more than the strictly monogamous- in one case possessive- relationships her friends here had. In reality it was the lower caverns more than the riders who found themselves in casual relationships, since any relationships between riders had four ‘people’ in at least. Adding more to anything more than a one off seemed far too complicated.

Menolly had travelled widely enough to have seen that expectations rarely matched reality, and that often people were more jealous than they liked to acknowledge. She, Benoria, and Silvina seemed to be exceptions, rather than the rule.

At least the weyr would never allow the travesty of the blood feuds she had encountered to arise.

Things never used to be so confusing.

She would wait decided Menolly, speak to Mirrim, and if that did not help, send word to Fort’s Lady discreetly. It wasn’t unusual for her firelizards to be seen there after all, and she was still under Harper Hall jurisdiction, it was just more complicated than she had originally anticipated.

What she wanted was the freedom Silvina had acted with, and no idea how to keep that without giving up Robinton, but asking her for advice on that was too awkward, as they in some ways shared the same man.

Damn.

Chapter Text

Mirrim was about as helpful as Menolly had expected, just short of being worse than useless.

“So, a relationship without sex? As in..on purpose? That’s a close friendship, not a mating. No. Sex only when your firelizards fly doesn’t make it different.” Menolly had to restrain herself from shaking Mirim by the end. Shells, she loved the woman, but the concept of happy and stable without needing that component escaped her. It made her doubt herself though. After travelling all over the continent- and some of the Southern one too- Menolly was aware that some people didn’t feel a desire for sex, just as some didn’t want it with women, or men, or liked both. The lucky ones became old Aunties and Uncles.

Mirrim on the other hand had been raised in the Weyr, and Dragon cycles seemed to influence the inhabitants nearly as much as their own hormones. The only recorded asexual dragon was Ruth, which, thought Menolly, was just as well, considering that he resided within a Hold, and Jaxom would become Ruatha’s Lord in a few short turns. They did not need a mess of bastards clamouring for an inheritance if they didn’t fancy standing for impression, or learning actual skills. Equally, thought Menolly, they did not need another Lord with a reputation for being pushy with anyone he took a fancy to.

Yes, if there was only one dragon to be disinterested in species propagation, Ruth was the best one for it, not least for the paperwork and politics it would save. She doubted she was very popular with the Hall’s scribes at this stage, or those caught in the usual harper schemes. Sebell would be far too busy right now to answer any message she sent that wasn’t urgent, so she would have to wait. How much easier it would all be if they could speak across distances like the dragons. She groaned as she followed the thought, no, it was definitely better they not have instant messaging systems that way, trying to balance with dragon minds was hard enough, and many times her Craftsmen had uncovered corruption, or been able to bring things before a court of justice due to interrupted or discovered letters and communications. It was a valuable method for them simply due to its inherent   weaknesses . Very few people were as skilled as Nip, Tuck, and Pinch, or as reliable, and the harper information network was second to none. Not even the Runners could do better. Else the very craft would never have survived the years of Fax.

Mirrim didn’t seem to be aware of such a thing existing in people who were neither abnormal, nor sick, though she had also expressed concern at the practice of arranged marriage being pushed on them, going some way to redeeming herself in Menolly’s eyes. She couldn’t disagree with Mirrim though, when she stated that Menolly herself was definitely not one of those adverse to recreational sex. Or that she would miss it.

It seemed like a small thing though, all factors considered, and Menolly came from a Seahold, where the men were routinely at sea for many weeks, the women occasionally had arrangements between themselves, but most simply became grumpier the longer they were alone. In Menolly’s experience you could tell in such holds who had a happy marriage, and whose were strained by the attitudes of spouses when they were left behind.

Menolly was a realist. She had a fair of nine firelizards, most of whom regularly participated in mating flights, and she knew that Robinton’s body was now failing him. A marriage or even a formal agreement between them would have to take that into account, and she loved him enough not to wish to hurt him, but was sufficiently self aware to recognise that celibacy was not going to work for her.

She had no intention of over exerting his heart in it’s weakened state, considered it hers to protect even. If she was still only his Journeywoman, talking late into the nights, sneaking spiced wine as he pretended not to notice, watching to see if he was avoiding using his numb-weed salve again, it would be her forcing him to obey Master Oldive, persuading him to delegate. Silvina would conspire with her to forcibly care for him, and Menolly would do all of it gladly.

Mirrim wanted to save her friend unhappiness, but perhaps her definition of that state, and Menolly’s differed.

She considered asking the Weyrwoman for all of half a minute, before deciding that she was not yet ready for that conversation. There were rumours, and she had various suspicions, but the Weyrleaders were fortunate to be evenly matched, and to have found a healthy balance. Knowing how volatile the Benden Weyrwoman could be and how stubborn the Weyr leader was, that was something of a feat in itself. It was not what she needed though.

Brekke was too serene, yielding came naturally to her, and definitely not to Menolly, and she may have been willing to break some rules but her weyrmate bond had all the common components of such a relationship.

Flopping back against the cushions and growling, she finally admitted defeat and began composing a letter to someone she thought might understand.

The reply came surprisingly quickly, her answer returned with Beauty when the message was delivered.

When her guest arrived Menolly had to suppress an unfamiliar nervousness. Hyper aware of the way her fingers tended to tap in a rhythm when she was stressed, serving them both mugs of steaming klah gave her something to do with her hands until the nerves subsided.

“Thank you for coming my Lady.”
“Benoria please. Much less cumbersome than all the titles business don’t you think, Harper Journeywoman Menolly?” Menolly smiled, she’d always liked the woman, but until quite recently their interactions had been limited to Craft- Hold relations rather than personal.

“You look better than the last time we met. More colour in your cheeks. Troubled though. I’ll admit some curiosity about your request to speak with me, and Groghe was quite put out not to be invited with Merga.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement at her husband’s disgruntlement.

Menolly sighed, wondering if she was making a mistake, there really wasn’t any subtle way to ask such questions, she steadied herself with a reminder that Lady Benoria was one of those rare nobles who appreciated a lack of artifice. “I need your insight, you have a… unique… perspective. There are very few whom I would trust, and no-one here who has the experiences to draw upon to help me resolve my personal dilemma. Not to mention everyone has vested interests in the outcome. You have none.” Menolly hesitated before proceeding, hoping she wasn’t about to cause a rift between Hall and Hold.

“There is always gossip, especially around the high ranking, since everyone and their auntie seems to love a good scandal. You must have heard the all of the bitchier criticisms, so with Lord Groghe’s pool of acknowledged bastards, and promiscuity, what made you accept him? What was is that first drew you to him?”

Benoria tilted her head and listened, listening carefully to what Menolly was asking, and what she carefully was not asking. When she answered it was not with outrage or offence but with the honesty the harpress had desperately hoped she might offer.

“Ah, well that’s a strange one, I guess that in a way, it was his flaws that caught my attention, everyone has them, and Groghe as a young man had acquired something of a reputation, but he was not callous; he was honest, and took responsibility for his consequences, without being gullible. My mother taught me always to beware of the sleekit ones, those men who are just a little too charming. Any man raised with the extent of privilege afforded most of those from old Bloodlines has his failings, and like anyone they usually have effects of similar magnitude as their power. I saw firsthand the difference in men in power in public, and in private. Often they are under a great deal of pressure, they are required to take responsibility for every crisis, fall, feud or  famine. It isn’t easy, but the ones who never willingly show a character flaw openly? They are always either making the evidence ‘disappear’, or it is the household who must be subject to the release of those strains. Most days my father was a good man. A calm, and well mannered man, not making his choices based on popularity but what he believed was ethically right, a good Lord. The balance to that of course, meant that any ill temper tended to be long brewed, and deeply unpleasant for his household, myself included. My parents were close, but I know that he on more than one occasion did use his Ladyholder badly. They never spoke of it, and it was rare, but I never forgot the advice that was always given in a quiet, desolate voice, quite at odds with her usual animated, confident self. No one can lead without an outlet. I taught all of my children to know the flaws of the partners they chose for life, before marrying. Their flings are their own business, the girls know every trick in the healers book for caution. The one you bind yourself to for life? That’s different.

You must understand Menolly, I was raised among those of noble blood. Eligible blooded young men paraded through my father’s Hold. From 12 turns old, I’ve always been critiqued, everything I said, did or wore, dissected and judged, and in my turn I saw those same men and their vices. The denials, the drunkenness, gambling, blackmail, the verbal and physical abuse, those who believed they had an innate right to take whatever they wanted, regardless of who had bought it, earned it, owned it- and yes, that does include people. By the time I was seventeen turns I had seen every vice and failing in a man you can imagine and I was resigned to deciding which I could tolerate in a spouse. I was always going to be one part of a political match in an arranged marriage, but fortunately my parents were always willing to listen to my opinions on potential partners. Their own marriage was arranged, and while it was better than many, both recognised the value in allowing us to make our own choice from the acceptable candidates.

There was a midsummer gather that turn, in our Hold, and as always, there were plenty of available young, blooded men for my sisters and I to be displayed to. Groghe has never been the most handsome of men, and I am ashamed to say that that night I did not look more deeply, instead dancing with more physically enticing types. The next morning though he was missing from the quarters he had been provided. I went looking for him then, and I found him. I found him with one of our maids of a certain reputation, and she was crying, I was about to storm in when I saw him give her comfort, not pain, so I hid and listened. The maid had been with him a few months earlier, on a previous visit, and had conceived. Most young men of the blood then would either have asserted she could not prove it, or shamed her, but he didn’t. He took responsibility for his actions, and offered her a choice, either of ending the pregnancy under healer supervision, or of bearing the child, in which case he would financially support his bastard and offer a place in his household. She reacted badly, angry that he would not offer marriage, though even many serving staff wouldn’t have taken her, and he explained the duties required of a Lady Holder, the capabilities and education she must have, that they were exposed and it would be cruel to her, even if he felt more than attraction to her- a mutual problem they had. I knew then that he understood . That he valued the role to which I had always been raised, and I realised then that if it was not deceitful and done in secrecy, I could tolerate physical infidelities, as long as I always came first. I had seen plenty of men in the endless noble equivalent of a flesh market who did not accept rejection, or denials well, some who were ignorant, others cruel. They carried those traits into the marriage bed, and I was witness to some of the resulting trauma. While the serving woman was distressed by her predicament, she was not distressed by Groghe’s presence- he was not yet a Lord Holder of course. She was not aware of anyone else being present to help her, therefore it was clear that she was not traumatised by their past activities.

So you see Lord Groghe had one bastard already when we were wed, and still I have not regretted my decision. In this one way he is a shameless womaniser, but he is an honest one, and has always consulted me before inviting another to his bed. We have a shared one, which is never offered to another woman, he has never taken a mistress I disliked, and has not led them on with the promise of power and influence. I and I alone have his ear. For several turns I was the only one he slept with, but pregnancies were not always easy on me, and were rather frequent. Herbs never worked for me personally, it’s rare but can happen that way. Several times I had severe sickness that left me in the healer hall, and after a couple of bad births, Groghe got very nervous- don’t ever let him know I told you that- and he insisted that I had to give my body a rest. He went back to his old habits because the silly man was afraid for me, and I can’t honestly say he wasn’t right to be. I had some complications healing, and so for several years, we engaged only in intimacy that could not result in me dying in childbed. That ridiculous man barely has to strip a woman and she’s carrying. The last two I miscarried, and we thought it may just be my body’s way of telling me it couldn’t sustain another. I grieved, but I had the support of a loving man. I am used to our relationship being judged, to the comments and snarking about his so called betrayals, and lack of care. In reality he seeks my opinion before acting. I can honestly say that I’d rather be wed to a Lord who prefers me alive and whole, than as a body servant to slake his lusts. I hardly look like I did all those turns ago when we met, and he still make me feel wanted and valued. Some girls chose differently, and have had to tolerate other flaws, from sullen drunkenness, to casual violence, to reckless gambling, or accusations and a stripping away of their freedoms. I am a trusted, outspoken woman, whose word is valued in court, I have been encouraged by my husband to expand my knowledge, and learn. When he is absent I am the highest ranking person and responsible for the Hold, not the steward. He does not employ double standards, or accuse me of imagined wrongdoing. We argue and bicker, but those lead to resolution most of the time, and apologies the rest. I knew who he was before our engagement was announced, and at our joining he stood up with Masterharper Robinton, they were very close then, before offices required a measure of separation.” She paused, looking Menolly over keenly, “Menolly dear, you cannot model a relationship after someone else’s or allow them to dictate what does and does not constitute a valid one if you wish to be happy. Some may be more unorthodox than others, but there is no one formula that will work for everyone. Groghe hasn’t noticed, but I rather suspect the next Masterharper is in a similar predicament about having any open relationships. Our second youngest son shares the same type of complications, not that either of us care, beyond his safety.” She chuckled “Actually Master Sebell was his first crush. Only you can decide how much censure you are willing to invite, or what you are willing to give up for someone you love. All love involves sacrifice, some we can anticipate and others that are unexpected.”

Menolly was slightly awed by the older woman, the simplicity and acceptance rivalling Mnementh’s, and the complexity and resilience challenging her deeply.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Only to someone watching, dear. I may not have been a friend to you, but the first woman in centuries to be full harper was an obvious one to observe closely. I was proud of you. I still am.  Even when you defended yourself against Benis and proved you weren’t there to be a decoration. I watched you fall in love with that man, and I know you didn’t trick him into bed. Or beach. Robinton has something of a type, and you hit every single point that used to attract him as a younger man. Strength, stubbornness, independence. Passion. I have known him a long time, and watched him decide to encourage you towards his Journeyman, which might have worked if you had been willing to settle, and he hadn’t already had a romantic interest. The man has a queen for shells sake, it’s not subtle. Although I suppose there’s Merga.” Menolly sniggered there.

Frowning and feeling revulsion as she considered it, Menolly shook her her head, “I would never ask Sebell to lie like that. Pretend to be a whole other person.”
“I know. It’s something I respect you for too, many women would have taken the easy option and used a good friend to cover that, and the baby. It would be believable, simple, and completely false for both of you. What I don’t want you to mistake that for, is an implication that marriages without indulging in sex together are invalid. There are many who for a wide variety of reasons enjoy the company and support of another without ever requiring that form of closeness from one another. There are so many other ways to share intimacy. People’s lack of imagination never fails to astound me.”

Menolly smiled. “Thank you my Lady- I mean Benoria. That helps, more than you’d think.”

“Ah, I assume then that this has something to do with Robinton and your possible continued presence at the Weyr?”

“Something like that. Do you… do you think he would be jealous, or troubled? Or that he’d accept it as you do from Lord Groghe? Does it not put a strain on things?”

“Firstly, the Harper is not a jealous man. He knew of Silvina’s- shall we say generous nature and has never condemned her for it. He wants the best for you and cares about your welfare more than he does about himself, and he has never been one to regard women as mere chattel. Secondly, no. As long as you don’t pursue someone he actively cannot tolerate and dislikes, there should be no conflict. Keep some space for just for yourselves, unshared. Communicate, and have rules in place and I doubt it will be any harder than any other relationship- different, certainly, but not of less value.”

Biting her lip Menolly nodded. “That… helps more than you know my Lady.”
“Benoria, please.”

“Benoria.”

“I’m glad it’s useful. I can’t say I’ve had exactly this conversation before with fosterlings, but there have been plenty with questions and heartbreak over the turns. You wouldn’t believe how little some of them know, and their parents all set to marry them off so ignorant!” Her disapproval was obvious.

“Well, I can’t say that Mavi was a warm mother, and certainly happiness wasn’t high on her priority list, but she never raised fools, nor allowed the seaholders to do so. I think she considered it to reflect on Halfcircle. Plus the general avoidance of bastards. Can’t prevent them if you don’t know how.” She grimaced. “All the girls were required to attend a few births before we became adults, I was never cut out for being a birthing woman. There was more than one who could have happily trained in it, but I was too prone to day-dreaming. I ended up spending more time with the oldsters, especially when they tried to stop me playing.”

The memories still hurt, but she was able to reflect on them now with less anger or resentment, they made more sense the longer she had worked with the apprentices. Menolly had never meant to be cheeky, or insolent, she hadn’t meant to be late, but she had found there was usually one in any class who would intentionally push boundaries. Shells but she was glad she never had to actually teach Piemur in a classroom or workshop.

Benoria clasped her hand firmly, “No power on Pern could stop you playing Menolly. Not even if they took every instrument, the music is in your soul, not even a dragon could take that away. You’ll never lose that. I don’t think anyone else has managed to get their firelizards to sing yet, not like your own fair. There’s an old Ruathan saying, ‘whit’s fur ye’ll no go by ye.’ I know it goes against what you’ve learned these past five turns, but stop fighting possibilities, meet things as they come for now. You might end up with the first singing dragon, or you might go back to the Harper Hall as Master Sebell’s second with a beautiful daughter. Unless you have a way to organise a bunch of dragonets before they even hatch, worrying will do you no good.”

Menolly swallowed against the ache in her throat and tried to ignore that she thought it may be possible to reach an unhatched dragon. “You’re right, I wish I could just let go, and there really isn’t anything I can do from here to simplify anything.”

Benoria smiled wryly, “Honestly Menolly, I think the stubborn ass might actually rest more with you here. He’s not allowed to travel until Master Oldive clears him, and if you were there in this state, I rather suspect he’d be trying to hide any problems or not worry you. Master Robinton knows you are safe and cared for here, he has nothing to gain from minimising anything to Oldive, Silvina, or his successor. The very fact that you are here and carrying his child has likely played a part in his co-operation with the healers. He has given his life to Pern and it’s people, and it’s not them he is acting carefully for, he is fighting for you dear, and your child. Don’t doubt yourself. I don’t. Now you wouldn’t happen to have any wine or more klah would you? I could certainly use some and I suspect you could too. Especially if they are feeding you the type of vile mush I remember being part of the orders. If anyone complains you can blame me.”

This time it was Mnementh who was trying to subtly nudge her mind, she recognised the deeper timbre and lack of imperiousness that Ramoth and Path both possessed. She knew her eyes would unfocus as she acknowledged him, and blushed at Benoria’s amused aside of

“So the rumours are true.”

"Lessa comes"

"Thanks for the warning, Tell me she brings cake."

Mnementh broke off for a moment. "Ah, No. There is no cake. She asks how you feel about pastries, fresh from the kitchen." 
She could feel Mnementh’s puzzlement. "Pastries sound wonderful. Can she bring enough for three, I am sure it has not escaped her notice that I have a guest."

Mnementh rumbled, "It has not. She will bring enough."

“Back again?” But the Lady’s tone was fond.

“It was just Mnementh warning us of the Weyrwoman’s imminent arrival, the good news is that she is bringing hot pastries.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I haven’t had any quarrel with Lessa for a long time. We only ever did when she had me kidnapped, and I can’t really blame her for that, the men had all decided to be idiots that sevenday. I swear half of them think that if you encounter a problem you just have to bash it on the head hard enough and the solution falls out. I’m old enough and of the right blood to remember her as the Lord of Ruatha’s darling.” She tried not to smirk.

“Did you know it well?” Menolly asked, her curiosity winning out over common sense,

“Well enough. Young Lord Jaxom’s mother was my cousin. Most blooded families are interconnected. I blame that for Groghe’s family looks. The Lady Gemma was beautiful, we shared certain lessons, and would prepare together for gathers then. More than that she was clever, most of that branch of the family were. Her fate saddened me greatly, and our family connection was one of the factors that contributed to Groghe arming and training every lad old enough. The line was blurred, and I never mentioned it to the children born after the massacre. Nothing good could come from it. I don’t think the Weyrwoman recognised me though, I had aged visibly, and of a different hold. If she did then her choice to begin over and take account only of our positions now should be respected.”

Lady Benoria tilted her head, “People deal with things in different ways. Especially traumatic events. You remained in your old Seahold for fifteen turns, even knowing what was expected, I must assume that something triggered your decision not to return there. Whether a significant event, or simply the last small injustice you could tolerate. Yet not many would have left even under such difficult circumstances. It’s no-one’s business but your own, nor is whether you ever think of or speak of what came before the Hall.” She shrugged. “Now then, no more of this, as the Weyrwoman must be close,” A thought confirmed by Mnementh seconds later.

“The klah is cold. There is a wineskin though in… actually I don’t know where,” Menolly grimaced.

"Mnementh? You wouldn’t happen to know if Lessa brings klah would you?"

The Benden Weyrwoman always surprised Menolly in stature when she first entered a room, despite having known it for five turns, “Of course I did, who brings pastries without klah?” She looked offended at the unintentional implied slight.

“Well, in her defence Weyrwoman, Menolly has been accustomed until recently to living with apprentices and mostly bachelor Journeymen. It must be a refreshing change not to have to remind someone, and even the Masterharper is forgetful about food. I’m half certain he lives on Benden wine and bread rolls.”

Menolly made a sound of outrage, “Oh no dear,” continued Benoria, “not your fault, but I’ve dealt with my husband after late night meetings with that ridiculous man, however much I care about him, I’ve no illusions! As you are aware, I do not suffer from a tendency to idealise the men in my life, and I find the best way to protect them from themselves is honesty. Such as, ‘yes I did lace the wine with fellis to force you to sleep.’, and ‘No I won’t lie to your father if he asks who you are seeing.’, ‘No I don’t want a firelizard of my own to match yours dear.’, ‘Yes I did hide the swords when our daughter informed me where she had been.’ See? You being here is protecting the Masterharper from himself.”

Menolly’s lips quirked, “I haven’t asked yet how you knew what is going on with him, I really should before I forget. I swear this baby is using my brain matter to grow.”
My network of gatherer’s might be less advanced than your own is, but you may want to have Silvina remind the maids to keep news confidential. One of them came by earlier for a tryst with one of our younger sons, a tryst I was unfortunate enough to overhear, but at least the boy has the sense not to blether, their father cured them of that early . On top of which I’ve seen Master Oldive, and only serious things get the man himself, unless it concerns his friends, he has difficulties trusting that to others, but with his own challenges, he usually takes along lesser Masters nowadays, acting as the experienced one and director, but leaving anything simple or physical to them. The secrecy and lack of company implied someone who either could not be compromised, or a close friend. Robinton is both. I believe it best for us with such proximity to be forewarned if possible, without compromising anyone. Not even Groghe shall hear of our discussion today, which shall vex him greatly, and make it all the more fun for me. After all, whatever your decision he will find out about it in due course. Without such an offence. You have always pushed the boundaries for our sex, and there are girls who will benefit from that who do not yet even know.”
Lessa hummed her agreement, “Indeed you have. I am correct in believing you a supporter of Menolly’s project then. I had hoped that someone influential among Ladyholders might be willing to offer their support but assumptions are not constructive in such situations. In future for message relays, Menolly, please consider going through Ramoth, it’s more efficient and saves time, as while she is on the hatching grounds Mnementh is loathe to interrupt her.”
“Wise man.” Muttered Benoria.

“Indeed.”

"Well, I can certainly ask if any of our illiterates-many arrived after the clearances- and arrange to have their experiences scribed. I am more useful for collating information than simply scribing it.” It was not a boast but a statement of fact. “I would appreciate that my Lady- Benoria, though I’d have to check that wouldn’t compromise my grading.”
The older woman rolled her eyes, “Pfft, it would still be down to you to analyse the text. Consider it a newly written book. Someone else wrote your archive texts, it’s the same. Do you need klah Menolly dear? I need klah!”
A ripple of laughter was drawn from Lessa, “It’s waiting for you on the tray Lady Benoria, next to fruit pastries if you wish one. No cream today, but the last time I asked your hostess she’d gone off it. Ooh, that reminds me, I must talk to Manora about sorting some clotted stuff for the Impression feast. You know what the Lords are like with their definitions of feasting, though they never seem to understand exactly that our fare does reflect the tithes they offer when there are any gripes.”

Benoria frowned, “Does that happen often Weyrwoman?” censure of such rude behaviour evident in her voice.

She shrugged “Often enough, always the usual offenders though, and while there are privileges that come with being weyrfolk we always live within the means granted. A Weyr isn’t only it’s riders and dragons. The land belonging to the weyr doesn’t extend far outside the bowl, and is largely unarrable, or the Hold would have attempted to claim it, Dragons or no dragons. The rocky bits they have no interest in, though the geo-thermals are of use to us. Not many animals are happy up here and the herds are kept primarily to sustain the dragons, more’s the pity, though they avoid any females carrying calves now, which helps. Sheep,  goats, the toughest of wherries, and mountain hares are about all that would choose to live up here. A couple of stubborn lower cavern girls though were absolutely determined to raise fowl again, one came from a farm croft that made them a speciality. We’re a long way from independent yet, but,” She smiled slightly, “One day the pass will end, we saw what happened in the long interval. Respect was lost. I’ve no intention of letting it happen again so easily. To feel indestructible, and to be invulnerable are not the same thing at all.” Darkness swept over her features, banished as soon as it showed, and Menolly knew she was reliving That Day.

Lady Benoria ignored it purposely, it would be unseemly to notice, there was the girl raised to be a Lady Holder, hidden behind the layers of turns of subterfuge and defensive strategy, and further turns as a dragonrider and Weyrwoman, which did put her skills to use for the good of all Pern. Not planning merely for the next winter, no, planning for surviving the next Interval . That was why she was The Weyrwoman, rather than merely a Weyrwoman, despite her temper.

The Lord and Lady of Fort had not been foolish enough not to recognise the early actions and kidnap as a warning, rather than an act of aggression. Neither doubted that had they wished to, even so few riders as existed then could have easily razed several major Holds, certainly well enough to cow or distract active opponents, and while the Lords had cobbled together a temporary joint force, they were not cohesive enough to continue that way, especially with so many new leaders still emerging to fill the power vacuum left by Fax’s death. They had disagreed over the likelihood of thread returning, but F’lar, so new to the position, held his ground while keeping most of his demands very reasonable, at least for patience. Lord Groghe returned with much greater respect for the new leader than the previous one, who had been worse than useless.