Chapter Text
It had been a great many Turns since Master Domick had been to Benden. Also a while, though not quite so long, since he had been taken, dragonback, to that coldest slip of nothing, between. That and the rather heavy early dinner of mostly mashed tuber and some over-seasoned strips of herdbeast had his stomach sitting somewhat heavily upon his gut, nearly broaching into discomfort.
Still, it was hard to be thoroughly sour in their current climate: the festive atmosphere of Benden Weyr was in full swing, the whole place heaving with people moving to and fro swiftly, calling out greetings, waving cups of wine with at least enough respect for the famed vintage that they weren’t spilling any of the stuff. Domick admitted himself a small grin at the thought of Robinton’s indignation should a single Holder from across the Eastern coast waste any of Benden’s finest stock this night, be it Lessa’s birthday or not.
He glanced around, looking for the Masterharper, but his tall figure was either absent from the cavern or else, for once, he was not the tallest one there. Most likely he was already off hobnobbing with some dignitary from Nabol or the other. Or sequestering himself firmly in with the dragonriders, who all seemed far too jocund about the invasion of their usually spacious Weyr with half of Pern.
Indeed, it had been perhaps half a lifetime since Domick was in a place quite so populated. It wasn’t that he objected to such a thing, but it certainly was making it very difficult to cross the cavern. He also did not suppose that this would be the most attentive audience to their playing, but still, even Turn-worn Domick was not immune to the flattery of Queenrider Lessa requesting that their quartet play over dinner. It had been enough of a dazzling honour to Harpers Sebell, Talmor, and Menolly that the Weyrwoman had listened so attentively to their recital at the last Fort Gather - to the point where she had deigned to seek them out and compliment them afterwards! When the summons had come through for this event - Lessa’s special request of their attendance and performance - Domick had thought that all three of his fellow musicians might pass out with excitement. It had been the first time in nearly a Turn that Menolly had quite lost control of that fair of hers.
Domick glanced over his shoulder now for a sign of a fire lizard, but if any of the little things flitting over the heads of the crowds and tables were Journeywoman Menolly’s, it was impossible to tell. He noted then that even her little gold was absent from its usual perch upon her shoulder, and made a grunt of approval that was lost to the noise of scraping benches and jubilant clamours for food.
Menolly and Sebell were chattering away just in front of him, Domick finding it easier to transport both the score sheafs and his flute case when moving in their slipstream. Before them Talmor was putting his vocal chords to good use to forge a path for the quartet out towards the assembled performance space outside. He was succeeding at cutting a path for them, but only by dint of additional handwaving.
Menolly was holding her gitar close against herself, protecting it with her whole person from getting knocked, despite it still being in its case. Sebell, Domick noticed, was carrying all of their music stands as well as his own instrument and his and Menolly’s music. He would have rolled his eyes had he not been so carefully focused upon not elbowing anybody. Hopefully it would become easier as they finally made it to open air.
A hard knot of people making their way into the cavern were severely impeding their passage out of it, however, and Domick heard Sebell exclaiming from just before him, all four Harpers having to step to the side momentarily to allow for the influx.
But just as she was moving, Menolly gasped, her head whipping around so fast it was as if someone had struck her. Her immediate immobility was so abrupt and absolute that Domick collided entirely with her.
“Sorry, Master Domick, I’m so sorry…” she was breathless with apology, yet staring right past him as if he were not there, utter shock upon her face.
“Menolly, come now, really-” Domick spluttered a little, checking at once that their instruments had not been harmed, but Menolly at least had retained the sense to hold her gitar out of the way.
All other sense seemed to have vanished from her.
Domick blinked, taking in her expression. Her eyes had gone wide, but not in horror. More such a blatant astonishment that Domick, too, looked behind him. Nothing to see but people. Loud, happily conversing men and women, holders of all kinds.
“Sebell - please - oh, oh!” Menolly thrust her gitar case at the journeyman, not even looking around as she did so, trusting him to take it, and then she plunged into the throng, all but running, slight enough in frame to slip between several people at high speed.
“Menolly - journeywoman - we are about to - oh, confound it,” Domick broke off his call to her, for it was useless. It was a few months over a Turn since Menolly had joined them at the Harper Hall: a Turn of seeing her confidence slowly knit itself together, of seeing her flourish not only in ability, which, if Domick was honest, had been profound even from those earliest, nervous days, but also in wisdom and discipline. It had been a while, Domick realised now, since he had felt any pangs of impatience at her youth, her volatility of emotion. Certainly his respect for her as a musician - a rare, genuine pleasure to play alongside - had helped him a long way in the earliest months to remember to be kinder towards her constant uncertainty.
Domick’s annoyance faded quickly now then, and then even faster as he met Sebell’s eye. The brown-faced, brown-eyed journeyman was as confused as himself, it seemed, though Sebell’s look was also markedly protective. Domick internally sighed. The young and in love.
“At this rate we’re not going to end up playing until after the dinner hour,” Domick said to nobody at all, for Sebell was striding past him in exactly the wrong direction, his concern hardening into a scowl.
Domick’s eyes followed him and watched as, barely twenty paces away, young Harper Menolly slowed to a stop behind several men who looked as though they might be from a seafaring Hold, if Domick’s eye was not mistaking the insignia upon their tunics.
He heard her call out a name he did not recognise - saw as one of the men turned, face expectant and surprised, as one might be if one’s name were called by an unfamiliar voice in an unfamiliar place.
The man’s face certainly spoke of the hard weathering done by the dual powers of both sea and sun, but behind the tan and the constant erosion of salt and hard labour upon the skin, he was perhaps not all that much older than Talmor.
He looked down at Menolly with a continuation of that pleasantly polite expectation, eyes glancing over her, taking in the Harper blue of her tunic, her neatly drawn-back hair, perhaps the belt which was as characteristic to Menolly as the creatures themselves: her favourite one, with the fire lizard belt-buckle.
Domick had, in order to keep out of the way of the cavern entrance, found himself walking back towards them, after Sebell, resigned to their tardiness, so he was close enough to hear the gasp from the man which accompanied his change in expression. The look on his face cracked as surely as a dragon egg into one of complete amazement, and then delight.
“Menolly!” he boomed, throwing his arms wide, and without a pause he had swept the young Harper up into the kind of hug of which Domick wasn’t sure he had ever partaken (except that one time but he had resolved not to mention that again).
Domick did note the way Sebell stopped still in surprise, eyes fixed upon this strange man, who seemed oh-so-familiar with the object of affections which were obvious enough to basically everybody except Sebell and Menolly, it seemed.
“You’re - what, now - you’re here! You’re well! You’re well - oh, Menolly! Here at Benden!” the man was saying as Domick came to a stop at Sebell’s side, five paces from them.
Menolly, flustered and breathless and beaming ear to ear, was gripping his arms, all but bouncing on the spot. “I’m a Harper now, Alemi! I - look, see? They made me a journeywoman! I know!” She giggled at his shock, holding up the badge upon her tunic, and there was something very sweet about the girlishness of her excitement. Domick realised with a strange tug somewhere behind his poorly settled dinner that he had never seen Menolly really, truly proud of herself. The thought made his jaw stiffen.
Much like Sebell’s fingers around that carry strap.
“They have the same brows,” Domick said to the younger man, quite solemnly.
Sebell blinked at him. “What?”
“Never mind.” Let the journeyman get there himself, then.
Menolly and her friend were talking over each other at great speed. “A journey - journeywoman? Well I say, that’s-”
“-A Turn, now! Oh, I’ve been meaning to write, I just never quite found the time-”
“No, no, I’ve been the same - Elgion had said you were at the Harper hall! I was so pleased-”
“Harper Elgion! How is he? Is he here, too?”
“Oh, he’s become a very good friend, yes, snuck me in today-”
“-Can’t believe you’re here!”
“-Invited for the festivities! All Holders under Benden have been, you know-”
“I know! And I am to play this evening - I’m here as a Harper, you know!”
“Oh, Menolly,” and the man was embracing her again.
A swooping cry of fire lizard voices came above them, moving closer at high velocity.
“Oh, great shells,” said Domick. Quite to nobody at all, for Sebell had clearly had enough of hovering at a distance.
Menolly was waving her fair away, explaining through almost tearful laughter that yes, these excitable creatures were hers, and yes, the rumours were true - oh, he had heard, had he? Yes, nine, yes, she knows!
“Oh, this is Harper Sebell - he’s a journeyman, too. He’s my quartet partner. We’re to play over dinner - I really ought to get going actually,” Menolly was returning to herself, still beaming at the man’s wide-eyed amazement, his gaze now fixated on Beauty, who had returned to her perch, singing a warbling hello to the man, neck craning forwards to his hesitantly-raised hand, eyes whirling brightly.
“Hello, I’m Sebell.” Sebell, having handed her gitar back to Menolly, had stuck his hand out rather forcefully to the man, who straightened up, attention diverted from the little queen.
“Hello Harper, I’m-”
“Sebell, this is Alemi! My brother! From Half-Circle.” Menolly seemed oblivious to the way that Sebell blinked, rocking back ever so slightly, his manner altering at once. Alemi wasn’t, though, and the way he grinned, looking over both Sebell and Menolly with renewed insight, made even Domick’s humour stir. Beauty chirruped, and Alemi, at Menolly’s beckoning, greeted her with a gentle finger.
“Well it’s a pleasure to meet you all - especially you, lovely thing. Wow. Shells, Menolly - a Harper. Oh, how brilliant. As you always, always should have been. Indeed, as you always were!”
There was a weighted, almost forceful emphasis to the way he said it that made even Menolly stand taller, smiling back at her brother. “It’s just been amazing, Alemi. I’ve learnt so much-”
“Yes,” drawled Domick, deciding, finally, to intervene. Not least because they were blocking much of the valuable width of the passageway. “She’s the pride and joy of the Harper Hall, song-crafting prodigy, and a dab hand at formal gitar. Which, may I remind you, journeywoman, was the skill for which you were invited here today by Weyrwoman Lessa?” Domick raised his eyebrow, expression mock-stern, for he was confident these days that Menolly could rightly interpret his manner as not meaning her any harm, but perhaps a little more haste.
“By Weyrwoman Lessa?” Alemi blinked.
“Oh - oh! Of course - pardon me, Master Domick. I just haven’t seen my brother here since, um…”
“Since you ran away from the Hold to go play reed-pipe to a host of fire lizards in a cave, yes, we all know the story,” Domick raised his eyes heavenward, and Sea Man Alemi had the good humour to laugh with the others. “If we could step to it, now?”
Menolly was nodding, gathering herself, flustered. “We are due to play - I must go - outside to the main square. Will you come listen? You will be here afterwards, won’t you? We are to play for the full hour-”
“What’s left of it,” Domick grumbled under his breath as Alemi assured her that yes, of course he would be here - he couldn’t very well leave until Harper Elgion took them back anyway, because he couldn’t remember the name of the dragonrider that was supposed to be ferrying them.
“Oh, excellent. I shall look for you after, then. Oh, it’s lovely to see you!” Menolly flung her arms around him once more, Beauty taking off in alarm, narrowly avoiding getting caught in the press, just as Menolly narrowly avoided clobbering her brother over the head with her journeywoman gitar - one of her own making, fairly recently, and certainly too fine a creation to be waved around like that.
“First egg save us,” Domick muttered as they finally - finally - got moving back out into the open air, just as Talmor reappeared, looking disgruntled.
“Where did you all get to? You were just behind me, I could have sworn…”
Domick walked ahead this time as Menolly told Talmor in breathless tones that she had just seen her brother, would you know - from Half-Circle Sea Hold!
“Aha! And this was a good thing, I take it?”
“He was the one person who really believed in Menolly,” Sebell answered, and Domick did not have to turn around to picture the sombre way in which he had said it. He took the opportunity to roll his eyes again, however.
“Well, aside from Petiron. But yes, he was always kind to me…”
Domick was only half listening as they reached the dais, Talmor exclaiming to the attendant that yes, he had located the rest of his quartet at last. Domick himself did not bother apologising that they were now at least a quarter of an hour late. Nobody in such an environment was counting too exactly - and it looked from the sea of tables and chattering persons before them all that dinner was only just getting served outside anyway.
Lessa and F’lar were visible, deep in conversation with - yes, there he was, Zair at his shoulder - Robinton, as well as several other Lords of Pern, wine flowing, faces merry. These esteemed members of the audience were seated a little further back, under one of the canopies which spared them the worst of the sun, though the afternoon was waning now. Those in the fore were mostly assorted holders and families, being treated to the great generosity of Benden on this occasion. Domick scowled, not bothering to wonder how music of the sort they were about to be subjected to might go down in such a crowd.
Still, he was pleased to see that his fellow quartet members were taking their places with as much diligence and professionalism as he had come to expect of them - even Menolly, whose cheeks were still pink, now fire lizard-less once more.
Two of the Benden Harpers had been plucking out an idle duet upon the stage, warming up the crowd. Some unimaginative reduction of a Rayer score, it had sounded like. Background noise. Oh well, at least the arrival of music wouldn’t be abrupt.
Talmor was arranging his sheet music - the man preferred stacking all of it out at once in precarious, toppling halves. He never had quite mastered the art of a well-timed page turn, much as he enjoyed blaming the difficulty of such a thing upon the unceasing complexity of Domick’s material. It had been a turning point, Domick felt, when Menolly had quietly asserted during one of their rehearsals together that she never had difficulty timing a page-turn, and several of them occurred at points where her part was decidedly more complex than Talmor’s. Domick had really laughed that day. Not least for the pleasure of seeing Menolly grinning at her fellow gitarist, mischief in her eyes.
Domick’s stomach groaned as he took his seat, at one end of the loose arch they made upon the stage. He lifted his flute to his lips, running a light scale, too soft to draw attention just yet. The Benden Harpers were chatting with Sebell, one of them excitedly gesturing over to the table where Lessa was sat.
Perhaps Domick should have been paying better attention. Perhaps he ought to have considered all he knew about Menolly, and thought a little further upon the appearance of her brother and what that might mean. Perhaps he should have given a little more time before brusquely sending the other Harpers away from the stage and gaining a quick affirmative of readiness from his fellow players.
If he had admitted to himself the weight of the occasion then perhaps he would not have rushed quite so much into the opening count, catching a hush across the frontmost stretch of tables at the expectation of music.
If he had actually turned to check, first, that each of them was ready, then perhaps he would have noticed that the hands of one of their number had become quite still, frozen over the frets. Perhaps perhaps perhaps. But it had only taken a second - a single instance of recognition. A single face in the crowd, there some three or four tables back, turned towards the Harpers, eyes fixed upon Menolly.