Disclaimer: I'm not Anne McCaffery. I don't own Pern or Brekke or F'nor or Canth or anybody. Harmless little fanfic, that's all folks. I do wish I knew what Brekke's song sounds like... I wonder if anyone ever wrote it???

The torches flickered clemently in their sconces, dancing tawny and ocher on the stone flags. Brekke tapped her foot against the cool stone, trying hard to listen to the poor Harper. Berd was curled achingly tight around her throat, thrumming in her ear along with the melody, but not so loud enough so as to be heard. Canth and Ramoth were both outside. Their thoughts pounded in her brain, so fiercely that she was barely aware of the many people packed onto the benches in the hall, all quiet now as the Harper sang. It wasn't even that they were thinking very loudly, just that they were louder than the Harper. F'nor sat beside her, holding her hand, which made her feel less sick, and Lessa and T'gellan were close by, but otherwise the hall was filled with strangers. The light was dim now in the twilight, and she felt acutely the small, warm body of Berd against her skin, the bond they shared. And like bile rose the remembrance of that terrible hole inside her, the hole where Wirenth should have been. Her breath stopped and her mind went blank, and then Berd was squeezing her hard, but it didn't matter, because she wasn't breathing anyway. His sharp little teeth nipped her earlobe, and Mirrim's and F'nor's faces bloomed in her deathly-dark mind. She looked down with hazy eyes at the scarred hand wrapped around hers, looked up at F'nor's scarred face, took a deep breath that hurt terribly, because Berd was still trying to throttle her. Her little bronze's choke-hold eased, and F'nor returned her gaze, smiling slightly. She was so glad he was alive, so glad that he was touching her, so glad that he was here to hold. It made her being here to hold a little less painful. And besides, Mirrim would cry. Mirrim didn't cry.

There was applause, and then the tune changed so subtly she wouldn't have noticed if not for the clapping. She forced herself to focus on the notes, the instrumental introduction before the saga began. It brought tears to her tired eyes, touched her soul just as deeply as Berd did, as Wirenth had. Her mind faded from the music as her queen's face became sharp in her mind, and if she hadn't already been crying, she would have. Berd wouldn't be still. She heard the Harper's descant, a young dark-haired contralto, answer her player, "Don't leave me alone!" in aching notes that were almost a scream. She blinked. In the beauty of the song, she recalled that she'd heard those words, somewhere, before. Fresh tears came to her cheeks, seeing the scars on F'nor's face, and then indignation and annoyance burned every other emotion clean out of her. F'nor must have heard the accusing gasp of fury, and leaned into her shoulder, a quiet chuckle on his face.

"It had to happen sometime," he allayed vainly in a whisper only she could hear.

"That's not—!" she hissed before her breath deserted her and embarrassment burned red across her cheeks. "I don't want to be sung about!"

"My dear girl, they are Harpers." F'nor chuckled, taking advantage of the proximity of his lips and her ear. "They are going to sing with your leave, or with out it. Get used to it."