Pern and all of its wonderful dragons and humans belong to the estate of the late and beloved Anne McCaffrey. I merely borrow them.
This story is consistent with the first several chapters of "Dragonflight." It is not consistent with the events in "The Masterharper of Pern." Just so you know what to expect.
Chapter 1
A trickle of flame leaked out of Mnementh's jaws, and F'lar put a steadying hand on his neck. "Just a few more seconds," he murmured under his breath, his gaze fixed on the ground below them, where Jizith's shadow was racing towards the boundary of the playing field. The sun was at zenith; Mnementh hovered, waiting for their turn to practice Threadrag flaming.
There! Jizith's shadow had crossed the marker line. F'lar's eyes turned upwards towards the blue dragon and his rider, V'van, F'lar's wingmate. After two more wingbeats, Jizith angled left, and then F'lar saw V'van throw the bundle of gray rags that flared open as it fell. Without F'lar prompting him, Mnementh compensated for the wind, gained altitude in one mighty sweep of his enormous bronze wings and opened his jaws. A gout of flame as long as F'lar was tall sprayed out and set the rags alight. Spinning from the hot heat of Mnementh's fire, the rags fell, F'lar already searching the skies for the next bundle.
Mnementh dove to flame it, and then F'lar directed him upwards towards the third and final bundle of rags. All three Threadrags incinerated, Mnementh burned off the rest of the firestone in his belly in a sustained blast of phosphine-scented fire. F'lar counted four seconds of flame, and then two more beyond that before the game claxon sounded. A margin of six seconds! That was good enough for his Wing's team, and maybe even good enough for a personal trophy in the Games.
"Well-flown," F'lar told his dragon.
I could fly and flame much longer than that, Mnementh replied.
"I know you could."
Mnementh glided to the ledge to take his place at the end of the line as G'toril and his brown Cheth got into position for their practice run. F'lar looked over to F'lon, his Weyrleader, Wingleader and sire, and was rewarded with F'lon's fist pump signaling that he'd done well. F'lar acknowledged the accolade with a nod and wiped the smile off his face. No sense grinning like a weyrling who'd won a miggsy game when he'd only done as well as expected.
F'lar removed his riding helmet and ran his hand through the black hair that was brushed back from his high forehead to fall to the collar of his wherhide riding jacket. The light spring breeze had chilled him when they had first arrived at the playing field in a shallow valley along the top of the Benden mountain range, but now it felt refreshing as it dried the sweat from his exertions. The winter snow had melted from the playing field – the signal to begin formal Games practice – but snow still clung to the peaks. Mnementh crouched down to watch the next pair take their turn at practice as F'lar loosened the riding straps.
G'toril was shortsighted, and Cheth was slow on the turns. The pair were still pursuing the third bundle of Threadrags down when the game claxon ended their time and they pulled back up in disappointment. F'lon signaled them up to the heights for practice while C'latan, the Wingsecond, sent the next pair out. They had only an hour before the sun moved past zenith and skewed the dragon shadows out of the boundaries of the playing field. Not a second could be wasted if they meant to simulate the conditions of the Games accurately.
F'nor and his brown dragon, Canth, landed next to them. F'lar barely glanced at them before turning back to watch his wingmates practice. F'nor was still a weyrling, much to his disgust, since Canth had hatched three years ago and was full-grown; F'nor was sixteen, and almost full-grown as well. But Nemorth mated and clutched only every fourth year, and the weyrlingmaster wouldn't release his ten weyrlings until their replacements had Impressed, which gave F'nor another year as a weyrling. Since weyrlings couldn't compete in the Games, that relegated him to spectator and assisting the competitors.
"Did you get thrown off the relay team?" F'nor asked.
That earned him a look of disgust. F'nor may be his half-brother, but that didn't allow insolent familiarity. F'lar declined to answer, even though the answer was that he was still on the relay team. F'lon might worry that Mnementh's size would cost them a few seconds of speed, but F'lar could reliably catch the baton mid-air. Green Yarath might be able to fly a second faster, but that wouldn't matter at all if H'pan dropped the baton and disqualified the whole team.
After enough time had passed to make it clear that F'lar wasn't responding to F'nor's rude question, F'lar asked, "Are you through with your weyrling duties already?"
"No, son of my father, my weyrling duties include delivering firestone to F'lon's Wing for Games practice," F'nor said with a sarcastic bite in his voice.
F'lar restrained a satisfied smile that he'd managed a return insult so deftly. But he allowed the excitement of practicing with more firestone to show. "We've been working on the Thread flaming maneuvers for the full wing. We're using a stacked formation instead of a traditional arrow formation. F'lon found the description in the Records. It was a way of fighting Thread if you'd lost some wingmen to injury and had to fly a closer pattern to compensate for the gaps in the wing. R'gul doesn't want to allow the variation in the Games, but F'lon's the Weyrleader so I bet we get to do it."
"Do you fly upper or lower level?" F'nor asked, their spat forgotten in the fascination with the Games and their mutual sire's new strategy.
"The junior bronze dragon flies upper level. The more experienced dragons take the lower level. The theory is that the experienced dragons could catch Thread the junior level misses. It's like being wingleader of a small wing, because I fly point with V'van and G'toril behind me, and H'pan closes the back of the formation, but they're all taking their positions from mine. F'lon said upper point dragon is crucial to keeping this formation clean and effective," F'lar said, and this time he didn't restrain the grin. He was bursting with pride that F'lon had given him this chance; he was so tired of being junior bronze in the wing, flying the back anchor position. But until Canth and his clutchmates were released from the weyrling barracks to become the new junior riders, F'lar would be considered a junior bronze rider.
F'nor's expression softened briefly with the look that F'lar knew meant a communication with his dragon, then F'nor untied a sack of firestone and dropped it next to F'lar. "I'm going to distribute firestone."
F'lon on bronze Simanith came flying back down to the ledge, followed by Cheth and G'toril. Canth backwinged to allow Simanith room to spiral down past him, then F'nor tossed a firestone sack which F'lon caught mid-air.
Just like we'd have to do if we were fighting Thread, F'lar thought. The weyrlings would resupply the fighting wings in mid-flight, and the rider would catch it and offer his dragon firestone before his flame ran out and Thread escaped to fall on Pern. F'lar knew Thread was viciously destructive, the scourge of life on Pern, and the bane of a dragonrider's existence, but it still sounded so thrilling and heroic when compared with flaming a bundle of rags.
Canth and F'nor settled back to the ledge to watch as F'lon signaled the wing aloft and then Simanith passed F'lon's order to chew firestone and take their positions. Mnementh hovered, turning his great bronze head to accept chunks of firestone from F'lar's hand. F'lar could feel the vibrations as the dragon's heavy jaws pulverized the rock, releasing a pungent phosphine odor that F'lar welcomed for the adventure it brought with it. Mnementh strained upward, wheeled, and held his position while the rest of the wing formed up behind and below them. F'lar checked the positions of the dragons behind him, motioning G'toril and Cheth to come in closer, then watched F'lon for the signal.
The entire wing synchronized their motions, almost to the wingbeat, and dove in the stylized choreography of the most difficult event in the Games. Wings were judged on synchronicity, style, flame production and staying within the playing field. F'lar looked below them; the dragon shadows were within the playing field boundaries, though they were skewing a bit west as the sun passed zenith. After two flaming passes, Mnementh easily took the turn that dropped them a level, and F'lar heard his rumble of correction before F'lar had to ask him to bespeak Cheth to tighten the turn. Mnementh released another gout of flame in concert with the rest of the wing, and an errant gust of wind eddied the heat back into F'lar's face. He put up an arm to protect his eyes and reassured Mnementh he was fine. The next turn threw him against the riding straps, and he hoped no one had seen his clumsiness – he should have anticipated that turn better.
Within another fifteen minutes, the maneuver had ended, with the entire wing landing on the playing field. F'lar glanced up to see Canth take wing and head back to the Weyr, F'nor pumping his arm in farewell. F'lar returned the salute and then joined his wingmates to listen to F'lon's evaluation of their practice.
~###~
F'lar's steps slowed as he entered the Lower Cavern for dinner that evening. The entrance into Lower Cavern from the Bowl went through the common room first, with its low tables and padded seats, then to the dining area with its rows of long tables. At the far end, the hearths formed the border between the living areas and the kitchen. The only seat left with the other junior riders in his wing was next to V'van, the blue rider. While F'lar appreciated V'van's admiration most days, his effusive compliments could become tiresome. F'lar didn't know what to say when V'van was only telling the truth about Mnementh's size and speed, and F'lar's skill as a rider, but he'd learned that if he agreed too often, it lent fuel to the accusation of arrogance that was frequently thrown at him by riders who were envious instead of admiring. H'pan, especially, thought F'lar ought to dissemble about Mnementh's abilities and his own talent. F'lar couldn't understand the value in telling half-truths though. Mnementh really was the best flyer, and he was the best rider among the junior dragonriders. It wasn't his fault H'pan and Yarath weren't that good, for all they were eight Turns senior. G'toril had the wit to admit his weakness as a rider without expecting F'lar to act like he had the same struggles. In fact, G'toril was even willing to accept advice, a fact that raised his standing in F'lar's opinion. There was no sense in refusing to learn just because you were taking advice from someone whose dragon had hatched in the same clutch.
F'lar decided not to sit with his wingmates. A group of weyrlings, with F'nor at the center, were at the next table, loudly engaged in a discussion of the bets they were already placing on the riders and wings, though the Games were still six sevendays away. Their table had also attracted the most female attention. The cooks' helpers were busy serving the meal, but the girls whose main duties didn't involve kitchen tasks usually seated themselves with the weyrlings and junior riders. The senior women in the Lower Caverns sat at their own table. They paired off with the dragonriders in the evenings, but didn't sit together for meals unless the relationship had stabilized into weyrmates.
F'lar kept his glance casual as he checked for Tirina. She sat with D'nol, Wingsecond in R'gul's Wing, at a table full of senior riders. Shards! She hadn't sat with him in a few days, and F'lar had hoped that meant the relationship was ending.
He took a plate and filled it with food from the serving table: baked fish and roast wherry, tubers, yellow-veins and redfruit, then balanced two slices of sweet bread over the top and would have taken a third but Manora, the assistant headwoman who was replenishing the vat of tubers, had already raised her eyebrows at the amount he'd managed to pile on his plate. They only had sliced meats once in a sevenday, so F'lar made sure he got enough to sustain him through the other six days of soups, stews and mashes.
T'bor was sitting with the senior riders, and his bronze Orth was clutchmates with Mnementh, so F'lar joined him. Conveniently, the seat was directly across from Tirina and within earshot of the senior riders.
"Good sun this week," T'bor greeted him.
F'lar nodded, his mouth already full of fish, and reached for the pitcher of klah to fill his mug and wash down the mouthful. T'bor flew with S'lel's Wing, and the weather had been cloudy last week when it was their turn to use the playing field. Without the shadows to mark the beasts' positions, that week of practice had essentially been wasted for them. "I heard you're first position on your relay team."
"Orth is the fastest dragon in our wing, but I missed the baton two practices running, so S'lel put us first," T'bor admitted.
F'lar nodded and mixed the tubers into the yellow-veins before taking another bite. He didn't want to chat about the Games with T'bor. He wanted to hear what D'nol was talking about with the other senior riders and maybe talk to Tirina.
"Good evening to you," F'lar said to Tirina.
"Good evening. Torn anything lately?" Tirina replied.
"Not lately, no," F'lar said.
Tirina was one of the Weyr seamstresses. As a youngster, F'lar had discovered he could have Tirina's undivided attention if his clothing needed repair. His scheme had worked well until one day in his twelfth Turn, when Tirina had greeted him with a look of longsuffering and the comment, "Ah, yes, you again – the weyrling who can't keep his clothes in one piece for an entire sevenday." Mortified that he was gaining the wrong sort of attention, F'lar stopped snagging his seams on every available hook.
He had yet to attract the right sort of attention from Tirina. It didn't help that she was six Turns his senior and continued to twit him about his childhood foolishness whenever he tried to talk to her. And she was weyrmates with a senior bronze rider, with no reason to take a junior rider seriously. When he'd Impressed Mnementh seven Turns ago, all she'd done was congratulate him on not tearing his Impression tunic.
When she'd left the Weyr shortly after F'lar Impressed Mnementh for fostering at the Weaver Hall at High Reaches Hold to learn more of her craft, F'lar decided his youthful fascination with her was over. Unfortunately, when she returned from fostering a few Turns later, F'lar's resolutions fell apart after she'd done nothing more than walk from the Bowl to the Lower Caverns. She'd always been tall, but she'd returned from her Turns at the Weaver Hall having grown into her height with generous curves, a swing in her step, and the weaver skill to dress to best effect. Light brown hair fell over her shoulders and down her back, glinting bronze in the firelight. F'lar wasn't the only dragonrider to hope for her attention, but D'nol had won her. For now.
F'lar tried, and failed, to come up with a witty comment to draw her into conversation, and the opportunity was lost when D'nol leaned across to join the conversation with the senior riders.
"How can it be newfangled when he found the wing formation in the Records, R'gul? You can't have it both ways. The Records are Tradition." D'nol sat back and took another bite, satisfied he'd made his point.
R'gul gave his Wingsecond a black look. "Those Records applied to a different era on Pern. I'm talking about the traditions of the Games, and our traditions dictate a standard arrow formation for the full wing flame maneuvers."
"That's nowhere written," F'lon said.
F'lar perked up to hear his sire defend his new strategy for the Games.
"Doesn't need to be written if everyone knows it," R'gul replied.
"There is that," D'nol said, backing down from his opinion to agree with his Wingleader again. D'nol liked to act like he had his own opinions, but he never sustained a disagreement with R'gul.
"If it isn't written, then we just need to change what everyone knows," C'latan replied coolly. As F'lon's Wingsecond, he had no need to placate R'gul, and every incentive to support his own Wingleader. "Ten Turns from now, everyone will know that there are at least two formations that can be flown in the full wing flame maneuver event, and possibly a third."
"A third?" S'lel, a Wingleader who agreed with F'lon more often than he agreed with R'gul, joined the conversation. "What's the third?"
"Winding pass. The three formations are arrow formation, stacked arrow formation, and winding pass," F'lon supplied. "The winding pass formation was used at the height of a Pass, when Threadfall is thickest and a wing had to get in at least four vertical passes before Thread could reach the ground. It's got some tricky turns in it, but the diagrams are fascinating."
"I'd like to see those," S'lel said.
"At your convenience," F'lon replied.
"You going to try a new formation?" R'gul demanded with a snort of disgust. His heavy features suggested a strongly disciplined personality, but F'lar thought he was disciplined to be as inflexible as possible. There was nothing wrong with trying a new formation.
"I might," S'lel replied. "What do you think, L'tol?"
L'tol, S'lel's Wingsecond, paused a second and considered before answering. "I can speak for our wing when I say we'd welcome the challenge and rise to meet it."
"Well-said!" S'lel told him, and raised a mug of klah in his direction.
L'tol acknowledged the compliment with a slight tip of his head and half a smile. L'tol was the only wingsecond who rode a brown dragon instead of a bronze. R'gul and V'sen had thrown a fit about confirming his rank, but with F'lon and S'lel both agreeing that L'tol's Larth could outfly any other bronze currently available for promotion, R'gul had conceded sullenly and V'sen had followed his lead. It had thrown the staid Weyr patterns into commotion to promote a brown rider into a position only ever assigned to bronze riders, but F'lon said it would keep the bronze riders on their toes to know they had even more competition for the coveted rank positions in a wing.
"Challenges keep both dragons and their riders from getting complacent and add opportunity to try out riders in new positions," F'lon said. "The top arrow in this formation is traditionally led by a junior bronze rider who has proven his riding ability, when the wingleader wants to test for possible leadership ability."
F'lar forgot to swallow. F'lon did not give compliments frequently, and he wondered if he was about to receive one, or to be criticized in front of the entire table.
R'gul snorted again. "How's that going?"
"He flies a tight wing," F'lon said.
F'lar swallowed, and nodded, aiming for the same understated acknowledgment to a compliment that L'tol had shown. He hoped Tirina realized just how rare and valuable a compliment from the Weyrleader was. F'lon showed no favoritism towards his blood sons; indeed, they had to work harder than the other riders simply to avoid censure.
"That sounded like its own challenge, didn't it, L'tol? Do you think our wing is up to mixing up a few rider positions and seeing what our junior bronze rider can do?" S'lel asked, with a pointed look at T'bor.
"Yes sir!" T'bor answered before L'tol could speak.
Smiles went up and down the table, and F'lar silently thanked the First Egg that he hadn't let his excitement get the best of him in such an embarrassing fashion. He fastened his eyes on his plate until someone kicked him under the table.
Tirina smiled and winked at him. F'lar allowed a full smile in return, grateful she'd noticed his triumph.
D'nol saw the exchange and scowled at F'lar. "Talk's easy. We'll see how you fly in the Games. That's where it matters."
"Then that's where I'll do the best you've ever seen," F'lar said.
"Arrogant!" D'nol said with a snort that sounded like R'gul.
"Confident," F'lar corrected him.
"Over-confidence can turn the best dragon into a wherry-flyer," D'nol said, getting up from the bench and motioning Tirina to come with him.
F'lar let the comment pass because it was obvious he'd won the exchange of words and D'nol was being churlish.
As they walked away together, D'nol's hand drifted to Tirina's hip. F'lar gave that hand a black look, then turned his attention back to the conversation between F'lon, S'lel and L'tol about the winding pass formation that S'lel wanted to try.
~###~
There, it itches there, Mnementh said when F'lar reached the right spot.
F'lar rubbed the itch with sand, then brushed it off and poured a handful of oil onto Mnementh's haunch and rubbed it in. Mnementh leaned into the motion with contentment, which about flattened F'lar.
"Heave over. Can't have you lying on me," F'lar said, shoving Mnementh back.
Mnementh rumbled and shifted.
F'lar loved this time of day, after dinner with the shadows lengthening by the Weyr's lake, dragons and riders informally spending a few moments together. They were across from the feeding grounds, but Mnementh had eaten yesterday. Today, he wanted only a bath and a scrub. Mnementh turned his head around to blow a snort at F'lar. Obligingly, F'lar shifted from scratching Mnementh's haunch to the dorsal ridge above his multi-faceted eye, the inner lids gradually closing as F'lar scratched the eye-ridge soothingly. The first lid dropped down over his glowing eye as Mnementh relaxed.
Simanith blew the sand on the ground up around F'lar as he landed and F'lon dismounted.
"He is well cared for," F'lon said, nodding towards Mnementh.
"He takes care of me as well," F'lar replied, leaving off Mnementh's eye ridge.
"As it should be. I want you to take the riders in your upper wing for practice tomorrow morning. Simanith tells me Mnementh had to bespeak Cheth multiple times about keeping position in the formation today. Run the maneuver without flame until G'toril and Cheth can stay in position," F'lon said.
"Yes, sir," F'lar replied, thinking that H'pan would be irritated to have his free hours pre-empted. But these were wingleader orders, not F'lar's orders, so he could be irritated all he wanted; he'd still have to comply.
F'lar gave Mnementh a final scratch and wiped his oily hand on a drying cloth when F'lon turned to walk with him towards the Lower Caverns where most of the weyr folk gathered in the evenings. "Do you think S'lel will try the winding pass formation?"
F'lon held up the package of Record hides that F'lar had not noticed he was holding. "We'll find out."
F'lar fully intended to stay with F'lon and listen to his conversation about Games strategy, but when they reached the Lower Caverns, F'lon put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him towards the tables and couches where the weyrlings had congregated with several girls and card games. "Go relax with your friends, F'lar. You've worked hard today."
"Yes, sir," F'lar said, swallowing his disappointment. He would rather keep working on the Games than play cards with the weyrlings.
Still, it was gratifying to have F'nor order T'sum and L'rad to move over for him, and then deal the hand new so he could join in. K'net, who had impressed the only bronze dragon in Nemorth's last clutch, was ostensibly the highest-ranking weyrling, but his quiet personality usually gave way before F'nor's energy. F'lar was still surprised that F'nor had Impressed a brown dragon instead of a bronze, but he knew enough to never say that out loud. K'net did well enough as a bronze rider; he had good sense even if he was too self-effacing.
Telli, Manora's fosterling, hovered on the edge of the group, not sure if a girl of twelve Turns would be welcomed; the other children were off in a corner with a game of sticks and miggsy. Several older girls, Sanra, Asha and Arita, were seated with the weyrlings, and enjoying the game immensely if the amount of giggling was any indication.
No one kept score, and T'sum and Asha were cheating, but so obviously that every play they made produced more laughter and exclamations of false shock from the others. Sanra and L'rad showed off their cards and made an exaggerated play that would have gotten them disqualified from a serious game. It was ridiculous, and beneath his dignity, but F'lar found himself chuckling the next time Asha pounced on the card T'sum discarded and played the trick.
F'lar relaxed enough that when Tirina entered the Lower Caverns, he waved and called her over without considering the risk of embarrassment if she turned him down to find D'nol. To his surprise, she came over.
"Move over and deal in Tirina," F'lar said.
"Do you have to sit by him, Tirina? Come over here," F'nor said.
Tirina ignored him and dropped onto the cushion next to F'lar where Sanra had shifted over. They were crowded now, which F'lar's appreciated. Her hip and leg were snugly against his.
"Shall we play a hand without cheating?" F'lar suggested, raising an eyebrow in T'sum's direction.
"Why?" T'sum asked, and Asha exploded in giggles, draping over his lap.
"I'll cheat with you, F'lar, if you're getting left out," Tirina offered.
F'lar watched F'nor try to keep it in, fail, and snorted out, "just don't tell D'nol," before he guffawed at Tirina's unintended double entendre.
"Ignore him. I'll cut his hair with firestone flame tomorrow," F'lar said to Tirina.
Tirina laughed at her mistake and F'lar's threat. "I didn't know you knew how to make a joke, F'lar."
"He doesn't," F'nor said. "He really is going to flame my head tomorrow." And he burst out into more laughter.
By this time, F'lar was fairly sure someone was hiding a wineskin under the table.
"Now, F'nor, I'm sure F'lar has a sense of humor somewhere," Tirina scolded the young brown rider.
F'lar wondered if she was teasing him or flirting with him.
"It wasn't issued with his dragonriding gear, so he really doesn't have one," F'nor said.
"That's not true. I heard him make a joke," and T'sum paused an extra second, "not more than two Turns ago."
L'rad went off into such hilarity that F'lar checked under the table. There was an empty wineskin on the floor. It wasn't much fun to be the only sober person at the table. Even K'net seemed well-flown tonight.
"Did F'lon order you to come over and have fun with us?" T'sum asked.
"Actually, he did," F'lar said.
That set them off again, even though it was the truth. F'lar was flying at the wrong altitude right now, and he knew it. Work, precision and dedication were where he was comfortable. Some evenings he avoided the Lower Caverns entirely, preferring to spend them with Mnementh, or in his weyr with a pile of Records from the glory days of Pern's past when dragonriders saved the world. He ought to be able to come up with something witty and friendly to join them, and he was at a loss, just like when he'd tried to talk to Tirina at dinner.
"All you can do is follow orders? Then I order you to laugh," Tirina said.
F'lar would have traded a dragon egg to be anywhere else right now. If only they'd given him time to get drunk with them, he might be managing this situation better. Because Tirina had asked, he forced a chuckle.
"Good effort," Tirina said, to the accompaniment of more hilarity from the weyrlings and their girls.
"I should check on Mnementh," F'lar said, getting up.
"Oh, unbend a little, we're just teasing," F'nor said.
F'lar didn't say all the things he wanted to say to F'nor right now, since he knew they'd only laugh at him.
"I'm going to find D'nol," Tirina said, getting up with him.
F'lar appreciated that she wasn't going to laugh at him, but wished she hadn't announced that particular errand.
She caught his hand before he got more than two steps away from the couch and squeezed it. "You're handsome when you smile. You should do it more often."
Then she dropped his hand and sauntered away towards the fire where the senior riders had gathered.
~###~
It was full dark when F'lar returned to the Lower Caverns on the way to the kitchens, holding a glow basket. He'd spent the rest of the evening with an old Record from the Red Star's last Pass. Jora, the Weyrwoman, was keeper of the Records, but from what he could tell, she never looked at the old ones. No one noticed if he took Records, or when he returned them. F'lon read old Records, so F'lar did too.
He was hungry. The duty cook had gone to bed, so he couldn't call down the service shaft in his weyr for food. He'd waited until he was sure the weyrlings would have gotten corralled by the weyrlingmaster and sent back to their barracks before he went in search of meatrolls and cheese.
There was a fire flickering low on the hearth at the dining end of the Lower Caverns. F'lar stopped when he realized two people were still there. They were seated across from each other at a table. He recognized Manora's profile. She was assistant headwoman at Benden Weyr, though she had been acting headwoman for Turns now, as Willa's joint disease confined her to the fireside as an advisor. Manora was kind, she knew where everything was, and not a problem in the Weyr escaped her gentle attention. She was also F'nor's blood mother. F'nor had gotten his easy way with people from his mother. F'lar often wondered what it was about a person that made them befriend everyone they met and win trust without even trying. Whatever it was, he knew he didn't have it, and some days, like this evening, he noticed his lack.
It wasn't until the man seated across from her brushed back the lock of hair that had fallen into his eyes that F'lar recognized his sire. They were only talking, not even holding hands, and yet their attitude was more intimate than F'lar had seen between some he knew were lovers. He would never ask, but he believed F'lon and Manora had not been lovers since Simanith flew Nemorth ten years ago and F'lon became Weyrleader after P'zal died of old age and illness. Jora was rider of Benden's only queen dragon, Nemorth, except queen dragons couldn't fly so Jora wasn't exactly a dragonrider. She was Weyrwoman though, and smitten with F'lon, though she was eighteen Turns his senior. After Simanith flew Nemorth, Jora was immediately possessive of F'lon, to the point of stirring up contention in the Weyr until he ended his relationship with Manora. F'lar had heard the story from F'nor, who had heard it from his foster mother, who thrashed him for repeating it, but not before every boy in the Weyr knew that F'lon loved Manora.
F'lon's first duty would be to his Weyrwoman and the Weyr, even if he still loved the assistant headwoman, F'lar observed. When the dragons were involved, love couldn't take precedence in relationships among the humans they'd Impressed.
F'lon's expression was entirely unguarded right now. F'lar had never seen him look tired and worried – F'lon was always confident and busy. Though he was too far away to hear the words, F'lar could tell F'lon was pouring out a steady stream of concern in a tone of self-doubt and confusion instead of the strong confidence F'lar assumed his father always felt. Manora listened. He'd seen that look on her face when F'nor talked to her as well – as if there was no one else in the world as important as the person she was listening to.
F'lar wondered if he would ever talk like that with Tirina. Somehow, it seemed more intimate than taking her back to his weyr for the night. He'd done that with girls he'd barely talked to at all, and who hadn't wanted his conversation either. But to have someone to talk to like that would be a whole new experience. F'lar stayed in the shadows, aware now of a need he hadn't known he had until he saw F'lon express it for him. He wanted a friend, a human friend, whom he trusted enough to admit that sometimes he didn't know what to do, and he worried about what people thought of him, and he didn't know the difference between being arrogant and being confident.
A little shaken, F'lar decided he wasn't hungry after all. He left quietly, returning to Mnementh who waited to take him back to his weyr for the night. He stopped to scratch Mnementh's eye ridges, needing the reassurance of his bronze dragon's love before he settled himself on Mnementh's neck for the brief flight up to his weyr.
Dragondex of characters:
Arita, teenage girl at Benden Weyr. OC
Ashi, teenage girl at Benden Weyr. OC
B'refli, rider of brown Joruth in S'lel's Wing.
C'gan, rider of blue Tagath. Harper and weyrlingmaster.
C'latan, Wingsecond rider of bronze Kogath in F'lon's Wing. OC
D'nol, Wingsecond rider of bronze Valenth in R'gul's Wing.
D'wer, rider of blue Trebeth in S'lel's Wing.
F'lar, junior bronze rider of Mnementh in F'lon's Wing.
F'lon, Weyrleader and Wingleader rider of bronze Simanith.
F'nor, weyrling rider of brown Canth
G'toril, junior brown rider of Cheth in F'lon's Wing. OC
H'pan, green rider of Yarath in F'lon's Wing. OC
Illian, son of Lord Raid of Benden Hold. OC
Jora, Weyrwoman of queen Nemorth.
K'net, weyrling rider of bronze Pianth
L'rad, weyrling rider. He's not an OC, but his dragon is never named or described.
L'tol, Wingsecond rider of brown Larth in S'lel's Wing. (In the first introduction of L'tol in Dragonflight, Larth is identified as a green dragon. Every other mention of Larth says he's a brown dragon, so I went with that.)
Manora, assistant headwoman at Benden Weyr.
Raid, Lord Holder of Benden Hold.
R'gul, Wingleader rider of bronze Hath.
Sanra, teenage girl at Benden Weyr.
S'lan, bronze rider of Binth in R'gul's Wing.
S'lel, Wingleader rider of bronze Tuenth.
S'ril, weyrling rider of green Banath. OC
T'bor, junior bronze rider of Orth in S'lel's Wing.
T'gor, weyling rider of blue Relth.
Tirina, seamstress at Benden Weyr. OC
T'sum, weyrling rider of brown Munth.
Veron, son of Lord Raid of Benden Hold. OC
V'sen, Wingleader rider of bronze Moreth. OC
V'van, rider of blue Jizith in F'lon's Wing. OC