((Dragonriders of Pern and all references are © Anne McCaffrey. Yung Weyr and all references are © Despairing. Keisen is © me. :D))
Keisen's first memories are of the Telgar Kitchens. From the time she could talk in coherent sentences, she told her mother in no uncertain terms that she was not returning to the crèche, as the children there were annoying and she wanted nothing more to do with them (this is what she tells people, though the majority doubt a two-Turn-old's ability to convey her meaning in those exact words). So the little girl tagged along behind her mother's skirts as the woman set to work in the kitchens, and rather than being overcome by boredom, Keisen was absolutely fascinated.
The idea of being able to make something out of nothing intrigued her, and it wasn't long before she was demanding substance to put in the pots she'd been given to bang on. Her mother – and sometimes the other cooks – gave her rotting tubers and excess herdbeast meat, and she always received what couldn't be reused from the previous night's dinner. Happily she mixed everything into some cold, rancid stew that she demanded everyone try (and she was only satisfied when they made "yummy" noises, and didn't usually notice that they were only pretending).
When she was a little older, she was given more important tasks – like adding herbs to the evening stew, kneading dough for bread or bubbly pies, and watching over the roasting wherry to make sure it didn't burn. It was around this time, too, that Keisen learned of her father.
He strode into the kitchens one day, tall and muscled, his chin perfectly stubble-free and his shirt neatly tucked. The man was a vision of order – until his lips spread into a broad grin, bringing warm light to his eyes, and he wrapped his arms around Keisen's mother. She paused slicing tubers long enough to give him a kiss on the cheek. Keisen watched this from her post at the hearth, and couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. Lekeia was her mother and should only kiss her! Yet she also couldn't help but feel excitement, too, for she had seen this dragonrider on many other occasions, and he had often given her sweets or little toys.
But the gift he had for her that day was much, much better.
After P'sen returned the kiss and whispered words in Lekeia's ears that Keisen couldn't hear (as she sat with her arms crossed and eyes narrowed, becoming steadily more frustrated with the situation), he crouched beside her and said, quite kindly, "I've been looking high and low for a competent set of hands to help me wash my dragon. Your mother tells me you're intelligent enough not to start a mud fight in the middle of a dragon's bath." (Keisen swelled with pride, for this was something she certainly wouldn't do; only stupid people used mud to bathe something.) P'sen grinned. "Would you like to help?"
Only when her mother assured her that she'd look after the roasting wherry did Keisen take the bluerider's hand and allow him to lead her to the Weyr Lake. Though the girl had lived in Telgar her entire life, she'd never seen a dragon so up close before. Mostly they could be seen glimmering on their ledges, or flying above the Weyr, or from across the Weyrbowl. She knew other Weyrbrats were daring enough to sneak up close – but Keisen always had things to do, because she was i trusted /i by the adults of the Weyr and was given important duties. She didn't have time for childish antics!
Keisen would never forget that day, for that was the day she decided to become a dragonrider. The moment P'sen's dragon fell like a piece of sky from above and lowered his snout to her level, she knew exactly what she was meant to be – and that wasn't a kitchen worker. She stared right back at that blue, and P'sen showed her where the dragon liked to be scratched. Soon they were knee deep and laughing in the chilly lake, rubbing down the blue with soap sand and splashing each other with water.
Every day after that, Keisen found excuses to go to P'sen's weyr. It was usually in the morning, before the kitchen got hectic preparing for the noon and evening meals. She helped him clean up his room and care for Arakith, organize papers and fetch supplies when he needed it, and sometimes, when she was older, she was able to help tend to his riding equipment.
"We'll make a queenrider out of you yet," he would say, ruffling her hair with a chuckle. He meant it as a compliment for another job well done, and Keisen simply smiled, though she had other plans. A queen was all well and good – a queen meant power – but a green meant importance, and Keisen knew which she preferred. She didn't say anything, though, because she liked that he had high hopes for her. She had learned who he was, though he didn't say anything and neither did Lekeia. But what her parents thought were secret smiles and stolen kisses didn't go unnoticed, and Keisen had seen enough of herself in the bluerider to come to the correct conclusion.
But peaceful years of foolish Weyr pride couldn't last forever. Someone had to crack – and the Istans did. Rumors of mass murder reached Telgarian ears long before the heat of Istan flame did – but they were too arrogant. No one took the threats seriously; they were clearly someone's idea of a joke, and if they were real, well, the other Weyrs were weak. No one could infiltrate Telgar's walls. They were drunk with self-proclaimed power, and Keisen was no better. Instilled in her was a sense of pride as fierce as any for Telgar Weyr.
But Telgar was just as vulnerable as the rest, and too tempting a target for the Istans to overlook.
That night, ten-Turn-old Keisen awoke to screaming. She scrambled out of bed with her heart hammering to see what was going on – noted her mother's absence from their rooms – and strode out into the main hallway. People were everywhere; children and adults alike were sobbing, running, coughing from the smoke that hung above their heads. Keisen joined the masses in terror and confusion – her mother was nowhere to be seen, someone shouted that there were 'riders dead, that the kitchens were on fire… And Keisen heard it, the terrible noise that confirmed everything: dragon keening.
She was pushed along with the crowd, but she didn't see where they were going; her eyes were blurry with tears. Soon a cold blast of wind filled her lungs with fresh air, but they weren't safe. The Weyrbowl supplied them with oxygen, yes, but it was here that the worst battles were taking place. Pools of blood and piles of bodies were thick on the ground – dragonriders fought with swords and flamethrowers, some with expressions of sleepy surprise, others with features marred by sick pleasure. Dragons rose into the sky and blinked between… and they didn't return.
"KEISEN!"
A blue dragon had been flying low, and now landed not far from the terrified Weyrfolk, who scattered. Keisen, however, rushed into P'sen's tight embrace, shaking and sobbing with a mixture of relief and fear. Her father held her for a moment, then asked urgently, "Where is your mother?"
"I d-don't kn-know!" Keisen cried, clinging to him. With him, she was safe. With him, she would stay alive. She had so much left to live for… death frightened her. While she had half-convinced herself that this was all a terrible dream, she knew a blade could pierce her heart just as easily as those screams pierced her ears.
"Stay with Arakith," P'sen said, drawing a knife from his belt. He let go of her and started off into the crowd. Instantly his comforting warmth was replaced by the blue's tail wrapped protectively about her… but P'sen didn't get very far.
Almost everything slowed to a crawl, except for the faces rushing by, which seemed to move twice as fast. But P'sen and the Istan 'rider who confronted him remained stuck in time. Then P'sen raised his knife – the Istan 'rider grinned maliciously and rose to the challenge. Keisen couldn't tear her eyes away from the fight, and Arakith was tense behind her. The knives slashed slowly through the air and left only scratches on the opponent – until – until…. Her father was suddenly on the ground with his blade inches out of his grasp. The Istan had that wretched grin still on his face as he thrust forward with his sword…
"NO!" Keisen screamed, but it wasn't heard over Arakith's roar. The dragon's eyes whirled madly and his tail released her from its hold. In a flash of blue he was in the air, keening with the rest – and just before he blinked between, never to return, Keisen heard a voice in her mind: He told me to tell you… he loves you. She had never heard the dragon before, but she knew it was him – his voice was so much like her father's – but she didn't have time to dwell on that.
The girl rushed forward, heedless of her father's killer mere feet from her, and dropped beside P'sen's body. As if Arakith's disappearance hadn't been enough to confirm it, she shook him, tears pouring down her cheeks, but she knew he wouldn't move. Copious amounts of blood still gushed from his wound, soaking his shirt, and his eyes were wide, staring… blank. Keisen felt oddly empty, as though someone had just ripped out her heart and replaced it with something cold and insubstantial… at least, compared to love.
Someone yanked her to her feet and pressed a bloody blade to her throat. Keisen raised her eyes to meet the murderer's, and they threatened tears again, but she refused to let them flow. She maintained her steady gaze, as if by looking into his eyes she could divine the reason for this insanity – but her attempts yielded no information, except that the Istans truly were crazy. He smiled cruelly at her and said, in a cold voice, "Pledge your allegiance to Ista, little girl, and you won't meet the same fate as that man." He whirled her around to look at her dead father again, keeping the blade pressed to her throat and his grip tight on her shoulder.
"No," Keisen said stubbornly. She felt like the word was uttered by someone else – she knew she was probably seconds from cold, inescapable death…
"Align with us!" the Istan 'rider shouted, shaking her as if he could bring her to her senses by doing so.
"NO!"
She could feel the metal pierce her skin, knew a thin line of blood was trickling down her neck – but something stopped the dragonrider from finishing what he clearly wanted to finish. He hovered for a few moments on the brink of indecision, then cursed and tucked the knife into his belt. He dragged the girl, kicking and screaming, to his waiting bronze dragon and mounted with her. The dragon didn't take off, but plowed a sizeable path through the crowd (which was slowly thinning due to death and order of chaos). Soon enough, Keisen was dragged off the bronze's back and the 'rider was demanding, "Whose brat is this?"
The bronzerider released his harsh hold on her and she stumbled forward into her mother's loving arms. Her face hidden in Lekeia's shoulder, Keisen allowed her tears to flow freely as Lekeia secured her daughter's place in the living world by swearing allegiance to Ista for her. Keisen could've hated her for it, could've said she'd rather die for Telgar rather than join the ranks of murderers, but she'd just realized something that made her silence very important at this crucial moment.
The coldness where love had been hours before had ignited into a freezing flame that lusted for revenge, and she knew it wouldn't be extinguished until she saw every last Istan dead. She needed to be alive to accomplish that – and Keisen was never one to leave a goal sitting idle.
"He killed him," she whispered to her mother. "He killed P'sen."
"I know," Lekeia said softly. Keisen looked up to see tears running down the woman's cheeks, and she realized that she wasn't the only one who had received Arakith's final message.
