Stories

(AN: Thank you to Brownriderco for beta-ing this! Things start to come together now, and we get a lil more of Tirelle's backstory, and of her and C'rel's relationship.)

Tirelle watched as a leaf was blown across the practise grounds. The yard was deserted, so she was taking advantage of the space to practise with her sword again. She hadn't had much opportunity since Impression for practising her blade-work, and wanted to keep her level of skill. The long hours of training also took her mind off of loneliness. The other weyrlings had left nearly a month before, so physical activity was a welcome diversion.

It also distracted her from the fact that her research wasn't going well. There was no mention of fires around Keroon Hold in Ista's Records Room. She had asked Menahra to pass a request for records from Igen onto the Weyrwoman, but she wasn't sure if Lady Syrah had actually sent the request, and she was not bold enough to bother the Weyrwoman about it herself.

She sighed, finishing her stroke pattern, and walking out of the practise yard. She hated this endless waiting. It seemed like that was all she had done since coming to the Weyr. Waiting for Hatching, waiting for Sirenith to get big enough for flying drills, waiting for Fall, and now waiting for these sharding records.

I did not mean to keep you waiting, she heard Sirenith's sad thought from where the beautiful green was napping on the heights.

Tirelle smiled, silently berating herself for blaming her dragon for her own impatience. It isn't you, dear heart. I'm just restless. I didn't mean to wake you.

Tirelle walked into the Weyr, trying to dispell the urge to scream out her frustrations. The Great Hall was almost as empty as the practise grounds. There were a few groups of riders, small trios or pairs, relaxing with mugs of klah and meat rolls. Tirelle looked over towards the large hearth at the end of the hall, and recognized T'don, the Weyrsinger and blue rider, sitting on his stool, strumming his guitar and singing quietly. Beside him sat C'rel, and his presence caused Tirelle to pause before walking over to join them. C'rel and she had not had much chance to speak since Impression, and when they did, it was hurried and to the point. She had to admit that she missed him.

Tirelle took a seat across from C'rel, nodding to the brown rider, but not speaking. T'don was strumming on his guitar and making notations on a hide he had laid on a bench before him, and she did not want to disturb him. When he had finished his line of music, he looked up and smiled at her.

"Good morning, Tirelle. My duty to your pretty little Sirenith," he said, with a smile. Tirelle like the Weyrsinger, and returned his smile warmly. He had a way about him that seemed to calm her when she was stressed. Like now.

"Morning, T'don, and my duty to Duranth. Is his wing healing well?" she asked.

The serene man nodded, "We will be flying next Fall, if all goes as smoothly as it has been," answered, before gathering up his quills, ink, and hides.

"Oh, please, I didn't mean to disturb you. I'll leave if you are busy," she said, halting his hand.

T'don gave her another peaceful smile before shaking his head. "I wasn't really working on anything important, just a little project to keep me occupied between Falls."

C'rel laughed at the Weyrsinger, "Obsession would be closer to the truth. I've rarely seen a Harper spend so much time on one ballad, and T'don here also has to fly Thread and care for a dragon."

"Oh? You have been writing a ballad?" Tirelle said, hoping he would volunteer more information, but not wanting to pry. She had a great amount of respect for the Weyrsinger, given his skill with a guitar.

T'don gave C'rel a sour look for his teasing, then turned and smiled at Tirelle. "Yes, a ballad, based on a story I heard when I was in Keroon. Amazing story. Dragonriders, lovers, villains. The stuff the best ballads are made of. Would you like to hear some?" he asked her.

Tirelle nodded, not bothering to hide her enthusiasm. Keroon. Perhaps, if T'don was going to return to the Hold for more information for his ballad, she could impose on him to bring back records from thirteen Turns ago.

The Weyrsinger began strumming a dreamy melody in a minor key.

Dragons, fly

Protect and save

But beware

Of silken skin

And soft locks

Of auburn hair

Dragon man

Keep yourself true

And sear the sky

Exile is not

For those who still

Have wings to fly

T'don continued, weaving a story or a young bronze rider, favourite to be the next Weyrleader of Igen and fly the queen, and mate with the rider that had been chosen as Weyrwoman. But that man fell in love. With a Holder's daughter, who was engaged to another. A woman he could never have.

So he fled, left the Weyr. He flew his dragon to the Hold where his lover waited, and the two fled to the vast rolling plains north of Keroon. He found a cave to serve as weyr in the cliffs, and they stayed there until his lover became pregnant.

Knowing that she would need help that he could not give her, The bronze rider left his dragon waiting in the hills, and he and his lover moved into a small farmhold, near Keroon, as husband and wife. And there they stayed for years, even having another child. The dragonman was a normal farmer to the people of the small hold, but every day he would leave to visit his dragon in the hills. His dragon did not mind the separation. The bronze loved the woman as the man did, and together they kept her safe.

One day, a young man followed the bronze rider to the hills, curious why the dragonman always left the fields at this time of day. When he saw the great bronze beast, he understood. This was the man that had kidnapped the Holder's daughter. He sent a message immediately to the womans abandoned fiancé, telling him where the couple was hidden. Her fiancé began planning his revenge.

Being of privilege, the scorned man had very powerful friends. One of these must have been a dragon rider. Whether he lied to the dragon rider, spinning a tale to instigate his actions, or whether the dragonman was cruel enough to go along with the plan is unsure. All that was known was a lone dragon burst from between above the lovers home, and set it ablaze. The bronze that was hiding in the hills awoke to his riders distress, and flew as fast as his wings would allow back to his lifemate. He would arrive too late.

His lifemate had escaped the inferno, and so he mounted his bronze partner as soon as he arrived. Both were in a fury. Fighting back the strange dragon, the bronze dove into the burning house, trying to save his lover or their children. Instead he found the body of his wife, charred. The bronze rider felt such pain as to rival that of loosing his dragon. He and his bronze both screamed in their anguish, and then turned to attack the dragon. The fight was spectacular, but the runaway rider and his bronze were out of their heads with grief, and the attacking bronze bathed them in his flaming breath. In burning agony, that was so much less than the emotional pain they both felt, the pair diappeared to between, never to return.

Tirelle had tears standing in her eyes when T'don strummed the last chord. She wiped them away before T'don looked up from his instrument. "An emotional tale, Weyrsinger," she complimented him. When she looked up, she caught C'rel watching her, and gave him a soft smile.

T'don smiled sadly. "It is a shame that we have such brutality in our ways, but it serves as a lesson to future generations, about allowing our emotions to rule our actions. I was surprised that no Harper had decided to turn the story into song, but then again, it is not an old tale, so they may not have got around to it yet."

"No?" Tirelle asked, "How old is this tale?"

"Less than fifteen Turns," the blue rider sighed. "They even remember the couples names. T'rek and Myrelle. Though I would never put their names into the ballad. It has a much stronger message if they remain nameless, don't you think? It makes the listener relate, possibly putting themselves into the ballad."

The Weyrsinger had turned his focus on the music, so Tirelle excused herself quietly. She was deeply moved by the story, and she had to work to keep from weeping openly.

You are distressed, Sirenith thought to her. What can I help with?

Tirelle tried to cheer her thoughts. I'm fine, love. I just heard a very sad song, but I'll be ok.

Well, if your really ok, can you come and give me a scrub, Sirenith thought, I have a patch on my back that is awfully itchy.

Sirenith's antics brought a smile to Tirelle's face, as usual. The woman walked over to her life mate, who was already splashing in the lake. As Tirelle scrubbed the green hide, she thought about the doomed lovers in T'don's ballad. They had children, and a happy life, and it all came crashing down because of one man's wish for revenge. I wonder what their children's names were? She thought. Sirenith only grumbled in response, bubbles coming up from her submerged head.

Pearth's rider is approaching, Sirenith thought to Tirelle. The woman turned and smiled as C'rel waded into the lake. "You needn't get yourself wet, wingsecond. I'll only be a minute scrubbing Sirenith, and then I could join you on the shore,"

"No need to hurry," the brown rider said lightly. "Besides, I think Pearth could use a little bathing as well." As he finished, the large brown bugled his protest, then lifted into the air and landed with a large splash in the lake. The two humans laughed at his reluctance.

Pearth has fine colour, and flies fast, don't you think? Sirenith thought to Tirelle, stopping her laughter.

Are you that near your mating flight that you are considering mates? Tirelle thought back, her face serious. Not that she would mind C'rel as a bedmate, but she didn't want dragon-passions to break the careful balance she was trying to keep with C'rel.

C'rel noticed her change in mood. "Is Sirenith alright?" he asked, trying to guess what would cause the normally exuberant woman to go so sombre.

"What? Oh yes, she just said something...unexpected," Tirelle explained, her smile returning to her face.

C'rel nodded, accepting the fact that she would not confide in him. They continued making light conversation until the sun began to set.

"Beautiful," Tirelle murmured. Then she sighed sadly.

C'rel placed a hand on her shoulder. "You've been so serious tonight. What's troubling you?" he asked.

Tirelle looked up at the brown rider. "I just wonder why the lovers in T'don's ballad had to be treated so cruelly. Shouldn't love such as theirs be allowed to live?"

He frowned. "Love is a tricky thing," he said seriously, but he smiled as he continued, "You also have to remember, this is a country tale. The story has probably been stretched to the point where it hardly resembles what truly happened.

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

Later than night, as Tirelle slept in the practically empty weyrling barracks, she dreamed of T'rek and Myrelle, parts of the story blending with an old familiar dream.

Smoke filling her young lungs. Running through the burning hallway of the house. Please, she thought, I'm scared, I don't want to die. And then the feeling of flying, and angel wings.

Tirelle sat up in her bed, gasping. Everything had just fallen in place.

T'rek. Myrelle. If they had a child and named it according to tradition, then a boy would likely be named T'rel, or a girl....

Tirelle.

These weren't just dreams, they were memories. And it wasn't angels that lifted her from the burning wreckage of her house.

It was dragons.