Disclaimer: Pern and the Dragons of Pern belong to Anne McCaffrey

AN: Sorry I've been so long updating – you know how it is, sometimes life just gets in the way… Anyway, here it is and I'll try to make the next one faster.

As Lystar gradually surfaced from the blackness, she was aware of relief. Somewhere… something… the pain had gone. Or lessened.

A large, warm hand was holding hers. Lystar could feel the calluses left by a dragon's harness, making little hard patches at the base of the fingers. She squeezed it slightly without opening her eyes.

Cal? Are you there?

I will always be here, Caliath's reassuring voice reached her, reminding his rider of other dark times when she had needed her dragon's comfort. It is good that you are awake.

Cal, I think I'm getting better.

Lystar felt hot tears of relief squeezing out from under her eyelids and opened her eyes. 'K'beth,' she whispered.

His thin, handsome face was looming over her. Lystar blinked her tears away and looked up at her weyrmate. She could see the bags under his eyes, and his own eyes were suspiciously bright.

The bluerider giggled weakly, and reached up to try and brush K'beth's tears away. Her hand was thin and clawlike, and Lystar fought to control it, slightly puzzled. Surely she hadn't been ill that long? She remembered the meeting – she had talked to the drudges and Marti had talked to the Weyr – and Caliath had been upset – and she remembered fragments after that – she'd slept and woken, and her friends had been there – but it was like a dream. It couldn't have been more than a couple of days she'd been ill, surely?

It is five, Caliath told her. And you were awake for some of it. He projected a few pictures of Lystar – sitting up and talking to K'beth, drinking a beaker of water, being helped to the privy.

Lystar blinked, suddenly a little afraid. How had she lost five days of time? She remembered the things Caliath was showing her only in the most vague way.

'Lystar?' K'beth asked. His voice was thick and heavy, barely above a whisper, and his hand had tightened on hers.

'I'm going to be better, K'beth,' she whispered back. 'I know I am.'

K'beth wanted to say something, but he only seemed capable of an enormous, silly smile. He squeezed Lystar's hand between both of his, and tried to swallow the sudden lump in his throat.

Jarrin was watching with a desperate and painful hope when he felt a firm tug on his arm. He glanced at Melly, annoyed, but the dark girl ignored that and dragged him out onto the weyr ledge. Standing in the blazing sunshine and muggy heat of the Weyr bowl, she turned her huge and devastatingly candid brown eyes on the Harper.

'There's no point in pretending that they want either of us in there,' she said, quietly.

Jarrin grabbed her arm. 'Is it true?' he demanded, urgently. 'Is she really going to recover?'

Melly smiled, not attempting to conceal her own excitement and happiness. 'I think so! I really think… we've never had anyone feeling better before they die, so I think if Lystar feels better, then she probably really is. I knew, if that helps. I woke up and thought "I'm better", and I was.'

'Then it's true.' Jarrin flung his head up to drink in the sunlight. 'She really is better. And now… whatever happens, whoever gets sick, whoever dies, it's not going to be Lystar.'

'I'm going to go down to the kitchens and get them to send some food up,' Melly said. 'Lystar really ought to eat and drink a lot – she needs to try and recover her weight. I'll see you around, Jarrin…'

'Right!' Jarrin smiled, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet as he tried to contain the joy rising in the pit of his belly. Then he too set off down into the Weyr.

'Lystar's well again!'

Marti raised her head in surprise. She couldn't have heard wrongly, surely? The young queenrider ran to the doorway. 'B'san!'

The young bluerider, who had been hurtling down the corridor, shouting to a friend somewhere ahead, almost overbalanced as he spun on his heel. 'I'm sorry, goldrider,' he began, but Marti cut him off.

'Never mind that – is it true?'

'What?'

'Lystar! Is she really better?'

B'san grinned. 'Yes! That's what the Harper's been saying, anyway. He swears it's true.'

'If Jarrin says it then I'm sure it is…' Marti trailed off. Did you hear that, Amerenth? Lystar's… I suppose she can hardly be well again yet, but definitely recovering!

This is so, Amerenth told her. Caliath is shouting this news to anybody in the Weyr who will listen.

Does Shareth know, dear one? asked Marti, struck by a sudden thought. And Aneth?

They know.

Good. In that case, I'm going up to see how Lystar really is.

Lystar's getting better. R'lan hugged the thought to himself. My Lystar.

He'd been down to visit her that morning, but she had still been wrapped in that deathly-pale sleep. And he hadn't been with her as much as he should; he'd had to stay with Reia…

If Lystar had died, R'lan would have regretted all the rest of his life that he'd never been a good father to her. He should have sat with her more, and helped her when she was awake, spoken to her. She was his, dear to him, his daughter, and he had always failed her.

But Reia was his too. Reia needed him too. R'lan frowned and shook his head, trying to dislodge the morbid thoughts which the close air of the sickroom forced into his head. His legs ached, that was the problem. Aneth's wings were restless. They needed to fly, and they were confined to the ground. With no drills to fly, with no threadfall to plan, what could they do but sit and brood?

R'lan looked over at Reia's pale, shrunken face, and took a deep, shuddering breath. He was afraid, and he was helpless. His Weyr was in danger, but what could he do? He could sear thread from the air; he could defend Pern from its most relentless enemy; but here and now, tied to the ground, trapped by fretting and indecision, he and Aneth couldn't even protect their own.

But Lystar was getting better. R'lan thought it again, and it was like a breath of fresh air, like feeling the wind under Aneth's wings. Even if Reia died, the sure solid centre of his life, even if he himself found in the plague an enemy that he couldn't fight, still Lystar had defeated it. Lystar would carry on. His Lystar. His daughter.

R'lan smiled, broadly, and blinked away sudden tears.

K'beth was half-prepared for the sudden rush of visitors, but he was surprised by how fast they came pouring in. Dragonriders, candidates and the Lower Cavern women, young and old, every few minutes he would hear the tentative footsteps of someone making their way inwards to see if it was true; if Lystar was recovering.

Some left after getting that fragile reassurance; some had sick friends or relatives to care for; but many more stayed on, smiling fit to burst, so that by the time Melly reappeared, carrying a large tray of meatrolls and redfruit there was something of a party atmosphere in Lystar and K'beth's weyr. Lystar was still lying in bed, with K'beth hovering protectively beside her and holding her hand as though afraid that she might still slip away from him, but they were talking animatedly with the group of people who were surrounding them, and chatting away in an unrestrained manner that Melly hadn't heard in days; she hadn't felt that kind of relaxation and freedom from fear since before the plague had struck.

'Excuse me,' she muttered, putting her tray down beside Lystar, and turning to leave rapidly, using her elbows to help herself fight through the crowd. 'Excuse me!' She bolted out through the outer room of the weyr and stopped on the narrow ledge, taking deep breaths and shivering despite the stifling air.

That was hope; she'd seen the way those people's eyes looked at her. Lystar's getting better, they'd been thinking. That means other people will get better too, doesn't it? Our friends, our families, us if we get sick. We'll get better, won't we? Won't we?

And Melly felt that sudden hope as a tombstone pressure weighing her down. She could still hear Gilda's voice. 'I'm charging you, girl – find out how it spreads. Stop it.' How could she? What could she possibly do?

Then she bit her lip and straightened her back. Meliana, she scolded herself. This isn't helping anybody. Go back down to the infirmary, that's the thing to do. Look at the map. Help Hanna. Go and see Gilda. Do what you can.

When Lystar began to look tired, K'beth quietly got rid of all her visitors. 'You're not better yet,' he reminded her. 'You need to get some sleep.'

'I suppose so,' Lystar said, reluctantly. 'But I really feel a lot better, K'beth.' She poured herself a beaker of water, and sipped it slowly. 'I'm still really thirsty and I feel a bit weak, but my stomach barely hurts at all.'

'You go to sleep,' K'beth said. 'I'll stay with you.'

Lystar smiled at him, yawning. 'You win. I'll get some rest. But you don't have to stay, K'beth. When did you last eat anything? How about Rosith?'

'She's all right.' Aren't you, love?

Yes. But you need to eat and sleep, Rosith scolded him. Nobody can fly properly if they don't eat enough.

K'beth looked down at Lystar, who had already fallen asleep. Without her animation and her encouraging talk, her face still looked shrivelled and skeletal. But she was so much better. It wouldn't hurt to leave her, just for a little while.

K'beth touched her cheek with a gentle finger. He wasn't happy yet. The fragile, hollow feeling in his chest had been so strong that its disappearance had left him shaky and uncertain. But he thought that he might eventually begin to regain his equilibrium.

He smiled and walked swiftly out of the weyr.

It was early evening when Lystar woke. The steady glowlight gave her no indication of time, but she could usually pick up from Caliath information about time of day, temperature, weather. The big blue had left the outer room of the weyr for the first time in days, and he was perched on the rim of the Weyr bowl, sunning himself in the strong golden evening light.

She was alone. Do you know where K'beth is, Cal?

With Rosith. Asleep.

How about the others? Where's Jarrin, Melly? How about R'lan and Reia?

Caliath sounded amused. How would I know?

You're useless, Cal, Lystar said, good-humouredly. I'm going to look for them. I know where Gilda will be, at least – the infirmary. Melly might be there too.

Caliath rumbled deep in his chest. Are you sure that's a good idea? You're not very strong yet.

I'm sure. Stop acting like a mother wherry and come and give me a lift down. Save my legs on the stairs.

Even as she spoke, Lystar was sitting up and swinging her legs out of bed. Her head whirled for a minute and she clutched the wall, trying hard to stay upright on unsteady legs.

When her mind cleared and her balance returned, Lystar set out across the Weyr. She could feel her knees shaking, but her legs held her up. Bits of her body seemed to not quite be where she thought they were – it reminded Lystar unpleasantly of the time when she'd first impressed Caliath, when she hadn't been able to run across a rough floor without stumbling – but she didn't feel too tired. Although it did seem rather more effort than normal to walk the few steps across to the outer room of the weyr…

I'm not sure I can climb up, Cal, she confessed, when she finally arrived out on the ledge. She blinked furiously, and took a few deep breaths. It was the first time she'd been outside in far too long, and even the tropical heat seemed like a relief. She felt better just for being out.

You should be in bed.

No. Catch me. It was a common manoeuvre when they were in a hurry. Lystar stepped off the ledge into nothingness, and Caliath swung his bulk around to catch her, breaking her fall.

Lystar felt her body settle into a comfortable riding position, and smiled, wrapping her arms around Caliath's neck. At least this I haven't forgotten. I am glad to see you, Cal.

Caliath – after one further attempt to persuade her to return to bed – had left Lystar by the entrance to the Lower Caverns, and she made her way stubbornly down the tunnel, leaning on the wall for support and gritting her teeth against the burning ache that told her her muscles had been weakened by her sickness.

You insisted you had to get up, Caliath reminded her, unsympathetically. Don't blame me.

I'll be back to flying fitness within a week, she promised. You see if I'm not.

No takers, Caliath said, and a hint of smugness crept into his voice. We are tough.

We are, Lystar agreed, laughing, as she swung round the corner into the main hall.

The first thing she noticed was the chaos. The hall and nearby infirmary were the hub of the Weyr's activity at the moment, but the women usually moved backwards and forwards between infirmary, kitchens, stores and sometimes the passages to the outside with a purpose. Now Lystar could see them milling around, as if confused and uncertain.

'What's going on?' Lystar plucked the sleeve of the closest woman. 'Jiessa, what's happened here?'

'What – oh, Lystar!' Jiessa spoke loudly enough for everyone in the hall to turn around. 'Lystar, I… you should go through…'

'I don't look that bad, do I?' Lystar asked, weakly, trying to make a job. Jiessa had taken a few steps back and was staring at her as if she'd grown an extra head.

She wasn't the only one. When Lystar looked around, the nine or ten women in the room were watching her as if she might any minute vanish or attack them. One or two were looking guiltily at the floor. 'Seriously, what?'

'Um…' Jiessa cleared her throat. 'Really, you should come and talk to Hanna.'

Lystar frowned. 'All right.' The women shadowed her, at a distance, as she walked through the passageway. Her legs were still shaking, but even when she stumbled no one came forwards to help her.

Lystar walked into the infirmary and into the centre of a gathering hush. All around her, people were backing up until she ended up in the middle of a circle of people, either watching her anxiously or pointedly not looking in her direction. Lystar swallowed. Her heart seemed to be fluttering in her chest, beating unusually fast. 'All right, please, I'm really worried now. What's wrong?' The infirmary also had the air of purposelessness, of flapping around at a loose end.

'What's going on in here?' The clear voice came from the back of the room, and the crowd parted in front of a determined small figure. 'We've got to carry on.'

'Melly, what's going on?' Lystar asked. 'Where's Gilda?'

'Lystar!' Melly's eyes widened, and she swallowed, glancing around. 'I see. Lystar – I'm sorry - I - Gilda's dead.'