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Insert usual disclaimer

"Come in," a voice called, and encouraged by the calmness of the voice, Mor opened the door and went in, quietly closing it behind him. He found himself standing in a front of a huge glass-covered sandtable that dominated the room, though not quite as much as the man behind it. Master Domick was a stocky man, his black hair shot through with silver streaks and his face weathered. His blue eyes were still keen though, and currently widened in shock. "It can't be…" he whispered. "Trassin!" Mor stared at him in disbelief, then horror as he collapsed backwards into the padded chair he had just risen from.

"I can't believe it!" shouted Drianne at the ceiling. "I messed it up again!" She glared furiously at the harp in her lap. She must have tried the same three bars fifty times, and still she couldn't get it right!

"What's wrong, Drianne?" came Menolly's voice from the doorway.

Drianne spun to face her mother and said in frustration, "I can't get this section right no matter how hard I try!"

"Maybe I can help," Menolly said with a smile. She moved into the room, went to one off the shelves lining the wall and helped herself to a lap harp left there by one of the journeymen. "Harp was never my best instrument, but I'll try. Which bars?"

Drianne pointed out the appropriate bars, and Menolly peered at them before running a quick scale. "Sounds in tune," she remarked, then played the troublesome bars. "Now you try," she said, smiling at her daughter. Drianne sighed, swallowed her frustration, and tried again.

Again she flubbed it, and Menolly nodded. "I saw what happened that time. Your left third finger missed the string it was supposed to brush, so the whole chord sounded wrong. Try it again, and make sure you get that string." Drianne tried again, and this time, by concentrating on that particular finger, she got it.

"Thank you, Mother!" said Drianne excitedly, throwing her arms around Menolly's neck.

"That's all right, my child," she murmured into her hair. "I'm always here for you, no matter what the problem is."

"Master Menolly!" came a cry from the door. Menolly looked up, and saw a distressed journeyman shifting from foot to foot in the doorway. "What is it, Ranly?" she asked slightly sharply, going to the door. It wasn't often she got to spend time with Drianne. Usually her duties left her too busy to have much family time.

"It's Master Domick! He's collapsed!" he said urgently. "He's been taken to Master Oldive!"

"Oh, my goodness!" Menolly cried. "I have to go, Drianne. I'll see you later!"

She gave her a quick kiss, then bolted out of the room and up the stairs to Master Oldive's office, where she found Master Talmor pacing to and fro outside the door. "How is he?" she asked anxiously.

"Master Oldive said he got a huge shock, and no one can figure out what happened. We've asked the apprentice he was supposed to be teaching, but the child has no idea," he said, waving towards a boy sitting with his back against the wall and his head on his knees next to Oldive's door.

"Mordekai?" asked Menolly, recognising him as one of Drianne's friends. "Is that you?"

He lifted his face, and Menolly was shocked to realise he had been crying. "What did I do?" he asked. "I walked in, he saw me, and he collapsed!"

"Is that all that happened?" she asked, puzzled. What could have shocked Domick so badly?

"No," said Mor, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "He called me 'Trassin'. Then he collapsed. I'm not Trassin! He was my father! Why would he call me Trassin?"

"I have no idea, Mordekai," Menolly said honestly. "We'll have to ask him."

Suddenly, the door opened, and Sebell came out. "Is he all right?" Menolly and Talmor asked together, worried.

Sebell nodded. "He's conscious now, and seems to be recovering. But he won't talk about what happened unless he's," and he inclined his head at Mor, "there."

All three of them stared at Mor. "In that case," said Talmor finally, "let's take him in there." And he gently grasped Mor by the shoulder and propelled him through the door.

"Is this the boy Domick's been asking about?" came a voice as Mor tried to adjust to the brighter light. Full sunlight flooded the room through the large windows, and it had been a lot darker in the hallway.

"Apparently," he heard Talmor reply from behind him. Mor turned towards where the first voice had come from, and saw a man sitting oddly hunched on a stool next to a bed. As he drew closer, Mor realised that his back was oddly twisted, and he couldn't sit straight even if he wanted to.

That was the last thought he spared for Master Oldive, because the man leaning on a mound of pillows in the bed was Domick. "Come here, child," he said gently. Mor took a few steps nearer. "Hurry up!" he said, a little impatient. Mor jumped, then cautiously came close enough for Domick to reach out and touch him.

"You're Master Trassin's son, aren't you?" he said gently, taking his hand.

"Yes, sir," Mor replied, a little confused.

Domick closed his eyes for a moment. Then he nodded to Talmor. "Talmor, if you would be so kind, could you please fetch for me the small wooden box I keep in my living quarters? You'll find it in the top drawer on the right." Talmor nodded, and hurried from the room. "And no looking inside it!" Domick roared after him. Then he subsided. "Tell me of your father," he requested of Mor.

Mor gulped. "Well, sir, my father was Fer Hold's Harper, and it was he who taught me to play and make instruments and how to sing. He and I used to go for long walks, and while we walked, he'd point out reeds and tell me what sort of pipe they were best for, or we'd sing together really loudly, because no one could hear us."

A tear trickled down his face as he spoke of his beloved father. Mor still hadn't gotten over the grief of losing him, even three Turns later.

"I was only little when he became ill, but I still remember watching him toss and turn with the fever that burned him." His hands clenched into fists. "It was one of the winter fevers that are so common in Tillek. Nearly every winter someone comes down with it, and it often claims lives. That Turn, it took my father from me."

"Took your father from you?" Domick whispered, aghast. "You mean, my son is dead?"

There was a round of shocked gasps. "Your son?" whispered Menolly.

"I didn't even know you had a son!" exclaimed Sebell.

"Or a spouse, for that matter," Menolly added.

"I'll show you them," he said, beckoning to Talmor, who had just arrived, the box tucked under his arm. Talmor brought it over, and Domick opened the lid.

"These are drawings of my spouse Trassinine, on our espousal day," he said, lifting out the first two. In one drawing, a beautiful black-haired woman stood by a younger Domick's side, green eyes shining with love and warmth. In the next, they were dancing, their faces nearly glowing with happiness.

"And this is my son," he added, lifting out the next few. A baby held in Trassanine's arms. A toddler, no more than two or three Turns, his too-long black hair tumbling into his eyes. A boy, about twelve Turns old, standing next to Domick and proudly displaying a new Harper Hall apprentice badge. Menolly gasped as she looked at it, for if she didn't know better, she could have sworn she was looking at a drawing of Mordekai. She looked up at Mor to confirm it, and gasped again as the boy from the drawing met her gaze.

"Now you see why I mistook him for Trassin," Domick said, noting Menolly's reaction. "That drawing of my son was done twenty-five Turns ago, but it could have been done of him yesterday," he added, pointing to Mor. "That's what gave me such a shock. It would have been my spouse's birthing day today, had she lived, so I had been looking through the pictures before going to take his lesson. Wouldn't it give you a shock to see a picture come to life?" Menolly just stared at him, open-mouthed. For once, she couldn't find anything to say.

"How did you not know Trassin was dead?" Sebell asked. "Surely such a long silence would have been enough to make you worry?"

Domick shook his head. "After Trassinine died, in the summer of his twelfth Turn, Trassin became bitter, and refused to have anything to do with me. I barely saw him during his time at the Hall; he specifically asked Robinton to allow him not to take classes with me. My own son!"

Menolly instinctively reached out to the pain in his voice, but held back just in time. Domick was in no mood for sympathy.

"After he left, I never heard from him. I didn't even know he had gotten espoused, let alone had children. He didn't even let me know." Domick turned away, and silent tears began to run down his cheeks.

Suddenly, a small hand wiped them away, and Domick opened his eyes in surprise. "Don't be sad, Grandfather," said Mor quietly. "Father often spoke of you to me and my brother, and he told us how good a father you were. And how ashamed he felt at cutting you out of his life when Grandmother died. He said he wanted so badly to talk to you, but after so long being bitter towards you, he felt he didn't have the right. When he was dying, he asked Mother to write a letter for him, and he dictated it to her the day before he died. Mother made three copies of it, and told us that it had been Father's wish that, should we ever meet you, we were to give it to you."

He took a slightly grubby letter from inside his tunic, and pushed it at Domick. "Please read it, sir," he begged.

Domick stared at the letter for a moment, then slowly reached out and took it. He hesitated, then carefully opened it. He scanned it for a little way, and then said quietly, "Listen to this."

"'To my dearest father. Greetings. I know it has been far too long since last we spoke, but I believe that I am now dying, and that the end cannot be far away. The time has come to confront the past, and explain myself. After Mother died, I drew away from you, partly because I blamed you for Mother's death, and partly because I believed that if I didn't care about anyone, then no one else would be taken from me. You were always dear to me, and I could not have borne it had you died too."'

He stopped to clear his throat again, then continued. '"Of course, I realise now that this was wrong, and you probably hate me for leaving you alone."'

"Oh, I could never have hated you!" he whispered, shaking his head.

'"Since I left the Harper Hall, I have journeyed far, but my restless feet finally took me to Fer Hold, on the coastline of Tillek where I found the love of my life. I have become the Hold Harper, and am happily espoused to my dear Ilia, and have been for eleven Turns. We have two sons, Dioron and Mordekai, now nine and seven Turns old. Even this young, both show signs of musical talent, so I'll get Ilia to send them to you when they're old enough, though I think Dioron would prefer to go to the Dolphin Hall."'

'"I know that one letter, no matter its length, is not enough to repair the damage of twenty-odd Turns, but it is a start, and probably all I have time for. I asked Ilia to make sure you got this letter, not only to tell you of my life, but also to tell you that your son is sorry for all the pain he caused you, and begs for forgiveness. It is too late for me to hear your forgiveness now, but perhaps in some other existence beyond death, I will be able to hear, and forgive myself. Your loving son, Trassin.'"

Domick openly wept, and cried out, "I forgive you, Trassin! I forgive you!" He dropped his face into his hands and cried, and when he finally looked up, everyone except Mor had left.

"Thank you for giving me this letter, Mor," he whispered hoarsely. "It has healed some of the deepest wounds of my heart."

"Father would have cried for joy could he have heard you say that," Mor whispered back. "As it is, I must hear it in his place."

Phew, one exam down. I'll try to keep updating quickly, but studying may get in the way. Not that it has up til now...