Chapter Text
Sammath roused him, urgently.
They were aloft before he was even half awake, the last shreds of sleep ripped from him by the frozen void of between. He shivered, jacket barely clutched around his shoulders as they burst from its black grasp, so high above Telgar Weyr that the watchdragon was as yet unaware of their presence.
Cold light showed the feeding grounds far below, empty of dragons now, the grazing herdbeasts mere dots with longer shadows on a moon-whitened field. Sea'n could make out an occasional sleeping mound on its weyr-ledge in the sides of the Bowl, but most were abed inside. Riders and weyrfolk alike were bound fast in sleep, only the bakers about as yet, the lower caverns lit by many glows and the lick of flame as fires were stoked to heat the ovens while the yeast worked its everyday magic. As Sammath descended, Sea'n knew they would catch the acrid smoke of burning blackrock, with a hint of fresh klah at its heels.
A quiet morning.
What are we doing here, Sammath? Why did you drag me from sleep in the middle of the night, when—
It will be soon, Sea'n!
What will b—? But Sammath showed him.
A golden queen appeared within his mind, sleekly gilded by the morning sun, sculpted perfection in every line. Her wings spread high and wide against the light, edges fretted like the finest lace, main sails sweeping powerfully down; only the slightest of hesitations betrayed a confusion in her mind. A maiden flight then, Sea'n thought, as she flew to the killing grounds - gliding, swooping, plunging down amongst the herdbeasts to snatch up her choice.
A defiant snarl, and Sea'n realized that she was no longer alone. Where the queen had come to rest, poised to eat her fill, a slim figure stood suddenly, rigid with the effort of control. The queen was strong and resentful of the curb, her head weaving, tongue lashing the air. To no avail. However angrily she fought, her rider was the stronger. Submitting to an iron will, she bent with an angry hiss to sink her fangs deep into the beast's throat and suck out its lifeblood for the rush of heat that would ensure a fast flight, long and high.
In the blink of an eye she was aloft again, a second prey caught and blooded, the rider's battle brief this time as the blood coursed hot within the queen and she knew now what more she needed. A third time she struck before the blood-need was sated and a greater called to her. She lifted her muzzle to scent the air and the sun shone full upon her. She glowed, neck arching, tail weaving sinuously around her body; every movement, every gesture displayed her desirability, flaunted her conviction that no male could be worthy of her magnificence.
Sammath, the queen is wonderful but she is not of our weyr – you cannot fly her when she rises.
She is Frideth, and I must fly her.
Frideth? Is she not the queen whose rider is—?
Male. A mate for you, Sea'n.
I have a weyrmate, Sammath, and so have you. We have led Igen with Crista and Allibeth these past seven turns. Even were this an open flight, we should take no part. Think, Sammath! Frideth is the most junior queen at Telgar – we could no longer lead our Weyr against Thread.
That matters not for I shall still fight. Allibeth is a good queen but she is not mine as Frideth will be mine, now and always. I must and will fly her!
Sea'n sighed. You could not check your dragon when he had a mind to a mating. Weyr rules may be devised as to the conduct of mating flights, but a bronze in lust was recognized to be an immoveable force. No power on Pern could restrain him, saving only a cluster of queens – and there must be no other queen at Telgar for the mating flight, lest they fight amongst themselves when the blood was stirring.
But this was far from usual on many levels. Sammath was not a dragon whose lust was easily aroused, let alone from half-way across Pern and before the queen had even risen. Sammath could not have known – and yet he did.
And Sea'n had not mated with a male before, much less in the heat of a queen flight. Sammath had never flown a green at all, had not bothered to rise when even the most provocative flew. He would fly only for queens, and even then Sea'n alone knew how often he had withdrawn from a flight when the queen had seemed to him not worth the flying.
Allibeth was in truth a good queen – well worth the flying - and Crista a strong Weyrwoman. Sea'n was content enough in the mating, Sammath flew Allibeth consistently, and Igen prospered under their leadership; he was not looking to change his weyrmate. But if Sammath chose a queen from another Weyr, Crista had at once the right to replace Sea'n with any rider she wished, until Allibeth should rise again and by her choice of dragon invoke the true Weyrleader. Sea'n only hoped it would be one of the mature riders, D'trel, perhaps, who had been leader before him; or at the least a wingsecond with knowledge and experience sufficient to benefit his Weyr.
As Sammath began a slow, spiraling glide down to the still deserted Weyr, Sea'n clutched his jacket about him - the morning air may be warmer than between but it didn't feel it right then – and wondered again just why this queen, Frideth alone of all others in their history, should have been Impressed by a male. He knew it well, the harpers' tale of the lad who should have been their own, save for the accident of a detour to watch a hatching, taken by the blue-rider slated to deliver a promising young musician to the Harper Hall.
Conireth's brood was well-hatched, all but a single egg properly Impressed - hatchlings and their new riders already shuffled off to the care of the Weyrlingmaster - before one final, violent rock brought the golden egg upright. Few of the spectators – even those with son or daughter or friend amongst the lucky – had left their seats. A queen-hatching was an event not to be missed, never to be forgotten, ever to be boasted of, especially by those fortunate enough to have attended more than one such rare and joyous occasion.
A sudden, loud Crack! and pieces of shell flew off in all directions as the little queen made her entrance, alert and eager for Impression. It was an excellent omen - until she rejected out of hand every last one of the candidates standing the ground so hopefully. One swift look but never a second glance for any of the white-clad girls scrambling out of her way as she roamed the Sands unsteadily in desperate search of her perfect match. Piercing cries wracked the mind of every person in the Weyr, echoes of her sorrow thrumming keenly around the Bowl. They were caught up by the many dragons perched or hovering in expectation of their new queen, to thread their croon of welcome with doleful lament.
Weyrwoman Lenara threw open the hatching then, to any whom the young queen would accept. Every female in the rows of tiered seating - age no barrier in so dire a need - came forward to be presented to her, and in turn to be rejected.
Desperation took hold as the little queen's distress grew sharper, her keening louder, with every moment she was denied her rightful rider. Conireth lashed her tail and growled, Lenara at her wits' end and babbling to soothe the queen, distraction proved aloud. None could remember even a whisper of such as this happening before – a queen who failed to Impress. More than one stricken look told what would become of the hatchling were she to find no partner. She would not eat until Impression occurred – and when she died of hunger the entire Weyr would be plunged into deepest mourning for their lost queen.
Unexpectedly her wailing quieted. Human and dragon alike hushed to see why that might be – and in the silence a clear voice asked who had called him. The small queen's cries became ecstatic and she scrabbled frantically to reach the speaker, but M'chen, the blue-rider who had brought him here, realized at last what was afoot and pushed the lad down the steps to meet his lifemate.
'Her name is Frideth!'
Never had the ritual announcement drawn so great a cheer.
Sea'n knew all of this, and not only from harper songs that had tried (and failed) to explain, and could only celebrate the happy conclusion. He had been present at the Weyrmeet called to report and to question the reason for so startling a breach of all custom. There had been some consternation that it should have lighted on a lad, but a queen's choice was sovereign and absolute - and the alternative had been unthinkable; it should, after all, have no bearing on the queen's ability to breed. Of course, a queen flight could not accept a substitute as might occasionally be arranged with greens, so any rider who preferred not to mate with a male must simply absent himself when eventually her mating flights occurred. Frideth would hold only a junior position in a Weyr so very blessed with queens, and a mature bronze would probably prefer to vie for a queen whose mating would confer prestige, and for his rider, advantage.
The honorific contraction was also discussed. Had the lad Impressed another color, he would undoubtedly have become Eli'ah, or perhaps El'ah, according to his taste. But queen dragons were few and vital to Pern, and all should know each one and her weyrwoman by name. A queen-rider needed no honorific; and so it was decided.
And now, what had been merely a harper's tale and another Weyr's problem - one which could have no meaning whatever for him or for Igen - was suddenly very much Sea'n's affair. If Sammath had decided he must win Frideth, then win her he would, no matter who flew against him.
And Sea'n had never mated a male.
When his dragon landed neatly for him to dismount, Sea'n was startled for a moment or two – had not even heard the challenge and reply to the watch dragon and here he was in the Bowl.
I shall sit on the Heights with Creleth until it is time.
Creleth?
The watchdragon! Really, Sea'n, you are not yourself this morning!
It was true that Sea'n's memory for dragon if not for rider name was usually quite remarkable. I never am when hauled straight from sleep on a wild queen chase - in the middle of our night and hers! he retorted, and felt the deep rumble in his mind that meant Sammath was laughing at him as he leapt upward, climbing on strong wings to the rim of the Weyr.
Wait! What reason did you give for our being here?
I gave no reason, Sea'n – that is for you to do.
Indeed - but there was no sense in waking the Weyrleader before his time. The queen would not rise until full light, and probably later. Best to allow K'vret to break his fast decently and come slowly to a day which was like to prove… different, in many respects.
Sea'n knew him to be a good rider, well able for his Weyr but lacking the imagination, the flexibility of thinking, to be a great one. And the leader of another Weyr, turning up at naught past dawn to demand entrance to your most junior queen's maiden flight would, it seemed to Sea'n, be a sure way to irritate even the most sanguine of riders. His welcome would be the better, the later into the day; within reason, of course - and well before Frideth rose.
The smell of fresh klah led him straight to the night hearth. There were more weyrfolk than the bakers rising now, it seemed, for a young man - a mere silhouette against the fire as yet - was already pouring the blessed brew into mugs.
'Good morning, Weyrleader - klah for you! Would you like oatmeal, too?'
'A true lifesaver!' Sea'n said, accepting it gratefully and smothering a yawn. 'And I would indeed - thank you.' It was still too early for anything more by way of conversation – he hoped the lad could appreciate that. He really needed this time to think about, to prepare himself for what must happen if – when - Sammath won the young queen. He wrapped chilled hands around the mug and stared into the klah as though there might be answers written in its steam.
He knew already that he would never again lead Igen Weyr against Thread. When Sammath flew Frideth he would want to remain here with her, and although he could give and Sea'n could find no explanation for so unprecedented a move, there had been occasions during Fall when Sammath's instinct alone had saved them, saved their wing and sometimes others, from serious harm. Whatever impulse drove him now, it was beyond a simple mating lust, and Sea'n trusted his dragon as no-one else. If Sammath believed this to be needful then he must believe it also.
It would be strange, he thought wryly, to go from leading his Weyr to flying in someone else's wing in another Weyr entirely, but if Sammath could accept it, so could he. And for some time he had suspected that Allibeth defied her rider's wishes in accepting Sammath in flight; that Crista was tiring of Sea'n though her dragon had still a preference for his. Crista's pride would be hurt - he knew that and must regret it - but she may come to welcome their parting, given time.
Sammath would fly Frideth, and Sea'n... in the heat and passion of a mating flight, Sea'n must take her rider.
The theory was obvious; when a green who looked to a male rider was flown, there was always a supply ensured of the finest salve available from the Healer Hall – to ease the way, they said; though most greens rose often and the need must surely be less? But who paused for such things when their blood was stirred so deeply that all thought was gone? Of his own experience and to his lingering regret, he knew that virgin girls might suffer pain, and bleed. How much worse then for a virgin male - but Frideth's rider must surely know this? Of course he would. Whatever his own inclination, he could not be so reckless as to leave his first such encounter to a mating flight... Sea'n hoped.
Take this lad, for example, now setting dishes of oatmeal on the table between them - he may well be—No, he was not a green-rider, though Sea'n could place neither lad nor dragon. He knew every one of his own riders, and many a one from the other Weyrs too, and there was always at least a hint of the coquet to tell a green- from a blue- or brown-rider. Here was no such sign. The absence of shoulder knots – so very early in the day he might be forgiven their omission – did not for one moment lead Sea'n to think him no rider at all. The way the lad bore himself spoke of pride in his dragon if not yet in himself. It would come, Sea'n was certain, for he'd a centered look which – a whole mark on it! - would prove him an excellent leader one day, of a wing if not a Weyr.
Take this lad... Sea'n had never looked at a male expecting to find attraction, much less beauty, but indubitably they were here, if well-concealed behind a fall of untidy curls unusual in a rider of—what? Sixteen turns? Sea'n had caught a hasty flash of blue, vivid as sky between dark lashes, before it dipped once more beneath its veiling of hair. Pale skin, lightly warmed by golden firelight, stained suddenly to rose across his cheek - and his mouth, Sea'n thought and wondered at himself, his mouth was as tempting, as kissable, as any young maid's. Set against Crista's complacent curves, a lad - this one, young and angular still, so unsure in himself but so confident in his dragon – should have no appeal for him at all. And yet... He had never suspected such a need in himself, had certainly never felt it for any other male - and perhaps only Sammath's overriding desire to fly Frideth could have shown it to him now.
Not that attraction, beauty, turns or need could count for anything in a mating flight. Before Sammath had claimed Allibeth and flown for her alone, he had risen for several queens, two in open flights from other weyrs; Sea'n had taken near as many riders, at least one of whom had been old enough to be his dam. You mated where your dragon chose and won; to remain with the queen's weyrwoman beyond that mating, that was the only choice – hers first, then yours. Most bronzes had no settled pairing and rose for every queen, mating many greens - the rider living with a woman from craft or weyr perhaps; though some riders shared quarters because that was their choice.
But, whatever the unexpected attraction of a lad he'd never have or his concern over the one he'd have to take, now that hands and belly were warming he really should not sit here silent and grumpy as any greybeard uncle and offering little more than, 'Yes, please,' and 'Thank you,' which said more of the manners his mother had instilled into him ('What do you say, Seanachan?') than for his usually sociable self.
The young man though, looked to be equally absorbed by a matter requiring his full attention, for he sat with brow furrowed beneath the hair, eating and drinking almost absently. He was not in the least disturbed by Sea'n's preoccupation, for the meal passed pleasantly enough in its quiet. It seemed the only words required at so early an hour really were thanks for more klah or those few involved with the sharing of yesterday's leftover bread toasted companionably at the fire, with butter spread thick and sweeting spread thin. And if Sea'n must look away from the slick slide of a pink tongue as it chased escaping rivulets of butter, that was really no-one's problem but his own.
At last, he thought he should say something to prove himself awake if not exactly intelligent at this hour. 'You are astir early,' he tried. 'Do you too have an errand to another weyr?' No, definitely not intelligent yet.
'No, Weyrleader, my—I was restless and could not sleep longer.'
Sea'n nodded. He wondered if the lad's dragon might be a bronze as sensitive to the rising of a queen as Sammath. A bronze would make him a rival in the flight for Frideth, though Sea'n could scarcely think of him as such. He was wiry enough, but surely could not yet have strength enough to hold his dragon with his mind. Dragon and rider both were young, as yet, and inexperienced; they would learn together through the turns. There were many ways to catch a queen - and few of them ever taught by the Weyrlingmaster. He smiled sympathetically, remembering his and Sammath's earliest - and notably unsuccessful - attempts.
'Weyrleader Sea'n!'
He rose to greet Candessa, headwoman of the Weyr and mistress of the lower caverns, come now to officially set about the day. Large in every sense, and especially of heart, she had a particularly soft spot for bronze riders. She also made it her business to know all that passed at Telgar; she would have his purpose here out of him long before he'd a chance to explain to K'vret, were he not careful. He composed himself to mix smooth evasion and genuine pleasure in the greeting, but he did not fail to notice his breakfast companion slipping away toward the stairs.
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