222Sorry for the slow update, I hope it's worth it! And pleeease review! Please? Oh and one more thing, I've departed from cannon a little, and this story takes place in an alternate future, one in which Thread exists long after Lessa's time. (Please don't hate me for it!) All right, enjoy the chapter! Oh, and REVIEW!
M'ran nodded respectfully to Narenth as he slowly approached the great golden queen, who was curled protectively around her clutch. Orlith cautiously asked the queen's permission before entering the Hatching Ground, knowing full well her edginess. Narenth shifted as M'ran neared, raising her head. He stopped and waited for Linnara to soothe her dragon. Linnara turned to him, brushing a flyaway strand of golden hair away from her face. Her hair was a constant annoyance to her; she didn't understand why the other riders protested when she suggested cutting it short. Somehow, she supposed, that made her less feminine than a goldrider ought to be; and somehow that made her want to take a knife to her waist-length tresses herself. She considered M'ran. He was a good Weyrleader, and a good weyrmate, taller than her and stockily built—not heavy, but solid, muscular. Comforting, she thought, more than anything. That was what she needed right now, comfort—but she couldn't show the weyr a chink in her armor and plant seeds of doubt about her capabilities as Weyrwoman…or about Narenth's capabilities as queen of Benden Weyr. She almost shuddered at the thought of her Narenth facing accusations and sneers. Her chest tightened.
"Are you all right?" M'ran asked quietly. Orlith anxiously crooned to Narenth.
After a moment, Linnara shook her head. "No. Not really." She sighed and let him fold her into his strong arms. Settling her cheek against his broad chest, she murmured, "I really don't know what to do. What to say. How to handle it all."
"How to handle what?" M'ran said. "The fact that Narenth has not yet laid a queen egg?"
Linnara winced as he put the delicate problem in such bold, bare terms. "Yes. That."
"Narenth is young still, and you are as well. " Linnara had to conceal a smile at his not-so-skillfully-concealed compliment. "But no person and no dragon on Pern can claim perfection."
Linnara sighed again, a frown creasing her forehead as she thought. "Do you remember when they measured Narenth, and declared her larger than even Ramoth?"
"Of course. All of us do."
"When that happened…I was so proud…and I thought that she was perfect. I still think she is perfect," Linnara said fiercely, her voice heavy with the tears welling behind her eyes. "And I can't…I don't know how to tell people that. I can't look them in the eye and it shames me." She looked up at him with bright eyes. "I don't love her any less, M'ran. I don't."
"You don't have to convince me," M'ran said gently, his grey eyes dark with emotion. "Linnara, you are a fine Weyrwoman, all that Benden could ask for, and we love you no less either."
Linnara sniffed and rested in M'ran's strong arms for a moment more, then pulled away and swiped at her eyes with one sleeve, looking irritated. "Well, I'm glad that's over with," she said.
M'ran shook his head. He would never figure her out. But then again, that was what kept him coming back…he shook himself as he began to slip into a daydream. No. He had a matter of importance to discuss, not with his Linnara, but with the Weyrwoman of Benden. As she turned away, he said, "We must talk."
She turned back to him, recognizing all too well the shift in his voice—he was no longer M'ran, the man who tickled her in bed and detested klah; he was now M'ran the Weyrleader, the untouchable bronzerider with eyes of steel. Linnara felt the corresponding shift in herself as well, raising her chin. "Yes, Weyrleader?"
M'ran gave her a ghost of a smile before his face hardened and he continued. "The Southern weyrs have offered Benden a gold egg. Their senior queen Zareth and junior queen Shirath have both clutched, and D'ran has offered us the choice."
"What?" His words, delivered so calmly, unleashed a maelstrom of emotions within her. "D'ran has offered us a queen egg?" Her confusion abated and anger began to win over. "Why? Does he think Benden's queen is incapable?"
"Linnara," said M'ran, "this is a gesture of goodwill, I think."
"So that the Southern Weyrs can lord it over Benden," Linnara said bitterly.
"Benden will always be respected. But sometimes even the most venerated need a bit of help."
"You are insulting Narenth by even suggesting it."
"Linnara, think before you take offense at this. It is a genuine offer made out of friendship, and you know D'ran spent two Turns here, when he was traveling from Southern. He has nothing but reverence for Benden, and that is why he wants to perpetuate it."
"Have they the queens' permission?"
"The goldriders have consented, as long as they are able to meet the candidates before the Hatching. Zareth clutched later than Narenth, but Shirath at about the same time, so her queen egg will hatch at about the same time as these."
Linnara paused for a moment, then shook her head. "Transporting eggs between is dangerous, if not downright foolhardy, and to do it with a golden egg shows a level of thoughtlessness that would provoke even the slowest dragonrider. " She paused again and cocked her head slightly. "What, dear?"
I said, repeated Narenth patiently, that taking a golden egg from another is like stealing. I will not allow it.
"Narenth says she won't allow it," Linnara relayed to M'ran.
"So Orinth tells me," he said darkly.
"She says it's like stealing. And I agree." She lifted her chin. "If this is not a problem, as you say it is not, because Narenth is young and will clutch again, then I see no reason to insist that we accept this offer. Not only would it undermine Narenth, it would undermine the whole Weyr."
"You know," M'ran said after a careful pause, "there are some who think that we should not be here, in Benden—that the weyr itself is outdated." Orinth swung his great bronze head around and looked at his rider reproachfully at this comment. "There's no shame in saying it. It's not like I said dragons are totally useless," he teased Orinth, swatting him across the nose. The great bronze huffed and promptly swung his tail into the back of M'ran's knees, sending him tumbling down onto the hot sands of the Hatching Ground.
I swear, sometimes it seems like they're still weyrlings, commented Linnara to Narenth as M'ran struggled to regain his dignity, brushing sand out of his hair.
Males will be males, Narenth said complacently with that maternal tone she had developed over the past weeks. Linnara pulled a face at her dragon, then regained her composure.
What do you think of M'ran's comment, dear heart? she asked.
It is a question not easily answered, replied Narenth, nudging at one of her great eggs. Benden is our home.
Linnara sensed reserve in the queen's voice. But…? she prompted.
But perhaps Orinth's rider has a point, Narenth finished, and refused to say more despite the proddings of her rider. Linnara grudgingly gave up. She took the packet of food M'ran had brought her—it was a little squashed from being shoved into his vest. M'ran paid his respects to Narenth and left her with her thoughts. Leaning back against Narenth's foreleg, she chewed a piece of bread contemplatively. What do you think about the girl H'rath and Plenneth brought back? she asked without preamble. Narenth rumbled deep in her chest as she thought, shifting one of her eggs in the sand.
She would make a good rider, the dragon offered at length.
Linnara hesitated. A goldrider?
Yes. She is not as special as some would say, but still, she has the right makings of a goldrider, Narenth replied.
Not as special as some would say? What do you mean by that? Linnara frowned and bit into a piece of dried wherry-meat. She felt Narenth give the mental equivalent of a shrug.
Some say she has no equal, that talking to all of us makes her unparalleled, Narenth explained.
Hold on, love, she can talk to all dragons? Like Lessa? Why didn't you tell me?
Yes, but not as strong as Lessa…and I forgot to tell you, Narenth said rather sheepishly. Linnara chuckled.
It's all right, love, she said, I just want to meet her sooner now, that's all.
Narenth gave a very unqueenly harrumph and said, I am hungry. I will tell Orinth to watch the eggs while I go hunt.
Mother wherry, teased Linnara, and Narenth sprayed her with sand as she pushed off from the ground and spread her great wings. After watching Narenth make her exit from the Hatching Grounds, Linnara finished her frugal meal and stretched, giving a contented sigh after her shoulder popped. She rotated it gingerly—old flying injuries did tend to linger. Even queen's riders were clumsy and uncoordinated sometimes, she smiled ruefully, remembering the errant flight she and Narenth had taken as weyrlings. She had sighted the Weyrwoman, Palura, striding out into the Bowl just as Narenth had veered in for a wobbly landing…and she had promptly fallen off with fright, having forgotten to tighten her leg-straps. She'd suffered no more than a dislocated shoulder and a bruised ego, but whenever things were particularly serious Narenth tended to send her the image of herself as a gangly sixteen-year old, spread-eagled on the ground and saucer-eyed with shock. It never failed to make her laugh at herself—if making her wince as well. She paused to touch one of the eggs. The hard shell was as warm as the cobblestones on a hot summer's day. It was comforting somehow. Leaning in closer, she examined the colors of the shell, the delicate creamy hues just starting to coalesce into color. Bronze, she thought. Perhaps brown. And the next was a green or a blue—there was a lovely cerulean tinge to the shell. A few of the eggs, the ones laid last, she supposed, were still a neutral, milky white, almost opalescent. Time will tell, she thought, and then after a moment her mind turned to a hot bath and some real food. Grinning at herself, she exited the Hatching Grounds just as Orinth landed next to his mate's clutch. She nodded to him and he rumbled, his bronze hide glimmering with the heat of the sands.
"Here's where you'll be staying."
Arryn bobbed her head politely at the Candidate Master—or Mistress, she supposed, for the role was filled by a small, whip-thin woman with black hair, pulled tightly back into a severe bun at the nape of her neck. But for all her looks, Ursina was not unkind. She had a lot of responsibilities, Arryn reasoned, playing hostess to all the young people eagerly awaiting the Hatching. H'rath had handed her over to Ursina moments after their landing at Benden, much to Arryn's chagrin. The green-rider had given her an encouraging grin and a pat on the back, saying, "We'll see more of you, I'm sure, Arryn," before placing one hand on Plenneth's neck and walking away with her toward the feeding-grounds. Arryn still felt very small and alone, a sensation that was new to her—everyone had always known her, in the Hold, and taken time to exchange a word or two. Now, people bustled past, moving with a purpose: drudges with platters and mugs and riders carrying equipment to be mended, children weaving between adults' legs, giggling as they chased one another; women gossiping on their way to the kitchens and men deep in political conversations. Ursina opened the door to the room and gestured inside. "Now," she said, "if you need anything, make sure you ask a drudge or another candidate before bothering me about it. Understand?"
"Yes," Arryn said, her voice coming out a squeak.
"Good," Ursina said briskly. She took Arryn by the shoulders and looked her over, taking her measure. "I'll send someone over with some proper clothes."
Arryn opened her mouth to ask what was wrong with the clothes she was wearing—she was rather fond of them—but Ursina spun her around and gave her a prod toward the open door. "Kitchen's open nearly all the time, but you can get real meals at dawn, noon and dusk. Behave yourself. Remember you are not a rider yet."
Yet, Arryn thought to herself resolutely as she stepped into her new room. There were three narrow beds, one against each wall, and next to each was a small, plain chest with drawers for clothes and personal effects—a far cry from her room back in Ruatha. She ruefully recalled her own bed and wardrobe…then shook herself, reminding herself why she was here, how she had treasured this dream for so long. The hope of becoming a dragon-rider had become a little dusty over the years as it had been put to the back of her mind, cornered there by concerns more pressing than childhood dreams. Now she breathed in the cool air of the weyr and smiled, feeling her heart lighten. Putting her pack down on the bed farthest from the door, in the corner of the room, she opened the drawers of the chest and was surprised to find that some effects had already been arranged neatly in the drawers. She was arranging her own things in one of the drawers when the door opened and she jumped in fright as something small and bronze whizzed about her head, chirruping and screeching.
"Wenth, come back here!" came a voice—a male voice, she realized.
Wenth paused in his high-speed flying antics and considered obeying the voice, but chose instead to hover just in front of Arryn's face, blatantly inspecting her.
"Hello," she said shakily. The little bronze squawked and zoomed away with a great flapping of his wings. Apparently he met someone just outside the door because there was a storm of crooning and happy chirruping. Someone knocked politely.
"May I come in?" asked the same voice politely.
"Of course," she managed, swiping at her hair with one hand and hoping she looked halfway presentable. A young man taller than her and perhaps two or three Turns older entered the room. There was silence as they both took each other's measure: she noted his wher-hide vest, his black hair and dark, stormy grey eyes; he took in her wild chestnut curls and bright, inquisitive green eyes, and her appreciably slim figure. Finally he held out a hand.
"My name is Terren, son of Essa, rider of green Kelnoth, and I'lan, rider of brown Urlith."
She took his hand, refusing to let herself be intimidated. "My name is Arryn."
He raised his eyebrows. "Hold-bred?"
"Yes," she replied with a flash of her eyes. "Weyr-bred?" she retorted, knowing full well the answer. He smiled.
"Of course," he said. "Though not from here. I'm from Ista, but my father talked to M'ran—he's the Weyrleader here at Benden—and they're going to let me stand for the Hatching." He smiled disarmingly. It was plain he wanted to follow in his parents' footsteps.
"Well, I'm standing for the Hatching too," said Arryn.
"Oh?" He raised his eyebrows again. "I would have thought you were a queen candidate, the way Wenth took to you."
"What do you mean, you would have thought?" Arryn asked after a moment's pause. " I thought…"
"Oh." Terran suddenly looked very solemn. "Didn't they tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
Terran winced. "Me and my big mouth. I'm sorry. I shouldn't be the one to tell you this. Forget I ever mentioned it." Arryn protested just as Wenth squawked reprovingly. "I'm sorry, I should let you get settled. It was a pleasure to meet you." He turned to go. Arryn started forward.
"Won't you tell me?" she asked. "I'm sorry, I'm new here, I just don't know what's going on at all, but H'rath, when he brought me in, he said I would make a good rider, and I really don't know what he meant if I'm not a candidate."
"Oh, I imagine you're a candidate all right," said Terran with false brightness. "It's just that you're not a gold candidate."
"Why not?" Arryn tried to repress the sinking feeling in her stomach. Her uncle had been right. She wasn't good enough.
Terran glanced about and then ducked his head conspiratorially as he said in a low voice, "Because there's no queen egg."
"What?" Arryn said sharply, making Wenth cringe. She hastily apologized to the little bronze. Terran looked genuinely sorry at her confusion.
"Narenth hasn't yet clutched a queen," he said quietly. "Not her last clutch, not this one neither."
"Why would they bring me here, then? Why was I Searched?" Arryn asked him.
He shrugged and looked genuinely empathetic as he said, "I suppose you're up for green. My mother's a green-rider. It en't so bad. At least you'll get to fight Thread and be useful instead of just flirting with the bronzes all day." He reached out as if to put a hand on her shoulder, then thought better of it and said instead, "I'll come back later and we can go to dinner together, all right? I'll introduce you to more of us."
"Us?"
"Candidates," Terran clarified. This time he did put his hand on her shoulder. "You're one of us, even though there's no golden egg."
Arryn could only nod. Wenth chirruped from Terran's shoulder as the young man turned to leave. The little bronze kept his eyes trained on her until they disappeared through the doorway. Arryn sat down numbly on the bed. Then she half-smiled, thinking, If I'm shocked one more time today, it might just be the death of me.