Dragonchoice

Question not decisions made

by hearts and minds entwined.

Seek the truth and hearken well

when taught by dragonkind.

9th Pass -- Year 25 -- December

(December 16th)

"You're rocking a very thin shell, R'bel," the bronzerider said quietly.

His wingsecond glanced up with mild surprise. "Sorry, M'kel. I didn't mean to pry."

"You aren't prying, but I'm tired of the questions. Trelka is not my weyrmate. I'm only trying to help her while Zarth helps Regalth. It's T'gellan's idea, not mine."

The gathered dragonriders gave a collective shrug, then turned back to their mid-day meal. They had just finished flying a very light Fall, so light that only one flight had been sent to meet it. Now, they and the other two wings were home. Their dragons had been fed, cleaned and oiled, the few minor injuries attended to, and the riders seated to enjoy a hearty meal of stew, bread and klah. Shortly, the many routine conversations heard at Eastern Weyr found their way to the tables.

"Don't worry about him," G'nul suggested. "He can take care of himself."

R'bel shook his head. "Seems to be a lot of pressure on him. He hasn't been the same. Not enjoying life like he used to."

The bluerider chuckled, turning a freckled grin on his friend. "You weren't at the harper festival with us."

"So?"

"Trelka isn't the only queenrider on Pern, you know."

The Eastern wingsecond chewed on a mouthful of stew, turning a curious eye on his wingleader. No, he hadn't been at the annual harper festival. He didn't care for the cloying heat of Ista, so he'd stayed behind and done some fishing. Ista Hold would have been the host, and Ista Weyr the host Weyr. Of course, there were many queenriders on Pern, but none that M'kel had shown any interest in. At least, none that he knew of. Suddenly, the brownrider sat bolt upright, turning to stare at the bronzerider.

Aware of the intense interest, M'kel looked to his left. He saw the expression of disbelief directed at him. "Yes?"

"You gotta be kidding! That's why you stayed at Ista?"

M'kel flushed, quickly picking up a spoon. He said nothing, raking a bite of stew into his mouth.

'Why are you embarrassed?'

'I'm not embarrassed. Mind your own business.'

'You feel embarrassed. You enjoyed the little queenrider, didn't you?'

'Yes, I did. But I'm not telling them about it. Neither are you.'

'As you wish.'

The wingleader snickered, sending a silent expression of appreciation to his dragon. He didn't need any rumors started just now. He had enough to deal with. "You talk too much," he finally replied.

"How was it?" R'bel persisted.

Chuckling, the wingleader stood. He picked up a roll and walked away from the table.

"Hey," the brownrider called, "get back here! You can't leave us like this! What happened? Talk to me! M'kel!"

By the time he reached the cavern entrance, the young bronzerider was barely controlling his laughter. He strode out into the afternoon sun, trying to decide between a leisurely swim or joining his dragon for a nap. The nap sounded inviting, but he wanted to work with his wing this evening and several riders needed talking to. He glanced up at his weyrledge, but Zarth wasn't there. There was little doubt where he would find the bronze. Grimacing, he looked toward the senior queen's ledge. As expected, the bright sunlight reflected in a riot of green/gold from the lounging beast's hide.

Sounds of conversation returned his attention to the Weyrbowl. Fifty meters to his right, two fellow bronzeriders were engaged in a discussion. A tall, dark-haired man listened seriously to the short, stocky, gray-haired rider addressing him. The young wingleader quickly reversed directions, but not quickly enough.

"M'kel," the taller man called, "come over here."

Biting his lip, M'kel turned yet again, then slowly proceeded to the two waiting riders. He nodded to both as he came to a stop. "T'gellan, C'nol. What's flying?"

"That's my question," the tall rider replied. T'gellan, Weyrleader of Eastern Weyr, turned an expectant if dubious smile on the new arrival.

"Not much. We're just finishing lunch. I'm going to let the guys rest awhile, then I'm taking them up for some wing work. I want to give D'bril a chance at wingsecond. Might be ready pretty soon, you know."

T'gellan and C'nol exchanged glances. The older man snorted, displaying one of his expressive scowls. He looked at the Weyrleader, then shook his head.

"That's not what we're talking about, and you know it. How's Trelka?"

M'kel shifted uneasily, then shrugged. He frowned up at the senior riders. "Same as always. She's okay, but she doesn't say much. Spends all of her time with Regalth, except when we're flying Thread."

"We know that," T'gellan scolded mildly. "What are you doing to correct it?"

"Zarth spends a lot of time with Regalth. I talk to Trelka, when she wants to. I'm not sure what else I can do."

"I didn't put you in her weyr to talk," the Weyrleader snapped. "C'mon, M'kel, we need your help. You've got to get more aggressive. Help her snap out of it."

C'nol laughed harshly, a short, nasty sound. He had a deep grimace on his face. "No disrespect to the lad, T'gellan, but he isn't up to this. Trelka needs you, not him." He saw the Weyrleader about to object, raising his hand to stop the retort. "I know all about you and Mirrim and Trelka and Betrella and all the rest. All that aside, Lorith and Belroeth aren't enough. We need Regalth, and that means we need Trelka. Personal concerns don't matter here. You have a responsibility to this Weyr. She's your Weyrwoman, not his."

"She'll do the job, C'nol," M'kel pointed out. "She's come around enough to handle her duties as Weyrwoman. She just doesn't want a weyrmate right now."

"I know she can do the job," C'nol replied. "The problem isn't the job. She's still upsetting Regalth. Her last mating flight was the poorest she's ever had. We can't have our senior queen clutching fifteen eggs."

The youngster shrugged. He frowned at the Weyrleader. "I'm trying, T'gellan. She just isn't interested in me. She isn't even interested in you."

"That's not surprising. Trelka and I never were close."

"If that greenrider had stayed at Benden, you might have been."

T'gellan rounded sharply. "C'nol, that's enough. Mirrim has nothing to do with this. If she wasn't here, Betrella would still be my weyrmate. Trelka and I have never been weyrmates and never will be. That's why I put M'kel in there. He's the only rider here I thought she might want around."

"She wants N'rad," M'kel said flatly. "I can't replace him, and I'm not going to try."

The Weyrleader nodded. "I know, M'kel. I don't want you to. Just stay with it. We need Trelka back to herself, and you're our best chance. You and Zarth, that is."

"Sure," the youngster smiled. "The only thing Zarth has to do is outfly Monarth. You and Trelka may not get along, but Monarth isn't sharing Regalth with anybody."

T'gellan smiled, reaching out to shake his companion's shoulder. "You never know. Besides, if you get too frustrated, I can send you back to Ista for a day or two."

"Ah, for cryin' out loud! I should a' stayed here!" M'kel turned and walked away, hearing the chuckles behind him.

Ahead of him stretched the narrow stone steps leading to the senior queen's weyr. Slowly he climbed the stairs then walked the long ledge leading to the outer entrance. Zarth lifted his massive head, extending the glistening bronze neck to nuzzle his rider.

'Regalth's asleep. Her rider is inside.'

Stroking the soft muzzle, M'kel nodded. 'Okay. Any idea how she's feeling today?'

'Regalth is content.'

'Good. That's a start.'

He left the ledge, walking quietly into the weyr. The gold dragon slumbered on her stone couch, undisturbed by his entrance. Regardless, the bronzerider gave a deep, respectful bow before passing. Pushing aside the dividing curtain, he moved to the inner weyr. He spoke to the woman seated at the small dining table. "Hi, Trelka. How are you feeling today?"

"The same as every other day," the stocky redhead replied. She indicated a seat for her visitor then continued to eat the spiced pie before her.

M'kel sat down, pouring himself a cup of fruit juice. He refused her offer of bread or sweets, biting at his lip.

The queenrider raised a curious eyebrow. "You nervous about something? Anything wrong?"

"No, I don't think so. I wish you'd go a little easy on the sweets, though."

Green eyes flashed an emerald irritation. Eastern's Weyrwoman regarded the wingleader with a sharp frown. "Don't you start, bronzerider. I get enough of this from T'gellan and C'nol. Regalth is not overweight, and I won't let her get that way."

"I'm a little worried about you. Zarth says Regalth is fine, but you don't seem at all happy.

"Why should I be?"

M'kel shrugged, exhaling sharply. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have intruded. I'll leave you alone." He stood up.

Trelka looked up at him, her expression softening. "Oh, sit down. If you go, they'll only send you back. T'gellan isn't being very discreet about his intentions for us. Let's at least give them something to think about." She took another bite of her pie, then smiled at the youngster. "How's Zarth?"

"Fine, thank you."

"He'd better be. She's not going to wait much longer."

The bronzerider glanced quickly toward the outer weyr. "She's ready to rise?"

"Soon, I think. You'd better be ready, or T'gellan's really going to be unbearable."

"As if I can do anything about it."

Trelka laughed sourly, refilling her cup. "He's still pushing you, isn't he?"

"Him and C'nol."

"Our senior know-it-all, too? Shells, you must have really disappointed them. What's the matter, bronzerider? Didn't bed the queenrider fast enough?"

M'kel shifted uneasily, his eyes narrowing. "That's not necessary, Trelka. This isn't my idea."

"You're free to leave."

"Sure, until they chase me back. Well, I've got riders to talk to. Should I come back later or go to my weyr?"

"Do what you want to, or whatever T'gellan and C'nol want you to. "

Both heard Zarth's bugling reply to the rider's momentary surge of anger. Trelka glanced up in mild surprise. M'kel took a deep breath, then turned to leave. As he passed the queen's couch, Regalth regarded him curiously. He bowed again, then left the weyr. Just before reaching the ledge, he heard the voice from behind the curtain.

"M'kel, come back here."

Turning again, he saw the Weyrwoman standing at the partition. Regalth had lifted her head, turning towards her rider. The wingleader stood in respectful silence as queen and rider silently addressed each other.

A short moment later, Trelka turned her head and smiled. "I said, come back here. You don't need to fly off smoking."

"You don't seem to want company."

"That shows what you know. Come back and sit down. Tell me what's happening with your wing."

The riders re-took their seats. Trelka skillfully drew her companion into conversation about his dragons and riders, easing the earlier tension. As the wingleader explained his current plans, he warmed to the subject, relaxing enough to accept the offer of fruit-paste and bread.

"Are you still considering D'bril as a wingsecond?"

"Yes. Why? Do you disapprove?"

"It's your wing, M'kel. It doesn't matter if I approve or not."

"Of course, it matters. You're the Weyrwoman."

"And you're a wingleader. Shards, lead your wing your way. Stop listening to every other senior rider in the Weyr. The only rider you need to concern yourself with is T'gellan."

"Nobody tells me how to run my wing, but I'm the youngest wingleader here. I listen to their advice."

"Older isn't always better. Some of them should be listening to your advice."

"Hmmm. Whatever. Still, I am trying to groom D'bril. R'bel needs some help."

"R'bel needs a stay in his lip. He puts firelizards to shame."

M'kel chuckled. His wingsecond was a bit of a gossip. He usually kept things stirred up, sometimes a bit too much. But his riders liked and respected him, and no one doubted his discipline or determination in a Fall. "R'bel's doing better. He's a good second."

"He's a typical Eastern second, undisciplined, disrespectful, and flying about half a sack short."

"That's not fair. R'bel's as good as any wingsecond here. He's a credit to all Eastern brownrider's."

"Sure he is. I don't suppose you've forgotten who he took over for?"

M'kel laughed, grinning at the queenrider. "Well, T'marek was unique. R'bel's different."

"He'd better be, if he's going to be senior wingsecond in the Weyr."

"Huh? How do you figure that?"

Trelka regarded the wingleader with mild exasperation. "Shards! Can't you see what's happening? T'gellan's grooming you for Weyrleader. That makes R'bel senior wingsecond. Climb out of your shell, M'kel. You're going to be running this Weyr in a little while."

"That might be T'gellan's idea, but I wonder what Monarth thinks of it?"

"What counts is what Regalth thinks of it. She likes Zarth."

"She likes Monarth, too. They've been mates for a long time."

"Well, maybe it's time for a change. You know that last clutch wasn't all Regalth's fault. She wasn't happy with it either, and we're both tired of all the insinuations about my not controlling her."

"Nobody's blaming you."

Trelka's eyes flashed green fire, her cheeks flushing bright red. "Don't patronize me, M'kel. I'm not stupid and you're not naive. A lot of people are blaming me. I've even heard someone suggest that Lorith be declared senior queen. Nobody takes my Weyr and only Regalth will decide when she's ready to retire. You got that?"

The bronzerider nodded. "Sure. But they're not angry, Trelka, just concerned. T'gellan and C'nol both..."

"T'gellan's concerned about the Weyr, but he's also concerned about himself. As long as I had N'rad, he could have his greenrider without stirring up too many wherries. He's got you in here because he doesn't want me to choose another brownrider and he's getting a lot of heat about staying with Mirrim while I'm alone. It's my choice, not T'gellan's, not yours, and certainly not C'nol's. C'nol should mind his own business and stick to his own wing. Regalth and I don't need his moralizing and interference."

"He's just trying to help."

Trelka frowned at her companion, shaking her head. "M'kel, you're just too trusting. I know T'gellan thinks highly of C'nol, but I don't. C'nol's a traditionalist. If T'gellan wasn't in so tight with Benden, C'nol would have been trouble by now. Anytime T'gellan is uncertain about anything, C'nol is right there, telling him what to do. When's the last time you heard T'gellan stand up to C'nol?"

"About ten minutes ago."

The queenrider stopped, staring. She took a sip of juice, then started to chuckle. "Oh, well, if I have things my way, it won't matter anyhow. C'nol's going to be your problem, not T'gellan's."

"You want Zarth to fly Regalth?"

"I sure don't want Gireth to fly her. Don't worry, I'll be gentle."

M'kel furrowed his brow, taking a long drink. He set the cup aside. "Are you saying you want me to be your weyrmate?"

"One thing at a time, bronzerider," she smiled. "But if you want to be a Weyrleader, Zarth had better fly Regalth. It's going to be a long time before Valkryth's senior queen at Ista." The queenrider laughed quietly as M'kel groaned and Zarth bugled from the ledge.

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

Zarth watched curiously, craning his neck to observe the tiny hands scrubbing at his leg. The fingers were too small and too weak to exert much pressure, but the oil felt good. The larger hands working just below his knee were more adept.

"Now, don't scratch. Use your fingertips, not your fingernails. That's good, Nat! You catch on fast."

The dark-haired four-turn-old giggled at the praise, delighted to take part in grooming a dragon. He was standing in a small pool of oil, since his application of the lubricant was far more generous than his inexperienced hands could effectively use. The great bronze didn't seem to mind. Zarth's eyes whirled a contented blue, and the beast's rider seemed pleased.

"Now, when we finish this leg, we'll put just a little oil on his wings. But, I'll do that. You can just watch. A dragon's wings are very sensitive, so you have to be real careful. Then, we'll get a file and clean his talons."

Natrel looked up at the rider, then down at the sharp curving claws at the end of the massive foot. "Why?" he asked.

"Because they have to stay clean and sharp."

"Why?"

"Because, if they don't stay clean, it can hurt the toes or between the toes."

"Why?"

"They could get infected, or they could cause problems with the hide between the toes. When you're flying between, even that hide is important."

"Why?"

M'kel looked down, an amused grin on his lips. "Natrel, are you trying to be cute?"

The little boy giggled again, then splashed another paddle of oil across the bronze leg. Zarth crooned his approval.

"My son is not a cavern drudge," a female voice interrupted.

The bronzerider looked up to find the boy's mother leaning against his dragon's flank, her red hair fluttering in the stiff breeze.

"Of course not," he agreed. "No cavern drudge gets to work on my dragon."

Trelka smiled approvingly at her boy, her eyes widening at the conspicuous oil stains spread across his tunic. "He's got more oil on him than on Zarth!" she complained. "I'll never get that tunic clean!"

"Oh, give it to Betrella. She'll figure something out."

"Betrella? I should give it to you. You're responsible for this mess."

"Hey, I didn't splash oil all over the Weyr. He's learning. A few dirty tunics are a small price for training a future bronzerider." The wingleader grinned at his diminutive friend.

Natrel laughed happily, spooning the paddle into the oil again. This time, though, he was more than a bit careless. M'kel jumped as the slippery liquid sprayed across his arm.

"Watch it, hatchling. You're getting sloppy. The oil goes on Zarth, not me." He heard the answering giggles but, concentrating on the upper leg, didn't pay any attention. Titters of a slightly different key made him turn and look, just in time to catch a bath in dragon oil. The child laughed in delight, reaching for yet more.

M'kel was quicker. Turning, he dove on the boy, tumbling him to the sandy ground. He began tickling, eliciting squeals of delight from the child and a groan from the queenrider.

"M'kel, you're getting him full of oil. Keep your hands out of his hair. Stop it. You're making a mess. Oh, what did I do to deserve you two?"

Rolling toward the woman, the bronzerider reached out, catching her behind the knees and pulling her legs out from under her. She sprawled into the sand beside her son, then buried her head in her arms as both the little boy and the not-so-little boy started tickling her.

"Stop it, you two. You're getting me filthy. Nat, M'kel, quit! I can't stand being tickled!" Her protests came out in a variety of gasps and squeals as she tried to protect herself from four probing hands. She tried to roll away, but the rider rolled on top of her, pinning her to the ground. She grinned up at him, gasping for breath. "M'kel, what do you think you're doing?"

Giving her a quick kiss, the rider lifted his eyebrows. "Well, I was oiling Zarth, until my assistant and I were interrupted. At the moment, I'm not sure what I'm doing. Any suggestions?"

"You can start by getting off me," Trelka grinned. She lifted her head, returning her companion's kiss, then pulled back. "Don't let T'gellan see this. Nat! No!"

M'kel watched the woman close her eyes, then yelped as oil poured across his back and shoulders, splashing onto the queenrider. He rolled to his side, staring up at a giggling child and a now empty oil bucket.