Graven by Grayson

[Grayson]

What do you mean, you broke your sharding foot? C'fyn emerged from the tannery at a dead run, heading for some of the building work one particular blue dragon had been helping with in his own inimitable style - in this case, helping build the walls out of stones no human could shift.

This is why I don't do work and you shouldn't let them make me. Sarutoth, his foot being attended by one of the dragonhealers, turned his head towards his rider. Pain coloured his mindvoice, along with chagrin. Someone dislodged a rock and it fell on my foot.

Someone being you?

The blue's thoughts dissolved into a scream, but a moment later he was back. Sweet Faranth festering forsk! Most of the pain was gone from his mindvoice, replaced with relief that the ordeal was over. She says she's set the bone, ridermine. It feels better, anyway.

Good. Can you fly?

Nothing wrong with my wings! Just... oh. Takeoffs will be difficult.

Great. If you can scrabble up there when the healer's done, I'll see if I can get hold of a large lump of herdbeast for you.

I'll find a way, Fynny darling.

[Grayson]

S'nek, the day after arrival in the 10th Pass - also featuring Hanelly

S'nek came to in Fort's infirmary. He lay there, eyeing the ceiling blankly, and reached to Taketh. His bonded was fast asleep, but on the verge of wakefulness; he nudged, then retreated to let Taketh wake in his own time.

Memory returned, a part of it at least. Oh yes, we were exhausted. That poison.

S'nek's hand went out to where the Healers always left a mug of water by the bed; his fingertips found nothing.

They're probably worried about the poison. A vague memory of a red dragon surfaced. It must have been close, if I was seeing things that aren't real.

S'nek stirred, moving with care while he worked out what hurt and what didn't. Pain was a reminder he was alive, he reminded himself, and to be expected when... huh. He was aching as though he'd flown a full Threadfall, washed Taketh clean of the ash and the firestone stink, then washed a couple of the bronzes as well. It was an ache, sure, but not as much as he'd expected given how far he had to have been gone. Tired, yes. Drained, almost. But he could push himself up to sit on the bed, turn to put his feet on the floor, and he did.

And five... four... three...

"Good morning, dragonrider! Would you be so kind as to lie back down again until someone can come and check you over?"

Aha. S'nek didn't recognise the apprentice Healer, but he didn't know all the Healers, so that didn't worry him. There was no doubting her craft, though, not with the briskness of her attitude; she'd phrased it politely, but the question was nothing of the sort. He turned to lie down again, obligingly. "I was wondering if I could have something to drink?"

"Of course. Water or klah? I'll let the Journeyman know you're awake when I go."

"Klah, if I'm allowed it, please."

Hanelly looked confused, at that. "Why wouldn't you be? We have a kettle of it waiting by the fire, and some meatrolls - the Journeyman thought you'd be hungry when you woke up."

S'nek's stomach growled a response to that, and the bluerider realised that he was, in fact, hungry. "Well, I thought what with the poison and everything, I'd have to be careful like the Weyrwoman was."

Hanelly's reaction wasn't what S'nek was expecting. She was staring at him. "Poison? No, there was nothing like that. And the Weyrwoman hasn't been poisoned, as far as I know of at least."

"But I saw a red dragon, and the Weyrwoman definitely was poisoned."

"Weyrwoman Tuckal is fine, dragonrider. Trust me, we'd all know if she wasn't, and Serapheth would be screaming. But I think I need to get you that mug of klah, and call in the Journeyman." Hanelly had that fixed smile people got when trying to politely escape people who ranked them; S'nek had worn it himself often enough to know it well. He nodded, and the girl - young woman, really - turned to bustle off.

"Thank you." S'nek closed his eyes, confident that the Journeyman would have more knowledge than it seemed the Apprentice did. She must have just transferred to the Weyr. What exhausted S'nek and Taketh must have been poison - after all, red dragons didn't exist, and S'nek hadn't ever seen things that weren't there. The dragonrider settled back to wait, confident that it'd all get sorted out soon, and he'd be released back to the tender loving care of the Weyrleader. Hmm. On second thoughts, maybe he should be exhausted for a while longer.

Good... afternoon, ridermine, Taketh yawned in S'nek's mind. Safe and sound in the infirmary? I'm not that far from you, next to a green and a... The dragon's mindvoice went quiet for a moment, Taketh sharing his eyes. ...Red.

What the...?

[Grayson]

The letter is on lightly floral-perfumed paper dyed a particular shade of violet, written in rich purple ink in an elegantly-perfect lady's hand.

~~

Dear Daphne,

It has been some time since we last had the chance to speak, but I believe I understand at least something the situation you now find yourself in.

I know we have similar backgrounds; I was born the heir to a lesser Hold, and Searched shortly after my brother was born. My embroidery is my pride, as you may remember, but I was trained in all the arts appropriate to a lady, and I saw that same training in your manners and your attire - and in that, you have been an exemplar of the ranking Hold-born Candidate about the Weyr.

When Searched, I expected and prepared for a life as Junior Weyrwoman. I believed that working with the Steward and the Scribes would be my lot, looking after the Lower Caverns and the Records, and I was resigned to do my duty to the Weyr and to Pern because that was the only possibility for me. When Wymeth hatched and chose me, my plans, my preparation - my whole life - were in that moment, ruined. And yet I could not deny him, could not even dream of turning him away.

When I was a child, bronzeriders were men. When the Harpers brought word that bronzes had chosen women, the Hold was torn between shock and horror, that the natural order of things would be so overturned. And yet, such things were always the dragon's decision, and the dragons had decided. There had to be something unnatural about these women, everyone agreed - but then word came of more Hatchings across Pern, more female bronzeriders. We could not believe that the dragons were defective in such quantities; it had to be something else. But still, the very idea was viewed with deep suspicion.

And of course, a Holder's daughter - and former heir - raised in tradition and with understanding of how things should be? She could never be a part of such a travesty. Her dragon would be gold, of course; not joy but duty, and the traditional path of presenting Pern's best to the future queen.

Wyrmeth taught me many things, in the space of a few moments and a few sevendays and a few months, and will likely teach me more over the coming years. Wyrmeth taught me that I might look beyond duty and find joy as well. Wyrmeth taught me that I can be more than the path that tradition laid out for me. Wyrmeth taught me that I am far more than my embroidery and manners, my attire and organising records; that I am, and should be, destined for greatness for something other than my dragon's occasional occupation of the sands.

As Junior Weyrwoman, I would have had the power granted me by Tuckal and Serapheth, and my dragon's shining hide as she flew before her suitors. As C'lina of bronze Wyrmeth, I will have what power I earn.

Ogatath believes you are more than you believe yourself to be, or he would not have chosen you. I have known many things in my short time with Wyrmeth, but I have not known him be wrong about that; I would suggest that Ogatath, too, has his reasoning, however much you disagree with it now.

I would venture that Ogatath is not what you foresaw, not what you wanted. And yet he is what you have, and he will bring to the fore parts of you that you never knew could exist.

I leave this letter in your hands; frame it, burn it, bury it - that is not my decision to make. But know that if you ever wish to talk with someone who understands at least part of it, my weyr is open to you.

Yours sincerely,

C'lina of bronze Wyrmeth
Midnight Wing, Fort Weyr

[Grayson]

Kiobelisk.

Kiosk had come up with it, of course. Kiosk wasn't the brawn of the trio, but Kiobelin knew that neither he nor Obelisk had been quite this intelligent before the little white's face was smeared with his blood.

It had taken months to get used to the way that he could think, now. He'd never been a slouch in the brain department, but he was pretty sure that Kiosk was close to a genius, and he'd elevated Kiobelin and Obelisk both.

Bonds weren't meant to work this way, they were confident of that - or at least no-one else's bond seemed to work like this. The trio had had a wherry of a time keeping the masquerade up for the wherlingmasters - but this wasn't the first time, and he and Obelisk had graduated despite unsettling everyone who got too close. It was actually easier with Kiosk, a third set of eyes keeping everything straight. He had a feeling that people had noticed - again - but not that they'd realised the whole of it.

And now Kiobelisk had graduated wherlinghood, and they were all adults. They could settle back into life as regular wherpartners, or.

Or.

Or.

Kiosk didn't see why they should have to work for their suppers like everyone else did. Obelisk wanted to bring the strong to their knees and bring about the downfall of the world. And Kiobelin, well, he'd enjoyed being an enforcer at Majima's command. And now there was no reason they shouldn't build their own operation. The riches of the world for Kiosk. The reduction of the strong for Obelisk. And Kiobelin with power and respect, strength and cunning.

There was a lot of work ahead, but if Kiobelisk got it right they'd be living in redfruit for decades.

Kiobelisk.

This was going to be glorious.