Quiet Contemplation {{open}}

[Faerie Fyre]

There was something about a Hatching Ground when no queen graced its Sands that struck a melancholy chord with M'klern. He often came here after a clutch to reflect on the course of life, but of late, he had been coming more and more often. It wasn't that the Grounds held fewer memories of his A'ron than the weyr, although that might have played a minor role. This was a place of change, where young men and women cast away their old selves, and remade themselves entirely new. It was a place of decision, where the newly hatched dragons would pick the human they would be forever bonded with.

It was a place of memory.

"'klern, you should see this!"

A'ron held up a length of ribbon for his weyrmate to see. The blue fluttered in the light wind that had plagued the Sands since the morning of the Hatching. M'klern entered the Sands slowly, letting the blistering heat sink into his older bones. He was fifty-three now, not exactly a spring wherry. Grey streaked his hair, highlighting the few Turns of age difference between the men. A'ron was only forty-nine, and his blond hair remained un-silvered.

"A'ron, where did you find that?"

There was a hidden amusement in the brown rider's voice as he approached his man. A strong-fingered hand plucked the strip of material neatly out of the green rider's hands, and examined it.

"Don't you remember? That one candidate, Sahira, I think her name was, wore a blue ribbon. For luck, she said. She was mauled by the queen when she wouldn't step aside in favor of Letmiria."

Yes, M'klern did remember. He and A'ron had long made it a point to become familiar with the candidates who would hopefully enter their class as weyrlings. Getting a feel for the children before they were in charge helped cut down on the process of getting the pecking order sorted. And he certainly wasn't surprised that it had been strong-willed Sahira who had lost on the Sands.

Today, there was no blue ribbon, no laughing, loving, adorable weyrmate to ease the pensive mood of the Weyrling Master on the Sands. There was no chiding green to scold his brown and bring a smile to an old face. Instead there was the open, golden Sands, and two fire lizards.

Blue Bead had been his companion since before he had Impressed his Creth, and - of the trio - he was the least affected by A'ron's death. His companion and sometimes-mate Pearl had taken it much harder, because although fire lizards were not known to go between when their owner passed away, she was bereft of her person. A'ron had often joked that people were constantly confusing their flits, assigning Bead to A'ron or Pearl to M'klern, or both to one or the other!

You'll only depress yourself, 'klern.

Brown Creth sunned himself on the heights, watching his forlorn rider stare emptily at the Sands. He felt entirely alone, his side was empty of the green he was so used to claiming as his own. Mesatith had been his mate, his only mate, and there wasn't a day that went by that Creth didn't think that if only he had, maybe if he'd been able to...perhaps this...

Frankly, the excuses that deteriorated of late. The point was that Creth should have been able to keep Mesatith from leaping between in desperation. He played the scene over and over in his head, defying the traditional draconic memory. Most dragons couldn't remember past a sevenday ago. Shards, Creth couldn't remember how many bucks he'd eaten at his last meal. But this, this scene, he remembered, and he remembered it all too well.

"And what of laughing blue eyes?"

[spaceman]

"Reminiscing of the past, or looking to the future?"

Valoryn stood at ease, leaning slightly against the entrance to the Hatching Grounds. For once, she was not the on-duty, hard-eyed Weyrwoman. She was just another rider, recalling the day that she had stood as a Candidate and Impressed.

Faranth, she'd been such a sullen girl, then... It was well before the Green Star's rising, in the days where Holder children still had the freedom to believe that Thread would never return. The more adventurous had still dreamed of Impression, but in those days it was not the honor it had once been... Dragons were seen as largely obsolete, and riders as fools who clung to the past, tethered to great beasts that did little more than eat up resources that could be better put to work elsewhere.

There was a certain romantic appeal to them, though, the graceful fiery beasts. Even then, she'd been... well, entranced by them. Same way you couldn't stop your heart from skipping a beat when someone called out that they'd found a gold flit, clutching wild. What was it about dragons that pulled at the spirit?

And then she'd stood on the sands, in that silly robe that was several inches too short for her after a particularly poorly-timed growth spurt left her gawky and gangling over the other girls. She'd had nightmares for days beforehand about all the horrid ways it could go wrong. And Valoryn had watched browns and blues and greens and the occasional bronze move around her, and never look at her, and she had just waited for it to be over with.

Until Amaranth hatched. Her beautiful queen. So fragile, she had seemed: larger than her siblings and yet less confident, less certain of herself. How frightened they had all been that she would hop between, with the yellow hues of worry edging their way into her large eyes... And yet, how right it had felt to Impress, to embrace the gold still damp from the egg.

Were her choices now putting Amaranth's safety at risk? If only the bond between rider and dragon were not so great... The Weyrwoman would lay down her life for her dragon's in a heartbeat -- but that wasn't how it worked. If the rider dies, then so does the dragon. What a conundrum, that the only way to protect her gold was to protect herself. And that was the one thing that Valoryn couldn't do... not when there was so much more at stake. How could she ask anyone else to risk their lives when she was unwilling to do the same?

"If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say that Lyeoth will be next to rise. She's about due for it, but you never can tell, with golds." She kept her voice light and casual, not betraying the dark thoughts beneath the surface. Though, if Valoryn had to guess, she suspected that M'klern was probably lost in his own private misery as well. She'd known of A'ron, even if she hadn't been particularly aware of the rider above any other. But deaths were not something that happened lightly in the Weyr; news spread, and human memories were long even if dragon memories were not.

Still, the man had soldiered bravely on, keeping up with his duties rather than passing them on to someone else. She admired that. Valoryn picked her way across the sands she hadn't visited since the day of the last Hatching (that awful day, how bittersweet it had been) to his side, contemplative.

[Faerie Fyre]

"Reminiscing of the past, or looking to the future?"

M'klern was brought out of his memories abruptly, and he looked immediately for the owner of the voice. Not that he needed to see her to recognize that his Senior Weyrwoman had arrived. All protocol told him that he should leap to attention when the highest-ranking woman in the weyr showed up, but he didn't. There was too much grief weighing him down to even attempt to stand. What he did do, however, was meet his superior's eyes.

"Perhaps a little of both, Weyrwoman. The Sands hold many memories, yet manages to promise that there will be a future. How bright that future will be, though, depends entirely on other things."

He spoke slowly with the gravity of years and experience. There was an odd catch in his throat that came only when he thought about his beloved weyrmate, and he made no attempt to hide it. Many had lost their lives in the fever that came with Acid. M'klern had been one of the lucky ones - fate had decided on a different path for his better half.

"Brown rider, I'm afraid I have some bad news."

M'klern had been flat on his back in bed, resting after a short stint to the privy had resulted in his being unable to walk back under his own power. The fever had held him in its grip for ten days, rendering him weak and nearly useless. Even breathing was a chore, and he gladly gave it up to hear the tired Healer.

"Brown rider, the green rider you brought to us before you succumbed did not make it. I'm sorry."

Did not make it.

Died.

His A'ron.

Dead.

Gone.

And with the most heart-wrenching sobs, M'klern took solace in his Creth, who likewise mourned his mate.

"If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say that Lyeoth will be next to rise. She's about due for it, but you never can tell, with golds."

M'klern hazarded a small smile; there were only two golds in the weyr at the moment. If it wasn't Lyeoth, it would be Amaranth. It wasn't that hard to guess, unlike with greens. Although greens tended to follow their own cycles - he and A'ron had always had enough warning to take at least two days off of duty whenever Mesatith Rose.

"One would think, Weyrwoman."