Dragonheart

the title as well as the duties?

She checked herself and her impulse. She was Weyrwoman, and she’d spent the last six months learning the role — both here and back at Fort. There was a reason to check with T’mar.

“I’ll check with T’mar first,” Fiona said. “I’d hate to foul any plan he might have made already.”

“Of course,” F’dan agreed, walking toward her and offering an arm. “Shall we go down together?”

“Certainly,” she said, taking the proffered arm and smiling. She knew that his offer of an arm was more for his benefit than hers; by the time they’d reached the level of the Bowl, she didn’t doubt that she’d been holding him  up and not the other way around.

T’mar was not in the Kitchen Cavern when they arrived.

“I’ll just sit over here,” F’dan said, pulling a seat near the large hearth.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Fiona warned him. Talenth, where’s T’mar?

Inspecting the weyrling barracks.

“Come on, he’s with the weyrlings,” Fiona told F’dan, cocking her head toward the Bowl.

F’dan made a great effort out of getting up from his chair, but Fiona glared at him, arms crossed, not buying the act for a moment. He’d recovered enough that he could rise from a chair unaided — it was only walking long distances that taxed his strength.

“Better,” she murmured archly as he caught up with her. The blue rider shrugged unrepentantly.

They found T’mar, J’keran, and J’gerd inspecting the weyrling quarters. T’mar made a great show of dismay at the merest speck of dust or the slightest error of placement.

“Attention to detail,” he said, shaking his head at the collected riders. “If you are not constantly alert, you risk getting yourself Threaded — or, worse, getting your dragon Threaded.”

“He’s right, by the egg of Faranth,” F’dan added urgently. “If I had been just a moment more attentive, I would have spotted the clump that got me.”

“Every rider makes mistakes,” T’mar said with a wave toward F’dan. “With a six-hour Fall, it can happen at any moment. The better practiced you are at keeping your eyes open, on insisting on following every ballad and instruction, the better chance you have of surviving even the worst encounter.”

“We were lucky to get between  so quickly,” F’dan agreed.

“May we have a word, wingleader?” Fiona asked. T’mar glanced at her, then said to J’keran, “Will five minutes be enough?”

“Certainly, wingleader,” J’keran said promptly.

T’mar turned to Fiona and F’dan, raising his hands invitingly.

“F’dan suggested that perhaps we should see if Zenor needs some help,” Fiona said.

“With?”

“Proposing!” F’dan exclaimed. “Before we all expire from old age.”

T’mar’s eyes twinkled, and his lips curved upward as he asked Fiona, “And you are qualified in this matter, how?”

It was a good question, but Fiona was only willing to admit that to herself. “I’m the Weyrwoman around here and have a certain weight at the wherhold.”

T’mar grinned, shaking his head. “So you are proposing to frighten  him into marriage?” He shook his head. “It seems to me that fear is his current problem. I can’t see that increasing it will help any.”

“But we’ll have to go back soon, and if he doesn’t propose we’ll miss the wedding!” F’dan objected.

“So you two hatched this scheme just so the Weyr could show off night flying?” T’mar asked sardonically.

“Well . . . yes,” Fiona agreed. “It would be a shame to have the older riders leave without seeing the fruits of their labors.”

“I would think that recovering from their injuries and returning to fight Thread would constitute the fruits of their labors,” T’mar said, his voice taking on an edge.

“T’mar!” Fiona said, her tone just short of a whine. “This is our chance to honor Nuella and set a proper example, to show that the Weyrs can work with watch-whers. It’s not just fun.”

T’mar looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, then ran a hand wearily through his hair. “I suppose if I said no, you’d just go anyway.”

“No,” Fiona told him, shaking her head emphatically. “I’d want to know why, and if I thought your reasons were totally unacceptable, then  I might go.” She blew out a breath before adding, “But I expect that any reasons you have would make sense and I wouldn’t go just out of spite.”

T’mar gave her a frank look of gratitude.

“Was F’dan here your last convalescent for the morning?” he asked finally.

“For the day,” Fiona corrected. “And he’s fit enough that I’ve accused him of shirking. That’s partly why we thought to fly to the wherhold.”

“The watch-whers will be sleeping soon, if not already,” T’mar remarked.

“All the better to see Zenor without their knowing,” Fiona replied, her lips curving upward impishly.

T’mar chuckled, shaking his head.

“Very well, if you’re set on this,” T’mar told her. “Go now, before the others find out and we have an impromptu performance.”

Fiona smiled back gratefully, turning and dragging F’dan by the arm before the wingleader could change his mind.

“But you know,” T’mar called over his shoulder, forcing them to halt and turn around, “as F’dan hasn’t been there yet, he’ll have to fly the whole way.”

Fiona’s smile broadened, as she said, “Of course! All part of my plan, wingleader.”

Beside her, F’dan groaned.

“This will teach you to stint on your therapy,” Fiona told him unsympathetically.

“It’s not that much farther,” Fiona said to F’dan as he groaned once more.

“I’d forgotten what it’s like to ride for hours!” the blue rider moaned. “I’m sore in places that haven’t been sore in Turns.”

“Nothing a good brisk walk on the ground and a warm bath later won’t cure,” Fiona assured him gruffly, glad to have someone else’s pain to distract her from her own: This was the longest she’d ever flown a-dragonback, and while F’dan might not have been sore in places in Turns, Fiona was certain that she’d grown new muscles just for the occasion that had the express purpose of becoming painfully sore.

She leaned back against him to peer up and out over the right side of Ridorth’s neck.

“There!” she called, pointing with her right hand, her left tightening its grip on the arm F’dan had wrapped protectively about her waist. “See those foothills?”

In response, Ridorth began a turn and a steady descent toward the ground. Moments later they landed and Fiona quickly unsnapped her straps, threw her leg over Ridorth’s neck, and slid quickly down to the ground below, landing with knees flexed.

“Don’t try that fool stunt again, Weyrwoman!” F’dan shouted at her as he climbed down the approved way, using Ridorth’s foreleg. “I’ll not be tending you if you break your legs!”

“Sorry,” Fiona mumbled, her cheeks hot.

“Can you imagine what they’d say at the Weyr if I returned you injured?”

His tone was bantering now, but Fiona had no illusions that his first angry reaction was the most honest.

“I was stupid.”

“Not stupid, just foolish,” F’dan corrected her, stepping around to her side. “And perhaps a bit young, still.”

Fiona cocked her head up at him: The blue rider wasn’t tall by most standards, but he still stood a head higher than her.

“You forget that, don’t you?” F’dan said. Her look answered him and he continued sagely, “You know, you’ve the whole Weyr on your shoulders only  if you won’t ask for help.” He stepped behind her, quickly resting his hands on her shoulders. “And while there’s no one who doubts your courage, you’ve not cause to bear such a weight.”