#domick

Menolly looked up sharply, then grinned. "Sorry. I should ask straight out, shouldn't I? I'm so used to employing a subtle method with all these ego-driven holders I've met…" Domick grinned, too. "Not to mention ego-driven Masters. It's good to have you back at the Hall for a season. I was worried you'd lose your touch, playing only the popular tunes. And composing on your own, you're as good as you've ever been." "Ha! Better when I can get you to look over my work," Menolly insisted. "Anyway, my question…it's a personal one." Domick quirked an eyebrow, silently encouraging her to continue.

They had done themselves proud at Half-Circle, once someone remembered their fame for harmonies and Alemi asked her to set her fire lizards loose. She thought she might never forget the wide, shining eyes of the hold's children as her ten performed for the pleasure of the hold, and to swelling applause. She hoped that someday, somehow, her father could realize that flights of fancy could lead to real-life, valid, valuable experiences. And that he could loosen his tight grip on the concept that life was only well-lived if it was industrious and profitable in every single moment. Menolly shook her head, ridding herself of thoughts of Yanus.

She rose and took her time dressing. The only thing she had to do today, besides care for herself and the fire lizards, was a make-up rehearsal with Domick and Talmor in the afternoon.

Menolly found Domick poring over sheet music in the practice room, five minutes ahead of rehearsal time. The silence in the room was broken by the shuffle of papers as he flipped back and forth through the pages.

"You never did dance with me," Menolly teased, one hand on her hip in mock irritation as she stood in the doorway.

Domick looked up, unsurprised to see her. His thick eyebrows rose high as he played along, pressing a fist to his chest in ironic apology.

"My deepest regrets, Journeywoman, for my thoughtlessness in leaving you without a suitable partner."

Menolly brought her hand to her mouth to cover a giggle, and tried to school her attitude. She wasn't here for playful banter, she thought to herself. What was wrong with her? She didn't need Master Domick thinking she'd gone empty-headed after one good party.

To her surprise, instead of the sour rejoinder she expected after her mirth, Domick rose and set down his instrument.

"Talmor is predictably running late. May I rectify my glaring omission from the wedding celebration?"

Arms splayed out, her guitar neck held in one hand, Menolly stared at the master. "Here? You want to dance? Now? There's no music."

"We're in the Harper Hall, Menolly. There's always music." Domick stepped forward and relieved her of the instrument, setting it atop the sheet music cabinet next to the door.

Mouth slightly agape, she considered his words as he took her hand in his and placed the other upon his shoulder. Setting his other hand at her waist, Domick hummed a familiar tune. Shyly at first, then with increasing volume and confidence as he took her through the dance steps. Menolly couldn't quite identify the old song, but she knew the timing. Domick led her in a slow waltz around the practice room, his gentle, somewhat nasal tenor pleasantly filling her ears. His warm hands led her through several turns, allowing her to gain confidence with the unfamiliar steps. When she finally looked up from her feet, she found Domick's dark, bark-brown eyes focused on her face. She was easily of a height to meet his eyes, so she held his gaze, taking in his features as he must be taking in hers.

He had a squarish face, with a heavy brow, deepset eyes, and a broad nose. His jaw was roughened with stubble, as befit a rest day. The slightest tension of concentration hovered over his brow as he hummed. In all other respects, his expression was the most relaxed she'd ever seen it.

Menolly wasn't sure whether she would call his face handsome. Expressive, yes. And familiar, definitely. But with a different look than she'd ever noticed before. Not as someone teaching and instructing, despite the dance steps. Not as someone gauging her talent or ability. The Domick she saw now was someone simply enjoying her company, one step at a time.

Beauty and Menolly's other fire lizards exploded into the air around Branth. They trilled both nervous sympathy and encouragement to their owner as the trio dropped even lower. Menolly wanted to ask Domick how he was doing, but she knew she wouldn't be able to hear his answer. Finally, Branth landed neatly on the huge pavers and by then, Elgion was joined by three or four women of the hold and as many children as were able to sneak away from chores to ogle the huge dragon and his bold rider.

T'gran leapt off Branth's neck and assisted the two Harpers to the ground. Domick, once his feet were on a steady surface, insisted with Menolly that they could carry their items when the holder women swarmed and tried to help. Most of the fur-insulated cases carried instruments. Some were to stay with Harper Elgion, and some were Domick's and Menolly's personal property, even though they hadn't yet been asked to play at Alemi's wedding. Elgion's eyes widened with appreciative delight when he saw what they carried.

"You've a new lap harp for me, don't you?"

He held out two hands insistently. Domick lifted one carry-case by the strap and handed it to him. Menolly watched, amused, as Elgion cradled the small harp's bulk in his arms.

"The old one literally broke apart in my hands one evening. It was quite embarrassing, but in all fairness, I think it may have been original to the hold." Elgion pulled a face, and Menolly giggled.

Some of the tension roiling her gut eased at his friendly demeanor. She wondered how he managed to maintain a sense of humor and fun after five years around Yanus. Perhaps Elgion simply knew when to stow it safely away.

T'gran said his goodbyes and was quickly aloft upon Branth, then between. The crowd of children melted away as the Harpers entered Half-Circle Sea Hold, but the women accompanied them to the great hall. A few good-naturedly asked after Menolly or complimented her hair or clothes. At twenty, Menolly had grown into her formerly gawky frame. She had no doubt she was much changed in their eyes.

Menolly was awkwardly bent over, divesting herself of four instrument carry-cases and one personal knapsack, when she noticed the sudden silence in the hall. She raised her head, then stood sharply straight as the small crowd parted to reveal her mother, Mavi. With hesitant steps, drying her hands on an apron tied at her waist, the woman came forward. She was older, with new lines on her face that Menolly didn't remember. Her posture was straight and tall and her arms still very strong. Her hair was deeply streaked with silver. Mavi's eyes were huge and liquid, but she held Menolly's gaze firmly. Menolly forced herself to stand very still, fighting a nonsensical urge to turn and run. Her throat was so dry, she could barely voice a greeting.

"Hello, Mavi," Menolly said softly, just as Mavi pulled her into a bone-crushing hug.

Surprised, Menolly kept still, but softened enough to pat Mavi where she could reach her.

"Welcome, Daughter," Mavi whispered against Menolly's hair.

When Mavi drew back, Menolly saw that her eyes held tears. Five years and more melted away as Menolly beheld the sorrow, regret, relief, and contrition in the face of a woman who had never cried in all the time Menolly knew her. A lump rose in Menolly's throat as unspoken feeling passed between mother and daughter, all of an instant. Mavi released her hold, but ran her hands down Menolly's arms as if to reassure herself that Menolly was real. She took Menolly's hands in her own and blinked rapidly, clearing the unshed tears away. A tremorous smile widened a mouth unused to the exercise as Mavi looked up into Menolly's face.

In some holds, the Harper never rose above the level of "staff." An instructor, an arbiter, sometimes even a mailman, but not family or friend. Alemi had set the standard early, and Domick didn't wonder that Elgion had made such a happy home in an otherwise dour and industrious hold.

Domick's wandering mind returned to the task at hand as he, Elgion, and Menolly brought another dance reel toward its conclusion. They ended on a ritard with a playful flourish, to cheers, whistles, and applause. The trio rose and bowed, and Elgion excused them all for a break in the set.

Menolly left the dais and took a seat at one table, laughing heartily with a shorter woman who strongly resembled her. Domick assumed the woman to be a cousin or sister. Back in the Harper Hall, Menolly's apprehension about returning to her childhood home had been readily apparent. Domick could see, with a Harper's clarity, the cracking and crumbling of a cultivated facade that masked the deep hurts and vulnerabilities she carried. The relaxed set of her shoulders, her ready smile, and the new sparkle in her eyes spoke of healing, a reconnection and integration of all the pieces of who she was.

Domick hovered upon that wine-induced line between invigoration and exhaustion as he took his own seat at an adjoining table. Menolly hadn't lied about the ladies of the hold. Domick was obliged to dance constantly between his turns playing songs. He brokered a deal with his next partner to let him rest for one song as Elgion's student musicians sat upon the vacated stools and struck up another lively tune.

Elgion dropped heavily into the seat next to Domick, his wine cup in his hand. He sighed dramatically, and Domick raised his eyebrows to peer at the harper.

"What a voice she has on her! The family's been telling me for years about the little daughter who used to play and sing in the evenings, and how much they missed it. I finally understand."

Elgion's appreciative eyes slid over to Menolly's table and Domick suppressed a flare of jealousy in his gut.

"It must be something special to have her at the Hall for a six-month," Elgion continued glibly. "Though of course, there's no shortage of singers there."

Domick frowned into his cup and set it aside. "Honestly, I don't hear her sing often. She plays quite well, you know. She's rehearsing a piece with Talmor and me. Guitar."

"That's right," Elgion replied with a snap of his fingers. "And we haven't heard her play tonight, only singing and drums. Maybe when the dancers need to cool off in a bit."

"Well, don't work her to death," Domick grumbled, causing Elgion to laugh.

They watched as Yanus, prodded by his wife, walked slowly to Menolly and requested a dance, which she accepted. Neither man could see or hear what passed between them as they skirted the edge of the dance floor, but Domick saw Menolly's stance tighten. The girl, or young woman, he corrected himself, kept herself well in control until the dance was over. Then she turned on her heel and stalked away. Domick placed a hand on Elgion's arm as the harper made to rise. He rose and exited the hall, quickly traversing the dim edges of the room in pursuit of Menolly.

Domick caught up to her twenty paces outside of the hall, but only because she'd stopped walking and was pressed into a shadowy doorway that likely led to a quiet storeroom. He could easily imagine it was a place child-Menolly had known well.

"Menolly," he said, hesitant to reach out for her, expecting tears.

Arms crossed, Menolly stepped into the light of the hall glows. Her hair, usually contained tidily in one thick braid down her back, today fell in a cascade of loose ringlets that framed her pretty face and highlighted her angry, flashing eyes. Her nostrils flared with each deep breath she took.

"I'm fine. I just need a minute, Domick."

Domick stepped back, a bemused smile rising to his lips. Not a child crying after a scolding, then. And not a rebellious teen. A woman dealing with conflict in the only avenue available to her, saving face for her brother and family.

Her stern, pale face in the glowlight was unexpectedly beautiful, Domick thought, his heart picking up for a beat or two. He realized that it was a more intense variation of the face she wore when she concentrated in rehearsal, caught up in the complexity of his compositions. He'd been mistaken--she wasn't angry. She was mentally picking the situation apart.

"Whatever Yanus said, don't listen to him," Domick said, crossing his own arms and leaning against the wall under the hanging glowbasket.

Menolly mirrored his stance, looking directly into his eyes. Domick almost grimaced at the strange thrill that gave him, but kept his face carefully neutral.

"I'm not. I just…wish he could be different, that's all. It's not as if he doesn't understand passion or-or talent." She tripped over the word as if it didn't apply to her, causing Domick to roll his eyes. "They have eight children, by the Shell, and he's a fishing Master. It's more like his interests, his passions are the only legitimate things in the world. All the rest is…bunting on a Gather stage. Set dressing." She laughed without humor.

Domick nodded. "You know by now he's not the only holder who thinks like that."

"I do. It always cuts more deeply when it's personal."

"When it's someone whose approval you once sought? When it's someone who raised you to redirect every ounce of energy you had for 'the good of the hold?'" Domick sighed as Menolly nodded. "I understand better than you know, Menolly."

Menolly considered him keenly for a moment, her head tilted against the wall. Then she smiled.

"I'm glad you came with me for this visit, Master," she said, all traces of her former pique gone.

Internally, and for the first time in his life, Domick chafed at being called by his rank. She'd forgotten it earlier, inadvertantly setting their conversation as one between equals. He was mollified a bit when she threaded her arm through his and started walking back to the hall.

"You haven't danced with me yet. How many songs will I have to wait for my turn?" Menolly teased.