#g'rain

* * * * *

If G'rain didn't have duties, he would stay like this forever.

Once, it seemed like a lifetime ago, he had gone to the SmithCraftHall on the behest of the Weyr's dragon healer. Flamethrower blowback had been a problem for some time, with more than one junior queen singed from ill timed burns, so he'd gone to the Hall for a solution.

The old idea of agenothree had come up again from the Master he spoke with, and it was he who introduced him to Nikyr, the expert in such matters. The Weyrsinger hadn't realised it at the time, but it was a moment that would resonate throughout the rest of his life.

He hadn't understood so many of the terms so lovingly gabbled by the alternately bashful and enthusiastic man, but with patience from both sides, accord was reached.

G'rain had never felt as intellectually stimulated as when he was in the presence of the clever Smith, and under his tutelage quickly found himself able to turn a thought into designs if not as well as the man himself, then at least well enough to be interpreted and expanded upon.

They were of common thought and curiosity, each with a desire to do right by the dragonrider community and Pern at large. It was only natural that friendship was forged as well as fuel tanks, and in-jokes and references crept into their conversations.

Even Serinth had taken a shine to the dark skinned man, asking if he wanted to actually fly, and not just endlessly talk about the theory.

After that first flight, G'rain remembered the warmth of the man clinging on to his waist.The feel of that lean body against his own remained on his mind long after the flight was done, resonating in flesh that desired to feel more.

His thoughts had turned from ideas to man without him noticing, realising in the darkness of his weyr that he didn't need to visit the Hall as often as he had, and that his heart beat faster when he thought of visiting the grey eyed Smith. What did it feel like to run his fingers through that mop of hair, or to feel that toned body against his? Did he smell musky? Metallic? Did he taste of fire and the forge, or something less definable?

He wanted Nikyr in a way he had never wanted anyone before, and despaired in secret until he realised the Smith felt the same.

"I thought there might be another reason you keep visiting me. I hoped there was."

His kind was frowned upon in Pern society beyond the Weyrs. Blue and green riders, the so-called "dragonwomen", were often derided behind their backs, their supposed proclivities historically used to denounce Weryfolk as a whole. G'rain escaped a little of the torment by providence of the Harper badge at his shoulder, but already he knew the whispers he and Serinth would leave behind for the Smith to hear.

To protect Nikyr's reputation, they'd flown here, to the tarn they'd come to so many times before to swim, bathe and laugh after a difficult Threadfall. Few came here, the golden lakes above Ruatha or the seas about Nerat the preferred bathing spots for most riders. Yet it was this place with its roots deep in the northern range that G'rain came to for solitude, to practice without interruption, and now, for the most intimate of company.

* * * * *

Nikyr held the dragonrider in his arms, pulling him close as his lips traveled down jawline to the soft skin of the neck. He enjoyed the strong hands caressing his back, fingertips playing him so expertly that his own efforts were often paused to appreciate the sensations. He concentrated and inhaled deeply, revelling in the scent of the man, a scent he'd come to associate with exhilaration, anticipation. Even now, tanned leather mixed with the other's heated body, the underlying presence of dragon musk, all combined to arouse him further, and he parted his lips to tentatively lick G'rain's skin. Nikyr smiled as the man pressed closer, his quiet sighs exciting him as he felt firm fingers wind through his hair and the slight movement to allow him more access.

He wasn't sure what he'd expected, really, but he found everything more satisfying than he'd imagined. Kissing G'rain was similar to, yet so unlike kissing women. The mechanics were the same, even though his tipsy fumbling with them had been more along the lines of what was expected and not desire. This was far more engaging -- whether that was because he had strong feelings for the dragonrider or because he was finally able to explore his attraction to men, he couldn't say. All he knew was that he'd been aching to be near the other man for what seemed an eternity before today. He didn't even know what had given him the impetus to admit his interest, but that had been well worth the moments of embarrassment.

With more confidence, he nuzzled the other's neck, then trailed his tongue along skin to meet G'rain's lips again, surprising himself with a rush of passion as he boldly explored the man's mouth. The salty skin, lightly spiced by the oil the dragonrider used on Serinth, the sweetness of his lips, all of it combined into a heady euphoria, and he groaned quietly, gripping G'rain's hip as much to keep himself from pressing against the man as to keep him from pulling away.

Nikyr paused, grey eyes searching blue.

"G'rain," his voice husky, his breathing quick, hand on hip grasping a bit tighter. "I need to tell you. But..." The dark skin flushed again, and Nikyr dropped his gaze from the other's. "By the flame! I..."

"Go on," G'rain lifted a hand to caress the smith's cheek, leaning in to kiss him softly and encouraged him to continue.

Nikyr felt his body tense as embarrassment warred with desire, his expression melting into an anxious frown and he sighed with frustration.

"I don't, I mean, I..." He sat up, turning his head away from the other. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, running his fingers through his hair, shoulders hunching as he crossed his legs. He took a deep breath, then turned to look at G'rain, who sat up as he waited. Kindness and desire was clear on the dragonrider's face as he reached to take one of Nikyr's hands in his.

Nikyr squeezed G'rain's hand, grateful for the man's patience.

"I don't know what I'm doing." The smith gestured helplessly with his free hand, admitting his inexperience with resignation. "I've kissed a few women, but I wasn't very interested." He shrugged, adding with a wry smile, "I was curious, though.

“Thing is, I..." his face flushed again, "I knew I was attracted to men, but it's not accepted in the hold. And I've seen how folks are treated by others, even in the hall." He reached to run a hand over G'rain's cheek, fingers lightly tracing the other's jaw, feeling the stubble catch. He wanted to keep touching this man, and he sighed again as he ran his fingertips across G'rain's lips. "But I don't care what people think. Except you. I just don't want to do anything...wrong." Nikyr's forehead creased as he watched the dragonrider's reaction.

G'rain smiled, catching Nikyr's hand as it passed over his lips, kissing the fingers.

"There's no wrong. In fact, I thought it was right," he held both of Nikyr's hands, squeezing them as his expression became concerned. "But I don't want to cause problems for you in the Hall."

Nikyr shook his head sharply, looking away.

"I can handle it. It's none of their business anyway." He turned back to G'rain, the color still flush across his cheekbones, but ducked his head, not meeting his eyes, his deep voice almost a whisper. "You don't mind? I mean, I don't like disappointing people. And with you used to weyrfolk..."

G'rain lifted his hands to Nikyr's face, encouraging the smith to look directly at him.

"Do I mind? Not one bit. Nikyr, I want to be here with you. I don't care if you've been with many or none. I just want you to do what's comfortable for you." The dragonrider shifted to kneel, hands pulling gently at the other as he tentatively drew in for a kiss, watching the grey eyes for hesitation. He was rewarded with warm lips meeting his and strong arms wrapping around his waist, pulling him close again.

Each felt the other relax into their connection, moving as one to lay back down on the rushes. G'rain let his hand trail along the smith's arm, feeling muscles flex as he moved closer to whisper against willing lips.

"Now, where were we?"

* * * * *

There they lay, shirts discarded, arms about one another as a new phase of relations began.

Under the eaves of the cliff, fingertips explored as their lips broke through taboos, sensation the pathway into a greater comfort. Though he had lived in longing for so long, the thought of scaring him away tied G'rain's guts into knots, and so he would take it as slow as he could despite the encouragement of his dragon.

He could stay here in Nikyr's arms forever. In these fragile first days of their journey, he made himself content with that, losing himself in grey eyes instead of in base satisfaction.

"How...?" Nikyr was still hesitant, even though his hands had ranged across G'rain's skin, his colour high with both embarrassment and excitement. The dragonrider couldn't help the tenderness that welled with him him at the sight, and pushed the hair back out of his partner's face.

"How?" He asked in kind, gently teasing the words from him.

The Smith laughed, a note of vulnerability sounding in the clarity of the mountain air.

"How did you know you preferred men?"

"Serinth was a big clue." The tenderness erupted into a smile as his mind turned toward his dragon still cavorting in the lake.

"Oh. Blues traditionally only Impress..." Nikyr's words came to a halt at G'rain's solemn nod. "But before, did you know you would...?"

It was difficult these days to recall what it was like without Serinth. Nearly eight turns had passed since that glorious day, and the memory of life without his dragon's constant litany of love and affection seemed like a nightmare dimmed by daylight.

Yet with a flash of insight, G'rain knew why the question was being asked, and he sighed as he struggled to find the reassurance his partner so sorely needed.

"I guess... I never saw the attraction in women. They were nice enough, but when I heard the other apprentices talking about this one's breasts or that one's hips, I didn't understand it. They were pretty, but I preferred the look of the men in their riding gear, or in the Hold livery. Broad shoulders, slender hips, muscular arms..." He grinned, realising that all unknowingly he'd just described the one sharing the rushes with him. "...That was what turned my head."

"And did you... You know. Before?"

A chuckle of sympathy escaped G'rain's lips, watching with fascination as the wave of colour darkened Nikyr's freckled and frustrated face. His fingers felt like they had minds of their own as he tried to soothe those fears with a touch, tracing the other man's side in gentle caress.

"I didn't do that until Serinth rose for the first time." He could still remember that day; the thrill of flight, and the terror of what was to come. Thankfully Serinth's first green had been ridden by a sympathetic veteran, and so G'rain's dragon roused fumblings had been deftly guided. "But when I was at the Harper Hall, there was a boy - one of the boarding students. We used to touch one another. I think it helped us feel less alone."

Nikyr's voice was softer as he looked away, something conflicted marring his beautiful face.

"Do you still see him, too?"

"Hakirn? No." The question was confusing, his last memory made hazy by time and disinterest. "I haven't seen him in Turns. I'm not even sure where he was posted."

The body against his relaxed just a little, but it warranted the softest of caress across a hip.

"Would you touch me the way you used to touch him?"

The question was too fast and almost inaudible, but G'rain beamed as he guided the other man against him.

"When you're ready, and if that's what you want, yes."

Nikyr's breath was expelled in a rush, his voice almost cracking as he gasped,

* * * * *

Gerain’s days had been full since the weyrwoman had swept him off to the Weyr. Once - it felt like a lifetime ago - he’d only thought he was busy with his singing lessons, instrument making classes, quartet practice, composition and scribing, not to mention all the sundry cleaning and chores his work team had to do. Yet now there was all that and so much more; as a potential candidate for Impression, he had to know the ways of the dragons and the Weyr as well, and he felt like he was living in a dream he never quite managed to wake from.

He was tired all the time, his feet heavy now as he stepped out on to the Hatching Ground sands with the rest of the candidates. He’d been up late the previous night, practising his chords and drum measures until his fingers bled. They still ached now, even through the numbweed the aghast headwoman had slathered on them, as the sand picked up in the breeze to irritate his scabs.

“Have a feel. Don’t be afraid to touch them.” The Wingsecond’s voice rang clear and true across the ground, and Gerain, startled out of his half asleep reverie, jogged toward his place by his egg. “Trust me, you’re going to be scrubbing its occupant for a very long time, so get used to it now while they’re still small!”

“Watch where you’re going, Harper.” The low hiss was unmistakable as he staggered into another boy, that dark scowl immediately turned on him.

“I’m sorry, Perrel. I’m just tired is all.”

“Yeah, we could hear your screeching down in the Weyrling Barracks. Kept us up half the night. You’d better learn to sing if you want to be Weyrsinger instead of Weyrscreecher.”

"Whatever you say."

Gerain sighed as he walked on, reaching out toward the egg before him with a shaking hand. The shell had a little give to it, soft beneath his fingertips, and on other trips here he had fancied he could feel movement within; even a heartbeat. Today however he was tired, and the niggling seed of doubt Perrel had planted required a little more reassurance.

He’d used to have a lovely tone before his voice broke. His Masters had all commented on it, and his ability had been quite remarkable. There were few singers better with phrasing than he, despite his youth, and he’d been quite proud of his ability to sing the complicated measures the composition masters had wanted to throw at him.

He hadn’t been the best singer to ever pass through the Harper Hall, but he had been good, and wondered if his voice would ever settle again. Sometimes he felt the notes even out, and he allowed himself hope that he could sing properly again. Yet then there were nights like this last one where he couldn’t seem to control the sound at all, and he would warble and crack without any semblance of key at all.

Perrel might or might not have been aware of the vulnerability he had hit upon, but it left the would-be Weyrsinger in a quandary of doubt.

“You wouldn’t care if I screeched, would you?” he whispered to the unresponsive shell before him, caressing its smooth surface with a scabbed hand. He swallowed the tears of fatigue as he rested his forehead against the egg. “Does that kind of thing matter to a dragon?”

“It doesn’t, or else my Llandreth would sleep on the heights those nights I’ve had too much to drink.” The words were soft, murmured into the boy’s ear, and Gerain turned to see the kind blue eyes of the Wingsecond glimmering at him. “Why don’t you head on back to the barracks and get a wink of sleep?”

Vehemently the harper boy shook his head.

“I can't. I need to get back to the Hall after this. I have a score to press out, not to mention my practice...”

The tattooed face of the Wingsecond creased in mirth, the weathered olive skin lined with laughter as the man winked.

“Let me worry about that. But you’ll not do anyone any good half-dead, and that’s what you look like. Give your egg one last pat, and head off on your way.”

“Yes, sir.”

It was an amazing thing, the size and feel of the egg before him. With the reality of the egg before him, he remembered his hope. When he cuddled up in his sleeping furs, the light of the Weyr still shining through his windows, the spark of terror at not being able to do all he was supposed to do was drowned in that smooth, mottled shell.

* * * * *

There was not enough sweetsand to wash away all the traces. From a purely physical perspective it had been fine, even pleasurable, and of course the thought that his dragon was so strong as to be able to catch the green was always an uplifting one, but G’rain still felt the need to wash thoroughly once it was done.

In the Harper Hall it was less forbidden to lie with multiple people than in other crafts. After all, often the Harper was the sole entertainment in a small Hold, and as such were not averse to the odd dalliance with their adoring audiences. Harpers weren’t usually the kind to bond permanently, especially once they reached their Mastery, but it wasn’t quite the situation as it existed in the Weyr.

He never washed himself red raw, for this wasn’t shame. At least, not as the Ballads and Sagas described it. He was proud Serinth had flown long and hard and twined necks with the green. Serinth was the biggest and strongest of all the blues at Telgar; why shouldn’t he show off and get some relief?

Moryth is glad I caught her, too. The smugness in the blue’s tone made the weyrsinger gasp in astonished mirth.

“You’ve been talking to Llandreth too much, my friend.”

I’m just telling the truth. She said so herself. G’rain couldn’t help but chuckle at the satisfied tone, even as he reached for more sand.

Yet even as he laughed, another part of his mind was in the Weyr’s forge, the foundry’s heat burning away the pleasant association. Wetting the sand he scrubbed at himself, between his legs, across thighs so recently grasped by another’s hands, his face set as he shielded these thoughts from his dragon.

It was a part of weyr life, one that those beyond the ancient Weyr bowls either denied or used as a way to decry the dragonmen as somehow perverse, but he knew it was a difficult thing for his lover to accept. It had been difficult enough for he himself, being Harper born and looking to Serinth as he did, but for one who was Hold born and Smith raised, it had to be nearly intolerable.

The sense of that heat roughened skin beneath his hands, the hard muscle and resinous smell of solder and metals burnt into his very flesh - Nikyr would never know that it was he who kept G’rain grounded through Serinth’s flights. It might be another man he was with in body, but it was always the gentle, clever and practical Smith his heart was with, even when he was deep in the grip of draconic instinct.

It was for him he scoured himself with the sweetsand, sweat and bodily juices cleared away so there was nothing left but himself. It was the least he could do, even though he would likely not see the man again until tomorrow.

He was tired after the day’s exertions, but even after the long, hot bath, there were preparations to make. Clean sleepwear was laid out by the bathing room, its subtle scent a reminder of his love on those nights there wasn't this distance. A call down to the kitchens supplied a meal enough for two - though he ate alone, the dragonrider kept the other meal ready for the man who would not even think to eat. Not today.

A final, sleepy glance at the shelf of bronze figures as he half-shuttered the last glowbasket, and he slipped into the sleeping furs by his dragon.

“I love you, Serinth.” he murmured as the warm body curled about him, cradling him even as he missed cradling another.

I am with you the dragon thought contentedly. And soon he will be as well.

Nikyr laughed in delight, the sound torn from his lips by the wind as soon as it left him. He'd been on dragon back before, of course, but those had been brief trips, nothing like today's flight. Holding on tightly to the riding straps, he felt his muscles flex as the dragon banked and dipped with the air currents. There hadn't been any difficulty adjusting to the movement but he remained nervous about the strain on the straps. It was one thing to understand the science; in practice, he was far less certain.

He tried to keep his thoughts on the observations he should be making, and he was. Kind of. The way the wind felt as they soared, the change in temperature, the pressure and the lulls, the drops that made his stomach lurch -- he noted these things and would write them down later. Yet he couldn't help but simply enjoy the exhilaration while it lasted.

He leaned around G'rain to peer down, nodding at the dragonrider, who had glanced back as he moved, but his gaze swiftly returned to the land below. Is this what riders always saw? The patchwork greys and greens and golds, the glittering waters rushing down mountains and hillsides to pool below, it was stunning! And unnerving. He shivered as he looked down, but whether from cold or the dizzying height, he couldn't say.

The dark man was still leaning over when Serinth dropped into a steep dive. The riding straps creaked in protest, and he uttered a small cry as he flung himself back, awkwardly seeking the dragonrider's form, one hand clutching at the man's waist, the other tightening reflexively around the straps that secured them. The rush of adrenaline made him momentarily giddy and he closed his eyes, again laughing nervously even as he chided himself for being a silly wherry.

Nikyr felt G'rain adjust his arm securely around his waist and lean back against him, the small movement and solidity curiously comforting. He tightened his grip, opening his eyes as G'rain turned and leaned close to be heard above the rush of the wind.

"We won't let you fall," the dragonrider smiled reassuringly at the smith. Nikyr tipped his head back to look at the man.

"I know," he nodded, but his eyes were still a shade too wide and his grip too tight.

Swiftly beating heart only began to slow when the dragon was no longer pitched at a terrifying angle, instead gliding in lazy spirals towards the ground. A quick squeeze of G'rain's hand over the one at his waist as they neared their destination, and then they were landing, Serinth spreading wings wide to catch the air and slow their momentum.

"So what did you think?" G'rain's practiced fingers had already undone his straps and turned to work on the ones securing Nikyr, hands gently nudging the smith's shaking ones away as he deftly loosened the fasteners. Untethered, they dropped to the ground, Nikyr bracing himself against Serinth until he was sure his legs would support him.

"I --" Nikyr let out a small sound of elation, "That was fantastic!" He exclaimed, color deepening across his cheekbones as he grinned at the dragonrider and gripped the man's shoulders to look directly at him. "It's so beautiful, there's so much variance, so many things to take into account that I hadn't thought of, I don't think I could describe it adequately, and I..." Suddenly self-conscious, he released his grip, blushing darker as he saw amusement in those blue eyes. "I envy you, getting to experience that every day." Nikyr stepped away from the dragonrider. "And I'm sorry about...well, I didn't mean to...anyway, thanks."

G'rain grinned back at the smith.

"No need to apologize. I hope we didn't scare you too much? Serinth likes to play," he looked briefly concerned, "although I thought it simulated what it can be like flying Thread." G'rain laughed as Serinth lowered his head and butted him, reaching up to lovingly scratch the dragon's eye ridge. Nikyr watched two communicate briefly before averting his eyes at what seemed to be a private moment.

"No, it just took me by surprise," he shook his head and tentatively extended a hand to touch the dragon's side again, wondering at the warmth of the blue hide. "Tell Serinth I said thanks?" Nikyr looked at G'rain.

The dragonrider smiled as he listened to his dragon.

"He says he has more he can show you," G'rain chuckled, "and if you can reach higher, there's a spot near his shoulder he'd liked scratched."

Nikyr ran his hand along Serinth's side until he could feel a rough patch, rubbing gently.

"Is this the area?" he glanced between G'rain and Serinth, unsure to whom he should address the question.

"See the color of his eyes? I'd say so." G'rain laughed.

"Oh," Nikyr smiled quietly at Serinth and continued rubbing at the spot with both hands.

"So did the ride answer some of your questions?" The dragonrider idly scratched at an area of the dragon's neck, but he was turned to face the smith.

Nikyr was slow to answer and his hands stopped their work as he considered the question.

"I have a lot to think about, but I won't know for a bit. I don't want to have wasted your time." He looked up, mildly worried, only to see G'rain grinning at him.

"It's not a waste of time. We'll take you up as many times as you need." He stepped closer to Nikyr, his face becoming intently serious as Serinth whuffed in agreement. "You just let me know."

:::::|:::::

Later, after they'd eaten and G'rain had left to return to the Weyr, Nikyr sat at his workbench, sketches and calculations from previous meetings with the dragonrider scattered in front of him. He had planned to note his observations, yet he found himself unable to do anything but sit and watch the glow of the forge, daydreaming about the day's events. He knew he should be capturing the ideas that would help him further his work, but he simply wanted to relive the wonder, thrill, and terror of being so high above the world.

He'd been prepared for some of the experience -- the cold, the buffeting, the air pockets -- but some things, like scent, had taken him by surprise. Dragons are large animals, strong musk warm even in the cold air. Combined with the heat of the sun, the well-worn leather of the straps and gear, the sharp green burst of vegetation bruised by dragon feet, everything blended into a warm chypre that even now lingered in his memory. Nikyr sighed, eyes unfocused, a small smile on his lips.

For the better part of an hour, he'd pretended he wasn't a land-bound smith. For a few minutes, he'd pretended that he was someone with the freedom to go anywhere he wanted, whenever the mood hit. His thoughts turned to the feel of the dragonrider pressed against him, his arm around the man's waist, and felt the blush spread down his neck.

For a second, he'd pretended that he had someone to share his life with.

Nikyr placed his stylus down, admitting defeat, and stood, stowing his work in bins and baskets for the night. He'd make his notes in the morning.

As he walked back to his chambers, he felt exhaustion settle over him. Everything about the day had been overwhelming.

* * * * *

It was always the same.

When the alert went out, G’rain all but leapt from bed, pulling on his heavy wherhide Thread fighting leathers rather than the more supple ones he usually affected.

“I’ve got to go.” he said apologetically, reaching down to run his fingers through his lover’s hair one last time. “Do you want a ride down to the Bowl?”

“I should be fine. I have my scrolls to read through.” Nikyr sat up in the sleeping furs, his face oddly soft in the light of the glows.

The and this way I’ll make sure you’ll come back, if you know I’m stuck here went unsaid.

The dragonrider nodded, stooping to catch the other in a warm kiss.

“Do you have to go? You’re the Weyrsinger. Can’t you just...?” He breathed the words against the other man’s lips, though he knew the answer. He just always had to say it, for his own peace of mind.

“Dragons must fly / when Thread is in the sky.” The song was apologetically repeated, but both of them knew how true it had to be for a harper. Still, it chilled Nikyr to know that couplet might be the last he would hear him sing.

The powerfully built Smith looked oddly small as G’rain swung up on to Serinth’s back.

“Don’t forget I’m here.” The darker skinned man tried to smile, but it was always difficult knowing that this might be the last time he saw man or dragon.

The deep blue eyes were almost a caress as G’rain whispered,

“I love you.”

As Serinth launched himself off the weyr ledge, Nikyr blinked away the wave of emotion that threatened to forever silence him.

* * * * *

"G'rain, don't go. Not yet."

The dragonrider turned at the almost plaintive words, and drank in the vision of the smith holding the scroll forlornly in both hands.

"I thought we were finished discussing the plans for your tanks?" The smile lit from within as he took a step back into the room, the encouragement in his mind of his dragon bolstering his move.

"I... Well." The man flushed beneath his dark, forge tanned skin, but those grey eyes never looked away. "I thought there might be another reason you keep visiting me. I hoped there was."

"There was." It was like taking saddle on Serinth, the ease with which they found themselves next to one another, and G'rain's heart was pounding in his ears as he sought that first sweet caress. "I don't want to think of you as just a friend."

"Neither do I."

First kisses are awkward things, all hesitancy and imposing noses and uncertainty of how far to express desire. Yet when first contact is made, it doesn't take long for a truly wanting couple to work it out, and soon the plans fluttered to the floor as the two moved as one.

"Do you think we could fly away for a while?" Nikyr's voice was husky, murmured against G'rain's sensitive lips as his hands pulled them closer.

G'rain laughed as he traced the other man's chin with his thumb.

"So it's a ride on my dragon you want?"

"No.” He smiled and breathed, “I don’t want to ride your dragon.”

It was only after G’rain began to chuckle that a rather horrified expression crept over the Smith’s face.

“I meant... Oh, shards!”

Firm, warm lips silenced the stumbling words, and for a moment there was only the sound of their breathing in their shared space.

Nikyr was busy with the younger apprentices, directing them as they separated the materials that had been delivered earlier that day, when the watch dragon sounded a greeting. He barely registered the call, as common as it was in their location between the Weyr and Hold. He was more concerned about making sure the extractive process was started before moving on to the chemical building.

"No, Caelum, that sack goes over there," he pointed towards a different area of the yard. "Everything looks alike, doesn't it?" he nodded at the boy who had halted with his load, biting his lower lip and looking uncertain. "Don't worry, you're here to learn," Nikyr smiled as he ruffled the light yellow hair of the youngster, then gently pushed him in the right direction.

He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, the thick leather glove leaving a streak of grey across his dark skin, and surveyed the activity around him. They were almost at the midday break but the delivery had been late, so they would be at this for a few more hours. He sighed softly and shrugged. He probably wouldn't be getting to the chemical building after all. He pushed aside the small disappointment and continued to usher the youngsters through their duties.

There was always tomorrow, and his friend would understand. Still, the thought that he'd have time to do his own research had kept him going through the less than exciting work this morning. Without anything to look forward to, his current work seemed to stretch endlessly ahead of him. He sighed again and turned his attention to a tall, dark-haired girl who stood staring at the sky, the bucket of ore forgotten.

"Hynne, where are you supposed to be?" Nikyr addressed the child, gently shaking her from her daydream.

The girl blushed and stammered an apology.

"I'm going! Sorry!" She picked up the bucket and started to stagger away, but she looked back over her shoulder and gave him an wide-eyed grin. "Dragon!" she explained.

Nikyr chuckled, glancing up at the sky. He'd grown up in a nearby hold and had visited the Weyr often enough, but many who came to study at the Hall were from distant holds and even cotholds. Seeing dragons so close was a novelty for them, and a visit from dragon and rider would have been so rare that it often signaled imminent change.

At midday, Nikyr wrangled the youngsters into the dining hall before joining the other journeymen. He slapped his gloves down on the table and grabbed a few pieces of bread and slices of meat. Settling down on a bench with the food and a mug of klah, he listened in on the latest debate, rolling his shoulders as he relaxed and interjecting a mild comment now and then.

Hunger abated, Nikyr looked around for his friend to cancel their plans. He spotted the lanky woman near the exit, leaning against a wall as she conversed with a fellow journeyman. Nikyr made his way through the tables, waving at her as he approached.

"Good day, Fereena," he greeted her as she turned from her conversation with to smile at him. He nodded to the other Journeyman, "and you, too, Tarin."

"Hello, Nikyr," Fereena's brown eyes were warm as she placed her hand on his arm. "Looks like we'll need to reschedule our meeting today."

Nikyr frowned, confusion on his face as he opened his mouth to speak, but she continued.

"I know you were looking forward to it, but Tarin has other plans for you." Her gaze moved from Nikyr to Tarin as she talked.

"Master Kedrag has sent for you," Tarin inclined his head at Nikyr. "He's meeting with a dragon rider from the Weyr. The man is asking about flamethrower tanks and the master thought you might want to join them."

"Of course," Nikyr hesitated as he considered the request, "but I'm supposed to instruct the youngsters about the extractive process this afternoon," he frowned again. "I can't go until someone else can cover."

"I've been asked to take over," Tarin shrugged and smiled, "Anything to get out of scraping the ash pits. It's so tedious!" He rolled his eyes in emphasis.

"You might be begging for the ash pits after this," Nikyr grinned at the smith. "The youngsters seem to be more distracted than usual today. I should be going, though. Thanks, Tarin." He bid the two goodbye and left the hall.

Nikyr brushed at the smudges on his clothes as he walked across the yard to the Master's area. Shoving his gloves in a pocket, he ran his hands quickly through his hair to dislodge the dust, hoping he didn't look as disheveled as he felt, but he couldn't keep the Master and rider waiting.

It wasn't often that a master called for him specifically, so this was likely a Weyr priority. He expected that he'd be asked to work on some kind of construct assembly -- he did have a reputation for crafting precise parts -- but he was still embarrassed that his last design, new controls for the agenothree tanks, had been swept aside as unusable. The masters had been right, of course. He'd gone back over the drawings and realized there were weak points that would have caused grave harm to the tank wielder. Nikyr had painstakingly redesigned the mechanisms, but the memory of rejection still stung. In the end, he'd scraped most of the hides, disappointed in his failure.

So it was an anxious Nikyr who stepped into Master Kedrag's area and presented himself to the two men standing at the Master's work table.

The Master, a short, stocky man with arms thick from a lifetime of coaxing metal into shape, looked up as Nikyr entered. His ruddy complexion creased into a smile as he beckoned the journeyman closer with his mallet-like hands.

"Come in, my boy. Come in!"

Nikyr stepped closer and, as usual, tried not to notice the missing pinky on Master Kedrag's left hand. He knew all too well the dangers of working in their craft.

"You sent for me, Master?" Nikyr bowed his head in greeting, but his eyes were discretely cast to his left, where the dragon rider stood. At first, he could only see the blue leathers, neatly trimmed on a lean form, but as he straightened up, he found himself looking at a man around his age, with clear, azure eyes.

Nikyr was instantly curious. He'd often seen dragon riders in the Hall but rarely had an opportunity to converse with one, much less one so young that his golden skin had not yet weathered. They regarded each other candidly as they were introduced.

"Nikyr," Kedrag indicated the dragonrider as he spoke, "G'rain has asked if our Hall can do anything to help the queens' wings. There is concern that the flamethrowers stop working when in use, putting dragons and riders -- not to mention the land -- in danger." He shook his head, face grim before breaking into a smile again. "But! I remembered you had worked on a new design for the agenothree tanks." Kedrag tipped his head to look up at the taller journeyman. "Maybe your work on that can be modified here?"

Nikyr winced, but nodded at the rider in greeting before looking back at the master.

"The design had many flaws, Master." Nikyr tried to keep his voice neutral, almost succeeding. "It was unsafe."

Kedrag waved, as if to brush Nikyr's embarrassment away.

"Yes, yes, that was unfortunate in practice, but the ideas were sound. You don't give yourself enough credit. Who else even thought to work on that? Everyone's attention is elsewhere right now." The master clapped a hand on Nikyr's shoulder. "Maybe you should dust off those hides and see if you can help our dragonrider here."

Nikyr looked quizzically at his master.

"I am assigning you to assist the Weyr in this matter. Keep me informed of your progress."

Nikyr paled at the announcement, but nodded. The master turned back to his work, looking over his shoulder at the two men. "Well, go on." With a wave of his fingers, Kedrag dismissed them.

The journeyman turned to the rider and gestured towards the door, then followed closely behind the other as they left the chamber. As they entered the yard, however, the rider paused and turned to look at Nikyr.

"Is there a place we can discuss the details?" G'rain spoke quietly and Nikyr noted the mild, almost melodic tone.

"Of course, my workbench is this way," Nikyr pointed towards the main work building, smiling apologetically at the dragonrider. "The Master can be abrupt," he shrugged as explanation as they walked across the yard, "and I'm sorry to be caught unprepared," he brushed furtively at his clothes again, "but I'm sure we can help. I hope you don't mind a lot of questions."

The remainder of the afternoon was spent poring over designs, in detailed discussion with the rider. Despite his misgivings at having been assigned to a task he thought was too important for a journeyman such as himself, Nikyr was excited. The challenge of helping the Weyrs solve a problem and possibly create a mechanism that could benefit many was thrilling. His questions reflected his enthusiasm, rapidly fired at the rider. He barely waited for an answer sometimes before he quickly asked the next, a half-grin on his lips, forehead furrowed in concentration, stylus pressing into wax as he sketched ideas. It wasn't until the sound announced the evening meal that they both realized the time.

As Nikyr watched the rider walk away through the work yard, he grinned. There was still the nagging thought that he'd fail to come up with something viable, but this project was something he wanted to delve into, and he knew his mind would be churning through ideas for days, if not weeks.