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White Dragon by Anne McCaffrey. Chapter 15, 16

D’ram had listened, at first with surprise and then with a gleam of delight in his tired eyes. He straightened his shoulders and with a curt nod of his head, looked the Benden Weyrleader straight in the eye.

“You may rely on me, F’lar, to secure the South for that purpose. A grand purpose! By the First Shell, that’s a superb notion. That lovely land, soon dragonrider land!”

F’lar gripped D’ram’s arm, affirming the trust. Then his face broke into a sly smile. “If you hadn’t volunteered to go South yourself, D’ram, I was going to suggest it to you! You’re the only man to handle the situation. And I don’t envy you!”

D’ram chuckled at the Benden Weyrleader’s admission and returned the arm grip firmly. Then his expression cleared.

“I have grieved for my weyrmate as is proper. But I still live. I liked being in that cove, but it wasn’t enough. I was relieved when you came after me, and kept me busy, F’lar. It doesn’t answer to give up the only life I’ve known. I couldn’t. Dragonmen must fly/When Threads are in the sky I” He sighed once more, inclined his head respectfully to Lessa and then, turning smartly on his heel, strode from the weyr, his step firm, his stance proud.

“D’you think he can manage it, F’lar?”

“He’s more likely to pull it off than anyone … except possibly F’nor. But I can’t ask that of him. Or of Brekke!”

“I should think not!” She spoke sharply and, with a little cry as if regretting her asperity, she ran to embrace him. He put his arms about her, absently stroking her hair.

There are too many deep lines in his face, now, thought Lessa, lines that she hadn’t noticed before. His eyes were sad, his lips thin with worry as he gazed after D’ram. But the muscles in his arm were as strong as ever, and his body lean and hard with the active life he led. He’d been fit enough to preserve his skin against a madman. There’d only been one time when weakness had frightened F’lar-just after that knife fight at Telgar, when his wound had been slow to heal and he’d been sick with fever from foolishly going between. He’d learned a lesson then and had started delegating some of the strain of leadership to F’nor and T’gellan in Benden, to N’ton and R’mart in Pern, and to Lessa herself! Keenly sensible of her deep need of him, Lessa embraced F’lar fiercely.

He smiled down at her sudden demonstration, the tired lines smoothed away.

“I’m with you, dear heart, don’t worry!” He kissed her soundly enough to leave her no room for doubt of his vitality.

The sound of boot heels thudding rapidly down the short corridor interrupted them and they moved apart. Sebell, face flushed from running, charged into the room, checking his pace when Lessa signaled him urgently to be quieter.

“He’s all right?”

“He’s asleep now, but see for yourself, Sebell,” Lessa replied and gestured toward the curtained sleeping chamber.

Sebell rocked on his heels, wanting to reassure himself with a glimpse of his Master and anxious with fear he might disturb him.

“Go on, man.” F’lar waved him forward. “Just be quiet.”

Two firelizards winged into the room, squeaked when they saw Lessa and disappeared.

“I didn’t know you had two queens.”

“I don’t,” Sebell said, glancing over his shoulder to see where they’d gone. “The other one’s Menolly’s. She wasn’t allowed to come!” His grimace told both Weyrleaders how Menolly had reacted to that restriction.

“Oh, tell them to come back. I don’t eat firelizards!” Lessa said, curbing her irritation. She didn’t know which annoyed her more, the firelizards themselves, or the way people cringed about her when the subject came up. “And that little bronze of Robinton’s showed a commendable amount of common sense today. So tell Menolly’s queen to come back. If the firelizard sees, she’ll believe!”

Smiling with intense relief, Sebell held up his arm. Two queens popped in, eyes huge and whirling madly in their perturbation. One of them, Lessa didn’t know whose, since they all looked alike to her, chirped as if in thanks. Then Sebell, careful not to disrupt their balance and set them squeaking, walked with exaggerated care toward the sick man’s quarters.

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Categories: McCaffrey, Anne
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