sherlockbbc_fic

Author's note: So, I couldn't resist this. I really couldn't. I've written Sherlock fic before, but this is my first attempt at Pern fic (eech) so I hope that I did it justice. Pern etc clearly belong to the late, great Anne McCaffrey etc. as do the rhymes I quote and the title. I tried to set this in canon!Pern, but I couldn't get the characters to gel properly, so this is an alternate Pern, with no F'lar, Lessa etc. That's all I've got to say really, other than thanks for the awesome prompt. (Oh, and I apologise for the names).

~


They were coming. He could see them: silvery masses in the distance falling from the sky, devouring everything. He felt the revulsion, stomach churning and immediate, that was the natural response that every man or woman on Pern felt towards Thread when they saw it.

And the feeling of dread was compounded. Where were the dragons? Where was Maryth? He had to fly. He had to flame the Thread. That was what his duty as a dragonrider. How could he stand there while Thread fell. He could see it falling, but he could not move and where was Maryth? Where were the other dragons? They would be too late. The Thread would consume everything in its path and they would be too late.

He tried to call out, to warn someone. He stood in a Hold full of people, oblivious to the threat coming ever nearer. They went on with their daily business, moving around as though the Thread didn’t exist. The Thread alarm wasn’t ringing, the dragon on watch did nothing, but thread still fell, getting ever closer.

His voice stuck in his throat and his feet were rooted to the spot. He needed his dragon. Maryth, where was Maryth? The green should be chewing firestone by now. They needed to fly. He could feel panic rising inside him. The people still did nothing and Maryth was nowhere to be found. If he could just find Maryth, he would be fine. Everything would be fine if he could find her. They would fight the Thread and save the hold and…

Everything went black and numb, the burning heat he had felt, hotter than the plains of Igen in full summer, disappeared.

Gone, everything. He had gone between. Between without a dragon. How was that even possible? There was only blackness around him, only blackness everywhere and all he could feel was the cold. Just the cold.

He reminded himself to count. To go between from one place to another on a dragon lasted only as long as it took to count to three.

1... 2... 3...

There was still nothing. Just the cold. He couldn’t stay between. Not in the cold. He couldn’t. He just couldn’t. He hadn’t got Maryth – he could never leave between. He would be trapped there in the dark and the cold forever. Alone.

I am here.

Maryth.

You are not alone. I am here. You are here. We are together. You are not alone.

He was not alone.

*

Black, blacker, blackest,
And cold beyond frozen things.
Where is between if there is naught
To life but fragile dragons’ wings?

*

J’ohn awoke to the bitter taste of fellis juice being poured into his mouth. He must have tried to speak because some of it dribbled from the corners of his lips.

“J’ohn?” A voice asked. “He’s awake. Ella! He’s awake!”

Ella, the headwoman of Igen Weyr. If she was involved then it must be bad. His head felt fuzzy, this clearly wasn’t the first fellis that they’d fed him. He struggled to get up.

They don’t want you to move Maryth said to him. She sounded disapproving and tired. You were very sick.

“Sick?” he asked. The word felt heavy on his tongue.

“Yes, J’ohn,” Ella said. He opened his eyes and he could just make out her face, looking down at him. “The wound was infected, you’ve been running a fever for three days.”

Wound? John didn’t remember a wound, he couldn’t feel any pain apart from...

“Leg?”

“Your shoulder.”

Right, his shoulder, he remembered now. There had been a fight.

You need to sleep. Maryth instructed.

He informed her that he had slept enough.

You are still weak. Sleep and get strong, and then we can fly together again.

Yes, flying... J’ohn thought, relaxing back into the furs around him.

*

When J’ohn recovered enough to see to Maryth, which was barely after Ella had cleared him to get out of bed, he was horrified by the change he saw in her.

She had used to shine brilliantly in the sun, a dazzling green that had never failed to make John grin. But it seemed his illness had taken its toll on her as well. She looked more grey than green, even in the full noon sun.

Now you are well, I shall be well too, she told him, turning one huge pearlescent eye towards him.

“I’d prefer it if you were already well,” he said, raising a hand to her eye-ridge as he had so often done before. Her skin was as soft to the touch as ever. “Have you not eaten?”

You were unwell, Maryth said, as though this answered everything.

“I couldn’t get her to leave the weyr,” a familiar voice said from behind him. J’ohn turned to see M’ray in the entrance to his weyr. They closed the distance between them to clasp arms. “It’s good to see you up.”

“It’s good to be up. You’ve been taking care of Maryth?” J’ohn asked.

“As much as she’d let me. I oiled her skin when she needed it and I tried to get her out onto the hunting grounds, but she wouldn’t budge. I even got Bilth to talk to her, but he couldn’t make her move an inch.” J’ohn sighed. Bilth, M’ray’s blue, was one of the closest dragons to Maryth in the Weyr, he had even flown her a couple of times. If Bilth hadn’t managed, then no one could have done.

“Will you eat now?” he asked her. She cocked her head to one side and rose to her feet, with as much grace as she had ever had.

Of course.

*

“J’ohn.” L’sar said. The Igen Weyrleader looked weary and a new threadscore stood out on his cheek. J’ohn looked at the furious red mark rather than into L’sar’s eyes. The reminder that while he had been lying in fever dreams, the other riders of the Weyr had been fighting thread made his hand clench around the cup of klah he held.

His hand trembled like a leaf, and he couldn’t get it to stop. The fever still tugged at his body and made it betray him.

You will get well and strong. Maryth said with confidence in his head. She never stood for any nonsense on his part, unlike the stereotypical view most people had of green dragons.

“You understand that this incident cannot happen again,” L’sar said. J’ohn nodded.

“Of course.” Dragon riders did not fight duels like Holders or Crafters, they couldn’t afford to. Every hand and wing were needed to fight thread and if a dragonrider died then the Weyr lost a dragon as well, when it flew between, and that was to be avoided at all costs. “Things got out of hand.”

“I understand,” L’sar said slowly. “Tempers can run high, especially…” his eyes drifted out towards where Maryth sat on the fire heights. “Well…”

“Maryth had nothing to do with this,” J’ohn said abruptly. “He was trying to force himself on the girl.”

“There was a misunderstanding, yes,” L’sar said. J’ohn blinked at him.

“No,” he said as calmly as he could, putting the cup of klah down, just so he could flex his fingers into a tightly balled fist. “There wasn’t a misunderstanding. The girl said no – he forced the issue. I was forced to intervene.” He drew in a ragged breath.

“In situations like this, no one is truly to blame.”

They are going to send us away, Maryth said Kibeth says. Kibeth was L’sar’s bronze. J’ohn gritted his teeth. He does not like the solution. But it is the only solution they have.

“But you need to blame someone, so you’re going to blame me,” J’ohn said.

“That’s not what’s happening here,” L’sar said. J’ohn knew he was being placated. “It’s clear that the two of you are not going to get along and it will be best for everyone if you are separated.”

And Faranth forbid that anyone relocate a bronze rider and wingleader, J’ohn thought bitterly.

“M’croft at Fort has said that you are welcome to Fort Weyr.”

“Fort?!” J’ohn snapped. “You’re sending me to Fort? You’re exiling me?”

“This is not a punishment, J’ohn. You spent time in Fort hold when you were training at the Healer Hall, so you know the area and even some of the riders there.”

“And if I rode a bronze, you’d still be sending me?” J’ohn asked. His temper was barely reined in.

“This is not a punishment or a banishment, J’ohn. You will always be welcome here in Igen.”

“But you’re sending me half a continent away.”

“Time and distance are no object to dragons.”

“That’s not really the point though, is it?” J’ohn asked, he resolutely downed the rest of his klah and stood up. “How long do I have?” he asked.

“You may leave whenever you are ready.”

“No time like the present, then,” J’ohn said.

“Ella said that you weren’t yet cleared to fly between with your injuries. You should stay until you’re recovered.”

“I’ll fly direct. It shouldn’t take more than 24 hours,” J’ohn replied, choosing not to comment on the fact that L’sar’s face showed sheer relief at J’ohn’s willingness to leave.

“It has been an honour flying with you,” L’sar said, holding out his hand. J’ohn stared at it for a long second before taking it. He was not so angry that he would refuse to shake hands. He knew that L’sar was in an impossible position. Dragonriders could not fight each other, they could not risk their lives in such a way, and whether or not it was J’ohn’s fault, the fact remained that the Weyr could not afford to lose a wingleader, while a green here or there made little difference.

Without green dragons, they would never flame thread as well, Maryth said, and J’ohn could hear the pride in her tone.

No, they couldn’t, he agreed. Do you mind going to Fort?

You will be there, we shall recover and fight thread again, Maryth told him with the dragon equivalent of a shrug. The Fort Weyr dragons I have met have been friendly.

But what about the riders? J’ohn asked. Maryth did not reply. But J’ohn had heard stories about the Fort Weyrleader and his riders. They had unorthodox methods and the one time J’ohn had seen him – when he had come to speak with L’sar about something – J’ohn had been struck by how unlike a dragonrider he had looked, so cold and distant, ever-so controlled.

We leave tonight? Maryth asked.

J’ohn looked to the sun in the sky, well past noon already and told her that they would rest for the night and fly out tomorrow.

*

The ride from Igen to Fort was a long one, when taken direct, and J’ohn realised that he had been spoilt by flying between for so many years.

Between is better, Maryth complained.

I’m under strict orders, J’ohn replied, patting her neck affectionately.

It would make you unwell again, Maryth agreed. Then, almost cheekily, she pulled her wings in and dropped from the thermal they were riding for a few seconds, before spreading her wings out again and soaring back upwards. J’ohn laughed with delight. Flying with me is never boring, she said, a little smugly.

No, J’ohn agreed.

O, Tongue, give sound to joy and sing,
Of hope and promise on dragon wing!

*

He had, as so many other boys had, longed to be a dragonrider when he was young, looking up at the beasts flying overhead and wondering what it felt like to be up there, but he had never really believed it would happen to him. He had been the son of a small holder, after all: a nobody in the great scheme of things. Little boys from the middle of nowhere did not become dragonriders. It was enough that the healer in his hold had seen he had some talent for the craft and convinced his family to send him to the Healer Crafthall at Fort to be trained, that had been enough, even if sometimes he did still dream of riding a flaming dragon through the skies of Pern. He felt guilty now that the dragon in his dreams had always been bronze or brown.

We hadn’t Impressed then, Maryth said, reading his memories easily. She sounded smug again, which was getting to be a habit he should probably break her of, but he couldn’t help but smile.

And now I would never dream of flying anyone else, he assured her. She made a contented rumble and turned on a wing tip, playfully darting this way and that.

Show off. Maryth didn’t reply.

He had been a journeyman healer in Keroon when the Search party had come from Igen Weyr. By then he had been convinced that he was too old to be Searched, but the Search dragon had disagreed and he had found himself on the hot sands of the Hatching ground with the other candidates, listening to the dragons hum and watching the eggs crack open.

There were no words for the moment of Impression, nothing before or after had ever compared to it. But he had Impressed Maryth and he had known that he would never be truly alone again.

The sea glistened below them and Maryth dove until they were practically skimming the waves. He could smell the salt of it and smiled at the feeling of the wind in his face. Her colour was still greyish, but her spirits were clearly high.

As they flew he saw some shipfish leaping through the water a little way from them and he watched them for a bit.

They rested on the far beaches of Ista island for J’ohn to have some of the lunch that Ella had insisted he take with him, and Maryth had bathed a little in the sea water. She knew better than to try and drink it, after what happened the first time they had been at the seaside, but she did enjoy swimming.

They set off again, J’ohn full of red fruit and cold wherry meat, and set off North West towards Fort.

Maryth seemed to decide that it was time to stretch her wings a bit, and J’ohn found that they were going faster and faster, the world around them racing by. He cautioned her against tiring herself out, but her only response was that it would take more than a little flying to wear out her wings, so he let her enjoy herself, and settled into his riding harness to enjoy the journey.

*

It was strange arriving in a foreign Weyr, especially as close to night as they did. The bugle of the Watch dragon on the heights was unfamiliar and his rider wore brown and black on his badge, rather than the Igen Weyr yellow and black J’ohn was used to. While the Watch dragon did not seem surprised to see Maryth and J’ohn, with all their worldly possessions strapped on her back, he did rouse some other dragons at their approach.

The Weyrleader is away, Maryth said. We’re to wait on the heights for Greth and his rider to show us our quarters. She drifted to the heights as instructed, circling slightly to give J’ohn a chance to see their new home. Fort was the oldest Weyr, and you could tell somehow. There was something about the construction in the cliff face that showed clearly. But the differences were in specifics, not generalities. Like all of the Weyrs it was essentially a stone basin, with individual dragon weyrs carved out of the rock face. There was a lake, a plain for herd beasts and, of course, a finger rock and an eye rock, located with pin point accuracy for their unique and vital task. It was the biggest of the Weyrs as well, and J’ohn could have told that even if he hadn’t already known.

They set down on the heights and John jumped down from Maryth’s neck, ignoring the tiredness that seemed to be embedded in his bones, and the way his leg and his hand felt weak.

What do you think? He asked Maryth.

It is not home, she said, sounding a little regretful. I do not know any of the dragons here.

You’ll get to know them, John assured her.

Greth comes, Maryth said, interrupting their conversation.

John peered where Maryth’s head had turned to look and saw a large brown dragon sweeping towards them, his rider on his neck. It landed, expertly, between Maryth and a nearby blue and the rider looked down at them.

“J’ohn?” he called.

“Yes,” J’ohn answered. “I’m afraid Maryth only told me Greth’s name, not yours.”

“They’re all like that,” the brown rider said, jumping down, but patting Greth’s leg to take the sting of his comment away. “I got your name from M’croft. I’m L’strade.”

J’ohn shook his hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, L’strade, Greth.” The brown turned its head to him and nodded in acknowledgment of the greeting.

“He says it’s nice to meet you too, J’ohn, rider of Maryth. Greetings to both of you,” L’strade said, bowing a little to Maryth. “Though I’m sorry about the circumstances.”

J’ohn restrained himself from asking what L’strade had heard. If he had been told about J’ohn’s coming by M’croft, it seemed likely that he would have enough of the story, so J’ohn just nodded.

“You’re to be in my wing when you’re fit again,” L’strade said. J’ohn blinked in honest surprise. Traditionally wingleaders were bronze riders, not brown. L’strade noticed his astonishment with amusement.

“Don’t worry, everyone looks like that when they find out. You’ll get used to it,” he paused. “We do things a little differently here at Fort from how you’re used to.”

“So I’ve heard,” J’ohn said.

“M’croft will be back tomorrow and you’re to go to see him in the morning, but for now, I’m going to show you your weyr and make sure you know where things are.”

“Right, thanks.”

*

The tour of the Weyr had not taken long, which J’ohn was grateful for because the exhaustion was setting in in earnest.

The weyr they had been assigned was not small – if anything it was slightly bigger than the one he and Maryth had had at Igen, but it was not as warm, despite the underground heating system that Fort was always so proud of. J’ohn ended up sleeping at Maryth’s side, and even that didn’t stop the nightmares coming.

The same nightmares always: the Hold, unaware, Thread coming ever closer until it was almost falling on him, and then, of course, the sudden cold and dark of between. Alone. Always alone.

He woke in a cold sweat to find Maryth twitching beside him, caught in her own bad dreams. He soothed her gently until his own shaking subsided enough for him to fall back asleep.

The morning dawned and J’ohn forced himself to walk to the Weyrleader’s chambers, dreading the meeting. It had been made clear to him by L’sar that all the blame for the incident at Igen Weyr was going to be put onto him, and he dreaded to think what M’croft was going to think of him. A green rider who had started a fight with a bronze rider. It was unthinkable.

A woman who was unmistakeably the Fort Weyrwoman, Anthea, was sitting in the antechamber, poring over hides with a curious looking contraption. She didn’t look up as he came in but waved him through and he felt a little at a loss. Jenfa, the Igen Weyrwoman had been a formidable woman, but she had always talked to you when you passed her. She had been interested and involved in everything in the Weyr.

“Come in, J’ohn,” a voice commanded and J’ohn walked in.

M’croft looked exactly like J’ohn remembered him from his only previous memory of the man, he was not wearing wherhide, but the clothes he did wear looked no less like battle gear, even if they would not have been out of place on a Lord Holder at a feast. He smiled at J’ohn, but there did not seem to be any honest feeling behind the expression, in fact, J’ohn had the idea that the same smile was turned on anybody who walked through that door, from holders refusing to tithe to weyrlings who had allowed their dragon to overfeed, even the Weyrwoman, perhaps.

“Please sit down,” M’croft said, indicating one of the ornately carved wooden chairs. J’ohn did not take it. He could feel his leg protest, but he refused to give in. This was not a man to show weakness in front of, he could already sense that.

“Sir,” he said, instead. That made the Weyrleader’s smile twitch a little, as though he had had a moment of genuine emotion, but it was gone as soon as it had come.

“J’ohn, I did not bring you here to unsettle you in any way. Please sit. Your leg must be hurting you.”

“I was stabbed in the shoulder, not the leg,” J’ohn replied, tersely.

“And yet it is your leg that causes you pain,” M’croft said. “I have always found it fascinating how the brain works.” J’ohn couldn’t reply to that, and he wasn’t sure he was meant to. He clearly wasn’t, because M’croft continued on. “As I said, I did not bring you here to unsettle you, but you are a new rider in my Weyr, however unusually that situation may have arisen, and I find it is always best to talk to new riders.”

Is he being serious? J’ohn asked Maryth.

Diogeneth says nothing, she said, sounding a little confused. J’ohn noticed the smile on M’croft’s face twitch again.

“You have noticed already, of course, that the ways of Fort Weyr are not the ways of other Weyrs.”

“I have,” J’ohn agreed. He still wasn’t sure what this conversation was about. It didn’t feel like a ‘getting to know you’ chat, but it didn’t feel exactly like a warning chat either.

“I have always felt that to limit people to certain roles based merely on the colour of the dragon that they Impressed is a closed-minded and short-sighted way of doing things. While it is true that no blue has ever yet proved to have the stamina to fly a queen, it does not necessarily follow that no blue ever will. A brown rider as a Weyrleader is not only a possibility, I would suggest that it is, in fact, an inevitability.”

J’ohn blinked.

“Is this about L’strade?” he asked.

“Will you feel comfortable under the command of a brown rider?” M’croft asked.

“I don’t see how that’s any of my business.”

“You will be in his wing.”

“I barely know the man, or his dragon. I could hardly make a decision about his leadership skills based on five minutes of having met him.”

“I have met others who have thought they could,” M’croft commented.

“I’m sure if he managed to get the job then he’s good at it…” especially as he rode a brown, to be honest. M’croft was right about the colour prejudices in Weyrs, it seemed more likely that L’strade was overqualified for his position given the problems he must have had getting it.

“Excellent. Just a few extra addenda,” M’croft said, looking down at the papers in front of him.

“I believe that you trained as journeyman healer before your Impression, a useful talent, I hope you do not mind if I put it to use. We are lucky enough to have a couple of trained healers in the lower halls, but with Thread falling, we can always use more. I believe there is also an old acquaintance of yours currently staying here – a Harper by the name of Stamford?”

“Stamford?” J’ohn said, his mouth falling open. “How did you…?”

“He’s a master harper now, and the Harper Hall has been kind enough to post him here to aid in the education of the weyrlings and to serve as entertainer. I’m sure the two of you will have much to catch up on.”

“Right,” J’ohn said, gaining control of himself again.

“You are to spend the next weeks recovering, I believe Molly and Sarah, the two healers I mentioned earlier, are expecting you. We will review your duties in a couple of weeks, based on your health and how well you are fitting in.”

J’ohn nodded and turned to go.

“One more thing, J’ohn,” M’croft said, his voice ringing out clear and true.

“Yes?”

“My brother, Sh’lock. You’ll see him around, but he can be rather abrasive. I suggest you avoid him as much as possible. It shouldn’t be difficult to do, he does dislike company.”

“You want me to avoid your brother?” J’ohn asked, but M’croft had already looked back down at his desk, reading over reports.

J’ohn wandered back into the ante chamber and saw Anthea smiling, though she still didn’t look up.

“Is he always like that?” he asked, knowing that it was rude, but unable to contain the question. She glanced up and smiled.

“Nice to meet you, J’ohn,” she said, “They’re waiting for you in the lower halls.”

“Right,” J’ohn said, pausing another second to look at her before shaking his head and leaving.

He had never had many meetings with L’sar; green riders, as a rule, didn’t. Though Weyrs did not have anywhere near the hierarchy that Holds and Crafts did, there was still a pecking order and greens were, naturally, at the bottom of it.

He reached out to Maryth, for reassurance rather than anything else.

Diogeneth says that it’s time to choose a side, she said, sounding a little confused.

What?

That’s all he said, Maryth told him. And Anneath agrees. Anneath – the Senior Fort Queen, Anthea’s gold dragon. Time to choose a side?

“A side for what?” he asked himself.

He was heading down to the lower caverns when a tall, thin man in riding gear strode past him, almost knocking him off his feet.

“Hey!” J’ohn called out. The man looked behind him. “Watch where you’re going.”

“No time!” the man called back, his tone not apologetic but entirely dismissive.

“Right,” J’ohn said. “No time to consider normal people, of course not,” he glared at his left hand, which was shaking again and cursed his body for being ridiculous.

Healing takes time – like growing, Maryth pointed out, and reminding him of how he had chided her for her own impatience when she had been newly hatched.

It doesn’t help, he told her.

I know.

*

The Fort Weyr headwoman was an older woman, but J’ohn would bet that she was tough as old wherhide. She made him a cup of klah and smiled kindly, but, much like Ella, she had the same no-nonsense attitude to dragonriders and their dragons. She told J’ohn in no uncertain terms that his impatience was going to cause Maryth more harm than good and that he needed to remember to walk before he flew.

Sarah, the healer M’croft had mentioned, was of a similar attitude. She examined J’ohn’s shoulder efficiently and told him that he was an idiot for flying the distance from Igen to Fort so soon. Her manner was professional, and she wore the purple, brown and black that signified her as Fort Weyr’s healer-in-residence with a calm professionalism. She was pretty too, and J’ohn found himself flirting with her, happy when she flirted back a little, though she was clearly used to riders trying their charms against her.

“Molly?” she called and a younger woman came up, also wearing the colours of a master healer and carrying a jar of numbweed. She smiled at J’ohn a little nervously and put it down on the top. J’ohn had a vague recollection of her – a big eyed apprentice newly arrived at the Healer Hall in Fort when he had received his posting as a journeyman. He smiled at her.

Whatever else Sarah had to say about the shocking way he was treating his body, it was cut off when his name – his old, full name, without the honorific abbreviation – was called across the cavern.

He turned to see Stamford, decked out in Fort Weyr brown and Harper blue, standing on the other side, next to a bowl full of tubers.

“It’s J’ohn now,” he said, with a grin, trying to stand up, but Sarah pushed him back down with a finger to the breastbone.

“Of course, of course,” Stamford said, rushing forward. The years had been good to him, and Weyr meals even better if his waistline was anything to go by. “You look…”

“Rough,” J’ohn said. “Don’t worry, I know.”

“I heard what happened,” Stamford agreed.

“Does everyone know?” J’ohn asked, twisting round in his seat.

“Harpers have their ways,” Stamford told him, tapping a finger against his nose. “Nothing gets past a Harper.”

“Much less a master harper,” J’ohn said, “Last thing I knew you didn’t even want to be a journeyman.”

“Apprentices have more fun,” Stamford said with a world-weary sigh. “The good old days.”

“Getting lost in the Harper hall?”

“Forging notes to get out of musical theory lessons,” Stamford said with a sigh. “Remember that time you helped me lace old Morshal’s drink with fellis?” J’ohn did, but the reminiscences grated, though he couldn’t be sure why. It seemed such a long time ago that he had been so… different. He had been a Healer then, not a dragonrider. There had been no Maryth and no Thread falling from the sky.

“I hear you’re the teacher now,” J’ohn said and Stamford followed the change in subject like an expert. It seemed that someone had taught the man tact.

“Yes – it's rewarding and frustrating in equal measure,” Stamford assured him.

“You’ll need to rest the shoulder,” Sarah said, interrupting them. “And when I say rest, I mean rest.” She thrust a finger underneath J’ohn’s nose. “I know every trick in the book. You really should have waited longer before flying here, you know. Yesterday put too much stress on you and your dragon.”

J’ohn meekly acquiesced as she secured a new bandage over the wound, and told her that he would do exactly as she instructed. He assured her that he would not fly until she gave him express permission to do so. Sadly, before he could continue with their flirting from before, she was called away as Molly found a weyrling who had managed to break his arm clambering around the Weyr.

“They’re all far too active,” Stamford complained. “Running here and there, I thought apprentice harpers were bad, but they’ve nothing on the weyrbred.”

*

J’ohn had been in Fort Weyr for three days before he had his first real introduction to Sh’lock, rider of Bronze Hamith. He, like his brother, was descended from a long line of Weyrleaders, and rumour had it that his lineage went right back to the rider of Faranth, the most famous queen dragon ever to fly through the skies of Pern. J’ohn wasn’t sure that he credited that, but he would give it to the pair of them, that there was no one like them anywhere else on Pern.

J’ohn was roused from his bed by Maryth, though she wouldn’t say what was the matter, just that she wanted him to come to her. Now, please.

He threw on some clothes and went. You didn’t ignore your dragon when she called you, not if you had any sense.

She was standing by the lake alone, the other dragons being gone on training manoeuvres, staring at a man who stood in front of her.

“Look,” the man was saying, “I don’t know why you’re being so difficult about this.”

“Shards!” J’ohn muttered, hurrying the last few metres. “What in the egg is going on here?” The man whirled on him.

“I presume you’re the rider. Your dragon is refusing to take part in a simple experiment.”

“You want to experiment on Maryth.”

“Yes, and she is refusing.”

He wishes to ride me, Maryth said. </i> No one rides me but J’ohn.</i> She said the last not to J’ohn himself but… to the other rider.

“You can hear her?” he asked. The man rolled his eyes.

“Obviously.”

“That’s amazing,” J’ohn said, blinking in astonishment. The man looked a little startled, before he went on.

“Now tell her to help me.”

“No,” J’ohn said, smothering his awe at being in the presence of someone who, like Moreta and Torene, two of the most famous Weyrwomen Pern had ever had, could hear and talk to all dragons.

“What?” the man asked, looking completely shocked by the refusal.

“No, you can’t ride Maryth,” J’ohn said.

“I need smaller subject,” the man said. “Hamith is too large to be of use.”

J’ohn paused for a moment and then looked towards the south where a large bronze dragon was sunning itself.

“Hamith?” he said slowly. “You’re… You’re Sh’lock. M’croft’s brother.”

“Yes. Honestly! Must you state the obvious? In order to get the results I need, I need a smaller, lighter dragon. Yours is perfect. Let me ride her.”

“No,” J’ohn said again.

“No?”

“No.”

“This is vitally important. I need to be able to…”

“Maryth’s not well, she’s not supposed to be flying yet, and when she is well enough to fly, no one’s going to fly her but me. Shards! You’re weyrbred, you should know better than to try and fly someone else’s dragon – especially without asking.”

“No time! You weren’t available.”

“You’re unbelievable… I’m only going to say this one more time. You. Cannot. Ride. Maryth.”

Sh’lock threw up his hands in frustration.

“Honestly, are you so mired in the fusty, hidebound ideas of tradition that you’d stand in the way of true progress. The results I get from this test might be essential in providing a far less dangerous method of fighting Thread.”

“You’re serious.”

“Of course I’m serious!” Sh’lock began to explain something about the interaction of the spores with wind and agenothree, a lot of things that J’ohn did not understand at all.

I can fly, Maryth said. Hamith says that this experiment really will help, and that his rider is very bad at explaining.

Sh’lock continued, clearly too involved with his rant to notice Maryth’s comment. “Why am I even bothering to explain this to you? You’re even more of an idiot than-”

“I’ll do it,” J’ohn said.

“What?” Sh’lock stopped, stared at him, eyes narrowing in assessment.

“You only need results, right. I’ll get them for you,” J’ohn said. “Just let me get my harness.”

“I’ll need you to do exactly what I say, when I say it.”

“Well, you can talk to Maryth, right? You tell her, she tells me. That’s practically instant communication.”

“Well…” Sh’lock seemed torn.

“I’m not letting you ride her, but I’ll ride her for you. That’s my only offer.”

“Fine.”

*

Sh’lock’s experiment involved something to do with the spray patterns of agenothree from the air. Hamith kindly explained to Maryth that the power of his own wingbeats tended to cause problematic air-currents that shouldn’t be as much of an issue with Maryth’s light frame, especially underfed as she currently was. J’ohn bristled a little at the comment, but Maryth told him that Hamith wasn’t trying to be rude, merely stating facts.

When they came back down to the ground again, Sh’lock seemed fascinated by the results and complimented Maryth on her ability to hover and her turning circle. He seemed to almost forget that J’ohn was there.

“You’re welcome,” J’ohn said to the back of Sh’lock’s head.

Hamith says that his rider will not speak now for several hours. We should leave. The others are returning.

J’ohn noticed that Maryth’s colour was looking better and she preened a little under his attention.

I like to fly, she said.

J’ohn, whose leg was feeling the weight of walking again, couldn’t help but agree with her.

*

J’ohn reported to his first wing meeting as promptly as he could, though his leg was still slowing him down. He came in just in time to see L’strade berating Sh’lock.

“What were you thinking? Training manoeuvres are essential… You can’t miss one, Sh’lock.”

“Dull!” Sh’lock said, and J’ohn stared. The bronze rider was in L’strade’s wing… and not even wingsecond from what J’ohn could see. His world tilted a bit.

“So keeping people alive and destroying Thread is dull? Is it Sh’lock.”

“Same manoeuvres every time. Things everyone already knows. Traditional methods, traditional formations. DULL!”

“And what, exactly, was more interesting than training?” L’strade asked. Sh’lock mumbled something. “Pardon?”

“Experiment,” Sh’lock said.

“Oh Shells!” a young green rider said from the corner, rolling her eyes. “Freaks been experimenting again.”

“Tell me you didn’t go near Illanth’s newest clutch.”

“Of course not. Not experimenting on dragon eggs… Dull,” Sh’lock dismissed the idea. “Agenothree spray patterns.”

“Agenothree?” a blue rider said with a snort, “What, do you want to join the Queen’s wing now. Should we get you a flame thrower?”

“Firstly, agenothree and flame throwers are clearly not the same thing,” Sh’lock said, turning on the blue rider. “Secondly, there wouldn’t be any need for agenothree spray or flame throwers if you weren’t so abysmal at getting Thread while it was in the sky, N’derson.” J’ohn bit back a small chuckle. “Tell me, did you or Forenth manage to flame anything in the last Fall, or were you trying to miss?”

“How dare you?” N’derson rose to his feet.

“Sit down!” L’strade said. “Sh’lock. You do your experiments in your own time. Not during training, not during Thread fall, you hear me.”

“The presence of other dragons would have upset the conditions,” Sh’lock said, grumbling, but he seemed to acquiesce.

“However, Sh’lock did bring up something I’d been meaning to mention myself. We’re getting sloppy.” L’strade turned around and saw J’ohn standing in the entrance. “Ah, right. Forgot you were joining us this week.” He waved for the other riders to make room on the benches for J’ohn, and they did so. “This is J’ohn, though I’m sure the way that dragons gossip you all already know that. He and Maryth have just transferred from Igen Weyr with some injuries and they’re going to be joining us when they’ve recovered fully.”

J’ohn saw a few heads leaning towards each other as more of that gossip was passed on. He wondered what it was saying at the moment, whether he had been thrown out of Igen in disgrace for battling the Weyrleader. He tried to ignore it, and the way his knee threatened to give way, and raised his hand in greeting.

Sh’lock ignored him, pushing past to leave through the door.

“Don’t mind him,” L’strade said. “He’s always like that. Never stays for the meeting. But he’s good enough in the air.”

“Freak can probably speak to Thread as well,” the green rider from before said.

“That’s enough of that, Sally,” L’strade said. “He and Hamith make a good team, and having someone who can speak to dragons on the wing is always useful.”

“Apart from when he tells your dragon to do something mid flight,” N’derson said.

“If he hadn’t redirected Forenth then you’d have both have ended up between,” L’strade said. “That clump was heading right for you.” N’derson didn’t comment. “Anyway, now Sh’lock’s drama’s over. Let’s get back to basics. D’mok, I know you and F’dron are weyrmates now, but flying so close together only causes problems…”

*

Hamith’s rider approaches, Maryth said, two days later. He wishes us to fly again.

Sh’lock walked into J’ohn’s weyr without knocking.

“No,” J’ohn said, without looking up. He had received a letter from Igen Weyr, sent by M’ray, and he was still reading it.

“You don’t even know what I want to ask yet,” Sh’lock said. He didn’t sound the same as usual and when J’ohn looked up he could see that the man was smirking. For once, he didn’t seem distracted.

“You want to ask me to fly Maryth again, for another one of your little experiments. She told me. And the answer is no. She’s not recovered. I have a shoulder wound to think about. No.”

“The shoulder wound that you got from a bronze rider,” Sh’lock said, stepping forwards. “Why fight a bronze rider?”

“I’m sure the story’s half way to the Red Star by now,” J’ohn said with a sigh. “You must have heard.”

“Not the truth. The gossip says that you went mad because the man approached your weyrmate and you lunged at him.” J’ohn chuckled.

“How do you know that isn’t the truth.”

“You don’t have a weyrmate, you’re not the sort to go mad and Maryth’s far too sensible a dragon to have spurred you on as they say she did.”

“You’re making a lot of assumptions based on next to no knowledge of me. We’ve only seen each other three times.”

“Four,” Sh’lock said. “I bumped into you on your first day here, and I learnt everything I needed to know right then…”

“If you learnt everything you needed to know, why are you asking?” J’ohn asked, finally setting the letter aside, though he hadn’t read a word in the last few minutes. He met Sh’lock’s gaze, and Sh’lock’s smirk faltered.

“I didn’t know why.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“You don’t have a weyrmate because you’ve adjusted far too well to life here at Fort, neither you nor Maryth has shown any sign of pining for someone, and you haven’t had any visitors, which implies there was no one left behind there who cared enough to visit you – no weyrmate. I know you didn’t instigate the fight because the day you arrived here I barged past you in the corridor, you commented, but you weren’t especially angry, if you were the type to attack bronze riders at the slightest provocation then you would at least have taken a swing at me, and as for Maryth – I have spoken to her frequently.”

“You talk to my dragon,” J’ohn said.

“You already knew that.”

“I didn’t know that you’d been having length secret conversations with her.”

“She’s moderately more intelligent than most dragons, which is impressive for a green,” Sh’lock said. “Now, I need you to fly.”

“And I said no.”

“Your wound’s healed. Sarah’s being over cautious. You and Maryth are more than ready to go between.”

“Between?” J’ohn asked. “No, Sh’lock. I’m not risking my dragon’s health just to indulge your… whim.”

I feel like I could fly, Maryth said. I’m not afraid.

“I’m not afraid, either!” J’ohn snapped at her, out loud. Sh’lock grinned.

“So you’ll come.”

“What do you want me to do?” J’ohn asked, Sh’lock didn’t answer, just walked out, as though he was expecting J’ohn to follow him, though J’ohn wasn’t even in his wherhide riding gear yet. “Sh’lock! Shards!”

Hamith says it could be dangerous, Maryth told him.

“Excellent,” J’ohn said, but he started pulling on his riding clothes a little more eagerly, trying to push down the part of him that felt the thrill of excitement, the same thrill that he felt whenever he flew against Thread, Maryth flaming beneath him.

*

“So, are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

“We have to leave quickly. My brother’s away, and I want to be gone before he realises what I’m doing.”

“You want me to do this against the Weyrleader’s wishes.”

“You have no problems going up against a bronze rider when he is in the wrong, despite him being fully armed and clad in wherhide, while you wore ordinary cloth, but you balk at flying without your Weyrleader’s express permission.”

“I’d rather not get moved to another Weyr again, if it’s all the same to you… Though I have heard that Benden’s quite nice at this time of year.” Though sadly, it would mean living in the same place as his sister again and what fresh hell would that be?

“And they get a higher tithe of Benden wine than the rest of us – which I imagine would be an incentive to you.”

“I would never say no to a cup of Benden wine,” J’ohn agreed. Sh’lock smiled and J’ohn realised that he was going to do this, no matter how mad it was. Sh’lock had two strange contraptions strapped onto the side of his riding harness. “What are they?”

“Thread falls in two hours over the Southern continent,” Sh’lock said. “It’ll start from the sea and then work its way in.

“We don’t have any timetables for the Southern continent,” J’ohn pointed out. “How can you possibly know when Thread’s going to fall?”

“Because I’ve created one.”

“What does Thread falling on the Southern continent have to do with anything anyway?” J’ohn asked.

“Because that’s where we’re going,” Sh’lock said.

“We’re going to the Southern continent?” J’ohn asked. “How? We don’t have any bearings. And you said between.”

“I have been there, J’ohn,” Sh’lock said. Exasperation was clear in his tone. “You don’t think I managed to plan a Thread timetable without ever having been to the place. I’ll give Maryth the image she’ll need for the jump.”

“So I’ve got to trust you with my life and Maryth’s?”

“You already do,” Sh’lock said. J’ohn opened his mouth to protest, but he couldn’t come up with an answer. “Come on, J’ohn. M’croft will be back soon.”

J’ohn swung himself up onto Maryth’s neck, settling between the neck ridges that were so perfectly positioned it was as though she was made for him.

“Right then. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

*

J’ohn had not been between since the nightmares had started on his sick bed, and it took all his concentration to keep himself steady in that black nothingness as he counted, carefully, to three.

When they came out on the other side, he was sweating and his hands were clenched into the straps of his riding harness so tight that even through wherhide gloves he could feel them cutting into his hands.

Sh’lock, it turned out, did know what he was doing. He got them to the coast of the Southern continent easily, with only the usual amount of time in between, and J’ohn and Maryth emerged uninjured on the other side, J’ohn’s shoulder barely stinging more than the rest of him did from the cold.

“So, why are we here?” J’ohn asked, attempting to cover up the remains of his fear.

“Because thread is going to fall here, and it’s outside the responsibility of any Weyr,” Sh’lock said.

“We’re going to flame Thread?” J’ohn asked. Sh’lock looked at him.

“No, we’re going to catch it.”

*

The fall started exactly when Sh’lock had predicted it would, and J’ohn’s mind rebelled at the act of simply watching it fall.

I need firestone, Maryth said. I need to flame, but Hamith and his rider say we must not.

John stroked her neck carefully with his hand.

Not today, he told her carefully. We will fly against Thread again, but not today.

It is wrong to watch, Maryth told him, and J’ohn privately agreed.

They waited until it drew a bit nearer, J’ohn gripping one of the contraptions from Sh’lock’s harness, which it turned out were Thread catching devices.

Sh’lock says we fly now, Mayryth said, moving towards the shining, writhing, masses of Thread.

It was not the same as flying in a full wing of dragons against Thread, it was not the same at all. It was, strangely, both better and worse. There was the horrific feeling of not fighting the menace, that cut J’ohn down to the quick, but at the same time, there was the knowledge that it was just him, Maryth, Sh’lock and Hamith against all of it, There were no other wings above, below or beside them, and the Thread rained down, unstoppable, leaving J’ohn to dodge and weave through the clumps, narrowly avoiding scoring half a dozen times or more.

There was a heart-stopping moment when Sh’lock determined to catch one elusive Thread, pursued it into the path of a large cluster of the silvery masses. J’ohn didn’t even think before diving after them and using Maryth’s bulk and momentum to knock the pair off their collision course.

Sh’lock turned angrily towards them, but Maryth or Hamith must have spoken to him because he turned to look at the Thread they had narrowly missed and let the matter slide.

It was more difficult to catch than he had imagined. Although it seemed as though Thread fell everywhere, he could not just hold out his contraption and wait. You needed to track a clump, follow it down, avoiding all the other clumps as you did so and time it perfectly to get the stuff into the device. He missed three times, but eventually caught some and Maryth winked them between and out of the Fall to where Sh’lock was waiting, having caught some of his own.

They didn’t go back to the Weyr immediately, but went to rest on one of the nearby beaches so that Sh’lock could examine his catch. The man was… disturbing.

J’ohn could not look at the hideous stuff that they had caught without his stomach churning at the idea of it: its hunger and its destructive force. But Sh’lock looked at it like a problem, as though it was fascinating.

Unable to watch any longer, J’ohn fetched some redfruit from a nearby tree and settled down to some lunch, along with the bread Sh’lock seemed to have remembered to pack… though clearly not for himself.

Hamith says we are to help ourselves, Maryth said. I have not eaten recently, and the wherries here seem large.

J’ohn told her to enjoy herself and she flew off. She was still a little grey around the edges, he noticed, but she looked more herself than she had done since he had woken from his fever dreams.

“You’re not going to tell me what you want it for, are you?” J’ohn said, lying down in the sand. The sky above was clear and beautiful, the sun warm.

“We fight it, Turn after turn,” Sh’lock said, startling J’ohn. “Pass after pass, ever since the first dragons flew in these skies. And yet, we know nothing about it, other than that it is clearly a parasite that devours everything in its path. How can we ever expect to fight it properly if we do not know what we are fighting?”

“That makes sense,” J’ohn told him.

“Of course it makes sense. It’s not my fault that the Harpers and their ridiculous songs have put the fear and loathing of Thread into most people on this planet at such a primal level that they cannot stand to think of the thing.” J’ohn glanced over to see Sh’lock’s face twisted in a grimace. “Fear blinds people to logic.”

“M’croft is too busy romancing the Lord Holders out of their goods and the Crafters out of their Craft secrets to turn his mind to Thread.”

“I thought you said he’d be after us…”

“Oh, he will be,” Sh’lock said. “But Anneath will have risen by now, and he won’t let anyone but Diogeneth fly her.”

J’ohn sat up in surprise.

“Anneath’s rising?” he asked.

“Has risen,” Sh’lock said, “a while ago.”

“And you and Hamith are here?” J’ohn said. Sh’lock glanced over at him to point out how stupid that observation was. “I mean… shouldn’t you be… there.”

“Why?”

“Hamith’s a bronze… It’s… I mean…” J’ohn sputtered out. “Bronzes fly queens. It’s what bronze riders do.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not like most riders, J’ohn. I have no desire to be Weyrleader, nor do I have any desire for the Weyrwoman. My brother is welcome to both.”

“But what about Hamith?”

The bronze turned his heavy-lidded eyes towards him.

“Hamith and I are in agreement on this point.”

Hamith says that Diogeneth flies Anneath, Maryth said. That is how it is. She did not seem as confused by the idea as J’ohn was, so he let it go.

“Right,” J’ohn said. “So do you always do this, then? Find somewhere else to be when a queen’s about to rise?” Sh’lock looked up at him and then around.

“Yes.”

“Alright then,” J’ohn said, nodding to himself.

“What?” Sh’lock asked, narrowing his eyes.

“I said alright. It’s alright. Everything’s fine.”

“You’re not going to tell me that weyrbred people should be less prudish?” Sh’lock asked.

“You’ve never struck me as a prude, Sh’lock,” J’ohn said. It was true that weyrfolk had a different view on sexuality, though it was nowhere near the rumours that flew around the Holds. J’ohn had never been told directly when he was growing up, of course, but there was always the whisper of the goings on at the Weyr. The truth was, of course, when dragons were involved, things tended to get more complicated – and less complicated. Dragon mating flights broadcast desire to everyone within hearing distance, and when it was your dragon involved, as J’ohn knew, you couldn’t help but go along for the ride. He had worried about it constantly until the first time Maryth had risen, and then he had come to an arrangement. There was a warning before any green or gold dragon rose to mate, you could see it in her colour, and most seasoned green riders would find someone they were actually interested in and make sure that they were in the right place at the right time.

Gold dragons’ mating flights were somewhat different, and J’ohn could understand why Sh’lock would avoid them – and if Hamith wasn’t interested then it wasn’t like anyone was missing out.

“So you’re not…” Sh’lock said. J’ohn shrugged.

“Everyone’s different.”

“Right,” Sh’lock said, still staring at him for another long moment before turning back to poke at the Thread again.

Maryth had just returned from her hunting, satisfied and smug, the sunset turning her green hide a curious hazel, when Sh’lock announced that they should be getting back.

They mounted, and went between, the cold gripping them tight for a few seconds before they were above Fort Weyr again.

They landed on the heights and J’ohn followed Sh’lock and his catch back towards the caverns.

“So why did you need two samples?” he asked.

“It’s always useful to have a failsafe.” J’ohn looked at the side of Sh’lock’s head, but the bronze rider was doing an admirable job of not looking at him.

“So you didn’t really need me.”

“I was flying in Threadfall, it seemed prudent to have a Healer, if only with journeyman training, with me.”

“Right,” J’ohn said, nodding, though he couldn’t help but think that Sh’lock sounded a little too defensive. And it was shortly after that that he took a turn to the right and disappeared from view.

Did you tell him I was a healer? He asked Maryth.

No, she muttered back sleepily.

You should come back and rest, he told her.

I like the stars, she replied, so J'ohn left her to it. She'd come back eventually.

Sh'lock must have heard it from Stamford or his brother then, J’ohn reasoned before turning into bed. It wasn’t really a mystery.

*

First thing in the morning there was a rider J’ohn didn’t know knocking on the door to his chambers to inform him the the Weyrleader wanted to see him.

Brilliant, just brilliant. Sh’lock was getting him into trouble. Really J’ohn should just stop paying attention to bronze riders at all.

Diogeneth says you should hurry, Maryth told him. The Weyrleader has a busy day.

He hurried, and when he got to the Weyrleader’s chambers, he found Anthea sitting outside looking exactly as she had the day before, as though Anneath hadn’t ridden at all yesterday. J’ohn spared her a curious glance, wondering at her unruffled nature. Back at Igen queen riders had always been a bit… different the day after a mating flight, but it seemed that the Fort Weyrwoman didn’t stop for anything.

“Good morning,” he said politely, giving a small bow. She smiled at him, but didn’t say anything, just looked towards the door to M’croft’s quarters.

If Anthea was unruffled, M’croft looked exactly the same as he had always done. J’ohn could have sworn that the man had never undone a single button of the outfit he wore. It looked as perfect and uncreased right now as it had the first time J’ohn had seen it. It was impossible to believe that yesterday…

J’ohn cut off that thought before he went any further.

“You wanted to see me?” he asked.

“Yes,” M’croft said. “I told you that you would be better off avoiding my brother, I believe, and yet you seem to have gone out of your way to attempt to befriend him.”

“Actually, he’s the one who keeps finding me,” J’ohn said. “I wouldn’t call us friends. I think I’m the only person who’ll go along with things. Like an experiment.”

M’croft chuckled. Apparently the mating flight had done something to his composure then.

“And why is that?” M’croft asked. “You barely know the man, and yet you put your convalescence in jeopardy to fly off with him to the Southern continent.”

J’ohn blinked, how did M’croft know that they had been to the Southern continent. He sent a quick inquiry to Maryth.

I did not tell anyone, nor did Hamith.

J’ohn eyed M’croft and wondered if he possessed the same gift Sh’lock did, only he kept it more secret.

“You have no problems with my brother?” M’croft asked.

“He’s definitely interesting,” J’ohn said, electing for the least descriptive phrase he could find. M’croft chuckled again, it was a disturbing sound.

“I should say. He appears to have cured your limp, your tremors and your fear of between,” M’croft said. “Quite impressive considering that you wouldn’t even call him your friend.”

J’ohn looked down at his hand and found that it wasn’t shaking. The sight of it made him grin, and he hadn’t even noticed that he had flown between yesterday without even flinching.

“My brother is a dangerous man,” M’croft said. “Made more dangerous by the fact that he doesn’t care.”

“I’ll be fine, thanks for asking.”

“If I ordered you to stay away from him, would you?” M’croft asked.

“If you wanted me to stay away from him, then why did you put me in the same wing as him?” J’ohn asked. M’croft just smiled.

“I believe Sarah would like to talk to you about how much danger you put your convalescence in my flying between yesterday.”

That was as much dismissal as J’ohn was going to get, so he took a deep breath and turned around to head out the door. This time M’croft did not call him back.

Sarah did indeed want to berate him on his stupidity. Apparently a dragonrider of his age should know better than to take a healing wound between before a healer said he could. J’ohn reassured her that he was fine, the trip hadn’t hurt him at all and Maryth was fine too. Sarah sighed and smiled at him and told him to be more sensible in the future. J’ohn promised he would and left, his shoulder unbandaged for the first time in weeks. The new sensation made the scar tissue itch.

Sh’lock was waiting in J’ohn’s weyr, reading through the letters on his side table.

“Those are private.”

“If you didn’t want people to read them, why would you leave them out in the open?”

“I left them in the box by the bed,” J’ohn pointed out.

“You did have a weyrmate,” Sh’lock said. J’ohn blinked and saw that Sh’lock was holding one of the letters from M’ray.

“Sometimes. We were nothing serious,” J’ohn said with a shrug. “Bilth flew Maryth twice, and M’ray was a good man.”

“Not serious enough for him to come with you.”

“He’s Igen Weyr born and bred,” J’ohn said. “And I wouldn’t have asked him to. What’s this about?” Sh’lock swung around on the chair, going from stationary to full motion in the blink of an eye.

“I’d like to use Maryth for an experiment.”

“Nothing to do with that Thread,” J’ohn said warily.

“No, that’s entirely different,” Sh’lock said. “Do I have your permission?”

“So you’re asking me this time?” J’ohn asked.

“Yes, may I?”

“Is it dangerous?”

“No, it involves taking measurements and then putting her through some simple exercises.”

It sounds fun, Maryth said, and J’ohn knew that Sh’lock heard that comment from the grin on his face.

“If she has no objections then I have no objections.”

*

It was odd to see another person so close to his dragon, but Sh’lock was measuring every possible dimension of Maryth’s body. He had a rope that he had already measured out with markings of distance and he looped it around her and held it across her. Every now and then, like with the wing lengths, he needed some help and J’ohn had to stand and hold one end while Sh’lock muttered to himself, and at other times, he would find a place on Maryth’s hide where she was particularly ticklish and she would jump back, causing the pair of them to stare at each other while J’ohn giggled like a weyrling.

Then, eventually, Sh’lock had her perform aerial manoeuvres, a loop the loop, some rolls, a helix growing tighter and tighter until she was turning as close as she could. Sh’lock watched and jotted down notes while J’ohn watched and wondered what on earth he and Maryth had agreed to.

“She’s looking better,” he said. Sh’lock hummed agreement. “Your brother had a word with me this morning,” Sh’lock’s attention snapped to him.

“What did he say?”

“Told me that you were dangerous.” Sh’lock scoffed.

“Not as dangerous as him, or that Weyrwoman of his.”

“The first time I met him he had Diogeneth tell me that it was time to choose a side, do you have any idea what he meant by that?”

“Doesn’t matter. M’croft’s games are dull.”

“Of course they are… why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” Sh’lock asked.

“Dragging me places, using Maryth. You do have a dragon of your own.” He looked at Hamith, who was sitting on the heights. Sh’lock didn’t answer, just scribbled something down on the hide with a little more aggression than required. “Not that it’s a problem, I was just… wondering.”

“You should go and find Sarah,” Sh’lock said. “You’ve been flirting with her for long enough.”

“That was without a doubt the worst attempt at changing the subject I have ever heard.”

“I’ve finished now… you can go.”

Dismissed, J’ohn left, with assurances from Maryth that she would be with him shortly.

He worked his way down to the lower caverns, where he found the headwoman surveying her domain. She looked up as he came in and had someone pour him a cup of klah.

“Thanks,” J’ohn said, looking around. “I was looking for Sarah.”

“She’s off gathering numbweed at the moment, one of the wings took some of our people out.”

“Right,” J’ohn agreed, sighing a little. She looked at him and shook her head.

“Are you alright?”

“Fine, just… You must know Sh’lock.”

“Oh yes dear, I’ve known him since he was a boy,” J’ohn grinned, imagining Sh’lock as a small dark-haired weyrling running round the passageways and getting underfoot. “Impossible, isn’t he? Always just as brilliant – and just as big a nuisance – as he is now. His mother and I used to find him in the strangest places. You know he once tried to feed himself firestone just to check why it didn’t work for humans.”

J’ohn blinked.

“His mother…”

“Weyrwoman in her day, though we were never sure whether Sherlock, that was his name before he Impressed, would Impress. He loved the dragons, and he could speak to them all, but he was always such a strange child, didn’t get on with the other children at all. He’d examine the eggs so carefully – and Holmeth,” J’ohn recognised the name of Fort Weyr’s last senior queen, “she’d get so annoyed at him.”

“He’s brilliant,” J’ohn said. “But he’s…”

“I know.” She patted his shoulder. “Now what are those boys doing. If they break that pot they’re going to earn the marks for a new one!” She walked sternly away to where two boys were arguing over a large pot of stew.

J’ohn watched her go and decided that Sh’lock was probably a puzzle he would never solve.

*

Wing manoeuvres were a pleasure, now that he and Maryth had been cleared for flight. It took a little time to get used to his new position, but L’strade’s wing were well trained and they knew what they were doing. Even Sh’lock had decided to turn up, it seemed, though he didn’t even glance at J’ohn.

There was one point at which Maryth moved without J’ohn’s knowledge, tipping over to wheel around slightly. He had a moment of panic where he thought she might have been injured, but after a second she said: Sh’lock says we must go this way. and that was all he could get on the subject.

It seemed his life was finding a rhythm again: patrols, training and Threadfall, which was due in two days over Ruatha. He was dimly aware of Sh’lock watching him, and sometimes he had the impression that he was talking to Maryth, but he barely spoke to J’ohn at all.

“I don’t know what you said to him,” L’strade said, taking him aside one day. “But whatever it was, thank you.” J’ohn looked at him in incomprehension.

Greth says his rider is talking about Sh’lock, Maryth provided.

“I didn’t say anything to him.”

“But…” L’strade paused. “He’s been coming to training and everything. And when I asked he said…” L’strade paused and shook his head. “Probably just another of his strange ideas.”

“Probably.”

*

Wheel and turn
Or bleed and burn
Fly between
Blue and green,
Soar, dive down,
Bronze and brown,
Dragonmen must fly
When Threads are in the sky.

*

Thread fell over Ruatha and J’ohn flew to greet it. He felt like a true dragonrider again for the first time since his injury. Feeding Maryth firestone and soaring above the Hold to sear the Thread from the sky.

Around him he could see the flames of the other dragons, and see creatures blink in and out of view as they went between if they were hit by Thread. Far below them he saw the queens’ wing, led by Anthea on Anneath, glowing brilliantly in the sun. They were flying like no dragons he had ever seen before, performing turns that he wouldn’t have believed possible if he hadn’t seen them himself.

He and Maryth saw a clump of Thread ahead of them and surged towards it.

A blast of flame came from their right, where no one should have been. So close that J’ohn could feel it through his wherhide. He waited for the scream from Maryth or from himself, but she pulled her wing in with barely a millisecond to spare and, unbalanced, they wheeled around and down, out of control.

Watch your flame! he heard Maryth exclaim, but J’ohn’s mind was only focused on staying in control and on her neck. The straps were all well and good, but…

Belatedly he noticed what she should have noticed before, Maryth’s dodge had thrown them directly into the path of the Thread that they had been about to burn.

His breath caught in his throat, he could see the silver coming towards him, but he knew that Maryth wouldn’t be able to change direction in time, or go between.

There was a brief moment where J’ohn was certain beyond all doubt that he was about to die.

Get down! Maryth’s voice reverberated in his head and he found himself dropping his head towards her neck automatically, waiting for the pain.

There was heat, so much heat, but then it was gone and there was no pain either. J’ohn cautiously rose from his position and looked around to see a flash of bronze flying upwards.

Sh’lock is telling Forenth to look before he flames, Maryth said with undisguised pleasure. He says that his rider should be put back in with the weyrlings until he can learn how to fly properly.

J’ohn didn’t have time to analyse the comment, because there was more thread and he and Maryth were already diving for it, and burning it.

Tell Sh’lock… thank you, he said when he had a chance to breathe.

Hamith says thanks are unnecessary, Maryth said after a second. No mention of Sh’lock’s response.

The Threadfall finally came to an end, and they returned to the Weyr, J’ohn feeling more alive than ever. When they reached the Weyr, as he had healer training Sarah and Molly drafted him in to help to deal with the Threadscored, both human and dragon. It was hours before he was able to go back to his chambers to sleep.

*

Sh’lock was in his weyr by the time J’ohn got back that night, looking at three different types of powder as though they were the most interesting things in the world.

“So you’re talking to me again now,” J’ohn asked.

“Firestone from different areas is slightly different in composition. I’m going to need to perform an experiment to discover which is the most effective composition.”

“Can it wait until morning?”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve just flown Thread, dealt with over two dozen idiots who couldn’t dodge quickly enough and I’m dead on my feet.” He paused, looking at the fall of Sh’lock’s hair over his ear. He was still in his riding gear too, and still smelt of firestone. He must have come straight from Thread fall. “Why do you do any of this, anyway?” he asked, voicing the question that had been in his mind practically since they first met.

“Who wills, can. Who tries, does.” Sh’lock quoted. J’ohn rolled his eyes.

“You missed a bit,” he pointed out, but Sh’lock didn’t answer. J’ohn heaved a sigh and shook his head. “Look, Sh’lock, I need to sleep. And you should too.”

“Sleep is boring,” Sh’lock said.

“Boring it maybe, but if I don’t get some I’ll be of no use to anyone,” J’ohn said. “Can this wait until tomorrow, please?” Sh’lock looked at him, where he was slumped against the wall and blinked.

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes, tomorrow,” J’ohn said. Sh’lock’s face closed up a bit, looking furtive. His eyes drifted to where Maryth was sleeping in the other room, then he looked back at J’ohn.

“Tomorrow,” Sh’lock agreed, gathering up his firestone samples and heading for the door.

“Oh, and Sh’lock,” J’ohn called. Sh’lock froze in the doorway. “Thanks… for-”

“Don’t mention it,” Sh’lock replied, before hurrying away before J’ohn could, in fact, mention it.

J’ohn collapsed on the small bed and was asleep before his head touched the pillow.

*

Maryth was still asleep when J’ohn woke up the next morning, though she looked a much healthier colour. Back to her old self and J’ohn felt more like himself too. His leg wasn’t aching and his arm felt as good as new, he had flown Thread again and he hadn’t had the nightmare for a seven-day or more.

He found Sh’lock in his own chambers, bigger than J’ohn’s own, naturally, as he was a bronze rider and Hamith was far larger than Maryth. He was looking over his stone samples still.

“Did you even sleep?” he asked.

“No,” Sh’lock replied. “There are differences in the crystal structure. I had the smith craft hall make these lenses and if you look through them you can clearly see.”

“How on earth can you still be awake? We flew Thread yesterday.”

“I don’t sleep much,” Sh’lock replied. He turned to look at J’ohn assessingly, taking in every detail.

“What?” J’ohn asked, but there wasn’t an answer. He glanced towards Hamith’s weyr and saw that it was empty. “Don’t tell me Hamith didn’t sleep either.”

“Hamith slept. He doesn’t find firestone particularly interesting,” Sh’lock’s face expressed that this was one area on which his dragon completely baffled him. “He says that as long as he can use it to flame he doesn’t see what’s wrong with it.”

“So you told him to get lost?” J’ohn asked.

“No…” Sh’lock wasn’t examining the rock at all any more, he was just watching J’ohn.

“An I doing something amusing?” J’ohn asked, looking around.

“No…”

“Look…”

He was aware, at the back of his mind, of Maryth awakening, but there was something different.

J’ohn’s eyes flew wide open when he realised what it was. Instead of her usual, gentle and calm aura, the other end of his link with his dragon was suddenly pure instinct and…

“Heat,” J’ohn said, dimly horrified. “How could I not have noticed?”

“She’s been ill,” Sh’lock said, standing up. “Her colour’s only just returning to normal, it’s understandable that you didn’t see the signs.”

Maryth was flying to the feeding grounds.

“I need to get to her,” he said. turning to run down the passageways, though he knew he wouldn’t get there on time.

Don’t eat,he said to her, as firmly as he could. But her mind was fixed on her prey, she was desperate with hunger. He was with her, flying there above the feeding ground, brilliant and powerful. He was only dimly aware of himself running towards the feeding ground, Sh’lock at his heels. Blood only! he told her. You cannot feed.

She rebelled and plunged down, diving towards the bewildered herdbeast below her, catching it in her talons and bringing her jaws down.

Blood only, Maryth! J’ohn said, forcing her to pull her head away, the hot iron blood coating her tongue.

He looked out through Maryth’s eyes at the dragons around her, and he looked out through his own eyes at Sh’lock.

“You should get out of here,” he said. “I’m not going to be able to hold her much longer.” Sh’lock looked at him, and J’ohn noticed that he was flushed more than usual – just from the running?

“I know,” Sh’lock said, and that was when J’ohn noticed, through Maryth’s eyes, the bronze on the feeding ground with her, blooding its kill.

“Sh’lock?” J’ohn asked. There was no response and he knew that they were not the only riders standing there, and Maryth and Hamith were not the only dragons on that field.

J’ohn’s attention was dragged away as Maryth dropped her head to her kill again and he again had to force her to pull away, taking only blood and no flesh. You need to fly, he told her You cannot feed. You must blood only!

Maryth threw back her head in outrage and bugled her opinion of that, and J’ohn lost all knowledge of himself as she suddenly threw away the carcass she had been tearing at and then, with a flex of her legs and a huge sweep of her wings, she was in flight.

She went up and up, soaring and revelling in the feeling of being so powerful, so very powerful and free. She was miles away from anyone, unfettered, uncontained. She soared and swooped and stretched her wings to their limits and behind her, when she turned her head, she could see the blues and browns, racing after her. But they were not as fast or as skilled as she was. She was leaving them far, far behind. She took an air current upwards.

J’ohn’s mind was filled with Maryth, her freedom, her joy, her amazement. He could feel, as though far away, his own body, and the sensation of skin on skin, but that was secondary.

Maryth stretched out again and turned to look at her pursuers, but, out of nowhere, something caught at her, she struggled, but a neck was twining round her own and she was caught. Snared. Her neck, her wings, her talons, all caught, all held.

J’ohn felt the rush of desire, but forced himself to keep control, desperately holding on to Maryth, even as waves of pleasure came off her, knowing that if he lost his grip now, then it could all be lost forever.

He opened his eyes, still carried on Maryth’s passion. And found himself wrapped around another warm body, sweat coating both of them, a face buried in the crook of his neck, teeth biting into his shoulder. They were moving together and he wasn’t even sure who it was, except that he had the strangest feeling that he did know, had always known, since Maryth had woken up, or maybe since before that. But all his thoughts were carried away as his bond to Maryth echoed back her desire and lust again and he couldn’t help but lose himself in it.

When the haze of the dragon mating finally died away J'ohn opened his eyes again to find a familiar face looking down at him, dark curls half-plastered to it with sweat, grey eyes, no longer quite as cool, looking at him like he was an exciting new puzzle. He couldn’t stop himself from reaching a hand up to twine in that hair and pull Sh’lock’s face down for a determined kiss.

He hadn’t had a mating flight like that in years – never, really. Not even the first time Maryth had risen, when he hadn’t known what to expect and everything had been so overwhelming. He voiced the feeling and noticed Sh’lock frown.

“So this wasn’t typical?” he asked, as though a careful experiment had gone horribly wrong.

“Not in my experience,” J’ohn said. “But I’ve only done open flights a few times.”

Sh’lock, the same look of intense concentration on his face as when he had been examining the Thread (and J’ohn didn’t know why he was flattered by the comparison) leant down to taste the hollow of J’ohn’s throat. J’hon thought back over earlier and Sh’lock’s face that morning, staring at him, at the flight itself and how he hadn’t seen Hamith behind Maryth, but suddenly he had been there, as if appearing out of between.

“You planned this,” J’ohn accused, craning his neck to try and get a better view. Sh’lock smiled against the skin of his throat before looking up. “I thought you didn’t do mating flights.”

“I don’t do training either,” Sh’lock pointed out.

“Was this your idea or Hamith’s?” J’ohn asked. Sh’lock shrugged, as though it was all one and the same. “How did you…?”

“There was a thermal nearby, I knew Maryth’s most likely direction. It was the only way.”

“You ambushed me,” J’ohn said, chuckling a little.

“The only way to be sure,” Sh’lock told him before running a hand over the scar on J’ohn’s shoulder, one fingertip tracing it carefully. J’ohn just watched him, fascinated by Sh’lock’s fascination in him. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen now, but he supposed, in a way, that was for the best.

*

They were rudely awakened the next morning by a knock on the door.

J’ohn barely awake, lifted his head from where it lay on Sh’lock’s shoulder and looked towards the sound.

“M’croft,” Sh’lock mumbled into J’ohn’s hair. “He’ll go away if we ignore him.”

“No he won’t,” J’ohn said. He could feel Sh’lock pout slightly. “You know he won’t. He’s the Weyrleader.”

“And he never lets anyone forget it,” Sh’lock complained, not letting J’ohn sit up. “Stay.”

“He’s also your brother and he pretty much told me to stay away from you.”

“He’s an interfering old wherry hen who needs to learn that some things are not his business,” Sh’lock said as the door swung open.

“I see that this has done nothing for your disposition,” M’croft said, clearly unfazed by their state of undress and the scent of sex that permeated the chamber. J’ohn winced and looked at the Weyrleader where he stood. Still not a hair out of place.

“Sir,” he said, feeling a little awkward and more than a little exposed. M’croft acknowledged the greeting with a nod.

“Honestly, Sh’lock,” he said, “after that display yesterday you’d think you’d have the good sense to accept my advice, if nothing else.”

“Don’t need anything else,” Sh’lock told him. “Got J’ohn.”

J’ohn blinked and looked at the curve of Sh’lock’s jaw, which was really all he could see from this angle.

“Uh…” he said eloquently.

“Yes,” M’croft said, “quite. Though you did go about it in rather an underhand fashion.”

Sh’lock sat up abruptly, glaring at his brother, and somehow managing to make that look more dangerous than ridiculous even though he was naked and his hair stuck up in all directions.

“I thought this was the traditional way of doing things,” he said. J’ohn groaned and covered his eyes with a hand. This was really about to happen…in his weyr. He looked around and noticed that he was not, in fact, in his own weyr, but in Sh’lock’s. Well, that was unexpected.

“Sh’lock, you know exactly what I’m talking about,” M’croft said.

“I have no idea,” Sh’lock said. “What’s the matter, brother? Are you worried because your brother’s bronze flew a ‘mere green’?”

“You know that I have no restrictions on what dragons may enter any mating flight,” M’croft said.

“Then get out!”

Surprisingly, it wasn’t Sh’lock who spoke, but J’ohn. He glared at M’croft, pulling himself up the bed a little.

“He’s right, it’s none of your business,” J’ohn said. “So if you could leave our chambers. Now… please.” He added the last belatedly as he remembered that he was in fact talking to his Weyrleader. M’croft looked at him for a long moment before smiling his serene smile again.

“Perhaps my brother has made the right decision, for once. You will both be expected to return to patrol tomorrow. Goodbye J’ohn, Sh’lock.”

“Goodbye M’croft,” Sh’lock said, flopping back down onto the bed with an exaggerated sigh.

They heard the door close and J’ohn groaned.

“I’m going to be thrown out of another Weyr,” he said.

“No you won’t,” Sh’lock told him. “Because if you left, I’d go with you and M’croft can’t stand to have me anywhere he can’t keep me under his thumb.” J’ohn didn’t find that particularly helpful as reassurances went.

“Maybe we should just run away and start our own Weyr on the Southern continent,” he suggested with a sigh. “The fruit down there was really good.”

“Yes, and the grubs stop Thread from being much of a problem,” Sh’lock commented, hooking an arm round J’ohn’s torso and pulling him half on top of him.

“Grubs?”

“I’ll explain later. There are more important things right now.”

“What more important things?” J’ohn asked, but Sh’lock had already set himself to giving a thorough demonstration.

*

Author’s notes

First off: Sorry about the cheesy ending, but I actually couldn't help myself. To be honest, the first two options I tried were worse, so I sort of gave in.

Also, this doesn't keep strictly to the prompt and I should apologise for that. The muse dragon-plotbunny ran away with me and I didn't realise how far it had deviated until I got back here, fic in hand, and reread the prompt. Sorry OP. Hope this wasn't so far off you couldn't recognise it.

A final thing: There are so many facts from this ‘verse that didn’t make it into this fic – like Anthea’s name and why it’s so similar to her dragon’s. The fact that Irene, rider of Adleth, is Weyrwoman of Telgar Weyr and doesn’t have a steady weyrmate so the Weyrleader of Telgar is essentially a temporary position. Then there’s the whole Jim, S’bast plotline where Jim’s a Lord Holder, S’bast’s a bronze dragon rider and together they’re planning to TAKE OVER PERN. *insert evil laugh here*.

And the fact that Sh’lock’s unbelievably talented at the harp and has a network of informers in crafthalls and holds all over Pern whom he goes to for help, and whom he helps in return. And how Harry ended up in Benden Weyr as Clara’s weyrmate. And the strange arrangement that actually takes place between M’croft, Anthea and L’strade… (You knew there was something going on there, didn’t you) and how that affects L’strade in the Weyr, because people keep crying ‘favouritism’. And then somehow, J’ohn and Sh’lock stop Jim and S’bast and their evil empire of Pernese evil, save Pern from Thread and enjoy the look on M’croft’s face when they decide to go and live in the Southern continent and keep bees dolphins.

Well, you get the idea.

These stories may one day be told. Or, if I have no time/run out of muse they might not be. Either way... I wanted to give some idea of the extent to which this world ran in my head.

One last thing, to those readers either unfamiliar with the books, or who can't remember the rhyme referenced in the title (and by Sherlock in the fic) The full rhyme goes:

Who wills,
Can.
Who tries,
Does.
Who loves,
Lives.

Words to live by :)

THAT WAS 100% AWESOME.

Dear Author Anon!

Have to admit I know nothing about this Pern series, but I just started reading before going to work and couldn't stop! So instead of doing my job I'm sitting here with a huge grin on my face. This was so entertaining. Loved it! ♥