As a helper around the Hold for his youth, Tarrilon was rewarded with lessons that other children didn't often get. Higher math and skills such as fine writing, histories of family lines, and the like.
Tarrilon has little skill with a gitar, and has a fairly weak singing voice -- so weak that he's never really qualified himself to sing anywhere in front of an audience. His voice is soft and quiet, and he's got rotten pitch. His concentration therefore has always been numbers and information. He learned to record events in a quick shorthand writing, and he apparently has a nearly photographic memory!
Diligent as he was, Tarrilon was still found often enough with the sort of crowd that the current Lord Holders really didn't get along with -- those BlackBottoms!
Because of that, the moment that Tarrilon started shaving the rest of his hair and dyeing the top of it blue, he was almost completely forgotten in the Harper's studies.
Angered at this, but left with little choice but to leave the Hold and join some other potential craft... Tarrilon turned to Blackstone Weyr.
The best thing he's ever done for himself.
"No, th' Harper there is under Lord Deon's thumb hard enough. I wouldn't want him getting squished even more because of this boy. Besides," the elderly man looked at the bobbing blue hair of the 17 turn old lad outside his office, "he's got better things to do than to listen to that guff he's going to get back at Dawnlight."
Smiling broadly, Tallion saluted the master harper and went out to collect his son. "Tarri," he said, "you're going to be a Harper after all."
The boy's bright yellow-green eyes lit up as they had when he was first brought to the Weyr. "It'll be an honor serving you, sir," he said to the master, who waved him away with a grin on his aged face.
Excited, Tarrilon paced about. "Wait till I tell -- oh, she's in the Hold... Or..." his mood sunk quickly when he realized that all his friends were still in the Hold, and still in the hold's crafthall. Where he was apparently no longer needed. "Shards, father, I wish I could even..."
"You'll be able to visit with no problem, just you keep your work up here. As good as it was at the Hold, right?"
"Yes sir!" Tarrilon saluted and then laughed with his father as they went through the stone halls.
Blackstone weyr had its share of staff and drudges, but it had a fine hall anyway. Along with it, of course, there were rooms that were suited for Lords and Ladies, which sometimes got used for just the common folk. In this case, Tarrilon was matched with three other young men who were in crafts about the Weyr.
***
His room then, was rather louder than he expected it to be, when he got back one evening. The three guys -- two wood crafters and a metal smith -- had been drinking heavily before he got there. They were still drinking heavily.
"'cmere'n'avesome!" slurred one of them, waving his hand and spilling wine around. There was already a large puddle where they'd dropped something and made little attempt to clean it up.
"Guys... shards. I can't believe this... Look at this mess!" Tarrilon raised his voice, and the wood crafters perked up. Angrily, one of them tried to stand but he barely made it upright at all.
"Lissen'ere..." he started, but Tarrilon snapped at him.
"No, you listen! You've all done nothing but drink and carouse and bring back -- well, some admittedly *fine* women -- but you've just got to learn to STOP some time! You're not passing any of your craft exams, you're not even trying!"
"But't'sa free ride, innit?" Said the smithy. "An'yameantasay tha' you 'arpers don' party?"
"Oh, I party all right," Tarrilon said, stuffing a clean shirt and change of pants into a satchel with some other sundries, "I party just fine. Just not here. Not around you three."
"Wha'abou'cher Blackbottomz?" Demanded the angry one, "They're th' party center!"
"They also manage to become craft Masters and weyr leaders," Tarrilon shot back, "so CHAR them and you and your drinks!"
He stomped out of the weyr, making sure that there was nothing of value to him near their area. He almost bolted down the hall, but then slowed when he reached the bathing chambers. Central to the Weyr, and a breath taking sight in and of themselves, the bathing area was a place where he could still relax, and not get kicked out for sleeping.
He was rather surprised to hear, "and what brings you here, Tarri lad?" His master harper was resting with a heavy towel over his waist and a book (a real book) beside him. He watched the younger man with his curious deep brown eyes.
"Ah, my weyrmates are... just too loud. I'm so tired of them ruining my peace and quiet! They're not even trying for their badges any more, they're never going to become Journeymen, I don't know why the Weyr even tolerates them!"
"Ach, well, perhaps they've all got their reasons, lad." The master said, and patted the stone seat nearby. "Unload your things, relax a bit. Tell me this lad, why did you not chase them out of the weyr yourself?"
Tarrilon looked at the aged man and grimaced. "Because I've known for a very long time that three against one are very poor odds. Even three extremely drunk against one of me... They're crafters, big guys. You've seen them."
"Aye..." He nodded slowly. Then the old man chuckled. "Why d'ye think I come here? Y'think I'd be used to the little woman's ranting by now... Thirty five turns..."
Tarrilon chuckled himself. They rested in silence, the master going back to his book, and Tarrilon bundling a towel beneath his head and taking a little nap. He woke abruptly when he heard voices.
"And it's this next sevenday? Is he sure?"
"It's always like this. The queens never just come out and tell you when your eggs are going to hatch! It's so frustrating! And with the queen betweened like that..."
The pair of people, one male and one female, stopped talking when they noticed they were not alone. But the old harper merely smiled at the girl, and nodded to the man. Tarrilon on the other hand sat up and tried making himself look slightly less rumpled.
The girl looked at him oddly.
"What is it?" Asked her companion.
"It's... him. My dragon says she wants to meet him."
It didn't take a genius to realize what she was talking about. Tarrilon stood up and offered them seats. "So... you're... a search rider?" He said, and his master slumped with a broad grin, behind his book.
"Yes, for Tarizal Weyr. There are actually three clutches on the sands." Her look was dark, she'd said something about a queen going between, that couldn't be good. With eggs on the sands? Tarrilon decided to try brightening the mood.
"So... your dragon ... wants to see me?" Tarrilon said, and the rider laughed.
"Yes, she does, but she'll have to wait. I've got a long day ahead of me tomorrow, so you can just be ready with the other candidate potentials outside in the morning. Tonight is for me..." She grinned, and slipped into the bath nearby without a sound more.
*** ((please note, this story takes place before the Kshau Protectorate moves to Alskyr))
However it was not quite as easy as that. Though the search riders left - they came back with sadness on their faces the next day. "I'm afraid that Tarizal is... well, it's moving away and not quite coming back."
There was stunned silence from the candidate Tarrilon. "How do you ... mean?" He gulped. "What do you mean, not coming back?"
The searchers explained that though they had come from the weyr, it seemed, they were not going to be able to send anyone to the sands, as they'd already "gone". To where, it seemed, it was a mystery.
Tarrilon moped about in his den, trying to hide his disappointment - it wasn't working. Even the master harper could only cast his gaze sadly toward the boy. What a smashing bad way of a letdown. "I researched a bit and found out that there have been other weyrs that just up and disappeared. Shard's dragon came from one." Tarrilon said.
"Then there's always another weyr in need of candidates," said the harper. "You've been searched, it's only a matter of time. No one could refuse you to stand on their sands."
"I wish!" Tarrilon said, flipping his hands into the air and stifling tears. "I'm sorry, I just don't want to talk about this any more." He went to his den, but the trio of party-loving crafters had latched on to the idea that he'd be leaving, and they almost didn't give him his space back. So Tarrilon stormed out to the edge of the weyr, looking down the great hillside at the lush trees.
Nothing could really be as beautiful as this, nothing really. He tried to convince himself that a hatchling dragon wasn't even close to the scope, the thrill of ...
"Ahh, who am I kidding," Tarrilon said, sniffling. "Here I am crying like a little boy, about this. I didn't even see the eggs..."
"Now you know what it might be like for the girls who are waiting for a queen to hatch for them," Said a voice, a strong but calm and loving female voice. It was Jezebel, rider of a white dragoness from Sapphire weyr - another of the somewhat disappeared weyrs. "They sometimes are even driven to commit suicide, especially after waiting for a gold. I know I would never want to live without my Gertith, but I also would never want to have lived without bonding her - you'll never know until you at least try."
"And what about if someone took Gertith away?" Tarrilon growled. He was in a spiteful, glowering mood, and he didn't mean to be so angry, certainly not at the pretty white-rider.
"If Gertith ... died, or was somehow stolen, I'd have to find a way to get her back, or ..." Jezebel shrugged, "I don't know what I'd do. But I didn't know I needed her so much until I actually stood there waiting. It's a disappointment, I know, but it is true, you have been searched and you will stand. In fact..." Jezebel got that look that all riders do, when their dragon was speaking to them.
"Yes, in fact, there is another weyr. It'd got a gold's clutch at it - I think you ought to stand at it. Tripaldi weyr. It's gone through some changes, but it's still there and I don't think it'll be up and disappearing any time soon."
Grumbling, Tarrilon mulled this over. If he took her up on it, he'd be able to stand anyway. That was a plus. But if he did -- and didn't bond... That would be even more crushing than not being able to go.
He took a long look at the darkening forest, he had been out there for many hours. The thought of losing this chance was more of an incentive than he realized. The little hope was restored in his mind - "I'll go. Would you want to take me there?" He asked, and Jezebel of course nodded, smiling widely.
"It would be my pleasure, Tarrilon. Your dragon will be there, I am sure of it."
"I'm glad one of us is..." He muttered, but she didn't hear him over the gust of wind.
His whole family was odd, why not him too? The whole time he was at the weyr, though, he had a strange feeling in his gut. It was fear, he woke with nightmares of the clutch all being destroyed or the weyr vanishing or something else, on a regular basis.
But by the time the hatching actually occurred he had conquered that nightmare world and was thrilled to hear that the hatching was actually going on! Right now!
He made his way with the others, jamming through the narrow hall near the barracks, and then out into the wide warm sands. Then he like the rest waited... They didn't have to wait long. A pretty green hatched first, making a girl very happy in the process. A blue, brown and another green hatched, and Tarrilon watched with interest. His gut was wrenched every time someone else bonded.
A green and blue bonded, then another brown. A beautiful bronze came out from his shell, and Tarrilon was keeping notes as to the hatching order, in his head. One of the odder candidates, an elfin boy named Arien, bonded a blue. Then a green found her new lifemate. Another bronze bonded to a man whose companion was a cheetah - who'd heard of a cheetah being a pet? Then, not just one but TWO whites hatched! A brown, blue and a green all hatched at once, and when Tarrilon watched them bond, his gut sank again.
There were only two eggs left - and one of them was the gold. And he certainly wasn't waiting for that one to hatch and look to him!! But fortunately he looked at the shaking other egg, which hatched into a fine if a bit clumsy brown. He trundled over, tipping over a bit here and there.
When the dragon announced himself with a barking sound and a whirling gaze, Tarrilon found his heart warmed and his mind bursting with questions. Hunger? Ground? People? Where are we? I know one thing and that is that you are mine. And another thing, my name is Bingleth.
Tarrilon was immeasurably relieved - "I was so worried I wouldn't impress, Bingleth, I'm glad you wanted me."
I could have no other!
