She looked so vulnerable, bound to him by the cords of the ceremony. Her skin was pale, and her built very slight. He thought he might break her if his breath brushed her, or if he stared too hard at her white, strained face.

So Melles kept her in the corner of his eye, and turned to his seatmate instead. Jephos, a scowling wireframe of a man, took all of his attention to converse with pleasantly. The woman on his arm did not worry him so much.

He drank to their union, guiltily, and said nothing. There was a dull unhappiness in the pit of his stomach, one that he tried to quench with food. It was late into the feasting that he noticed Laika's discomfort, and made his excuses.

The Harper woman cut the knot between them. The weight of eyes on him went to his head, and so he played his part, sweeping his slender bride up into his arms. Scarlet and white cascaded over his arms. He thought, worried, that the skirts of the dress weighed more than the woman caught in them.

He bid Lord Nmorwein, his new father-in-law, a good night. At the lord's answering nod, Melles turned quietly and strode upstairs.

The Drumtower was his destination, and he was glad of it. A drummer should reside in a drumtower, no matter what his station. The buildings were the same from one Hold to another. It was like being home…

He deposited her on the alcove-bed, but did not smile. Melles hid his troubled head in the tiny clothespress, rummaging for his nightclothes. Their familiar softness reassured him. His wife was frightened; very well, he would accommodate her. This was not of his will, nor was it hers. He could not bear to watch her eyes grow any larger.

He turned his back on her while he dressed. When he turned around again, she was standing, looking so lost that he knew his decision had been well-made. The drummer smiled down at her, wishing to wipe the fear from her porcelain face. "Good night, Balalaika." With that, he slithered into bed.

Melles turned his face to the wall, and flattened himself as far to his side of the mattress as possible. It was this politeness that undid him. He fell fast asleep without managing to see the girl settled. The warm void had enticed him, promising a brief respite from duty and worry. The drummer embraced that pledge.

When he woke, Melles was cat-footed to avoid waking Balalaika. When the Drumtower was silent, it was exceedingly so, for everyone feared to miss a message if they horsed around. He dressed with care to his position-heavy trews, to cut the chill of stone benches, and a long-sleeved tunic with a high neck to foil the drafts. Last of all, he picked up a wooden box, no larger than the length of his hand.

He stopped to stare at his wife before he left. Balalaika, daughter of the Lord Holder, tragic and frail. She had been misused by the fosterling Haldar, and it was to prevent further incidents that Melles' marriage contract had come about.

I am her protector, and her safeguard. That is the purpose of the covenant between us, he told himself. It was not for love; few of the Blood marry for love. But he had wanted no such onus…and likely, neither had she. He looked at her and found her needful of protection. She had no fire, this Balalaika, no laugher. She was as quiet and colorless as…well, she was a plaster cast of a woman. Of a girl. She's so young.

Once in the cold solitude of the Drumheights, Melles relaxed. Here he was free to be himself. Stretched full length on the cool stones, the young drummer-journeyman admired the brilliant autumn colors. The frost had already come, and with its bite turned the leaves to scarlet, amber, and wine.

But what was this? A dark shape, huge against the hazy morning sky, winging its way toward the Hold. Melles scrambled awkwardly to his feet, wincing at the stiffness of his body and the contact-bruises incurred by moving from sitting to kneeling that quickly. For it was a dragonrider, and a welcome diversion

Melles blinked, tilting his head to stare. "What might you be needing with the likes of me?" he called back, projecting his voice in a fair approximation of the woman's boom.

There seemed to be a knot in his throat. Melles swallowed his surprise, thinking very hard about his responsibilities. "I dare not. I am newly married, and a Lord's son. I have a job to do here. Find another if you wish to take someone from this place." Dragonriding was a hard job, and there was no quitting once you began. He found it attractive, even now, but he had three duties, and Melles was not raised to shirk. One, he might have overcome, but three simply was impossible.

The rider shrugged. "Impressing could annul your marriage," she shouted back, "but I cannot argue with the others. Just remember Fire Ridge Weyr if you ever feel that you may safely court dragons!"

He remembered those words now, though it had been a full six turns or more since they were spoken. Balalaika, known as Laika now, had told him of her pregnancy by her rapist, of her fear of this marriage, and he had pitied her. Even though he was gradually falling in love with her, he felt that the promise between them was stifling her, increasing her terror. Melles could not let that continue.

It was only a half-turn then, when he told her the dragonrider's words. She was all for it, all eagerness, and her pale, thin face had lit up as he'd never seen it light before. It had been the right choice…but it did hurt. It hurt when she was officially Searched; it even hurt when she Impressed. Melles was happy for her; Laika was learning independence and growing a spine, and this pleased him well, but she was also growing careless. She bore a son in Weyrlinghood, a lovely boy named Lailan, whom she graciously shared with her ex-husband.

Melles was in love with the child from the start. Lailan became everything that was precious to him-everything that he valued. He'd always liked children…and Lailan was son of Laika, who he still loved.

Unfortunately, Laika did not seem as taken with Lailan. Although she insisted upon having him with her, it was rare that he would see her display any motherly affection. Secretly, he suspected that she saw all too much of that accursed Haldar in her child.

When Lailan was two Turns old, Laika summoned Melles rather abruptly, and asked him to take his adopted son with him.

Melles was startled. "You've always insisted on keeping him with you, or he'd be traveling back and forth, regular as day," he said, surprised. "Why this sudden change of heart?"

Laika ducked her head. "I suppose I have been a little selfish, Melles, and I apologize," she said softly. "And I'll try to arrange equal time for him to be with you. But…Egewneth is glowing." She grimaced. "Like a torch, that one. And I can't expose a two-Turn-old to that kind of hormonal misery. I'm signing up at another Weyr so there won't be nasty rumors hanging over his head when he gets older."

The drummer blinked. "Ah," he said softly. "So that's it." Without a word, he gathered his son in his arms and strode away.

Lailan was around five now, a happy child. Laika had yet to show up and reclaim him. Melles had never felt so betrayed….or so happy. Lailan was, for all purposes, his son, and he was loathe to give him up again to a mother he did not remember.

But times moved on, and as they did, Nmorwein grew more and more dissatisfied with housing the son of a man he was rapidly coming to dislike. Finally, the ax fell. Melles was sans a job, and would he please leave the Hold, thankyouverymuch?

It was then that the drummer recalled the visit of the green dragon, and her invitation to Fire Ridge. His ties gone or negated, his loyalty no longer torn, Melles packed for himself and Lailan, and set out for the Weyr that had searched him over half a decade earlier.

He was lonely there, even with Lailan to keep him company. Melles' background made for an odd perspective on life, and it hampered him in making friends. He was certainly older than most candidates. Taking care of an active six-year-old was not the easier task, either, and it left him without a real social life.

The drummer began keeping company with the unbonded dragons. They, at least, were always there, and seldom had as many responsibilities or time demands as riders or candidates. And the big creatures had another advantage-they didn't mind Lailan.

It was thus that he got to know one particular trio. Composed of two greens and a blue, they had unnerved him at first-they would finish each other's (telepathic!) comments, and all seemed to move in accord. But they were pleasant companions, and Melles soon began to value their company.

The dominant force was Yelva, a big green beauty who, although she led the group steadily, was definitely reserved. Watchful and a little pessimistic, the green appealed to Melles. She was wary and guarded her tongue, but when she did speak, she always had something insightful to say.

Truin was the blue, a splendidly large fellow with an easygoing sense of humor. He was a little wary at first too, but he warmed up to Melles quickly. He always made the man smile. Those wry, deadpan statements struck a chord with the drummer's own feel for the humorous, and he liked the forthrightness of the blue.

The last, the other green, was Raen. She was smaller than her siblings, and not as strong of a flier. Innocent, sweet, and a little shy, the dragon was nevertheless firm about what she thought was right and not-right. Raen brought up all the old feelings he'd had for Laika. Melles wanted to protect this soft-spoken waif of a dragon…although he knew that the other two were taking care of her.

It therefore came as quite a surprise when the three approached him, staring at his face so intently that Melles flushed. "Um…hello," he said lamely. "You guys need something?"

Truin made a noise somewhere between a cough and a sneeze, but Yelva ignored him. <<As a matter of fact, we do,>> she said calmly. <<We need a rider, and he is you."

<<Have you ever known me not to be?>> she retorted, a little amused. <<Stop choking, Truin. Yes, Raen, Truin, and I have decided that you shall be our rider. You are most worthy.>>

"But…three…" he stammered. He couldn't really argue with them, not when he felt them delicately joined with his mind.

<<You can handle it. We have taken care of ourselves for a long time. We will not be separated, but we would have a rider.>> There was a smile in her mindvoice. <<You are not the first, nor will you be the last, to have more than one dragon. So come, let us tell the joyful news.>>