Erika's Point of View
It was an accident, a fluke. It was an embarrassment to me, because my husband knew the truth. You must understand how it was, before judging my treatment of my firstborn baby; my poor Lunan.
---
I was young when I met Ferint, only fifteen turns. Before him, my life was all heat and scrubbing and taking care of the little ones; Igen Weyr was pleasant and busy enough in and of itself, but somehow it became like a prison to me. My only sister, Lela, was a few turns younger than me, and a wild spirit. The two of us were, personality wise, the spitting image of our parents; that is to say, complete opposites. Father was assistant steward, and an upstart – Lela was his favorite. Mother was demure and quiet, and had her own elegance about her. She was a nanny, and the children loved her. I loved her, and strove to be her.
Somehow, Lela always did her own thing, never staying with a task longer than a sevenday or two. And somehow, she never got in trouble for her ways. Perhaps that’s why I was so bitter towards her, why we never formed a sisterly relationship. You see, I would get stuck with the chores she didn’t finish: helping father with keeping the caverns clean, and Mother with the little ones. I was kept busy working, which in all honestly, suited me just fine. I wanted to be a useful person, somebody like my mother whom people wanted to have around.
When I turned fifteen, there was a small turnday party thrown for me. It was broken up when Lela, then thirteen herself, put a stick through the wheel of a traveling wagon passing through. The wheel and axle broke, and the ensuing commotion captured everyone’s attention – Lela’s purpose, I then believed. She always loved attention, and would play these tricks frequently.
Her prank turned out to be my salvation, at least temporarily. Ferint was with this particular wagon, from Keroon, to trade beasts and feed. He was twenty two turns and quiet, serious; so different from the local boys my own age! When the festivities picked up again that night, there was a dance held. As was tradition, my father danced with me first, a stiff, short dance, topped by the fact that he danced with Lela next and smiled, then. I was mollified only by the distraction and surprise of Ferint asking me to dance. I like to think that’s when we fell in love – at least, I did, a desperate kind of wish for a new life with this handsome young man. Oh, he was romantic, and sweet, and kind. The broken wagon wheel took two sevenday to fix, and during that time we talked, and got to know eachother. Within that short time together we found ourselves attracted, pulled together, and on the morning he was to leave, we woke up tangled in his bed.
For fear of being discovered, and for my own hearts sake, I left with Ferint. My departure was on good terms with Mother, indifferent with Father, and spiteful with Lela. None of that mattered, though, for a sevenday after I was handfasted and starting a new life. I would visit my family often in the following turns after leaving. When nature let me know I was not to bear a child, that first time, Ferint and I decided to keep trying – we wanted a family together. As the Turns passed with no results, Ferint’s resentment grew. Our life continued on the outside, much as usual. At night, and when alone together, it was colder than Between and just as lonely. Ferint would stay out with his beasts and his caravans longer and longer, and I tried – Faranth knows I tried – to play the good wife. Fifteen turns after we’d run away together, our relationship seemed nonexistent and I felt like a complete failure.
It had become common knowledge that Ferint had found a mistress, and I slept alone more often than not. And so, my bitterness grew as strongly towards Ferint as his towards me. With my family, things also seemed sour. Lela had run off to Tillek, and Mother seemed frailer each time I visited. Father remained distant. This was my situation. Anyone can see how frustrated I became, for I still thought Ferint and I would reconcile, that I could please him. My guilt for not bearing him a child had reinforced my desire to be a good wife. It never occurred to me that none of Ferints lovers had ever become pregnant – I accepted the failure as my own.
So it came to be that bitter, heartbroken, and laden with a dismal outlook on life, I went to visit my parents at Igen. I was thirty two Turns, though I felt infinitely older. As often happens, a green went into flight, and a chase ensued. This served as an excuse to keep busy enough to not think of Ferint, as I helped my father prepare the caverns for flight-lost riders. In other words, I helped to stock wine. As I sat to rest, the riders streamed in, angry, lusty, disappointed. With the help of other weyr-girls and drudges, I passed out the wine and skins, and stayed out of the way as best I could. When things settled down and things seemed under control, I snuck out to hide at the beach. It had become my place at night to visit, to think and dream and cry.
As I lay in the sand that night, dreaming of the life I’d meant to have, a shadow fell across me. T’darem, rider of blue Tazinth and one of the many flight-lost I had served, had followed me to the beach. We spoke, and became lost in eachother’s words as the night drew on. Perhaps it was the attentions he paid me that I’d wanted from Ferint for so long, or maybe the bitterness inside me needed an outlet. It could have been – was – a mixture of both and more. That was my one night of infidelity, and the beginning of the truly difficult part of my life. T’darem knew my situation as an angry, childless, spurned wife, and I knew his – a visiting rider from Ista, stuck in the emotions of his dragon after a lost flight. We found release in eachother.
I returned home, feeling smug and a extremely conscientious. When I began to feel sick after a month, it hit me what must have happened. The healer confirmed, and I was frantic with worry – I was with child. Seeing as Ferint had been so absent from my bed, I didn’t know what to do. For days I thought of herbs, or asking a dragon to take me Between; the remedies of the desparate. My belly started to show, or I imagined it did, and I finally decided on a course of action: I lulled my husband into our bed in hopes that he would think the child his. Foolhardy, perhaps, but it was all I could think of. When Ferint realized my condition, he became friendlier towards me, and also more protective and suspicious. Why suddenly I would be able to bear children after seventeen Turns of fruitlessness was beyond him, and he began to suspect. My days were filled with hope, that the baby would look like me and nothing like my dragon riding lover; that Ferint would overlook his suspicions and be happy with a child; that everything would turn out.
I did send T’darem a hide message, but received no reply. It was I expected, and honestly what I’d hoped for. When I went into labor, my husband insisted on staying with me. My pain lasted candlemark after candlemark, and what came into this world was a pleasure to me and a shock to all: a baby boy with my eyes, blue gray in color. Everything else about him, however, was a match to T’darem. His wispy hair was dark red, straight; his face was rounded, eyes slimly oval. He was as calm coming into this world as his father had been when talking me into his bed.
Ferint, with his grey eyes, black curls, and angular face, scowled at the infant and turned on his heel. Stalking out of my birthing room, he called over his shoulder,
“Send him to Belior for all I care. He’s no son of mine.”
I named my baby Lunan.
---
There was no way my parents, now old and their energy levels low, could care for Lunan. With Ferint spurning me and glaring at the boy, I felt it unsafe and unhealthy for Lunan to stay at Keroon. So I went again to Igen, under pretext of bringing Lunan to meet my parents. Asking around there got me an answer: T’darem was still at Ista Weyr. A traders caravan setting out for just there happened through, and at six months of age, my baby boy rode away from me.
Ferint was greatful when I returned, and life seemed better for a short while. We slept together again, and we worked hard. Soon, however, I missed my baby. I celebrated his first turnday in a private agony, silent tears sliding down my cheeks as Ferint slept beside me. The day of his second turnday, I sent a doll I’d sewn of a canine, as a gift. My only reply was a terse note from T’darem that Lunan had gotten the gift.
At the time he turned four, Lunan had faded from my mind, but by no means from my heart. Ferint and I – well, it had become easier to live with eachother. When a dragon, blue as the clear sky he spiraled down from, arrived, I thought nothing of it. I went to greet the visitors, freezing in my tracks when I recognized one: T’darem. Behind him was a girl in her teens, and between the two was a small boy with shaggy red hair.
Ferint was in the fields, thank Faranth. When T’darem approached me his mouth was set, as if steeling himself. He needn’t have bothered, as all my attention was on Lunan. The little boys hand was held by the girl, and the threesome walked over to me silently. I knelt before Lunan and took him into my arms. For a moment, his body stiffened, then slowly, he lowered his head to rest on my shoulder. I stood up, carrying him, and through my tears I looked at T’darem. I like to think he softened a bit, though his words carried a bite.
“He’s become a handful, and I’ve just not got the time,” he mumbled. “Laney here,” he indicated the girl. “Will stay to help you take care of him. She’s been his nanny for some time now.” The girl shifted shyly from one foot to the other, and her eyes stayed trained on the ground. Part of me wanted to slap her, to tell her I needed no one to take care of my Lunan. Then reality set in, and I just nodded quietly.
“Lunan,” T’darem said in a bored tone. “This is your mother. Be a good boy and behave yourself.” With that, he patted the boy on the head, put down a few bags by Laney, and in a moment he was gone. Lunan never even moved, his tiny arms wrapped about my neck and his face buried in my hair. Laney, the dear girl, finally looked up at me, a trembling smile on her lips.
“May I stay, then? Is it truly all right?” she whispered, anxious. When I told her yes, and to bring her things inside, she looked so relieved that I realized it had been cruel of T’darem to leave without asking, ensuring the girl of someplace to go.
I cleaned out a storeroom to be a small bedroom for Laney, then fretted about Lunan and about Ferints reaction to this development. Laney was incredibly helpful, and Lunan was as calm as I remembered, watching us and occasionally helping. He hadn’t said a word, and I began to wonder if he wasn’t a bit simple; that is, until I looked over after a while to see him drawing on the wall with charcoal. It was a crude picture of a dragon flying away, and three people below watching. Laney followed my gaze and immediately chastised him, and the boy scowled, complaining,
“Da let me on /his/ walls!” When Laney made a move to take the charcoal away, Lunan let out a yell and raced away. Laney turned to me and explained,
“He’s become rather wild… it’s no use to chase him, ma’am,” she added, seeing me start after Lunan. “He’s fast, and finds places to hide. I expect he’ll be back around mealtime..." I looked after where Lunan had run, and something snapped; I burst into tears. Laney came over to pat me hesitantly on the shoulder.
"It's all right, ma'am," she murmured comfortingly; I could see how she'd managed to be such a good nanny. "He's just unsure of himself, and afraid. He'll be back, and I'll take good care of him, I promise." Her voice was sincere, firm, knowing. I looked up, sniffling, as if I were the younger and she the elder.
"Don't ever call me ma'am again, Laney.. I'm just Erika, please," I told her. It was the beginning of a close friendship.
---
That first sevenday, by the love of Faranth! I’m still not sure how I got through it. Dealing with Ferint’s anger and firm disapproval, Lunan’s stubbornness and frightening mood changes, and Laney’s shyness and overwhelming urge to be helpful, I was an emotional wreck. Though he was nasty about it, Ferint did not insist on my finding another home for Lunan.
Turns passed, and Lunan grew up. He transformed when he was eight Turns old, and to this day I’m not sure what did it. He went from a sullen, moody child into a curious and watchful one. Part of me believes it had to do with Laney; the two of them, though separated by ten full Turns, were inseparable friends. When she fell into a relationship though, her time became her own and Lunan seemed to realize that there were things to do, places to see. He would disappear for candlemarks at a time, returning to tell me of the plants and animals he’d seen. That was a lovely Turn for me, up until the night Lunan and I got into a fight.
It had started out simply enough. He’d come back from a day of watching Ferint in the stables and training runners. Lunan had learned to stay out of sight of my husband, and any offers to help were answered with a grunt, if answered at all. He had formed vague friendships with some of the stablehands, but no one wanted to be on Ferint’s bad side. And so, this one particular summer evening, Lunan asked,
”How can I make Ferint like me enough to let me help with the runners, mum?” His eyes were so hopeful, peering over a bowl of steaming stew he’d just finished, that my heart crumbled. I didn’t know how to tell him the truth, that Ferint would never invite Lunan into his heart or his life, much less his profession. So, as gently as I could, I answered,
“Perhaps another place, another time, would be better for learning about runners, Lu. Maybe next summer, when you’re older.” Watching his eyes go from blue to gray – always a fair warning of a mood swing – I sighed, adding sadly, “Ferint isn’t ready to deal with training you, you know that.”
”He’ll never be, will he,” Lunan shouted, standing abruptly. “I could be twenty Turns and it wouldn’t matter, he’d hate me anyway!” I felt the perverse need to defend my husband, and even as I replied I knew it wasn’t the right thing to say.
“He doesn’t hate you,” and even to me, my voice sounded strained. “He’s angry with me for forcing him to acknowledge you as my child.” A stillness rocked the table, nothing moved, and my stomach twisted even as Lunan sank back into his seat. He looked for all of Pern like a whipped watch-wher.
He whispered, looking down at his fingers. When I asked for him to repeat himself, he mumbled, “I’m going to make him not be angry. He’ll see that I could be a good son even if I’m not his. He’ll see.” After a moment, he bolted out the door.
It wasn’t that I didn’t worry about his plans, it really wasn’t. It’s just that I had to deal with Ferint that evening, and perhaps a part of me felt like maybe he could do it, my darling Lunan could make Ferint at least be civil to him. When I woke the next morning to Ferint’s bellow and Lunan’s shriek of mixed terror and anger, I realized how foolish I had been to ignore Lunan’s promise.
Running outside, I nearly screamed myself: eight of Ferint’s purebred, racing runners had bolted from the stables. A wake of smashed wood and churned ground was left behind them, Lunan sprinting to catch them and falling pathetically behind. Ferint, following the small boy, grabbed Lunan’s shirt from the back and swung him around. I couldn’t hear what was under his snarls, but Lunan’s face turned a dangerous red color before he yelped. Ferint shook him, only once but it was hard enough to jerk Lunan’s head from side to side. I could hear the high pitched voice pleading with Ferint, he’d only been trying to help and he’d fix it all himself. Ferint released his shirt, stood up straight, and then crushed Lunan’s heart: he turned his back on the boy, arms crossed over his chest.
Lunan was gone for three days after that, and when he returned he was back to his sullen temperament. This time, however, he said nothing and did nothing, locking himself in Laney’s room for full afternoons. He refused to speak to anyone except for me, and that only on occasion. It was the beginning of Lunan’s last month with me, though we didn’t know it at the time.
It got hard to deal with everything at once. Ferint was doubly irritable, and wouldn't even stay in the same room as Lunan most times. It became a rope-tug, with me as the rope. Would I tell Lunan a bedtime story, just to return to my own bed with Ferint pretending to sleep and ignoring me? Or, would I tell Lunan 'Not tonight, dear, I want Ferint to smile at me'? Things got worse, with Lunan not speaking. Laney moved out, and the very air in our little cothold seemed to be hard to breathe.
So it was, that when I got a hidenote from my sister, Lela, that I got my idea. You see, Lela and I hadn't spoken much, and I'm sure Lunan got the idea that I wasn't overly fond of her. But she sent a hide telling me how much she liked Tillek, and being settled by herself. It wasn't until turns later that I found out my mother had sent the hide, hoping to reconcile her distant daughters. At the time, though, I thought that perhaps Tillek, holding many different things for a young boy to do and see, would be perfect for Lunan.
Maybe it was the easy way out. Perhaps it was my frayed nerves and the difficulty of choosing, day by day, between my husband and my son. But gradually, I warmed to the idea. A month after the incident with the runners and Ferint, I sent Lunan with a traders caravan to Tillek. The night before he left, I packed all his clothing and few belongings, an extra fur, and some marks into a napsack. It made a small bundle, really. When the sun rose, I crawled out of my bed, desparate not to awaken Ferint, and went to wake Lunan. He wasn't in his bed.
Afraid that he'd figured out what I was going to do and ran away, I quickly searched the cothold. I found him in the kitchen, washing dishes. When I asked what he was doing, he only pointed to the door. There lay his napsack.
"Where am I going?" he asked calmly. It hurt more than if he /had/ run away, that he didn't even care that he was leaving. At that moment, I changed my mind, he would stay with me and we'd work things out. But even as I thought it, I knew it wouldn't happen. I could hear the caravan starting to leave, heard the runners pawing the ground and the great wheels turning.
"Hurry," I told him quietly. "They're leaving, and your passage is paid." We walked out together, silent as he caught up with the last wagon and threw his things in the back. Clambering up, he turned and called to me.
"Where am I going, mum?"
"Tillek," I called after him.
His hurt, disbelieving gaze stayed fixed on me; the look of betrayal that has been the object of my nightmares ever since. You see, he thought I was sending him to the sister he thought I hated. To him, I'd sent him to the one place I would never go, would never inquire about. To him, I'd banished him from my heart and memories.
I've since heard that he eventually ran away from Lela, but where and when, I know not. He never wrote to me, nor I to him. It wasn't for me to beg his forgiveness after what I'd done. And I understand why he wouldn't ever write to me, the mother that gave him up twice. ===
Now you know, of my crimes and my reasons. Think of me as you will, but surely, wherever he is, it is better than what could have happened here. Surely Lela took good care of him. Surely he is now safe and happy.
Surely, surely... surely he has forgiven me. Faranth, I can't help but hope that he will find it in him to forgive me.
