Sleepless Night

Writers: Estelle
Date Posted: 7th September 2025
Series: The Missing Wingleader

Characters: M'gan
Description: M'gan remembers his travels back in time
Location: Dolphin Cove Weyr
Date: month 11, day 3 of Turn 12
Notes: Mentioned: Irrkali, R'kehr, N'vanik

Full dark had descended by the time the cliffside weyr had been prepared by the Headwoman and one of her more discreet assistants. Due to the lateness of the hour, this had been limited to a brief dusting, fresh sheets and a change of clothes, but she appeared to have taken pity on the pair and it was large enough for Isarth to be comfortable. No sooner had M'gan removed his weary lifemate's riding straps than the bronze made for the couch and curled up nose to tail, drifting into a deep sleep.

Sleep didn't come so easily for M'gan. He felt physically exhausted but he couldn't stop turning over his situation in his mind. He was still in the wrong time. How was it possible? Standing on the ledge, overlooking the moonlit waves, he tilted his head back and stared up at the stars, bright points of light spilled across the inky sky. Some small miscalculation in their patterns had cost him eight months, his Wing and his reputation. Worst of all was the as-yet unknown damage to his relationships with Irrkali and his son R'kehr.

**They must have thought I was lost forever.** Guilt stirred, bitter as a healer's draught. How could he face them? It was impossible. He _had_ to go back somehow.

But try as he might, he couldn't get around the inexorable logic of time. If N'vanik and that brownrider wingleader were telling the truth, and they had no reason to lie, he hadn't made it back to that evening, months ago, when he'd left to visit the past. If he made the attempt, he and Isarth would either end up even further adrift, or - more likely - they'd never emerge from the frozen blackness of /between/ at all.

If it had just been him, he might have tried, but he couldn't ask that of his dragon.

M'gan shivered, despite the warmth of the evening, and turned to go inside. The weyr was spartan, without even a chair or a desk. There was only the bed, empty shelves and bare rock walls, and the faint but unmistakable chill of a long-unused space. The Headwoman had promised to help him find furniture in the morning, and dig out what remained of his old possessions. He supposed he was lucky they hadn't all been given away, as was usual when a dragonrider left or died. It certainly didn't have the convenience of his own weyr. No access to the ground, or a bathing room; he'd need Isarth to go in and out, and now the bronze was asleep he was effectively trapped here until morning.

Though he felt a low burn of resentment at his treatment, he had to admit that if the positions had been reversed - if he'd been the Weyrleader and N'vanik the recklessly timing bronzerider - he'd have been equally furious. M'gan was self-aware enough to understand that his anger was more for his own mistake than his punishment, at the shame of having abandoned his post, inadvertent as it had been. _Why_ hadn't he checked that star map more carefully?

**It won't last,** he told himself. The Weyrleader wasn't stupid, he wouldn't waste a rider with M'gan's experience in a lowly rank for ever, only long enough to make a point. He couldn't be oversupplied with qualified bronzeriders if he was promoting browns to leadership. As for revealing the ability to travel /between/ times to all dragonriders...surely he'd see sense once he'd had time to think, and if not, the other Weyrleaders ought to have something to say about it.

Another troubling thought. Had the secret really been safer with young bronzeriders fresh out of training - including his own young self - than with a steady greenrider Wingthird like Irrkali?

He didn't know how to answer that.

He sat down heavily on the bed, hardly finding the energy to strip off his riding gear before falling back and staring up at the cavern roof, lost in darkness above. Still sleep wouldn't come.

Rather than his predicament, or futile wrestling with the problem of how to get back, his thoughts returned to the moment he'd emerged from that endless journey /between/ into the past. It couldn't have been more than a couple of hours that had passed, and yet it was an entire lifetime ago...

** 56 Turns ago **

The warm night air on M'gan's skin as they emerged from the freezing darkness had never been quite so welcome as it did when they found themselves once again in that long-vanished time, over the bay down the coast from Vista Point. The knot of fear deep within him, that - now they were older - they wouldn't have the strength to make such a jump, eased as he dragged in a breath. He felt a little light-headed with lack of air, but the pride welled up in him all the same.

He leaned forward and patted Isarth's shoulder. **You've still got it, old friend.**

}: I knew I could do it, :{ Isarth said complacently, tilting his wings to swing them in a wide arc over the bay.

**You were right.** M'gan hadn't been quite so confident. He'd had to adjust the star chart, choosing a date a Turn later than their last trip. Though changing his destination was a risk, he definitely didn't want to meet his younger self, and there should still be a clear Turn before the first cases of plague were reported. Also, if the hold they'd visited kept to a regular pattern, they'd have held the same Gather, at the end of the harvest season. If Nirzhaya had wanted to find her trader again, that would be where she'd have gone.

Isarth sighted the river they'd followed, all those Turns ago, and altered his course to head inland. He seemed contented to fly straight, giving M'gan time to wonder about how he'd be received. He'd not thought about it until now, but if she was here, Nirzhaya would still be the age she'd been when she vanished, while he was nearly forty Turns older. Would she even recognise him? But if she didn't, Lixanth would know Isarth.

**Can you sense Lixanth?**

There was a long pause. }:No.:{

M'gan felt a brief shiver run over his skin. If she hadn't made it... But perhaps he was wrong about when she'd aimed for, or perhaps Isarth's sense of other dragons wasn't as effective when he was out of his time. Either way, now he was here he might as well check at the hold to see if the traders were back, or if anyone knew where to find them.

He'd been right about the Gather, at least. As they neared the location, he saw distant lights on the horizon, which resolved as they neared into a building blazing with lamplight, glowbaskets strung along rows of stalls and around a dancing square, and cooking fires. The scents of roasting meat and baking mingled in the air, and the breeze carried the cheerful hum of voices, the odd peal of laughter or cry of delight, the lively thrumming of gitars and drums. All of a sudden it was as though no time had passed at all, and he was flying over that long-forgotten Gather, a young wingrider again, half appalled and half exhilarated by what he'd done.

Except that Lixanth wasn't there.

He asked Isarth to land anyway, and the bronze headed for a clear space in a field, near where some empty trader wagons had been pulled up. He wasn't sure he remembered the family name, but the trader had been called Isemon; that name had stuck in his memory. He'd ask around, perhaps say he wanted to talk about a shipment to the Weyrhold.

He did at least, when they landed, have the presence of mind to remove his Dolphin Cove badge and wingleader's knots - it wouldn't do to wear the insignia of a Weyr that didn't yet exist. Then, trying to ignore the weird, disorienting sense of walking in his past steps, he headed for the bright lights of the Gather stalls.

Last updated on the September 21st 2025

[Prev: The Wingleader is Missing] Series: The Missing Wingleader [Next: Back In Time]

Welcome to Triad Weyrs!

Sleepless Night