For Old Times' Sake

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

Characters: M'gan, Nirzhaya
Description: M'gan finds out what happened to Nirzhaya and Lixanth
Location: Dolphin Cove Weyr
Date: month 11, day 3 of Turn 12

The Holinbridge Hold Gather hadn't changed much in a Turn. It was so much alike that M'gan had the nagging sense that any moment, he might turn a corner and run into himself and Nirzhaya, wandering arm in arm, gazing in wonder at the past brought back to life. Not possible, he told himself, since Isarth and Lixanth, or their younger selves, weren't here, and they hadn't noticed any older bronzeriders on their first visit. And yet - he kept a wary eye on passing couples, looking out for riding leathers, the confident poise and stride of dragonriders.

He'd found his way past a row of food stalls, resisting the temptation to stop and snack on a sizzling meatroll or a glass of sparkling white wine from grapes harvested more than fifty Turns since, and discovered an area that had been allocated to traders. The goods here would have been brought from distant holds rather than made by the local crafters, and the buyers were purposeful holders rather than browsers, carefully looking over metal tools or samples of cloth or deep in negotiation. M'gan didn't recognise anyone at first, and he wondered if perhaps his memory had faded too much to be of use.

Up ahead of him, a deal seemed to have been concluded, with much shaking of hands and slapping of backs. A large group of holders - men and women, with the scrubbed-up, slightly uncomfortable look of farmers in their Gather best - began to disperse, heading back towards the music and drinking opportunities of the main Gather square. M'gan stepped politely aside and glanced down at a display of neatly labelled bunches of dried plants and samples of barks and berries. Once the holders had passed, he looked up at the herbalist, with an apologetic look for not being a buyer, and he was about to move on when he caught her eye and there, in that past where he was an intruder, time seemed to stop.

The woman across the stall from him was older. Her dark hair was streaked with grey and her face was thin, the cheekbones standing out sharply, as if illness or grief had worn away their youthful roundness. But close up, she was younger than she first appeared. Her skin was smooth, and her eyes...

"Can I help you, dragonrider?" She glanced to his shoulder, with a slight frown for the missing knots.

M'gan stared at her. But of course, she hadn't recognised him, and he suddenly felt all of his Turns, the weather-beaten crags of his face, the weighty authority of a Wingleader on his shoulders.

"Nirzhaya?"

Her frown deepened. "Do I know you?"

Then he saw the change come over her, the frozen moment of recognition. She gripped the edge of the stall, white-knuckled, as if to keep herself from falling.

"M'gan? What are you - what _happened_ to you?"

"I'm sorry." M'gan ran a hand through his hair, as if that could smooth away the threads of silver. "I didn't mean to come so unexpectedly - I thought..."

Nirzhaya shook her head abruptly, as if coming to her senses. "Not here." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Go back to the Gather Square, by the baker's stall with the blue-striped awning. It's crowded there - I'll find someone to mind the stall, and then I'll find you."

M'gan turned and began to walk, dazed, not entirely sure where he was going other than following the loudest crowds and the strains of harper music. It _was_ her, but surely she was more than a Turn older than she'd been when she left Vista Point. And she was with the traders, like he'd guessed she might be, but... The obvious question was like a plunge into the bone-chill of /between/.

Where was Lixanth?

}:Not here,:{ said Isarth, unknowingly echoing Nirzhaya's words. Before he'd sounded puzzled, but now M'gan felt the deep sorrow vibrating through the bronze's body. }:Not here any more.:{

***

"I wondered if you might come." Nirzhaya had found a table, out of the way but still enough amid the noise of the crowd and the musicians that they were unlikely to be overheard, and ordered a couple of glasses of wine. M'gan suspected they were going to need them. "The same Gather, one Turn later. I had to talk my way into it, they weren't sure if I was strong enough, but I persuaded them we could make some marks from selling the herbs I'd gathered."

"Of course. You are - were - a healer."

The corner of her mouth tilted, a twist that was half sardonic amusement, half regret. "No record of my training in this time, but I still remember which plants are useful to the Craft."

He rubbed his temples. "Nirzhaya, I don't know how to ask this, but..."

They both fell silent as the server arrived with their wine. Once he'd gone, she reached for her glass and took a long swallow, closing her eyes.

"She went /between/." Nirzhaya set down the wine glass. M'gan heard her breathing, the pulse in her throat, deliberate and controlled. "I'd reconstructed the star chart, like you explained, and fixed it in my mind with the view over the bay. But perhaps I was impatient, and made a mistake, or perhaps it wasn't as easy without Isarth - but the jump /between/ seemed to last so much longer. I felt myself slipping away. I don't remember coming out."

She paused, gathering herself. "Lixanth was brave. She didn't panic. She got me to the ground somehow. I must have got out of the straps, stumbled up the beach to the tide line and collapsed there. And then I didn't wake up, and she was all alone, in the wrong time. She..."

M'gan looked up and met her gaze, her eyes that looked in on a hollow that could never be filled. His throat constricted in grief and sorrow and guilt. If he'd given her the charts, if he'd gone with her - if he'd never spoken about /between/ times at all...

"When I came back, I was at a cothold. The fishers said they'd heard keening and came out to see if someone needed help, and they found me lying in the sand, delirious and burning up with fever. They said they thought at first I must have been washed up from a wreck and I didn't explain, though perhaps they guessed, being so close to the Weyr. Most of the time I hardly knew who I was myself." She ran a finger around the stem of the glass, though she didn't drink again. "Sometimes I thought that our time, Vista Point, Lixanth, they'd all been a dream. It was easier to think like that. Who'd have believed the truth? Then when I'd recovered enough to work, I remembered the herbs. I couldn't tell them I'd been a healer, they'd have contacted the Hall, but I was able to earn my keep. This was all five Turns ago."

"Five Turns?"

"Yes. I'd been aiming for some time after our first visit, but - like I said, I must have made a mistake." She smiled, a little sadly. "I did know I had to stay away from - that day. I had an instinct against it, I suppose, the idea of being in the same place twice. Or perhaps I couldn't bear the thought of seeing myself, with Lixanth, not knowing... But this Turn I thought there was a chance someone from my time would be at Holinbridge, so I asked around for traders going that way. And I was right. You came."

"A little later than expected." M'gan managed a rueful smile.

"It's so strange. Seeing you like this. You look like - the Weyrlingmaster!"

He did laugh then, more genuinely. "No, I've not had that honour yet. Wingleader, at - well, I transferred. I'm not at Vista Point any more." M'gan realised, with a sudden jolt, that she wouldn't know about Thread returning. Nor the new Weyrs.

"Congratulations." Nirzhaya's brow creased faintly, as if she suspected he was holding something back. "I should talk. I must look different, too."

"Hardly at all. You make me feel ancient!" He rubbed the back of his neck. "An awful lot has happened. I'm not sure where to begin."

"Then don't." Her tight expression softened, and suddenly she did look younger, the glowlight hiding the physical signs of her sorrow. "It's enough to know you and Isarth are doing well."

"But I should..."

"M'gan." She set down the glass, reached across the table and touched his hand. "I had time to think, on the way here from the fishing hold. It wasn't easy, at first, but this time - it's mine, now. I've made connections. If I went back, I'd be just a dragonless rider, all over again. And though I didn't expect it, if it's been so long I'm not sure I'd be any more at home in your time than here."

"We could work something out. Somehow. Nirzhaya, you know what's coming."

But she shook her head, and he realised he'd known all along that it couldn't happen, from the moment he'd met the trader Hanayah and heard her strange story.

**My mother was born in the plague Turn. My grandmother died when she was only a Turn old...**

"I can be useful here. It's what kept me going. Perhaps I'll write an account." Nirzhaya seemed more relaxed now, as if a burden had been lifted with that decision. If she read anything into his disquiet, she didn't mention it. "What made you come back, anyway, after - how long has it been?"

"I wouldn't like to say. Thirty - thirty-six, thirty-seven Turns?" M'gan fell silent for a moment, considering what to say, how he could explain. "I met your granddaughter." He didn't know if it was wise, but he felt he owed her that, somehow. "You have a family, and they live through the plagues."

Nirzhaya inhaled sharply, brought her hands to her face, covering her mouth.

"I didn't know, until then. I'd thought you were lost." His throat felt dry. In all the shock and wonder of seeing her again, he'd forgotten. **My grandmother died...** How little time she had left.

He also knew that above all, he couldn't show even the smallest indication of what he knew. Instead, he smiled. "I didn't ask who her grandfather was, I'm afraid. But I'm sure you'll work it out."

She managed a half-choked laugh. "I think I might have an idea."

"I won't ask." One good side of aging, M'gan thought, was that it blunted the sting of jealousy.

"Then nor will I. Too much foreknowledge can be dangerous." Nirzhaya raised her glass, then drained the last of the wine. "I'd like to see Isarth again. If he wouldn't mind."

"Of course. He'd be delighted." M'gan stood, then cocked his head, hearing the opening strains of a familiar tune ringing out across the Gather square. All that time ago, when he'd been a callow young bronzerider, he'd hesitated to accept her invitation to dance. Some things, at least, had changed.

He offered a hand. "But first - for old times' sake?"

Nirzhaya smiled, and the Turns fell away and she was the young woman she'd been once more, fearless, thrilled at how far they'd come, eager to explore the past. "I suppose you've been waiting thirty-seven Turns to ask that. How could I say no?

** Present day **

The melody echoed in M'gan's head as he lay in the darkened weyr, all mixed up with memories of soft glowlight, the taste of that wine and the heat of the crowded dancing square. Nirzhaya's pain, her acceptance, and the forgiveness between them. He wondered if that music would ever stop haunting him.

Whether restrictions were placed on him or not, he knew he was never going back. He'd done his duty. He'd only told her the part of the future that would give her hope. He regretted mistiming his return, bitterly, for the pain and confusion he must have caused, but he didn't regret going.

**I'm here now, and I have to live with it.** Nirzhaya had, after all, in her time. And, more important than anything, he had Isarth. If he closed his eyes, cleared his mind, he could hear the dragon's soft breathing, over in the couch. In and out, like the waves on the rocky shore below.

Soon, like his lifemate, he drifted off to sleep.

Last updated on the September 18th 2025

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