Dragon's Destiny

Disclaimer: I do not own the Dragonrider saga or any of its characters. I view the writings Anne McCaffrey and Todd McCaffrey with the utmost respect and wish only to honor the stories that have been a part of my life since I was very young.

T'mas began life as an outcast in his own home, loved only by his own sister. By an unexpected twist of fate he impresses Tarneth, a brown dragon who may hold the key to the future for all the dragons and dragonriders of Pern.

Author's note: the following story begins near the end of the final passage of the Red Star close to Pern. It follows closely on the heels of The Skies of Pern, by Anne McCaffrey.

Chapter 1 – Cripple

"Tiromas!" Lord Nessel's powerful, stentorian voice boomed across the courtyard, disrupting Journeyman Harper Timiny's lessons.

Timiny looked at his students' startled faces and sighed, "You'd better go see what he wants, Tiromas." He gave the young boy a look of commiseration, which was as much as he dared. Then he called out, "He's on his way, Lord Nessel."

Octogenarian Lord Nessel despised his youngest son. Both Nessel and his late wife, Lady Mikala had been well past their prime when she conceived again. Nessel had proudly paraded his gravid wife around as evidence of his continued prowess. He saw it as a good reminder to his ambitious sons that he was still fully able to rule his hold and would be so for many more years. That was until the baby was born. One look told the tale: the infant was a cripple. His legs were undeveloped and curled. They would never be functional.

If Lady Mikala's conception was evidence of Nessel's prowess, then the infant's condition was perceived by some as evidence of his decline. Even the nurse was in favor of instant infanticide. It was only young Lahlia's intervention that saved the child. At ten, Lahlia was Nessel's youngest girl, and his favorite. While everyone else was standing in shock and horror, she quickly stepped in and took control of the tiny boy child. "I will care for him," she insisted.

And for the last twelve years, even though she was but a child herself, she had been more mother than sister to the boy. She had named him Tiromas, which meant "gifted one." She had arranged his nursing and care. And over and over she had argued and fought for Tiromas to have the same privileges of Nessel's other offspring.

Tiromas sat his guitar down and levered himself sideways until he could reach his canes. Once the leather straps were tightly cinched around his forearms he levered himself upright and proceeded out of the classroom and across the courtyard, his useless legs dragging along under him. He moved along quickly, remembering to utter a silent word of thanks to Mastersmith Fandarel.

Next in line to his sister, Master Fandarel was Tiromas' greatest hero. The gentle giant had come to Crom Hold two turns ago to negotiate the establishment of a crafthold. Nessel, in one of his perverse moods, had demanded Tiromas' presence at the main table. Fandarel had watched without condescension or pity as Tiromas had used his strong arms to pull himself, unassisted, across the dining hall floor and up into his seat. It was customary for children to remain silent during meals, so Tiromas and Fandarel hadn't spoken together during that evening.

But two days later Master Fandarel had stalked up to the door of the Journeyman Timiny's classroom and asked to speak with Tiromas. With utmost courtesy Fandarel had bent over and easily lifted the boy in his massive arms. Without another word the Mastersmith had walked with the boy to the Tinker's Shop, where he had gently set the boy in a straight-backed chair. Sitting in front of the chair on a small table were two specially designed canes. A few minutes of explanation and demonstration later, Tiromas took his first tentative steps across the shop floor.

It had taken a week to become comfortable with his new conveyance; several fortnights to attain a level of skill. During that time he had taken many falls and added many bruises, but it never slowed him down once. Now, two turns later, Tiromas could move across flat surfaces as fast as the average man.

At this particular moment Tiromas almost wished that he couldn't move quite so quickly. Lord Nessel had been in a foul mood for a fortnight, ever since Lahlia had been searched for Telgar Weyr's latest queen egg. Even in the darkest times, when thread threatened his vast holdings, Nessel had resented his dependence on the dragonkind. He openly questioned the need for the weyrs now that the Red Star was receding in the sky and thread would soon fade away forever.

Then Jaleth, the blue dragon, and his rider M'rit had "snuck in" after threadfall, ostensibly to conduct a sweep ride. Nessel hadn't thought anything about it when he saw the young upstart talking to his beautiful daughter; after all, everyone knew about blue rider's "tendencies." Later that day Lady Nayalla, rider of qolden Tamirath, had landed in the marshalling yard and spoken to Lahlia for a long time. Lord Nessel had been unable to restrain his curiosity. He had abandoned his current project and walked out to intercept the two ladies.

Lahlia, his beautiful, raven-haired daughter had been flushed with excitement as he stepped up, "Father, you won't believe it: Both Tamira and Jaleth spoke to me today! I can hear dragons!"

Lord Nessel hadn't shared his daughter's enthusiasm. He knew perfectly well that there was a gold egg in the clutch on Telgar's hatching ground. He had intended to refuse to allow his favorite daughter permission to leave. He had intended to send Nayalla and all her kind back to their weyrs, where they belonged. But Lahlia had long since learned how to get what she wanted from her father, and she had won the day. She would attend the hatching.

Tomorrow morning a dragon would appear in the sky to collect Lady Lahlia. If she impressed, which nobody doubted for a moment, then Lord Nessel would lose his dearest child… and Tiromas would lose his protector. Tiromas couldn't begrudge his sister her chance; in his heart there was nobody more deserving. But he knew that her departure would also signal an end to his current life; his father and his older siblings would be free to do anything they chose to him.

It had already begun. In the last two weeks Nessel had become progressively angrier. He couldn't take his anger out on his daughter, and he daren't be too vocal against the weyr. Tiromas became his target instead. He lost no opportunity to inform the boy that he would be expected to earn his keep soon. "I don't have a need for a useless crawl-about in my hold. You had better start showing some type of talent soon, or I'll send you to the mines."

Tiromas finished his trip across the courtyard and stopped at the door of Lord Nessel's office. He was reaching out to knock when his father roared, "Get in here, boy! You're wasting my time!"

Tiromas took a deep breath, pushed open the heavy door with one shoulder, and went in. It took a moment for his eyes to focus after the brightness of the morning sun. He was surprised to see Lady Lahlia standing in front of Nessel's desk. Her set expression and Lord Nessel's stormy look told the tale: they had been arguing. Nessel scowled at his crippled son, "You're going to the hatching to cheer your sister on, boy. See that you don't embarrass me, or you'll spend the rest of your days mining firestone."

Lord Nessel looked down at the clutter on his desk, studiously ignoring the boy he considered to be his disgrace. Lahlia quickly walked to Tiromas and gently guided him out of the office. When the door was closed and they were far enough away, she smiled, "Well, Tiromas, are you pleased?"

"Oh yes! Thank you, Lali! I really wanted to see you impress!"

"Whoa now," she grinned affectionately, "there's no guarantee that the little queen will choose me, Tiromas."

"Oh yes she will!" he declared, clearly offended at the idea that anyone, even a dragon, would not choose Lahlia. Then he grinned widely, "and I'll get to see it! I promise I won't embarrass you, Lali."

Lady Lahlia scowled, "Don't even talk like that, T'mas." She used her private nickname for him. From the time he was old enough to understand her words, she had told him that he was good enough to be chosen by a dragon. It was considered almost sacrilegious to shorten name for anyone but a dragonrider, so she only used the nickname in private. "You have never done anything to embarrass me, and you never will."

He smiled at her sadly, "You shouldn't call me that, Lali. We both know that I'll never impress." He leaned against her side for a moment, "but I'll be the proudest brother on Pern when you're a queen rider."

Tiromas spent the remainder of the morning basking in the euphoria of the next day's hatching. Unfortunately it blunted his usual sense of caution. He was moving past the beast sheds in the afternoon, daydreaming about his beautiful sister riding a queen dragon, when he was suddenly tackled. Before he could even react he was falling to the ground under the weight of several large bodies. His right arm, still strapped to his cane, was wrenched as cane and arm were smashed under him. His face was shoved roughly into the manure before the two big boys who had tackled him stood up.

Tiromas gritted his teeth against the pain in his arm, ribs, and face as he turned on his back and saw his older brother, Ranitar, glaring down at him. His two henchmen, both miner's brats, squared their shoulders as they stood to either side of him. "Well, well. Look at the little cripple. Finally down where you belong, eh gimp?"

Ranitar, at twenty-two turns, was the second-youngest boy of Nessel. As such he had neither authority nor a promise of future wealth. For all of that, he strutted around Crom Hold and the surrounding mines as if he was Lord Holder. He hated all of his siblings, but he hated Tiromas most of all. It wasn't that he considered his younger brother to be a threat. He hated Tiromas because he was an embarrassment. He hated Tiromas because he was weak. But mostly he hated Tiromas because the younger boy was smart, very smart; and Ranitar couldn't even hope to compete.

Lord Nessel had already settled all of the sons that he could in the holdings that he had available. Nothing was left for Ranitar. He could have shipped out to the Southern Continent, as so many other younger sons had done; but it sounded like too much work to him. Instead Ranitar chose to assemble the rebellious children and young men from the surrounding area and create his own power structure. He had considered joining in with the Abominators, but lately that group had been losing ground. Every week now there were reports of the weyrs rounding up another nest of dissidents. Ranitar had no interest in being cast off on some remote island chain. Instead he was content to build his power right here, under his aging father's very nose.

He sneered down at Tiromas. The helpless boy remained silent, watchful to see what Ranitar would do next. He didn't even cry out when his brother lashed out and kicked him in the ribs. Unsatisfied, Ranitar spat. "So-o-o, I hear that you get to go to the hatching tomorrow. Well, you may be pampered while Lahlia is here, but she'll be gone tomorrow. Once she's got her precious dragon she'll forget all about you, gimp. Give it one turn and she won't even remember your name."

Tiromas fought back the tears of pain and glared defiantly back from the ground, "Lahlia isn't like that! She's better than me or you, and she doesn't treat people like you do."

Ranitar's lips curled back in a sneer. "We'll see how she feels about you tomorrow after you embarrass her, gimp. Break his canes, boys."

Tiromas cried out, trying to resist as the canes were ripped from his arms. His eyes filled, but he refused to make another sound as the two brutes gleefully broke the canes into pieces. Ranitar watched with satisfaction as they threw the pieces back onto the prostrate boy, "We'll see if our precious sister still wants to take you along now, gimp."

Without another word he turned and walked away, followed by his goons. Tiromas laid there for several more minutes, fighting back his tears. Then he painfully levered himself into an upright position. Gritting his teeth against the pain in his right arm, he began the long drag back toward the hold.

Lahlia fought back her own tears of rage as she softly scrubbed Tiromas' hair with sweet sand. As much as she hated Ranitar, it was her father who she was really mad at. He had done nothing when she had laid her complaints about the attack at Lord Nessel's feet. In fact he seemed almost pleased that someone else had done what he would have liked to do himself. Lahlia's thoughts toward her father were as dark as they had ever been. You'll rue the day you let that tunnel-snake run free in this hold, father. But maybe that's what you deserve after all. It made her sad to think of her father so poorly, but she was twenty-two now, too old to deny the truth of his character.

One of the servants had seen Tiromas trying to get back to the hold and immediately sought her out. Together they had carried him to her quarters and called for the hold healer. His right arm was only sprained, not broken. His ribs were only severely bruised and there was no clear sign of internal bleeding. But it would also be impossible to replace his canes before the hatching tomorrow. She didn't care about that, though. She still wanted Tiromas to be there.

She made a resolution as she slathered the small boy with numbweed. You won't be coming back tomorrow, T'mas. I promise you I'll find a way.

Tiromas, who was laying on his stomach in a fellis-induced stupor, turned slightly, "Hmmm?"

I must have spoken out loud. "Nothing, Tiromas. Go back to sleep. Everything will be better tomorrow, I promise."

Journeyman Harper Timiny carried Tiromas to his bench in the hatching grounds with as much dignity as he could muster. Tiromas didn't care; he was still in awe of his first ride on dragonback. Three dragons had come to collect Lahlia and the family. Weyrleader J'fery himself, on bronze Willerth, had collected his sister, father, and oldest brother Dressel. The Masterminer and two of his men had ridden on another bronze. M'rit, rider of blue Jaleth, had collected Journeyman Timiny and Tiromas.

Timiny saw Tiromas settled on the bench and then excused himself to go and exchange news with Journeyman Harper Chad, the Weyr Harper. There was almost nobody else on the grounds yet, which Tiromas could easily understand since the heat of the volcanically warmed crater bowl was exacerbated by the sweltering summer sun outside. Still, Tiromas could not and would not complain. He had not slept all night, fearing every moment that his father would find some excuse to exclude him from the hatching.

He looked over to see an older, thin but sturdy-looking lady making her way along the stands with a small tray on one hand. Tiromas was surprised when he realized that she was making straight for him. As she neared, he observed that the lady seemed to have a kindly face, even though her manner marked her clearly as a person of some authority. "Hello young man. Might you be Tiromas?"

He blinked in surprise, but found his voice, "Er, yes, M'lady…?"

"Saramar, not 'Lady,' just Headwoman." She smiled as she took a seat on the bench with him. "You have a very kind sister, young man. She's about wore herself out worrying about you baking out here. She's gracious, too. She told me all about you and asked if anyone could bring you something cool to drink and a spot of food. She bragged on you so much that I just had to come out and meet you myself." She set the tray of juice, bread, and sweetmeats down between them and regarded him with interest.

Tiromas blushed as he tried to form the best reply so that he wouldn't embarrass his sister. "I'm honored to make your acquaintance, Headwoman Saramar. And thank you for the refreshments."

Saramar grinned, "Well, she didn't exaggerate. You're the perfect young gentleman. Maybe there could be a place for you… hmmm, we'll just see." She abruptly cut off her rambling monologue, leaving Tiromas mystified.

For lack of anything to say, Tiromas extended the bowl of sweetmeats, "May I offer you some, Ma'am?"

"Bless you, no." Saramar dramatically hefted herself up, "It's hatching day, young sir, and the Headwoman's job is never done. I'm pleased to meet you, though. We'll talk again after the doins'" With that she bowed and excused herself.

Tiromas, alone again, quickly finished off the meal and then turned his attention back to the sleeping golden dragon and the clutch of eggs sitting on the sand. Soon the heat, the lack of sleep, and the silence in the bowl had its effect. His eyes slowly closed, his head drooped, and he slept.

A kaleidoscope of images danced around. There were many voices… the others who were waiting for him… they showed him pictures of a world he didn't know or understand yet, a world that he couldn't see in the darkness. The warmth seeped into him, helping him to take just one more sleep before the time. His mind's eye saw the beautiful other mind and delighted in the contact even as sleep exerted its hold…

Tiromas was startled awake as Lord Nessel and several others sidled into the best position on the benches. His father's gaze passed over him in distaste as he tried to clear the fuzziness of his sleep-addled mind. He felt an odd sense of completeness, of a joy which he couldn't understand or comprehend.

"Only seventeen eggs," Lord Nessel grunted. "Won't be much of a hatching. Guess it's as it should be with the Red Star going away. Won't be much use for the dragons in thirteen turns."

Miner Toleran, whose precious mineral mine was closest to the hold proper, grunted noncommittally. He didn't necessary disagree, but he also didn't feel secure enough to voice such feelings in the middle of Telgar Weyr. He was pleased when he saw Masterharper Sebell making his way towards them. "Good afternoon, Lord Nessel, Miner Toleran. A fine day for a hatching. I saw your daughter in the holding area, My Lord. She has grown to be as beautiful as her mother was."

Lord Nessel smiled at the mention of his two favorite subjects, "Greetings Masterharper. Lahlia is my pride and joy. She'll impress gold today."

Sebell smiled. He liked what he saw of Lady Lahlia. She was neither officious like her father nor silly and self-centered as her mother had been. "Only the egg knows, My Lord; but I've never met a more promising candidate."

Sebell looked down at the awestruck young boy who sat looking up at him from the bench and searched his mind for a name. "Ahh, young Tiromas, I believe? I hope that you will enjoy watching your first hatching."

Before Tiromas could gulp out a reply, Lord Nessel cleared his throat. "Ha-hmmm. I presume that Master Menolly will be singing today?"

Sebell returned his eyes to the lord holder, "Of course, Lord Nessel; she never misses a hatching if she can avoid it. Besides," he continued, his eyes twinkling, "she has to introduce us to a whole new slate of songs."

With that, he excused himself and went to greet other guests. Once he was safely out of earshot, Nessel reached down and pinched a piece of skin on Tiromas' right arm between thumb and forefinger. "Don't you dare embarrass me, boy." Tiromas' bit his lip to suppress the grunt that threatened to explode from between clenched teeth. He had tears in his eyes, but he knew better than to allow himself to rub his sprained arm.

On the hatching ground one egg began rocking prematurely. It settled down again before anyone took notice. Golden Talmanth raised her head slightly in her slumber, regarded her eggs, took a moment to shuffle one into place, and then returned to her sleep.

There was a muted outcry when, not half an hour later, the first egg began to rock in earnest. The dragons began to enter the bowl from above and take perches with astonishing aerial maneuvers while the candidates were escorted onto the sands and into position. There were three other girls in line with Lahlia, but Tiromas only saw his beloved sister. Even those who had come to root for another candidate took notice of the stately, un-assumed dignity of the raven-haired young lady. More than one spectator wondered why such a beauty had not been married off by now. Of course, anyone who knew Nessel's possessive nature knew the reasons.

There was a gasp of pleasure as the first shell cracked open and a bronze head popped out. Everyone watched as the little dragon broke through the rest of his cage and waddled across the floor towards a sturdily built teenager. The boy knelt down in amazement, hugging the ugly-yet-beautiful dragon's head before calling out, "His name is Niclath!"

Tiromas had tears in his eyes at the beauty of the moment. He felt odd, as if he were two instead of one. Even though he had eaten only an hour before he suddenly began to feel overwhelmingly hungry.

There was another collective gasp as the golden egg began rocking. All eyes were turned there, even though many of the eggs were now rocking. Tiromas tried to concentrate on his sister, but somehow his focus kept returning to the clutch of eggs as one after another cracked open. There were dragons moving across the sandy floor, seeking their mates. There were boys calling out names. Tiromas had trouble concentrating on anything.

Why aren't you here? I'm hungry!

Tiromas shook his head, trying to clear the beautiful, rich voice…

"Where's that one heading?" His father's deep, disapproving voice demanded.

Why are you up there? I need you. I'm really very hungry!

"My Lord, I think that he's trying to get to…"

Come down! Please?

"Oh, I can't! I'm not allowed. Father will be angry if I…"

Tiromas was cuffed painfully on the ear, "Shut up, boy! I thought I told you to be silent during the hatching!"

"My Lord," Harper Timiny's voice broke in, "I think that the brown is talking to Tiromas!"

"He can't possibly be! The boy's a worthless cripple!" Lord Nessel blustered.

Why aren't you coming down?

"I can't! I don't have my cane…."

Suddenly, amidst startled exclamations from the spectators and bugling from dragons above, Tiromas was sitting on the sand in front of a very distressed little brown dragon. Despite his confusion at what had just happened, he felt a surge of indescribable joy. "He says his name is Tarneth!"