A/N: This is an idea that's been bugging me for some time now. Only way I know to get an idea out of my head is to write it. This is set some 190 years/turns after Skies of Pern in the Reunion AU. Reviews are appreciated and missed when absent.

Disclaimer: The Dragonriders Of Pern is a trademark and is copyrighted by Anne McCaffrey and her son Todd McCaffrey. This is fan fiction which garners NO MONEY WHATSOEVER for the author of this fan fiction.

Chapter One

S'ven, originally born Steven Meyers, now the rider of bronze Tapinth and Weyrleader of Telgar Weyr, examined himself in the mirror. Satisfied he strapped the ubiquitous belt knife on his waist and headed out to the hatching.

Suddenly he remembered what he had forgotten. He returned and strapped the awl opposite the belt knife. He actually hoped there would be cause to use it.

Small eggs were very unusual. Almost rare, but they happened. He remembered the last hatching where one had been present. He had felt very sad having to take that little, forlorn egg between and drop it there.

Hopefully this time would be different. There had only been two white dragons in the history of Pern. Ruth, one hundred and ninety turns earlier and Stanth, seventy turns ago. Each had come from a small egg that no one thought would hatch, and each had to have their shells opened for them.

It was now tradition to assist anyone who felt compelled to help a small egg hatch. That was what the awl was for. Indirect percussion lessened the chance of harming the hatchling within.

He arrived on the hatching ground to find Salaya, rider of Gold Utarth already seated in the senior weyrwoman's place very close to her dragon.

Salaya had been born on Pern. S'ven liked her and they worked well together. But there wasn't the love some of the Weyrleaders and Weyrwomen shared. S'ven respected her and any disrespect shown to her would earn the person showing the disrespect a tongue lashing and usually some form of punishment. S'ven felt that his feelings for her were irrelevant. She rode the senior queen and that entitled her to respect.

He knew she liked and respected him because Utarth would sometimes speak to him. An honor he never failed to appreciate.

As he approached, Salaya glanced at him and nodded approval. "I'm glad you brought the awl. Utarth says the small one is alive."

"Is there any chance it could hatch by itself," S'ven asked her as he took his seat.

Salaya shook her head, sadly. "I don't think so. Neither does Utarth."

"Well then, let's just hope some lucky young person feels something and tries to help it."

The dragons had been humming, but now that hum deepened. There were striations on many, but not all of the eggs.

Suddenly the humming stopped and a bronze head emerged from one of the shells. He rested a moment and then renewed his efforts to free himself. The egg disintegrated around him and he stepped out and fell on his snout, creeling piteously.

A boy in white stepped up and help right him. The hatchling looked into the boy's eyes and cried out in joy.

The boy had a look of astonishment on his face as he looked into the little dragon's eyes. Then he called out. "He says is name is Garanth. He's starving."

A rider led the pair toward the feeding room.

All hatched except the small egg. S'ven stood up regretfully. "I'll have to take it between." he said sadly.

Suddenly there was a small commotion in the stands. A boy of some fourteen turns had hit the sands and was running for the small egg.

"Jonah. Get back here this minute, young man!" S'ven looked and it was Ambassador Keely.

He couldn't spare the time to be concenred about repercussions. He had to get to that boy quickly. He vaulted over the partition and ran for the small egg, removing the awl as he went.

The boy had reached the egg and had kicked it two or three times. He had found a rock and had raised it to strike the egg. The Weyrleader caught his arm before he could bring it down.

"Let go!" the boy shouted. "He needs to get out. Let me go!"

"Here lad," S'ven told him, handing him the awl. He guided the boy's hand to place the blunt tip of it against the egg. "You don't want to hurt the little fellow, now do you?"

"Thank you," the boy croaked and brought the rock he had found down on the top of the awl. One more strike and the egg fell apart revealing a sack containing a squirming hatchling.

S'ven quickly removed his belt knife, cut the membrane and stepped back.

A small white form was revealed. It tried to stand up and fell backward. The boy helped it to its feet. It looked into his eyes and impression was accomplished.

The boy's eyes were wide and the look of wonder that suffused his face was beautiful to see.

Just then the ambassador came pelting up. "What have you done?" he accused the Weyrleader.

"What had to be done, Ambassador. Your son will never be alone. You should be happy about that."

"If he had been Searched," the man countered. "If I'd been given time to prepare. This is not right."

"Look at your son's face and tell me it's not right," S'ven said. "What's his name, boy?"

In a voice filled with awe and wonder he said, "Ratath! He says his name is Ratath! He's starving. I can feel it."

'Let's go," S'ven told him. "I'll show you where you can feed him. And congratulations on impressing a dragon."

They arrived at the feeding room. S'ven led the new pair over to one wall where there were buckets of meat. The boy, Jonah, grabbed one and took a handful of morsels and began feeding them to his beloved dragon.

The dragon was so hungry he was bolting the meat as fast as Jonah could feed it to him.

S'ven was about to tell him not to let the hatchling eat so fast when Jonah said in a loving tone, "Chew. I know you're hungry, but you have to chew. I don't want you to choke."

S'ven nodded. Yes, this boy would do well.

"There will be the urge to try to give him more than he actually needs or even wants, seeing as he is so small," S'ven said. "Don't do it. It's unlikely he will ever grow to full size. That's alright. From the histories, white dragons are invariably runts. But in form only. Their minds are greater than dragons three times their size."

Ratath's eyes began drooping. Of course Jonah knew his dragon was full. He could feel it.

An older man called out. "Once you've fed your dragons come over here. I'll take you to the weyrling's barracks."

"I'm sorry, Dad," Jonah told his father. "I could hear him crying for help, in my mind. I couldn't not help him."

"Don't worry about it, son," his father told him. "You've always been a good, compassionate boy. Go on with the weyrlingmaster. I'll see you at the hatching feast."

Jonah nodded and led his dragon to where the weyrlingmaster waited.

"You and I need to have a conversation, Weyrleader," the ambassador said in low tones.

S'ven nodded. "Come with me. We can talk at my table."

They arrived at the Weyrleaders' table and sat. They were served plates of spiced meats, tubers, what are commonly called potatoes, and vegetables.

"What possessed you to help him crack that little egg?" Keely demanded.

"Reverence for dragonkind, Ambassador."

"I've read the records, sir," Keely told him. "Small eggs such as that don't hatch."

"You obviously haven't read back far enough," S'ven replied. "There have been a total of two white dragons before Ratath. Ruth some one hundred ninety turns ago and Stanth, seventy turns ago. Both were unable to crack their shell on their own. After Stanth it became tradition to assist anyone who tried to help a small egg hatch."

"But why? A white dragon? Is Ratath male or female?"

"Male," Sven replied. "Most likely neuter. Well, Ruth and Stanth were at any rate."

"But why would you want to help such a thing hatch?"

S'ven considered the man for a moment. "White dragons are, as I told your son, invariably runts. But only in their size. Their minds are greater than the largest dragon. They are geniuses among their peers. From the example of Ruth and Stanth, they always know when they are. They can intuitively orient themselves in time. Of course timing it is dangerous and is forbidden except in extreme circumstances, but I would rather trust a white for such a task than even a bronze or a queen. And according to the Confederation, they are people. Do you let a baby die simply because the mother can't push it out?"

Keely sighed and shook his head. "No, of course not. Jonah had to be taken by Cesarian. Maybe that explains why he would be compelled to help that small egg to hatch. But he said he heard it crying for help in his mind."

"Very likely the absolute truth," S'ven said. "Dragons communicate complex ideas with their own kind and their rider telepathically. You can't really blame the boy. If you heard someone crying for help, would you ignore it?"

Keely shook his head. "No, of course not. But this is just all so sudden. He is my only son. His mother died giving birth to him. That's very rare, nowadays, but it does happen occasionally."

"I know," S'ven said. "I come from Earth myself. Well, there is nothing to be done but train the boy. A dragon and rider cannot be separated. He'll have to stay here. We could, possibly, transfer him to Monaco Bay or Southern. I really don't think that would be a good idea at this point. They need to be initiated in between transit first and that takes nine months to a turn."

"Isn't the first time dangerous?" the ambassador asked.

"Absolutely," S'ven said. "It is the most dangerous part of training, but it has to be done. A dragon is no good to anyone if he or she can't find their way between."

"Well, can't the dragon do it alone, the first time?"

"Absolutely out of the question," S'ven informed him. "A rider would rather die than be without his dragon. And vice versa. You don't yet seem to understand that you now have two sons. Jonah or whatever he contracts his name to and Ratath. Their personalities have started to and will continue to intertwine. It will often be impossible to tell where dragon ends and human begins. Ratath didn't tell him he was full. Jonah felt it. Just as he felt the dragon's hunger when he first impressed him."

Jonah picked this time to approach the Weyrleaders' table.

"Sit down, young man," S'ven invited, "and have something to eat."

Jonah sat and took a bite of the food. It was very good.

"So how shall we call you, son?" S'ven asked him.

"J'nah, sir. Ratath likes it so that's good enough for me."

"J'nah it is, then. You are one very lucky young man. Dragons don't choose cowards or idiots for their riders."

"I feel lucky, Weyrleader. I feel like the luckiest person in the universe. I love him more than anything. More than my own life."

"I know how you feel son," S'ven said. "I feel the same way about my Tapinth.


A/N: That's it for this chapter. Thanks for reading. Don't forget to review.