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The afternoon chore for the queenrider candidates was to scour Benden’s lower cavern ovens. R’mil mildly informed the candidates that care of a young queen involved constant scrubbing, so the candidates had better get practicing hadn’t they? Scowling at the ingrained wherry fat coating the hot stones, the candidates applied themselves with mixed enthusiasm.

Under the watchful gaze of R’mil, Lorilla, eldest daughter of a minor Lemos holder, scrubbed vigorously at her stone. Once R’mil had praised Lorilla’s diligence and moved on, the girl skulked away from her task, her foul mood etched across her expressive forehead. She tossed her cloth at that dark haired girl with the birthmark (Bitran, wasn’t she?) and edged closer to the circle of women around the kitchen fires. Why should she, Lorilla, clean, when Benden had women of the lower caverns to do such work, didn’t they?

Something was causing a bit of a commotion among the women. Rumours always spread like thread burrows around the cavern. Something about a missing queen egg? Still, Lorilla loved to be the bearer of news. Especially bad news. She stalked back to the oven stones, and whispered in Raleri’s ear. Before a quarter of the scouring was finished, the girls were rushing towards the fire. If there was no queen egg, were they even candidates anymore?

Arana pushed bedraggled dark curls out of sharp golden eyes, sighing at the disappearance of her fellows. She called herself Arana of Pern, and when pressed, mentioned that she had formerly lived at Bitra. The other girls knew what her disregard for her former home meant. This must be a woman of low status, who couldn’t wait to leave drudgery of her own hold. The strawberry mark across her cheek proved that she wasn’t of noble stock. So of course, it was right that she finished most of the chores the girls were assigned to. She’d had enough practice, surely. Arana deftly finished cleaning her own stone, and turned to complete Lorilla’s. Not that she was intimidated by that waif, but there’d be no peace in the barracks. Arana smiled, quietly confident. The other girls really had no idea who she was.

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R’mil, followed closely by the Weyrwoman, charged into the lower cavern. The candidates, lounging by the fire, looked around guiltily for their unfinished tasks. Lorilla began to toss her hair at the weyrlingmaster, but R’mil didn’t even seem a bit concerned. He looked incensed, but his anxiety was nothing compared with the fury radiating from the Weyrwoman. Arana had never seen Lessa without her imperious composure, and Lessa barked at them –“The queen egg is to hatch immediately. Ramoth needs candidates NOW. Move!” Lessa seemed almost wild with rage. The Weyrwoman gave a fiery glare at all the candidates, hastily springing up from their indolence, spun on her heel, and rushed back towards her queen.

Confusion reigned in the cavern, as candidates and women began talking all at once. “But the egg isn’t to hatch for three sevendays!” Raleri shouted. “We haven’t our impression robes made yet!” simpered Lorilla – this task was usually completed two sevendays before impression. With a bellow only a trained harper or a weyrlingmaster could produce, R’mil silenced the cavern. 

“The egg is to hatch any moment. For the love of the weyr, run to the hatching ground like leading edge is on you!” Arana immediately took off in the direction of the hatching cavern, several other candidates following, no time to ask questions. When a few others made towards the barracks and the spare impression robes, R’mil snarled at them.

“For Faranth’s sake, the queen won’t care how you look!” Lorilla shot R’mil an furious look for his rudeness, but all the girls finally sensing his urgency began to sprint towards the cavern, R’mil following. Of them all, only R’mil knew that the infant queen would jump between if she met no-one suitable. His eyes flashed with panic as he urged the girls onwards.  

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Ramoth roared as a small group of human females raced onto the hatching ground. NO-ONE should come near HER eggs ever again. She bellowed furiously, screaming at everyone except Lessa to leave. Mnementh’s brassy, angry bugle added to his weyrmate’s, and two candidates collapsed to the floor in fright. Even as they roared, the golden egg began to crack open. No comforting hum accompanied this hatchling’s arrival.

Arana cooly regarded the raging dragons. They would let her through. The hatchling had to be impressed.

As a second, terminal crack split the golden egg, R’mil arrived with the last of the candidates. Lorilla glared round, and was irritated to see Arana positioned closest to the egg. She had no right.

The egg shattered in a sudden motion, and the golden hatchling emerged, incensed. Perhaps the hatchling had caught the mood of its parents, or perhaps its irritation was at the long months in the egg, but this child was angry!

Shaking its head, thinking for a moment, the dragonet began to race unsteadily, but purposely across the sands towards Arana.

Lorilla saw its intent. She hadn’t run all the way across the bowl to let a nobody rise to the prestige of weyrwoman! The weyr would thank her later. Arana, focussed on the dragonet, did not hear Lorilla approaching. The girl kicked Arana’s feet out from under her, and placed herself in front of the dragonet, sure that she would be preferred.

Moments later, Lorilla herself was knocked unconscious. The great pinions of Mnementh had tossed her aside. He would not allow another interference with HIS hatchling.

The dragonet, increasingly fearful with the emotions around it, continued to stagger towards Arana. It walked across the unconscious Lorilla, gouging deep pinion marks on her shoulders. Bewildered, the dragonet looked ahead, now aware that something good, yes, very good, was about to happen!

Arana, infuriated at being pushed, leapt to her feet, momentarily disoriented. But yes, the dragonet was still coming towards her! Forgetting the ache in her leg, Arana hobbled as fast as she could towards the little dragon, dropping to her knees beside it and turning its eye towards her. The rainbow colours melted over her, as a joy Arana had never experienced suffused her. This was what love felt like! At last she had an equal, an advocate who matched her in her own fierce intelligence. Never again would Arana be the disappointing daughter with the unmarketable looks. She was weyrwoman to Bilroth, beautiful, clever Bilroth! Arana’s status was now equal to the top ranked on Pern. The impetuous hatchling’s anger was forgotten as she crooned delightedly at her new weyrmate, butting her head gently into Arana’s chest.

Bilroth’s young mind inexorably turned towards her next need food, and Arana commandingly ordered that it be brought to her. Grabbing a plate of meat from one of R’mil’s assistants, Arana encouragingly fed chunks of meat to her dragon, talking to her and gently stroking her eye ridges as she relaxed. The onlookers watched, even the Weyrleaders’ anger at the day’s events cooling at the enchanting sight of the newly impressed pair, and the girl’s competent handling of her charge.

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“Arana… who is she?” The Weyrwoman approached R’mil, temporarily placated by the return of peace to the weyr, and dutiful as always to her tasks as senior weyrwoman.

Rubbing his forehead thoughtfully, R’mil regarded the Werywoman. “She said very little about  her background – a blue dragon of R’gul’s wing found her at Bitra a sevenday ago. Said she was very strong, Larith instantly knew she was for the Weyr. The other candidates were sniping that she’d been a drudge, but that is certainly no barrier to success in THIS weyr. Obviously, we would have interviewed her more formally for the records, but time did not allow…” R’mil trailed off, the weyrwoman’s nostrils flaring slightly.

“Bring her to the Queen’s Weyr once Bilroth is settled. I’d like to be immediately acquainted with this girl, who can so coolly impress a queen.”

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Footsteps approached the Queen’s weyr after the evening meal – a hastily cobbled together celebration feast, in spite of the day’s trauma. Manora always knew how to boost morale. R’mil entered, accompanied by the new queenrider, who bowed graciously to her dragon’s sire and dam on the ledge. Ramoth rumbled, the first colours of approval returning to her whirling eyes.

F’lar and Lessa motioned to the weyrlingmaster and the newest weyrling to join them on the stone benches. As Arana moved into the light, F’lar startled – the girl had striking amber eyes, thick dark hair! She couldn’t be… no, she was too old… But the resemblance must surely be obvious to his weyrmate also. Lessa gazed now with an even keener interest at this new young weyrwoman.

“Arana” Lessa began, looking sweetly at the younger woman “congratulations on your impression of Bilroth. A fine pairing! But we must know – who are you, Arana? You’re not of the weyr, R’mil said you hail from Bitra?”

Arana cast her full attention away from Bilroth’s sleeping mind, aware of the scrutiny of the weyrleaders. Aware that she was being tested, Arana responded with confidence, a confidence in herself that she no longer had to hide.

“I introduced myself as Arana of Pern. The man who called himself my father preferred my heritage to be hidden. Officially, I am the youngest daughter of Lord Sifer of Bitra, and his second wife Anaril. Sifer did not parade me around his gathers – he was ashamed of my ‘deficiency,’ but he loved my mother too much to cast us out”

F’lar and Lessa glanced at each other quickly. Neither was quite sure whether Arana was referring to her birthmark – which the conservative holders looking to marry off a daughter would certainly despise – or to her colouring, which obviously did not resemble the blonde heritage of the Bitrans.

Arana continued “I now drop the pretence of my father. I am no more proud of him than he was of me. My father was Bravon, son of S’lonner, rider of Chendith and weyrleader of Benden. I proudly own my true heritage!”

F’lar laughed. His uncle had left the weyr before the death of F’lon, after the loss of his bronze dragon Milrath between. He was never spoken of - in those days it had been traditional not to remember those whose dragons were lost between. It was a disgrace to lose one’s dragon during an interval. F’lar had heard his uncle had died at Bitra after a fight over a woman. Ruefully, he reflected that his family had a habit of going between in duels. So far, he’d avoided the same fate.

F’lar also remembered that Bravon, like his father and himself, had been popular with the women of the weyr. And here was the proof of it! She must have been born late in Bravon’s life – a child of his dying year, perhaps. But there was no doubt of her ancestry, as the bold yellow eyes shrewdly met his own!

Lessa glanced with amusement at her weyrmate. Family didn’t mean much in the weyr. But this girl clearly shared her family’s affinity for dragons, and her wit and intelligence would be vital for the future leadership of Pern’s weyrs!

F’lar laughed again. Stretching out his hand to grip Arana’s arm in the traditional fashion, the cousins' amber eyes met. “You clearly belong here, Arana. Welcome to Benden Weyr, kin!”