Welcome to my first story here on fanfic. I intend for this to be a slightly different view on life in the Candidate Barracks. You'll see the story from several different viewpoints, everyone from the Weyrleader on down to the bully of the younger Candidates. That said, please sit back, relax, enjoy the virtual complementary snacks.

Do note, as much as I would love to claim Dragonriders of Pern as my own, it is owned by Anne McCaffrey and I get nothing out of this but the satisfaction of writing.

Chapter One

Memories

Here stand I, at the edge of the world. The cliff in front of me opens onto empty sky. I stand here and survey the world. All is wrong; all is not as it should be. A piece of me has gone missing, never more to return. Where is my heart-friend, my true love, my only life-mate? Gone, she has gone and left me to this forsaken world. Left me here to suffer in silence, watching the turns pass slowly by. I am here alone.

With a great joyous cry I leap off cliff. I'm coming Haronth, I'll be there soon! Down I plummet faster and faster, lost in the fall and my approaching end. The pain will stop, and I will end, to rejoin my beautiful Haronth. Soon the ground appears, closer and closer still and I close my eyes, waiting for the impact. None comes, and I open my eyes to see the Infirmary. It is quiet here, I am alone in this bed. Every once and a while a Healer checks on me, rebandages my thread-scores, and gives my numb-weed. Then she leaves me to the quiet, and still I am alone.

Maybe one day my wounds shall heal, my body will be whole again. I will walk and eat and talk, but still I will always be here alone. For he is gone, and will never return to me. They tell me that this journal saved my life, if I had not tucked it under my Fall robe I would be dead. Even now it is stained with our blood, together. This is all I have left of us.

*****

The deep tenor voice of the CandidateMaster fell silent as he finished reading the passage. Slowly, reverently, he closed the journal and set it gently on the desk. Silence reigned as he looked around the room slowly. Many of his charges had tears in their eyes, and though he'd never admit it, it had taken candlemarks of practice to get through the passage without leaking a tear from his own eye.

Letting the silence continue for a moment he bowed his head, waiting for what instinct and old age told him was the right moment. "Lads and Lasses, I'll be blunt. This is what awaits a number of ye' who Impress. This is the price all Dragon-men must pay. The price my Weyr-Mate paid those many turns ago."

Here, his voice cracked, and he had to fight to avoid a tear, it wouldn't do for the young'uns to see the Old Man crying. Pausing a moment more he took a deep breath, then continued, "The risk is plain, you all saw the journal. Now, the question you must answer is this, "Does the reward outweigh the possible cost? Someone who will love you all their life, for the pain of separation when they die."

His voice became ever so slightly softer and quieter. "The choice is yours my Candidates, find the answer in your own heart." Speech finished he slowly turned back to the desk he had set the journal on. Picking it up, he turned and strode out the door. Oddly, for a few long moments after he had left, no-one moved. Then as per usual, a rush for the door commenced and the day's lesson was officially over.

Back in his office, CandidateMaster Hed'ron sank into his chair, somber but mildly pleased with himself. His current Candidate class was roughly finished with its turn's worth of lessons. Soon the Queen on the Sands, Alkeriath, was expected to allow the class on the Sands for an Egg Touching chance. Yes, this class was almost ready, which was an incredible thing considering how they had first arrived almost a turn ago. Chuckling softly to himself Hed'ron leaned back in his chair, remembering the events that had passed since the arrival.

That first day; well he hoped the next class had either half the attitude or half the size, for breaking his current class down had taken enough effort to make him consider requesting a transfer to the Weyrling Barracks. Scratching his white bread with one hand, Hed'ron remembered that he'd had help. His Assistant CandidateMaster had been invaluable, even if he was a bit green behind the ears. Even one or two of the Candidates had contributed, in a most unusual way. Young Gante had drawn up his poem as a satirical tune, and now… Well there was a very large copy posted boldly in the Common Room, and while he hadn't given his approval, he had prevented his Assistant from tearing it down on the first day.

To think it all had begun with that first turbulent day. Lost in memories, Hed'ron leaned further back in his chair, propping his feet up on the desk. Oh, yes, he still remembered.