Life With Half A Soul Is Only Half A Life
It was a sevenday since T'lor had made the choice to live. And still it wasn't any easier.
T'lor awoke secure in M'rek's embrace, his weyrmate's body warm and comforting against his. He opened his eyes to daylight and the sounds of the Weyr going about its daily life. He made no effort to move, it felt good like this, how it always had been. And for a moment he almost felt happy.
Then he remembered and the tears began again. At once M'rek's arms tightened round him, pulling him closer, his lips brushing against T'lor's tousled blonde head as he whispered what comfort he could give.
"Hush, T'lor. It'll be all right. I'll make it right somehow, I promise."
"How? How can you make it right? You can't bring Zirth back, no one can. And without him I can never be whole again. How can I live my life with half a soul?"
"We'll find a way."
Gently M'rek kissed T'lor.
"Urgh, I don't know how you can put up with all that fuzz on your face. It itches when I kiss you."
At that T'lor gave a weak smile.
"It stays, so stop complaining."
T'lor's beard had been the one thing they disagreed over for as long as they'd been together. He'd grown it after being teased that he was far too young for M'rek, and insisted on keeping it despite his weyrmate protesting that their age difference didn't matter.
"Time to get up, love," M'rek said then.
"I don't know about you, but I'm starving. They'll be serving breakfast in the dining hall now."
"I'm not sure I can face them."
"You have to do it some time, love. You can't hide away up here forever."
"I know, but..."
"I'll be with you. You won't have to do it alone."
They took their time crossing the bowl to the lower cavern because T'lor was still weak and unsteady on his feet.
Together they entered the dining hall, M'rek with his arm around T'lor's shoulder supporting the younger man. He led him to a table where others of their wing sat.
"Sit, T'lor. I'll get our food."
He did as he was bid, sitting silently with bowed head and hunched up shoulders until his weyrmate returned. M'rek emptied the tray he was carrying of its bowls of porridge and mugs of klah then sat down. He pushed one of the bowls in front of T'lor, frowning when he made no effort to eat.
"Come on, love, you need to eat."
"Maybe you should have just let him die," someone said from the other end of the table.
"He's no use to the Weyr now."
M'rek half rose in his seat, angered at the cruel remark. Only a firm hand on his shoulder held him back.
"Let me handle this," their wingleader, T'gan, said, having arrived in time to hear.
"I won't have a member of my wing talking like that, J'ris. Don't let me hear it again, from any of you. You are excused, J'ris."
"But I haven't finished my breakfast..."
"I think you have. Unless you'd like me to assign you extra chores?"
"No, wingleader. I'll go."
T'gan watched the man go, then fetched his own breakfast from the hearth and sat down opposite M'rek and T'lor. He ate a few spoonfuls of his porridge, then paused and gazed thoughtfully at the former bluerider.
"You should really eat that while it's hot. You need to build your strength up again. Then we can find you something to do. You are staying at the Weyr, I take it?"
T'lor nodded.
"Good. We'd hate to lose you. Now the first thing we need to know is what we should call you now."
"Wingleader!" M'rek protested.
"No, it's okay. He's right. I can't be T'lor without a dragon. I know that."
The young man looked up at the wingleader and met his concerned gaze squarely.
"I was Tanelor before," he said softly.
"I can be Tanelor again."