Chapter 18 - Return
Winter, 36-37th Turn of the Present Pass
As the winter solstice approached, the weather grew colder, and although D'min's wound continued to heal, his emotional state worsened. In spite of his efforts to remain cheerful, B'lee knew that D'min was getting very touchy about his continued disability. He was still forbidden to go between or to fly outside the immediate environs of the Weyr, and he chafed at the restrictions.
He was also getting increasingly despondent about his looks, B'lee realised. He was reluctant to leave his weyr, especially during the busiest parts of the day. He even went to the effort of bathing at odd times when he thought that no one else would be in the cavern that held the hot springs. Though they had no mirror in the weyr, D'min had caught sight of himself in the reflections from the bathing pool, and was distressed to see that he was so disfigured. It wasn't just the scar - bad though that was - but also the muscle wastage in his right arm and shoulder from the months of disuse.
B'lee had told him repeatedly that it made no difference to him, but D'min didn't believe him, and became more and more depressed as the healing dragged on and the wound remained so tender and problematic. He complained incessantly, to the point where B'lee was ready to tear his hair out in frustration.
"I'm only 18," he said, morosely, one evening, his fingertips running over the raised edge of the scar. "And look at me - I look horrible. No one's going to want me now."
"Good!" B'lee exclaimed, exasperation making him sound angry.
"What?!" D'min spun around to confront B'lee. "You think it's good that I'm hideously scarred for life?"
"No. I think it's good that I won't have to fight off every blue and green rider in the Six Weyrs. And don't be so fardling ridiculous. If every rider with scars shut themselves away in self-pity there'd be no one out there fighting Thread at all."
D'min continued to look at him, open mouthed. B'lee rarely lost his temper, but he'd had enough of D'min's self-piteous whinging and decided to put a stop to it, once and for all.
"Yes, D'min, you have a large scar on your neck. It will always be there. Some people might consider it disfiguring. I don't. You're still the most attractive man I know, and if I don't care about it, I don't see why you should. I'm the one that has to see it every day, after all."
"Oh."
"And, what's more, if it makes you a bit more careful about exposing yourself and Aurieth to Thread, then I'll be downright grateful for it."
D'min bit his lip and looked down. The petulant expression was gone, leaving him looking young and worried and vulnerable.
B'lee's anger faded, and he went over and put his arms around his lover. "Never, ever, think that this scar affects how I feel about you. I love you, D'min. I love the person you are, the person inside. A few inches of skin more or less don't mean anything at all."
D'min dropped his head onto B'lee shoulder. "Sorry," he whispered. "I guess I was being a bit of a prat."
"You were being a lot of a prat, but I forgive you." B'lee kissed him. "And I know that your looks mean a lot to you. I know you loved being the centre of attention with the blues and greens. But, you know, I don't think that was ever because of your looks. It was because you smile and laugh and make people feel loved. That's why you're popular - not because of your looks, but because of your personality, and that hasn't changed."
D'min looked at him. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure. And I think that you need to start going down to the dining hall again instead of hiding away up here."
"I hate the way people stare."
"So wear that scarf I made you last winter. That will hide it."
"I guess I could. It looks good on me."
"Of course, it does - I chose the colour especially for you. And it's soft enough not to chafe."
D'min smiled, and went to fetch it from the chest. B'lee wrapped it around his neck so that it hid most of the scar, and gave D'min a kiss for good measure.
"You look great," he said, hoping that D'min would be reassured.
"Really?"
"Yes, really."
"Good enough to flirt with?"
"No one is allowed to flirt with you ever again. You know that." B'lee softened the chastisement by kissing him again.
"Hah. I bet M'ken will flirt with me."
"M'ken would flirt with anything in wherhide. He's a tart."
"You don't like him just because he tried to seduce you."
"It's not that he tried - it's that he never stops trying. He had his hand on my arse only yesterday, and he knows I'm with you." B'lee looked piteously at D'min. "I hoped you'd be protecting me from him."
D'min bristled at the thought that the randy green rider - his former lover, too! - was after his weyrmate. "I'll make sure he doesn't touch you again," he growled. "Not if I have to go to every meal with you."
"My hero," B'lee looked at him fondly. "Come on, then, let's go down and fight off the hordes." He kissed D'min warmly, and then led him to the stairs.
* * *
Solstice was bitterly cold, with snow along the mountains and a vicious north wind that whistled through the caves and passages of Fort Weyr. No one ventured outside unless they had to. All the riders hurried from weyr to lower caverns, and took care not to stand within splashing distance when their dragons bathed in the lake. The Weyr bowl was relatively sheltered, but even there the gusts and eddies of wind made people shiver, and Hold-bred folk thought wistfully of the strong metal doors and shutters that had protected them from the elements as much as from Thread. The Hatching Ground became a temporary refuge for the thin-blooded, including the injured and a couple of weyrlings from Southern Boll who had difficulty in adjusting to the cooler mountain climate.
Luckily for B'lee's peace of mind, D'min was now able to wear proper clothing. Over the last couple of months B'lee had made him a thick knitted jersey with a high neck that not only kept him warm, but hid most of the scar. It was a warm russet brown colour, and D'min loved it. With that, and a screen that they had managed to erect to keep out most of the wind from his weyr, they were relatively comfortable. B'lee had never actually returned the flask he'd borrowed a few months ago, and now made sure that it was filled up after every meal so that D'min would have something warm to drink in the weyr.
The only good aspect of the frightful weather was that Thread froze in the sky and fell as a black dust, requiring no flame to kill it. L'mal sent up two Wings each time to make sure that it was safe, and insisted that the remaining Wings be ready to fly, just in case some got through, but no one minded that - it made good sense after all, and the remaining riders were happy to sit in their weyrs for a few hours, if it meant that they only had to fly one fall in six.
D'min was improving steadily, both in strength and mood. He wasn't as reluctant to be seen in and around the Weyr (as long as he was wearing the russet jersey or the green scarf to hide his scar), and made regular appearances at meals.
B'lee was both relieved and a little sad - relieved because D'min was getting better, but sad (and ashamed of it) because he had enjoyed doing everything for his lover. He'd enjoyed having D'min dependent on him for almost everything and, in particular, he'd been happy that D'min hadn't been spending much time with his green and blue rider friends, flirting and laughing as he had done in the past. He knew that D'min would be his normal cheeky and vivacious self once he rejoined the wing, and he was worried that D'min might come to see B'lee as boring and unimaginative. He hadn't stayed with any lover for more than a few months since coming back to Fort Weyr, and B'lee already knew that most of the green riders liked their freedom to move from lover to lover at whim. How long was D'min going to stay with him?
What would B'lee do if D'min moved on? He'd faced that thought back in the summer, and it had hurt then. How much worse would it be now, after he'd come to appreciate D'min as a lover, not just as a friend? The pain would be indescribable ... but he had to be prepared for it. D'min was so young - even if he thought that he loved B'lee for life now, he might well change his mind in a Turn or two.
He had to be prepared.
* * *
A week after Solstice, D'min was given clearance to begin training again.
"You can fly and go between, as long as you keep warm," cautioned Berchar. "You must continue to exercise that arm and shoulder, and try to build up your strength again. Looking after Aurieth yourself will help you to do that."
D'min nodded. He'd already helped to oil her a couple of times, taking care not to overstretch himself, but he couldn't deny that it had been tiring, and B'lee had insisted on him resting afterwards.
"The scar is still a bit tender," the Healer continued, "so you will have to be careful with your jacket - if you find that the collar is rubbing on the scar, then you must stop flying for a few days to let it settle down. The last thing I want is for you to be damaging that delicate tissue. I know you don't need numbweed anymore, but I want you to apply this salve to the scar. It will be two Turns before it fades completely, and during that time you must make an effort to keep the skin stretched and pliable. If you allow the scar to contract, you may well end up with restrictions in the movement of the neck and shoulder, and that will have a serious effect on your ability to spot thread."
D'min was alarmed at Berchar's warning, and promised to allow B'lee to apply the salve every night and morning, no matter how much it hurt.
B'lee accepted his new task with alacrity. It was no hardship for him to be touching his lover's skin, and the thought that the scar might contract filled him with dread. They'd all seen the results of poorly-healed burns at one time or another, and B'lee had no intention of letting D'min's injury cripple him for life.
D'min felt guilty at the demands on B'lee's time. "You don't have to do this," he said on the third day, shifting uncomfortably under his lover's hands.
"Well, who else is going to traipse up all those steps to do it? I'm here, at least." He dabbed a little more salve on the scar and kept on rubbing, trying to stretch out the tissue. "I know it's not exactly pleasant, but it has to be done."
There were parts of the scar - near the jaw - that remained a bit tender, and B'lee tried to do those first, getting them out of the way. Then he moved down further, towards the shoulder. Finally, when he'd worked on that as much as D'min could stand, he would start to knead the knotted muscles around the other shoulder.
"That feels good," purred D'min, and B'lee smiled. He knew what that tone of voice meant, and he looked forward to it. Now that D'min was feeling better, they were making love most evenings, and sometimes in the mornings, too, if there was no Threadfall. B'lee found that he liked learning all the things that two men could do with each other, and it gave him a fierce joy to learn what he could do to please D'min, to bring him to the point of incoherence. But most of all, he loved hearing D'min's voice becoming deep and rough with passion, gaining some tone that went straight through B'lee's body and into his groin.
* * *
The next morning, D'min reported to the wingleader for duty. B'lee went with him, at S'peren's request, which made B'lee rather apprehensive - he had the feeling that S'peren anticipated some reluctance to follow orders. He was right.
"What do you mean, I can't rejoin the wing yet?" asked D'min, incredulous and angry. "I'm better! I can fly! I can use my arm! Tell him, B'lee."
"He's a lot better than he was," began B'lee, little hesitantly. He had to support his weyrmate, of course, but his innate honesty and concern for D'min made it impossible to say that D'min was ready to fight Thread again.
"I know he is," said S'peren, understanding B'lee's dilemma. "We've been watching you, D'min, over the last few sevendays, and I can see that you've been doing the exercises that Berchar recommended, and your strength is improving. Aurieth is doing very well, of course - she's completely well and flying normally. But you had so much time off, so soon after joining the Wing, that I can't let you back immediately. It wouldn't be safe."
"I'll be safe, I promise," pleaded D'min. "Just let me fly Thread again."
"You've been out of the Wing for more than four months," said S'peren, shaking his head. "I know you've made very effort to get better quickly - and I know it's been difficult for you at times - but you need time to build up your strength a little more and practise the drills again. I want you to rejoin the weyrling classes for a few sevendays, to work on flying drills and firesacks. You can fly with the Wing when we're doing drills, but not Falls."
D'min looked rebellious, but S'peren was quietly insistent. "This is not a punishment, D'min, believe me. It's merely the final stage of your recovery. I have a responsibility to the Weyrleader to make sure that my Wing is prepared, and that every dragon and rider in it is capable of fighting Thread to their full capacity. I can't give him that assurance if I allow the injured back too soon. Do you understand me?"
Reluctantly, D'min nodded.
"Do I have your word that you will attend the weyrling classes until I say otherwise?"
D'min hesitated, but finally said, in a low voice, "Yes, you have my word."
S'peren smiled. "Thank you. And B'lee?"
"Yes, Wingleader?"
"I expect you to do everything you can to help D'min in the next few sevendays. Tired and sore muscles are going to need a lot of attention."
D'min grinned, and B'lee went red. "I'll do the best I can," he muttered.
* * *
That afternoon, D'min joined the junior weyrling class in preparing firesacks for the next Fall. Although he started out well, after a couple of hours hauling firestone around he was exhausted. He refused to stop, though, and returned to his weyr pale and trembling, and supporting his right arm with his left.
B'lee was furious when he saw how bad D'min was and hauled him off to the bathing pool, where he insisted that D'min lie in the warm water while he got him hot klah and some food to eat.
"This is exactly why S'peren wouldn't let you fly Thread straight away," he fumed. "You haven't got the sense of a week-old watch-wher!"
"I wasn't going to stop when I had a bunch of weyrlings looking at me!"
"They know you were injured. It's not as if they expected you to be strong."
"I'm a rider. I can't let the weyrlings think they're better than me."
"They're not better, they're just not recovering from injury."
Once fed, and with muscle aches eased by the hot water, D'min hauled himself out of the pool (with B'lee's help) and got dressed again. "Mmm," he murmured lazily, leaning heavily on B'lee's shoulder. "Take me to bed and shag me to sleep."
"No."
"What?" D'min straightened up and looked at B'lee, puzzled by his answer.
"No. No sex tonight. I'll put ointment on the scar, and I'll massage any sore muscles you have, but you're not getting anything else. You're too exhausted."
"B'lee! You wouldn't!"
"I would."
"Please, B'lee."
B'lee looked daggers at him. "No. I'm not shagging you, D'min. In fact, I'm not sure I'll ever shag you again. If you can't work out when you need to stop, then you're going to get yourself killed, and I can't cope with that."
D'min went white. "No, B'lee. I'm sorry!"
Months of anxiety and worry broke free of B'lee's self-control, and he almost shouted at D'min. "It's not just you any more, don't you understand? If anything happens to you, then I lose a mate, and Margroth loses a mate, and the Weyr loses a dragon and we can't afford that!"
D'min looked horrified, as if he had never thought about it in those terms before - which, knowing D'min, he probably hadn't. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I didn't think ..."
"You have to learn to think. You're a dragonrider now, not a weyrling. You have to think of consequences now. Every time you take a risk, there are consequences, and we're going to be the ones who suffer."
D'min bit his lip, and B'lee tried hard not to notice the glitter of tears in his lover's eyes. He felt angry, and exhausted, and so very, very scared, and it was easier to stay angry with D'min than to tell him just how much he feared another accident.
D'min stepped closer. "I'm really sorry. I didn't realise I was scaring you so much."
B'lee fought the urge to hold him, but said, softly, "How am I supposed to live if you die?"
D'min's tears spilled over, and this time B'lee gave in and took him in his arms.
"I'm sorry," D'min repeated. "I won't die, I promise. I'll be more careful."
"Please, D'min. I love you so much. I thought I'd lost you once ... I couldn't bear it again."
"I'm sorry," whispered D'min, again and again.
They stood, wrapped in each other's arms, for a couple of minutes, until they felt a bit calmer.
D'min gave a loud sniff, and straightened up, giving B'lee a watery smile. "Do you think Margroth might give me a lift back up to the weyr? I don't think I can manage the steps and Aurieth's asleep.
"Of course," B'lee said, calling Margroth down and kissing D'min's cheek as a reward for having admitted a small weakness.
They turned towards the passageway, and B'lee caught sight of K'lon, standing off to one side but watching them closely.
"Are you two all right?" asked K'lon as they passed him.
B'lee nodded. "Yes. Yes, we are, now."
* * *
D'min was a lot more conscious of his limits after that, and took small rest-breaks whenever he started to tire. As F'neldril looked on with approval, and none of the weyrlings teased him, it was less embarrassing than he had anticipated, and he was able to pace himself without becoming too self-conscious. Within a few sevendays he had regained much of his strength and stamina, and was even enjoying the classes. His experience and knowledge was appreciated by the weyrlings he worked with - particularly the insights he was able to give them on the difference between flying drills and flying Thread - and he found that he hadn't forgotten too much of the drills. His confidence increased, and he became less preoccupied with his appearance, even to the extent of forgetting to wear the concealing scarf around the Weyr.
B'lee noted the difference in him, and responded with ardour. Their love-making had changed subtly since the confrontation by the bathing pool, becoming deeper and tinged with more emotion. B'lee found it more satisfying, especially afterwards, when he held D'min in his arms and watched him sleep. He felt that they were truly weyrmates now, not just lovers: weyrmates who cared for each other's future as well as present.
It was a pity, he thought, that hand-fasting wasn't a Weyr custom. Only a minority of people formed a lasting union here - most of them came together for a few months or a couple of Turns, and then went their separate ways without rancour or bitterness. Children were loved and cared for, by either birth or foster parents, but since there were no lands or positions to inherit in a Weyr, it followed that legitimacy was a non-issue, and life was so uncertain in these times that few were prepared to take on a long commitment.
B'lee wanted that commitment. His parents had been hand-fasted for nearly forty years, and though he knew that they'd had the odd disagreement, by and large they'd been in love and happy for all that time. It was something that he had hoped for in his own life, and he'd been looking forward to finding a wife as soon as possible after being released from the Harperhall.
D'min could never be a wife, of course, but deep down, B'lee hoped for a similar commitment. But there were no ceremonies for riders here, no witnesses, no contracts. If D'min fell in love with someone else, he could leave B'lee without so much as a backward glance, and there was nothing that B'lee could do about it ... except, perhaps, to request a transfer to another Wing, or even another Weyr. All he could do was hope.
He shivered, and kissed D'min's shoulder, hoping to ward off any possible disaster.
* * *
D'min's first Fall back with the wing was in the second month of the Turn - a dawn Fall, and bitterly cold. S'peren made them sit out the first half, but brought them in readily enough when the first shift of greens was starting to tire.
They managed well, twisting and turning in an elegant and deadly dance with the noxious Threads, making sure that any wayward strands were eliminated before they could hurt the larger dragons or fall to the ground beneath. B'lee tried hard to concentrate on his own tasks, but he couldn't help casting a glance in D'min's direction now and again, elated that his mate was doing so well, and anxious in case he was tiring. Aurieth was fine and showed no sign of excessive fatigue, and he told himself that she would make sure that D'min was safe.
In the bathing pool afterwards, he couldn't help noticing that D'min was fading a little, and insisted on Margroth carrying them both up to his weyr. He pushed D'min into bed and covered him with the sleeping furs, kissing his forehead. D'min was so exhausted that he didn't even argue, and was asleep before his head hit the pillow.
B'lee put their wherhide clothes out to air on the ledge, and checked on Aurieth. She was a little pale, but otherwise all right. Margroth told B'lee that she was tired, too, and that he had promised to get her a wherry to eat later in the day.
That's good. I'm glad you're looking after her.
Always.
B'lee grabbed the stoppered flask that he'd come to rely on so much during D'min's convalescence and trudged down the stairs to the dining hall.
"How is he?" asked K'lon.
"Asleep. Just tired, I think. We had to get up so early, I don't think he slept well."
"Ah, you're probably right. I thought he might have over-exerted himself."
"I think he did, just a little, but there's no damage done. Nothing a few hours' sleep can't fix, anyway."
After lunch he filled the flask with hot klah and hurried back up to the weyr, where he sat by the bed knitting another jersey until D'min woke up.
"Hello there, love. Want a drink?"
D'min nodded, and B'lee poured him out a cup of klah - it had cooled a bit since he'd brought it up, but was still warm, if not hot. D'min drank it down eagerly.
"I'm starving," he complained.
"Well, you did miss lunch."
"Did you bring me anything to eat?"
"No. I thought you'd sleep till dinner time, and you did. I heard the weyrlings coming out about five minutes ago, so we should probably start moving."
"Huh." D'min tone showed exactly what he thought of that, but he got up nevertheless, and started to get dressed.
They made it to the dining hall in good time, and sat with their friends, joking and laughing through the meal. D'min was congratulated on having accomplished his first Fall after so long a convalescence, and enjoyed a mild - a very mild - flirtation with M'ken and S'been.
D'min started to tire before the meal was over, but B'lee could see that he was determined not to give in. Accepting the inevitable, B'lee slid closer and put an arm around his lover, coaxing him to lean back. D'min relaxed a little as B'lee took some of his weight, and the worry lines that had appeared on his brow faded.
B'lee felt the strain of supporting D'min's weight as well as his own, but the effort was worth it. He liked the feel of D'min against him, and liked the thought that he was not only supporting his weyrmate, but doing it in front of the entire Wing. There would be no one here tonight who could claim ignorance of their relationship, no one who could deny that they were a couple. And though such a thought would have horrified him two years ago - even a few months ago - it now felt as natural as breathing.
"I think you'd better get him back up to bed," said M'ken softly. "He's almost asleep now."
B'lee tilted his head around and saw that D'min's eyes were closed and his face was slack. "I think you're right," he murmured, and shook D'min gently to wake him up. "Come on, sleepyhead. Time to go to bed."
"Mmm, not asleep."
D'min's denial did nothing to convince B'lee, and he stood up, bringing D'min to his feet. "Bedtime, love."
D'min shook his head, but opened his eyes and managed to extricate himself from the benches without falling over. "Goodnight, all," he said to the table at large. "I think B'lee wants to take me to bed."
B'lee blushed, but refused to let D'min embarrass him without making some form of retaliation. "I do. But if you're too tired, I'm sure that M'ken here can console me." He winked at M'ken to make sure that the green rider understood it was a joke, and received a knowing smile in return.
D'min spun around so fast it was a wonder he was able to stop. "No one is consoling you, do you hear?" He gripped the front of B'lee's shirt and pulled him in close. "You're my weyrmate and only mine. Understand?"
B'lee put his own hand over D'min's and looked into his eyes. "I'm yours, D'min. You know that."
D'min relaxed, and let go of the shirt, brushing his hands over the material as if he could erase the creases he'd just created. "Sorry."
M'ken - and several others - laughed out loud at the by-play. "Ooh, you'd better watch out, B'lee, the little dragon has claws!"
B'lee smiled at D'min, and was glad that he couldn't see his own face, because he was sure that he must have the silliest, goofiest smile ever seen on a rider. "But he's my little dragon, so that's all right."
"Aww!" came the chorus from the table, and several of the more sentimental riders sniffed or reached for their own mates.
As they headed up the stairs, D'min turned to B'lee and said, "You know that's as close as we'll ever get to a hand-fasting?"
"I know. But it's all right, D'min. A formal hand-fasting wouldn't make me love you any more than I do now."
"Really?"
"Really."
"I think I'd better have tangible proof of that in the next few minutes," said D'min with a teasing smile.
"Oh, believe me, you will."
And he did.