Forevers Only Exist in Fairytales (M'ta)

[Ember]

It was too early to be drunk for most of the weyr population. That hadn't stopped T'san, though, from attempting to drown his worries in wine. Granted, the man had a pretty high tolerance for the stuff so he wasn't completely smashed...yet. Judging by the direction he was walking - he was surprisingly steady on his feet, all considered - he was planning on acquiring more wine. The brownrider stopped abruptly as a thought crossed his mind and he narrowed his eyes. He'd have hell to pay if he got smashed and he'd actually feel bad if he didn't have good reason. He absolutely had to confirm it.

So the brownrider changed his course, heading to the weyr of the man he was willing to bet had noticed the same thing he had and would be able to set him right. Or wrong. T'san so desperately wanted to be wrong. The brownrider's highly unusual behaviour could be blamed on one fact: he hadn't seen Mimic recently. He generally avoided salamandyrs, slight residual trauma from losing his own, but he couldn't help but notice Meira's salamandyr. It was the only tie with the goldrider the man had other than the red thread that he usually wore on a finger. The thread was not worn that day though. No, T'san had it clenched in his left fist instead.

The brownrider had spent the better part of the day trying convince himself that Mimc had simply been in other parts of the weyr, out of sight and range. In the end T'san just couldn't shake the worst case scenario from his mind. So it was that he eventually ended up at M'ta's weyr, wearily knocking on the man's door. At least he had the courtesy to knock and to wait. As the man recalled, M'ta usually spent time with Terilyn in the evenings. This was assuming the man was even in and not still occupied at the infirmary or something. In which case he'd go there if he had to because knowing whether or not Mimic had actually died was vitally important to T'san. If Mimic was dead then that meant Meira probably was too.

[Requiem]

It had gone unremarked. Surreal, almost. Mimic was gone. The news spread slowly, quietly, unlike most such rumors. Perhaps because it was only traveling to the ears of those most closely associated with the goldrider. M'ta saw it, though, in the little things. Like the arrival of a dragonhealer requesting Terilyn for the afternoon and evening, until the child's bedtime. Kalierre liked Teri, of course, but the brownrider recognized it for what it was; an offer so he could have some time to himself after his shift at the infirmary ended. The only sign of gratitude he could give her was acceding to the request. And so the word trickled along, trying to avoid detection. Ironic. It had already been compromised. Only they didn't know that it was more than just the disappearance of a salamandyr, a suggestion of something worse that people would think about but not dare to truly believe. M'ta knew the truth.

It had been buried at the bottom of the trunk. Almost, but never quite, forgotten. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he turned the figure over between his fingers, not looking at it. Didn't have to. Life was often...strange. He remembered the night well, not long after her impression of a wher. A shy girl he'd immediately taken to, because Jabari liked her. (And, yes, probably because she was female.) Gone up to see her, breaking curfew as he often had as a candidate. Fingers turned the figure over against his palm. A wher and a girl. A figure so familiar. He hadn't finished it that night, wanting the details to be perfect. Never got a chance to give it to her before the siege that had seen him comatose for months...and when he awoke, she was pregnant. With his future weyrmate's child. And without a wher. Some part of him acknowledged that he probably had always loved her. R'wign had seen and said as much, and no one knew M'ta better than R'wign. But Meira was not for M'ta and he'd always known that. Their friendship had been enough.

Solitude. It was something he'd once thought he wanted. Back when the pain of loss ate at him as ravenously as the sense of worthlessness... That sort of life he couldn't seem to live, and now he knew better. But now it was thrust upon him again. It had been there before, in R'wign's death, in the separation from most of the adults he knew, something that was hard to fix with all the time spent taking care of children, dragonets, other people with ailments and injuries. As long as they were alive, though...there was hope. His hand tightened around the image of Meira and Meisk. His closest friends, gone. He'd alienate more before it was done. Though, in the face of this, and the boy that was a product of R'wign and Meira...that seemed so...small. The man didn't shed a tear, as might have been expected. He just allowed himself to feel the numbness in the quiet of his weyr, Sneak coiled on his thigh. A silent presence.

The knock came on his door. He was not unaccustomed to evening visitors, even if they were often taxing. Some of them. Maybe Kalierre had to drop Terilyn off earlier than expected...when M'ta eased the door open, the hand resting on the dirk strapped to his thigh as was his habit, he paused. "T'san?" The brownrider came by sometimes. It was a relatively new, mostly professional relationship, with a few overtures of friendship mixed in. Though they'd first begun their association when the wingleader wished to see Riaren (when R'wign and M'ta were still caring for the boy) he still came by on occasion now. Helped out with lessons if there was time and the younger man had need of a dragon who could fly further than Ruth could.

Later, it would be difficult to say what precisely had prompted it. Certainly, there was the scent of wine clinging to T'san, and it was yet early for that. M'ta was more likely to seek out the wingleader than the other way around, too. But it would be a lie to claim that he reasoned it out that way. It may just have been the course of his own thoughts this night, or maybe he saw something in the other man's eyes. Recognized it on a level that went beyond thought or consciousness. The door was left to swing open and M'ta reached forward, wrapping his arms around the shoulders of the taller man and pulling him against him.

It was a few seconds before he remembered himself enough to back up into the his weyr, taking T'san with him and closing the door with a foot.

[Ember]

T'san nodded at the questioning tone. Silly to do so, he knew, because who else could he be but himself? His eyes briefly flicked into the interior of the weyr he could see fro mthere but didn't see nor hear Terilyn. He'd become accustomed to associating the man with the girl, and vice versa. It was a bit odd in his mind not to see the two together. Odd meant bad, considering the reason he'd come to see the man in the first place. His eyes met the other man's again with a rather defeated look.

Then things got even more weird and T'san's suspicions were confirmed. Not in words but actions when M'ta embraced him. There was a moment of stiffness on his part before he gave a small, almost relieved sigh and relaxed into it. Let himself be overcome by the need to be physically consoled and to offer the same in return. He always had coped in that rather interesting way of clinging onto what he'd had left. His arms found their way around M'ta's body and he let the other man pull him into his weyr.

Could have just stayed like that the rest of the night really except he was fairly sure M'ta would eventually regain his senses and threaten to stab him or something (not that he thought the man would ever follow up on the offer, but...). So T'san regained his senses first and with a soft exhale that wasn't quite a sigh he moved to pull away. "So it is true," he commented, a sad and bitter tone in his voice. He'd known Meira for a far shorter time than M'ta had and he had no doubt which man had known her better. It didn't lessen the pain he felt any.

"If I'd known I'd have left at the Gather." Not that he was sure he could have protected her any better than his friends had. Would have given his own life to save hers though...or died with her. The pair of mental complaints about that opinion had him inwardly wincing. Yeah, yeah, he knew that wouldn't have sat well with them. "They always say hindsight is perfect," he offered in a weak attempt not to seem as broken as he felt.