Fic-- Vanyel/Tylendel/Stefen, not-quite-porn

[gildaurel]

This fic was really inspired by a terrible fanfiction one that always fascinated me-- can't quite recall the name, but Vanyel and Tylendel are together when Vanyel meets young Stefen. Thene, I know you asked for AU Van/Stefen get-together situations, but this might not be what you wanted! Still, I figured you all will read anything for this ship (hooray for this site).

Sidenote-- I apologize for the lack of appropriate spacing, but I'm still terrible at formatting. If it seems choppy, there was supposed to be a page break. Also, this fic is unfinished. I haven't been motivated/inspired to continue.

“You’re drunk.” Tylendel’s voice was soft and sad, missing even a hint of anger.

“Hm?” Vanyel shrugged out of his cloak and hung it up by the entryway. His eyes widened in apology when the words registered. “’Lendel, you know how these court functions are—they keep serving you until the conversation, not your glass, runs dry.”

“Van…” Tylendel ran a hand through his unruly curls. “It’s past midnight, you know. Were you really obliged to stay that late?”

Sighing, Vanyel leaned against their couch and pulled off his boots and tunic before collapsing into it. “The King is sick, ashke, and I need to know which courtiers might be plotting to gain from the turmoil of succession. You know that this time is more critical than any other—“

“Yes, yes, I’ve heard it before.” Tylendel shook his head. “You’re changing the subject, and I’m still not sure how you emptying the Palace cellars has been helping Randale.”

“That’s unfair.”

“Is it?” Tylendel’s eyes were dark and haunted. “Or is it simply too true?”

Pulling himself up from the couch, Vanyel walked over and knelt eye-level with Tylendel in his chair, intending to prove his sobriety, or—he wasn’t sure what. But he wilted before the blameless concern in the other man’s look and laid his head in Tylendel’s lap. “I don’t know why I do it, love. I’m sorry.”

Stroking the thick black hair with his free hand, Tylendel whispered, “We’ll fix it, Van. I promise. I’ll be better—I’ll help you more. I will.”

Leaning into the touch, Vanyel murmured his assent. They sat intertwined for a moment before Vanyel stood with an effort. “Let me get you into bed.”

This was the part of every day he dreaded. Steeling himself against self-pity—or pity of any kind—he helped Tylendel out of his tunic. “Put your arms around my neck.”

Lifting the dead weight took all his force, and he laid Tylendel’s useless legs onto the bed with a muffled grunt. He undid the other man’s breeches, pulled them off, and straightened his legs. “Comfortable, ashke?”

“As much as I can be,” Tylendel said, a hint of bitter humor in his voice. “Join me?”

Vanyel looked at the pile of paperwork covering his nightstand, then at the entreaty in Tylendel’s eyes, and nodded reluctantly. “Of course.” Undressing himself the rest of the way, he lay down on the other side of the bed with a yawn. Reaching his fingers out, he caught Tylendel’s hand in his, caressing the calluses from too many hours spent writing dispatches. “I love you, ‘Lendel, you know that.”

Tylendel’s voice was so quiet Vanyel could barely hear him, even in the still quiet of the winter night. “You deserve better than this.” And, unspoken, but felt across their bond—I should have died.

“Don’t even think it, ashke.” Vanyel turned toward him and laid his head on his chest. “Just—it wouldn’t have been better. I would have wanted to die—“

“You could have met someone else. Someone who wasn’t…” his voice trailed off.

“Stop it.” He pressed a chaste kiss against Tylendel’s lips and snuggled his body into the other man’s. “I’m grateful for what I have.” Silencing Tylendel’s objections with another brush of his lips, he closed his eyes. “Sleep, love. We both need it.”

The morning dawned cold and grey, and Vanyel gently extricated himself from Tylendel’s embrace to face the chill. Pulling on a robe, he poured a cup of the hot tea the maids always brought before either of them awoke and leafed through the notes on his desk. I’ll have to see that councilor from the Hardorn border in private before the end of the day. He’ll take it as an insult if it’s anyone less than me. He rubbed his forehead for a moment, trying to free it of the slight ache between his eyes—a habit at this point. That was something he certainly did not want to consider, not at this hour of the day—that Tylendel’s concerns are real. That I drink… too often. Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to the papers in his hand.

The rest of the notes he could delegate, for the most part, besides the magical tasks Tantras always made a point to list for him. He knows I’ll remember eventually, but it’s always best to check on our agents before my fickle memory kicks in. Being stationed at the Palace was certainly a luxury as far as his relationship with Tylendel was concerned, but the king’s reasons were beyond that—they need me to coordinate everyone. They can’t afford to lose me; we would be beyond helpless information-wise. He glanced back over at the still-sleeping form in the bed. I miss the simplicity of the Border at times. It was so easy to miss Tylendel desperately from afar—to be so grateful he survived, even as is—

He shied away from the thoughts and their exhausting weight on both their souls. Besides, if he was convinced of one thing, it was that Tylendel not dying was the far better option. When I thought he had, at first, I wanted to die. I would have found a way to die. Even with Yfandes.

Trying to focus and clear his mind of last night’s conversation, he organized the dispatches by category, and finished nibbling on a warm roll. With a clean set of Whites in hand, he headed toward the bathing rooms, shooting only one backward glance at Tylendel. He looks so peaceful in sleep—if only it were true during the waking hours.

It was so early barely a soul disturbed the ghoulish quiet of the halls, and he found himself shivering from more than just the cold. I’ll be a happy man when they’ve renovated the rest of this wing. Only the sound of loud boot-clad feet clumping down the hallway caused him to raise his head, and a welcome sight met his eyes.

“Medren!” He clasped his nephew’s hand in greeting and smiled broadly. “Someone I have cause to thank!”

“I heard,” Medren replied with a grin. “So Stefen could help, then?”

“Is that his name? Thank gods for you, nephew, I’d forgotten. More than help—you have no idea; you weren’t in the audience chamber. It was a sort of miracle.”

“Stef told me it had been a wild success, but he’s a bit of an embellisher, so I couldn’t be sure. Did you get a chance to speak to him?”

Vanyel shook his head. “Sadly, no, I had to run off to another function before he was done playing. Shavri took him in hand—she’s going to run some tests with the Healers. But I am ever-grateful for your thoughtfulness, Medren. This may not save the king, but it will certainly ease his passing—and perhaps extend his life.”

Medren matched him stride for stride as he took up toward the bathing rooms again. “Stefen will be pleased to hear his efforts were noticed.” He paused. “Uh—Uncle Van?”

“Yes?”

“He’d really like to meet you, I think. I mean, if you have the time to thank him in person. He, uh, respects you a lot.”

“If you really think so. I wouldn’t want to overwhelm him—I’m sure he’s had enough of royalty and courtiers for the moment.” Vanyel shot him a quizzical look. “Why me, specifically?”

“Just, you know, your reputation. Vanyel Demonsbane, the lot. I know you hate it, but I think it would mean the world to him.” Medren looked at him nervously.

“Gods. Well, he has done us a favor.” Pausing with his hand on the door to the bathing rooms, Vanyel gave him a short smile. “I’ll make sure I speak to him.”

Medren returned the smile and turned on his heel, jogging back toward Bardic. “Thanks, Uncle Van!”

Vanyel sighed as he opened the door, disrobed, and slid into the warm water. He must have woken early just to ask me that. As if I didn’t have enough on my plate without engaging in conversation with teenage star-struck bards…no matter how talented they might be. He remembered the bard’s performance clearly form yesterday—not only the shock of his wild talent actually working, but also the sheer power of his gift and musicianship. What did Breda say to me? That he was the best they’ve had in generations? He must be; I’ve never heard playing like that. Part of the reason he’d stayed so late at the function was his pure and utter relief at finding even the slightest bit of help for Randale. I wanted to enjoy myself, not return home to ‘Lendel.

He knew how hard it was—the moments he didn’t shut off their bond, he could feel the echoing grayness of his lifebonded’s existence: the never-filled hole of Gala’s death, the mundane repetitiveness of life confined in an office, the regret… for so many choices. But the one thing he could be grateful for was that Tylendel had retained his magic, and thus, a certain sense of usefulness. Without that, he would be beyond lost. At first, he’d been so happy Tylendel was alive—and with the help of Mindhealers, Tylendel had managed to look at the future with slight optimism. He’d even recruited a tutor from some Rethwellan mage school and finished his magical studies while Vanyel was in the Vale. And he can do some things I can’t—he’s certainly our second-best weapon, magic-wise. If only it weren’t for his legs... Some said you adjusted more to your handicap more with time; Tylendel only seemed to rebel more against the hand the Gods had dealt him. If he could only accept it, then so could I.

The more Tylendel fell into frustration and depression, the more Vanyel dreaded returning home each evening. Especially after the impossibly long days and the generally grim aspect of Court with Randi being so ill.

The creak of the doorknob turning interrupted his musings, and he looked down at pruned fingers with a muttered oath.

“Turning yourself into a merman again, I see,” Tantras’ familiar voice called from the entryway.

Vanyel lifted himself out of the tub and grabbed a towel. “My specialty, as you well know. Am I late?”

“Not yet, but I knew I’d find you here. Dress quickly, Randi wants to meet with us and that Hardornern ambassador before morning council.”

“He doesn’t want Lord Karan making evil eyes at the three of us again?”

“Exactly. That bard’s coming, too; hopefully it won’t put Karan off. Randi needs that talent of his to really function, though.” Tantras chucked Vanyel his clean whites and gathered his rumpled robe.

Pulling on his clothes as quickly as he could, Vanyel nodded in assent. “A small miracle yesterday, that was. I swore he was recovered—if only for a candlemark.”

“Indeed.” Tantras opened the bathing room doors, releasing a waft of steam, and followed Vanyel out. “Hopefully the bard doesn’t mind being woken up before the birds.”

“As if any of us had a choice.”

“Too true.” Tantras laid a friendly arm around Vanyel’s shoulders. “How are you holding up?” His eyes held a meaning beyond the king’s illness.

“I’m managing,” Vanyel replied with a tight smile. “Things aren’t improving, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Tantras sighed as they neared the council chambers. “I know, old friend. Let me know if you need to talk.”

“I will,” Vanyel said, with a sincerity that surprised him. Hand on the doorknob, he looked at Tantras with a resigned expression. “Shall we begin the day?”

The last audience of the day drew to a close as strands of music drifted through the courtiers. Glancing through the crowd, Vanyel saw Shavri gently coaxing the Bard—Stefen, his name is Stefen—out of a trance state. A few lingering dignitaries tried to ambush him for a private word, but he deftly begged off for a later meeting. I promised Medren, after all, and this Stefen has been more than helpful.

Drawing close to them, Vanyel hung back until they finished their conversation, a bit shy. He’s likely to become a part of our inner circle, what with how often we’ll need him, and I can’t let him think of me as Demonsbane. Gods, what a pretentious name.

But the boy had seen him, and his eyes met Vanyel’s from behind Shavri. Surrounding conversations seemed to stop as he stared into gold-flecked hazel depths. Beautiful eyes—he broke the contact with a start, and laid a hand on Shavri’s shoulder to alert her. Startled, she turned to him. “Van?”

“I wanted to thank Bard Stefen in person,” he said softly, extending a hand to the boy’s. “For all that he’s done these past two days for us.”

Although Stefen looked as if he’d seen sheep fly, he clasped Vanyel’s hand steadily, with surprising strength for his slight build. I hadn’t really looked at him the other day— now the boy’s heart-stopping looks were all too apparent, from those eyes to the rich auburn hair to the delicate features—he tried to shake the thoughts as Shavri murmured something and they both looked at him expectantly.

“Yes,” he replied automatically.

Shavri smiled gratefully at him. “Thanks, Van, I really appreciate it.”

:What did I just promise to do?: His mindvoice was sheepish.

:Feed him dinner and take him under your wing. It’s really more your provenance than mine. I don’t go to half the councils and I have to consider Randi afterwards--:

:It’s fine, dearheart.: His easy acquiescence surprised him, but something interested him about this boy. :Tylendel is with the Healers tonight, anyways.:

Her look almost undid him. :Oh, Van… are they still trying?:

:He insists. Every fortnight.: Vanyel broke the contact and met Stefen’s questioning look. “Sorry, lad. You must not be used to it—Heralds thinking at each other.”

“We’re terribly rude,” Shavri said with a warm smile for the youth. “Well, I’ll leave the two of you then—till tomorrow, at any rate.” She walked away hastily, and as Vanyel followed her form, he could almost see Randale sinking into his throne.

Turning his attention back to his new charge, he offered the closest thing to a smile he could. “Shall we?”

Stefen looked at him with a mixture of confusion and far-too-obvious hero worship. Vanyel sighed internally. At least Medren warned me. “Did Shavri not tell you? You’ll have dinner in my chambers tonight. The least I can do to thank you, and to get to know a new colleague.” He was surprised Stefen was able to stand, with how positively star-struck he looked, but the Bard shouldered his lute and followed him to his chambers, managing to make relatively entertaining conversation along the way.

By the time they arrived and Vanyel rang the dinner bell, Stefen had already impressed him with his understanding of the court and his wide repertoire of musical knowledge—especially considering his young age.

The food came with the standard pitcher of wine and one extra, which Vanyel eyed with surprise and a little trepidation. ‘Lendel wouldn’t be pleased… But at that moment, he was enjoying himself, for once, and an extra glass of wine or two was really not such a crime—was it? ‘Lendel will stay at Healers tonight anyways… those experiments always drain him too much to return. His thoughts were growing fuzzier, and Stefen’s comments were getting funnier, when he realized with a start that the boy was emptying the last drips of wine into his glass.

Too late to go back now, he thought somewhat hazily. Stefen had just spilled his own wine and was looking at Vanyel with an absolutely desolate expression that was beyond attractive.

“I’m sorry,” he slurred, attempting to bend down and wipe it with his napkin, but only succeeding in falling out of his chair. Vanyel nobly stifled a laugh and congratulated himself on his own far greater tolerance. Maybe not such a good thing—he knelt down to clean the wine himself, only to find himself face to face with Stefen. The boy was looking at him with unmistakable hunger—and fierce desire.

Vanyel stumbled backward in surprise and—fear. Gods, gods, boy, it is not fair to put me in this position. You must know—everyone knows. His heart was racing, and he quickly bent his head to his task to avoid that burning gaze. Holding out the handkerchiefs to Stefen, he made a show of yawning. “It must be past both our bedtimes.”

“Wha—“

“—and you can’t possibly walk back to Bardic alone, so I’ll walk you back.” He had already taken Stefen’s lute case in hand and threw on his cloak without a backwards glance.

The bewildered boy followed him obligingly, and Vanyel set a brisk enough pace that he was a stride ahead the entire walk back. He was glad he’d walked Stefen; the boy looked none too stable on his feet, and was certainly speaking without any hint of intelligibility.

When he reached Stefen’s door, he opened it quietly and gave the boy a gentle shove in that direction. “Good night, Stefen,” he said firmly.

A muffled “good night” sounded from inside the walls. Beginning the walk back to his quarters, his mind churned with all the turmoil he’d refused to show. It’s as if the Gods wanted to tempt me—as if it weren’t hard enough already. And now I’m to be this all-too-beautiful boy’s keeper? I love ‘Lendel, I do, but…

He remembered the return from k’Treva so clearly still: his pride in his accomplishments, his new sense of purpose, and beyond all else, his eagerness to see Tylendel once again. Savil didn’t know; it was too far to mindspeak. We both thought the Healers would be able to fix him… they’d intimated as much. And Tylendel’s correspondences, the few he’d sent, had not held an indication of the level of permanent damage.

At first, when he arrived, he’d thought Tylendel was just sitting down in their quarters; he’d been a bit confused, especially that he hadn’t come out to the stables to meet them, but not truly worried. Then Tylendel had turned the chair toward him, and he’d realized what it really was, its two wooden wheels abundantly clear in the afternoon sunlight. The worst was the first night—kissing him, trying to silence his doubts, only to have the secondary implications of that chair come crashing home—Tylendel was paralyzed from above the waist down. The waist down, he kept trying to tell me. Gods, I was a fool.

He slipped back into his chambers quietly and snuffed the candles with a thought. I tried to tell myself it didn’t matter. Havens know he always had more of an… appetite… than I did. And there are the things we can do—but that they hardly ever did anymore. Vanyel had always wanted to pleasure more than be pleasured; he took little joy in the limited one-sided lovemaking they could do. It’s never comfortable for him anyways—not with his mobility so limited. We must be the only celibate lifebonded couple in Valdemar, he thought bitterly.

A questioning thought bit at his shields, and he opened his mind to Yfandes as he pulled the covers over himself.

:Did you follow this evening, love?: His mindvoice was full of self-reproach.

:Don’t be so hard on yourself, Van. It’s not easy for either of you—and some situations are beyond your control.: She Sent him a wordless wave of love and reassurance. He accepted it with relief, and let his mind slide into sleep. I hope ‘Lendel’s not feeling too poorly in the morning…

The next few weeks flew by in a blur of activity; nobody knew how long Stefen’s talent would keep Randale on his feet, so council sessions were lengthened, additional meetings scheduled, and Vanyel’s free time shortened to virtually nothing.

He saw Stefen often; Shavri had asked him to care for the boy, and he took her directives to heart. The bard continued to impress him with his maturity and dedication to the King; if Vanyel avoided spending any late-night time with him, he made up for lost hours in daytime meals and breaks between sessions. He’d never been particularly social and most of his close friends were Heralds he’d trained or rode circuit with, but he found himself increasingly interested in Stefen—to his own discomfort.

Such were the thoughts that plagued him when he was with or without Tylendel, and his lifebonded was perceptive enough to notice his internal turmoil. He was home late again, this time from an emergency council meeting concerning the Karsite border skirmishers, and Tylendel had, of course, waited up for him.

He was sifting through a roster of Herald trainees when Vanyel walked in, and looked up with a troubled expression.

“I’m sorry, ‘Lendel,” he said, almost automatically. Gods, I make a habit of it, don’t I?

“It’s all right, ashke, I know they called that session tonight.” Tylendel paused and attempted to straighten himself in his chair. “I just—is there something wrong between us?”

It was the kind of question they both avoided, because the answer was usually glaringly obvious. They’d long ago foregone Mindspeech, except in emergency—the inability to lie mind-to-mind always provides far more honesty about our relationship than either of us wants. I never wanted this…to lie to ‘Lendel, or anyone.

“I know I’ve been distant lately,” Vanyel said quietly. He looked up. “I—I’ve been given a new assignment. Well, not an assignment exactly, a charge.”

“An apprentice?” Tylendel gave him a bemused look. “I thought they decided you were too busy for that ages ago.”

“No—you know that Bard with the wild talent? The one who’s been helping the king?”

“Yes,” Tylendel said softly, too softly. “I’ve heard of him.”

“I’m his keeper, of sorts—I’ve been helping him know who’s who in the Court, taking him to the meetings, guiding him with how to use his Talent—Shavri asked me to. And, well…” Vanyel trailed off helplessly.

“Go on.” Tylendel was looking steadily at him and Vanyel made an effort to meet his eyes.

“I’ve been having feelings—desires—he’s shaych, too, and ‘Lendel, I would never—I could never betray you, but I feel so lost.” He turned away and pressed his forehead against the door, a silent sob shaking his shoulders. “I want him,” he whispered finally into the wood, admitting it to himself and the solid presence behind him.

When Vanyel finally turned back around, the candlelight only brightened the dampness in Tylendel’s eyes. He looked down helplessly, then back up at Vanyel. “How could I blame you?”

“How could you not? I’m—I’m selfish, gods, I’m a selfish bastard—I should be glad for what I have, and I am, but I can’t help it.” His words were torn from him, the confession he’d hidden even from himself.

“You’re the least selfish person I know, ashke.” Tylendel’s voice was defeated, a shadow of the wild, proud teenager Vanyel once knew. “This—“ he gestured down at himself. “This wouldn’t be enough for anyone. You’ve been celibate for months, years, Van! Don’t think I don’t realize we don’t do much of anything anymore. I can’t, but you—you’re throwing yourself in this hell with me. It’s my punishment, my wrong. You never did anything except believe in me.”

Vanyel let himself slide down until he was sitting against the door, no longer feeling the strength to stand. “So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I want you to follow your desires. I want you to do what you want for a change, not what you think is best for me. It’s killing me to feel that guilt, all the time. That I’m taking so much away from you—that I’m causing you to drink yourself to sleep half the nights. I want you to—“

“To betray you? You want me to sleep with someone else?” He couldn’t keep the high note of incredulity from his voice, no more than he could stop the stinging in his eyes. “Don’t you think that would only take me further from you?”

“No.” Tylendel gave him a piercing look. “Could it possibly be worse than it is now?”

Vanyel buried his face in his hands. “How did we get to this place, ashke? I believed in us…”

“You always did.” Tylendel’s voice broke. “I was the one who failed you—and how could we not get to this place, with me the way I am?”

Vanyel just shook his head in answer. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You never could,” Tylendel whispered. “Come here. Take me to bed.”

Vanyel didn’t know what to do. It was an unfamiliar and uncomfortable sensation, one he hadn’t felt in quite some time. That conversation with Tylendel had happened a fortnight ago, and he hadn’t even considered acting on it, until now. Now, when ‘Lendel was back at Healers, and he and Stefen had somehow wound up back in his quarters for dinner. Now, when ‘Lendel had made a comment just before leaving about “remembering their agreement.” Now, when Stefen was looking at him with that unforgettably lovely face over a game of hinds and hounds—

“Van?” Stefen waved a hand in front of his face with a smile. “I thought I’d lost you there for a second!”

“Sorry, no, just woolgathering.” He returned the smile. “It happens with age.”

They’d fallen into this joking familiarity, a level of comfort he’d never felt with anyone besides Tylendel and Savil. That was what worried him most—he didn’t just want Stefen physically.

“You’re not old.” Stefen’s expression turned serious, unusual for him, and he moved one of his game pieces. “I hate it when you say that.”

“Why?” Vanyel raised an eyebrow, surprised at his vehemence.

“Because you sound as if you’re resigned to—not enjoying life anymore. As if you had no more choices.” Beneath long lashes, too-earnest eyes gazed up at him. “It’s not true.”

Vanyel shook his head. “You’re too young to understand.” He looked around the suite meaningfully, gaze lingering on all the apparatuses intended to help Tylendel in his handicap, before meeting Stefen’s eyes with his own. “I don’t have choices, except what would be selfish ones.”

“Because of Tylendel?” Stefen had never spoken his name before, and Vanyel flinched. “What does he say about that?” He’s too perceptive. It’s like he can see through me, in a way no one ever could, save ‘Lendel—“I can’t imagine he would want you to feel suffocated, imprisoned.”

“No,” Vanyel said slowly, all too aware that Stefen was staring at him with enough heat to melt the northern ice caps. “He hates making me feel that way.”

Stefen had taken his hand in his own and was gently massaging it, eyes never breaking from Vanyel’s. “If it were me, I would want you to enjoy what life has to offer.” He had somehow moved his chair next to Vanyel’s, and his other hand found his way up his thigh. “Its pleasures…”

It’s been so long—he felt paralyzed by indecision, by how wrong he felt this must be. But he felt a delicate touch on his mind, and he opened it in surprise.

:’Lendel? You’re conscious?:

:They didn’t take me out this time. They wanted to work with me awake.: His mindvoice was tired, but lacking the flat flavor of depression it so often had. :I see you’re still awake.:

:I’m with Stefen.: The statement was blunt.

A wave of warmth and love. :Open the bond. Let me feel what you feel.:

The request surprised Vanyel—they’d had a mutual agreement to close of their bond for years; it was too painful for both of them to feel the truth of each other’s suffering. :If you insist.: Then, amused. :You always were a voyeur.:

Apple-flavored laughter. :Perhaps I’ll enjoy it more this way…: The contact closed, but Vanyel felt a torrent of emotions as he opened himself to their bond. Sadness and fear, as always; frustration; but also, to his astonishment, happiness—joy for Vanyel.

He tried to clear his mind and focus on the present, where a very real Stefen was staring at him intensely. “You were mindspeaking.” His hands had paused, their solid warmth seeping through Vanyel’s breeches.

“Tylendel.” Vanyel laid a hand on top of Stefen’s, marveling at his audacity. “You were right,” he murmured.

Lifting both of them from their chairs by their joined hands, Stefen smiled. “I usually am,” he said cheekily.

Vanyel’s warm chuckle was cut off by Stefen’s mouth claiming his own. He’d never kissed anyone but Tylendel, and this kiss was rough and demanding like Tylendel’s never were anymore. The joy of being wanted… He opened his mouth to the other’s, feeling himself relax into the embrace with more ease than he would have imagined possible.