Another Van/Stef AU (jumping on the bandwagon)

[gildaurel]

 

The pain blared in, unbearable and past thought or explanation. He knew it was bad; he did not know how bad, but instinct sent him barreling through his reserves to somehow wrench out a Gate, and shove himself through. The last image appearing before him was a tree: its leaves were red-gold, and it bore apples. I must be home, he thought in a strange dizziness of half-recognition. Karse has neither autumn nor apples. Then, the merciful surrender as his wounds screamed him into nothingness.

 *******************************************************************************************************************************************

“What?” Bardic-trainee Stefen asked again, unsure of what he had heard.

Breda shrugged. “The King wants to see you, lad. Damned if it’s not about that Wild Talent of yours, though he wouldn’t spit it out; something about keeping it all very secret.”

 Shaking his head slowly, Stefen sat down on his bunk. “How would he even know?”

“People hear things at Haven, and it’s not as though you kept all your thoughts to yourself. Claims he heard about it from Tran—that’s Herald Tantras, sorry. Seneschal’s Herald, with ears all over the Palace.”

“You have no idea why?” Stefen looked at her, trying to judge the sincerity on her face.

“None. Although—“ Breda hesitated and her eyes grew distant. “—there are only a few Heralds the King would be desperately concerned about. And only one or two who might have been in danger recently.” Turning suddenly, she grabbed Stefen’s arm and pulled him out of the bunk. “But there’s no use wondering when the King himself will tell you in a moment.”

Stefen acquiesced with uncharacteristic meekness, turning the possibilities in his mind. Such an opportunity was unusual, especially considering the rumors of the King’s deteriorating condition; few except the necessary delegates and Heralds had seen him recently. Breda was right; his Wild Talent was the only likely reason—his strange and ever-inexplicable ability to sing pain away. But I can’t save lives. I hope the King doesn’t expect a miracle.

 Drawing up in front of two rather ornate doors, Breda rapped twice. A man in blue opened them, bowing to Breda, and she swept in, her innate authority inspiring envy in Stefen. It’ll be all I can do to look the King in the eye. Gods, I’m about to meet the King. The King.

 All his life, he’d hoped for a moment like this, a chance to prove himself—or whatever this will be. Yet he now desired nothing more than to return to his chamber and bury his head in his pillow, away from the mad itchiness inside of not knowing—

“Bardic-trainee Stefen,” a soft voice called. Stefen raised his eyes by sheer force of will, finally looking at a man he had never hoped to meet. He’s—average, he thought, rather pettily, then hated himself for it. But he looks so small and weak.

 Breda nudged him. “Yes, my lord,” Stefen replied, bowing deeply. I do know some manners. “How may I be of service?” He tried to prevent his eyes from darting around the room and instead focused on the man sitting on the throne in front of him. King Randale was utterly unremarkable, physically; he had thinning brown hair and a pale complexion with the waxy tones of illness. He still appeared reasonably able, but the hue of his skin indicated that his abilities would sharply decline. Bert was that color at the end, he thought suddenly, strangely.

 The king still hadn’t spoken and appeared to be studying him intently. Stefen’s cheeks grew hot under the stare, but he dared not speak.

 “I’ve heard that you can sing away someone’s pain,” Randale said finally. “Is this true?”

“It is,” Breda said, speaking up for the first time. “He sang away my dazzle headaches.”

Both Randale’s eyebrows shot upward. “You felt nothing?” 

“Nothing,” Breda replied, holding the King’s gaze. “I would call it just short of miraculous.”

Considering her words, Randale nodded once, slowly. “Then I have need of you, young Stefen.” He inclined his head at the men in blue, and they pivoted sharply, leaving Stefen, Breda, and the King alone in the room.

Randale sighed and the mask of formality seemed to simply drop from his face, leaving a tired and very human man. “It’s urgent, so I’ll be brief.”

“I have a Herald—a Herald-mage, to be exact—who seems to be in so much pain his systems are shutting down; I don’t think he wants to live, exactly.” Randale looked down at his hands. “His Companion can’t help; she’s too far away. He Gated back alone from the Karsite border.”

“All the way from Karse?!” Breda’s exclamation caused Stefen to jump and cast a surprised look sideways; her face was white. “Vanyel?” she said.

Randale closed his eyes for a moment. “Yes,” he murmured. “He’s—gone, almost. He fell into Companion Field about a candlemark ago, half his body charred and his hand still on fire. The pain must be beyond…” Shaking his head, he caught himself and looked at Stefen. “I need you in there, now, but I don’t need the Palace thinking Herald-mage Vanyel Ashkevron’s going to die. We’ll have panic, and hordes of visitors, and Gods only know what else. The people look at him as our only protection against the Karsite fanatics, and I’m not making an announcement about his condition until that bell rings. Do you understand, Stefen?”

Vanyel—Vanyel Demonsbane, Firelord, Shadowstalker—Gods, Vanyel Ashkevron—He nodded, unable to speak. I can’t believe—but he can’t die, he’s a hero, he can’t….

Breda and the King were both looking at him strangely and he drew himself up straight. “Yes, I understand,” he managed to say in a choked voice. 

“Good.” Randale rang a bell next to his throne. Almost instantly, a tall, dark-haired Herald entered through a side door. “Tantras, take him to Vanyel.” 

The man, apparently Tantras, nodded once and beckoned to Stefen. Randale shot him one final, hard look. “Do everything you can, youngling. More than you can understand depends on it.”

How could I not? It’s Herald-Mage Vanyel, of course I’ll try. He couldn’t help but feel he was in over his head, however, as he followed the graceful Herald through the halls. What if it doesn’t work? What if he dies in front of me? What if I somehow make it worse? His doubts drank from each other and multiplied; he began to fear he would forget how his Talent even worked, until Tantras paused in his inexorable, long-legged march forward.

“Stefen, is it?” Stefen nodded. “I heard of you, you know. You’re somewhat of a legend among the Bardic trainees.” Tantras smiled, revealing a set of fine white teeth. He’s more than handsome, Stefen thought randomly, then tried to suppress the thought as Tantras’ eyes widened. Gods, I forgot, they’re all Mind-readers and Empaths and Havens knows what else.

But Tantras seemed to have been distracted by something other than Stefen; his eyes had that distant look of a Mindspeaking Herald. “We’re here,” Tantras said quietly. “I just let the Herald on duty know.” He laid a hand on Stefen’s shoulder. “Nobody expects anything, youngling. Except that you try.”

Stefen nodded and gulped as Tantras pushed open a door. The room was empty, save a female Herald sitting at the other end, and Stefen found his thoughts wandering again. I wonder if that’s Vanyel’s wife. You never hear about heroes’ private lives…

Nodding to the woman, Tantras sat in a chair and gestured for Stefen to sit as well. “She’s on guard duty. We’re worried the Karsites know how weak Vanyel is, and will try to assassinate him. You need to know that nobody except the necessary individuals knows where Vanyel is, or even that he’s back.” He paused. “Do you need anything? A gittern, a lute?”

“My voice should be enough,” Stefen said quietly. “If there’s no time, there’s no time.”

A muffled moan sounded through the door, then, and Tantras’ eyes closed briefly. “Sing, youngling. If your Talent can do anything for him, sing.”

Surprised, Stefen looked at the Herald. “Won’t we go inside?”

This time, the wail was sharper, and Tantras grimaced. “We can’t; he’s far too unstable. He’s been lashing out at Healers with his mind gifts, which is why they can’t get any pain blocks up. From what we could gather of the Bardic gift, though, you don’t need to see the person to have an effect; you simply need to be heard. We were hoping your talent worked in the same way—and if you could calm him in the bargain…”

“I see,” Stefen said quietly. Vanyel’s cries were soul-wrenching; a burn victim with no pain-blocking was… unimaginable. He took a deep breath, then, and Sang; Sang with every bit of gift he could muster. The intermittent cries faded, as did the sound of Tantras’ breathing; he heard and felt nothing but the rhythm of the old song.

*****************************************************************************************************************************************

Waking up was a highly unpleasant business. He hadn’t been conscious, exactly, since the surprise attack. The pain he’d felt had been a distant fog, blurred; something he thought he might never return to face. It was now thrown into sharp relief, despite the pain blocks the Healers seemed to have set in place. I thought that was the end. I wanted…

Sighing, he willed himself to remain immobile, knowing the slightest movement would only increase the feeling of a fiery hell surrounding his body. Cracking open one eye, then another, he saw a familiar face bent over him.

“Hells, Tran,” he croaked. “Let me die next time, would you?” His voice sounded as burned as his body surely was, and he wished he had the strength to reach for a glass of water. Tantras saved him the trouble; thank the Gods for Empaths.

Drinking the best he could from the proffered glass, Vanyel shot Tantras a baleful look.

Tantras managed a small smile in reply. “Can’t, Van.” He nodded at three Healers hovering in the background, and they let themselves out the single door in the room. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice heavy with shared pain. His creased face revealed that he was attempting to use his Empathy to take at least some of the burden away from Vanyel. “I know a big part of you didn’t want to wake up."

Vanyel looked away. “That’s not a luxury any of us have,” he whispered. “Although I thought, for a moment there, that I wouldn’t make it…” Trailing off, he looked back at Tantras.

“We had help getting you back,” Tantras said quietly. “Some young Bardic trainee—only about sixteen or seventeen, but seems he can sing pain away.” 

Vanyel raised an eyebrow. “I could use that right now.” 

“I know, but it’s like any Gift, apparently. He’s in shock right now, played too long and got a vicious reaction headache. Having never felt that before…”

“…He’s in about the same state I am,” Vanyel finished tiredly.

“Not quite that bad,” Tantras replied. “You have an unparalleled tolerance for pain.”

“I have enough experience with it.” He rolled his head to the side and attempted to shut his eyes. “You drugged me, and it burned through my system, I presume.”

“Nothing lasts long—your own Gifts are too strong, and you metabolize everything.” He paused. “Which I’m sure you already know from experience.”

Vanyel’s only answer was a grimace. The pain blocks were fading; the increasing pricks of sensation were growing unbearable.

“Damnit, Van, don’t black out on us.”

“I’ll try,” Vanyel whispered, agony etched in the lines of his face. 

A noise from the side of the room interrupted them, and a young face crowned with red curls peeked around the doorway. “Should I come in?” Stefen asked hesitantly.

“Please,” Tantras said, shooting a look at Vanyel. He appeared incapable of speaking; he was gone again already. “I didn’t expect to see you back so soon.” Gesturing to the empty room, he sighed. “I had to send the Healers away; Vanyel is unstable when he goes catatonic. The painblocks and Speedhealing are exhausting anyways; he can only take so much in one day.”

Voice still hoarse, Stefen glanced ever so briefly at Vanyel, then back at Tantras. “Whatever I might feel is nothing compared to that.” He held up an instrument. “I brought my gittern this time. Might not even need to actually sing much.”

“Whatever you can do,” Tantras whispered softly.

 ******************************************************************************************************************************************

Stefen had no idea how long it had been since he’d started playing, but he did know that his fingers were cramping, and badly. He let them fall from the gittern and flexed, once. “Ouch,” he muttered.

Then, remembering where he was with a start, he looked up. All he could see on the bed was a tousled head of black-and-white hair; the rest of what must be Herald-mage Vanyel Ashkevron was covered with a white sheet. Should’ve gotten a closer look at him earlier, when I actually could.

The noise of someone clearing his (her?) throat caught his attention, and he met a pair of steely gray eyes over the bed. Definitely a her, although not a particularly feminine one.

“I’m Lissa. Vanyel’s sister,” the woman said, reaching over Vanyel’s form with her hand. He took it. “Stefen,” he said. “Bardic trainee.”

“I know, Tran told me.” She gestured to the room, from which Tantras was notably absent. Three Healers sat against the far wall, clearly spent, their drawn faces indicating hours of work. “He had to leave, but he wanted me to thank you again. He says the Healers would never have been able to get so much done without you. Not only did you calm Van, but you managed to Sing away both his pain and the pain of Speedhealing, so that he could take much more than an ordinary patient.” Smiling faintly, she bent and caressed Vanyel’s hair, briefly. “They said the scarring might not be very visible at all, now that they were able to do so much, so fast.”

“That’s good,” Stefen said, a bit dumbly, exhaustion warring with interest. Vanyel’s sister. I wonder if I can find out anything about him… He didn’t want to make too obvious his infatuation-from-afar with Vanyel, but he never thought he would have an opportunity like this one. I never even imagined getting close. Why would the great Demonsbane care about a skinny fifteen-year-old Bardic trainee?

After a moment, he put the gittern down and leaned back in his chair. What to say, what to say—“Is his Companion back?”

“Yfandes?” Lissa cocked her head, with a look of surprise. “Kind of you to ask. Not yet, but Tantras says she should be here by tomorrow. Have you met her?”

“Oh no—no,” Stefen looked down. Gods, now she thinks I know him. “I don’t really know the Herald-mage at all, to be honest. The King called for me through Breda—that’s the head of Bardic. He thought my Wild Talent might help.”

Seeming to sense his unease, Lissa’s faint smile widened. “Not many people do know my little brother well, youngling. But don’t worry, he doesn’t bite.” She paused and gave Stefen an appraising look from top to bottom. “In fact, he’ll probably want to get to know you better, now that you’ve ‘saved’ him.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Stefen said quickly, blushing. “I only did what I could; anyone would have.”

“Certainly debatable, once you’ve seen how people react to pain and trial. You gave him everything you could, and that is most admirable.”

Reminded of the difficulty of over-extending his gift—just learned a few candlemarks ago—Stefen felt a bit more justified in accepting the praise. “I might not have, had I known how badly a reaction headache would hurt."

Lissa favored him with a faint smile. “And able to make a joke, after all that.”

The silence only hung between them a moment, before they both attempted to speak at once.

“How badly is he—“

“So when did you—“

“You first,” Lissa said.

“I was just wondering… how badly is he still hurt? You said the scarring might be minimized, now, but will there still be any?” Not that a great hero would care about a few scars, of course. 

“Besides what he already has?” She chuckled drily at Stefen’s quizzical look. “Lad, you don’t stay pristine working a decade on the border. His face is about the only thing that’s escaped the hazards of the job. And it looks like he’ll keep it this time, too—thanks to you.”

He swallowed hard. Thanks to me. I did it; I saved Valdemar’s hero. I wonder… He stopped himself before he started pondering his potential reward—After all, I would’ve done this for nothing.  

Lissa was looking at him strangely, and he realized she was waiting for an answer. Grasping for words, any words, he said, stupidly, “Well, that’s a good thing.”

She raised an eyebrow. “The understatement of the century, especially if you know my little brother’s attachment to that face.” Her lips quirked upward. “But I shouldn’t give away his vanities, certainly not to a stranger.”

It was unusual that Stefen found himself so frequently at a loss for words, but discussing Herald-Mage Vanyel Ashkevron as if he were an ordinary human being was—impossible. I can’t pretend I haven’t memorized every song I’ve ever heard about him.

The figure on the bed moved, then, shifting slightly to the right, and tossing his head toward them.

Oh, my—even with his eyes closed and a pain-born frown creasing his forehead, Vanyel Ashkevron was—the most beautiful human being I’ve ever seen. His cheekbones stood out so starkly they seemed carved, like one of those marble statues in the old Valdemaran temples. His dainty mouth, his straight-bridged nose… if I hadn’t already figured out I was shaych two years ago, I would have known now. He sighed. Now I understand what Lissa meant about his face… and I can only imagine with those alleged “legendary silver eyes” open. 

He shook himself out of his reverie and looked back at Lissa, searching for a hint of family resemblance. She looked amused.

“We look nothing alike, I know,” she said. “Your first time catching an up-close glimpse of the great Herald-mage?” Her tone was light, not mocking, and he had to smile in rueful acknowledgment.

“Yes, well.” She stood and stretched. “I, for one, am going to see if the Palace kitchens have anything decent at this hour.” She gave him a once-over and raised an eyebrow. “And I’ll pick up enough for two. Judging from the looks of you, you need any good meal you can get.”

He didn’t have the strength to come up with a witty reply; after all, he was scrawnier than usual these days, and she was right about the food. So he simply nodded his assent and leaned back in the chair, letting his eyes close and his mind drift away. I suppose I could go back to my rooms, but what if they need…

A surprisingly deep and melodic voice jarred him awake what seemed like hours later. “I’m glad you picked up food for two, Liss. He looks like he could use a dozen good meals.”

Lissa’s voice, then, distinctive in its abrupt mannerisms: “Too skinny by half. What are they feeding them in Bardic these days?”

“Gods, love, as if I would know. As if I’m ever here.” A deep sigh. “I haven’t been back in two years, you know that.”

“You’re too old for this, Van! Damn near forty— they shouldn’t even be sending you to the Border anymore. You’ve more than served your time. Hells, most Heralds only ever get two years, and you’ve done ten all put together.”

Ten years on the Karsite border—Stefen hesitated to open his eyes, too fascinated by the private conversation to ruin the moment.

The baritone voice sounded tired and resigned. “Liss, you know nobody else can do it.” 

“I thought we’d lost you this time.”

“I thought we’d lost me. I wanted…”

Muffled movement. A whisper, barely audible to Stefen’s ears: “Can I touch you?”

“Gently. The Healers weren’t quite able to finish.”

He cracked an eye open to see Lissa gingerly cradling her brother’s head.

The voice sounded amused now. “Well, somebody’s awake.” 

Stefen opened his eyes all the way slowly. What do you even say to such a man—

But the sight that greeted him stole any attempt at speech anyways. Oh gods, those eyes. No wonder all the songs mention them…

Vanyel’s eyes were liquid silver; piercing; unusual; beyond captivating. Right now, they held a glint of laughter as they eyed Stefen, who quickly realized he was opening and closing his mouth much like a beached fish.

“Thank you,” Vanyel said quietly, his gaze growing more serious. “Bard Stefen, I believe it is?”

“Y-yes,” he stammered. Meeting the king was easier.

“I’m not sure I would be here without you.”

 

 

Comments

[thene]

Love this. Stef using his Gift to save Van is awesome - I've always loved the thought of him turning it on Van for one reason or another, and this is a great dramatic take on that. And all the mooning and crushing and curiosity is so. adorbs. (Van, pretty even when almost dead). Love the awkward interactions with Lissa.

His cheekbones stood out so starkly they seemed carved, like one of those marble statues in the old Valdemaran temples. <---i love you so much for this reversal.

The last line is pretty gutwrenchingly ambiguous given all Van's side comments about not wanting to be there. I'm enjoying thinking about where they would go from here... (I am going to choose to believe that Van hit the road for most of two or three years, letters are exchanged, and then he comes home and. Yeah.)

[gildaurel]

Thanks! I was waiting to finish this to post it, but then I realized that was not going to happen in the near future. You just gave me a great idea to keep going, though, so there might be more soon!

It is going to be v.awkward for Stefen. I always wondered why Lissa was never, ever there after Pawn except to salute or send a letter.

Glad you liked it; I really hope I can post more!

[thene]

I hope so too :P I wouldn't sweat it, though - this reads like a complete piece, not least given how 'oh fuck' the last line is.

Re> Lissa, canon does not like letting Van have nice things, I guess. So she never gets much development, even. :(

[kris_morene]

Was there more to this? It’s wonderful!