Finding Our Way Back, Part I

[gildaurel]

 Well. It has been some time since I wrote anything, and the first thing to take over my mind was this bizarre, unprompted, Tylendel-lives-AU fic. I guess some part of me likes seeing him survive, but with the power dynamic flipped?

There isn't much to warn about in here except one paragraph when Vanyel remembers moments from his capture by Krebain (who, for my purposes, works for the Lesharas). Otherwise, it's kind of just angst and set up. Hopefully Part II will bring in more interesting moments!

The fire opal hung heavy on Vanyel’s chest. Tylendel stared at it instead of the man, fighting to keep his eyes away from that face.  That flawless, marble-carved, godlike face. Each time their eyes met, desire surged painfully through him, a hopeless, helpless spike.

“Thank you for coming,” Vanyel said, a bit coldly, formally. His eyes were looking at a spot past Tylendel’s shoulder, and he wondered… Does he feel it too? Is it just as hard for him to look at me? Gods, we might as well be teenagers again—

:You need to forget about what it was like to be teenagers.: Gala’s voice was sharp and blunt in his mind. :He is not the same boy, and neither are you.:

“Thank you for inviting me,” Tylendel returned cordially. :I know that, Gala. It’s just so…awkward.:

 :And whose fault is that?:

The comment was thankless, and Tylendel did not deign to respond.

Vanyel sighed, favoring him with an odd half-smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Gala?”

“Mmm.” Tylendel looked around the room, his curiosity seeping in with surprising intensity. A few Hawkbrother masks hung on the walls, testament to a part of Vanyel’s life he could not- and might never- understand. A lute lay propped in a corner, the carrying case clearly used far past its designer’s intentions, and sheets of music were scattered on a shelf next to it. I loved it when he made music for me…Posted to the wall, a child’s drawing stood out, titled with a large, messy “Uncle Van.” My Gods, I know next to nothing about the man he is. How did this happen?

“Yfandes wants me to… make an effort. I find it hard,” and Vanyel fell, graceful as ever, into one of the overstuffed chairs, “to pick the words.”

Tylendel nodded. “So much time gone by, too much—“

“To say.” Vanyel’s smile was more genuine this time.

It was aching, and hurting, and it was all his fault—“Vanyel, I am so, so, sorry. I don’t know if that’s any place to begin… but it is my fault, and I hurt you.”

A shadow took Vanyel’s face and a silence lengthened between them before he finally spoke. “You abandoned me, Tylendel. You abandoned me to the worst two years of my life—you let him take me, place his poison in me—I saw things no human should ever see—I didn’t want to forgive you. Ever. Even now, I’m not sure.” He turned his head to the side so that his hair fell as a curtain, and Tylendel remembered.

Lighting and rain, the Gate throbbing in the background, each moment sending a new jolt through Vanyel’s prone body. Arms lifted, ready to call the wyrsa, when he- Krebain- appeared, beautiful in an unnatural, disturbing way. “How kind of you, Tylendel, to bring he who I was seeking to me.”

And the Leshara, beginning to pour out of their houses, the uncanny light and pulsations waking even the soundest sleepers—

And the choice, as he looked toward the shivering, crumpled, black-haired figure on the ground, beginning to move that way, and the wyrsa called to Tylendel, just taking bodily form to turn on the Leshara—

And making the choice to finish the spell, to bring the wyrsa, to turn away from him as he bent to pick up the boy, his mind trembling that it was Vanyel, not just “the boy,” but his rage melting everything, then—

Screaming, as the beasts began to move; light, as another gate opened; familiar sounds as Gala’s hoofbeats rang true and clear and Savil’s voice rang across the courtyard—

“STOP, TYLENDEL!”

And none of them noticing Vanyel or him, but he noticing them, casting, building, and Tylendel turning too late while the others took on the ravening pack---

And the third Gate of the night opening for a moment, just long enough for him to take Vanyel through—

Tylendel screaming incoherently now, but Savil and Jaysen and Lancir and Gala all finishing the writhing wyrsa, no time to turn—

And the third Gate shutting, with it, Tylendel’s Gate shuddering to a close, the backlash energy whipping through his mind, already lost to the madness, Staven-Vanyel-Staven-Vanyel-Staven-Vanyel….

Tylendel reached out a hand, tried to brush Vanyel’s hair back from his face, but Vanyel, lightning quick, grabbed his wrist. “Not yet.”

“I know you might never forgive me.” Tylendel’s hands fell useless back into his lap.

“I—should try.” Vanyel looked up at him, this time truly meeting his eyes with distant silver ones. They never used to look so inhuman.

“I have no real defense. I could say I wasn’t in my right mind—“

“Savil told me that, years ago.”

Staven-Vanyel-Staven-Vanyel…it had taken a year for them to bring Tylendel back to himself, a full year, and still. He knew Vanyel was alive, could feel the block that he had put on their bond, and the very existence of the block implied life. It was the only thing that kept him going—

But Savil said Vanyel was lost, too long lost, and those stronger than Tylendel had been searching. She had been searching, six months, and could not find a trace. The only way Tylendel could even be allowed to leave the palace, at any rate, was to redeem himself in another year of training, of ethics courses, of Truth-spelled questionnaires. They did finally give him his Whites, and tell him he was a Herald-mage, though he didn’t feel like much of one.

He couldn’t imagine what he was doing with Vanyel.

“I wanted to, Van. They wouldn’t let me leave the Palace—I was under house arrest; I had to prove I wouldn’t betray my oaths again.”

“You wouldn’t have been able to find me anyways. He was too strong. I was lucky—“ he laughed then, dryly, humorlessly. “Well, I suppose that’s not the right word. But if anyone other than Starwind and Moondance together had stumbled upon his lair…” Vanyel trailed off.

It had been midway through his first circuit— a purposefully long circuit that Elspeth had designed as a sort of gift to Tylendel, a way to look—when he got Savil’s letter.

Dearest Tylendel,

I know this will come as a shock to you, so I’ll keep it short. Vanyel has been found, by the Tayledras. The mage Krebain has been killed. I know the block is still there—but you might find it feels different. Starwind, a Tayledras adept, has reinforced it to spare you Vanyel’s pain, for he is not well.

I do not want to alarm you, and there is nothing you can do, so I will not speak of it further. You must finish your circuit. I should be back at Haven when you return.

With love,

Savil

Words, feelings, everything had failed him. He had known Vanyel was alive, but had no idea how he would react when he was found. And now…

Grief, guilt, pain consumed him, along with the familiar sense of futility. He could not come? He could not help his lifebonded?

“I would have left my circuit and come. Savil told me I couldn’t.” It sounded feeble, even knowing it was the truth, but Vanyel nodded.

“I know. I didn’t want you to come.”

Tylendel knew that too.

He had come home from circuit exhausted and heartsore. Savil had Mindspoken him briefly from Haven, once he was in range, but it had not been much of a conversation; she said she would explain in person.

He had no word from Vanyel, and the block remained as cold and hard as ever in the back of his mind.

As soon as he had changed out of his filthy Whites and shoved in what food he could, he made his way to Savil’s rooms. She was waiting for him in her armchair, a grave expression on her face.

When he came in, she rose to embrace him, warm and familiar.

He fell apart in her arms, more than he had in months, sobbing uncontrollably, unable to speak.

“I know, ke’chara,” she murmured in his ear. “I know.”

“Savil… this is torture,” he said, when he had finally calmed himself and sat down. “Where is he? Why can’t I go to him? Why am I still blocked?”

“I’ll start with the easy questions,” she replied with a sigh. “He’s in k’Treva with the Hawkbrothers. He’s been there for a year now, and I just returned a fortnight ago so that I could be here for you.”

“Why didn’t he come with you?”

“Tylendel, the mage… Krebain… he tortured Vanyel every day for two years, in every way imaginable. I will not go into the gory details—that’s for Vanyel to speak of, if he ever will. Havens know he wouldn’t speak to anyone of it save Moondance, and even then, he barely could.”

“Dear Gods.” Guilt, unimaginable guilt, built up in Tylendel’s throat, stuck there, rendering him unable to speak.

“It’s not all your fault, ‘Lendel,” Savil stated, reaching out a hand to clasp his. “You didn’t actually torture him.”

“I might as well have.” He had run a shaking hand through his hair. “I don’t understand. Why- why Vanyel? Why did he want him?"

“That’s the other part.” Savil dropped his hand and looked away, out the window into the bright daylight. “The part that you will have to make peace with.” She paused, shaking her head. “Who would have thought it possible?”

“Savil, please.”

“I’m sorry. Tylendel… your Gate spell tore open Vanyel’s channels, and he had more Mage potential than most of the Heraldic circle combined. That’s why Krebain wanted him—power theft.”

The words drew a shiver down Tylendel’s spine, and he stifled a sob. “He was using Vanyel for- for blood magic?”

“And worse.” Savil shuddered. “At any rate, as soon as Starwind and Moondance brought Vanyel back to k’Treva, they were able to heal most of the physical damage relatively quickly, and that’s when Yfandes showed up.”

“Yfandes? The oldest unpaired Companion- but why?”

“Vanyel’s going to be a Herald, Tylendel. The strongest Herald-Mage any of us have ever seen, to be specific. The reason your block is still up? That’s him, now. Starwind took down his temporary one as soon as Vanyel was Healed.”

Tylendel’s jaw dropped in astonishment. “Vanyel? A Herald-Mage? He was Chosen?”

“Don’t look so aghast, ‘Lendel, you’re the one who first made me see the good in him. And you were right—he’s incredible. I can hardly believe it….” She shook her head wonderingly.

“But…why is he blocking me?”

Savil shot him a hard look. “Why do you think, Tylendel? I can tell you Krebain’s not your fault all day and night, but you made a grave error that night. I’ve forgiven you, Gala’s forgiven you, and so has the Circle, but Vanyel… he’s not the pliable youth you fell in love with. I hate to put it that way, and I know it must hurt horrendously, but I can’t hide the truth.” She paused and picked up a letter from the sideboard. “Here. It’s from him.”

Tylendel looked down at the piece of paper, hesitating before picking it out of her hand. “Can I read it here?”

Savil rubbed her forehead tiredly, “Of course, ‘Lendel. If you want.”

To Herald-Mage Tylendel Frelynne,

Please do not attempt to visit me or contact me. I am alive, and as well as can be under the circumstances. I intend to remain at k’Treva for the remainder of my training—at least two years, as I understand it. I desire no visitors and no outside contact.

You can consider our relationship, as it was, terminated.

Cordially,

Herald-Trainee Vanyel Ashkevron

Tylendel recognized the script if not the voice behind the cruel, harsh words. Elegant, perfect letters, the work of years of practice, for no one loved beauty like Vanyel—except the words, the words were not any he could imagine Vanyel ever saying. Not his Vanyel, who looked at him with such adoration, such admiration—

“I imagine it’s somewhat cold, and direct?” Savil’s voice intruded.

“You could say that.” His voice was barely a whisper.

“I can’t say I’m surprised. Vanyel is… different now.” And she’d poured him a glass of wine, and he’d cried on her shoulder for another candlemark.

When he’d finally put himself back together, it had been weeks. The Queen was on her deathbed, and the Karsite border was heating up. Savil kept a steady watch on him, reminding him that there was really nothing he could do but wait.

Then Elspeth did die, Randale was crowned, Karse declared war, and Tylendel was among the first sent to the front.

That had been six years ago, nine since Vanyel’s capture. Between both of their border stints and the little leave either of them had, they had not seen each other in person since.

Until this morning…

“Tylendel?” Vanyel’s voice was concerned now. He was standing over him, a slight but somehow still powerful figure.

“I’m sorry—I tend to get lost in my memories.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “One of the dangers of living for the past.”

Vanyel’s face had softened considerably, and Tylendel imagined he could see bits of true sympathy. “I didn’t mean for it to be so long, you know.”

“You mean, you didn’t enjoy spending years on the Karsite border?"

That earned him a short laugh. “Dear Gods, no.”

Even that hint of mirth transformed Vanyel’s face from incredibly handsome to inhumanly beautiful, and Tylendel looked away, pained. He’s even more absurdly attractive now. “Which brings me back to my original question, the one I wanted to ask you six years ago when you were training at the Vale. How can I make it right? Van, I can’t just give you up—just not want you—“

“But you did.” Vanyel’s voice was small and his face hidden again. “I know you weren’t in your right mind, but still, somewhere deep down inside of you, I wasn’t important enough to you. I promise you, you were important enough to me—you were everything.”

Tylendel swallowed audibly, his voice catching. “I can’t change the past—“

“I had to spend years after Krebain figuring out who I was, finding the confidence to be my own person, without you—and now, I wonder if there isn’t too much distance and bitterness between us.” Vanyel looked up, his eyes meeting Tylendel’s, more readable now in their pain.

“There’s not,” Tylendel said, finally sure of something he was saying. “I know I love you, Vanyel.”

“Do you? Do you even know me?” And Vanyel turned eerie again, his self seeming to retreat before the earnest entreaty in Tylendel’s eyes.

“I swear, Vanyel. I would swear to any Gods above that I love you no matter what has happened—I would show you, if you would just take down that block—“

Vanyel seemed to wilt back into his chair, then nodded slowly. “Brace yourself.”

He Felt the sudden shifting in that long-standing impostor in his mind, the hardness giving way slowly to a rush of darkness, a cool blue-black aura that settled itself again in the deepest parts of him. It soothed all the fiery parts of him, brought balance… but with it came pulsing pain and shame, an eternal feeling of not worthy, tainted, bloodied, linked to memories that, even as the faint hints they were, jarred him to his soul.

Beyond that was the power he Felt cascading toward him, the power he’d sometimes seen and Felt in action on the Border from afar—never stationed anywhere near Vanyel, he’d only heard the songs and seen the aftermath. The control and depth of power shocked him almost as much as the memories—he’s far, far better than I am. Better than any of us—he could level Haven.

But the thought did not frighten him, and the memories just made him incredibly, terribly sad.

Wordlessly, he stood and made his way to Vanyel’s chair, reaching out a hand to pull him into a tight embrace.

Shockingly, incredibly, Vanyel let him, just for a moment.

Then he drew back. “Tylendel… there are still too many secrets between us. I can’t just fall into your arms and pretend nothing has changed in nine years.”

The loss of contact actually hurt. The block sliding up again was worse. “Van, how can you—“

Vanyel’s eyes held that distant look of Mindspeaking a Companion, and when they turned back to him, they were shuttered. “That’s all I can give you tonight, Tylendel.”

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

The heavy, nearly suffocating weight lifted from Vanyel’s chest with Tylendel’s pained exit, and he sighed in relief.

:’Fandes, what’s wrong with me? Shouldn’t I want to be with my lifebonded?:

:Don’t beat yourself up, Van. What he did to you isn’t something a few words can fix. Although…: He Sensed the hesitation in her voice. :… I think your analysis is a bit off.:

:You mean, I don’t want to not be with him?:

:Yes—it’s not that, exactly. It’s that emotions are difficult for you, and he makes you feel all of them.:

There was a hint of chuckle at that last, and Vanyel allowed himself to share Yfandes’ more lighthearted sentiments for a moment before wishing her good night.

And now, I’m alone with this confusion. His body hurt from suppressed want; not a sensation he was used to, and the strength of his desire surprised him. I’d forgotten…how odd. A part of me remembers what it was like to be sixteen, and madly in love, willing to jump off cliffs for ‘Lendel, but my conscious mind knows that’s not who I am anymore.

But still—I think that opposition will always be what pulls me to him—that warmth—

And the lingering feeling of the laughing, gold-brown aura, so different from his own only strained his self-control more.

Would I regret it?

All these years, and his heart still split between wanting to spend every moment in Tylendel’s presence and never wanting to see him again. Of course, half the time I’ve been far too busy to think too much on it, one way or the other.

It had been hardest at first, when they’d found him—

Memory:

Voices intruding on his inflamed, burning mind. Soft, kind voices, trying to draw him out from his shell of pain. He wanted to scream at them to stop, to let him slip further into madness and away from the interminable, unbearable agony. But then, one voice stronger than the rest:

:Vanyel, Chosen, please live. Please come back to us. I love you.: It was blue and roses all at once, a balm to all the pain, and as he opened slightly to it, more soothing light entered, wrapping around all the burning spots in his mind and singing them away, the mental hurt of years banished in minutes.

The voices sung him into his first true rest in years. When he awoke, he found himself in a strange, leaflike hammock, with an oddly familiar stranger at his bedside. He had the song…

“You are awake,” the man said, happiness in his voice.

Vanyel shrank into the covers, sudden fear stabbing through his body. What does he want?

The man seemed to sense his withdrawal, and reached out a hand. Vanyel turned further from it. :DON’T TOUCH ME DON’T TOUCH ME DON’T TOUCH ME:

And then others were there, one face he recognized with a start.

“Savil?” He whispered, confused. He remembered her from a past life… a life that wasn’t his anymore… only she looked different, new lines around her mouth and eyes, fatigue drawn through her body.

“Oh, nephew. Vanyel.” She shooed the others away and sat at his bedside. “It is me, and you’re safe—please know you’re safe—“

It was all too much. He dissolved into tears, huddling further into the bed- to be saved was almost a curse, because he was filthy, dirty, tainted…

Savil winced as the litany filled his mind, and he felt something external clamp down on his emotions.

“Thank you, Yfandes.”

For the first time, Vanyel noticed Her- his Companion?- standing nearby—the structure was just big enough to allow her to fit fully inside. She moved closer, nuzzling his face, and he reached out a trembling hand to touch her warmth.

“Vanyel, you’re safe,” Savil repeated, staring at him with concern and pity in her eyes.

Don’t pity me, don’t pity me, I’m not worth it, I’m a tool, a filthy, dirty tool; used, evil, tainted—

He could feel that outside clamp straining and breaking, and see tears leaking from Savil’s eyes as it all cascaded out of him.

“STARWIND!” She shouted, bringing her hands to her forehead.

And another man, not the first one, but a colder one, face like cut glass, came; the shield that descended was much stronger this time.

“Ay, Wingsister. That must have hurt.”

“If that’s what he’s feeling…”

The other man managed a graceful shrug. “Then we must try to Heal him.”

And they had, though it had taken months for him to let anyone besides Yfandes lay a hand on him. After that first day, the memories had returned, slowly but surely, and first among them was the thought of Tylendel.

Tylendel, laughing and happy, telling him how much he loved him—that thought would always before, and then: Tylendel, looking at him as if he were a thing, turning away from him as the mage took him, raising his hands to call creatures of death as the energy burned Vanyel raw.

Lighting and rain, madness and pain.

He knew Starwind had set a block between them, but Vanyel reinforced it with his own. I don’t care, I never want to see him again. And the familiarity of the ice—I want to be ice; I don’t want to feel…

Savil had stayed with him for almost a year, her presence a constant and soothing one. She’d brought up Tylendel but once, and Vanyel had thrown his memories at her—it had been enough. She’d told him she would support his choice.

Then she’d left, and he had stayed another two years, the thought of returning to Haven a dagger in his mind. He’d known she would come for him eventually, when he was needed, and was not surprised when he Felt the Gate energies open in his still-sensitive mind.

She’d needed a day or two to recover before she labeled herself fit company, and it was another few days before she came to him.

They’d been sitting in the hot springs, Vanyel recovered and trained enough now to help with the magical duties of the Vale. He’d spent a long and productive day clearing an area of tainted energy, had even been able to work through the memories it conjured. Starwind and Moondance had been amazed and pleased; all in all, he was feeling good- as good as he could feel, as he assumed he would ever feel again.

“Vanyel…” she began tentatively. She shook her head. “Tact is not my strong suit.”

“I know you’ve come to return me to Haven, Aunt. I understand the responsibilities of a Herald.” He put on a good face, hoping she wouldn’t bring up what he knew she would. “I’ll miss the Vale, but I won’t mind the work.” If his two years here had taught him anything, it was that duty was the greatest balm to his wounds.

“It’s more than that. You won’t want to speak of it.”

His mind began the unpleasant churning it did whenever he was reminded of Tylendel; Starwind had told him he should try to face the pain more, but all Vanyel had wanted to do was turn from the thoughts: he’d trained himself to redirect his mind toward anything, everything else. He’d done it so well that Moondance had sighed and pronounced him “as healed as he would be,” and told Starwind that only time could change aught else.

“Savil.” His voice was low, almost threatening.

“Vanyel, you can’t do this. You’ll have to see him—“

And somehow, he had imagined he wouldn’t.

“You’ll be working together—beyond that, he’ll come seeking you; I know it; I’ve spoken to him.”

That felt like betrayal. “You forgave him?”

“He wasn’t in his right mind! I’d forgiven him before I found you, ke’chara—it doesn’t take away from the care I feel for you—“

He turned away from her.

“Vanyel, please. Tylendel is suffering almost as much as you—“ and she regretted the words as soon as she said them, saw his face turn black.

“Really, Savil? Really?” He opened his mind to hers, didn’t knock on her shields, and took one of the memories that still floated perilously close to the surface. One of the first nights, Vanyel still shivering and shaking from his burning channels and bleeding from a dozen wounds, Krebain standing over him with a knife and a mocking smile. The slow realization that Krebain was undressed from the waist down, and he wasn’t wearing any clothes at all—the desperate turn away, only tightening the bonds around him further. The fear as Krebain drew both his body and knife closer—blinding fear leading to blinding pain- internal, external- shame—

:STOP.: The words carried the ring of magical authority, and Savil’s mind shoved him out.

She hadn’t moved away from him in the pool, though, and was close enough that her hand found his. It was shaking. “Vanyel, I would hear your stories and listen to your memories, but I don’t think you really wanted me to see that.”

He looked down at the water, unable to face her.

“I didn’t mean that he’s suffered like you. None of us have—“ and tears shone in her eyes, she bent her head—“and we all share the blame. I should have seen Tylendel’s madness, and afterwards, I should have tried harder to convince the Circle to let him seek you like he wanted to. Maybe he would have seen something we couldn’t…”

“He wanted to come for me?” Traitorous hope creeping into his voice. Stop it, he told himself. It will only hurt more.

“He begged and begged, but the Circle had punished him—on pain of losing his magic and Whites, he wasn’t allowed to leave the Palace. I promise you, Vanyel, he thinks of you every day—feels so incredibly guilty—“

Vanyel could feel the anger rising coldly, implacably in his throat again. “He should.”

“I won’t deny that. But you should confront what you’re feeling more. Why won’t you take down the block?”

He stood abruptly, pulling a towel about himself, cursing that it wasn’t long enough to hide the deep scars patterning his legs, his chest. Savil turned away too slowly, he knew she’d seen them before, but it hurt her to see them, he could Feel it…

“Aunt, I can’t right now. I can’t face Haven and Tylendel all at once—it will be all I can manage to see other Heralds, to see all those faces staring at me, like I’m some kind of freak—“ He paused before he could grow emotional, gathering himself. “I just want to prove myself, do my duty, use my magic to keep anything like what happened—to me—from happening to anyone else.”

A tear slipped down Savil’s cheek and she wiped it away quickly, but not before he saw it. And that’s what I fear the most, the pity. I don’t want their pity. What did he want? Nothing. I don’t want anything, he realized with a pang. He wasn’t even sure he really wanted to live, although the Hawkbrothers had helped him dispel those notions. Some deep, small part of him whispered that he wanted Tylendel, that ‘Lendel was the only reason he had ever, ever wanted to live. He shut his eyes.

“Please, Savil—“ he reached out his hand to touch her cheek, and she looked at him, surprised. I can give her at least this much affection. He didn’t touch anyone, most days, if he could help it, besides Yfandes. “I will do what is right for Valdemar, for the people, but don’t ask me to help Tylendel. Maybe someday things will change—“ even entertaining the idea was painful, implying hope—“but it’s still too soon.”

He shrugged himself out of his memories and he poured himself a glass of wine from the nearly untouched pitcher. I did not want to have any drink in me for that meeting. Settling himself into his chair, he cast his eyes about his room. Nothing in here that Tylendel knows. So many things he might not understand—Jisa, Brighstar, Featherfire…

It still amazed him that he’d been willing, but it had been easier with women. Mechanical, no actual desire. Helping his friends in a way no other could, feeling useful—it was what he lived for. All I live for? He sighed, draining the glass more quickly than he’d intended.  It would be so easy to fall into Tylendel’s arms.

But that was the problem. He wasn’t even sure how he would react—I haven’t been with a man since…his mind shuddered from the name. If that even counts. I’m petrified, and it hurt to admit that to himself. He’d spent years proving himself on the Karsite border, in Council meetings, shocking even himself with how adept he’d become; Savil had recommended him to supersede her as first Herald-Mage, and to his amazement, the others had agreed. The Leshara debacle never tainted me. Not like Tylendel…who, despite his power rivaling Savil’s, was still not considered sound enough of reason to serve on the Circle.

Setting the glass back on the sideboard, he pulled off his formal Whites- he should have changed earlier, really, but he’d been far too preoccupied- dear Gods, I knew he was back from the Border, but I wasn’t expecting to see him today. I thought I’d have more time to prepare.

It had been near midday.

He’d been playing with Jisa in Randale’s private quarters when he’d heard the knock on the door and Sensed a far too familiar presence. Dropping the half-dressed doll, he’d stood quickly, and moved to leave.

“Stay, Van.” Randale had insisted. “It’s only Herald-Mage Tylendel. I asked him to give a quick report on his Border stint. You must know each other-“

“We do.” It had come out shorter than he’d intended, and he softened his voice as the page moved to open the door. “But I haven’t seen him in a very long time.”

He had stridden into the room then, with that familiar confident, long-legged stride and self-assured smile, pausing to bow his head in deference. “King Randale,” and his eyes darted left, to Vanyel, who knew he hadn’t Sensed him- it wasn’t kind, but Vanyel had been blocking Tylendel for years. The smile dropped, his mouth moved slightly, and Vanyel felt that familiar knock on his Mindshields that he had been politely turning aside- also for years.

Shaking his head imperceptibly, he let Randale speak first. “Herald-mage Tylendel. Welcome back from the Border.” He gestured to Vanyel. “Sorry, no formalities necessary- Vanyel was just stopping by to say hello.” He paused, looking between the two of them. “You must know each other?”

“We do,” Vanyel saved him, eyes focused on a point beyond Tylendel. “We don’t see each other very often.”

Tylendel seemed to have found his voice, and it was just as wonderfully full of life and cheer as Vanyel remembered. Unrepentant. He’s goddamned unrepentant. How can he sound like that, knowing… “We’re always sent on relay to Karse, my King, as you surely know. It seems as if the second I return home, Herald Vanyel is always stepping out to cover my place, before I can even say hello.”

A turn of bitterness and reproach there- how dare he. “I wouldn’t want to shirk my duty, Herald Tylendel.” He favored him with an ironic half-bow. “The oath doesn’t always leave time for pleasant nothings to be exchanged.”

“Vanyel-“ and then Tylendel seemed to realize the King was still there.

:Vanyel.: Randale’s mindvoice hit him at the same time, radiating confusion and slight hurt. :Am I intruding on a reunion that should be private?:

No hint of anything more than a normal sort of privacy; of course not, Randale had no clue about Vanyel’s past- all he knows is that I’m shaych, and suffered some terrible heartbreak in the past..

And he was tired, very tired of his secrets, especially from an old and true friend.

:I knew him from before, Randi.: He shaded the Mindvoice with enough implications to forestall further questions. Randale’s eyes widened.

He turned to Tylendel, and looked at him- a mistake. He was as handsome as summer still, gold-woven amber in his hair, an invitation of warm comfort in his eyes, everything Vanyel had ever wanted-

:Tylendel.: His Mindvoice felt like ice. :If you want to talk, come to my rooms this evening, after Court.:

He shut his shields down, hard, before Tylendel could answer.

“At any rate, I’ll excuse myself now. My king,” he had bowed, hand over heart. “Herald-mage Tylendel.”

Well. He had seen him, and now he had seen him again, and he felt just as off balance as he’d worried he would.

No help for it now. He fell gratefully into his large, plush bed, trying his very hardest not to notice just how empty it felt. I’ll worry about it tomorrow…

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

Savil sat brusquely at the small table in her rooms, meat roll in hand. “Eat, Tylendel.”

He looked morosely at the food. “I’m not sure I can.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “What’s upset you?"

Flopping onto the couch, he sighed. “Vanyel.”

“Ah! So you’ve finally seen him.” She’d shed enough tears and lost enough sleep worrying about the two of them over the last few years. With both of them Heralds, and stable…their romantic problems will not ruin my lunch.

:Now, now, Savil. Have pity.: Kellan’s voice sounded much more amused than serious.

:I’ve had pity, compassion, blinding headaches, and sleepless nights. They’re adults, and they’re lifebonded. Surely they can find their own way. Besides. He deserves it a bit, no?:

A snort of laughter in her mind. :Do you truly believe anyone deserves the Great Herald-Mage in full form?:

“Please, Savil. You have to do something! He’s like a statue.” Rubbing a hand over his forehead, he sat up. “He must listen to you?”

“He outranks me, ‘Lendel. You would do well to remember that.” She could feel Kellan bite back another laugh in her mind. “Even I can’t make Herald-Mage Vanyel Ashkevron, first in the circle, called Demonsbane, called Firelord, act like a human when he doesn’t want to.”

:He would do well to remember who Vanyel is now.: Kellan Sent her, with shadings of approval. :Gala says he keeps thinking of him as a besotted teenager.:

Tylendel frowned. “I’m sure the Van I remember is still in there.”

“Yes…well. Vanyel is still in there, but maybe the Van you remember was one of your making?”

:Bravo. I know this isn’t your forte. Gala and Yfandes send you their thanks, by the way.:

Savil stifled a snicker. Not funny, not funny, they’re both suffering… although I do this more for Vanyel than for him.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Tylendel! You got yourself into this mess. You treated him like a child, toyed with him, tore open his mind, threw him to the wolves, and now you still want him to come back to you in submission.” She thumped her half-eaten meat roll for emphasis. “If you want him back, I imagine you’ll have to beg on your knees!” Wait. Not what I meant. Not what I…

The sense of self-pity rolling off of Tylendel was replaced by emotions of a more… speculative nature. “You might have an idea there, teacher-love.” He stood, grabbed a roll, and waved it at her. “You might just be on to something.”

At least he was smiling instead of looking like a forlorn puppy. :Tread carefully.: She warned him, as he backed out of the door. :He’s very touchy.:

Tylendel’s smile widened and his Mindvoice felt more lighthearted than it had in some time. :I do hope so.:

Staring at his retreating back, she Mindspoke Kellan. :Did I just inadvertently imply that he should win Vanyel back through...?:

:Yes.: Kellan’s voice was positively gleeful.

:Isn’t that a bad idea?:

:…No.:

Savil sighed, taking a long gulp of water. Surrounded by dirty minds. But her good humor was restored by the thought that maybe, just maybe, the two people she loved most in the world would finally find their way back to each other.