gildaurel (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
gildaurel) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
last_herald_mage2012-08-14 08:16 pm
gildaurel) wrote in last_herald_mage2012-08-14 08:16 pm
Can't get enough Vantras...
Tamer this time. I wrote this spur of the moment after reading kat_nic's flail-worthy post. Not sure it's up to par, but I couldn't resist.
Nothing is quite so delightful as a summer breeze, Stefen mused as he pulled on his Court Scarlets. Vanyel had left the window to their suite open and warm air ruffled gently through his hair. Of course, I’m in such an absurdly good mood, anything would seem delightful right now. He’d never expected Vanyel to open up to him so fully about the past, and despite the surprises—Tran? Randi?!—Stefen felt he had gleaned a bit more insight into what experiences came together to make Vanyel a complex and sometimes hesitant lover.
Running a hand through his tousled hair—that’s Van’s habit! he thought with a rueful smile—he grabbed his gittern and headed to the Morning Court session. No rest for the weary. The Rethwellan delegation is both touchy and demanding; I only hope I can do something to calm their ruffled tempers. Apparently the ever-tactful Lord Marshall had brought up several past occasions during which the Rethwellans had not fulfilled their part of the alliance treaty, causing the current Prince Long Name to walk out on the revisionary negotiations. He’d finally been convinced—by Vanyel, of course. Tactless as he can be regarding emotions, he’s certainly got his political discourse down—to return to Court this morning. I don’t know if I’ll ever get over the fact that Van is far, far smarter than I’ll ever be. Or than virtually any of us will ever be—save perhaps Randi, and even that might be a stretch. Randi… It was hard to even begin to imagine the King and Van together; Stefen had only known the wasting-away version of Randale. By all accounts, he’d been only average looking when he was younger—Court gossip tended to nastily point out how much lovelier Shavri was.
Lost in thought, he barely noticed he was at the Council room until the doors were before him, towering monstrosities of carved oak. The Palace’ll fall before they do. One was open, and he heard voices murmuring from within. Only a few select Heralds, the Lord Marshall, and the Prince with his two closest advisors were to be here this morning. I know the Rethwellans will think it odd to have a Bard present for such a small gathering. Only Randi’s illness and my ostensible place as his “Healer” make it palatable. Good thing nobody foreign knows about my other talents… He’d been playing for delegations virtually every working day since he and Van returned from Forst Reach a little over a year ago, all under the auspices of easing Randi’s pain. Of course, this meant working almost as much as Van—nobody actually works as much as him, it’s not humanly possible-- and in many situations, working with Van. Van and all of the important Heralds—two of whom I now to know to be his ex-lovers. Odd.
Almost as if on cue, Tantras’ voice became clearer amidst the varied murmurs—“Van, the delegation will be here any minute. Are you sure these are the only changes we need to make?”
Vanyel, with that deep voice, in soft, exasperated tones, “Yes, Tran. Trust me.”
“Always,” Tantras replied, the humor in his voice evident.
Stefen chose that moment to walk in to the back of the chamber discretely, hoping not to disturb the two men poring over the treaty. Of course, Vanyel’s head snapped up instantly from the paper to favor him with a small, secret smile. Tantras’ followed, and his eyes met Stefen’s. Lovely eyes, Stefen thought with a jolt. These two he could imagine together, rather too well. While Stefen knew he had his own charms, Tantras was undeniably handsome—almost to perfection. Vanyel’s more beautiful, certainly, but Tran has that rugged masculinity neither of us could ever hope to achieve, no matter how many hours we spend with the Armsmaster. Vanyel must have sensed something odd in Stefen’s face, because he gave him a quizzical glance before returning to the treaty.
Am I jealous? Stefen thought, almost wanting to laugh the idea away, but—I am jealous. He sighed quietly as he settled into his corner and began tuning his gittern. Hopefully Vanyel’s emotional obtuseness prevents him from realizing it. How embarrassing. Fortunately, any further thoughts on the matter were forestalled by Randale’s entry on Shavri’s arm; he was so frail now that she could easily support his full body weight. Vanyel shot him a slightly impatient look and he quickly began playing; pain-blocking only to start, then a more complicated use of his Gift as the three Rethwellans filed in. He wished he could hear the negotiating, but his Gift allowed for no other focus than the music, and before he knew it, their voices had all faded into the background.
“Stefen?” Tantras’ worried and far-too-handsome face stared down at him. Damn you, where is Van?
“Yes?” He replied, looking up at the older Herald.
“Good, you’re back. Sorry—I always get nervous when people are in trance states. Old fear,” Tantras said softly, looking away for a moment.
Uncertain of how to respond, Stefen looked back down at his hands, checking for blisters. Nothing. He stood up a bit unsteadily and Tantras offered him a hand. Callused and strong. Gods, I’ve got to stop this. Unable to meet the other man’s eyes, he studied the tile pattern on the floor, hoping Tantras would blame his strange behavior on the trance state.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Tantras asked, concern written on his face.
Shrugging off the question, Stefen replied, “Where’s Van?”
“He had to run off with the Prince. Taking care of finalizing the document—he’s really the only one they’ll deal with.” Tantras rolled his eyes. “As usual—nothing less than the Great Vanyel Demonsbane will do.”
Stefen started to laugh, then stopped as a thought struck him. “You must have known him before he got that nickname,” he said softly, using all his skill to keep any trace of bitterness out of his voice. Oh, hellsfire, it’s no good, he thought, seeing Tantras’ frown. Tran would have to be a minor Empath also.
“It’s noon,” Tantras said suddenly. “Should we get some lunch? Vanyel certainly won’t be finished for hours, and neither of us is needed until evening session.”
Stefen hesitated before nodding. “Sure. Why not?”
After taking a peek at the teeming Palace dining room, where Heralds, Bards, and Healers alike grabbed what sustenance they could, Tantras quickly steered them toward his rooms. “I hope that’s all right,” he said with an apologetic look. “I do like to take advantage of being Seneschal’s Herald once in a while.”
Stefen had to smile. “Fine with me,” he replied as Tantras pushed open the door to a suite that was—wow. Much nicer than Van’s. But Van would never think about asking for anything except that ridiculously opulent bed and endless hot water.
Seeing his look, Tantras grimaced. “I didn’t ask for it, you know. They absolutely insisted on it when I took over years ago. I suppose by the time Vanyel had an actual post at the Court all the nice rooms were filled up, so they were content to let him live as he wanted.”
Loosening up to laugh a bit, Stefen said, “Trust a Herald to complain about actually having a decent set of rooms. You should have seen where Medren and I lived in Bardic.”
Chuckling, Tantras replied, “I’m only too familiar with Trainee’s quarters, Stef. I think Vanyel’s one of the few who never really experienced the mixed joys of having a roommate.”
At the mention of Vanyel’s name, the conversation stilled for a moment as the two men looked at each other, hazel eyes to deep brown. Stefen broke the gaze first, and sat down at the table.
Sighing, Tantras sat down beside him and rang the bell for lunch. “I can guess what might be bothering you.”
With a resigned expression, Stefen said, “Yes, with all the Empaths floating around in my life, it’s hard to hide much.” He paused. “Although, to be fair, I don’t have much practice in masking my emotions.”
Tantras said nothing, just continued looking at him with a warm, sympathetic expression.
“All right, so Vanyel told me. Well, I pressed him into it, really.” He shrugged with a self-deprecating smile. “I was curious and… he’s so mysterious about it all, you know.” Suddenly realizing something, his smile become more genuine, almost infectious. “And I suppose that’s where this jealousy comes from—he’s no mystery for you, is he? You knew him before he had a reputation. You knew him before the songs, the Border, the Lineas-Baires affair, the permanent post at Havens—hells, you’ve known him almost as long and as well as Savil.” He shrugged again, feeling a bit embarrassed by his reaction. “And me—well, I missed all those years. I’ve probably missed most of his life.”
Listening carefully to Stefen’s words, Tantras sat back and took a moment before responding. “Van and I—“ he shook his head. “Gods, that was years and years ago, and nothing, I mean nothing, like you and him. We’re only friends; that’s all we’ve ever been—just closer friends at times, friends that gave each other a bit more comfort.” He looked up, seeming to search for the right words. “You do know him better than anyone else. The way he is with you—I tried to help him, and I like to think I did ease his suffering a bit. Nobody deserves happiness as much as he does. But he never opened up to me the way he has to you; he never had such sheer joy in his face as he does now.” He held up a hand to forestall Stefen’s objection. “And yes, he was a mystery then; he’s less a mystery now with you.”
“Did you love him?” Stefen asked hoarsely, surprised he could even get the words out. I am definitely crossing boundaries here.
“I do love him,” Tantras replied with a brief smile. “But, Stef, I’m not shaych. Never have been—never would have even experimented with anyone other than Van. I’m sure he told you, our relationship was about mutual comfort and support. So—like I said, yes, I love him. Like Shavri, like Jisa, like Randi, like Savil—Gods, probably like half of the Velgarth continent at this point, if you take all the people in Rethwellan and Hardorn into account. Does that clear things up?”
“Well, yes,” Stefen replied, his natural boldness returning. “He is eminently loveable, isn’t he?”
Tantras chuckled. “Just ask the Prince of Rethwellan,” he replied, inclining his head to the doorway where Vanyel stood with a packet of papers and a triumphant smile.
“Success?” Stefen asked needlessly. He could sense satisfaction pulsing across their bond. Satisfaction and—curiosity.
“Yes, ashke,” Vanyel said, striding across the room to slap the papers down on the table. “And just in time to join the two of you for lunch.” He paused and arched an eyebrow. “If I’m not intruding.”
“Of course not,” Stefen replied, narrowing his eyes at Vanyel, who seemed to be hiding a smirk. He knew. Damned Empaths. Well, two can play at that game. “We’re done discussing your past indiscretions.”
Tantras spit out the mouthful of water he’d swallowed and shot Vanyel a slightly nervous glance. Smiling serenely, Vanyel handed him a napkin and replied, “In that case… mutton today, is it?”
Nothing is quite so delightful as a summer breeze, Stefen mused as he pulled on his Court Scarlets. Vanyel had left the window to their suite open and warm air ruffled gently through his hair. Of course, I’m in such an absurdly good mood, anything would seem delightful right now. He’d never expected Vanyel to open up to him so fully about the past, and despite the surprises—Tran? Randi?!—Stefen felt he had gleaned a bit more insight into what experiences came together to make Vanyel a complex and sometimes hesitant lover.
Running a hand through his tousled hair—that’s Van’s habit! he thought with a rueful smile—he grabbed his gittern and headed to the Morning Court session. No rest for the weary. The Rethwellan delegation is both touchy and demanding; I only hope I can do something to calm their ruffled tempers. Apparently the ever-tactful Lord Marshall had brought up several past occasions during which the Rethwellans had not fulfilled their part of the alliance treaty, causing the current Prince Long Name to walk out on the revisionary negotiations. He’d finally been convinced—by Vanyel, of course. Tactless as he can be regarding emotions, he’s certainly got his political discourse down—to return to Court this morning. I don’t know if I’ll ever get over the fact that Van is far, far smarter than I’ll ever be. Or than virtually any of us will ever be—save perhaps Randi, and even that might be a stretch. Randi… It was hard to even begin to imagine the King and Van together; Stefen had only known the wasting-away version of Randale. By all accounts, he’d been only average looking when he was younger—Court gossip tended to nastily point out how much lovelier Shavri was.
Lost in thought, he barely noticed he was at the Council room until the doors were before him, towering monstrosities of carved oak. The Palace’ll fall before they do. One was open, and he heard voices murmuring from within. Only a few select Heralds, the Lord Marshall, and the Prince with his two closest advisors were to be here this morning. I know the Rethwellans will think it odd to have a Bard present for such a small gathering. Only Randi’s illness and my ostensible place as his “Healer” make it palatable. Good thing nobody foreign knows about my other talents… He’d been playing for delegations virtually every working day since he and Van returned from Forst Reach a little over a year ago, all under the auspices of easing Randi’s pain. Of course, this meant working almost as much as Van—nobody actually works as much as him, it’s not humanly possible-- and in many situations, working with Van. Van and all of the important Heralds—two of whom I now to know to be his ex-lovers. Odd.
Almost as if on cue, Tantras’ voice became clearer amidst the varied murmurs—“Van, the delegation will be here any minute. Are you sure these are the only changes we need to make?”
Vanyel, with that deep voice, in soft, exasperated tones, “Yes, Tran. Trust me.”
“Always,” Tantras replied, the humor in his voice evident.
Stefen chose that moment to walk in to the back of the chamber discretely, hoping not to disturb the two men poring over the treaty. Of course, Vanyel’s head snapped up instantly from the paper to favor him with a small, secret smile. Tantras’ followed, and his eyes met Stefen’s. Lovely eyes, Stefen thought with a jolt. These two he could imagine together, rather too well. While Stefen knew he had his own charms, Tantras was undeniably handsome—almost to perfection. Vanyel’s more beautiful, certainly, but Tran has that rugged masculinity neither of us could ever hope to achieve, no matter how many hours we spend with the Armsmaster. Vanyel must have sensed something odd in Stefen’s face, because he gave him a quizzical glance before returning to the treaty.
Am I jealous? Stefen thought, almost wanting to laugh the idea away, but—I am jealous. He sighed quietly as he settled into his corner and began tuning his gittern. Hopefully Vanyel’s emotional obtuseness prevents him from realizing it. How embarrassing. Fortunately, any further thoughts on the matter were forestalled by Randale’s entry on Shavri’s arm; he was so frail now that she could easily support his full body weight. Vanyel shot him a slightly impatient look and he quickly began playing; pain-blocking only to start, then a more complicated use of his Gift as the three Rethwellans filed in. He wished he could hear the negotiating, but his Gift allowed for no other focus than the music, and before he knew it, their voices had all faded into the background.
“Stefen?” Tantras’ worried and far-too-handsome face stared down at him. Damn you, where is Van?
“Yes?” He replied, looking up at the older Herald.
“Good, you’re back. Sorry—I always get nervous when people are in trance states. Old fear,” Tantras said softly, looking away for a moment.
Uncertain of how to respond, Stefen looked back down at his hands, checking for blisters. Nothing. He stood up a bit unsteadily and Tantras offered him a hand. Callused and strong. Gods, I’ve got to stop this. Unable to meet the other man’s eyes, he studied the tile pattern on the floor, hoping Tantras would blame his strange behavior on the trance state.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Tantras asked, concern written on his face.
Shrugging off the question, Stefen replied, “Where’s Van?”
“He had to run off with the Prince. Taking care of finalizing the document—he’s really the only one they’ll deal with.” Tantras rolled his eyes. “As usual—nothing less than the Great Vanyel Demonsbane will do.”
Stefen started to laugh, then stopped as a thought struck him. “You must have known him before he got that nickname,” he said softly, using all his skill to keep any trace of bitterness out of his voice. Oh, hellsfire, it’s no good, he thought, seeing Tantras’ frown. Tran would have to be a minor Empath also.
“It’s noon,” Tantras said suddenly. “Should we get some lunch? Vanyel certainly won’t be finished for hours, and neither of us is needed until evening session.”
Stefen hesitated before nodding. “Sure. Why not?”
After taking a peek at the teeming Palace dining room, where Heralds, Bards, and Healers alike grabbed what sustenance they could, Tantras quickly steered them toward his rooms. “I hope that’s all right,” he said with an apologetic look. “I do like to take advantage of being Seneschal’s Herald once in a while.”
Stefen had to smile. “Fine with me,” he replied as Tantras pushed open the door to a suite that was—wow. Much nicer than Van’s. But Van would never think about asking for anything except that ridiculously opulent bed and endless hot water.
Seeing his look, Tantras grimaced. “I didn’t ask for it, you know. They absolutely insisted on it when I took over years ago. I suppose by the time Vanyel had an actual post at the Court all the nice rooms were filled up, so they were content to let him live as he wanted.”
Loosening up to laugh a bit, Stefen said, “Trust a Herald to complain about actually having a decent set of rooms. You should have seen where Medren and I lived in Bardic.”
Chuckling, Tantras replied, “I’m only too familiar with Trainee’s quarters, Stef. I think Vanyel’s one of the few who never really experienced the mixed joys of having a roommate.”
At the mention of Vanyel’s name, the conversation stilled for a moment as the two men looked at each other, hazel eyes to deep brown. Stefen broke the gaze first, and sat down at the table.
Sighing, Tantras sat down beside him and rang the bell for lunch. “I can guess what might be bothering you.”
With a resigned expression, Stefen said, “Yes, with all the Empaths floating around in my life, it’s hard to hide much.” He paused. “Although, to be fair, I don’t have much practice in masking my emotions.”
Tantras said nothing, just continued looking at him with a warm, sympathetic expression.
“All right, so Vanyel told me. Well, I pressed him into it, really.” He shrugged with a self-deprecating smile. “I was curious and… he’s so mysterious about it all, you know.” Suddenly realizing something, his smile become more genuine, almost infectious. “And I suppose that’s where this jealousy comes from—he’s no mystery for you, is he? You knew him before he had a reputation. You knew him before the songs, the Border, the Lineas-Baires affair, the permanent post at Havens—hells, you’ve known him almost as long and as well as Savil.” He shrugged again, feeling a bit embarrassed by his reaction. “And me—well, I missed all those years. I’ve probably missed most of his life.”
Listening carefully to Stefen’s words, Tantras sat back and took a moment before responding. “Van and I—“ he shook his head. “Gods, that was years and years ago, and nothing, I mean nothing, like you and him. We’re only friends; that’s all we’ve ever been—just closer friends at times, friends that gave each other a bit more comfort.” He looked up, seeming to search for the right words. “You do know him better than anyone else. The way he is with you—I tried to help him, and I like to think I did ease his suffering a bit. Nobody deserves happiness as much as he does. But he never opened up to me the way he has to you; he never had such sheer joy in his face as he does now.” He held up a hand to forestall Stefen’s objection. “And yes, he was a mystery then; he’s less a mystery now with you.”
“Did you love him?” Stefen asked hoarsely, surprised he could even get the words out. I am definitely crossing boundaries here.
“I do love him,” Tantras replied with a brief smile. “But, Stef, I’m not shaych. Never have been—never would have even experimented with anyone other than Van. I’m sure he told you, our relationship was about mutual comfort and support. So—like I said, yes, I love him. Like Shavri, like Jisa, like Randi, like Savil—Gods, probably like half of the Velgarth continent at this point, if you take all the people in Rethwellan and Hardorn into account. Does that clear things up?”
“Well, yes,” Stefen replied, his natural boldness returning. “He is eminently loveable, isn’t he?”
Tantras chuckled. “Just ask the Prince of Rethwellan,” he replied, inclining his head to the doorway where Vanyel stood with a packet of papers and a triumphant smile.
“Success?” Stefen asked needlessly. He could sense satisfaction pulsing across their bond. Satisfaction and—curiosity.
“Yes, ashke,” Vanyel said, striding across the room to slap the papers down on the table. “And just in time to join the two of you for lunch.” He paused and arched an eyebrow. “If I’m not intruding.”
“Of course not,” Stefen replied, narrowing his eyes at Vanyel, who seemed to be hiding a smirk. He knew. Damned Empaths. Well, two can play at that game. “We’re done discussing your past indiscretions.”
Tantras spit out the mouthful of water he’d swallowed and shot Vanyel a slightly nervous glance. Smiling serenely, Vanyel handed him a napkin and replied, “In that case… mutton today, is it?”