21_days | 21 Days of Valdemar!

Welcome to 21 Days of Valdemar!

Put on your party hats - it’s time for the Dead Vanyel Memorial Party! Vanyel is OFFICIALLY the Woobiest of the Woobies, and we celebrate in his honour!

WE'RE DONE.

No More Fills posted here! Post to AO3 or FF.Net and post the link here!

Discussion Post | Mod Call Post | Resources Post

Schedule

Day 1 -Aug. 9 - Prompts! You will have seven days to put as many prompts as you'd like on this post. And if you start writing them early, well that's just good planning!

Day 8 - Aug. 16 - Prompting ends, posting begins! You have 14 days to write, draw, and potentially diorama as many prompts as you can.

Day 19 - Aug. 27 - This is the cut-off day for prompters to reply to any questions about their prompt. Unanswered questions are considered enthusiastic agreement.

Day 21 - Aug. 29 - Last day of posting! All fills must be posted by 11:59 PM North American Mountain Time.
Day 22 - Aug. 30 - Party time! You now have the option of going unanon and reposting everything you've done to AO3 under our fancy AO3 Collection. Or unanoning in whatever manner you please.

(Click on the dates for countdowns; the fest is following MDT/Mountain Time)

Rules

For the purposes of this fest, the prompts themselves are warnings. If you have issues with this policy, we recommend either not participating or using Dreamwidth blocker.

Joining the 21_days community is optional for prompters, fillers, and all interested parties; we have some extra content for comm members, but this prompt/fill post, the discussion post, and the mod call post are open for everyone.

MOST IMPORTANT RULE: Posting unanon will be deleted. This doesn't mean you aren't welcome here! And if you'd like the content of your comment PMed to you, contact the MOD CALL post.

For Prompters and Readers

Subject lines should include the series, characters and/or pairing you want. Feel free to be as descriptive as you'd like. Warnings aren't required, but they also aren't banned.
You don't have to write or draw. It's anon, there's no IP-tracking, and we aren't going to stalk you.
Do not comment on other people's prompts to try and change pairings or characters. Post your own version with the characters you want instead.
If you fail to respond to a 'is this okay?' kind of question about any of your prompts by the 19th day, it'll be taken as an enthusiastic yes, no matter what the question is.
There are no subject bans. You may prompt anything you want.
If you don't want to answer any questions, you can say so, and that will work as blanket permission for anything people might want to do with your prompt.
Prompts for non-Valdemar Mercedes Lackey series are allowed.

For Artists and Writers

No claiming prompts, please, as multiple fills are welcome!
Minimum wordcount per fill is 100 words.
All content is allowed and all warnings are optional, but if you want to write or draw extreme kinks** for a prompt that doesn’t specifically request them, you have ask the prompter first.
If the artist requests it, the mods will repost art fills as an embedded picture in a reply to their comment. NSFW art will be labelled as such in the subject line by re-posting mods. Art involving underaged characters in porn situations will not be re-posted as an embed.
RPF of underage people is not allowed. We're not even sure if it's possible for Valdemar fic, but whatever. It's not allowed.

** "extreme kinks" for the purposes of this exchange include but are not necessarily limited to: extreme underage, major character death, scat/watersports/emetophilia, extreme gore, and bestiality. Please use reasonable discretion, and ask a mod if you have any questions!

For Everyone

This is a Choose Not to Warn fest. At no point will any comment be deleted for failure to warn of its content in the subject lines. They will be deleted for rampaging dickery and failure to follow the rules.

Unanon comments will be deleted.

Attempts at policing other people's fun will be deleted.

Prompts posted after the end of the 7th day will be deleted.

Links to off-meme posts posted prior to end of the 21st day will be deleted.

Concerns are to be directed to the MOD CALL post. If posted here, they will be deleted.

Fills that have spectacularly failed to fulfill the prompt/been posted to the wrong spot will be screened. You can request a copy of your work at the MOD CALL post.

The rules may change without warning in response to unforeseen circumstances, like us thinking of better ones.

Discussion Post | Mod Call Post | Resources Post

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From: (Anonymous)

Gonna subthread this for ease of reading.

I've got two scenes done already, and have planned out a bunch more. Very NSFW, mind-controlled dubcon BDSM. Little bit xeno, what with Krebain being a changechild and all.

From: (Anonymous)

The acid energy of the Gate lingered near Vanyel, and his body felt peculiarly numb. He wasn't sure how he'd passed through Krebain's Gate. Maybe he carried me, he thought - and the thought of being swept up in Krebain's arms confounded him. The man was alluring, yes, but the thought of being so close to him was unnerving.

He looked up into Krebain's blue-black eyes, and saw concern there in among the hunger. "It hurts you, to pass through a Gate? How strange. But we could hardly depart by any other means," and he smiled wide. "I needed to take you far, far away from them, Vanyel."

That's as I pledged. That if he left Covia alone, I'd go with him. Vanyel sought nothing else of what Krebain had promised to him - riches and revenge meant very little to him now. He only wanted the village to be safe. And it was as well if they'd Gated far away from Covia; at such distance, surely he could persuade the mage from preying on the villagers again. I'll keep him distracted.

"Where are we?" he asked. The room they were in looked like a Work Room, but not so plain as the Work Rooms that Savil or Starwind kept. The walls were covered in strange runes and pictures, and in the centre was a raised stone block with a spiral carved on its surface. The air smelt strange - almost metallic. Vanyel reached with his mind - and encounted another spell-shield not far away. So he still couldn't speak to Yfandes, even to tell her goodbye - well, hopefully the villagers would tell Savil what had happened.

Krebain threw the room's carved-oak door open grandly. "This is one of my many hideaways," he replied. He took Vanyel's arm, and Van tried not to flinch as the mage led him into a great round room with high-peaked rafters. Sunlight shone through thin window slits, scoring sharp lines across a marble floor. The room looked to be something of a parlour, something of a bedchamber; against one wall, he saw a bed strewn with sumptuous pillows.

He shivered, and wasn't sure if it was from fear or from the thought of Krebain's beauty. The mage raised his helm from his head, and white-gold hair fell around his shoulders. Vanyel wanted to touch it, see how soft it was, play with it in the sunlight, but he didn't dare move. Everything about him is so magnetically attractive...

Krebain raised a hand to his own mouth and bit the tip of his scarlet glove between his teeth. Slowly, he pulled his hand free.

Van had thought, somehow, that Krebain's theatrical costume was a masquerade and that what lay underneath could not be more peculiar than what he had seen - but he was evidently wrong. Krebain's fingers curved strangely, as if he had too many knuckles, and his nails were curved and black. That could be simple artifice - Vanyel had seen more peculiar nails gracing the hands of Court ladies - but the closer Krebain stepped to him, the less confident Vanyel was of his humanity.

And yet, the more enraptured by his beauty.

Krebain reached out a hand to caress him. A touch like cold, polished steel - scales and claws, nothing human - and he leaned into it even as part of him was frantic to draw away.

But he couldn't.

It's the pledge I made. That's why I can't stop this.

"Vanyel, rare one, pure of heart. I want to keep you that way always," Krebain whispered. "You will be my greatest treasure. Who ever knew such a beautiful man would be so willing to give himself away for others." His tonguetip slipped between his lips, hissing the final word. "Your will might be the loveliest thing about you. I'll never take it from you. Now, let me look at you," he said, and his clawed hand ran down Vanyel's neck, catching at his throat-latch. Vanyel stared at him stupidly, and he laughed. It was the most musical sound Vanyel had ever heard a human make; but then he remembered - he isn't human. A flick of that slender wrist, and Van's cloak fell down from his shoulders. "Let me look, Vanyel. Take those clothes off," Krebain urged.

Vanyel gasped.

The mage shook his head gently, as if he'd made some foolish mistake. "You've nought to fear, Vanyel. I won't let you feel cold. I won't let anyone else hurt you. I give you my solemn word." Something about the way he'd said it unsettled Vanyel - but he had no sense that Krebain was lying. "And you know the worth of the words of an Adept, don't you?"

"Yes," he breathed. Words could bind, could enspell.

"And you gave your word that you would be mine."

"Yes," and that was all of him - he couldn't recall any other pledge or purpose in his life.

"So it will be," Krebain smiled down at him. "Of your own will, you are my own. Your will is to serve my will in all things. And I know you very much want to show yourself to me," and his closeness and his beauty set Vanyel trembling. Yes, of course he wanted to unlace his clothes and display himself to Krebain - all he'd needed was to hear the mage's command.

He yanked his tunic and his layers of shirts over his head, and as he shook his hair from his eyes he looked up into Krebain's wide smile. It was a relief to know that his body could bring Krebain such delight. I can make him happy. I can satisfy him, keep him from doing any more evil.

He pulled off his snowboots with shaking hands, and as he unfastened his breeches, Krebain's hands fell upon his shoulders. The strange, smooth touch of his fingers, the cold points of his claws, sent a thrill running all through him. He let Krebain steer him backwards, until his heels collided with that opulent bed. "Pure one," he murmured, pushing Vanyel down until they sat together. The palm of his hand slipped downward, spreading over Vanyel's chest. His nipple flushed hard against the touch. So gentle - so smooth and cold, like polished jade. "I see I please you," he murmured, and Vanyel felt like fire was running though his loins. Great gods, Krebain was so beautiful. "I would have you please me too."

"That is my will," he heard himself say. It is, it is. And he knew how to please a man. His hands fell to Krebain's hips, running over the tight leather of his breeches. Vanyel cupped the warm swell of him, and Krebain's lips parted at the sight of his willingness, showing his sharp teeth.

Slowly, he leaned forward and engulfed Vanyel's lips with his own.

It was slower than their first kiss, much more gentle. For all the fire it stoked inside him, Krebain's touch was as soft and numbing as snow. Vanyel could feel it spreading through him, and it was like his pledge was breathing its way into life. This was what he had sworn himself to - this pleasure, this need for Krebain's closeness.

A claw touched his chin, sliding up to his lips and pulling them a finger's-breadth apart. "One thing you must know," Krebain said lightly, as if it were nothing. "It would please me to hear you call me Master." And he laid back into the soft featherbed, opening his breeches with a flicker of his strange, dexerous hands. "Please me well, and you will be rewarded."

"Yes - master." He hesitated over the word - what am I saying? - but then he felt himself caught in its gravity. It seemed so right, to describe what Krebain was to him. "Of course, Master." The mage's dark eyes slitted thin, and Vanyel reached for his rising cock.

It was as sinfully, exquisitely sculpted as the rest of Krebain's body. Vanyel's hands shook with profane reverence as he put his hands gently to the smooth, scimitar-curve of it. I must please him well, he reminded himself, and ran his hands along its length - which was more than he'd ever seen a man to sport. Even the loose skin over it felt more wonderful than was possible, as tight as oiled snakeskin. The thickness of it made his mouth water. It's bigger than Lendel's - but I can still... Vanyel bent his head, and wrapped his mouth around the tip.

Krebain exhaled, and Vanyel felt a sudden surge of warmth and pleasure. I'm an Empath now, he thought stupidly. Moondance had, in fact, hinted to him of the benefits of being able ot sense how you made someone else feel. And his master felt good - like Van had done something right - I please him - and he shifted to lick further down the thick shaft of him. That was the right thing to do. He tightened his hands about the parts of Krebain's cock that his mouth couldn't reach, and the waves of satisfaction were like sunshine between his hands. It wasn't what he'd shared with Lendel - but he couldn't think of that now.

Clawtips combed at his hair. Krebain's fingers tightened on his scalp, and he could think of nothing more. His eyes slipped closed, and he let his master tug his head up and down on the thick cock that was the centre of all pleasure. Up. Down. And tighter, further down, the head of it pushing at the back of his mouth - and he sputtered, desperate for air.

His master laughed gently. "You'll learn, lovely Vanyel." As he fought for breath, Krebain rested a hand on his cheek, and spread his fingers wide - and with a flash they raked across his face. Pain stung through him, and he cried out. "Shh," and Krebain cupped his face gently, his hands only soothing again. "A little hurt will help train you in giving pleasure." He eased Vanyel back into his place - kneeling between the mage's open legs - and as his hands pulled away again, Vanyel saw three thin lines of blood cross Krebain's palm.

Not good enough - and he fought his rising panic. He had to please Krebain. The pain of the scratches was inconsequential, but he couldn't bear the thought of disappointing his beautiful master. He bowed his head and opened his lips around Krebain's cock again, hands moving frantically in an effort to make up for his shortcomings. He took it in as deep as he dared - then back, tightening his lips, dipping his tongue into the open eye. And down again. Further this time. He felt the joy of Krebain's response, and let it pull him into the rhythm, up and down and tighter, his hands clenching with the pulse of it, and then claws tight in his hair kept him still as he tasted the first salty tears of his victory.

It pounded through him. Krebain shook under his hands, and he held Vanyel down hard as seed filled the back of his mouth. "Swallow," Krebain murmured his command lightly as he relaxed his grip. Vanyel obeyed him. It was different - bitter - but he was so glad to have it, as proof that he had pleased his master.

He watched Krebain breathe deeply, and rise to his feet again - such feline, serpentine grace. "I promised I'd reward you," Krebain smiled, and Vanyel saw there was something in his hand - a thread of gold. A thin charm-chain. "Be still," Krebain commanded, and reached down Vanyel's body to take his penis in one clawed hand. Van gasped, fighting the need to lean into the rough touch - but he couldn't. That wasn't what had been asked of him. Krebain stroked him with cold clawtips, down to the base of him, cupping his balls in one hand, and Vanyel heard a soft click as the tiny chain locked into place behind them. "A gift for you," Krebain said. "I hope you like it. You certainly shouldn't try to remove it," - and no, Vanyel would never do that.

From: (Anonymous)

OP here -- I have to go to work right now and won't be able to read this until later this afternoon, but I just wanted to let you know that I've seen that it's up and I am so excited to read :D

Re: 1/?

From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2015-08-16 03:22 pm (UTC) - Expand

Re: 1/?

From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2015-08-16 09:18 pm (UTC) - Expand

Re: 1/?

From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2015-08-16 10:09 pm (UTC) - Expand

From: (Anonymous)

Ahh, I only just now got the chance to start reading and it's so good. What a great start! Poor Vanyel really had no idea what he was in for, but it doesn't seem like he can think of that now.

From: (Anonymous)

The door opened just a crack, as if the person beyond it was wary of visitors. They certainly lived off the Palace's beaten paths, in a set of rooms behind the Heraldic library that had been intended as a quiet study retreat, not as living quarters. The hallway outside had retained its austere character; none of the warm oaken panelling or elegant carving that Stef had seen in the rest of the Herald's Wing, the envy of his apprentice garrett in the Bardic Collegium.

"Bard Stefen? Shavri told me to expect you." Herald-Mage Savil opened the door just wide enough for Stefen and his gittern to pass through. "Let me see if he's awake." Savil swept away from Stefen and crossed the room to knock on a very plain, very solid-looking door. "Van, we have a visitor," she called, and turned back to him. "You may as well take a seat. He'll need a moment to dress," she explained. "Vanyel doesn't like to wear clothes when he's alone. One of his habits," and she shrugged at Stef's wide eyes as if that were the least of her troubles.

Which, from all he'd heard, it might well be.

Stefen perched himself on a hard wooden chair by the hearth. He felt somewhere between intruding and mortified, but Savil appeared immune to his discomfort. Or just apathetic. He even wondered if she was enjoying watching him squirm. They'd met before, but only in passing; she was the aunt of his old roommate, Medren, and he'd sometimes seen her visit Randale to act as his advisor. Stef had heard she used to be part of the Council, but these days she didn't seem to do much except watching over Vanyel like a guard-dog. Not to attend to his care, which any servant could have done.

No, Medren had told him it was because Vanyel was dangerous. To himself, primarily, but not only to himself. Stef noticed, uneasily, that everything in the room he sat in was replaceable - plain linen curtains, worn furniture that was probably cast-off by someone else. Savil, too, looked more worn than her reputed years would make sense of.

She shook her head at him. "Well, I suppose I should thank you for humouring Shavri."

"What?"

Savil sighed heavily. "She is the King's Own, and that gives her a duty of care toward Vanyel. Before Randale deteriorated, she tried to heal him...and she wasn't best pleased when those efforts came to nothing." Stef chewed silently at the inside of his cheek. Shavri had a tendency to stake herself on her responsibilities to others, and Randale's worse days set her bubbling with frustration. He often wondered how different she might be if she'd ever been able to have children. "Maybe he'll appreciate the music," she continued. "But I'm done expecting any miracle cures for Vanyel's mind."

Stef shrugged, trying not to show how her lack of faith stung him. "They told me that about Randale."

"Succeed at one impossible job, and they give you another one? That's the way of things for Heralds," she muttered. "His pain isn't like Randale's. So forgive me if I warn you that this is probably a fool's errand."

"Then what is it like?" Stef asked, perplexed.

"It doesn't have a physical cause. It's magical," she replied, and glanced at the door warily. "I think it's time to introduce you now. Just hold still while I shield you." She took his hands in hers, and Stefen felt a tingling sensation run all over him. Shield him from what? "Van," she called out, and walked to the very plain door. "I'd like you to meet Bard Stefen - Medren's friend." Stefen saw her wave her hand, and she opened the door slowly.

Inside, he saw solid stone, illuminated by some thin light he couldn't see. He felt oddly like he was stepping into a legend - a story he'd cut his teeth on, singing on the streets a decade ago.

The Lost One.

The newly-chosen Herald who'd vanished somewhere so deep in the Pelagirs that not even his own Companion could find him.

According to all the songs, she still wandered there, searching every spell-wracked moor and every monster-infested valley, her lonely hoofbeats crossing broken ground that no human had trod since before the Mage Wars. Those stories had haunted Stef's childhood. They had no end, so Stef had always imagined one. A joyful reunion after countless battles and adventures. Or a bittersweet tragedy, meeting again only to slip away.

But five years ago, Yfandes had found her lost Herald. And no one wanted to sing about it any more.

He startled at the sound of the door thudding closed behind him. The strange light faded, and for a second he was in total darkness. Blue light flashed near him, and a candle ignited. "I'm sorry." The voice sounded raspy, as if it were little-used. "I normally use mage-lights - saves the air, but I'm told that others find them strange."

Stef blinked, and stepped further into the gloom. To save the air? The room seemed completely sealed - he wondered if it was one of the Work Rooms that the Herald-Mages used to study spells. He'd never heard of someone living in one, though. "I, uh, I wouldn't mind that," he said. "I'm used to strange -"

Ahead of him, another candle sprang to life. Vanyel stared straight at him, as if to pierce Stefen through with his eyes.

He froze in surprise. The stories had somehow omitted to mention the Lost One's beauty.

Candlelight flickered against Vanyel's face, making his fine features into a topography of gold and shadow. Stefen fought to regain his wits - this was not what he'd prepared himself to see. He thought someone who'd been lost in a magically-twisted wilderness for over a decade and who lived as a complete recluse would look, well, mad. Or at least unkempt and sickly. Vanyel was untouched by age, or by the torments he'd survived; save that the candlelight caught in threads of white hair at his temples, and his clothing was, to Stef's eye (lately trained by the most vicious Court harpies in their devil-tongued salons) about twenty years out of fashion.

Yet something in those silver eyes peturbed Stef so much he could barely meet Vanyel's gaze. Still lost, the thought came to him. He's not looking at me. He's somewhere else.

He collected himself, and blinked hard. "Pleased to meet you." He held out his arms in polite greeting, and Vanyel looked down at them as if unsure what to do.

"I don't touch people," he said eventually. Stef looked aside awkwardly. Right. Mad recluse. All that gorgeousness, and he can't even hold somoene's hand? No wonder Shavri feels awful for him. Stef glanced around, but there wasn't much to see. A bed - well, a mattress - and a stack of books beside it. Two chairs and a table, even plainer than those outside. No fireplace, but he supposed it wasn't too hard for a mage to keep warm, mad or no.

He sat beside Vanyel, and fumbled with his gittern-case. "I wanted to share some music with you -"

"Medren told me about you," Vanyel said. But of course he had. That might explain Savil's annoyance, if she thought Medren was raising false hopes for his uncle - but Vanyel hardly seemed enthused. And by all accounts, Medren's calls upon his uncle were only a familial courtesy. "You play for the King," he continued.

"I have that honour," Stef said politely. He hesitated, but Medren seemed to be a point of mutual interest. "Medren told me he used to play your old lute. He said you love music -"

"I used to," Vanyel said distantly, as if he was talking about someone else.

That unsettled Stef more than anything else that had yet transpired. How would you stop loving music? He tuned his instrument in nervous silence; smalltalk didn't seem to be of use. "Well, if there's anything you'd like to request -"

"No," and Stef bit back his annoyance. No wonder Medren doesn't visit him much - doesn't he know I'm trying to help?

He wondered if he ought to admit Savil was right and just leave, but he fingered a few chords out of stubbornness. The Windrider songs had been popular enough twenty years ago - so maybe -

It was so easy, when he sang, to follow the rhythm to the depths of himself, to let the song live through him. A torrent that began from him and carried him along as it went. It let him inside people. It took their senses, and turned their hearts.

Deep enough, and it took away their pain.

Does it have to be physical? He didn't know. He didn't know how it worked, and for all the Healers' prodding and blather, neither did anyone else. No one understands how my Gift works. No one understands how to heal your pain. So I won't let anyone tell me they know I can't help you -

His last note hung in the air, and he dared to open his eyes and take a look at its effects.

Vanyel was clutching his elbows, and tears ran from his eyes. Focused, lucid eyes. He seemed to be struggling for words, lost and buried words that had never been needed between these stone walls. And Stef felt the pain coiling, trying to ebb back into him, and he didn't want to see Vanyel hurt so he began another song. And it was hard, even harder than easing Randale's pain, because Randale's senses all worked and his feelings, his reason, were right there where the song could simply use them, without this struggle to rebuild the bare instincts that channeled his music. He felt like he was stringing and tuning the instrument even while playing it. Like trying to compose music even as he sang. But the more he fought, the easier it came, the simpler it was to reach the pain and take it away.

And every time he paused, he felt the whole thing unravel again.

He was exhausted when Savil came for him, his trance disrupted by her shaking at his shoulders. Vanyel had hunched himself against the wall, candlelight shining on the tear-streaks that ran down his cheeks. Stef tried to stand, and it was fortunate that Savil was there to catch him. His energy was so spent he didn't even know how he'd still been playing.

"Thank you," Vanyel whispered. He stretched out a hand, then pulled it back as if he'd reached too close to a fire.

"My pleasure," wavered Stef tiredly. He looked back as he let Savil lead him out - Vanyel's head had dropped into his folded arms, and the candle beside him went out. What had he done? What had he brought into Vanyel's peculiar, constrained life?

The room looked like a prison cell, Stef realised.

It was.

From: (Anonymous)

Oh wow. Poor Vanyel!

...I love it.

And no Jisa, I didn't even think of that, but it's totally logical, and also really sad.

Damn, I hope you write more, but even if you don't, this is great!

Re: 2/?

From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2015-08-16 10:15 pm (UTC) - Expand

From: (Anonymous)

From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2015-08-18 12:21 am (UTC) - Expand

From: (Anonymous)

Ahhh, this is so, so good! I think I held my breath through most of it, the tension was so tight. Poor, poor Vanyel. I'm already longing to get to the point where Stef can help.

Also, that detail about Shavri not having kids, because of course. Ouch.

From: (Anonymous)

[Thanks so much for all the love, guys! Have more rapey brainwashed sex!]

Krebain had been away from him - which was the worst, most frightening experience in Vanyel's world now, something darker than the twisted night sky outside. Only the hope of seeing his beautiful, wise master again had kept him sane through the barren nights of his absence. Krebain had to leave him sometimes, he knew - so many important matters demanded his attention. Often, it was merely for a few hours, and Vanyel would sleep them away dreamlessly. He had no purpose, no will, beyond his choice to serve Krebain. But this time, their parting had been longer - days of nothingness, no touches, no pleasure and no pain, no one paying any heed to him save for the dull-eyed servants who bathed him and brought him food.

When Krebain returned, not even the searing pain of theany Gate-energy stopped Vanyel from throwing himself at his master's feet. He apologised immediately, kissing his master's feet and pleading his forgiveness for his neediness. He begged for another chance to please him. If he were to please his master enough, perhaps he'd not be left alone again?

Krebain was weary and in need of satisfaction, and Vanyel immediately offered his mouth for the mage's pleasure. The taste of his master's cock, salt-smooth, the bitter musk of him, the strange softness of his hair, immediately made him feel whole again. He'd felt so bereft, so purposeless without Krebain. He existed to serve his master's will. It seemed very strange to think that he'd ever dreamed of anything more than this service, when this was what truly fulfilled him. Had he really once cared about choosing nice clothes? Now he wore nothing but his master's generosities. The gold chain around his penis that claimed it as Krebain's possession. The heavy, jewelled ornament that Krebain had placed in his ass to stretch and tease him, to keep his body ready for his master's use.

His body was so very needy; as he knelt low with the taste of Krebain in his mouth, prostrating himself, his cock brushed a slick liquid kiss on the marble floor. Touching it without his master's permission was worse than unthinkable - the chain that bound its base would allow him no release save at Krebain's word. Not only that, but Krebain would know should he try, and would punish him with pain and torments and touches to make him needier, a purgatory of denial. Thus Vanyel was trained and guided by his master's great power. His yearning for release would only make him love his master more.

"Vanyel," Krebain crooned, "Your mouth has been both skilled and willing today." He nodded his thanks for the praise - truly, his lips were too tired to form words. "I would like to see you find your pleasure with my cock deep inside you."

He trembled with gratitude. Such a reward - for Krebain to fuck him and to allow him release - was a rare thing, and Vanyel was hardly worthy of it. He smiled up at his master in anticipation. "I will, of course, need you to be very willing with me. There is something you have yet to offer me," and his teeth spread hungrily.

Vanyel flinched, confused. But he'd give anything to his master. "I - I apologise. Whatever you have need of -"

"I need your magical power, pure one. You do nothing with it, and never could. You will let me drain it from you."

But of course - of course his power belonged to Krebain - but the thought wrenched at him. Hadn't his power once - was it once used to help someone? Someone weak, who didn't matter - if they mattered, I would be able to remember. Only Krebain matters. But this was something deeply his - somehow more personal than even his body. He instinctively knew that to allow Krebain to take the magical power in his reserves was to remove part of who he was.

Yet - why shouldn't Krebain do that? His master was right - that power was was wasted inside Vanyel, and would be better used to serve his master's glory. It's just another barrier I have, that I shouldn't have. I didn't understand the first time he whipped me, either, but now I know how that's for my own good.

"Yes, master," he said. As he always said. And he bowed his head to kiss Krebain's feet again, as his master liked him to do when he offered something.

Krebain grasped his arm, clawed nails digging hard into Vanyel's flesh. The touch stoked his need - he understood now why he needed to be hurt, why both pain and pleasure were gifts from Krebain that brought fulfilment. "Then come here. I'll make this easy for you," and he pulled Vanyel to their bed. He knew what that meant now, and sure enough, his golden cuffs were in Krebain's hands. They were so masterfully made - completely unbreakable, but so delicate in appearance, cast in fine gold and threaded with the dark pearls of Lake Evendim, spun from the gritty remnants of magical warfare. Only the most beautiful things would adorn a body that served Krebain. It was an honour to wear these shackels, he knew, and he was hardly worthy of it.

Vanyel knelt, and held out his arms in offering. Krebain bound his wrists, and curled the chain between them in his fists. Vanyel crawled obediently toward him, and his master fixed the chain to its hook at the head of the bed. Vanyel bent his head in gratitude for the kindness; it was a lot easier to accept new honours from his master if he was bound.

He remained still with his bound arms before him as he heard Krebain undress, and he felt the mage's fingertips tracing his shoulderblades, travelling his spine. Following that press of his nails, Vanyel felt a dark inner touch, raking against the base personal shields that protected his magical reserves. He felt ashamed, knowing it was truly wrong and disobedient of him to keep such shields when he knew he should always be naked before his master. Krebain's thighs wrapped around his own, and Vanyel tried to pull down those last protective walls, to let Krebain deep inside of him into all that's left all that's still safe all that remembers -

Vanyel's body jerked violently - the kind shackles all that kept him in place between his master's thighs. It was as if he had been pushing against a heavy door that kept pushing back. Inside him, tendrils of Krebain's energy lapped demandingly at that edge, and he felt his master's hand combing through his hair, gathering it together. "Be willing," the mage whispered in his ear. "You will be rewarded, should you be willing," and Krebain tugged at the jewelled ornament, its girth stretching Vanyel wide, left him gaping and empty. He felt the head of Krebain's cock - the cock that blessed and defined him - resting at his opening, and oh gods, this time it's oiled.

He daren't let his master down.

It was only a disobedient instinct. Just something else to un-learn. Like when he'd first made himself swallow Krebain's cock without gagging. If he wasn't able to please Krebain, how worthless would he be? He clenched his bound hands, and leaned his will against the door inside again.

No no NO! and Vanyel felt the shield crack -

He shuddered violently in his bonds, and his master's claw tightened in his hair, holding and hurting him. The rush of Krebain's energy passed through him, and the mutinous sanctuary inside of him fell numb and silent. Empty. Gaping open -

Krebain thrust into him, and pulled his head back.

His vision went black. He shrieked, arched and taut in Krebain's hands, nothing mattering any more except the cock impaled deep inside him, pounding the place where he needed it so badly. Filling the stretched, wanting hole, completing him. And all the heat and fire in him was worth nothing, less than nothing, next to the feeling that Krebain wanted him, wanted to take him and use him and ravage him.

His master relaxed his grip on Van's hair, and his head sagged against his bonds. Two hands at his hips, digging deep and furious as Krebain used him. If he'd been needy before, he was desperate now, swollen and dripping against his own thighs. And somewhere deep in the core of him, draining, Krebain's claws rending and taking, engulfing him, leaving him with nothing -

- as nothing -

He couldn't see, couldn't think. Could only give himself up to the deep, hard fucking that wracked his entire body. Krebain hissed in his ear, a sound that meant he was nearing release. "Take what you've earned, slut," and he pulled Vanyel back at the hips, wrenching him against his bonds as his master's permission shook through him, shattered his will to hold back. His whole body clenched tight, and the force of his climax pulsed all through him, thrumming through his throat, his ears, even his hands, everything in him spilling hot against his loins.

Krebain's arms wrapped around him, pushing him down, and Vanyel cried out as his master's pleasure overtook him.

He breathed deep, slowly feeling his body relax. He was so tired. Even as he lay, pliant, under his master's body, he felt like he was trying to support himself on something that wasn't there any more. Something he'd needed. No, all he needed was Krebain.

Krebain slipped out of him, and lay against Vanyel's shoulder. His master felt - bright and warm, like the sun through their windows. Made greater, by Vanyel's meagre offerings. He knew he'd given something - it had mattered once - it only mattered now it belonged to Krebain, as it should - he didn't know why it had ever troubled him. But the seed that covered him - his own on his belly, his master's seeping from his gaping hole - felt like evidence. Proof that Krebain truly wanted him, was truly pleased by him. That he was deserving of Krebain's cock.

Proof that he was worth nothing more.

(there is nothing else).

From: (Anonymous)

From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2015-08-26 04:38 am (UTC) - Expand

From: (Anonymous)

I FEEL LIKE YELLING INTO THE VOID

So good, so intense and so awful all at once. Poor, poor Vanyel.

From: (Anonymous)

Stef had come to look forward to visiting Vanyel in a way he couldn't define. Exhausting though his efforts were, there was something dreamlike, almost indulgent about singing to the Lost One in his hidden cell. He could sing what he liked; Vanyel didn't mind his tastes. He'd begun from the old songs, things he thought Vanyel would be familiar with from childhood, and had moved on to modern variants, even some of his own songs. Nothing about the ongoing war.

He's changing, Stef thought, as their eyes caught in the low candlelight. More focused. I almost think he's glad to see me. They'd even talked a little last time; questions about Vanyel's childhood passion for music met only with confusion and silence, but simple technicalities - which version of Windrider Unchained he preferred, whether he knew the Kettlesmith variant - were allowed.

There were few greetings between them. Even the eye contact was something of a novelty. "Any requests?" he asked, as always, fumbling his lute from its case. Not his favourite twelve-stringed gittern today, but he had his reasons for that.

Vanyel shook his head - as always - and then hesitated. "I liked the one you sang yesterday about Sunsinger and Shadowdancer."

Stef decided not to tell him that he'd not been there in two days. He'd gathered that Vanyel wasn't best aware of time - and who would be, in this silent hole? Vanyel hardly seemed uncomfortable with his surroundings, but the Work Room made Stef feel stifled by silence on every side; the ceiling was as low as you'd find in a slum tenement, not far over Vanyel's head, and all six faces of the room were formed from thick stone. "You flatter me," he replied instead. "I wrote that one."

Vanyel's eyes widened. "I shouldn't be surprised. It fits your range so perfectly." He frowned, as he was wont to when trying to remember things. "Mine was lower, back then. I remember...after my voice broke, I couldn't sing Herald Nasha's Lament any more."

"That happened to Medren," Stef grinned. "He came up with a variant that works for him - I'll try to remember where it starts -"

"I don't sing," and Vanyel's voice wavered. "It's been years since..." He curled his hands, and Stefen wondered at a pain that drove away thought, drove away song. He always recognised pain - he didn't know whether it was part of his Gift, or due to years of carefully watching Berte for signals, but no one could hide it from him. There was enough of it in the world that he'd long ago grown hard to it; if he'd paid heed to every little ache and scrape, there'd be none of him left. There's a reason I concealed this Gift for years, and only let it show once I was sure I'd be well repaid for it. Without the prospect of reward, not even Breda's headaches had particularly concerned him.

But he couldn't think of leaving Vanyel in pain.

I'm spending too much time around Heralds. Either that, or Shavri's guilt is getting to me. Stefen played the opening notes of the song Vanyel had requested - the one he was more often been told was too gloomy for good company - and let his Gift flow through the music. It is helping him. I see more and more of him every time I come in here. It's getting easier to reach his pain. And hells, if I can give him even a moment of peace and enjoyment - doesn't he deserve that, after so many lost years? That's not pity, exactly. I spent plenty of years struggling and suffering too. That's when music first came to matter so much to me.

As the songs went by, he saw the tension drain out of Vanyel's posture. I feel like I'm tuning him, every time. Turning a peg, listening out until he reaches the right key - the place where he and the music understand each other. That first time, he fought me the whole way, but now...he's yearning to escape from pain.

At the end of the song, Stef set his fingers against the catgut lute-strings to still them. Enough of me indulging myself. It's about time he indulged me instead. "I had an idea," he said, and he set his lute on the table between them. "When did you last play?"

Vanyel was silent so long that Stef wasn't sure he'd understood the question. "I...my memory's not good. I tried. When I came home. It hurt," and he flinched.

Stef surpressed a shiver at the odd sense of loss in Vanyel's voice. He tapped the lute's belly gently. "You said you used to love music." You still do, he added to himself. "I won't let it hurt you - I'll sing while you play. We can take it slowly. I brought a few music books," and he gestured to the case he'd set on the floor.

"I'm not sure I remember," said Vanyel slowly.

"Try her. Your fingers do." I'm sure you can do this. I'm quite sure.

Vanyel glanced at his hands as if they'd done him some wrong. He took the lute with some hesitance, but his fingers immediately found the right grip. He plucked a note - then a scale, which Stefen followed with his voice, an octave below.

No pain. I promised. I'm well acquainted with this prison, and I'm handing you its key.

Stef reached into his case, and pulled out a student book he'd pilfered from the library. "Want to warm up on the Midsummer March?"

"I haven't played that since I was a child," he replied, but his hands shaped the first note unerringly, with barely a glance at the book in Stefen's hands. Every beginner learned it. Muscle memory, Stef thought. Your hands and your ears remember, even if you don't consciously know it.

He sang slowly as Vanyel's long fingers made their hesitant way through the song. As Stef held the last note, Vanyel flicked at the strings in frustration. "Feels like starting from nothing," he muttered in frustration.

"Beats not starting," Stef told him. "You love music." That, he wouldn't let Vanyel deny any more, but his curiosity about the puzzle was eating him alive. "Whyever did you let it go?"

"I...didn't care any more. It doesn't matter. Nothing else matters," and Stefen sensed the pain shift inside of him. The tension returning.

"Nothing else except what?" he asked.

"Krebain," Vanyel breathed. "There is only him."

"Krebain?" Stef inquired.

A look of wild longing crossed Vanyel's face, and Stefen felt that instinct turn inside him. The word - the name - pulling him from the escape Stef had crafted as if it were a trap noose. He sensed pain wrack through Vanyel, and his lips curled as if he craved it. Stef seized his lute and sang the first line that came into his empty head. "Nothing can I hold of you but thought -"

Vanyel's eyes brightened, and he held his head in his hands. Stefen blinked, feeling dizzy as if he were drunk. Sparks seemed to circle Vanyel's hands, his hair. Everything was so bright and warm. Stef stared even as he sang, mesmerised by the smoke that clouded his eyes. Was this how magic felt, close at hand?

No, he noted, his vision fading. The mattress is on fire.

He tried to scream but the air was thick as a marsh. The lack of air. He dropped to his knees, and grabbed Vanyel's sleeve with both hands. "Get down here," he choked, and tried to pull him toward the door. Vanyel stumbled into him. They'd never touched before. It seared him, like the firelight burning patterns against his eyes - panic, yearning. Horror. Stef fell on his back on the ground as Vanyel scrambled away from him.

He choked, and somehow had the wits to grab his lute as he slid himself over the floor, gasping breaths of air an inch from the stone. He hammered at the foot of the door, tried to lever himself up to grasp the handle, but his arms were damp twigs and his lungs were leaden weights. Light bloomed in his eyes, and as it faded, he felt his hands turn numb.

Stefen rubbed his eyes, and his knuckles came away black with smoke. He felt like there was a lump of coal stuck in his windpipe. He tried to stretch. Someone had piled a heavy blanket over him. Several heavy blankets. He wriggled, pins and needles afflicting his limbs. "Don't, Bard," Savil cautioned. "I assure you, you need more rest."

"Where's Vanyel?" he asked.

"In my bedroom. I built him some shielding that ought to last the next few hours."

He rubbed his eyes and tried to look at her. She sat on a low table beside the settee that Stefen was stretched out on. The sleeves of her Whites were dotted with black-edged holes, and her frown was drawn in sharp, deep lines. His lute, Stef was relieved to see was beside her. Two of the strings were missing but if he was lucky, the rest of it might still be hale."Shielding?" he queried, and thought of what he'd read of mages. "That's why you shut him up in the Work Room?"

"He's not 'shut up'," she replied sharply. "He comes and goes as he likes. But yes, he spends his time there because the permanent shields on the Work Room are a great help in keeping him and the rest of us from harm. It's usually the safest place he could be when he loses control of his Gifts," and her face sagged with exhaustion. "Last time he tried sleeping somewhere else, he had a nightmare that woke every Gifted person in Haven."

"I remember that," Stefen breathed. He and Medren had both woken up wild and screaming, and had only the next morning learned that every other Gifted Bardic apprentice had done the same - and so had the Heraldic trainees. "That was Vanyel?"

"Yes, and he doesn't want that to happen again." Savil sighed. "He's very sorry he hurt you."

"He didn't hurt me," snapped Stefen. "He'd never hurt me." She gaped at him in disbelief, and he wondered how he could be so certain. Logic presented itself easily enough. "He's a powerful mage - if he tried to hurt me, I should think he'd do a lot better than that."

Savil shook her head darkly. "I knew we were only putting him through this again," and her eyes shone as if tears of exhaustion were lurking behind her lashes. "We tried to free him from the pain after Yfandes first brought him home. I was sure his control was improving, and then one day it snapped back. I told you not to hope, and you still thought a few songs would cure all his ills? His mind is a trap, Bard."

"Whatever do you mean?" he asked in confusion. "What's wrong with his mind? What happened to him?"

"Stefen," and she trembled as she spoke. "As best as I know, Vanyel was kept as a slave for fifteen years. His mind was controlled and he was tortured, both physically and with magecraft. I removed the - the magical chain that his captor had used to control him," and her voice broke over the memory. "Van was conditioned to believe he didn't own his own mind, his own body. I thought we could heal him, until we realised his captor had planted a trap inside his deepest magical shields. We can't reach there - the trap is fed by Van's own power, and he's very, very powerful. He's completely impervious to magic, Healing or Mindhealing, to Mindspeech, even to Empathy. Even his own Companion can't communicate with him except when they touch. I let you try this damnfoolery because the Bardic Gift is the only thing he's not shielded against. And now I regret that," she thundered.

Stefen fought the urge to hide under his blankets. He'd had no idea how far beyond his depth he'd been trying to reach. He couldn't even imagine - the Lost One kept chained - by the hand, by the ankle? Around his neck? Every image was crushing, discarded in horror. He'd always thought of the Lost One as, well, lost, wandering through twisted forests, or in a maze of canyons cutting deep below wasteland. Not chained in some dark place and tortured as the years passed by.

"There's nothing I can do but keep him stable," Savil continued. "I've come to accept that. My one hope was that eventually he'd regain the control he needed to break the cycle, because I can't do that for him. We tried to bolster his magical abilities - I couldn't link to him through the shield, but I did try to build a connection to the Palace node. He was hurting - he always said he hurt - and the more power I tried to give him, the more it hurt," and she curled her eyes closed. "It's - like seeing a knife twisting deep in his reserves. It uses his own magic to secrete a kind of energy he can't handle. His torturer left it there to cause Vanyel pain whenever he wasn't nearby - so he wouldn't be capable of using his own power to seek a way out of captivity. So he'd always be a slave no matter how far away his torturer had gone. Now it hurts him even to try to use his Gifts - he can't unmake the trap and let us inside."

But I was so close, Stef thought, as he watched her sink into despair. I was so near to handing him control, and then he focused on - "Krebain," he murmured.

Savil looked at him sharply. "How do you know that name?"

"He told me," Stef breathed. "He tried to let me inside the trap."

She was right. I shouldn't have imagined my ditties could cure Vanyel. Only Vanyel can cure Vanyel.

He looked up, and held her eyes. "He's trying to heal himself."

From: (Anonymous)

From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2015-08-30 05:43 am (UTC) - Expand

From: (Anonymous)

I couldn't stop writing this prompt ;____;

Just some unpacking, talking, getting to know each other stuff. Pure self indulgence here. [Ran to two comments, joy]

The fire he'd seeded now spat merry sparks, and Vanyel melted as he sat before it, from more than its simple warmth.. His wits were so spent that the finesse with which he'd summoned the flames - a thread of Firestarting, fueled by magic - was a distant dream. I ought to laugh at myself, that control had been a point worth wasting power to prove, just to muster the nerve to surrender it entirely.

And the man he'd yielded it to still sat beside him. Stef was resplendent with firelight and his very particular energy; he felt vibrant yet soothing, quite unlike anyone Van had ever been close to before. He slouched, keeping his eyes on Vanyel in nonchalant vigilance, a wineglass cupped lightly in his hand. They weren't touching, but every few minutes Stef seemed to find a way to stretch, or reach for something, in such a way as to brush against Vanyel's knee. He's so - calculating, Van realised. He never does anything without knowing exactly how it's going to get him what he wants. Which was - what? To keep Van at ease with his presence, yet fully aware of it? At least now Van knew when he was searching for signs of threat, and could decide how he responded to them. But nothing about Stef, his behaviour, his aura, was remotely indicative of evil intent.

No, just the way he got hard while he hit me repeatedly, and the thought of it made his blood run hot all over again. Gods, but he still smarted with pain, and felt sated in ways that were hard to think about. I needed him to do it. What I didn't expect was that he'd do it with such kindness. Was it really so confusing? He couldn't trust instinct alone to tell him what was safe - not the instinct that had betrayed him to Krebain so readily, for so long - but I don't feel used. I don't feel lonely, or diminished. I feel more - real, and alive - than I remember feeling since I had Lendel - and the thought didn't jar him, didn't feel like a betrayal. His eyes met Stefen's, flickering hazel and gold firelight, and Vanyel allowed himself to hope he wasn't wrong. I know how he felt when he touched me...

Stef blinked at him slowly, as if he'd somehow sensed the turn of thought. "What is it?" he asked. "Tell me if you've had too much of me - I don't want to outstay my welcome."

Van shook his head. "I want you near me," he replied, and Stef smiled brightly, not hiding his delight at Van's welcome. That smile could melt a glacier, never mind me. Gods, I'm getting infatuated. He thought on what Stef had said earlier - he wished he knew me. I didn't even realise he didn't, somehow. "I'm used to you being near me of an evening. I feel I must know you well, yet I really don't know the least thing about you."

Not exactly gracious, but his words cut a thoughtful crease down Stefen's forehead. "I guess you don't. Though, I don't know so much more about you."

"There's not much to know about me," he replied.

"That's not true," and the intensity in Stefen's eyes was enough to set sparks. "Well, definitely more than there is to know about me, and I expect Medren told you all of it already."

"Not everything," Van replied, and suddenly the tension was gone and Stefen was smirking right back at him. "Well, Medren said you used to be his roommate, that you're from some far-off city I've never been to, you've no family to speak of, you have all three Bardic Gifts - which I knew." Stef had used all three as he'd brought Vanyel back from the depths of his obsession. It hurt to recall that time now; his memories felt twisted and narrow, but their first meeting still hung vivid in his mind. Stefen's voice had intruded on his dim periphery like dawn into a dream. And locked in that twist of pain and yearning, he'd wanted to sleep on, but he might as well have tried to defeat sunlight. I couldn't shut him out. Krebain couldn't shut him out. He won my mind by inches and quavers. I re-learned music through him, as I learned him through music. And I know so little else about him.

"That's more or less everything." Stef set down his wineglass and lounged indolently back into the corner of the settee.

"I don't mean to pry," Van said hurriedly, trying not to let the brush-off hurt.

"You're not," Stef sighed, his face softening. "But my life doesn't make for good stories. It's true, I've never had a family. I used to run with what your set would call 'bad sorts'. Did Medren really not tell you that?"

Vanyel hesitated. "Sort of. I remembered what you'd said about being cold and hungry in the past - Medren gave me some idea of what you meant, but I didn't want to be rude."

"I'm never going to indulge all your curiosities if you won't be rude to me," Stef feined a glower. "That's the price you pay for that sort of thing. So yes, I'm from the streets. I don't remember having parents, but there was a woman who looked out for me. I sang for her drug money." He looked at Vanyel sidelong and dull-eyed, and Van sensed memories of hurt and hunger. "I don't talk about my past much," Stef explained. "No one wants to hear about it."

"I do," Van assured him. Though Stef's life had certainly been nothing like his own. Maybe because it was nothing like his own.

Stef's lips twisted, as if he wasn't sure what to make of Vanyel's interest. "I've got used to thinking it doesn't matter to anyone. But I can't even tell you that, because it's how I found out I could sing pain away. She was in a lot of pain." He looked aside, and Vanyel sensed that he was in the throes of a distasteful compassion. "I suppose that's how it all began. Liquor, apothecary brews. It was never enough. So I was hungry while she drank. I was cold while she smoked. And it was on me to keep her pain away, unless I wanted her to get more unpleasant than usual. I had some peace when she was unconscious - I'd take what was left of the money and hit the streets. I saw, a lot," and he waved his hands in an encompassing gesture. "There's nothing hidden on the streets. I found out about anything a man would pay for. That some people liked pain and went out looking to buy it from someone - well, that was a revelation." His eyes settled on Vanyel, as if he were the very manifestation of that childhood fascination. "It made so much sense to me, in a way that the things I usually saw men do with whores did not," and he shrugged lightly. "It was street logic. People fought, and then the vanquished did the victor's bidding. Someone was always over someone else. People threw their weight around, pulled knives, won power. I knew which side I wanted to be on," and he looked distant again.

He's seen deep miseries, Vanyel realised. He's hard to the worst in life - he doesn't expect well of human nature. How I moved him, I'll never know. "Medren said they just found you?"

Stef nodded his head. "Bard Lynell heard me singing - about eight, getting on for nine years ago. I was ten, probably - don't quite know - and I was completely terrified." His eyebrows mimed his predicament. "She was travelling with a bodyguard - they each took me by an arm and off we went. No one told me where we were headed or why - she assumed I'd know what a Bard of Valdemar looked like and why I should be glad of her attention. Medren straightened me out when I arrived here, and I've repaid him in a hundredfold in trouble - I've no doubt he told you some of that."

"Some of it," Vanyel admitted.

"Tell me about the damnable character report he made of me." Stef steepled his fingers expectantly.

Vanyel smiled. "Let's see...precocious, conniving, very good at The Game and other forms of feigned conviviality, prone to flights of fancy, cautious gambler, careful planner except when impulse takes you by the horns, and stubborn as a dumb mule." Vanyel tasted each descriptor in his recitation, testing their veracity. All true, he was quite sure. And all delightful. I may be more than infatuated.

"Cautious gambler. I don't even play." Stef paused thoughtfully. "That's the only way to beat the house."

"I would assume that's what he meant," Van replied with some amusement.

Stef smiled the most innocent smile Van had ever seen in his life, and oh gods I'm going to have to be careful of that one. He could make me do anything at all with that one. "So, now you know how I became a Bard. I've heard a few wild stories about how you became a Herald..."

He froze. "What stories?" he asked.

"Well, Medren told me a few things back when they first found you... I couldn't believe he was related to the Lost One -" And Stef covered his mouth with his hand, as if to take back the words.

"I know they called me that," Van said awkwardly.

"He said he'd always heard two conflicting tales about his missing Herald uncle - his grandmother claimed you'd been Chosen and vanished after losing your true love at a tender age - a cursed and ill-begotten love, no less - and his grandfather said it had all happened after you'd got mixed up with the Freylennye-Leshara feud -"

"'Like a damned fool,'" quoth Vanyel.

"Yes. Well, Medren always believed your grandfather, but then his aunt told him that both of those stories were really the same story." Stef's bare toes wove an uncertain circle against the floor, and he looked at Vanyel with an odd mix of curiosity and regret.

Lendel -

"It's true," he replied. As he'd swept cobwebs of Krebain from his history, those memories hurt all over again. I remember all the ways I failed him and failed myself. I can't bear to think of what we could have been. He tried to look at Stef, tried to explain. "My father sent me to live with Savil in Haven because I displeased him," and to Stefen, he'd no need to say why. "Tylendel Freylenne was one of Savil's trainees." And I fell for him the moment I saw him... He stared at Stefen as if he looked across all those empty years.

"So you were lovers?" Stef asked.

"Lifebonded," he replied, and Stef gasped. "He used my energy to build a Gate - and something went wrong, and that roused my dormant magical powers. He died the same night." Van had gathered from a few other odd looks he'd received that Tylendel was still whispered of, darkly and with fear. "I would have died too if Yfandes hadn't Chosen me. I was hurt, and Savil took me to the Tayledras mages to be healed. I wasn't long recovered when I encountered Krebain."

"Gods," Stef breathed, and his eyes narrowed. "He preyed on you while you grieved a lifebond?"

"Yes. He knew all my weaknesses. He made me obsessed with him," and Van looked down at his hands. "I felt so empty when they brought me back here. I could feel that I'd lost someone I couldn't live without, but I couldn't think beyond Krebain. All my feelings and memories were warped around him. What you did, let me remember again. I remembered singing to Lendel - I never sang to Krebain," and he felt revolted at himself for even considering it. For every yearning and affection he'd ever offered to Krebain. "It's so hard to forgive myself. I lost twenty years with nothing to show for it but scars," and Stef reached for him before the bitterness could take him.

He turned Vanyel's hands palm up, and circled his thumbs over the marks on his wrists - fresh bruises, and his oldest scars. "That, I can't sing away," Stef said softly. "I can tell you, there's no amount of bitterness can ever bring back what never was. Thinking about lost years only steals from the years you have left. All we've ever got is a chance to make the best of it," and their eyes met, green and liquid fire, Stef offering Vanyel all that hidden strength.

"You're right," Van nodded, daring to borrow his hope. It was difficult to look forwards when at every step he felt all the hurt and subsumation of the missing years dragging him back, but - I can't assume too much - I don't dare - but it's never seemed more possible. "Stef, I'm not sure you understand what you did for me."

From: (Anonymous)

"I don't. I don't understand what I do for Randale, either," Stef replied, and his insolent competence warmed Vanyel's heart. "Do you?"

"Sort of." It was hard enough to define what had occurred, let alone frame it in words that someone ignorant of magic would understand. "The pain came from a set spell that was inside my base magical shields - that's not shielding that would defend me from an attack, as such, but rather something that defines where my magic, and my other Gifts, become separate from other magic, other people's thoughts and emotions and such. Does that make sense?"

"Like...underclothes?" Stef hazarded.

Incorrigable. "Something like," he allowed. "That's the first shield any mage-gifted or mind-gifted Herald has to build, and believe me, it's not pleasant to live without one. Krebain persauded me to lower mine -" Stefen, without so much of a flicker of change of expression, took Vanyel's hand in his. He knows how I was persuaded. "He left a set-spell inside that would continually transmute mutable magical energy - the kind I keep in reserve - into Gate-energy, which is...energy that brings two points together, removing the intervening space. The second point was I think within his own reserves. But that wasn't even the point. The point was that he knew it was the one kind of energy that I can't tolerate. Feeling Gate-energy causes me a lot of pain. Does any of that make sense?"

"He tortured you," Stefen said flatly. His hand tightened.

Vanyel grimaced. "Yes. The only thing that suppressed the pain was proximity to him, because if we were close, the distance between the two points - well, it always hurt if he wasn't with me. And because the spell was fuelled from my power, not even his death ended it. And it couldn't be destroyed by anyone else because my shielding was too powerful."

"Savil told me some of that," Stef said. "She hoped if you could control your power, you could free yourself -"

"And I couldn't, because I was in too much pain. And," and this was the hardest part to admit to, "The pain spell was all that was left of my - of the person I was conditioned to centre myself around. It truly felt like, if I fought it, there'd be nothing left of me. I didn't have anything else. It was built to keep me focused completely on Krebain, completely obsessed with the thought of having him near me. So when you gave me music back, you reminded me of who I really am..."

"I knew it." Stefen's grip flexed against his hand, and he brushed his fingertips gently over each of Van's knuckles in turn. Each touch seared his mood into Vanyel's senses. Quiet, charcoal anger. "I knew you were too damned unhappy to stop hurting and I decided I'd do anything to change that."

"I could never, ever thank you enough," and as the words left him, Stefen's hands found him, tight on his arms.

"I couldn't have given up on you any more than I could give up on myself," and his eyes shone. "Don't thank me. More than anything else I'm terrified of poisoning this with obligation," and he leaned close against Vanyel's shoulder. "Please don't think you owe me anything."

How could he even pretend to abide by that? He turned the idea over in his mind, and with some trepidation, he reached out to Yfandes. It still felt strange and wonderful that he could Mindspeak her at a distance, and she was often willing to feel a situation out with him, but he wasn't sure what she'd make of this.

She responded to his touch with something that, in a human, might have been a friendly backslap. :Gods, it's good to see you two together,: she told him warmly. :He's right, too - if you feel you're repaying a debt to him, that's not going to be, ah, enjoyable for either of you.:

:I'd do anything for him -:

:Which is exactly what he doesn't want. Look at him, listen to him. He's spent his whole life twisting people around his fingers in order to survive - I think that when he goes to bed, he wants someone who simply likes him and enjoys his company, and doesn't owe him any favours. He wants to know where you draw a line, and abide by that. I'd fancy he draws plenty of his own.:

:You could be right,: he wondered, as Stef turned to look up into his eyes. "You know, I never thought it was as simple as singing, long before I saw those scars," Stef said. "That's what I hate most about this Gift. I can sing away the pain, but the pain's never the real problem. Just look at Randale."

"True enough," he replied. "But without the pain, I could let the Healers reach the rest of the damage. And some of that's curable, unlike Randale," he added bitterly. "I've scars, but I've lost the fixation on my - my torturer. And Healer Nor said, well. Some of the other fixations might be inborn things about me that Krebain used against me."

"Like that need to please others?" Stef smiled, and raised a hand to stroke his face. "I can imagine that. And it's an admirable quality that I'll try not to take for granted." Gods, and he honestly means that. "I used to wonder, but... I'm not sure it matters why we want what we want. I might as well wonder why I don't want ladies. A man once told me that people like you and I need each other. Like dancing partners - one to lead and one to follow. Even if this wasn't always how you were - if I can give what you need, and you want to give what I need, that's all I care about right now." Stef frowned. "Actually, if they healed this out of you I might be quite disappointed."

Vanyel found he was smiling, quite unexpectedly. "So might I. Before tonight, I would have been pretty relieved."

Stef's hand dropped to his shoulder. "You know, there's a lot I should have said, and asked, first, but I didn't, because we seemed to be in a terrible hurry. I feel like I know exactly what you need, but - I've never been more afraid of making a mistake with someone."

There's that meticulousness, Van realised, as Stef looked at him with deep concern. He's a careful man who likes to play with fire. "What sort of mistake?" he asked.

"The kind where you won't say no to me. If I asked for something you didn't want me to have - in the heat of the moment, I don't know that you'd refuse me. I could take you somewhere you didn't want to be." He's right, Van knew in his bones. It's not magic, not coercion. It's - more fundamental to me than that. And I suppose I'm too far gone to know better, but I can see what he fears all too well. I could regret what I'd do for him. I know what I could do. He shivered, the thought of his lost years with Krebain encroaching on his mind.

Stef made to move away, but Van clasped his hand, determined not to let the memories win even for a moment. "It's alright," he insisted.

"Then please tell me, is there's anything I shouldn't do with you?"

It hadn't proved easy to predict what he could deal with. Getting knocked into the dirt by Herald Tantras while they sparred had been fine - Tantras merely glancing at him as he'd changed clothes afterwards had left him shaking for hours. And even if he could answer, should he? Would Stef not think him too delicate, too choosy for his place? But Stef watched him with such concern - his worst fear, truly? "I can think of...one or two things," he admitted. "Please don't cut me or mark me." He looked down at the dark bruise on his wrist. "I don't mind things like this. But I don't want more scars."

"Understood," and Stef took his hand again gently. "I'll honour that, I swear. No blades, no marks that could last more than a day or two. No needles?"

Vanyel's hand twtiched in his. "Best not," he said shortly. He breathed slowly, trying to shake off the memory of Krebain spearing holes through his nipples. His skin crawled even to know that Stef had noticed those old scars. But it all felt more distant, since he'd been healed - a life he knew from marks and from memories, but not a waking nightmare any more.

"You like pain," Stef noted without censure. "There's enough ways to enjoy that without causing any damage."

"Yes - I liked that." And he'd missed it, so badly - like he'd missed sex, missed being touched - was that wrong, was he losing himself again? But Stef truly didn't seem to object to Vanyel voicing restrictions, and indeed, he seemed to expect it. I've not simply found a kinder torturer. This is...something else entirely. He doesn't want to do anything more than what I want. "But I needed it to end, too. Please don't ever leave me hurting."

"I won't, I promise." Stef's eyes widened in concern. In compassion. Everything I tell him is another memory in silhouette. He knows it. The penetrating look in Stef's deep green eyes made the agenda of his questions altogether transparent. He's looking for those self-same weaknesses that Krebain used to destroy me - but in his eyes, they're tools for pleasure. Maybe for healing. Maybe for loving. Stefen stared at him thoughtfully, more questions ticking away in his eyes. "You seemed to like when I tried to restrain you..."

He thought of how Stef had held his wrists down against the bed. The Bard was so slight, Vanyel could probably have overpowered him without even magic if Stef had really been trying to hold him down. The restraint was part of his role, not something real. It wasn't like being shackled and powerless - not really - it was more like...being held, being asked again for his trust in exchange for Stef's mercies. "Yes," he replied. "It always made it easier for me," he admitted, and looked away. Tried to keep to the present. "When you did that, I felt like I could feel whatever I wanted."

"I have some ideas about that," and Stef's smile sent a warm shiver right down Vanyel's spine. Stef tilted his head delicately. "I noticed you wanted my permission, at the end."

"I thought I should ask," Van replied. "I thought it would please you."

"You thought it would displease me if you didn't?" Stef guessed, and he nodded. "No, I don't mind about that. I like to see that I've made a man happy - the way I treat them, it's reassuring. But if you'd prefer to wait on my leave, we could do it that way. I warn you, though, I've tried it with men before and I'm told I'm bad at it. I always say yes, and that ruins all their fun. If you did want a little denial, though, I'd try it," he shrugged.

"I...don't think so," Van replied, relieved for the proof that he truly could decide what would happen between them. That asking to be hurt and tied down didn't mean anything more than just that, if he didn't want it to.

Stef leaned to speak close to his ear. "Then don't ever ask my permission to surrender before my filthy vices," he said, like he was offering a secret, and Van shivered again, this time decidedly pleasantly. "Don't guess at what would please me. I'm not going to want what you've had before. I don't want some object, or a shell - I want you, whatever you want to offer, and I won't be satisfied unless you are."

"Well?" Van asked, turning to him, almost nose to nose.

"What?"

"What would please you?" he asked boldly.

Stefen looked speculative, and his smile turned sly. "More than anything?" He held Vanyel's eyes, and raised his hands to caress his face. "I want to make love with you. And the first time - just the first - I want to take you slow, sweet and easy while I look you in the eyes like this. I want to see you come so hard on my cock that you'll still feel it for days." He slouched back into the corner of the couch. "Interested?"

And there go all of my wits again. "Yes. Gods yes," he breathed.

"I didn't like to guess, but I had a feeling." Stef murmured, and held out his hand.

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