21_days | 21 Days of Valdemar!

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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!

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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

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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.

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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.
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No claiming prompts, please, as multiple fills are welcome!
Minimum wordcount per fill is 100 words.
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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

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Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

It took Lendel a good hour to calm down from how angry that had made him—not at Vanyel but for Vanyel. That numb anger inside of him, the over-trained, reactive anger, had flared up again and left him sitting in Vanyel's room with his fists clenched tight as if he could hold it inside.

:Sweetheart. You're not alone. I feel for you, love.: That was Gala, uneasy as she talked him down again. Slowly, it subsided to a point where the throb of outrage was just a background counterpoint again, pulsing in time with his heart.

Of course he was outraged; he suspected Vanyel was right. This was some kind of trap.

There'd been enough nods to something going on here—something that was, if not illegal, perhaps something that should be illegal. There'd been enough chatter about this being a place that noble houses tended to send disreputable children so the monks could shape them up to be heir—or to vanish so another child could inherit. A convenient way of avoiding the the messy disputes of determining if a disinheritance was legitimate, of dodging the legal side of blood rights.

Vanyel had been here longer than Tylendel by far, and Tylendel had already heard so many dubious things. If Vanyel had suspicions that the people involved might trap him into something, he had a better perspective on it than anyone from the outside.

:Calm down, my darling. Get some perspective yourself,: Gala urged, picking up the word from his mind and pushing it forward.

Perspective. Right.

First: One way or another, it was a known factor that Vanyel had been sent here to be made into an obedient heir. It was also pretty clear that the attempts to break his 'disreputable' behavior had been successful in at least some way.

Was Vanyel in danger of being 'disappeared', assuming that was something that did happen here rather than just people running away?

Lord Withen of Forst Reach didn't have a reputation as a cruel man; he was blunt and no-nonsense and (as Savil had said many times) a prejudiced blockhead. Sending Vanyel here to rehabilitate him was well in line with his known behavior. Sending him away to get executed was not; Savil had in no way expected Withen to try to harm his own son. The fact that said rehabilitation would break Vanyel's will was not something that he would consider as harmful, most likely; he might, like many of his kind, consider it a way to save his son and his reputation all at once.

No, Withen wouldn't want Vanyel disappeared. Tylendel could, most likely, pack up and go and not worry that anything he had done would expose or harm Vanyel. Beyond that, Vanyel was an adult now; he was able to decide to stay here or leave as he saw fit. He could confront his father if he saw fit.

But him being an adult didn't help. The fact he technically could leave couldn't be taken out of context: victims of abuse couldn't, not easily. They'd been taught not to, had fear put into them, coaxed only with what they could keep or gain from enduring their suffering. Tylendel was very sure that Vanyel was subject to that sort of abuse. That weird obedience to authority, his desire for his father's approval, being sent here as punishment...

Besides, what if Tylendel was wrong on his assessment of what little he knew of Withen? If he were wrong, and if Tylendel's own association with Vanyel meant that his father would never want him back, Vanyel could be harmed. The fact that he didn't think it likely didn't mean it was an acceptable risk.

:I don't even like him,: Tylendel protested to Gala distantly. But, dammit, I want to. I think there's something in there behind that brittleness and coldness and sharpness and I want to see who that person is. I don't want to leave him to have whatever's left stolen from him. I don't think I can. It feels like it's against my very nature.:

:I do feel you there, my darling. I agree it's not likely that they'd kill or sell him, but the damage that's been done could keep working on him,: Gala agreed.

That didn't comfort Tylendel at all. But he tried to keep perspective, keep sorting through the situation.

Second: Something was going on here that needed to be looked into. Perhaps those 'vanishing' heirs all did run away; perhaps the novices' gossip about the monastery itself being used to clean up messy inheritance issues without getting the law into it was just gossip. But whether it was or wasn't, it was something the crown would want to look into.

So, he thought. I need to get this place investigated. I could leave quietly, but if I do, I have to leave Vanyel. I don't know whether or not they'll decide he fell into their 'trap', that I was just too tempting, and harm him after I'm gone. What a horrifying thought. If I announce that I will be sending someone for further investigation I can take him as evidence whether or not he wants to come, but anyone I've talked to here may be endangered. Brevec's clearly the ringleader of whatever's going on, and he might escape...

He rubbed his face, finally fully calm and a little uncomfortable. What he needed was Savil, but even in deep trance his Mindspeech reach was no good. :Gala, love, I don't suppose Haven's still in your range? I'd like to drop a word to Savil.:

:Well out, sweetheart. I can't get a peep to Kellan. Let me just... hm. I can reach Gersham's Companion Melannye. They're a day or two from Haven, however, and while I can reach her, Melannye's range is particularly weak; she's well matched to Gersham that way, unfortunately. But if you want to pass a message along, that'd be faster than waiting until we're back:

Tylendel considered it, then discarded the thought. :No good. It's a complicated mess and if I'm going to ask for permission, I'd have to wait for it. No, I'll just have to use Savil's name without permission and apologize later.:

:She's going to twist your ear off.:

Despite himself, he grinned. :She sure will, but we're going to need to send someone to investigate and her name will shut down protests much faster than mine. Anyway, you know she'll approve despite herself. That kind of method is near and dear to her heart.:

***

Vanyel came down to breakfast from the library; he made sure he was seen coming from the library, too. He couldn't seem to get his thoughts in order; they were scattered and like something hot to the touch. But if he were to maintain the status quo, he needed it to be seen that after he learned about Tylendel, he didn't stay in the same room with him—

Why bother? some part of himself asked quietly, and he had no answer.

Tylendel wasn't at breakfast, though; he could only hope that meant that the Herald-Mage had left at first light. It was a long trip to Haven and since he'd been planning to leave today, it would only be reasonable to head out as soon as possible. The thought felt weird inside him, heavy and betrayed, even though he felt that he would feel the same way had it turned out Tylendel was still here.

But just as he found himself thinking that, Tylendel strode into the dining hall.

The Herald was in a different set of whites than the two that Vanyel had seen so far; fancy and eye-catching. Conversation dropped quickly as Tylendel passed through the room, like a cloak of silence was following him. Vanyel found the already-hard food turn into a lump in his stomach.

Although Vanyel knew Tylendel's injury still bothered him, the Herald showed no sign of it, striding evenly and calmly up to Brevec. Brevec rose from the head of the table and began to come around it to talk to him, to (presumably) see him off, but something on Tylendel's face seemed to give him pause. Rather than stepping aside to gesture Tylendel out the door behind himself, he stopped where he was.

"Herald Tylendel," Brevec said. "Is there a problem?"

"Indeed there is." Tylendel's voice was as Vanyel had never heard it: rather than friendly and casual, it had become something firm and unshakable, completely confident and with an air of authority. This was a man who was used to being taken very, very seriously, Vanyel realized with a startled twist in his chest.

"Can I ask—"

Tylendel didn't let Brevec finish his mild question. "I apologize for misleading you, Father Brevec. My injuries and business elsewhere were something of a cover," he said. "So let me make myself completely blunt: I was sent here in trust of Herald-Mage Savil Ashkevron to determine if rumors of abuses of those in this monastery's trust were true."

A whispering began around the place. Vanyel felt his own heart seem to stutter in his chest. His aunt had? No, that couldn't be possible—Tylendel was faking this. He was sure of it. Or was he? Why would he? he asked himself silently. It's believable enough. But there wasn't a hint of it before.

"I have determined that the evidence has indicated the probability that you have been at the head of such things. To conduct a deeper investigation, I will be confiscating the novice Vanyel, whose behavior you had given me the opportunity to observe in person, and I will be taking you along. I will be borrowing two of the monastery's horses to take the two of you back to Haven with me to unravel this situation." Tylendel's voice didn't waver, completely confident. "Do you have any objections?"

Vanyel stared down at his plate to try to avoid looking at Tylendel. He was being... confiscated? The whispers had increased and he could hardly hear them over the noise and confusion in his own head, the pounding of his heart. A fey Herald, coming here, "confiscating" him—there was no way he could go home now. So many rumors... but then what? What was the point? He'd go to Haven and then what?

"I have no objections," Brevec said calmly. He stepped forward. "My innocence will be revealed in front of the queen and we can get this whole silly mess behind us. Will you be binding me, Herald Tylendel?"

Vanyel looked up to see Brevec raising his left hand, as if offering it for binding; Tylendel glanced to it. Abruptly, Brevec lunged, foot rising to kick Tylendel hard in the arrow wound.

Tylendel was flung backward by the force and Vanyel thought it should be chaos, but nobody rose; everyone was frozen in their seats, staring, unknowing what to do. Even the other Fathers, the other acolytes, were just stunned, apparently not understanding what was happening.

Blood had blossomed on Tylendel's leg again, seeping through his pants, and Vanyel felt something weird wrench inside him. I spent so long binding that damn thing—!

Brevec alone hadn't frozen; he pulled a straight razor out from inside his sleeve and advanced on Tylendel, grabbing him by the hair and pulling his head back.

A sudden banging at the door was all the distraction that was needed, Brevec paused for barely a second and the razor suddenly was yanked from his hand by an invisible force, spinning across the stone floor. Tylendel's hair, where not held, whipped around his head as a strange wind and pressure rose around him.

In a clear sudden panic, Brevec dropped him and tried scrambling across the floor for his razor. It slid again, and as he reached for it, a chair spun out across the floor, yanked out from underneath Novice Provine, and slamming into the Father, throwing him across the floor as well.

Tylendel picked himself up as Brevec scrambled the other way, grabbed a knife that had fallen from the table, and tried to fling it at Tylendel. It flew with deadly accuracy but didn't land, floated in the air in front of Tylendel. Slowly, it turned to face Brevec.

Brevec broke and ran for the door, reaching to open it; it opened in front of him, but Tylendel's Companion was on the other side, rearing up, strong front legs kicking sharp hooves at the Father.

It was over quickly.

"I trust," Tylendel said, rising, panting a little for breath, one hand pressed over the reopened injury, "that there will be no further protests?"

Nobody said a word.

"Vanyel. Follow me. The rest of you, stay. Go about your daily business and do not leave. If this place does not stay exactly as I'm leaving it today, it will be taken as evidence of conspiracy," Tylendel said.

Vanyel remained where he was, frozen with indecision. If he left now, he'd be willingly going along with Tylendel. If he did not, then—what? He'd stay here, and then what? It was already too late. His father would hear about this and assume the worst. There was nothing for him here. There was nothing for him there. There was nothing anywhere.

Suddenly and helplessly, he resented the man standing in front of him, commanding the entire room.

Tylendel waited. He didn't offer a hand; he didn't seem to be a person any longer but a Herald, the authority of the queen and a strange power in his own right, a terrible authority.

"Vanyel," Tylendel said again.

"Yes, Herald," Vanyel said, gaze downcast, and followed the limping Tylendel, resenting him. He took the horse's reins that Tylendel offered him, one of the old mares of the monastery's stables, and resented him. He rode behind him silently to their first rest stop, slept with his back turned to him, and resented him. He didn't dare do anything but resent him. Anything else would require hope and he didn't dare have that.

Every night the creature asked Stefen to leave, and every night Stefen refused.

Asked, not begged, though Stefen was sure it would soon come to that. It didn't matter, though, because he had determined not to leave, and that was that.

He had lived three months with the creature in the gloom-shrouded manor, since the night his guardian had stolen a single black rose from the garden. "Not dyed," she'd told him in a hush, beckoning him to join her at the iron gate. "A true black rose; it'll fetch a pretty price at the apothecary." Hesitant, he'd reached for the stem, but she whisked it from him with a cackle.

The gate had opened at the sound, and a figure stood before them. The night clung to him, the moonlight shied away, and he was nothing more than shape and rasping voice: "You've trespassed, hag, and you've a price to pay."

She bowed and sniveled at the creature's feet, promising recompense to his lordship, but when he said the price would be her life lived out on those shadowed grounds in replacement of the stolen rose, her face closed up cold and sly. "My life, your lordship?"

"Any life would do as well or better."

Stefen knew in that instant that he was to serve the sentence for his guardian's crime. Looking into her crooked face and calculating eyes, he determined that a life of imprisonment with an unknown monster was preferable to another day with her. He followed the creature through the black spiraling gate without hesitation, even as it rang shut behind him.

In the hollow gilding of candlelight, he got his first full look at the creature. The height of a man but hunched and twisted, swathed in dark velvet as if to ward himself from winter winds though it was the heart of summer. A sliver of bare skin at his throat was white as bone. And his face--Stefen could not see the creature's face. He wore a mask of dark and curling metal, charred iron that seemed to shift beneath the gaze. The mask was affixed through no visible string or clasp, but the skin around the edges was red and raw.

Through the narrow eyeholes shone a pair of eyes so cold and brightly silver they could not possibly be human.

For the first month they hardly spoke. The creature told him which room to sleep in, which room to eat in, which rooms not to set foot in. He listed no consequences but Stefen heard the dire promise in each ragged syllable. Stefen was grateful at least to be allowed use of the library or he might have gone mad the first week. He saw no one but the creature; invisible servitors made the beds, cooked the meals, cleared the dishes, stoked the fires.

And kept the candles lit all day long, for there were few windows and the curtains were always closed. The only night Stefen wept was the night he realized he may never see the sun again.

The next day, eyes dry, he ventured down to find the creature gone, as he sometimes was. The unexplained absences often lasted well into the evening. The damask walls muffled Stefen's footsteps; in defiance of the silence, he hummed as he walked the halls. He found himself at the end of a hallway before a tall, plain door of new wood. Biting his lips, he put his hand to the gleaming brass knob and found it unlocked. Within was a sphere--glass, or some other substance--suspended at heart-level in the center of the empty chamber. Within the sphere hung a many-petaled rose, as black as that the hag had stolen, and as fresh as if it still grew from the ground. The floor below was scattered with fallen petals.

No, the chamber was not empty. On the floor beneath the petals lay an open book. Stefen knelt to read from the open page, hands behind his back, hardly daring to breathe lest he disturb pages or petals.

own hand you have lost a life not yours to lose," said the Shadow.

"I'll pay with mine," said Vanyel, knife in hand.

The Shadow laughed. "Nor is your own life yours to lose. You'll remain in his home, and you'll tend his gardens, and you'll preserve yourself and them alive within these walls until you've earned true love again."

"And if the roses die?"

"You'll replace them with new lives, to also live within these walls."

"If I cannot?"

"If you will not keep your house in order, it will keep you; if you lose a life without balancing it, you will live here forever, and will never love again. Now come, let me affix

Guilt surging through his gut, Stefen backed away quickly and shut the door as silently as he could--but the creature had not returned, and his trespass was undiscovered. He had a thought, though, and renewed his exploration through permitted rooms and closets until he found what he sought.

After the invisible servants cleared away dinner that night, Stefen retreated to the downstairs parlor. He perched on an overstuffed velvet settee and drew out the lute he'd hidden under it. His fingers warmed to the strings like they embraced an old friend. Though he had little training, gleaned piecemeal from minstrels at street corners and taverns, he could strum a simple tune well enough to accompany his voice.

Singing, quiet, a strain of plaintive ballad like wavering sunlight in the gloom. Stefen's heart lightened with every syllable, and he closed his eyes to sink more rapturously into the melody. Only when he finished and opened his eyes again did he see the creature lurking in the doorway.

They stared a moment, and Stefen saw the heart of the ballad in those plaintive eyes. Emboldened by the creature's stillness he dared to ask, though he knew the answer, "What's your name?"

"Vanyel," said the creature, the sound of a song forgotten on the wind.

Stefen rose, still clutching the lute. "My name's Stefen. Do you--d'you like music?"

A choking sound, a cry or laugh, and the creature subsided into the dark of the hallway. Stefen stood still a moment, heart racing, and then sat back down to play another tune.

A new pattern emerged. Every night after dinner, Stefen played and sang; every night Vanyel stood in the doorway and listened. The servitors began lighting more candles in the parlor, and it became a pocket of brightness in the gloomy manor. Every night, when the last notes faded away, Vanyel said, "You should not be here. Will you leave?"

And every night Stefen's heart tore for missing the light of day, but he recalled the words of the book and knew he could not condemn any man or creature to a life without hope of love. So every night he answered, "I won't," and watched the creature slip again away.

Eventually the creature left the doorway, slow off-kilter movements carrying him a footstep into the bright parlor. The next night, two footsteps. After two months of this, Stefen ran low on songs to play, so he spent his days composing new ones. He rehearsed in the hours the creature spent away. His clumsy fingers became limber and certain, and he found he had a knack for words. He poured every thwarted wish from his life on the streets into the music, he wrapped his deepest desires into metaphor more true than plain words.

When he shared his first original piece, the creature finally sat on the other end of the settee, and Stefen couldn't remember what the fear of him had felt like. He sang of solitude and comfort, of a light in the darkness, of black roses blooming red again. He sang of mirrors, shrouded, then uncovered. He sang of silver eyes.

"You should not be here," said the creature when he finished. "Will you leave?"

"I won't," said Stefen, and waited for the creature to vanish.

But Vanyel stayed, hunched around himself, shoulders twitching and hands stretching, contorting like claws digging into the plush settee. "What song was that?" he whispered.

Stefen set the lute down on the floor and turned to face Vanyel, who seemed so much smaller, now, no taller than Stefen himself, and so thin--

He held his breath as he reached to trace the cold, brutal lines of the mask. "Yours," he answered. "I wrote it for you."

Before he could think better of it, before the flash of fear in silver eyes could turn him away, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to the carved lips of the creature's mask. A muffled gasp, a moan of longing or terror, Stefen cupped his hands around the iron approximations of cheekbones to hold Vanyel in place.

And beneath his hands he felt the mask come loose.

It really really is. And like there are a lot of things imho where like. we see what something's like for vanyel and then we hear offhand what it's like for another character in the same situation and it can be a bit of fridge horror. Like knowing 'Lendel had 2 years of uncontrolled thoughtsensing and empathy, and seeing Vanyel dealing with it for like a few weeks (albeit with intense grief and guilt added in sdfh haha). But the real karmic hit for me is like knowing how miserable Vanyel was for 18 years with a broken lifebond and how that felt and then Stef at the end like "Btw please do this thing for like 60 years", for all it's ellipsed and sort of indicated in an offhand way.

[yells into hands] I'm fine really.

Ooh, things are picking up! Just read parts 3 and 4 together, and your pacing is great. The whole thing is lovely, but I loved this line especially:

A face Vanyel had finally been able to find beautiful, after so many years of looking at the wrong faces and not being able to feel anything at all.

Thank you so much!

A!A: Ahh, thank you!! Poor Vanyel has for real been through too much to not have, like, a horrible case of hyper-vigilance on top of everything else.

A!A: sdfj thank you so much! I cracked up at "writer of woobie misery". I'm so glad to provide some tasty angst this fine morning.

A!A: Thank you!! I'm glad you like it; poor Vanyel. This is not a great situation for a sexual discovery.

OP

Oh my god this just keeps getting better and better and better. I LOVE the part where Stef reflects that he's "tuning" Vanyel. I love the two steps forward, one step back quality of the recovery. You're doing a really great job of having things actually happen but still bringing out the hopelessness and despair.

Agh I'm just so happy every time I see this update, you keep delivering above and beyond my wildest hopes :'D

Well that escalated quickly. :)

The whole situation at the monastery is super creepy, especially when you remember how young these kids getting broken* and maybe disappeared are.

*Oh God it just hit me that he's essentially at a Pray Away The Gay camp. D:

I love how the moment most folks would start warming to their rescuers, Vanyel panics and doubles down on the ice prince routine.

Gotta say I adore this Tylendel too. He still has rage issues but he's much more grounded. His past with suicide is really poignant too, given how close Vanyel seems to be edging towards it in the beginning.

Love this so much. :D

Oh, that was very lovely indeed, nicely done, A!A.

OP

:O dang, Brevec fights dirty. But so does Lendel XD I really love how he reacts when Lendel puts on the Herald-Mage Tylendel routine. Van has an authority kink, woah. Wonder how Savil will react... Not sure she'll be as happy to have Van dumped on her as Lendel expects.

DA

Van has an authority kink, woah.

Oh my God, that's going to complicate things in all the best ways. The potential for him to displace too much of his "need to please the authority figure" fixation onto Tylendel is just...ouch. :)

(OP)

Omg anon! This is perfect! I like your take on Vanyel as a beast, and the way he gradually seemed more human the deeper he fell in love with Stef. Thank you!!!!!

Thank you, nonny! :)

A!A

Glad you liked it, OP! I did some reading on the original tale and it had the Beast asking the Beauty to marry him every night -- which doesn't quite fit Vanyel's habit of pushing people away, lol, so required some editing :)

The trip was wearing on Tylendel for more reasons than just his aching, throbbing leg. Certainly, he shouldn't be making a three-day trip on it under normal circumstances; the whole reason he'd delayed as he was negotiating things with Jeanni was to heal. But he hadn't thought he'd need to play a role with the monastery at the time, and he certainly didn't think he'd have to play one with Vanyel.

But he did. There was no doubt about that. He'd tried to apologize, to relax again when they were away, to say that they could get help for Vanyel now—

Vanyel had just stared at him with hard, cold eyes. He wasn't withdrawn in any way. No, he was radiating his distress, but that distress had congealed into bitterness again, a bitterness Tylendel couldn't penetrate.

:Gala, did I do the right thing?:

:Well, if I were you, I'd have fought more with magic and less with Fetching,: Gala said, consideringly. :But with the number of bystanders and your own distraction in your pain, I think you made it work fairly well. Especially given that you weren't sure he even was to blame until he attacked you.:

Tylendel sighed aloud. :Not what I meant, love.: Not that he didn't appreciate the feedback, but... :Should I have left him there?:

There was a pause, Gala picking her words carefully before sending them to him. :No, you did the right thing, I believe. Leaving him would have been like giving up on him. You did your best to salvage his reputation in how you approached it, and you know for a fact that he needs help. Some things just have no perfect solution. It's all right if things are unpleasant now if it means it can help him later, isn't it?:

:Mm. You're right, my darling.:

They stopped that night later than he or Gala would like. Dealing with the pain from his injury was taking up too much of his attention and the last thing they needed was another attack on the road in that state. But they also couldn't drag the trip out too many days, not with Vanyel like this.

Once they got back to the room, though, he sighed. He'd changed back into his already-damaged uniform on the first stop with the hopes of somehow salvaging his dress whites despite the enormous blood stain on the thigh, but he just felt dirty and uncomfortable. He headed down to the baths and showered the best he could, head dunked under the pump, wiping his body down with a cloth rather than letting the wound bleed into public water. Then he rebound the injury a bit clumsily, unable to make it as fully secure on the back as he'd like but unwilling to ask Vanyel for help again.

Back upstairs, he found Vanyel already curled on the bed, facing away, and cleared his throat. Vanyel didn't respond, but did tense up. Still awake, then.

"The bath's still available," Tylendel said. "I didn't use the water so I wouldn't dirty it on you, I used the pump."

He didn't expect a response, and was genuinely surprised when Vanyel shifted, one eye flicking back at him. "...Why?" Vanyel asked.

"I thought you'd feel better if you were clean? You should go before it gets cold."

Vanyel still didn't move. "Trying to make me more presentable for when you hand me over to my Father's judgment?"

"I can't imagine why he'd be at Haven, so no. Trying to make you more comfortable—"

"So you can have me?"

Tylendel felt the anger flare up, strangled it before he could let it out and before Gala could comment on it. "Vanyel, if you think that's the worst anyone's ever said to me to try to upset me, you're wrong." He lowered himself to sit on his bed with a wince, then gave up on fully containing himself behind his calm Heraldic role. "Ow! Lady's tits, that smarts!"

Surprised, Vanyel sat up, blinking owlishly at him.

Tylendel waved a hand. "Don't bathe if you'd rather be unclean," he said, a bit snappish despite himself. "It's paid for whether or not you use it. I, for one, am tired and sore and a good day's ride from the Healers still and I'm going to get some sleep."

"...What if I run away?" Vanyel asked.

"Please don't," Tylendel said, feelingly. "You could get yourself set on by bandits or worse. And I'd really rather get back to Haven and my own bed sooner rather than later."

He didn't open his eyes as he heard Vanyel rise. Footsteps hesitated, then the door closed.

:Think he'll run away, love?: he asked Gala, anger fading into exhaustion.

:Where's he to go? But I'll keep an eye open, 'Lendel. You get yours closed.:

:I'll do that, Gala. Thanks as always.:

***

Vanyel huddled in the bath, arms wrapped around his knees, the warmth of the scented water getting to him despite his reticence to relax.

He couldn't make any sense of it.

He was sure, sure that Tylendel was taking him to Forst Reach. There was no reason behind it; there was just no reason behind anything any more. All of this had been leading up to his father's judgment of him one way or another, and the idea that might not be happening...

He didn't feel like he could even grasp it.

The logical part of him pointed out how unlikely it was, for the very reasons that Tylendel had argued earlier. Tylendel was—that word he kept using, the one that meant that he was like Vanyel, that he liked boys. He had no reason to want someone else to get hurt for that. If he kept his chin up over worse things than the one Vanyel had just said, he wouldn't want to see anyone else get told worse. Beyond that, a Herald had said, in official capacity, that he was taking him to Haven. Why wouldn't they be going there?

But despite that, the feeling of upcoming catastrophe kept hanging over him with practiced surety. He could only leave the monastery if his father judged him. The only place he could go after there was back to Forst Reach, to become the person his father had expected him to be. And yet, as the person he was now, the person he was aware of being, there was no way his father would approve of him. Leaving with a beautiful Herald, a Herald who liked men... that just guaranteed it. His father would think the worst. That he'd sold himself to Tylendel for his freedom, that he'd been seduced by a pretty face. Something like that.

They weren't going to Forst Reach, half his brain argued. Tylendel said, with a Herald's authority, that they were going to Haven.

They were going to Forst Reach, the other half said, flatly. There was no leaving except for his father's judgment. There was nowhere else for him to go.

Frustrated, aching, Vanyel flung his hands over his ears as if that would help make things quieter inside his head. He sank back under the water, holding his breath, letting the pressure surround him and weigh him down until he thought his lungs would burst, and then leaned back up, gasping for air, hot water streaming down his body.

Eventually, the water began to cool, and for lack of anything else to do, he got out and dressed again in his coarse robes. They felt odd against his skin, too rough, wrong. The oils in the warm water had softened his skin, he thought, an old pleasure he must have had back when he was a lord's son but had lost experience with. As a monk, he'd been accustomed to bathing under a cold tap.

Slowly, he returned back upstairs. Despite his question to Tylendel, he didn't have any plans to run away. There was nowhere for him to go. Tylendel would take him to Haven as a Herald, or to his father as a judge. One way or another, he had nothing to do but rely on Tylendel.

Tylendel was already asleep by the time he got there, lying facing into the room so his injury wasn't pressed to the mattress. His face had softened even more in sleep, curls spread out on his cheek and the pillow. He looked young, Vanyel thought. Tylendel was a little older than him, but right now, he looked even younger.

In his sleep, as if noticing Vanyel looking at him, Tylendel shifted with a little sound and Vanyel stiffened. He was a Herald; who knew what strange Gifts he had? Certainly he'd been able to fling things around with his mind.

Better not watch him too closely. He might be able to feel it somehow.

Vanyel went to bed, and eventually he slept. The next day, they were up early, and he tried to maintain his stony front, but he couldn't. It had given over to anxiety, and he watched Tylendel closely as they saddled up and began to ride again. He still avoided Tylendel's questions, but it was less out of a deep resentment now and more out of nerves, a tight knot of uncertainty blocking words in his throat.

The road went on, and eventually, to his own shock and confusion, they arrived at Haven. It was loud, and big, a huge noisy city, and as he himself became more and more overwhelmed by the number of people glancing at them, getting out of their way, calling out a good-day to "M'lord Herald-Mage", Tylendel seemed to relax. He chatted back, easy-going, leading the way.

We didn't go to Forst Reach, Vanyel thought, just to make himself think it.

Still, there was no knowing what to expect, and he kept repeating that to himself, trying to keep his walls up, keep himself safe, keep himself from feeling anything that might let him hurt when it turned out he was betrayed.

And so, as they approached the palace, he had no idea what to feel beyond utter confusion when a hatchet-nosed, severe older woman ran out, grabbed Tylendel by his ear, and pulled him off his Companion. Tylendel went down with a laugh and a curse, just barely managing to land on his good leg and hop; his Companion Gala let out a snort and shuffled to the side.

"Savil! Savil, please, my poor leg—"

"I am going to have your hide," the old woman said, and the two just looked at each other for a moment, smiling and warm, as if sharing some silent communication that Vanyel wasn't party to. It lasted long enough for his confusion to fade again into uncertain alarm, discomfort—

And then she wheeled, reaching to help Vanyel down. He came down stiff and confused, heart pounding in panic, clinging to his mare's saddle to try to have something to hold on to. He felt like he was waiting for some blow, like she would deliver him some judgment, punishment. Tell him that his father was waiting inside, tell him that his father never wished to see him again; it was her brother, they had to be alike, had to view things the same way. She'd judge him. She'd reject him in Lord Withen's place and he'd never even have the closure of his own father's final word on the matter—

Aunt Savil put her hands on his shoulders and squeezed. "I am going to have so many words with your father for doing this to you, lad," she said, and there was kindness in her voice, and a brisk, firm sympathy, enough that he had to start blinking rapidly to try to keep his composure at all. "For now, let's get you in and get you some rest. You can see Lancir after you've had a good meal in you."

None of it made any sense.

Yay for Savil! I knew she could be counted on! Yay for arriving at Haven! I love how Vanyel doesn't believe anything good, and thus has no real idea of what is going on, it is great. It's going to be interesting to see the relationship between Savil and Vanyel develop from a place of more overt sympathy from her, he's also definitely not going to be Vanyel the peacock, so she won't even have to dislike him for that!

Looking forward to more, anon. And loving how fast you update, not gonna lie!

I was glad to see you didn't follow the Disney version. I like the Disney version, but every single Beauty and the Beast AU follows it to a tee. But I didn't want to lower my chances of getting a fill by being too specific with the prompt, so really, thank you!

The first few days back were rough for Vanyel, Tylendel was sure of that, and since he refused to go too far from Vanyel, that made them rough for him too. He tried not to let Vanyel's vacillating moods get to him. The boy was still dealing with the realization that he was free, hadn't been sold out. Even just adapting to being in a new environment would be hard after all this time.

Gala had let Tylendel know she'd explained things on the way in to Haven, that Savil and Kellan would make sure that they were prepared to receive them and get Vanyel the help that the situation deserved. What that ended up meaning was Lancir's aid, much to Tylendel's surprise. He'd known Vanyel was badly off, but hadn't expected them to pull in the Queen's Own for something like that. Perhaps it was just because Lancir was a personal acquaintance of Savil's; perhaps Lancir was just free at the time and willing to help. Tylendel didn't know, but there was no way that it could be a bad thing. Lancir had been there for Tylendel when he'd first come to Haven, only newly shielded and an emotional wreck from the two years prior.

But he also knew firsthand how long MindHealing took, and how much trauma and pain had to be brought to the surface and dealt with for someone to really start to recover from it. Vanyel's first session was a few days after his arrival. Tylendel had moved back into Savil's training suite quietly, pretending he'd never left for his proper rooms in the palace so that he could stay near to Vanyel, and waited in the main room for Vanyel to come back.

Sure enough, Vanyel returned from that session with red eyes, exhausted to the point of shaking. Despite trying to brace himself for Vanyel's feelings, the tiredness and pain washed over him, and Tylendel was on his feet in seconds, coming over and taking Vanyel's elbow.

"Tylendel...?"

It was the first time Vanyel had called his name, Tylendel realized with a shock, rather than just 'Herald' if he didn't avoid it entirely. He smiled as he helped lead Vanyel to a chair. "Sorry," he said. "You look like you're about to collapse."

"Mm..." Vanyel glanced up at him hesitantly, then sank down with gratitude. It looked for a second like he was going to say something else, but then he dropped his gaze, shoulders hunching.

It was something, though. Tylendel considered just leaving it at that, but...

"Are you hungry? I've got a cheese and meat platter here and there's more than I can manage."

"No—" Vanyel's stomach rumbled, and he looked abruptly abashed.

Tylendel smiled again. "How about I move it over to your table instead?"

"Yes. Thank you..." Again, that hesitation.

Tylendel moved the tray, then carefully stepped back from Vanyel, going back to his own chair and picking up the book he'd been reading before Vanyel came back. Keeping him company seemed best, letting him know he was here without making any kind of issue of it.

A few pages later, he heard again: "Tylendel?"

"Mm?" He looked up.

Vanyel wasn't meeting his gaze, looking down at a piece of cheese he had clutched between forefinger and thumb. "'Fey' is an insult, isn't it?"

That was hardly a question he'd been expecting. He didn't let the unexpected term jolt him, just exhaled slowly. "It is. It means feminine and strange, like some sort of spirit. Inhuman."

"There's another word you've been using?"

Despite himself, a sense of excitement curled in his chest. Vanyel was talking to him, really talking to him. It seemed like before all this, in the monastery, the only times Vanyel had spoken back to him was to shut him down, accuse him of things... "That's right! Shay'a'chern," he said. "It's a Tayledras term—do you know about the Hawkbrothers?"

Vanyel's brow furrowed. He still didn't look up from the cheese; he seemed to think it was the most fascinating thing in the world. "No... maybe," he said. "Outlanders...?"

"That's right! I'm sure you've seen the masks around this place. Savil's... friends with some of them, she brought those back and some language as well." It was one of Tylendel's favorite subjects, not the least because Savil had originally brought the word back and got people to start using it because of him, because he'd come to her as her student. He'd had no words for what he thought or felt that weren't rude.

Vanyel was waiting, so he continued. "In Valdemar, it's considered abnormal and unusual, a perversion. But to the Tayledras, it's just part of natural development. Humans are just really advanced animals, and all animals have a tendency for some subset of them to show desire within one's sex. So since it's natural, they have equivalent terms. Shay'a'chern means something like, 'one whose lovers are like oneself', specifically meaning gender—" He reigned in his desire to start talking linguistics. Vanyel's brow was still drawn down. Better to keep it simple. "There's no judgment in it, it's just a term, so I prefer to use it. One can hope it'll catch on."

"Shay'a'chern," Vanyel repeated.

Tylendel ached to ask more. When Vanyel had confronted him, it had sounded like he either thought he was shay'a'chern or had thought others believed it, but it had hardly seemed like Vanyel would have had any chance to know himself. It seemed to Tylendel that it probably didn't matter to Vanyel whether he was or wasn't, not so long as his father believed it of him. There was no way to know if Vanyel were asking because he wanted to speak more nicely about Tylendel, if he were asking for himself, or even asking simply because he wanted to know.

Tylendel wanted to ask and desperately weighed the pros and cons. He wanted to be good company: not 'the Herald' who had ordered Vanyel to come along, but a friend to this person he was starting to finally see. Not asking might seem like he wasn't interested to know about Vanyel, but asking too much would put him on the spot. Carefully, he said, "It's a nice thought to me. When I came here originally, I felt pretty broken. Learning that there are entire cultures that just acknowledge it as what it is, a person who grows up and finds their interests lie elsewhere? It really helped me feel less like a deviant, even when other people treated me like one. Like something I could hold close no matter what."

"Yeah... maybe," Vanyel murmured. He blinked down at the cheese, then put it in his mouth and closed his eyes. Tylendel watched for a little while, but when Vanyel didn't make any move to interact further, went back to his book.

Even with just that little, it felt like things were changing.

***

The sessions with Lancir were hard and strange. Vanyel never really knew what to expect when going in to talk to him, which he did twice a week. The first couple of weeks, he hadn't even talked much, but seemed to be left utterly exhausted at the end regardless. Lancir's questions alone took a lot out of him, and even the few words he'd use to try to answer would seem like Lancir knew too much, understood too much from them.

The weeks after that seemed to become easier and more difficult all at once. Lancir had spent the first sessions simply developing a core of understanding and nailing down what to talk about. In these later visits, he found all the questions that made Vanyel hurt. An energy came from Lancir that made Vanyel both want to talk more and want to listen more, like something about the man unknotted his tongue. But the subject matter didn't get any easier. There were tears more often than he liked. He'd call it embarrassing, unmanly, and cry harder when Lancir would quietly, curiously, ask him why it wasn't manly to cry.

They were hard enough that he needed his time outside them to be quiet and calming, and he received that.

Tylendel being back at Savil's helped. He seemed always to be there, relaxing. He said he was just killing time while waiting for his next mission, but whatever the reason was, Vanyel could always expect to see him there. He wasn't doing anything specific—sitting around reading, writing, always with food in one hand. But he was reliable.

Tylendel wasn't the only thing, though, that made him start to feel human again. There were others: Savil, blatantly an Ashkevron herself and supportive, helped him think his own name without feeling guilty about it. Seeing dark hair start to grow out on his scalp. Clothes of his own, comfortable and soft. Things were changing, and he wasn't entirely sure how to feel about it.

He tried to tell this to Tylendel one time when he came back from Lancir. He stumbled in with wet eyes, tired, but feeling somehow more alive. He didn't lead into it, couldn't figure out how. 'Lendel was sitting in an armchair with a meatbun hanging out of his mouth, dropping crumbs everywhere, and Vanyel found himself abruptly saying, "I can't hear myself think."

Tylendel blinked, then took the meatbun in one hand instead, chewing. "I—"

"I'm sorry," Vanyel said quickly, abruptly horrified at himself, embarrassed. That was the worst kind of non-sequitur, Tylendel was going to be confused, think he was stupid. "I didn't mean anything."

Slowly, Tylendel exhaled. "I've felt that way before," he said. "Like everything inside you is wrong and you're shouting to get out. But you can't, because it's impossible to get out of yourself."

Vanyel's mouth fell open. If he'd thought it was difficult to hear himself think before, it was worse now, a weird buzzing white noise in his head as he tried to conflate this, conflate Tylendel's cool calm Heraldic exterior with someone who could feel that way.

"I used to have to see Lancir too," Tylendel said, apologetically. He rubbed fingers through his hair, and Vanyel noticed he'd accidentally trailed crumbs in his curls. "I was... How to put this... My gifts woke up unexpectedly. I was also a lord's son, and ...mm. It was a mess. I had fits. Everyone thought I was insane and cursed, and I was throwing feelings everywhere and picking up what they were thinking, and I discovered I was shay'a'chern on top of that."

Something shifted uneasily inside Vanyel. Something hungry, and eager; Tylendel was reaching out, offering something of himself, and Vanyel wanted to take it. But at the same time, a weird sense of guilt came over him.

"That sounds... hard," Vanyel said slowly. "Worse than with me, I mean, you had to—"

"No," Tylendel said firmly. "Not worse. Different. I had my twin brother Staven with me; he believed in me the entire time. I relied on him so much, and he got me through it. You didn't have anyone; you were alone and had nothing to hope for or expect. See? If I put it that way, yours sounds way worse."

"That's—"

"But it's just different. I got better, and have a future. You'll get better and have a future too." Tylendel smiled at him, comforting. "I'm just sorry the getting there's hard."

A future...

The idea was almost too much. He still couldn't imagine anything after this, any kind of future. His father wouldn't give him one, that was for certain. He wasn't a Bard like he'd wanted to be, he wasn't a Herald like Tylendel was, he wouldn't be the Ashkevron heir.

But I'm not alone. If Tylendel said that he could have a future, he wanted to believe it.

Even as he found himself thinking it, he panicked. He swallowed around a sudden lump. "Excuse me," he said, and retreated toward his room; he paused in the doorway, glancing back. "...There's food in your hair," he said, hurriedly, and ducked into his room almost too fast to see Tylendel go red.

The trip was wearing on Tylendel for more reasons than just his aching, throbbing...

:3

...leg.

:(

Seriously though, I'm in love with this one. Perfect "afraid to hope" feel going on with Vanyel here. :)

IT BEGINS

The pace you're setting is amazing! I love how raw Van comes across here, and I'm just falling more in love with this version of Tylendel.

Really liked the "fey vs shay'a'chern" talk and what's going on behind it too.

Lol, my total thought process was "Vanyel/Blanket??? ...but Vanyel doesn't deserve blanket."

(Though he does deserve blanket. But he cannot accept nice things, or else he's not Vanyel, much less baby teenage still-grieving and very guilty Vanyel)

Slutty Yfandes is canon! And may we all thank canon for being so incredibly batshit and wonderful.

You're too kind, anon! (I tried very hard to emulate Lackey's style. Possibly too hard. IDK. Em dashes are addictive.)

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Page 13 of 22

21 Days of Valdemar!

FILL: Tylendel/Vanyel - Orders - 4/?

FILL: Le Barde et la Bête - Vanyel/Stefen

Re: FILL: Tylendel/Vanyel - Orders - 2/?

Re: FILL: Tylendel/Vanyel - Orders - 4/?

Re: FILL: Tylendel/Vanyel - Orders - 3/?

Re: FILL: Tylendel/Vanyel - Orders - 3/?

Re: FILL: Tylendel/Vanyel - Orders - 3/?

Re: FILL: Tylendel/Vanyel - Orders - 4/?

Re: 4/?

Re: FILL: Tylendel/Vanyel - Orders - 4/?

Re: FILL: Le Barde et la Bête - Vanyel/Stefen

Re: FILL: Tylendel/Vanyel - Orders - 4/?

Re: FILL: Tylendel/Vanyel - Orders - 4/?

Re: FILL: Le Barde et la Bête - Vanyel/Stefen

Re: FILL: Le Barde et la Bête - Vanyel/Stefen

Re: FILL: Le Barde et la Bête - Vanyel/Stefen

FILL: Tylendel/Vanyel - Orders - 5/?

Re: FILL: Tylendel/Vanyel - Orders - 5/?

Re: FILL: Le Barde et la Bête - Vanyel/Stefen

FILL: Tylendel/Vanyel - Orders - 6/?

Re: FILL: Tylendel/Vanyel - Orders - 5/?

Re: FILL: Tylendel/Vanyel - Orders - 6/?

Re: Fill- Vanyel/Blanket 1/? - A Restful Night

Re: Fill- Vanyel/Blanket 1/? - A Restful Night

Re: Fill- Vanyel/Blanket 2/? - A Restful Night