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!

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

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

A!A
Yesss, ripple effects in canon divergence are hella my jam. I'm very glad you're finding it interesting, and thank you so much for the comment!

That last line was a gutpunch, dang.

I really love the theory you used - that Tashir was stuck in Van's lust feedback loop due to his uncontrolled Gift. THE CALL WAS COMING FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE. Van's guilt over it is delicious. Tashir's neediness at the end is so well played - he would rather keep pretending with Van than face up to his real problems. Oof, this is such a great pile of messed up. Congrats.

A!A

Thank you so much! I was really worried about getting the balance right, so I'm glad it worked for you.

A!A

Thank you! Haha, can you tell that I love making Van feeling guilty about things? I'm really glad you enjoyed it.

Kind of a quieter sort of H/C, hope it works for you!

--

"The Sleeping Garden"

Gritting her teeth, Talia gave in to the pain and lowered herself onto the garden bench. At least she was tucked out of the way where nobody could see her; the garden was out of season for blooming, and was currently little more than neat patches of grass and dead tangled bushes.

The garden looked about how Talia felt. She’d been married two months now and was just starting to get back on her feet—literally, of course, and figuratively too. She’d sat in on a council meeting earlier, and insisted on walking in under her own power. Insisted on wearing regular Whites instead of layers of warm robes. Dirk had fussed, of course, but at last given way.

Now she was paying for her stubbornness, she thought ruefully. Her feet ached, a slow pain—bearable, very bearable, but she was so tired of bearing things. She felt dormant. No longer dead, at least, but resting, and spring was a long ways away.

She heard footsteps crunching in the gravel, and looked up to see a cloud of brown curls and a pinched brow. Heard a satisfied call of discovery: “Talia!”

Elspeth. The Heir must need her for something. Talia straightened up on the bench and schooled her expression into what she hoped was a wise, sympathetic one.

“Oh, stop that,” said Elspeth, rolling her eyes.

Talia blinked. “What?”

“Your ‘Queen’s Own Face.’ Cut it out, will you?”

Talia blinked again, and realized that Elspeth, in addition to the cross expression, came with a bundle of blankets in her arms—and a cane. Talia slumped down a bit on the bench. “What are you doing out here, then?”

Elspeth shrugged, dropped the cane, and sat down on the bench. “Mother told me you walked into council today. She said you looked great, so I figured you probably felt like shit, actually.” She threw the blankets in the general direction of Talia’s shoulders.

Amused despite herself, Talia obliged and wrapped the blankets around herself. She felt as puffed-up as a fox in winter. As Elspeth kept talking about Queen Selenay’s inability to assess her councilors’ physical conditions, which segued into a general discussion of the other councilors’ inability to hide their hangovers, which segued into a hilarious recounting of that one time the other week when all the Herald-Trainees got completely smashed out in the Companions’ Field—

More than the blankets, Elspeth’s chatter left Talia feeling safe and warm. The cane would be for later, when she finally had to hobble back to Dirk. But for now, in the sleeping garden she could forget her bruises.

SO ADORBS I love Elspeth's total cynicism so much.

:Vanyel?:

He jolted awake, halfway to sitting before he realized that there was something stuck up his--Vanyel flushed deep red and shielded his mind like his life depended on it. He reached behind himself, extracted the offending item, and discovered his second problem.

"What in Valdemar's name--" his stomach was blue. Vanyel peeled off the lovely blue and white quilt, revealing that the blue smears extended down to his thighs--he could see the damned paisley.

The blanket was as stained as he was, white squares turned purple by the--liquids--

"Oh shit," he whispered, Yfandes knocking on his mental shield growing impatient, the room well lit with dawn's early light, and they were meant to leave right now.

Vanyel rolled to his feet, and realized that he had no choice. He'd ruined it. He must--it was a matter of honour, he must do the honourable thing.

***

The Inn Master's face filled with polite puzzlement, and Vanyel stared at the wall behind the man's ear, blanket tied to Yfandes' saddle behind him. "The quilt, Honoured Herald Mage?"

"Yes." Vanyel cursed himself for failing to follow his first instinct and disappear with it, silently stealing the evidence of his debauchery.

"My daughter pieced it. She is only ten, sir but very talented."

"It is a very nice blanket."

"That you must requisition for the Queen."

Yfandes' curiosity was so strong that Vanyel's skin crawled with it, but he refused to let her know. He couldn't bear--no. She absolutely couldn't know. "Yes."

"I will get my daughter, that she might know that her work has aided Valdemar!" he said, his round face beaming at Vanyel. "For some mighty spell, no doubt! Oh, she will be so happy!"

"I must leave. Right now. But left her know that her work is very appreciated, and--uh--that the kingdom of Valdemar couldn't have done it without her," Vanyel said, raising his hand to stop the Inn Master from saying anything else.

:Yfandes, come on--:

:Not until you tell me why.: she told him, ear flicking back lazily, not even twitching toward the gate.

:I--I wrecked it. I have to take it.: Vanyel felt like he was dying, crushed by the weight of his own impending humiliation. The Inn Master was staring at him, waiting expectantly, and Vanyel's attempts to retreat into the ice were not successful. :Please Yfandes--:

She snorted, scraping her hoof on the flagstones, the sound ringing like a bell, and refused to move.

:I'll do anything you want if you leave right now. Anything.: Vanyel promised recklessly, his mask starting to slip.

***

The bard's playing skipped a note, but Vanyel didn't notice, staring deep into the cup of wine that had been refilled possibly more often than it had ought to have been that night.

Vanyel looked up, smiling with the amusement that twenty odd years separation had given him. He clearly his throat, smiling wryly. "And that's the blanket story in a nutshell."

Stef was staring, and Vanyel remembered, belatedly and somewhat drunkenly, that Stef had probably never considered that someone as old as Vanyel might have once--damn it, Vanyel'd gone and been inappropriate again.

"Do you still have the blanket?"

His gaze went to Vanyel's bed, and Vanyel felt himself blushing. "I--" Stef's eyes were sparkling, full of youthful innocence, and Vanyel wondered when he was going to learn to keep his stupid mouth shut. "Well I couldn't just get rid of it."

AYRT

So there with you. I recently had an action-y fic crash and burn in a way which makes me consider a quickie diorama with little bendy pose-able dolls the next time I try to write an action-y fic. I wish I were kidding.

I am cheering on the porntastic epilogue!

AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW. Talia/blankets is the best! I'm so glad Elspeth ships it with me.

OH MY FUCKING GOD NONNY. I LAUGHED SO HARD MY MOM CAME OVER AND ASKED WHAT WAS SO FUNNY.

This is amazing. You have excellent comedic timing, great handle of craft, and omfg this is fucking hilarious. Excellent, excellent fill.

Thanks nonny! Elspeth is awesome :)

I have so much respect for Van's true blanket love here. like that is real respect, taking it with him and introducing it to Fandes and everything. Bless.

Elspeth is a smart girl with excellent taste :D In a modern AU, she would definitely write Herald RPF.

Ahhhhhhhh! So good!

Nonnie ;_____; i am so happy you liked it so much. I wondered if going straight for the D/s was shark-jumping but then I went...fuck it, it's porn. We're here for the porn. No one says no to the porn. I did wonder if it should have had more space for Stef to explain SSC, but yeah, didn't want to get heavy-handed and did I mention we're here for porn. And yeah, I see Stef as being very good about aftercare too - and figured he wouldn't want to get too overbearing with Van in such a vulnerable place. I didn't think he'd drop 'btw I am hopelessly in love with you' on Van when he's in this state. But. He's hopelessly in love now.

I very much agree re. Stef getting a bit of distance; if Van had been leaning on him the whole time then the D/s would have been creepy as hell, and I REALLY wanted it to be, like, this fun open healing thing for them to try. I JUST WANT TO THINK ABOUT THEM LOVINGLY KINKING OUT TOGETHER ALWAYS. IS THAT OKAY.

....didn't really hit the return to Haven part. But I got the rest of it?

"The Embodiment of Evil"

--

Vanyel stood alone before the throng of darkness. Panting for breath, pale with exertion, he felt stretched beyond the limits of human ability. He was become something else, something both more and less than the mage he’d been before this battle. He was a dream, a nightmare made flesh to face down the terror from the North.

And the enemy emerged, dressed in darkness, shaped from darkness, a terrible and beautiful midnight with piercing eyes. Leareth. Leareth, with black eyes and cheekbones sharp as daggers, with magic crackling up from his talon-like fingernails, with pure evil emanating from the depths of his shallow soul, with an expression of—

Of utter bewilderment.

“Vanyel Ashkevron,” gasped the embodiment of pure evil. “You are—gods—so beautiful...”

This wasn’t like his dream at all, thought Vanyel. In his dream, Leareth stood strong, immovable and terrifying, an unstoppable force of either. In reality, this was—kind of pathetic?

“You will not take Valdemar,” snarled Vanyel in an attempt to get this back on track.

Leareth clutched at his chest and staggered. “I mean, I knew you were pretty, I’ve seen you from afar, but—this is—”

“Begone, creature of darkness!” screamed Vanyel, throwing a mage-bolt at Leareth’s heart. This was getting incredibly embarrassing; he could feel Yfandes’ amusement rising beside him.

Leareth deflected the mage-bolt with a wave of his hand, but his face still contorted in agony. “So….pretty…” he whispered—and then collapsed onto the ground, twitching.

With each convulsion, a wave of magical destruction burst out of him. Vanyel and Yfandes barely got their shields up in time. The dark army was not so lucky; by the time Leareth fell still, awkward and grotesque upon the snow, every member of the horde lay with him, just as still and just as dead.

Vanyel hesitantly let his shields drop. Nothing happened.

:Well, Chosen,: said Yfandes, with the rare and specific tone of one who is both relieved to be alive but kind of miffed about not getting the chance to fulfill their long-awaited heroic destiny, :I guess it’s time to go back to Haven.:

--

“Vanyel!” cried Stefen, flinging himself into his lover’s arms. The Herald and Companion had met the guard contingent on their way to the battlefield.

Under the astonished gaze of the guard—whether at the sight of the Herald’s return from certain doom or at the sight of two men so entranced with each other—Vanyel embraced him, burying his face in the auburn curls, and felt himself finally relax. “Stefen,” he choked. “Gods, I love you.”

“What happened?” asked Stefen. “How did you defeat him?”

Vanyel considered recounting the truth of the matter, then shuddered, and in that moment made a solemn vow of silence with Yfandes.

“I can’t speak of it,” he said instead, his tears of distress entirely unfeigned. “It was just too horrible.”

OP

*LAUGHING SO HARD RIGHT NOW*

omg, nonnie, you wonderful, wonderful diamond!

Gala raised her head as Vanyel approached the quiet grove where Tylendel lay curled up in the roots of a familiar great tree, his head resting against his Companion's side. He seemed completely exhausted but relaxed, his tangled curls making him seem almost angelic in repose.

Vanyel sank down quietly next to them, careful not to wake 'Lendel, and smiled as Gala nuzzled his hair quietly. He didn't say anything in return, just gently brushed Tylendel's hair back from his cheek.

He stayed like that for quite a long time, watching the shadows of the leaves dance on the trainee's cheeks, counting his breaths and basking in the sense of quiet serenity he found here.

They'd been through a lot in the last couple days, and Vanyel felt sure that it wasn't quite over yet. They still had a lot of growing to do. As nice as things had been up until then, with no disagreements and no change, just basking in the pleasure of having something nice for once in his life—something secret and perfect and his—Vanyel had to admit that it couldn't be like that forever.

Even if things are hard… as long as I'm with him, I'll make it work. I want a life with you in it, 'Lendel… And now, even though the way to that realization had been unorthodox, he was certain that Tylendel wanted the same.

"Ashke…?" Vanyel murmured eventually, voice soft.

Tylendel wrinkled his nose in his sleep, then yawned, lashes starting to flutter. When he opened his eyes to see Vanyel looking down at him, he broke out into a wide, dazzling grin, brows creased slightly with dazed adoration.

"Van…"

For the first time in his life, Vanyel felt like he'd really come home.

"Good morning, beautiful," he smiled. "I was worried that if you slept any longer, your curls would start to tangle up with the roots, and I'd never get you free. My lover, the tree."

Tylendel laughed gently, reaching up both arms for him. Vanyel sank willingly into his embrace, breathing in his scent as he made himself comfortable against the older boy's chest. "I'm sure I could rely on you to do something romantic and appropriately epic if that ever happened," he teased. "Maybe go on a quest, or become a legendary Herald-Mage in your desire to save me."

"Legendary Herald-Mage?" Vanyel laughed. "Don't be ridiculous! Maybe I could draw you back from the brink with my voice. And then continue to sing the praises of the great Herald-Mage Tylendel. I think that sounds a lot more likely."

He started to laugh as Tylendel scrunched his face up again, fingers crawling up under Vanyel's shirt, tickling him mercilessly. They squirmed together for a few moments, until Gala huffed a breath, whacking Tylendel with her tail.

"Ow!" Tylendel stuck his tongue out at her. "Don't take his side! Oh—" he turned his wide eyes to Vanyel, expression growing more serious. "Vanyel, that reminds me… I want to thank you."

Vanyel's eyebrows rose. "Thank me?" he echoed.

Tylendel nodded. "Being with Gala over the last few days… talking to me and Staven about what you felt… I've had a lot to think about. And I guess—Gala and I had a lot to hash out. I wasn't listening to someone I should be able to trust with anything." He seemed a little sheepish. "I'm… sorry it took what it did to get it through my apparently thick skull. But I feel a lot better." He looked up at Gala, and the two simply gazed at each other for a long moment.

Vanyel waited patiently, twisting two blades of grass between his fingertips.

Tylendel was his love, and Tylendel was a lot of things, but much of what Tylendel was also came down to how Tylendel related to those around him—to Gala, to Staven, to Savil, and to all the people that he, as a Herald, wanted to protect.

I'll support that, Vanyel thought firmly. As much as I can.

"… she says thank you, too," Tylendel murmured after the long moment had passed, pressing his forehead to Gala's cheek briefly before glancing back to Vanyel.

Vanyel felt himself start to blush. "I should be the one thanking her," he muttered. "I was the one that just kept running to cry on her every day."

"She says it helped to know that she wasn't alone. And that there was at least one person in the world also on her side that I'd maybe listen to, eventually…"

"It's fine, 'Lendel…"

"It is now," Tylendel shook his head, sighing. "Or… I don't know. Maybe it's not fine. Staven's still here, and I don't know what's going to happen. I—I want him here, of course I do, but if it's hurting you, and as you said, if he's going to hurt his own chances—"

"Oh—that reminds me!" Vanyel sat up straighter. "Oh, 'Lendel, I need to tell you…"

He briefly recounted the confrontation in the Hall—how Evan Leshara had trapped Staven into a confrontation, but how Staven had kept his head and turned it around for the better. How they hadn't fought, and how Staven had professed his trust not only for the Courts, but for the Heralds, and for Tylendel, too.

When he finished, Tylendel looked so dumbfounded that Vanyel laughed outright, touching his fingertips to Tylendel's open mouth. "You'll catch flies, lover."

Tylendel caught his mouth in a kiss, instead. Vanyel let out a startled mmph and clutched at Tylendel's shoulders, but couldn't help but lean into it, overwhelmed by the possessive ferocity and bone-deep appreciation that he could feel pressing on him like a palpable warmth.

The kiss broke, and Tylendel cupped Vanyel's face in both hands, thumbs rubbing across his cheeks. "You'd make a better Herald than I've been showing myself to be," he murmured, a mixture of pride and self-deprecation in his voice.

At Vanyel's aborted noise of confusion, Tylendel continued, with the hesitant tone of a confession. "Savil always wanted me to look at the situation rationally. But I couldn't. I was angry—I still am angry, and hurt. Because of what they did, we lost a lot. We felt pain. And now they're still trying to take advantage of us. But—" He took a deep, shuddering breath. "But a Herald really should be able to rise above that. I never could, because I never wanted to."

"It's understandable," Vanyel protested softly.

"It is," Tylendel agreed, looking at him evenly. "But just because it's reasonable to react violently when you're in pain doesn't mean that you're going to be doing what's best."

Vanyel couldn't find fault in this—just nodded, letting his eyes slip closed as Tylendel stroked his hair. "… I didn't really mind that you were angry," he murmured softly. "I wasn't really thinking about what was objectively the most moral action. But when I heard Staven started talking about what he wanted to do… I just couldn't let him put us in danger like that. And then once I realized what he'd need to do to protect us… well, it just seemed sort of selfish." He shook his head. "I'm really just selfish."

Tylendel tugged at Vanyel's hair lightly. "Then that makes two of us, ashke. And you at least had the right of it. I think… we're in a better position than we were a few days ago, and that's because of you." He tilted his head to the side, briefly; Vanyel watched his curls cascade with a distracted sense of appreciation. "Gala confirms it. She says there were a couple Heralds there, and now there's rumors going around between them about about how Leshara was provoking a fight and Staven seemed a lot more put-together than they gave him credit for. His audience went well, too. He—" He had to stop, voice choked, pressing his teary eyes tightly closed.

"'Lendel—"

"I'm happy, love," Tylendel told him, gathering him into his arms. "I'm so proud of both of you. I'm sorry I've been so…"

"Everything we are," Vanyel interrupted, "and everything we did—it's because of you. For you, and because of you. We love you more than anything. Anything good about us—well, you're a big part of that, too. You make me want to be a better person. And maybe I'm not quite there, yet—I'm not," he emphasized, at Tylendel's attempt at a protest. "But… maybe I can be." He paused. "I want to be."

Tylendel was in tears again, messy but silent. Vanyel felt his own eyes getting suspiciously damp.

"… I'm so glad," Tylendel murmured, squeezing his arms tightly around Vanyel so hard that Vanyel couldn't tell if his sudden breathlessness was due to the soaring, elated feeling in his chest, or the fact that he literally couldn't get air in. He let out a strangled little wheeze, and Tylendel abruptly let go; the startled apology on 'Lendel's face was so inexplicably comical that Vanyel felt himself start to laugh as soon as he could catch a breath.

"I love you!" Vanyel sputtered, not sure if he was laughing or crying anymore. Some incoherent combination of both—apparently so infectious that Tylendel helplessly began to join in, until the two of them were rolling around, kissing and giggling and holding each other until they could hardly breathe or move or think.

When they finally fell silent, sprawled on the grass with their fingers tangled together, Gala let out a loud huff into the pause and flicked her tail into Vanyel's face.

That set them off again, and by the time they managed to recover enough to stumble back to the suite, the sun had begun to set, and Vanyel couldn't remember ever being happier.

***
Savil, Mardic, and Donni were blessedly absent that evening and not due back until morning, giving Vanyel and Tylendel full access to the suite. They changed out of grass-covered clothes and sat by the roaring fire, trying not to laugh too much as Vanyel had to spend nearly a candlemark trying to pick plant bits out of his lover's curls.

"Let this be a reminder to us both," Vanyel announced, cupping the grass between his palms (almost enough to fill them both) and presenting them to 'Lendel like an offering.

The older boy looked up from inspecting their dinner, eyes wide, a meatbun hanging halfway out of his mouth. "Mmh?" he swallowed, then grinned. "A reminder of what?"

Vanyel gazed at him with as much solemnity as he could muster. "Why, the day my lover almost became a tree."

'Lendel laughed, leaning forward and blowing, scattering the grass everywhere again, all over Vanyel's shirt and hair, a few blades even landing in his half-empty cup of wine.

"—'Lendel!"

"Oh, goodness, how clumsy of me. Here, let me help—" Tylendel's eyes gleamed as he tumbled Vanyel down onto the blanket in front of the fire, hands pulling at his shirt. "You've gotten it all dirty. Let's get this off of you—"

"And whose fault is that!?" Vanyel laughed, arching, letting Tylendel yank his shirt up. "Hey—that tickles—nnnh…"

His laugh trailed off into a moan as Tylendel's mouth pressed against his neck, hands sliding down his bare chest. Between the fire, the wine, and his lover's ministrations, he felt pleasantly warm all over, letting his eyes drift closed with pleasure. He stroked Tylendel's back, drawing in a breath as Tylendel kissed his way up Vanyel's jaw, lips catching at his, tongue sliding into his mouth as they eased into a deep kiss.

Neither of them noticed the click of the doorknob, but they did hear the long, low whistle as Staven shut the door behind himself and locked it.

Oh my god, Staven, rude. You'd better do something to make up for it.

This is really great, I'm enjoying it so much! I'm looking forward to seeing how it ends.

Eeeeee Stav likes what he's seeing here? Well then.

Van & Lendel are so abominably cute in this chapter. My lover, the tree. ...better get used to it now, I guess.

I ran out of time to do comfort! /o\ Have Vanyel fucking up instead.

There was a full moon yet to pass before Sovvan Night came, but it was freezing. Vanyel hated it. Couldn’t stand the constant cold, the layers and layers of clothes that did nothing to warm him, the endless drizzling rain--every last bit of it was terrible. The border was nothing but mud, brambles, and Karse’s thrice-cursed demons, and Vanyel hated all of it.

Yfandes’ coat was stained yellow up to her belly, and Vanyel couldn’t brush the mud out enough to make her properly sliver. His clothes had given up the ghost of white, and become a universally dull and dingy shade of brown, and Vanyel resented it immensely--the constant dampness had stretched out every item he owned, leaving him in shit-brown rags that fit him no better than a beggar’s might.

He looked like he’d rolled in shit, and then splashed it on Yfandes. :Fucking mud.: Vanyel thought, barely keeping his irritation in check. :They send us out into those fucking hills for nothing one more time and I’ll--:

:Vanyel, love, dear heart?: Yfandes interrupted, her voice in Vanyel’s mind as weary as he felt.

He shoved the mud-caked curry comb in her saddlebags. It had only spread the dirt around, made her look like a defeated old nag--

:An old nag?: Yfandes snapped, her head swinging up, and her eyes dangerously wide and her teeth bared. :I am not a nag!:

Vanyel sighed, and reined in his self-pity. :Don’t mind me, love. You look lovely under all that mud. I just wish I could get it off you instead of just smearing it around.:

She snorted and accepted that, letting her head sink back down, and this time Vanyel kept his thoughts on how very tired she looked to himself.

:You’re still favoring that hoof,: he said, looking up at the sullen clouds above as he felt the beginnings of rain on his skin. :Did you want me to look at it?:

:I’d much rather you found me something to eat,: Yfandes answered, the hoof in question subtly inching away from him. :If--by any miracle--this camp has something that isn’t last year’s hay...?:

:I will find it, and deliver it to you.: Vanyel, promised. He smiled at her, his bad mood broken. :You’re too thin as it is. And then maybe I can look at your hoof, hm?:

:It’s a bruise. Nothing you can do.: Yfandes’ head lifted enough to stare at him, blue eyes keen and focused. :You should eat. It’s not just me who is too thin.:

Vanyel shrugged, lifting her saddle over his shoulder, and throwing her bags over his other. They, too, were dingy brown, the bright blue trim so mud-caked that Vanyel expected he’d never get it back to the original shade. :The slop they serve here could kill an ox.: He wasn’t that desperate. Or that hungry.

She worried over nothing. Vanyel had eaten at midday, as much of the thin and faintly muddy gruel he could stomach. Admittedly it hadn’t been much, but it wasn’t as though he was starving. “I’m fine,” he said firmly, heading up hill to the ragged collection of tents housing the Valdmaran guard at this unlucky post. The sun had almost set, darkness rolling in like a wave.

The half-healed burn lightning-seared into his side ached, and Vanyel reached out, finding a leyline and tapping it for a rush of energy to help him climb the hill. It was as natural as breathing now, augmenting his reserves with those of the land. Didn’t heal him, not in the least, but at least he couldn’t feel the pain through the crackle of magic in his ears.

The guards avoided his eyes, accepting his presence but not welcoming it. They never did. Vanyel had ceased to care. Magic couldn’t take that hurt away, but all emotion became apathy when he felt it long enough. Some days he wanted to scream at them, taunt them with his ‘unnaturalness’ until they spoke the words he knew they were holding back--pervert, criminal, disgusting--breaking that polite silence with words he could hate them for.

Naturally, Vanyel would never.

He found the field unit commander’s tent by way of elimination--it was the only mud-splattered canvas hovel large enough to stand in. Vanyel slung Yfandes’ saddle from his shoulder to his hip, and pushed inside. “Herald-Mage Vanyel,” he said, blinking until his eyes adjusted to the light. “Reporting--”

A babble of Karsite interrupted him, the men gathered over a tiny camp table covered in maps not Valdemaran guards but a black-robed priest and a Karsite captain, both scrambling away from him in abject terror.

Vanyel froze. :Yfandes--!:

The scent of storms broke his shock, and Vanyel summon fire and lightning, throwing it into the men, interrupting the priest’s casting seconds before it could be completed.

:Did they have oats, dear?: she replied sleepily.

Two corpses stared up at him, their faces locked in a rictus of despair. Vanyel set her saddle on the Karsite carpets lining the floor, looking around the clearly foreign tent in growing confusion. :We are in Valdemar, aren’t we, Yfandes?:

He stepped back outside, knocking aside the arrows flying toward him with a wave of power. A twist of the same mass, and it lunged out to those who had shot at him, crushing their bodies into the ground. Vanyel unshielded his mindspeech, searching for others, and only found the dying thoughts--pain-pain-pain-no-please-NO!-- of the ones before him.

Yfandes was a soft pressure behind his eyes, and Vanyel let her see. There’s no way--we couldn’t possibly be this far off track. I couldn’t possibly have walked into the wrong camp--it’s impossible!

:Lord and Lady.: Yfandes thought, and Vanyel felt her disbelief mirroring his. :You didn’t--:

:I walked right in! Why didn’t they stop me?!: Vanyel curled his hands into his hair, gripping it until his scalp hurt. I groomed Yfandes for an hour! The bodies were crumpled shapes in the dark, and he couldn’t see the blood. Vanyel smelled it, but he couldn’t see it, not without summoning mage light. It was so dark, no moon at all, he just hadn’t been able to see--

:Yfandes!: Vanyel’s thoughts crept up into a wail, and he caught it--caught himself and forced his emotions back under control. :I seem to have killed a few Karsites. We’re on Valdemaran soil, aren’t we?:

She came up the hill, her hooves loud in the sucking mud, a faint ghost in the darkness. Yfandes turned her head one way, then the other, taking in the crumpled lumps that had been men before Vanyel had broken them, and then plodded up to him. :Could we make it look like demons, do you think?: she asked.

Valdemar didn’t attack. Valdemar didn’t invade. Valdemar only defended its borders--Vanyel realized suddenly that he was panting like he’d just run a race. :Yfandes, I--:

:Chosen, love, these things happen. If it wasn’t Valdemaran soil before, well--: an unfamiliar note of dark amusement filled her words, and Vanyel shivered :--then it is now.:

They were dead. They hadn’t been fighting him or trying to kill him, they’d just been settling down to the night, living the same miserable existence that he was. And Vanyel had waltzed up into the wrong damn camp and murdered them.

:Vanyel dear?:

His head snapped up, eyes focusing on her.

:I think I smell oats.: Yfandes tilted her head toward a tent at the far side of the camp. :Go look?:

Numbly, he agreed, and stumbled toward the tent. He heard her, Yfandes unable to be silent in the mud, the wet sounds of her dragging the bodies to the side of the camp echoing over to Vanyel. He sent her his gratitude, filling his palm with magelight and making it hover off his skin when his hand started shaking.

Tears were dripping down his cheeks, collecting in the corners of his mouth. Vanyel ignored them, searching the scant supply packs inside the tent. One did contain a half-full burlap sack of oats, and Vanyel collected it. He took a few withered apples from another sack--Yfandes liked apples--and knelt there, staring at the supplies that would feed the mice and rats when he left.

:It’s done, Love. I can’t fit in the tent, but the camp is empty.:

Vanyel nodded, stumbling to his feet--they’d went to sleep, all numb and prickling now. :I found oats.:

:And something for yourself, I hope.: Yfandes said sternly, at his side as soon as he left the tent, nosing the oat sack in his arms. :We might as well stay until morning--not even a Karsite would wander a night this black.:

Stay!--Vanyel grimaced at the thought, faintly appalled. :I’m not hungry,: he replied, licking the salt off his lips. The tears had dried, and Yfandes was right. He didn’t like it, but she was right. Leaving now would be dangerous and foolish--if she hurt a leg in the dark, they’d both be stranded.

Vanyel opened the sack for her, and held it while she devoured enough oats to give a normal horse colic.

:In the morning, Vanyel, you must eat. Magic cannot replace food any more than fire could.: Yfandes lectured, nose deep in gluttony--in oats. :It eats you, my Chosen one, not the other way around.:

Perhaps in the morning he’d be capable of hunger. Vanyel fed her the apples, one after another, and felt nothing at all.

A!A

Thank you so much! I wanted there to be some real hope for them in the future.

A!A

Thank you so much!! I'm so so happy that you enjoyed it. And that you enjoyed my Stef sdfj he is my favorite forever. My beta and I hashed the outline out together and that came up right from the start, that for the theme to really work here, Stef would have to leave on his own --at least he's the sort of character who might!

So glad again, and thank you!

A!A

Thank you!! I'm so happy for all the lovely feedback. I'm really glad it satisfied!

Vanyel stared coldly at the knots in the pinewood of Stefen's door, as if his eyes could scratch through the wood. On the other side, someone ignored him and kept playing some foul Eastern ditty - and he was quite sure it was Stefen, because he was quite sure he'd seen Stefen's warty roommate sneak out of Bardic Collegium's side-door before he'd dared enter, doubtless for a foul and illicit night out in Haven. Only Stefen would insult him by keeping him waiting - and who else would be calling at this hour but he? Was there anyone else who Stefen had goaded - deliberately sought to offend and belittle - as much as he?

Stefen's presumptiousness would have been enough cause for rage. But his perversion - his complete shamelessness - was like poison creeping black under the ice around him. The sooner he warned Stefen away from him, the better.

The music beyond rose to a final crescendo, a pulse of more than sound passing through the wood - Stefen, the ingrate, was Gifted and was happily abusing that responsibility even without the benefit of an audience. Vanyel could feel it washing against him - the glorious end of a heroic tale that meant little to him, but his heart drifted unwilingly into its swell. He reached a hand to the doorjamb, swaying with hate - how dare you - how dare you toy with me as you make me wait -

The door opened with a creak. Stefen looked at him - Stefen, in a rumpled undershirt and no shoes, looking no better than he was - and smirked as he stepped out of the doorway. "Milord Vanyel," the apprentice mocked him and Vanyel shoved his way inside. Stefen stepped back from him, blinking bemusedly and ineffectually smoothing the new creases in his shirt. He sat back on his stool with surprising grace, grabbing his gittern by the neck. "Come to play with me?" he asked, without visible nerves. Oh, he had nerve.

"I came to ask you," he stressed the word dangerously, "to leave me the hells alone."

A look of pure innocence affixed itself on Stefen's triangular face. "Why milord, however have I offended you?"

That word always sounded like mockery from his lips - a perversion of everything Vanyel had. "You mock me constantly, like it's a game to you. Don't think I don't know about the lies you told Tashi about me."

Stefen's face creased in confusion. "The lies I...? Oh, that. I heard she'd been spreading that one around. But I never told her you were jealous of me. I think she drew her own conclusions."

"You're lying, you lie all the time -"

"Oh, everything I do and say is beneath you, I'm sure," purred Stefen insolently. "Remind me again, why are you here?"

"To give you a piece of my mind and tell you to leave me alone -"

"Give me a break," Stefen smiled at him, the damnable fool. "No, I know why I bother you and yelling at me won't change it."

"What do you mean?" he snarled.

"I mean the way you look at me. Don't think I've not seen you looking." His smile fell away, leaving behind a look as plain as a knife-edge. "You want me," Stefen said. "I used to wonder if you were just curious - but no, you're as shaych as I am. Or you wouldn't be here."

"You filthy gutter pervert," he snapped. "How - how dare you insinuate -"

"I wasn't insinuating, milord. I'm saying as I see." Stefen shrugged. "You need to talk about it first? I'm fine with taking it slow -"

"How dare you," Vanyel said again, ice cracking in his voice, dreams threatening him with their nebulous, unthinkable tendrils. "I've nothing more to say to the likes of you."

"Well, then," and Stefen moved on him spider-fast, hands at his shoulders pushing him back against the wall, pinning him, hot knives buried in walls of ice, and Stef's face so close to his he could barely breathe. "And they said you were all talk and pretty eyes. I knew they were wrong about you -" and his lips seized Vanyel's.

He couldn't move. Couldn't, wouldn't feel anything - he can't make me be like he is - and Stefen's lips were hot enough to melt stone. He felt them cutting through everything he was - every protection and pretense - and asking, demanding that he melt right back into them.

But he couldn't. I'm not - I can't be like that. He remained still as a statue, feeling ice bowing and cracking and begging it to hold. To protect him if only he believed in it.

Stefen stepped away, not concealing his disappointment - or his thoughtfulness. He shook his head, and sat back on his stool, for all the world as if some passing interest had disspated. "I can't take boys like you. Feels like I'm being played with."

"You can talk," Vanyel somehow grated out.

"So I can, milord. I like playing games, but only if everyone's having a good time." He reached for the gittern again, and his fingers shaped a chord. "I don't take advantage of those who don't know how to play." He began strumming out the opening of the Westwich March, and Vanyel knew he was only doing it to show off the complex fingering, and rage took him again. That perfect playing. And he knew only one way to make it stop and end all of the confusion in his mind - all of the fear of how good he is, so much better than I could ever be - and he crossed the room in a stride and grabbed Stefen's face to kiss him again.

Stefen gasped, and for a golden moment Vanyel felt like he had taken the upper hand, surprised Stefen and conquered him, but then the growing smirk against his lips tore his world in two. "Called it," he whispered, and Vanyel shook, disbelief at himself becoming fear. How could I...? "And I won't tell, so you got a choice now. You can go out there and keep pretending that everything's okay, that you're just like everyone else. Or you can stay here and tell me about what the hell's got into you. Because no one except me is going to listen. And I only ever mocked you because I knew you weren't honest about what you are. Milord," he added, and bowed his head.

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Page 20 of 22

21 Days of Valdemar!

Re: FILL: Equilibrium - 7/9

Re: Vanyel/Tashir - Fill: "Unison", 2/2

Re: Vanyel/Tashir - Fill: "Unison", 2/2

Re: Vanyel/Tashir - Fill: "Unison", 2/2

FILL: Talia & Elspeth H/C - mini-fill

Re: FILL: Talia & Elspeth H/C - mini-fill

Re: Fill- Vanyel/Blanket 4/4

Re: Fill, 3/3 Vanyel, gen, Magic's Price Fix-It

Re: FILL: Talia & Elspeth H/C - mini-fill

Re: Fill- Vanyel/Blanket 4/4

Re: FILL: Talia & Elspeth H/C - mini-fill

Re: Fill- Vanyel/Blanket 4/4

Re: FILL: Talia & Elspeth H/C - mini-fill

Re: The Lost One 9/9 YAY

Re: The Lost One 9/9 YAY

FILL: Vanyel Survives/Deus Ex Machina - crack!mini-fill

Re: FILL: Vanyel Survives/Deus Ex Machina - crack!mini-fill

FILL: Equilibrium - 8/9

Re: FILL: Equilibrium - 8/9

Re: FILL: Equilibrium - 8/9

Re: Vanyel/Angst - Starvation

Re: FILL: Tylendel/Vanyel - Orders - 10/10 (END)

Re: FILL: Owned and Gifted - 4/4

Re: FILL: Owned and Gifted - 4/4

Mini-fill: Van/Stef rivals