21 Days of Disney!

A month and a half later, and feeling remarkably more secure with life in general, Vanyel looked in the mirror and thought, I need a haircut.

The decision came reluctantly. His hair was out to nearly four centimeters, but not evenly so. For some reason, it had been growing in longer on the side he slept than the other, and was starting to show it. He didn't want to cut it at all, staring at himself in the mirror. He just knew it was needed. In an ideal world, he could just wait until it was back to where he vaguely remembered liking it. What would that be like, to have it sitting on his shoulders again...?

Still, no help for it. "Tylendel?" He leaned out of the washing room, caught Tylendel walking past with a sandwich in his hand and a surprised look on his face. Vanyel felt something inside him jump as well. He hadn't any reason to think Tylendel might be right there, but had just somehow known he would be.

"What is it, Vanyel?"

Vanyel pushed past the urge to stammer and found his tongue. "Ah, this mop on my head. I want to even it out. Who does hair around here?"

"I'll have the barber I usually use come by, if you like."

"Thank you."

And he thought that was it. The decision was made, he'd get it cut, it would hopefully grow a little more evenly, and he would have long hair within a year or two.

But as soon as the shears came out, it was like everything changed inside him. He didn't want to panic. He wanted to keep going forward as he had been, to hear Lancir quietly approve of his decisions, to maybe be lucky enough to hear Tylendel praise him again.

But his wants had nothing to do with his feelings. He tried to hold himself still, and more or less succeeded by remembering the ice. He could stay calm, smooth, cold, not think or feel anything—

It nauseated him.

"Hang on. Stop," Tylendel said abruptly. The barber lifted his shears and turned, surprised.

And Vanyel lost his control over it. The ice shattered again, filling himself with a sense of self-loathing. He'd been trying so hard but even the idea of having his hair cut was too much. He wanted it even, wanted to make it look nice, but the sight of those short ends of hair drifting down made him feel like he was right back there. He wanted to die, wanted to stop feeling; his body was cold and hot all over.

It's just hair! he thought miserably.

"Sorry, Natham," Tylendel said. His tone was light. "I think we can't today after all, please understand—"

Vanyel tuned his voice out, tried to focus on breathing. It made it worse, somehow, how alert Tylendel was to his condition, how Tylendel had noticed how Vanyel was feeling. Even knowing that Tylendel was a Herald, had Empathic gifts, didn't help. He felt like he must have been advertising his misery, telling the whole world.

He put his face in his hands, feeling hot tears seeping between his fingers. The barber's sympathetic voice vanished behind a closed door, and Tylendel came back.

"I'm sorry," Vanyel whispered into his hands. "Sorry."

"You've done nothing wrong." Tylendel was hovering over him, and Vanyel could tell he didn't know what to do.

"I'm sorry." He couldn't seem to stop repeating it. "I want it done but I can't. I'm sorry."

"It's okay to know your limits," Tylendel said, and put a hand on Vanyel's shoulder.

It was warm, firm, and Vanyel was suddenly desperately grateful for it. He wondered if Tylendel could feel that too. "Can you do it?"

"What?"

"I don't want to see it all lopsided, I want—but—I don't know him, and I do know you. Can you—?" He met Tylendel's gaze, pleading.

Tylendel let out a hiss of breath. "I've never cut hair before," he warned. "It might end up worse than before."

"T-that's impossible. It can't get worse," Vanyel said, and laughed bitterly.

Another moment of silence, Tylendel's gaze searching his face. Then Tylendel gently squeezed his shoulder again, tone forcibly light. "Well, I'll try. Don't blame me if you don't like it, though!"

"Mm."

Vanyel drew a deep breath, trying to center himself. Tylendel waited until he'd calmed down, and then got a pair of shears from his own room. These were designed for cutting paper, not hair, but, Vanyel thought, it'd do better for him than a straight razor.

He managed, this time, to stay calm. Those were Tylendel's fingers on his neck, on his scalp; Tylendel's voice talking quietly behind him throughout. It didn't take long, or didn't seem to take long. Not like those first few agonizing snips before.

When Tylendel was done, he picked up a hand mirror. "Take a look," he urged gently. "Let me know if it's alright?"

Vanyel did, and this time relief washed over him. He started, embarrassingly, to cry again. His heart pounded harder. 'Lendel will think that I hate it if I keep carrying on like this!

It wasn't perfect, but it was better than it had been and not as bad as it could be. "I thought it would be all gone," he said as quickly as he could. "I mean, I knew you wouldn't, but whenever I look in the mirror, I think it will be. I-it looks good. Thanks."

"You don't ever have to go without your hair again," Tylendel said quietly.

What an absurd promise to make. Vanyel's lips twisted, trembling, into a shaky smile. "If you say that and then I go bald later in life, I'll blame you."

Something about that made Tylendel's eyes widen; their gazes met in the mirror. And then Tylendel broke into a sunny smile. "I'll let you," he said. "That does sound like a jinx, doesn't it."

***

A few weeks later, Tylendel received a letter from his cousin. He took a seat in his usual armchair to read it, shaking it out of its folds. To his surprise, Vanyel came over and leaned on the back of the chair, looking over his shoulder to read it. "Who's that from?" he asked, apparently a bit dubious of the curly handwriting.

"My cousin in the nunnery," Tylendel said. "You remember, I was out there almost every day."

"...So she's real? But you said you were just there to investigate us," Vanyel said. It was still 'us', Tylendel couldn't help but notice with a brief, sad stab.

He waggled a hand slightly. "I stretched the truth a little," he said. "I was there to investigate it—I just didn't know it until after I got there and met you and realized I had to. But a lot of people are being helped thanks to you, you know."

Vanyel looked at him blankly. "Why me?"

"Because you helped me see—"

"No, I mean... I don't understand. If you weren't there to investigate, why did you take me away?" Vanyel wasn't looking at him or the letter anymore, gaze downcast.

Tylendel picked his words carefully. "Because you're a person, Vanyel, and you needed help. I'm a Herald. Once I realized that you needed it, I'd do what I had to."

"I was awful to you."

"It's fine," Tylendel said. "I saw enough to know that wasn't all there was to you."

Vanyel shook his head. "That'd be a first," he said dubiously. "...So why did you need to see this cousin?"

Sighing, Tylendel rubbed the back of his neck. His elbow bumped Vanyel and he dropped his arm, a little uncertain. "It's a bit of a mess. My family's been in a feud with another one for nearly a decade now. Complicated things, people dying on both sides."

He and Staven had found their mother's body, and both of them only thirteen... having to call it just complicated stirred up shades of that old helpless anger. It was a long time ago now, he reminded himself, and pushed down on his immediate response.

Vanyel was still waiting expectantly. Tylendel cleared his throat and continued. "To resolve it, the Lesharas had suggested they marry one of their own to my cousin. She could then replace my brother as Lord Holder. But she's taken her vows and... well. It's messy."

That word again. He pushed on.

"So far things have been in stalemate, working out the legalities of even the possibility, and trying to get my brother's agreement. It only recently progressed to a place where it might be a reality. So I went down there to clarify the situation. They felt that as her relative she might open up to me some, and as a neutral party, I might get her approval."

"Wait, how are you a neutral party...?"

"I'm a Herald," Tylendel said. He sighed. "I can't get involved personally. I had to present both sides and hold my tongue on my opinion."

Vanyel's gray eyes were wide. "And they trusted you to do that?"

"I'm a Herald," Tylendel said again, helplessly. "I wouldn't have gotten whites if they didn't believe I could."

"Oh." Vanyel's gaze shifted to the letter, and after a moment Tylendel focused on it as well.

Dear cousin, Jeanni's missive said. I have heard of what happened at the monastery and it has given me a great deal to think about. I have decided to put off my decision to the end of the full year—not so that I may simply hesitate, but so that I may learn. I do not know what the right thing is, but I see from what happened that that there are many factors that go into how we think about things. So it must be if so many people could be mislead under the guise of what seemed good. I do not wish to fall victim to that mindset, nor blind myself to what my own current education and the cloisters may have done to train my mind. I wish to take this year to learn myself better, to learn what goes into my own decisions, so that I know that whatever decision I make is a decision made as myself. I will write again.

Be well. Yrs - Jeanni.

It was so much better a result than he'd hoped for that he'd found himself smiling. Vanyel looked at him in surprise, and then smiled as well.

"She sounds really strong," Vanyel said. "Before I read it, I was worrying... that sounds like a situation that could really hurt her. I was thinking, if you have to be neutral, does that mean there's nobody who could help her? But I guess she's thinking that too."

It surprised Tylendel. There was such sympathy in his words, such relief. Abruptly, he felt like the last piece fell into place, like he could really understand Vanyel. He was sensitive, he was empathetic, he cared about people. That was the trait that his father had been so afraid of, had tried to train out of him.

Had nearly succeeded at destroying.

:Listen to you go on,: Gala said fondly. :It's like you think he'll be Chosen someday.:

:Do you think so?: Tylendel crushed a stab of hope before it could become unreasonable. If Vanyel were a Herald, they'd be able to keep spending time together.

:Sounds to me like that'd make you happy. Your heart's pounding, 'Lendel!:

:Hush, you,: he thought, flustered.

But she was right. His heart felt like it was going to beat its way out of his chest, and he couldn't even feel guilty about it. It was good. It was wonderful. The more Tylendel saw of Vanyel, the happier he was. It felt like he'd spent months just getting happier and happier. And talking to him now, it felt like they were able to relate to each other, that it wasn't just this weird twist of their history that had put them in each other's paths.

That they could be just Tylendel and Vanyel.

And it felt amazing. Embarrassingly amazing, because there was no way to separate Vanyel from his recent abuses. Vanyel wouldn't be ready for a relationship even if he were shay'a'chern, and Tylendel didn't think he could rely on Vanyel to really know that. But that was fine. He just wouldn't talk about his feelings.

"What're you staring at?" Vanyel asked, and stole some bread off Tylendel's platter. His expression had relaxed into something nearly mischievous, grinning at him. Despite his better intentions, Tylendel had to grin back.

Nobody had to know.Even if he'd caught himself thinking that he could spend the rest of his life watching Vanyel continue to grow and change and become better and healthier and happier... it was fine like this.

And then, one night, Vanyel had a nightmare.