21 Days of Disney!

Vanyel wandered through the field, feet trailing in the wet grass, leaving sinking imprints in the soft mud. The air smelled crisp and clear, exceedingly chill for a summer day. The rain had been heavy earlier. He hoped Staven had been caught in it.

He tried to steer his mind away from that.

My slippers are completely ruined, he thought mournfully instead, wondering why he hadn't had the presence of mind to change into shoes before escaping. He couldn't dredge up more than a faint sense of regret. The sun, finally emerging from the cloud cover, was just starting to set; insects sang in a high, trembling harmony.

But other than that, the field was utterly quiet, and try as he might, he was having no success outpacing his thoughts.

If only ruined slippers were the worst of them.

'Lendel loves me, he reminded himself firmly. Staven being here doesn't change anything. I always knew about them. I thought I was ready. I thought I could—

Could what? He didn't know. Share? He thought back to meeting Gala. He'd felt jealous, certainly, but had quickly accepted her as part of their lives. She was important to Tylendel; she was part of him. He accepted her. Surely Staven should be the same way.

… but it wasn't the same.

It's the feeling of being left out. With Gala, and with Staven. They have a part of 'Lendel that I'll never have. They can get inside his head, his heart. They share things with him that I never can. I'll never be part of him the way they are.

Was that alright? Wasn't 'Lendel's love enough? It was everything to Vanyel. It was more than he had ever dreamed of, and then some. It was his reason to exist.

Was that alright?

Vanyel's feet slowed to a stop, and he wrapped the grey cloak tightly around himself, shivering. It did very little to cut the chill of the evening air, or his fears.

The sound of footsteps made him raise his head. Without realizing it, his absently winding pathway had taken him straight towards the grove where he often sat with Tylendel and Gala—the latter of whom was now approaching, walking sedately and with surprising elegance in the sucking mud.

"Good—good evening," Vanyel stammered, half-raising a hand as if to reach out to her, then stopping himself, dropping it heavily to his side.

Gala inclined her head and regarded him impassively.

"… I suppose you must have heard the news," he managed after a moment. "I mean … of course you did." Brilliant, Vanyel. Very smooth. Though he couldn't help but wonder what, exactly, she had heard from Tylendel.

Not like she was likely to tell him.

Gala took a few steps forward, nudging his back with her nose, causing him to stumble forward. "Oh… yes? I mean—I'm sorry. Do you want to walk …?" He set off helplessly, trying to understand what she was trying to say, but she was no more readable for his efforts.

Much like his attempts to understand what was going on with Tylendel and Staven, he thought bitterly. And with no more insight about where he fit in there.

Gala kept pace with him, though, and Vanyel's discomfort slowly faded to an uneasy sort of companionship. They walked along the edges of the field where twining flowers were in bloom, colourful and twisted around faded gray posts, petals heavy with droplets that gleamed orange in the setting sun. Vanyel felt his breathing grow easier, come a little more slowly, filling his chest and steadying him.

He stopped, looking down into a small pool, and watched his reflection stare back up at him. His eyes seemed very wide in his pale face, made even more so by the light cloak pulled up over his shoulders, hood half-obscuring his dark hair. After a moment, the picture seemed to ripple as Gala's head rested on his shoulder, whuffling. A picture all in white, or almost.

"… are you as worried as I am?" Vanyel said very softly. Gala pawed at the ground, which he took as a question—or maybe he just wanted an excuse to hear his own words out loud. " … for 'Lendel, I think. More than anything. Of course I don't want to lose him. But if that's what make him happy …"

The noise Gala made was definitely a protest, and he shied away in surprise, almost stepping straight forward into the pond.

"I—I don't plan on going anywhere!" he protested. "I want to be with him so much, I—I …I think I'd die if we were apart. But I don't even think that's what's bothering me most right now. It hurts, seeing him with someone he's—he's so much closer to than me. Seeing that 'Lendel that I don't recognize, but …"

He swallowed hard, turning to run his hand along Gala's neck. His fingers were trembling.

"… I'm sorry, this is stupid—I'm just talking out loud—I'm just—"

Afraid.

Gala turned her head to look at him with those wide, piercingly bright blue eyes, and he fell absolutely silent. Not so stupid, the look seemed to say. She leaned into his touch, warm and solid and perhaps the only person who could begin to approach how he felt; Vanyel let out a choked breath, slowly leaning against her as dry sobs began to wrack his shoulders, soundlessly.

Gala didn't move away, just pressed against him, warm and reassuring and solid, and seeming like she understood.

***
When Vanyel returned to the suite much later, he could somehow tell with absolute certainty, even before stepping inside, that Tylendel and Staven were not there. There was a sense of emptiness that rang in his chest—which may have been why he was so startled when someone moved.

Savil looked up from where she was staring into the fire.

"Havens, boy!" she barked. "Get that cloak off! You're soaking wet." She rose as quickly as her stiff joints allowed—rain always made it worse, Tylendel had once observed—and crossed the room to him. "What in the Lady's name were you doing? Stomping in mud puddles?"

"More or less," he admitted, trying to sound impassive, but his teeth were already chattering.

Savil was perfunctory, helping him peel out of the chilled and muddy outer layers. The rest of him was dry, so after a cursory inspection, she bundled him in a fur-lined blanket and all but ordered him to sit in front of the fire while she called for tea.

He sat where he was told and stared up at her with a dazed expression, overwhelmed by this sudden show of protectiveness. He couldn't remember the last time anybody had treated him this way, though he couldn't really say that he minded.

The thought was squelched a little as she looked down the severe slope of her nose at him, mouth twisted into a frown as she lowered herself into her chair with her own mug by her hand. "You've met him, then, I presume," she said distastefully.

"… Staven? Yes, of course," Vanyel said, hesitating. "He's not—"

"He's a hot-headed fool!" she snapped. "Tromping on out here like he owns the place. Like he's not going to flip everything upside down, undo everything 'Lendel's been working towards, get his foot in his mouth around Court. He can't do anything but ruin his own chances, and neither of the little idiots seems to understand. And there's no use talking to either one of them about it, because if one doesn't go into a rage, the other will if you so much as bat an eyelash—"

She's venting on me, Vanyel thought, in something close to awe. Savil was actually talking to him about her worries. Because he happened to be here? Because he wasn't protesting?

Because she thinks I'll understand?

Savil seemed to catch herself at it after another few moments in the same vein, exhaling heavily and sinking back into her chair. "And now you're all wrapped in it too, lad. Don't get involved, for Havens' sake. You've got enough on your plate as it is."

"I can't help but get involved," Vanyel said helplessly. "It's about 'Lendel…"

"It should be about 'Lendel a little less," Savil shot back. "He's going to be a Herald. He can't be about his brother and his petty squabbles forever."

"Family is family," Vanyel shot back, finding himself sitting up a little straighter, a little struck by how bizarre that must sound, coming from him, to her. It was certainly reflected on Savil's face—she raised one thin eyebrow, higher than Vanyel thought it was possible to arch. "I just mean… no matter what you are, or where you go, family ties still mean… something. No matter what happened, or what—what you want in the future… Even if you don't want them."

He looked down at his lap, twisting his hands there. When Savil didn't answer, he pressed on.

"'Lendel told him that, you know. To Staven's face. That he's a Herald. That he can't pick sides, even for family. But it must be hard. It was the two of them against the world. And now it's not, but I can't feel like maybe it's still hard to trust the rest of the world. Especially when it's wronged someone as much as it's wronged them."

Savil made a little noise, though Vanyel didn't sneak a glance up. He stared into the fire instead, until the heat stung his eyes, flames dancing in his vision.

"Be that as it may," Savil acknowledged finally, "I still don't like it. It's not healthy. And what's he going to do when he ruins himself? Drag 'Lendel down with him, most likely."

I won't let that happen—!

"We have to trust 'Lendel," he said quickly. "And we have to help him… no matter what."

He was a little surprised at his own words. He'd always felt that Tylendel was almost beyond reproach. The trainee always seemed to know what to say when Vanyel was upset; he was always smiling, relaxed, loving …

That part of him wasn't a lie. But … it wasn't complete.

He's everything to me, yes. But I've barely scratched the surface of who he is.

To his surprise, he felt a hand in his hair, smoothing at first, then ruffling. He looked up; his Aunt's expression was surprisingly soft, though the lines around her mouth and eyes were still drawn tight. "You're a good lad," she commented. "I'm proud of you. I really am. For keeping this—all this, despite my fool brother trying to do everything that should have made you lock it away."

Vanyel felt himself blinking at her owlishly, utterly at a loss for words.

Savil seemed to take that as her cue to leave, clearing her throat almost self-consciously and rising, with another soft, subvocal grumble. "Maybe if he has you to balance his head about things, there's some hope for us all yet."

Vanyel pulled the blanket more tightly around himself as he watched Savil retreat to her room. His own bedroom, dark through the open door, seemed very empty and very cold.

He stayed by the fire until his eyes were dry and sweat stuck strands of his hair to his cheeks. Finally, he washed up a little, trudging into the dark bedroom and curling up in the center of the bed—

(The bed he shared with 'Lendel.)

—and, for the second time that day, he wept.