("Staven… " Tylendel breathed, throaty and choked as the word caressed his lips, body arching, taut.)
Vanyel clenched his jaw and breezed past the cluster of students in the corridor, nose tilted up. He had reason enough to be presenting a foul mood today, he supposed. They all knew about his own apparent feud with the Frelennyes, so having Staven here could hardly be an auspicious event for him.
He strode quickly and purposefully ahead—was darkly amused, somehow, at the way people scattered out of his way. He cut an effective figure, he knew, with his long dark hair streaming behind him like a banner, the loose sleeves of his all-black outfit sharply accentuating the black breeches that hugged his thighs. His heavy boots gleamed, and he noticed someone visibly wince as his foot came down heavily on the landing in the Great Hall.
He wished he could find it more satisfying. But it was something.
He didn't want go back to his room. Not now, now yet. So he headed where he knew he would find his usual coterie. At least there he could complain loudly and try not to think.
With that goal in mind, he thought nothing of the large, chattering group near the fire until he'd already approached too closely to turn back and saw several of them glance his way. A gasp of shock. A giggle of delight. Reva tugged repeatedly at Wendi's sleeve, whispering frantically in her ear. Whatever she said caused Wendi's eyes to grow as wide as saucers, lips parting in a soft "oh."
As the bodies parted to either side as if to clear a path for him, Vanyel suddenly understood.
Staven Frelennye sat in the middle of the flock of courtiers, one arm around Tashi, the other draped carelessly over the back of his chair, legs spread and head tilted back in a loud laugh—comfortable and effervescent and like he owned the place.
Vanyel's feet were very much moving him forward on their own. I don't want to see him, he thought frantically. I can't do this right now. I don't have the energy. I don't want to look at him—
But it was too late. Staven looked up, gaze meeting Vanyel's.
And he smiled a wide smile with all of his teeth.
"Well, if it isn't Vanyel Ashkevron!" Staven's voice rose loudly over the crowd, killing any and all remaining conversation. An unnatural hush fell, and the courtiers pulled even further away, leaving Vanyel facing Staven directly. "Did you know, we were just talking about you."
Vanyel stared at him for a long moment, bleak and blank. Staven.
("Staven…")
"Only good things, I expect," Vanyel replied glibly, with his most charming smile. He let his feet take him a few more steps forward. The most comfortable chair, and coincidentally the one directly facing Staven, was occupied. Vanyel paused next to it, slanting his gaze sideways, looking down at its occupant along the line of his nose. His long fingers curled against the side, tapping once, twice.
It didn't take anything more than that. Liers scrambled out of the chair immediately, hurrying back into the crowd. Vanyel sank into the chair like it was only his due, spreading his arms to either side and allowing the black fabric to drape around him.
Staven played his cards close to his chest—Vanyel had to give him that much. His expression barely wavered. But Vanyel thought that he caught a slight quirk of his eyebrow; a faint twist of his mouth.
Two can play this game, Staven Frelennye.
"Oh, good things, of course," Tashi was assuring him earnestly, probably trying to recover a little from the possible perceived betrayal of being seen on Staven's arm. And in his bed, Vanyel had no doubt. "I was telling Staven that I hoped you two would be able to get along, even after, you know, that incident with Tylendel…"
"She did tell me all about the incident," Staven assured him. "As well as all the rest of the petty, spineless sniping—"
"Which of course, you know, is behind us," Vanyel interrupted smoothly. "… at the behest of my most esteemed Aunt." His addition was dripping with such insincerity that it set off a chain of tittering laughter all around. "I've no interest in fighting further."
"Perhaps you don't, you little toad."
"Staven!" a couple of the girls admonished, but Vanyel could see their delight as much as they were trying to save face. For his part, Vanyel felt a cold knot sinking heavily in his stomach. Staven looked angry—really, honestly angry, and Vanyel couldn't tell if he meant it or if he was just that good of an actor. He really looked like he'd be willing to start a fight at any moment, even though he knew—
Maybe it's not even the incident that he's mad at me about.
Vanyel couldn't afford to start anything. The mud fight with Tylendel had been deliberately planned; they'd used Tylendel's magic to obscure the fact that they weren't actually fighting, and even then they both ended up worse off than they'd meant to. Staven was bigger and stronger than both of them, and with this many people so close—
"And a fine fool you'd make of yourself, crawling to the city only to start brawling like some backwater country ruffian. It's no wonder the Court wants to keep you on a short leash, Lord Holder. You're clearly not ready to handle anything with any more sophistication than a child might."
The words poured off Vanyel's sharp tongue with ease, ringing with truth and with sincere intention to hurt. He saw them strike Staven and sink in; his brown eyes narrowed and darkened with rage, and he started to surge up out of the chair.
"You take that back, you little—"
Tashi and Cress grabbed onto each of Staven's arms, pleading with him and trying to hold him back. Vanyel took advantage of the brief delay to rise again, slipping out of his chair and sweeping a hand at the courtiers clustered around, wrist flicking as he gestured to them to move out of the way. "Now if you'll excuse me."
Don't follow me, he pleaded silently, striding through the crowd a little quicker than he'd like. Don't follow me. Don't do this.
Maybe Staven did. Maybe he didn't. Maybe the girls had managed to talk him down, or maybe they just delayed him enough to allow Vanyel to get outside the Great Hall. As soon as it seemed like the coast was clear, Vanyel broke into a run, dashing outdoors and tearing away into the gardens.
Don't follow me. Don't look for me. Just don't—!
He bent his head and kept running, feet crunching as they slammed down on the crumbling gravel. Any time he heard voices ahead, he swerved, ducking between trees, leaping over flowerbeds, careening down small side paths. He was sure he frightened at least one gardener and angered another—a slim figure all in black charging his way through like a rampaging demon.
He ran until he was out of breath, until he stumbled and slipped—
He hit something warm and heavy. He flung his arms around it automatically, losing his balance, just leaning there and panting frantically.
Gala?
He managed to struggle upright again, looking up with both tears and sweat wet on his cheeks. It … wasn't Gala, he didn't think. It was a Companion, yes. He wasn't sure how he knew it wasn't Gala, but—
"I-I'm sorry!" he gasped, dropping into a bow and trying to salute at the same time, confused and frantic. "I'm very sorry!"
The Companion regarded him as one might a passing breeze. He mumbled something else along the lines of an apology and tried to stumble past.
A soft whinny caught his attention; it almost sounded like a laugh. He jerked his head up as another Companion trotted towards him. That was Gala, and despite everything, Vanyel found himself pulling a face at her, even as he tried helplessly to dry his face with his sleeves and wipe his nose.
"Don't laugh at me," he muttered, and to her credit, she didn't—just butted her head against his shoulder and let him lean on her as they walked. They walked until Vanyel could breathe again. They walked until the sun began to set. And when Vanyel finally, reluctantly, started to head home, Gala stood and watched him leave.
***
He thought he might try to sneak into his room without seeing anybody, but the moment he opened the door, Staven and Tylendel were both already there—right there, like they'd been waiting.
"Van!" Tylendel began to rise, eyes wide. "You're so late! I was worried!"
Did Gala not tell him…?
"I—'Lendel…" Vanyel's voice caught, then broke.
Staven rose faster than Tylendel, grabbing onto his brother's shoulder and pushing him back down in his chair, letting out a laugh. "You were worried? Gods, boy—you were starting to make me think that you thought I was really mad at you after that little stunt you pulled!"
Vanyel stared at him. Tylendel sat quietly by his brother's side, eyes a little wide, but didn't say anything. Staven's posture was relaxed, but his eyes (so like 'Lendel's, so very not) were still… hard. Narrow, and trying to conceal something dark.
Don't fight with him, Vanyel thought. Don't make 'Lendel unhappy. Don't say what you mean. Don't let them know what you feel. Let it blow over. It'll all blow over. Don't—
"Vanyel—" Tylendel started, almost pleadingly, as if he knew.
"Did you not mean it?" Vanyel said, with a calm that he didn't feel, walking over to the bed—his bed, the bed he shared with Tylendel—and taking a seat. "Because it definitely seemed like you did."
Staven's gaze flickered as he turned his head to watch Vanyel move. "Of course I didn't—"
"I did," Vanyel interrupted. "I thought you were a fool."
Vanyel had read the phrase "the silence was deafening" in books before. He'd always found it slightly hard to imagine; it was a pretty turn of phrase, surely, but he could hardly imagine what that actually meant.
He understood, quite suddenly, and wished that he didn't.
"… Vanyel, what?" Tylendel murmured finally, looking genuinely worried, brows creased. His tone was gentle, but he was sitting with his shoulder as rigid as his twin's, knuckles white where they were clenched on the arms of the chair. "What are you talking about?"
Vanyel's lips trembled. He pressed them tightly together and drew in a deep breath through his nose.
"I think you've made a mistake," he told Staven clearly. "You should have warned 'Lendel you were coming. You should have asked him. You couldn't have known what his situation was here, or what you'd be jeopardizing by showing up here. On top of that, you're coming to Haven in the middle of what's obviously a volatile situation for you. Could you really afford to leave your Holding right now? Is it so secure there that you're not worried about seeming unreliable? There could be discontentment that you're exacerbating among your own people—not to mention abandoning your responsibility to make sure you're there for them in a crisis, in case the Lesharas acted on something."
Staven's expression was twisted into a fearsome grimace. Vanyel found himself trembling, and gripped the fabric over his knees so hard that his fingers ached. He'd never seen an expression before. All of Jervis's rage, all of his father's disappointment—it paled next to the darkness in the eyes of this young man.
"You—" Staven spat, "Have no right—"
"I'm a noble just like you," Vanyel shot back. "Just because I've no particular interest in being my father's heir doesn't mean that I wasn't raised to be."
"You threw it all away for a dick up your—"
"Staven!" Tylendel cried out.
Hearing Tylendel say his twin's name seemed to push something to breaking in Vanyel. He rose like a black shadow, drawing himself up to his full height, letting his voice (deeper still than Staven's) ring out. "Can't you let go of your stubborn pride and realize that maybe the way you're going about things isn't right? That maybe if you can't get anybody on your side, if everyone thinks you're hot-headed and incompetent, too immature to be Lord Holder, that you should try to prove them wrong by changing, not by digging your heels in and chomping at the bit? Trying to fight with me, planning on threatening Evan Leshara—maybe I'll never be a Lord, but I threw it away for love. Not that I'd expect you to know anything about that! If you really loved 'Lendel, if you weren't blind, you'd be able to see that this is hurting him! You—"
"Stop!"
Something hit Vanyel with enough force to cause him to see stars, and he reeled back in shock, collapsing near the side of the bed. Tylendel had surged to his feet, eyes wide and wild, standing between the two of them with his arms spread wide. His curls twisted in an invisible wind; his face was white, lips pulled back like a frightened, angry animal, and his eyes—
Vanyel whimpered, low in his throat, and looked away, feeling as though his veins had been replaced with ice. The malevolence pouring off Tylendel frightened him so much he couldn't speak; couldn't move.
He had to run—
He was in a blind panic. He refused to look up. He didn't want to see it again—that face. 'Lendel. 'Lendel … oh, gods. What have I done?
He was outside before he realized it, before his brain caught up with the fact that his shaking legs could even carry him that far. There were tears in his eyes again. Distantly, he could hear a voice calling for him, anguished—
FILL: Equilibrium - 5/?
"Did you hear? Staven Frelennye—"
"Staven Frelennye, you know, Tylendel's twin—"
"Staven? Is he, you know, like Tylendel—?"
"I heard from Evan Leshara—"
"What do you think Staven is going to do?"
"Staven—"
("Staven… " Tylendel breathed, throaty and choked as the word caressed his lips, body arching, taut.)
Vanyel clenched his jaw and breezed past the cluster of students in the corridor, nose tilted up. He had reason enough to be presenting a foul mood today, he supposed. They all knew about his own apparent feud with the Frelennyes, so having Staven here could hardly be an auspicious event for him.
He strode quickly and purposefully ahead—was darkly amused, somehow, at the way people scattered out of his way. He cut an effective figure, he knew, with his long dark hair streaming behind him like a banner, the loose sleeves of his all-black outfit sharply accentuating the black breeches that hugged his thighs. His heavy boots gleamed, and he noticed someone visibly wince as his foot came down heavily on the landing in the Great Hall.
He wished he could find it more satisfying. But it was something.
He didn't want go back to his room. Not now, now yet. So he headed where he knew he would find his usual coterie. At least there he could complain loudly and try not to think.
With that goal in mind, he thought nothing of the large, chattering group near the fire until he'd already approached too closely to turn back and saw several of them glance his way. A gasp of shock. A giggle of delight. Reva tugged repeatedly at Wendi's sleeve, whispering frantically in her ear. Whatever she said caused Wendi's eyes to grow as wide as saucers, lips parting in a soft "oh."
As the bodies parted to either side as if to clear a path for him, Vanyel suddenly understood.
Staven Frelennye sat in the middle of the flock of courtiers, one arm around Tashi, the other draped carelessly over the back of his chair, legs spread and head tilted back in a loud laugh—comfortable and effervescent and like he owned the place.
Vanyel's feet were very much moving him forward on their own. I don't want to see him, he thought frantically. I can't do this right now. I don't have the energy. I don't want to look at him—
But it was too late. Staven looked up, gaze meeting Vanyel's.
And he smiled a wide smile with all of his teeth.
"Well, if it isn't Vanyel Ashkevron!" Staven's voice rose loudly over the crowd, killing any and all remaining conversation. An unnatural hush fell, and the courtiers pulled even further away, leaving Vanyel facing Staven directly. "Did you know, we were just talking about you."
Vanyel stared at him for a long moment, bleak and blank. Staven.
("Staven…")
"Only good things, I expect," Vanyel replied glibly, with his most charming smile. He let his feet take him a few more steps forward. The most comfortable chair, and coincidentally the one directly facing Staven, was occupied. Vanyel paused next to it, slanting his gaze sideways, looking down at its occupant along the line of his nose. His long fingers curled against the side, tapping once, twice.
It didn't take anything more than that. Liers scrambled out of the chair immediately, hurrying back into the crowd. Vanyel sank into the chair like it was only his due, spreading his arms to either side and allowing the black fabric to drape around him.
Staven played his cards close to his chest—Vanyel had to give him that much. His expression barely wavered. But Vanyel thought that he caught a slight quirk of his eyebrow; a faint twist of his mouth.
Two can play this game, Staven Frelennye.
"Oh, good things, of course," Tashi was assuring him earnestly, probably trying to recover a little from the possible perceived betrayal of being seen on Staven's arm. And in his bed, Vanyel had no doubt. "I was telling Staven that I hoped you two would be able to get along, even after, you know, that incident with Tylendel…"
"She did tell me all about the incident," Staven assured him. "As well as all the rest of the petty, spineless sniping—"
"Which of course, you know, is behind us," Vanyel interrupted smoothly. "… at the behest of my most esteemed Aunt." His addition was dripping with such insincerity that it set off a chain of tittering laughter all around. "I've no interest in fighting further."
"Perhaps you don't, you little toad."
"Staven!" a couple of the girls admonished, but Vanyel could see their delight as much as they were trying to save face. For his part, Vanyel felt a cold knot sinking heavily in his stomach. Staven looked angry—really, honestly angry, and Vanyel couldn't tell if he meant it or if he was just that good of an actor. He really looked like he'd be willing to start a fight at any moment, even though he knew—
Maybe it's not even the incident that he's mad at me about.
Vanyel couldn't afford to start anything. The mud fight with Tylendel had been deliberately planned; they'd used Tylendel's magic to obscure the fact that they weren't actually fighting, and even then they both ended up worse off than they'd meant to. Staven was bigger and stronger than both of them, and with this many people so close—
"And a fine fool you'd make of yourself, crawling to the city only to start brawling like some backwater country ruffian. It's no wonder the Court wants to keep you on a short leash, Lord Holder. You're clearly not ready to handle anything with any more sophistication than a child might."
The words poured off Vanyel's sharp tongue with ease, ringing with truth and with sincere intention to hurt. He saw them strike Staven and sink in; his brown eyes narrowed and darkened with rage, and he started to surge up out of the chair.
"You take that back, you little—"
Tashi and Cress grabbed onto each of Staven's arms, pleading with him and trying to hold him back. Vanyel took advantage of the brief delay to rise again, slipping out of his chair and sweeping a hand at the courtiers clustered around, wrist flicking as he gestured to them to move out of the way. "Now if you'll excuse me."
Don't follow me, he pleaded silently, striding through the crowd a little quicker than he'd like. Don't follow me. Don't do this.
Maybe Staven did. Maybe he didn't. Maybe the girls had managed to talk him down, or maybe they just delayed him enough to allow Vanyel to get outside the Great Hall. As soon as it seemed like the coast was clear, Vanyel broke into a run, dashing outdoors and tearing away into the gardens.
Don't follow me. Don't look for me. Just don't—!
He bent his head and kept running, feet crunching as they slammed down on the crumbling gravel. Any time he heard voices ahead, he swerved, ducking between trees, leaping over flowerbeds, careening down small side paths. He was sure he frightened at least one gardener and angered another—a slim figure all in black charging his way through like a rampaging demon.
He ran until he was out of breath, until he stumbled and slipped—
He hit something warm and heavy. He flung his arms around it automatically, losing his balance, just leaning there and panting frantically.
Gala?
He managed to struggle upright again, looking up with both tears and sweat wet on his cheeks. It … wasn't Gala, he didn't think. It was a Companion, yes. He wasn't sure how he knew it wasn't Gala, but—
"I-I'm sorry!" he gasped, dropping into a bow and trying to salute at the same time, confused and frantic. "I'm very sorry!"
The Companion regarded him as one might a passing breeze. He mumbled something else along the lines of an apology and tried to stumble past.
A soft whinny caught his attention; it almost sounded like a laugh. He jerked his head up as another Companion trotted towards him. That was Gala, and despite everything, Vanyel found himself pulling a face at her, even as he tried helplessly to dry his face with his sleeves and wipe his nose.
"Don't laugh at me," he muttered, and to her credit, she didn't—just butted her head against his shoulder and let him lean on her as they walked. They walked until Vanyel could breathe again. They walked until the sun began to set. And when Vanyel finally, reluctantly, started to head home, Gala stood and watched him leave.
He thought he might try to sneak into his room without seeing anybody, but the moment he opened the door, Staven and Tylendel were both already there—right there, like they'd been waiting.
"Van!" Tylendel began to rise, eyes wide. "You're so late! I was worried!"
Did Gala not tell him…?
"I—'Lendel…" Vanyel's voice caught, then broke.
Staven rose faster than Tylendel, grabbing onto his brother's shoulder and pushing him back down in his chair, letting out a laugh. "You were worried? Gods, boy—you were starting to make me think that you thought I was really mad at you after that little stunt you pulled!"
Vanyel stared at him. Tylendel sat quietly by his brother's side, eyes a little wide, but didn't say anything. Staven's posture was relaxed, but his eyes (so like 'Lendel's, so very not) were still… hard. Narrow, and trying to conceal something dark.
Don't fight with him, Vanyel thought. Don't make 'Lendel unhappy. Don't say what you mean. Don't let them know what you feel. Let it blow over. It'll all blow over. Don't—
"Vanyel—" Tylendel started, almost pleadingly, as if he knew.
"Did you not mean it?" Vanyel said, with a calm that he didn't feel, walking over to the bed—his bed, the bed he shared with Tylendel—and taking a seat. "Because it definitely seemed like you did."
Staven's gaze flickered as he turned his head to watch Vanyel move. "Of course I didn't—"
"I did," Vanyel interrupted. "I thought you were a fool."
Vanyel had read the phrase "the silence was deafening" in books before. He'd always found it slightly hard to imagine; it was a pretty turn of phrase, surely, but he could hardly imagine what that actually meant.
He understood, quite suddenly, and wished that he didn't.
"… Vanyel, what?" Tylendel murmured finally, looking genuinely worried, brows creased. His tone was gentle, but he was sitting with his shoulder as rigid as his twin's, knuckles white where they were clenched on the arms of the chair. "What are you talking about?"
Vanyel's lips trembled. He pressed them tightly together and drew in a deep breath through his nose.
"I think you've made a mistake," he told Staven clearly. "You should have warned 'Lendel you were coming. You should have asked him. You couldn't have known what his situation was here, or what you'd be jeopardizing by showing up here. On top of that, you're coming to Haven in the middle of what's obviously a volatile situation for you. Could you really afford to leave your Holding right now? Is it so secure there that you're not worried about seeming unreliable? There could be discontentment that you're exacerbating among your own people—not to mention abandoning your responsibility to make sure you're there for them in a crisis, in case the Lesharas acted on something."
Staven's expression was twisted into a fearsome grimace. Vanyel found himself trembling, and gripped the fabric over his knees so hard that his fingers ached. He'd never seen an expression before. All of Jervis's rage, all of his father's disappointment—it paled next to the darkness in the eyes of this young man.
"You—" Staven spat, "Have no right—"
"I'm a noble just like you," Vanyel shot back. "Just because I've no particular interest in being my father's heir doesn't mean that I wasn't raised to be."
"You threw it all away for a dick up your—"
"Staven!" Tylendel cried out.
Hearing Tylendel say his twin's name seemed to push something to breaking in Vanyel. He rose like a black shadow, drawing himself up to his full height, letting his voice (deeper still than Staven's) ring out. "Can't you let go of your stubborn pride and realize that maybe the way you're going about things isn't right? That maybe if you can't get anybody on your side, if everyone thinks you're hot-headed and incompetent, too immature to be Lord Holder, that you should try to prove them wrong by changing, not by digging your heels in and chomping at the bit? Trying to fight with me, planning on threatening Evan Leshara—maybe I'll never be a Lord, but I threw it away for love. Not that I'd expect you to know anything about that! If you really loved 'Lendel, if you weren't blind, you'd be able to see that this is hurting him! You—"
"Stop!"
Something hit Vanyel with enough force to cause him to see stars, and he reeled back in shock, collapsing near the side of the bed. Tylendel had surged to his feet, eyes wide and wild, standing between the two of them with his arms spread wide. His curls twisted in an invisible wind; his face was white, lips pulled back like a frightened, angry animal, and his eyes—
Vanyel whimpered, low in his throat, and looked away, feeling as though his veins had been replaced with ice. The malevolence pouring off Tylendel frightened him so much he couldn't speak; couldn't move.
He had to run—
He was in a blind panic. He refused to look up. He didn't want to see it again—that face. 'Lendel. 'Lendel … oh, gods. What have I done?
He was outside before he realized it, before his brain caught up with the fact that his shaking legs could even carry him that far. There were tears in his eyes again. Distantly, he could hear a voice calling for him, anguished—
"—Vanyel! Vanyel!"
He didn't care. It was over. Everything was over.
He kept his head down and ran.