It was maddening, going at such a slow pace. Stefen felt a deep sense of urgency, and couldn’t shake the feeling that he would still be too late, that Vanyel really had simply been trying to get him out of the way so he could complete his noble self-sacrifice. Yfandes assured him that wasn’t the case, but he knew Vanyel, and that was exactly something he would do. But, he reminded himself, he had felt Vanyel’s hope when Yfandes came up with an alternate plan. Would getting a head start on bringing the Guard really be enough? Would the kyree decide to act?
At least Aroon had volunteered to go with Vanyel to the Ice Wall. That eased Stefen’s mind somewhat; even if the kyree wasn’t a mage, he would still be damn terrifying in a fight. Not that Vanyel wasn’t, too.
The soldiers had all looked pale faced and shaken when they came across the remains of the bandit keep. Most of the bodies were still there, cold-preserved if slightly nibbled on by wildlife. It was a gruesome sight, but nothing seasoned veterans hadn’t seen before. It was knowing that it had all been caused by one man…Stefen himself wanted to curl up into a ball and try his best to forget what he’d seen. But more than that, he wanted to weep when he thought about what must have happened to Vanyel to push him so far over the edge like that. He’d been beaten so badly he likely wouldn’t have survived the night. Internal bleeding, Yfandes had said. His face was so bruised and swollen he was nigh unrecognizable.
It was one more thing he knew they would have to deal with, when they had a chance. Vanyel would continue to do his not-inconsiderable best to ignore his memories of that time, but they would surface eventually. He knew from Yfandes that could be disastrous. She had told him of a few instances after the Demonsbane incident, as well as what had actually happened at Stony Tor. Needless to say, it was nothing like the song said. The last thing anybody needed was for Van to lose himself in his memories, and go berserk in the middle of, say, a Council meeting. Stefen sighed.
“Any word?” he asked Yfandes, for the fifth time that day.
:None yet. But that may not mean anything. We just have to keep following the trail markers he left. You and I would both know if anything had happened.:
Stefen knew that, as she had patiently repeated that each time he’d asked.
“I’m sorry to be so….” he floundered, helplessly.
:I know, believe me: she said. :I hate being separated, too. There was this one time in Highjorune he had to go under cover as a scruffy, down-on-his-luck minstrel to get information, and I had to skulk around outside the city hoping he didn’t have to let himself get beaten up or taken advantage of in order to keep his cover.:
“Really? Gods—“
He cut off as a huge blast of mage energy erupted in the distance.
He’s there! He’s calling for us!: She reared and threw Stefen off. He landed in a snowdrift, slightly winded. :Stay with the Healers, Stefen,: she said as she took off at full speed. :This isn’t your kind of fight. And tell the Guard commander to make for the site of that explosion double time!:
He stared at her retreating form blankly for just a second before relaying her message to the Guard commander. One of the soldiers offered him a hand up, which he took, still feeling a little numb with shock. He had seen the after effects of what Vanyel was capable of, but had never actually seen what that much raw power looked like—
Maybe that wasn’t even him. Maybe we’re still too late—
He focused his attention on the place deep inside that was distinctly Vanyel. There was fear, pain, but dear gods, at least that meant he was still alive.
Please, if there are any gods listening, please, please don’t let it be too late. It isn’t right, it isn’t fair for us to finally find each other again only to be torn apart. For him to have had to live with this vision for most of his life, to live with so much loneliness and pain. A few months of happiness doesn’t make up for that. You owe him this much.
***
Stefen had so far in his young life seen plenty of horrors. He had seen men knifed and left for dead over a matter of a few coins, desperate drug addicts propositioning any who came near in order to get enough money to buy their next fix, children abandoned, women beaten. More recently he’d witnessed one brief skirmish, and seen the aftermath of his lifebonded beaten and tortured past sense and reason. But even that could not have prepared him for the aftermath of a real, pitched battle. The only reason he hadn’t retched his guts up was because there wasn’t anything in them, and he was kept busy helping the lone Healer and two ungifted assistants put as many pieces of as many soldiers back together as they could. It was an unexpected stroke of luck that when Stefen called upon his Gift, he discovered that all those months of using it on Randale had given him strength and control he’d not had before. He was able to easily exert it on ten at a time, which was a blessing to Healer Deven’s limited supply of poppy juice.
When the guard had finally made it to the mountain pass, it had been to scene that was already out of a nightmare. Vanyel and a small band of kyree were desperately outnumbered but holding their own against an army of black-armored, magic enhanced soldiers. Once the Guard arrived, that left Vanyel and the kyree mages free to concentrate on the leader.
It had very nearly not been enough. Stefen hadn’t actually seen Vanyel yet, but when he focused on the Lifebond, Vanyel sent a pulse of reassurance. He was weary, injured but not severely so, and still occupied with the Guard commander. From what Stefen could understand, the casualties were considered pretty light considering the force they were up against. The only things they’d had in their favor were the element of surprise and the fact that pass was a bottleneck. If that army had made it through the pass, they likely would have rolled right over Northern Valdemar before anyone even knew what was happening.
The worst of the casualties had already been seen to, and Stefen was nearing the end of his reserves of strength. He forced himself to keep going, humming when his voice finally started to waver and crack. He had long ago been forced to stop playing when his hand cramped too badly.
A gentle hand on his shoulder slowly drew him out of his trance. “Bard Stefen? Bard Stefen, can you hear me?”
He opened his eyes, unable to focus immediately, but he soon recognized the face of one of the Healer’s assistants, Breven. He was holding a cup; steam rose from it, and the smell of mint. “For your throat,” Breven said, handing Stefen the cup.
Stefen took it with a nod of thanks, and took an experimental sip. Just this side of scalding, with a liberal dose of honey. The cool-hot tea did its job of easing his abused throat, and he took the opportunity to take stock of his surroundings. Soldiers were lined up on pallets and cots, some thankfully unconscious, but many were now grimacing in pain. Breven was going down the row, administering what was presumably pain medicine. The smell of blood and herbs was still heavy in the air, and the braziers were not doing nearly enough to warm the tent.
Closing his eyes again, he sought out the sense of Vanyel, needing once more the reassurance that his lifebonded lived. Vanyel responded with a wordless sensation that oddly felt like he was saying, coming.
And then—there he was, pushing back the tent flap, looking like he’d been dragged face down through the hells, but blessedly alive.
“Van,” Stefen croaked, wincing at the sudden burst of soreness using his voice caused. He put the cup down and stood, swaying as a sudden bout of vertigo hit. Vanyel was at his side in a moment, steadying him. Breven began approaching them, but Vanyel waved him off. Then he pulled Stefen into an embrace, holding him with all the strength his exhausted body could muster. He buried his face in Stefen’s hair, inhaling deeply.
They stood there in silent communion, leaning against each other for support. Vanyel pulled away just enough to bring their faces together, their foreheads meeting. “Ashke,” Vanyel murmured, and Stefen could feel the weight of emotion it carried; relief, gratitude, reverence.
Far in the back of his mind, Stefen wondered at this uncharacteristic display of affection; granted, nearly everyone in the tent was either unconscious or in too much pain to pay attention to the spectacle, but Vanyel was usually so careful.
Vanyel made a huffing sound, closing his eyes. “Stefen, I cannot tell you how little I care about anyone finding out right now. You’re absolutely the most incredible person I’ve ever met. You’re the reason I’m even still alive.” And then, wonder of wonders, he brought their lips together, one hand sliding up Stefen’s arm to cup his face.
“I’m proud of you,” Vanyel said, after breaking this kiss. “I love you.”
Stefen closed his eyes again against the swell of tears. He felt almost embarrassed by the declaration. I didn’t do anything important, he thought at Vanyel.
“Nothing important?” he sounded incredulous. “Stef, if you hadn’t insisted on coming, then I would never have come back alive. If it hadn’t been for you rallying the kyree, I would not have lasted until the Guard showed up. I would have accepted what the dream showed me, but you gave me something to finally live for, ashke, something besides my duty to the kingdom. I owe you everything for that.” He sealed the declaration with another kiss, before tugging him in the direction of the tent’s entrance.
“Come on, ashke. There’s a tent already set up for us; you look ready to collapse.”
Stefen snorted at that, knowing that Vanyel had had by far the more wearying task, but didn’t protest, because Vanyel didn’t release his hold on him as they left the tent, or as they walked though the camp. There were a few eyes on them, but no remarks or comments, not even a raised eyebrow. As Vanyel held open the flap to their tent, Stefen felt, oddly, like they were coming home.
(Yeah, I skipped the epic showdown. I can't write action sequences for shit ;_;)
Fill, 3/3 Vanyel, gen, Magic's Price Fix-It
It was maddening, going at such a slow pace. Stefen felt a deep sense of urgency, and couldn’t shake the feeling that he would still be too late, that Vanyel really had simply been trying to get him out of the way so he could complete his noble self-sacrifice. Yfandes assured him that wasn’t the case, but he knew Vanyel, and that was exactly something he would do. But, he reminded himself, he had felt Vanyel’s hope when Yfandes came up with an alternate plan. Would getting a head start on bringing the Guard really be enough? Would the kyree decide to act?
At least Aroon had volunteered to go with Vanyel to the Ice Wall. That eased Stefen’s mind somewhat; even if the kyree wasn’t a mage, he would still be damn terrifying in a fight. Not that Vanyel wasn’t, too.
The soldiers had all looked pale faced and shaken when they came across the remains of the bandit keep. Most of the bodies were still there, cold-preserved if slightly nibbled on by wildlife. It was a gruesome sight, but nothing seasoned veterans hadn’t seen before. It was knowing that it had all been caused by one man…Stefen himself wanted to curl up into a ball and try his best to forget what he’d seen. But more than that, he wanted to weep when he thought about what must have happened to Vanyel to push him so far over the edge like that. He’d been beaten so badly he likely wouldn’t have survived the night. Internal bleeding, Yfandes had said. His face was so bruised and swollen he was nigh unrecognizable.
It was one more thing he knew they would have to deal with, when they had a chance. Vanyel would continue to do his not-inconsiderable best to ignore his memories of that time, but they would surface eventually. He knew from Yfandes that could be disastrous. She had told him of a few instances after the Demonsbane incident, as well as what had actually happened at Stony Tor. Needless to say, it was nothing like the song said. The last thing anybody needed was for Van to lose himself in his memories, and go berserk in the middle of, say, a Council meeting. Stefen sighed.
“Any word?” he asked Yfandes, for the fifth time that day.
:None yet. But that may not mean anything. We just have to keep following the trail markers he left. You and I would both know if anything had happened.:
Stefen knew that, as she had patiently repeated that each time he’d asked.
“I’m sorry to be so….” he floundered, helplessly.
:I know, believe me: she said. :I hate being separated, too. There was this one time in Highjorune he had to go under cover as a scruffy, down-on-his-luck minstrel to get information, and I had to skulk around outside the city hoping he didn’t have to let himself get beaten up or taken advantage of in order to keep his cover.:
“Really? Gods—“
He cut off as a huge blast of mage energy erupted in the distance.
He’s there! He’s calling for us!: She reared and threw Stefen off. He landed in a snowdrift, slightly winded. :Stay with the Healers, Stefen,: she said as she took off at full speed. :This isn’t your kind of fight. And tell the Guard commander to make for the site of that explosion double time!:
He stared at her retreating form blankly for just a second before relaying her message to the Guard commander. One of the soldiers offered him a hand up, which he took, still feeling a little numb with shock. He had seen the after effects of what Vanyel was capable of, but had never actually seen what that much raw power looked like—
Maybe that wasn’t even him. Maybe we’re still too late—
He focused his attention on the place deep inside that was distinctly Vanyel. There was fear, pain, but dear gods, at least that meant he was still alive.
Please, if there are any gods listening, please, please don’t let it be too late. It isn’t right, it isn’t fair for us to finally find each other again only to be torn apart. For him to have had to live with this vision for most of his life, to live with so much loneliness and pain. A few months of happiness doesn’t make up for that. You owe him this much.
***
Stefen had so far in his young life seen plenty of horrors. He had seen men knifed and left for dead over a matter of a few coins, desperate drug addicts propositioning any who came near in order to get enough money to buy their next fix, children abandoned, women beaten. More recently he’d witnessed one brief skirmish, and seen the aftermath of his lifebonded beaten and tortured past sense and reason. But even that could not have prepared him for the aftermath of a real, pitched battle. The only reason he hadn’t retched his guts up was because there wasn’t anything in them, and he was kept busy helping the lone Healer and two ungifted assistants put as many pieces of as many soldiers back together as they could. It was an unexpected stroke of luck that when Stefen called upon his Gift, he discovered that all those months of using it on Randale had given him strength and control he’d not had before. He was able to easily exert it on ten at a time, which was a blessing to Healer Deven’s limited supply of poppy juice.
When the guard had finally made it to the mountain pass, it had been to scene that was already out of a nightmare. Vanyel and a small band of kyree were desperately outnumbered but holding their own against an army of black-armored, magic enhanced soldiers. Once the Guard arrived, that left Vanyel and the kyree mages free to concentrate on the leader.
It had very nearly not been enough. Stefen hadn’t actually seen Vanyel yet, but when he focused on the Lifebond, Vanyel sent a pulse of reassurance. He was weary, injured but not severely so, and still occupied with the Guard commander. From what Stefen could understand, the casualties were considered pretty light considering the force they were up against. The only things they’d had in their favor were the element of surprise and the fact that pass was a bottleneck. If that army had made it through the pass, they likely would have rolled right over Northern Valdemar before anyone even knew what was happening.
The worst of the casualties had already been seen to, and Stefen was nearing the end of his reserves of strength. He forced himself to keep going, humming when his voice finally started to waver and crack. He had long ago been forced to stop playing when his hand cramped too badly.
A gentle hand on his shoulder slowly drew him out of his trance. “Bard Stefen? Bard Stefen, can you hear me?”
He opened his eyes, unable to focus immediately, but he soon recognized the face of one of the Healer’s assistants, Breven. He was holding a cup; steam rose from it, and the smell of mint. “For your throat,” Breven said, handing Stefen the cup.
Stefen took it with a nod of thanks, and took an experimental sip. Just this side of scalding, with a liberal dose of honey. The cool-hot tea did its job of easing his abused throat, and he took the opportunity to take stock of his surroundings. Soldiers were lined up on pallets and cots, some thankfully unconscious, but many were now grimacing in pain. Breven was going down the row, administering what was presumably pain medicine. The smell of blood and herbs was still heavy in the air, and the braziers were not doing nearly enough to warm the tent.
Closing his eyes again, he sought out the sense of Vanyel, needing once more the reassurance that his lifebonded lived. Vanyel responded with a wordless sensation that oddly felt like he was saying, coming.
And then—there he was, pushing back the tent flap, looking like he’d been dragged face down through the hells, but blessedly alive.
“Van,” Stefen croaked, wincing at the sudden burst of soreness using his voice caused. He put the cup down and stood, swaying as a sudden bout of vertigo hit. Vanyel was at his side in a moment, steadying him. Breven began approaching them, but Vanyel waved him off. Then he pulled Stefen into an embrace, holding him with all the strength his exhausted body could muster. He buried his face in Stefen’s hair, inhaling deeply.
They stood there in silent communion, leaning against each other for support. Vanyel pulled away just enough to bring their faces together, their foreheads meeting. “Ashke,” Vanyel murmured, and Stefen could feel the weight of emotion it carried; relief, gratitude, reverence.
Far in the back of his mind, Stefen wondered at this uncharacteristic display of affection; granted, nearly everyone in the tent was either unconscious or in too much pain to pay attention to the spectacle, but Vanyel was usually so careful.
Vanyel made a huffing sound, closing his eyes. “Stefen, I cannot tell you how little I care about anyone finding out right now. You’re absolutely the most incredible person I’ve ever met. You’re the reason I’m even still alive.” And then, wonder of wonders, he brought their lips together, one hand sliding up Stefen’s arm to cup his face.
“I’m proud of you,” Vanyel said, after breaking this kiss. “I love you.”
Stefen closed his eyes again against the swell of tears. He felt almost embarrassed by the declaration. I didn’t do anything important, he thought at Vanyel.
“Nothing important?” he sounded incredulous. “Stef, if you hadn’t insisted on coming, then I would never have come back alive. If it hadn’t been for you rallying the kyree, I would not have lasted until the Guard showed up. I would have accepted what the dream showed me, but you gave me something to finally live for, ashke, something besides my duty to the kingdom. I owe you everything for that.” He sealed the declaration with another kiss, before tugging him in the direction of the tent’s entrance.
“Come on, ashke. There’s a tent already set up for us; you look ready to collapse.”
Stefen snorted at that, knowing that Vanyel had had by far the more wearying task, but didn’t protest, because Vanyel didn’t release his hold on him as they left the tent, or as they walked though the camp. There were a few eyes on them, but no remarks or comments, not even a raised eyebrow. As Vanyel held open the flap to their tent, Stefen felt, oddly, like they were coming home.
(Yeah, I skipped the epic showdown. I can't write action sequences for shit ;_;)