Vanyel and Stefen Ch. 01

These stories only make sense, if you have read the three Valdemar books called the Last Herald Mage series by Mercedes Lackey. This chapter is based on book 3 Magc's Price. The story is about Vanyel meeting his lifebonded lover Tylendel the second time around in the shape of the young bard Stefen. And again, this will probably be confusing to the reader, if you have no idea what Heralds, Companions, Hawk brothers (Tayledras) or the kingdom of Valdemar are, or who Vanyel, Tylendel, Yfandes, Savil, or Stefen are. Yfandes or 'Fandes is Vanyel's Companion, the 'magic horse' that chose him to be a Herald.

Parts of the book relating to Van and Stef getting involved are cited, and also some bits and pieces of the dreams and interactions between the two lovers after their first time together. The signature -o- means that a large bit of the cited text from the book has been omitted, but sometimes sentences or paragraphs have been dropped here and there without this indication. A few explanations matked with * have been added.

Dreams, thoughts and Mindspeech are in italics, and in addition Mindspeech is shown between : text : signatures as in the Valdemar books. Shaych is slang for gay, and ashke and ke'chara are Tayledras for beloved and dearest.

As for the ages of the protagonists Stefen was eighteen when he met Vanyel according to something Vanyel's nephew Medren (age twenty) said as he told Van about the young Bard. This was several months before they became lovers, and Vanyel was in his mid-thirties at the time.

Vanyel and Stefen, part I

Medren watched his uncle out of the corner of his eye. Vanyel had the kind of fine-boned, ascetic face that aged well, with no sign of wrinkling except around the eyes and a permanent worry-line between his brows. His once-black hair was thickly streaked with white, but that wasn't from age, that was from working magic. -o-

For whatever reason, the silver-streaked hair, when combined with the ageless face and a body that would have been the envy of most of Medren's peers, made Vanyel's appearance confusing -- even to those who knew him. Young-old and hard to categorize. Add eyes the color of burnished silver, eyes that seemed to look right through a person, and you had the single most striking Herald in Whites... Medren frowned again.And the least approachable.

Vanyel was as beautiful as a statue carved from the finest alabaster by the hand of a master. But thanks to that absolute control, he was also about as remote and chill as that same statue.Which is the way he wants it, Medren sighed.

And in some ways Vanyel was absolutely right, in that he couldn't afford close emotional relationships, due to the fact that people he cared about could be used as a target. If Vanyel had been the marble statue he resembled, his isolation would likely have been a good thing.

But he wasn't. He was a living human being, and one who would not admit that he was desperately lonely.To the lowest hells with that, Medren thought.If he doesn't find somebody he can at least talk to besides Savil, he's going to go mad in white linen one of these days. He's keeping everyone else sane, but who can he go to? Nobody, that's who. Medren gritted his teeth.Well, we'll see about that uncle. If you can resist Stefen, you're a candidate for the Order of Saint Thiera the Immaculate.

Some Bardic Journeymen might have objected to being roomed with Stef, for the younger boy was shaych and made no bones about it -- but not Medren.Not with Vanyel for an uncle, Medren reflected with tolerant amusement.Not that Stef's anything like Van. If uncle's a candidate for the Order of Saint Thiera, Stef's a candidate for an Order of Brothers of Perpetual Indulgence! No wonder he writes good lovesongs; he's certainly had enough experience!

-o-

Vanyel hung back when they'd gotten to the room Medren shared with the boy, prompted by the feeling that Stefen might be uneasy in his presence.

Vanyel's first impression was one of fragility. Stefen was slight; had he been a girl, he'd have been called 'delicate'. He was a little shorter than Vanyel and as slim. That didn't matter, though -- Vanyel could tell that Stef's appearance was as deceptive as his own. Stefen was fineboned, yes, but there was muscle over that bone; tough, wiry muscle.

I wouldn't care to take him on in a street fight, Van observed, eyes half-closed as he studied the boy.Something tells me he'd win.

Dark auburn hair crowned a triangular face; one composed, at first impression, of a pair of bottomless hazel eyes, high cheekbones, and the most stubborn chin Van had ever seen.

He looks like a demented angel, like that painting in the High Temple of the Spirit of Truth. The one that convinced me that knowing too much truth will drive you mad...

Vanyel watched carefully as Stefen listened to Medren's plans. Once or twice the boy nodded, and some of that wavy hair fell into his eyes. He brushed it out of the way absently, all his attention given to his roommate.

He was tense; that was understandable. Vanyel was very glad that he had chosen to keep himself out of the way now. The boy was under quite enough pressure without the added stress of Herald Vanyel's presence. Van was quite well aware how much he overawed most of the people he came in contact with.

:'Fandes, what do you think of this youngster? He felt her looking out of his eyes and felt her approval before she voiced it.

:I like him, Van. He'll give you everything he has, without holding back. He has a very powerful Bardic Gift, and he does indeed have a secondary Gift as well that is nearly as powerful. It's something like MindHealing, but very specific. I can't tell you more than that until I See it in action:

* Stefen turns out to have a gift for singing pain away, which is very much needed, because Valdermar's king, Randall, is ill and in so much pain he can hardly function. The first time Vanyel and Stefen actually meet is right after Stefen's first session with the king, where the young Bard has worn himself out. Vanyel takes Stefen back to his rooms to help him deal with the injuries to his fingers. They end up talking and having dinner together and getting fairly drunk. Too inebriated for Stefen to walk back to his own room. And though the Herald is aware that the Bard has a spot of what Van terms 'hero-worship', he suddenly realizes that it's something more than that.

Van became aware, painfully aware, that Stefen was looking at him with an intense and unmistakable hunger. He flushed and tried not to look in the boy's eyes.

Damn. Damn, damn, damn. If I let him stay -- it's not FAIR, dammit! He's too young. He can't possibly know what he wants. He thinks he wants me, and maybe he does, right now. But in the morning? That's another thing altogether.

He Felt Stefen's gaze, like hot sunshine against his skin. Felt the youngster willing him to look up. And stubbornly resisted. The boy was too young; less than halfhis age. And the boy was infernally attractive...

Damn it all, it's not fair...

Stefen could hardly believe it. He was in Herald Vanyel's private quarters; the door was shut and they were quite alone together. He could tell that Vanyel was attracted, he sensed it in the way the Herald was carefully looking to one side or the other, but never directly at him, and in the way Vanyel was avoiding even an accidental touch.

Yet Vanyel wouldn'tdo anything!What's the matter with him? Stefen asked himself, afroth with frustration.Or is it me? No, it can't be me. Or is it? Maybe he's not sure of me. Maybe he's not sure of himself...

The wine was going to Stefen's head with a vengeance, making him bolder than he might otherwise have been. So when Vanyel reached blindly for his own goblet on the table beside tehm, Stefen reached for it, too, and their hands closed on the stem at the same time. Stefen's hand was atop Vanyel's -- and as Vanyel's startled gaze met him own, he tightened his hand on the Herald's.

Vanyels ears grew hot, and his hands cold. He couldn't look away from Stefen's eyes, startled and tempted by the bold invitation he read there.

No, dammit. No. Boy, child,you don't know what you're asking for.

In all his life, Vanyel had never been so tempted to throw over everything he'd pledged to himself and just do what he wanted, so very badly, to do.

* Much to Stefens's dismay and frustration, Vanyel resists this temptation and several other attempts of the Bard to seduce the elusive Herald. At the same time, exercising his pain relieving Gift for the King is exhausting Stefen, who has been made a Master Bard in order to devote his time to the King and the Healers, who are studying his gift. This is the situation, when Medren returns from a journey.

Maddeningly, the young Bard seldom saw much of Vanyel, and every attempt to get the Herald's amatory attention fell absolutely flat. Every time he pressed his attentions, the Herald seemed to become -- nervous. He couldnot figure out what the problem was. Vanyel wouldstart to respond, but then would pull back inside himself, and a mask would drop over his face.

If Stefen had the energy left, he would have strangled something in frustration. That was the way matters stood, when Medren returned from his little expedition.

Stefen stared at himself in the mirror, then made a face at himself. "You," he said accusingly, pointing a finger at his thin, disheveled other self, "are an idiot."

"I'll second that," Medren said, popping up behind him, startling Stefen so much that he yelped and threw himself sideways into the wall. While he gasped for breath and tried to get his heart to stop pounding, Medren thumped his back. "Good gods," his friend said apologetically, "What in the seventh hell's made you so jumpy?"

"No-nothing," Stefen managed.

"Huh," Medren replied skeptically. "Probably the same 'nothing', that made you call yourself an idiot. So how's it feel to be a Master Bard?" When Stefen didn't immediately answer, Medren held him at arm's length and scrutinized him carefully. "If it feels like you look, I think I'll stay a Journeyman. Don't you ever sleep?" A sly smile crept over Medren's face. "Or is somebody keeping you up at night?"

Stefen groaned and covered his eyes. "Kernod's codpiece,don't remind me. My bed is as you see it. Virtuously empty."

"Since when have you and virtue been nodding acquaintances?" Medren gibed.

"Since just before you left," Stef replied, deciding on impulse to tell his friend the exact truth.

"That's odd." Medren let go of his shoulders and moved back a step. "I would have thought that you and uncle Van would have hit it off-"

Stef bit off a curse. "Since when -- you've been -- what do you-"

"I set you up," Medren said casually. "The opportunity was there, and I grabbed it. I knew Van would try anything to help the King, and I knew you think he hung the moon. I figured neither of you would be able to resist the other. Gods know I've beentrying to get you two in the same place at the same time for over a year. So-" Now he paused and frowned. "So what went wrong?"

"I don't know," Stef groaned and turned away, flinging himself down in a chair.

* Medren and Stefen try to come up with all sorts of ploys to get Vanyel to give in, but without success. In the end, Stefen gives up and tries to be satisfied with just being Van's friend. But he is still utterly frustrated, as this little intermezzo with Medren clearly shows.

"Damn!" Medren swore, pounding on the arm of his chair. "This is stupid, my uncle is about to drive me mad!" The windows to Stefen's room were open to the summer evening, and Medren was trying to keep his voice down to prevent everybody in the neighborhood from being privy to their plight.

Stefen apparently didn'tcare who overheard them. "About to driveyou mad?" Stefen's voice cracked, and Medren winced in sympathy. Stef was pulling at his hair, totally unware that he was doing so, and looked about ready to climb the walls. He shifted position so often that his chair was doing a little dance around the room, a thumblength at a time.

"I know, I know, it's a lot worse for you. I'm just frustrated. You're --" Medren paused, unable to think of a delicate way to put it.

"I'mcelibate, that's what I am!" Stefen growled, lurching to his feet and beginning to pace restlessly. "I'mworse than celibate. I'm fixated. It's not just that Vanyel isn't cooperating, it's that I don'twant anyone else anymore, and the better I know him, the worse it gets." He stopped dead in his tracks, suddenly, and stared out the window for a moment. "I'm never happier than when I'm around him. I sometimes wonder how long I'm going to be able to stand this. There are times when I can't think of anything but him."

Medren stared at his friend, wondering if Stefen had really listened to himself just now. Because what he'd just described was the classic reaction of a lifebonded...

Stef and uncle Van? No. Not possible; not when Van has already been lifebonded once... Or is it? Is there a rule somewhere that lifebondings can only happen once in a lifetime, even if you lose your bondmate?

A lifebonding would certainly explain a great deal of Stef's behavior. Medren had long ago given up on trying to second-guess his uncle. Vanyel was far too adept at hiding what he felt, even from himself.

Vanyel and Stefen, part II

* So this is how things stand, when Vanyel, Stefen and Savil take a much needed break from duties and go to visit Van's family at Forest Reach. On the night of arrival, Van has a long meeting with his father and brother before going to bed.

Vanyel found himself yawning as he neared his door.I didn't realize how tired I was, he thought sleepily.It's a good thing I didn't drink that second mug of ale Father poured. He reached for the door handle and pulled it open just enough to slip inside. As he stepped away from the door he glanced automatically towards the right side of the hearth, beside the bed -- the servants always left his luggage there, and he wanted to make sure his gittern was alright before he went to bed.

Vanyel froze, for there were two sets of packs, and two gitterns. His -- and Stefen's. And -- he looked beyond the luggage to see if the furnishings had been changed; but they hadn't -- only one bed. Behind him, someone shot the bolt on the door.

He whirled; Stefen turned away from the door and faced him, the warm gold of the candlelight softening his features so that he looked very young indeed. His loose shirt was unlaced to the navel, and his feet were bare beneath his leather riding breeches.

"Before you ask," he said, in a soft, low voice, "this wasn't my idea. This seems to have happened on your father's orders. But Van -- I'm glad he did it --"

Vanyel backed up a step, his mind swimming in little circles. "Oh. Ah, Stefen, I'll just get my things and --"

Stef shook his head and brushed his long hair back behind his ears with one hand. "No. Not until I get a chance to say what I have to. You've been avoiding this for weeks, and I'm not letting the one chance I've had to really talk to you get away from me."

Vanyel forced himself to relax, forced his mind to stop whirling as best he could, and walked over to one of the chairs next to the hearth. He stood beside it, with his hands resting on the back so that Stefen could not see them trembling. He glanced down at them; they seemed very cold and white, and he wondered if Stefen had noticed. "Ah ... what is it you need to talk about that you couldn't have said on the road?" he asked, as casually as he could.

"Dammit, Van!" Stefen exploded. "You know very well what I want to talk about! You -- and me."

"Stefen," Vanyel said, controlling his voice with an effort that hurt, "you are one of the best friends I've ever had. I mean that. And I appreciate that friendship."

Stef's eyes were full of pleading, and Vanyel forced himself to turn away from him and stare at a carved wooden horse on the mantelpiece. "Stef, you're very young; I'm nearly twice your age. I've seen all this before. You admire me a great deal, and you think -- "

There were no footsteps to warn him; suddenly he found Stef's hands on his shoulders, wrenching him around, forcing him to look into the young Bard's face. Stef's hands felt like hot irons on his shoulders, and there was strength in them that was not apparent from the Bard's slight build.

"Vanyel Ashkevron," Stef said, hoarsely, "I am shaych, just like you. I've known what I am for years now. I'm not an infatuated child. What's more --" Now the Bard flushed and looked away, off to Vanyel's right. "I've had more lovers in one year than you've had in the last ten. And -- and I've never felt aboutany of them the way I feel about you. I -- I think I love you, Van. I don't think I could ever love anyone but you."

He looked back up at Vanyel. The Herald could only gaze back into the darkened emerald of Stefen's eyes, eyes that seemed in the dim light to be mostly pupil. Vanyel was utterly stunned. This -- this was considerably beyond infatuation...

"Bards are supposed to be so cursed good with words," Stefen said unhappily, looking into Vanyel's eyes as if he was looking for answers. "Well, all my eloquence seems to have desertedme. All -- all I can tell you is that I think I'd love you if you were ahundred years older than me, or a deformed monster, or -- or even a woman."

The Bard's voice had lost any hint of training; it was tight and rough with tension and unhappiness. For his part, Vanyel couldn't seem to speak at all. His throat was paralyzed and his chest hurt when he tried to breathe. He felt alternately hot and cold, and his heart pounded in his ears. Stefen didn't notice his unresponsiveness, evidently, for he continued on without looking away from Van.

"Since you aren't any of those things," he said, his voice unsteady with emotion, "since you're w-wonderful, and w-wise, and beautiful enough to make my heart ache, and dammit,not old, I -- I can't take this much longer." A single tear slid down one cheek, shining silver in the candlelight; Stefen either didn't notice it, or didn't care. "I -- I'm only glib when it comes to making rhymes, Van. I love you, and I'mnot a Herald. I can'tshow you how I feel -- except physically. I want to be your lover. I don't want anyone else, not ever again."

When Vanyel didn't respond, a second tear joined the first, slipping silently from the corner of Stefen's eye; he swallowed and broke eye contact to look down at his feet. He relaxed his hold on Vanyel's shoulders, but didn't release him.

"I suppose -- I guess I must revolt you," he said, bitterly. "All my ... other lovers ... I don't blame you, I guess. I --"

That broke Vanyel's paralysis. That, and the ache his Gift of Empathy let him feel all too clearly, an ache that was matched by the one in his own heart. "No," he whispered. "No -- Stef, I -- just never knew you felt that strongly."

His hands hurt from clenching the back of the chair. He let go, and flexed them, then raised his right hand, slowly, and brushed the tear from Stefen's face with gentle, wondering fingers. "I never guessed," he repeated, no longer trying to hide the strength of his own feelings from himself.

Stefen let go of Vanyel's shoulders, caught Van's hand and looked back up into Vanyel's eyes, quickly. Whatever he read there made him smile, like the sun coming from behind a cloud; a smile so bright it left Vanyel dazzled. He kept Vanyel's right hand in his and backed up a step. Then another. Vanyel resisted for a fraction of a second, then followed, drawn along like an obedient child. His knees were weak, and the room seemed too hot -- no too cold --