Chapter Text

Just home from nearly four months on the western border, Vanyel had been hoping to catch a candlemark or two of rest after his morning duties. He sighed when he opened his door and saw the note under it.

Van, please come see me in my office when you get this. We need to discuss something. -Lancir

The noon bell had rung a few minutes ago; he might as well go before lunch, and push his attempt to nap until after the slot he was booked to provide Farsight coverage for Herald Jaysen.

He went to the mirror and took a moment to check his appearance, tugging his tunic until it hung straight and running a comb through his hair. There were thumb-width streaks of silver at each temple, now, and finer rays throughout. He kept it trimmed to about shoulder length, a compromise between vanity and practicality.

:Peacock: Yfandes teased.

:Oh? Which one of us wanted ribbons and bells braided into her mane at Midsummer?:

Laughter like popping chestnuts. Vanyel smiled at the mirror, turning his head from side to side. The shadows under his eyes were deeper than he might prefer, but he had finally managed to remember to eat enough, on circuit, and regular sparring with the Guard patrol he’d been deployed with had put a little more muscle on his shoulders. His Whites fit him well, he thought.

:Oh, stop preening already:

He nodded to his reflection and went to the door, shutting it behind him.

He saw a few more doors bore name-placards, as he made his way down the hall and out into the gardens. The new Heralds’ wing, build a few years before he arrived in Haven, was finally filling up, nearly a decade later.

It was late summer of 797. In a few months he would be twenty-four years old. Nearly eight years since one Sovvan-night had torn his life apart. He had put it back together well enough, he thought.

“Herald Vanyel!”

He glanced over his shoulder in time to see Arina running towards him, crisp new Whites shining in the sun.

“Ari!” he said, waving. “I’m just walking over to see the Queen’s Own.” Gods, she had grown up when he wasn’t paying attention. Even a summer ago, she’d still been a skinny, gawky girl, all knees and elbows, an unexpected late growth spurt making her clumsy – now, at eighteen, she was undoubtedly a grown woman.

He let her catch up to him. “Didn’t know you were back!” she said cheerfully. “Did you hear? I’m going out on circuit with your friends Mardic and Donni, in the east!” She bounced on her toes. “They’re going to teach me some of what they learned with the Hawkbrothers. I’m so excited!”

Vanyel nodded, returning her smile. He missed Mardic and Donni a great deal; he hadn’t seen them in over a year. At least Shavri and Randi are here, he reminded himself. Not that he’d had a chance to see them much lately.

“Hey!” Arina caught at his shoulder. “I thought you were seeing the Queen’s Own?”

“I am.” He blinked at her.

“Why are you going that way?” She gestured at the path he’d turned away from. “It’s way shorter this way.”

“…Oh.” He’d always walked this route, as far back as he could remember. It took a moment to remember why. “That way goes along the edge of the river a while,” he said absently. “Bothered my Companion.”

“Why?”

“It’s a long story.” Because it was, apparently, the piece of riverbank where she had dragged his unconscious body out with her teeth. And because for years afterward, sometimes even now when he was tired enough, there was that quiet voice in his mind, whispering that here lay an end to the pain.

Arina must have seen his expression; she didn’t prod any further, and she followed him along the alternate route, peeling off towards the kitchens as he headed for the central administrative wing.

Lancir’s office was hotter than Vanyel preferred, a fire burning in the grate despite the summer warmth, and he was still bundled up in extra layers; he was always cold, these days. The skin hung in folds over the bones of his face, hollow cheeks and eyes deep-sunk into his skull – but their blue was still as piercing as ever.

“Thank you for coming,” he said. “Savil’s on her way, so we’ll wait a couple of minutes. In the meantime, how are you?”

“Circuit went smoothly.” He had been making his way from one Guard-post to another, building in additional protections for the border – some of them magical in nature, he’d learned a trick from Starwind that would let him renew them from a distance, but mostly just helping to build impregnable physical defences. It had all been very routine.

“Glad to hear it. You look well.”

“Thank you. You look terrible.”

Lancir smiled; he still had all his teeth, and the expression shed years from his face. “You could be a little more diplomatic.” He sighed, rubbing at his shoulder. “Don’t get old, Van. It’s dreadful.”

“I’ll make sure to die young, heroically fighting for Valdemar.” They could joke about it now.

He felt Savil approaching before she could knock. “Come in.”

She shut it behind her, and gave him a reproachful look. “Van, ke’chara, you didn’t say hello to me when you got back!”

“I tried, aunt. You were out.” He reached to clasp the hand she offered for a moment. She had hardly changed even in eight years – maybe one or two more lines around her eyes and mouth, and she limped on rainy days when her bad leg ached, but she was still taking on students and, as far as he could tell, doing about half of Herald Jaysen’s work.

“Vanyel, Savil,” Lancir said. “Could I trouble one of you to lay a privacy-spell for us? I’m afraid I’m not really up for it anymore.”

His energy had been much lower this past year. And he still uses his Mindhealing Gift to help me through difficult patches, Vanyel thought. Even though he needed to take half the day off to rest afterwards. It had only been twice in the last year, luckily. He felt a little guilty; he never had made time to get to know one of the other Mindhealers in Haven, which would have taken some of the burden off Lancir. It hadn’t seemed worth the effort; he was mostly fine these days. Last Sovvan had been the most recent really bad day, and he had been expecting it and prepared himself. He still met with Lancir most weeks, but mainly they just talked, as much about Lancir’s work as anything. Sometime in recent years, he had become a good friend.

Savil nodded, and he felt her power moving in the room. “There. What is it?” Her voice sounded a lot more alert.

“Something that can’t leave this room.” Lancir folded his hands on his desk; Vanyel could see every tendon moving under loose, translucent skin. “Elspeth has a meeting scheduled one week from now, in Warford.”

Vanyel felt himself stiffen. “That’s in Karse.”

“Yes. It is. She will be meeting with Princess Karis, to discuss a potential alliance marriage with Randale. This is extremely confidential, for obvious reasons, and we’d like it to stay that way. Which means Elspeth can’t go riding a caravan down the South Trade Road.” He paused. “You’ve been to a place called Sun’s Hill, right?”

“Yes.” It was a medium-sized village just barely on this side of the Valdemaran border. Less than ten miles from the larger city of Warford, if he wasn’t mistaken. “Why… Oh.”

“Yes.” Lancir tapped his fingers on the desk. “I’m afraid the Council insisted, Van, and you’re the only one who can do it. Jaysen doesn’t think he can Gate that far. Mardic and Donni haven’t been there before; it would take too long, and be too obvious, to call them back from circuit and send them there now.” He looked over at Savil. “We also want her to have a quick way out, so I’m intending to send Savil here with her. Which means you don’t actually have to go through the Gate. I think that ought to make it a little easier on you, right?”

“That’s true. And if I collapse, I can do it on this side, not in front of the damned Karsites.” He groaned. “I’ve got a week to prepare, then?”

“Yes. We’ll be doing it after midnight, for secrecy, like we did when we sent you to k’Treva last time. Elspeth goes with Randale, Savil goes, a few other Heralds – Tantras, probably, he’s still one of our strongest Mindspeakers – and a platoon of her elite Guard. There’ll be another Guard company waiting for them in Sun’s Hill.” He paused. “And we pray to all the gods that this goes well.”

“You said you have some ideas about the Web?” Savil said.

They were in her quarters, two days before she was due to leave. She was trying not to think too hard about it. Either it’ll work or it won’t. She couldn’t change that outcome by worrying. It bothered her, that they had to ask Van to Gate, but she couldn’t think of a better option either.

He raised his eyes to meet hers. “I did. Things we can implement before I have a chance to go to k’Treva, I mean. I think I’ll ask Sandra to help with some of it, she’s so good with fiddly magic. The gods know I’m not.”

He was doing himself a disservice, Savil thought. It wasn’t his natural talent, but he put a lot of effort into improving his control, and practicing those areas where he was weaker. He was even starting to master illusion-magic now, long something he had struggled with.

He tries so hard. She didn’t fully understand where that drive came from. He found theory interesting in its own right, of course – but it wasn’t just that. It was like there was a banked fire in him, something that wasn’t quite desperation. Not just magic, either – he had a voracious appetite for all sorts of other books. Law, history, economics, mathematics. Half the time she didn’t understand what he was talking about anymore.

:He wants to be ready: Kellan sent. :Wouldn’t you do the same, in his place?:

She hid a wince. Yes. And she still wished, more than anything, that she could do it instead. A pointless hope – but, gods, what was it like for him? To lose everything, and then count down the remaining years of his life, preparing for one final duty he had never asked for?

:You can do a great deal to help him: Kellan reminded her. :You are:

She hoped so.

“…change the parameters,” Vanyel was saying. “The Web does have some intelligence, but it’s very simple. The alarms only fire for a large discharge of magic. I think, even if we don’t have a power source, maybe we could make the alarms smarter, if we can’t make them more sensitive overall.”

“That’s a good thought.” She fiddled with the rim of her wineglass. “How would you do it?”

He sighed. “Way too much maths. I’ll have to ask Yfandes for help, it’s over my head.”

She almost laughed. It felt like a relief, that he didn’t understand everything either. “I’ll help if I can, but I can’t say I’ve ever been good at advanced mathematics.” She had enjoyed her studies as a child, and she’d picked up a few things in her work, but for the most part it wasn’t that useful to her duties.

“Anyway, I thought I could ask Sandra…”

She watched, smiling. He’s changed so much. Animation in his face, life in his voice. She thought that, in spite of everything, he had found some happiness.

Maybe Lancir had been right.

Vanyel woke to the creak of his door opening.

It was the afternoon after the midnight journey – well, not exactly a journey for Vanyel, he had stayed right where he was in front of the temple, and endured the embarrassment of being carried back to his room afterwards. It had all gone smoothly enough, setting aside the agonizing pain, and he had actually managed to stay conscious long enough to take the Gate down properly, reclaiming some of the energy he’d poured into it.

He had spent the next several candlemarks curled up in a ball, exhausted, but hurting too much to sleep – even the valerian didn’t help – while the Healers discussed what to do about it. At some point Andrel had stormed out, come back, and given him a half-dose of argonel, which had successfully knocked him out until late morning. He was still too groggy to be truly bored, drifting in and out of sleep, and he felt all right as long as he didn’t try to move.

He kept his eyes closed; the curtains were drawn, keeping the room dim, but even that little light hurt.

“Van.” The voice belonged to Shavri. He felt her fingers brush his, where his hand lay on top of the blankets. “Van, are you awake?”

“Mmm?” he managed.

“Van, I’m sorry, but…” He heard her breath catch. “Lancir’s taken ill.” Her voice grew choked. “He’s asking for you.”

He sat up, grabbing at her hands, wincing as his head throbbed urgently. :’Fandes!: he sent, despite the pain of using Mindspeech. :Why didn’t you tell me?:

:…I only just heard from Taver. I’m sorry, Van:

“Help me up,” he said to Shavri, keeping his eyes squeezed shut and searching for the side of the bed with his feet.

They must have been a sight, making their way down the hall together, Vanyel in a sleeping-robe and slippers with his arm over Shavri’s shoulders as he leaned on her for support, one arm over his face to shield out the light. It seemed to take forever to reach the Hall of Healing.

They had put Lancir in the shielded room – not because he was projecting, but so that Taver could be there. The Monarch’s Own Companion guarded the foot of the bed like some enormous dog, his muzzle resting across his Chosen’s legs. Gemma sat beside him – she smiled tiredly at Vanyel as Shavri pulled up a chair and he sank into it.

He reached for Lancir’s emaciated hand, which lay over top of the blankets.

“Lance.” Gemma brushed her fingers across his forehead. “Lance, he’s here.”

Lancir opened his sunken eyes, blinked a few times, focused on Vanyel. He smiled. Swallowed, licked his lips, tried to speak – and gave up, a cough gurgling in his throat.

:It’s okay: Vanyel sent, throat aching and eyes burning, pushing through the pain of Mindspeech. :I’m here:

:I know: Lancir’s mindvoice leaked pain and confusion, but was otherwise clear. His fingers tensed weakly against Vanyel’s grip. :It’s been an honour knowing you, Vanyel Ashkevron. It’s a privilege to die in my bed, among friends. You’ll tell Savil goodbye for me, right? Take good care of her: A pause. :Protect Valdemar. We need you:

The layered overtones in his mindvoice brought tears to Vanyel’s eyes. The deep love that Lancir felt for his kingdom, almost paternal – and the regrets, sixty years as a Herald and he still didn’t feel he had done enough. The relief, like setting down a heavy burden; he had been tired and in pain for a long time. He would greet the Shadow-Lover like an old friend – and Vanyel caught a glimpse of a plump red-haired woman in Whites, face in shadow. So that was how the Shadow-Lover appeared to Lancir. Had they met before, then?

There were so many things he didn’t know about the man, and never would.

Vanyel bent over until his forehead lay on their clasped hands, feeling the tears leak out between his closed eyelids. :Of course:

:Stay, Van?:

A long time later, the Death Bell woke him from a doze. He sat up, squeezing Lancir’s cold hand for a moment before letting go, and scrubbed at his face.

Shavri was still there, sobbing. And Taver, making a whimpering sound that was almost human.

Vanyel hadn’t actually thought it through before, but… Most Companions didn’t outlive their Heralds. Taver did. He wasn’t quite immortal – he could die, and had, in battle – but he came back from it, decades or centuries later, alternating with the other Monarch’s Own Companions. He was undoubtedly the same Taver who had been Companion to the Monarch’s Own Herald seven hundred years ago. How many bonds had he formed and had ripped away, in all the long centuries of serving Valdemar? How could he do it, time after time after time?

:Taver?: he sent, uncertainly, not sure if it was the done thing. :I’m sorry:

It was like brushing the fringes of an ancient sun. :Thank you, Herald Vanyel:

It was the next evening and he was in his bed, attempting to sleep, when the door banged open again and his eyes flew open.

“Shavri?” he said cautiously, recognizing the feel of her. “Come in.” It was dark; there was only one candle burning by the door. “Sorry, could you light the candle by the bed for me?” He would do it with magic, usually, or Firestarting, but he was still avoiding using his Gifts.

She sniffled. “Van, I… S-something awful just happened.”

He dragged himself into a sitting position. “Come here.”

She let him put his arm around her shoulders, but said nothing for a while, just stared down at her hands.

“Talk to me?” he said finally.

“I, I think I might’ve made a mistake, Van.” She looked up, eyes dark and wet in the candlelight. “I think Taver just tried to Choose me.”

“What?” he yelped. Of all the unexpected things. Then: “…What do you mean, tried?”

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “I said no.” He could feel the mix of misery, confusion, uncertainty, and fear radiating from her. She sniffled again. “I d-don’t remember… I asked, why me, he said he could explain, and – and I think he did. But he said he had to t-take away the memory, when I still t-told him no after.”

He squeezed her slim shoulders. “Shavri, I’m sure you did right for you.” Gods – he couldn’t picture her as a Herald. Shavri was a Healer and a mother. She couldn’t abide violence; she had no leadership skills. The only possible justification would be to place her as a potential heir in the line of succession – but she wasn’t even married to Randale, for exactly that reason, among others. She would make a terrible monarch.

“It w-was awful.” She was still trembling. “I d-don’t know what, b-but… I was so scared, Van. He t-told me what was g-going to happen, and I – it was bad, it was really b-bad.” She sniffed hard, seemed to gather herself. “But whatever it was, Choosing me as the next Monarch’s Own wasn’t going to fix it. I do remember still thinking that.” She shuddered. “How am I going to tell Randi? That I had the chance to be Chosen, and I turned it down?”

It was funny, Vanyel thought – they were both Heralds, but she hadn’t hesitated to come to him. Then again, she knew he hadn’t wanted it, not at first. I might have turned it down if anyone had given me the choice, he thought, with only a hint of bitterness. It had turned out all right in the end.

“Just tell him what you told me.” He stroked her tangled hair. “Tell him that it would make you miserable, trying to be a Herald, especially the Monarch’s Own Herald. You’re a different sort of hero.”

She nodded, shakily. “Thank you, Van.”

He woke yet again to a knock on the door. This time, sunlight was filtering in through the crack under his curtains. It didn’t hurt his head as much anymore. Three days since the Gate, or so he thought, he hadn’t quite kept track of time.

“…Tran?” he said. “Come in.” Wait, hadn’t he been with Elspeth’s delegation?

The door creaked open. “Van,” Tantras said, “I – I don’t even know how to tell you what just happened to me.” He stopped. “…Are you all right? I’m sorry, I forgot, about the Gate…?”

“I’m fine.” He sat up and slid his legs over the side of the bed, doing his best to hide a yawn. “Come, sit.” He pointed vaguely at his chair. “What is it?”

“I–” Tantras looked at the chair, then shook his head and came to sit on the edge of the bed instead. He opened and closed his mouth a few times. “Taver Chose me,” he said finally.

What? For a moment, Vanyel half thought he must be dreaming. He started laughing; he couldn’t help it. It wasn’t funny at all but, gods, was this all a farce? It was certainly surreal. “S-sorry!” he gasped. “I don’t understand… You’ve already got a Companion?”

“So did Lancir, when the old Monarch’s Own died and Taver Chose him.” Tantras rubbed at his forehead. “Um. There’s a procedure. They won’t break my bond with Delian, exactly, but there is a way to release it. Delian will stay on in the herd, as an elder, without bonding to anyone else and I – I can still see him, if I want.” He shivered. “I don’t know what happened. I think I wasn’t Taver’s first choice?” He blinked, and seemed to finally realize where he was. “Van, I – I’m sorry, I barge in here and don’t even ask how you’re doing. You and Lancir were close…?”

“I’ll miss him,” Vanyel said tightly. And the gods only know what I’ll do without him. Sovvan was coming in not so long. Lancir had always made time for him before, no matter what meetings he had to reschedule – it had taken years to even notice, and longer to stop resenting it and recognize it for the gift it was. “You’ll be a good Monarch’s Own,” he said, trying to change the topic. Better than Shavri, I don’t know what Taver was thinking. Though, the quiet voice whispered in him, the Companions saw many things, that they didn’t pass on – what did Taver know that he didn’t? What had he told Shavri, and then wiped from her mind?

It didn’t make sense. There had to be something he was missing, but his head felt too foggy to think it through. No point worrying about it now.

“Thank you,” Tantras said uncertainly. “I – I was not expecting this, I’ll tell you that! Anyway. You probably want to know what happened with our delegation? The princess is sympathetic to us. She liked Randale well enough. Seems like a sweet girl, actually. But her brother, the heir, came in on the second day and pulled her out, and – and we had to Gate back in a hurry.” He raised his eyebrows. “I hope we didn’t hurt you, doing that…?”

Vanyel shook his head. His rooms were so thoroughly shielded, he might not have felt a mage-duel outside his doors.

“That’s too bad,” he heard himself say, his voice seeming to come from a long way off. Another hope, discarded. Taver had told Shavri something bad was coming, even if he hadn’t let her remember any details. Well, something was. Had he tried to choose Shavri just because she was lifebonded to Randi? Or was there some other reason, something they were all missing?

They would get through it, somehow. He and Savil had some ideas for how to modify the Web-Guardian spell for additional protection – he hadn’t even thought of it, but someone would have to replace Lancir in the Web. Could Tantras do it? It was traditional for the Monarch’s Own, but he wasn’t a mage… Probably the Web-spell wouldn’t accept him.

“Sorry,” he said. “Woolgathering. I – congratulations, I think?” He waved vaguely. “I would have a drink with you, if you want to order something for us. Or check my cabinet, might still have some good wine there.”

“I like that idea.” Tantras put a hand to his forehead. “Gods! I’m still… It doesn’t feel real.”

It didn’t feel real to Vanyel either. Maybe it would in the morning, he thought. Maybe once he wasn’t so tired, it would make sense.

Savil slapped irritably at the arm of her chair. “That was a damned waste of time.” She blinked, tears threatening again. Lance was dead, she hadn’t been there, and all for a pointless mission that had gained them nothing. At least she was in time for his funeral, which had been delayed to tomorrow.

“I’m sorry,” Sandra said quietly. “I know you were close.”

She shrugged, helplessly. “We were expecting it. It was his time. It’s just – damn it, I wanted to say goodbye.”

Sandra sat down, perching on the edge of the chair like she was ready to fly away at any moment. “I never understand what people mean by that,” she said. “That it was his time. It’s not like anyone ever wants to die.”

Savil sighed. “Girl, I… No, not exactly.” Not usually…no, I’m not going to go there. “It’s never right, it’s never okay. It’s just – we spend our whole lives dancing with the Shadow-Lover. Going into danger, never knowing if this is the time we die horribly, alone, scared. Sometimes, at the end of it, it’s a relief to accept his kiss of peace.” In bed, surrounded by friends… She couldn’t have asked for better for him, really. But I wasn’t there.

She could tell by Sandra’s eyes that the girl didn’t understand, but her student put a hand over hers anyway, silent comfort.

I miss Van. It wasn’t fair to Sandra, to resent her for trying to be comforting, but she didn’t understand. Jaysen would, but he was busy dealing with all the ramifications of a new Queen’s Own – Tantras, apparently, and certainly no one had been expecting that. Taver hadn’t even given a hint about who he was planning to Choose. Andrel was on duty at the House of Healing, though he’d made time to greet her when they came through the Gate, and Van was in bed, she hoped.

…Like her thoughts had summoned him, she sensed his presence, even as she heard the knock on the door. “Come in.”

He weaved his way into the room, greeting her with a one-armed hug before he slumped into a chair. He had his lute in the other hand.

“You look awful,” she said wearily. “Why aren’t you resting?”

“Tantras came to see me. Figured you’d be here.” He looked worn out, he thought. He really ought to be in his bed – but she was glad he was here.

“Want some music?” he said.

“Only if it’s dreadfully sad.”

“Can do that.” His fingers, as they settled onto the strings of the lute, were steady. The notes rang true, and his voice, when he opened his mouth, was clear, a rich baritone that echoed in her head and tugged at her heart. He threw his weak Bardic Gift into it, recklessly, probably boosting with mage-energy, which meant he was likely to have a godawful headache at the end of the song – but she couldn’t tell him to stop, as tears rolled down her face and she clung to Sandra’s hand.

Shadow-Lover, never seen by day,

Only deep in dreams do you appear

Wisdom tells me I should turn away,

Love of mist and shadows, all unclear--

Nothing can I hold of you but thought

Shadow-Lover mist and twilight wrought.

It wasn’t a song she especially liked, and it bothered her a little how much Van liked it. Even if she understood why. If she never had to greet the Shadow-Lover, if she could stay forever on this green living world and take care of her people, she would rejoice, and she wasn’t going to leave it a moment before she was forced to – but, at the end of it all, if there were gentle arms to hold her, to guide her out of this world to whatever lay afterwards, that was something.

Shadow-Lover, you alone can know

How I long to reach a point of peace

How I fade with weariness and woe

How I long for you to bring release.

Shadow-Lover, court me in my dreams

Bring the peace that suffering redeems.

She closed her eyes against the pain. Lancir, I miss you. She knew she ought to let go, even as she had never truly let go of another hand that had slipped from hers. She didn’t want to. Even if he’d gone to the Havens, if they were real, even if he was resting peacefully, it didn’t matter. You’re not here.

Shadow-Lover, from the Shadows made,

Lead me into Shadows once again.

Where you lead I cannot be afraid,

For with you I shall come home again--

In your arms I shall not fear the night.

Shadow-Lover, lead me into light.