Olllllld fic
Feb. 23rd, 2005 04:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rynneEr. So I was bored today (hello, headache. Won't you go away yet?) and decided to brave the brightness of the screen by looking at some of my really old files. And, er, I found something I wrote when I was twelve or thirteen. And because I am a masochist...you all can see it.
It's unfinished, though meant to be a long one-shot--around 5,000 words and eleven pages right now. Mercedes Lackey's Valdemar series fanfic, taking place just after Magic's Price. Also the first thing I've ever written with gay people, I think. Nothing has been changed, aside from the addition of html so you get the italics and so on.
The Council met everyday, as it had for the past several weeks since Vanyel Ashkevron, Valdemar’s last Herald-Mage, left, going North to fight the enemy, alone except for the little Bard, Stefen. They met in Randale’s chambers again, and it was painfully obvious that the King was deteriorating quickly. All the Council members, along with Treven and Jisa, had been meeting there since Vanyel left, though less to discuss the affairs of the Kingdom than to give each other comfort. None liked to think about what would happen to Valdemar should Vanyel fail, though that prospect was never far from their minds. Sometimes they just sat in silence, other times they made small talk. Even though it quickly died away, no one wanted to stop the conversation, for no one wanted to give his or her undivided attention to his or her own gloomy thoughts.
Outside, the day was heavily overcast. Dark gray clouds moved slowly across the sky, letting not one drop of sunlight through. Every once in a while thunder would boom and crack, but it would neither rain nor snow. Healer Andrel looked up from the sleeping patient he was watching over, worry and grief apparent on his face. It had been weeks since Savil had died, Savil, who had been so much more than a friend to him. Now Vanyel was putting himself in mortal danger…oh, the members of the Council didn’t parrot it about that the journey Herald Vanyel was on was any different from the ones he had been on previously, but Andrel was an adept at reading the signs, and he could tell that this was a trip Vanyel would likely not return from. He stole a look at his patient. Bard Breda, too, understood the signs. It wasn’t any easier on her than it was on him, but at least he was younger, and not prone to dazzle-headaches. Breda had had more in the past several weeks than she had had in the past several years, and Andrel was truly worried for her.
Journeyman Bard Medren looked up from the rock he was kicking across the grass to the overcast sky above him, and swore. A scowl darkened his features as he kicked the rock into the Terilee River, to be lost among the darkly swelling folds and undercurrents of the water. Medren remembered quite well the days of near chaos following his great-aunt Savil’s death. He hadn’t seen his uncle for a week before then, not since right before Herald Lissandra’s death. He doubted he would ever see his uncle again, especially considering what Stef told him…
At a knock at the door of his room in the Bardic dormitory, Medren reluctantly pulled open the door, and gaped in surprise to see his friend and former roommate, Stefen. Stef looked worried and apprehensive, and Medren stepped back from the doorway to allow his friend to enter. Stef walked in and closed the door, leaning back against it.
“What is it, Stef? I’d have thought you’d be with Uncle Van right now,” Medren jibed, but his heart wasn’t into it, and the attempt at humor fell flat.
“There’s something I thought you should know, seeings how you’re his nephew and my friend,” Stef began, closing his eyes. “Van is going north, to get the bastard that’s been getting all the Heralds lately, and I’m going with him.”
“He’s agreed to this?” Medren asked dubiously, knowing his uncle. He doubted Van would let anyone come with him, especially someone as important to him, and as literally defenseless, as Stefen was.
“Well, I haven’t told him I’m coming yet, but there’s no way I’m going to be left behind. I know I’d likely be nearly helpless compared to him, but I have this feeling…I can’t let him go without me,” Stef replied, his body sagging a bit, though he still stood at the door with his eyes closed.
“What, you’ve developed ForeSight now?” Medren asked, slightly feeling Stef’s emotions with his Bardic Gift, and knew how serious this was. That didn’t stop him from making a stab at a joke anyway, it was just the kind of person he was. And Stef knew it, for he cracked a slight smile at his friend and opened one of his eyes.
“Not ForeSight, precisely, just a feeling. Maybe it’s through the lifebond, I don’t know. But this feeling says that if he goes without me, something bad will happen, so I have to go with him, I just have to. I know I might get in the way, but I love him, and I can’t let him go without me. I know this will be dangerous…that maybe neither Van nor I will make it back here. In case that happens, I wanted to say goodbye. You’ve helped me so much since I got here, you’ve been such a good friend, and I wanted to thank you for everything.”
“Anytime, Stef, anytime,” Medren said, his throat choked up. “I’m glad I met you, things wouldn’t have been the same without you to get me into all those scrapes,” a hoarse chuckle escaped Stefen’s throat at that. “I’m glad I got you and Uncle Van together, and well…you gotta do what you gotta do. Thanks for telling me, Stef.”
The two young men looked at each other for a minute, and then hugged each other tightly. After a minute, they broke apart, and said one word at the same time, “Goodbye…” before Stefen slipped out of the room and closed the door behind him. Medren sank carefully onto his bed and wondered if he would ever see his friend or his uncle ever again.
Mentally backing away from his memories, Medren looked up at the sky and swore for the umpteenth time that day. It looked like it was about to rain, but it was as if the clouds were stubbornly holding in their water, for no rain fell. Oh well, at least the dismal day matched his mood. He sighed, then turned around and walked away from the river to the House of Healing.
“How is she?” Medren asked quietly as he slipped into the room, closing the door softly behind him.
“Not much different from yesterday, I’m afraid,” Andrel replied. Medren had been coming to see Breda every day since her collapse two weeks ago. “At this point…I doubt she’d survive another dazzle-headache. She’s not dealing well with everything that’s happened recently.”
Medren bit his lip. “How long do you think she has left?” he asked, his eyes on the figure in the bed.
“I have no idea. Nearly anything could trigger a dazzle-headache, so it depends on what happens,” Andy replied, heavy-hearted. Yet another friend who soon leave this world…
A slight cough from the bed interrupted Andy’s thoughts. “I’ll thank you not to talk about me as if I’m not here, Andy, Medren,” Breda said, her voice weak.
“Breda! How are you feeling?” Andrel asked, quickly going to her bedside.
“How do you think I’m feeling, after one of those?” Breda asked, eyes full of amusement as she answered him. She tried to sit up on the bed, but Andrel pressed her back down into a lying position. She waved him away with an imperious hand and said, “How am I supposed to see my visitor if you won’t let me sit up?”
“Medren, come closer and sit over here, in the chair next to her bed. She needs to be kept lying down,” Andy said, beckoning Medren to the chair. As Medren sat down, Breda glared at Andy.
“There you go again, talking about me as if I’m not here, Andy,” she said, then transferred her attention to Medren. “Well, boy, how are you holding up?”
“As well as can be supposed, I guess,” Medren replied softly. “There’s nothing to be done until we get some news.”
“You’re right, boy. We have to be patient,” Breda chuckled softly, closing her eyes and leaning back down into the pillow. “Much as I hate it, we have to be patient and see what happens.”
Everyone in the Council was looking wan; it had been over a month since Vanyel left, with no word from him. It would normally have taken Vanyel about a fortnight to get to the Ice Wall Mountains, if nothing went wrong. He should have gone up there, taken care of that mage, and been back, or at least sent word that he succeeded, but so far, there was no message and no Vanyel. Randale was sitting on the couch, Shavri next to him, helping him sit up. The other Council members pulled up chairs around the couch, without regard for rank. Jisa and Treven sat close to each other, holding the other’s hand tightly, Treven’s eyes on King Randale, Jisa’s on Lord Withen. Withen was not dealing well with his son’s departure; his eyes were sunk into his skin, which was very pale. His hands gripped the armrests so hard they were trembling. Jisa looked around the room, at the rest of the Council, who were not much better, then stood up.
“We can’t just sit here like this, waiting for the ax to fall,” Jisa said quietly, but even so, several Council members jumped, and others looked startled that someone finally broke the silence.
“We have to pull ourselves together. Everyone in Valdemar is depending on us, King and Council, to lead them, but we can’t lead them well if we just sit here, thinking and not doing. We have to think of, and plan for, Valdemar’s future. We have to stop doing nothing!” Jisa finished, still standing. The rest of the Council just stared for a moment, and then Treven resolutely pushed back his chair and stood up beside his wife.
“Jisa’s right. We, of all people, are the ones who can least afford to sit here and do nothing. I know all of you are worried about Valdemar’s future. I am too, but if we plan for every eventuality, then we have no cause to be worried. We have to pull ourselves together!” Treven said, looking at each Council member in turn, his eyes holding Lord Withen’s the longest.
All eyes in the room turned to Lord Withen as he also stood up, his back straight, his eyes washed of their indecision. “They’re right. We can’t help Vanyel now. We have to think about the future, Valdemar’s future. I’m sure Vanyel is. He’s doing his duty, so it’s time we started doing ours.”
The three people standing sat down. Nearly everyone in the room looked relieved as they started discussions of the Kingdom’s affairs. Shavri still looked worried, and Randale’s pale face showed no expression, but they too, joined in the discussions.
“More and more things are coming over from the Western Border, past Lineas and Baires,” Withen started out. “My son Mekeal says that it’s all he can do to keep them away from the villages, and that Tashir’s not doing much better. Mekeal’s requesting the help of a Herald in figuring out the weaknesses of these creatures.”
“Don’t know if we can spare a Herald,” rumbled the Lord Marshal. “Even with that new treaty with Rethwellan, we’re having trouble with Karse. We need the Heralds down there.”
“Wouldn’t we be able to spare at least one, though?” Lord Taving asked. “I’m all for going against Karse, but we do not need two Borders heating up. Especially since the other Border has creatures we don’t know how to deal with yet. If we send someone to find out the creature’s weaknesses, we can have them back to the Karsite Border as soon as possible, and leave the people there to deal with them.”
“Would there be enough trained fighters over there to deal with it, once the Herald is done?” Seneschal’s Herald Joshel asked Withen.
“Yes, if you remember the proposition of sending young volunteers for the Guard there to get combat experience before sending them to the Karsite Border. If we stick to that, then we can have enough there to deal with the things, once we know what their weaknesses are, that is,” Withen replied.
“Forgot about that idea; that makes sense,” the Lord Marshal said. “We can spare one Herald, then send the new recruits around. But which Herald should we send?”
“There’s Herald Eria, who has Animal Mindspeech and FarSight. She would be useful down at the Karsite Border, but we can get her there once she’s done in the West. She’s also in Haven right now, so we can give her the new assignment right away,” Treven said, after a bit of thought.
The Lord Marshal stood up. “With Your Majesty’s permission, I’ll go find Herald Eria and inform her of her assignment.” At Randale’s nod, the Lord Marshal left the room.
Jisa stood up. “Is there anymore pressing business? If not, I –” the sound of her voice was cut off by the sound that everyone in the room dreaded hearing.
The Death Bell was tolling.
No one moved; no one could move. The non-Heralds didn’t know whom the Bell was tolling for, but they could guess, from the look on the Heralds’ faces. Jisa was looking at her husband, her eyes growing continuously wider. For a while, no one spoke. It wasn’t until the Death Bell stopped its mournful tones that Jisa was able to speak again.
“Trev? It’s not him, right? I mean, it can’t be him, it just can’t be…” there was no doubt in anyone’s mind who ‘he’ was. Treven just took Jisa in his arms, which was answer enough.
“NO!” Jisa shouted, her face buried in Treven’s shoulder. “He can’t be dead, you know he can’t be. This is some joke…something…he’s not dead!”
“Jisa,” Herald Joshel came up to her and put a hand on her shoulder, his face a mask of sorrow. He was unable to come up with anything else to say, and so just stood there with his hand on her shoulder.
“Uncle Van…Uncle Van…” Jisa kept sobbing into Treven’s shoulder, though to herself she was silently crying out ‘Father!’
Withen just sat in his chair with shock. It wasn’t that no one was expecting the news of Vanyel’s death; it was that everyone was hoping it wouldn’t happen, so when it did, it came as a shock. Withen couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Tears welled up in his eyes and ran down his cheeks, but he made no move to brush them away. He just sat and stared, seeing his eldest son in his mind’s eye as Vanyel grew up, as Withen himself continuously pushed him away. Withen’s throat was closed with grief; all he could do was shut his eyes tightly, the tears leaking out anyway. It was all his fault…maybe if he’d been a better father, he could have found some way to prevent this…
Jisa lifted her head up from Treven’s shoulder and looked straight at Withen. “It’s not your fault,” she said, knowing how he was feeling from her Gift of Empathy.
“But maybe…if I’d been a better father…” Withen started brokenly, staring at his hands.
“I said it’s not your fault! He was a Herald, and he knew his duty. He knew his duty well enough to defy King and Council over it,” Jisa said, then moved and knelt by Withen’s side, taking his hands in hers. “Lord Withen, you were his father and he loved you. He would not have you blame yourself for this.”
Lord Taving cleared his throat and said gruffly, “The girl’s right, Withen. The Heralds know their duty, and the boy was Chosen. He died the way he wanted to, protecting Valdemar.”
Behind Withen, King Randale and King’s Own Shavri sat dumbly, still in shock, holding each other’s hands tightly. Sweat broke out on the King’s face and he began breathing laboriously. He collapsed against Shavri in a faint, which broke her out of her shock enough to say, “Randale—someone help me get him to his bed! Dammit, just the time for that boy Stefen to be away…”
“That’s right…what about Stefen…?” said Treven slowly as he moved to help Shavri get Randale into his bed.
“Worrying about Stef won’t solve anything right now,” Jisa said as she too moved to help Randale, her voice full of pain. “Either Stef’s fine, or he’s…not, but either way, we can’t help him right now. What we can do is help the King; find those Healers who learned painblocking. And…we should probably tell Medren. He and Uncle Van were very close.”
The members of the Council slowly filed out of the room, leaving Shavri alone with Randale. Tears rolled slowly down her cheeks as she prepared to use her Healing power yet again for her beloved.
Lady Treesa Ileana Brendywhin-Ashkevron entered the suite she shared with Withen to find him slumped in a chair, downing glasses of brandy. His eyes were red and bloodshot, and when no more than a couple drops came out of the brandy bottle, he stared dumbly into the glass. Treesa hesitantly approached him.
“Withen? Withen, what’s wrong?” she asked, concerned.
Withen looked up as if he were surprised to see her there, and focused on her before saying, “He’s gone. You heard the Death Bell, didn’t you? He’s gone.”
Treesa went cold and pale, and sank in a chair next to Withen’s without real thought of what she was doing. There was no doubt in her mind who ‘he’ was. Tears rolled softly down her cheeks, running through her cosmetics, but she made no move to brush them away.
“Oh, Withen…not him, not him…” Treesa said brokenly as she groped for her husband’s hand, and held it.
“I know, Treesa,” Withen replied heavily, and patted her hand. “I know.”
Medren, Breda, and Andrel were talking amiably in Breda’s room in the House of Healing, when they heard it. The sound they most dreaded hearing. The Death Bell. None of them were Heralds so they couldn’t be truly sure who it was, but they knew it just the same. They knew for whom the Bell tolled.
Breda made a soft gasp and collapsed back onto the pillow, her eyes wide open as she fought to breathe.
“BREDA!” two voices yelled simultaneously as they rushed to the figure on the bed. Andrel flung himself toward her and grabbed her hands, locking her eyes with his own.
Medren just stood at Breda’s bedside and watched her closely; watched Andy try to help her belabored breathing and slow her heart down. Breda’s chest moved up and down in short, choppy movements, her breath coming out in audible gasps. Then her breathing slowly became less halting, until finally, it stopped altogether. Andrel put his head to her chest to listen to her heartbeat, but slowly took his head away, shaking it, his eyes infinitely sad. Medren just stared at her, in shock. His mind could barely comprehend that Breda, one of his life’s constants, was gone now. He’d nearly been able to accept that Vanyel wasn’t likely to come back; after all, Vanyel had risked his life too many times to count. But Breda…yes, she was old, about as old as Savil was, but Medren didn’t really think that she could die, not even during one of her many dazzle-headaches.
The silence stretched on inside the room until Andrel broke it. “A heart attack,” he said, his voice very quiet. “She had a heart attack, when…when the news came. After that last dazzle-headache, she was very fragile…Dammit!” he swore suddenly, his eyes now filled with anger and grief. “That’s too many friends lost now! Jays…Savil…Lancir…now Van and Breda…it isn’t fair! Though why I should be carping about fair now, I don’t know. It’s about time for me to follow them…I’m as old as Savil and Breda were…” his voice trailed off.
Medren was shaken out of his shock by that comment. “Andy, Andy, don’t lose hope now, please don’t lose it. You’re still needed here,” Medren pleaded, his voice breaking with grief for Breda and his uncle. “You’re one of the only ones here who can painblock for Randale, we still need you, don’t leave us yet…”
Just then the door to the room quietly opened, and Jisa stepped through, her eyes red-rimmed from crying. “Medren, Andy,” she said, her voice straining with the effort not to cry. “We just came from Council, and I thought you should know that Uncle Van-”
“We know,” Medren said, still looking at Breda and Andrel. “We heard the Bell and knew who it was tolling for. But it…it was too much for Breda. Andy said she had a heart attack.”
Jisa looked stricken all over again. “Not another one,” she moaned softly, fresh tears running down her cheeks in the tracks already there. “Too many people…we’re losing too many people…”
Medren moved over to Jisa’s side and held her. He stroked her hair while she cried into his shoulder. “It’s not fair!” she sobbed, and unknowing echo of Andrel. “Why did it have to be Vanyel? Why?! I want him back, Medren, I want him back!”
“I know…I know,” he soothed, tears running down from his eyes into her hair. “We all want him back. There can never…there can never be another like him. Never,” he promised.
“It doesn’t help,” Jisa cried into her cousin’s (though he didn’t know it) shoulder. “I wish it hadn’t been him…”
“We all do, Jisa, we all do. What are we going to do, now that he’s gone? He was the last Herald-mage we have…” Medren trailed off as he stepped back, surveying Jisa’s tear-streaked face for answers.
“We’re going to have to cope with it,” she told him, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. “There’s nothing else we can do but learn to cope. We still have the Heralds and their Gifts, and that will be enough.”
“I hope so. For all our sakes, I really hope so,” Medren replied, looking over her shoulder through the open door. It was raining. ‘Fitting,’ Medren thought, gazing at the downpour. ‘Very fitting, that it be raining now. The world is crying for Vanyel…’
On a day several months after Herald-mage Vanyel Ashkevron died, it was raining again. A drenched traveler and his equally drenched horse sought and gained entry to Haven, and rode through the city. He was wearing a hooded cloak, but that didn’t stop the rain from soaking his hair. He looked up at the overcast sky through the wet auburn locks and looked back down again, too morose even to swear at the weather. His horse clopped through the paved streets, sounding as tired and morose as the traveler was himself. After some time of weaving through the myriad streets to the palace, the traveler presented himself to the guards at the gate, throwing back his cloak to show his Scarlets. After taking his name and the time of day he returned, the traveler and his horse slowly plodded inside. Bard Stefen was home again.
A lithe figure in a black dress ran to greet Stefen as soon as he entered the Audience Chamber, which was nearly empty except for a few groups of nobles, drifting and talking quietly among themselves.
“Stef!” Jisa cried as she threw her arms around his neck. “I thought…you’re alive!”
Stefen gently hugged her in return, and stepped back. “Yes…I’m alive, aren’t I,” he made it a statement instead of a question.
“Oh, Stef…” Jisa said quietly, searching his face for some trace of the Stefen she had known.
“I’m alright. Don’t worry about me,” he said, cutting her off as she was about to say something else. He gave her a quick kiss on the check and turned away. “I’m really tired, I’m going to my room. You can find me at Bardic Collegium if you need me.”
Jisa stood there, arms at her sides, staring at Stefen as he strode out of the room.
Medren knew Stef was back; a couple of his hostler friends saw him come in and unsaddle Melody, so Medren was waiting in Stef’s old room at Bardic Collegium, knowing his old friend would come here. He wouldn’t want to go back to the suite in the palace he had shared with Vanyel; it would have held too many painful memories. So Stefen would come back here, and Medren would be waiting for him.
Medren was right; Stef was coming back to this room. After only a couple minutes of waiting, the door opened and Stefen stepped through, dropping his traveling packs on the floor with a sigh. Then Stef looked up and saw Medren.
“Medren? What are you-” Stef started to say, but Medren interrupted, “I heard you got back, so I came to see you, and to warn you about a couple things. First of all, the King isn’t doing so well, and none of the Healers who learned painblocking are as good as you are yet. Some people feel that you deserted Randale when he needed you, and they’ll probably be out for your blood.”
“That’s nothing new,” Stefen remarked, dropping bonelessly into a chair and closing his eyes. “Is there anything else?”
Medren bit his lip and debated telling Stefen about it, but finally he decided being prepared for it was better than not being prepared. “Stef…there’s going to be a funeral for Uncle Van soon…in another week, in fact. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to; we all understand how much it hurts, but nearly everyone at the palace and Collegia will be there.”
“You understand how much it hurts, do you?” Stefen gave a bitter, sardonic laugh and opened his eyes. “Shavri likely understands, since she lives with the pain of knowing Randale’s going to die soon. But the rest of you? You don’t understand. You don’t understand the pain of having half your soul and all your heart ripped away, never to return. You don’t understand the whole in my chest where my heart used to be, torn away when Van died. Before, I thought I understood what Van went through when he lost Tylendel, why he still grieved so deeply ever after twenty years passed. But I didn’t understand, and now I do. Now I understand all too well. Leave me alone for a while, Medren. I need to be alone right now.” And he closed his eyes again, paying no more attention to Medren.
Medren was at a loss for words. The Stefen sitting in the chair was totally unlike the Stefen he knew; the carefree young man he used to be. This Stefen seemed aged far beyond his years after that trip. So Medren, not knowing what else to do, left the room and his best friend behind, and went to seek his grandparents.
Medren knocked at the door of his grandparents’ suite in the palace, and when he heard a muffled grunt that sounded something like “Come”, he walked in. Withen and Treesa were sitting on the bed, arms about each other, both looking as if they had aged twenty years in those couple months since Vanyel died.
“Medren,” Withen looked up and said. “What brings you here?”
“Stefen’s back,” Medren said quietly.
Withen lifted his head up from Treesa’s shoulder. “So he’s alive…how is he?”
Medren swallowed, remembering Stef’s words. “Not too good. Van’s death hit him real hard, I guess, and he doesn’t seem to care about anything anymore. I’m worried about him…I think sooner or later he might…” Medren trailed off.
Withen ponderously got up from the bed and slowly made his way to Medren. When he reached the young Bard, he hesitantly put a hand on his shoulder. “I know, Medren, I know. I remember…when Van was like that…again, my fault…”
At that, Medren turned sharply toward his grandfather and gripped his forearm. “Don’t think like that! It was not your fault. Tylendel’s death, Vanyel’s death…none of it was your fault!”
Withen exhaled heavily. “Thank you for trying to make me feel better, but I understand whose the blame is for some of that. If I had shown the boy some affection…”
Medren simply gripped his arm harder, his eyes reflecting his worry, a pained smile appearing on his face. “Hindsight is ever perfect, Grandfather. But think, if you had, you wouldn’t have sent him to Haven twenty years ago, he’d never have met Tylendel, never been Chosen, and then where would we be?”
Withen gave a short laugh. “I appreciate your effort, Medren. But back to Stefen. Is there anything we can do for him, do you think?”
Medren stepped back, his forehead furrowing thoughtfully. “He didn’t seem like he wanted any help, and I don’t think he’d take any if we offered some. But we can keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn’t…”
“We’ll do that,” Withen agreed. “Now if you don’t mind, Medren, I’m tired. I’d like to go to bed.” Medren nodded in reply and left the room.
It's unfinished, though meant to be a long one-shot--around 5,000 words and eleven pages right now. Mercedes Lackey's Valdemar series fanfic, taking place just after Magic's Price. Also the first thing I've ever written with gay people, I think. Nothing has been changed, aside from the addition of html so you get the italics and so on.
The Council met everyday, as it had for the past several weeks since Vanyel Ashkevron, Valdemar’s last Herald-Mage, left, going North to fight the enemy, alone except for the little Bard, Stefen. They met in Randale’s chambers again, and it was painfully obvious that the King was deteriorating quickly. All the Council members, along with Treven and Jisa, had been meeting there since Vanyel left, though less to discuss the affairs of the Kingdom than to give each other comfort. None liked to think about what would happen to Valdemar should Vanyel fail, though that prospect was never far from their minds. Sometimes they just sat in silence, other times they made small talk. Even though it quickly died away, no one wanted to stop the conversation, for no one wanted to give his or her undivided attention to his or her own gloomy thoughts.
Outside, the day was heavily overcast. Dark gray clouds moved slowly across the sky, letting not one drop of sunlight through. Every once in a while thunder would boom and crack, but it would neither rain nor snow. Healer Andrel looked up from the sleeping patient he was watching over, worry and grief apparent on his face. It had been weeks since Savil had died, Savil, who had been so much more than a friend to him. Now Vanyel was putting himself in mortal danger…oh, the members of the Council didn’t parrot it about that the journey Herald Vanyel was on was any different from the ones he had been on previously, but Andrel was an adept at reading the signs, and he could tell that this was a trip Vanyel would likely not return from. He stole a look at his patient. Bard Breda, too, understood the signs. It wasn’t any easier on her than it was on him, but at least he was younger, and not prone to dazzle-headaches. Breda had had more in the past several weeks than she had had in the past several years, and Andrel was truly worried for her.
Journeyman Bard Medren looked up from the rock he was kicking across the grass to the overcast sky above him, and swore. A scowl darkened his features as he kicked the rock into the Terilee River, to be lost among the darkly swelling folds and undercurrents of the water. Medren remembered quite well the days of near chaos following his great-aunt Savil’s death. He hadn’t seen his uncle for a week before then, not since right before Herald Lissandra’s death. He doubted he would ever see his uncle again, especially considering what Stef told him…
At a knock at the door of his room in the Bardic dormitory, Medren reluctantly pulled open the door, and gaped in surprise to see his friend and former roommate, Stefen. Stef looked worried and apprehensive, and Medren stepped back from the doorway to allow his friend to enter. Stef walked in and closed the door, leaning back against it.
“What is it, Stef? I’d have thought you’d be with Uncle Van right now,” Medren jibed, but his heart wasn’t into it, and the attempt at humor fell flat.
“There’s something I thought you should know, seeings how you’re his nephew and my friend,” Stef began, closing his eyes. “Van is going north, to get the bastard that’s been getting all the Heralds lately, and I’m going with him.”
“He’s agreed to this?” Medren asked dubiously, knowing his uncle. He doubted Van would let anyone come with him, especially someone as important to him, and as literally defenseless, as Stefen was.
“Well, I haven’t told him I’m coming yet, but there’s no way I’m going to be left behind. I know I’d likely be nearly helpless compared to him, but I have this feeling…I can’t let him go without me,” Stef replied, his body sagging a bit, though he still stood at the door with his eyes closed.
“What, you’ve developed ForeSight now?” Medren asked, slightly feeling Stef’s emotions with his Bardic Gift, and knew how serious this was. That didn’t stop him from making a stab at a joke anyway, it was just the kind of person he was. And Stef knew it, for he cracked a slight smile at his friend and opened one of his eyes.
“Not ForeSight, precisely, just a feeling. Maybe it’s through the lifebond, I don’t know. But this feeling says that if he goes without me, something bad will happen, so I have to go with him, I just have to. I know I might get in the way, but I love him, and I can’t let him go without me. I know this will be dangerous…that maybe neither Van nor I will make it back here. In case that happens, I wanted to say goodbye. You’ve helped me so much since I got here, you’ve been such a good friend, and I wanted to thank you for everything.”
“Anytime, Stef, anytime,” Medren said, his throat choked up. “I’m glad I met you, things wouldn’t have been the same without you to get me into all those scrapes,” a hoarse chuckle escaped Stefen’s throat at that. “I’m glad I got you and Uncle Van together, and well…you gotta do what you gotta do. Thanks for telling me, Stef.”
The two young men looked at each other for a minute, and then hugged each other tightly. After a minute, they broke apart, and said one word at the same time, “Goodbye…” before Stefen slipped out of the room and closed the door behind him. Medren sank carefully onto his bed and wondered if he would ever see his friend or his uncle ever again.
Mentally backing away from his memories, Medren looked up at the sky and swore for the umpteenth time that day. It looked like it was about to rain, but it was as if the clouds were stubbornly holding in their water, for no rain fell. Oh well, at least the dismal day matched his mood. He sighed, then turned around and walked away from the river to the House of Healing.
“How is she?” Medren asked quietly as he slipped into the room, closing the door softly behind him.
“Not much different from yesterday, I’m afraid,” Andrel replied. Medren had been coming to see Breda every day since her collapse two weeks ago. “At this point…I doubt she’d survive another dazzle-headache. She’s not dealing well with everything that’s happened recently.”
Medren bit his lip. “How long do you think she has left?” he asked, his eyes on the figure in the bed.
“I have no idea. Nearly anything could trigger a dazzle-headache, so it depends on what happens,” Andy replied, heavy-hearted. Yet another friend who soon leave this world…
A slight cough from the bed interrupted Andy’s thoughts. “I’ll thank you not to talk about me as if I’m not here, Andy, Medren,” Breda said, her voice weak.
“Breda! How are you feeling?” Andrel asked, quickly going to her bedside.
“How do you think I’m feeling, after one of those?” Breda asked, eyes full of amusement as she answered him. She tried to sit up on the bed, but Andrel pressed her back down into a lying position. She waved him away with an imperious hand and said, “How am I supposed to see my visitor if you won’t let me sit up?”
“Medren, come closer and sit over here, in the chair next to her bed. She needs to be kept lying down,” Andy said, beckoning Medren to the chair. As Medren sat down, Breda glared at Andy.
“There you go again, talking about me as if I’m not here, Andy,” she said, then transferred her attention to Medren. “Well, boy, how are you holding up?”
“As well as can be supposed, I guess,” Medren replied softly. “There’s nothing to be done until we get some news.”
“You’re right, boy. We have to be patient,” Breda chuckled softly, closing her eyes and leaning back down into the pillow. “Much as I hate it, we have to be patient and see what happens.”
Everyone in the Council was looking wan; it had been over a month since Vanyel left, with no word from him. It would normally have taken Vanyel about a fortnight to get to the Ice Wall Mountains, if nothing went wrong. He should have gone up there, taken care of that mage, and been back, or at least sent word that he succeeded, but so far, there was no message and no Vanyel. Randale was sitting on the couch, Shavri next to him, helping him sit up. The other Council members pulled up chairs around the couch, without regard for rank. Jisa and Treven sat close to each other, holding the other’s hand tightly, Treven’s eyes on King Randale, Jisa’s on Lord Withen. Withen was not dealing well with his son’s departure; his eyes were sunk into his skin, which was very pale. His hands gripped the armrests so hard they were trembling. Jisa looked around the room, at the rest of the Council, who were not much better, then stood up.
“We can’t just sit here like this, waiting for the ax to fall,” Jisa said quietly, but even so, several Council members jumped, and others looked startled that someone finally broke the silence.
“We have to pull ourselves together. Everyone in Valdemar is depending on us, King and Council, to lead them, but we can’t lead them well if we just sit here, thinking and not doing. We have to think of, and plan for, Valdemar’s future. We have to stop doing nothing!” Jisa finished, still standing. The rest of the Council just stared for a moment, and then Treven resolutely pushed back his chair and stood up beside his wife.
“Jisa’s right. We, of all people, are the ones who can least afford to sit here and do nothing. I know all of you are worried about Valdemar’s future. I am too, but if we plan for every eventuality, then we have no cause to be worried. We have to pull ourselves together!” Treven said, looking at each Council member in turn, his eyes holding Lord Withen’s the longest.
All eyes in the room turned to Lord Withen as he also stood up, his back straight, his eyes washed of their indecision. “They’re right. We can’t help Vanyel now. We have to think about the future, Valdemar’s future. I’m sure Vanyel is. He’s doing his duty, so it’s time we started doing ours.”
The three people standing sat down. Nearly everyone in the room looked relieved as they started discussions of the Kingdom’s affairs. Shavri still looked worried, and Randale’s pale face showed no expression, but they too, joined in the discussions.
“More and more things are coming over from the Western Border, past Lineas and Baires,” Withen started out. “My son Mekeal says that it’s all he can do to keep them away from the villages, and that Tashir’s not doing much better. Mekeal’s requesting the help of a Herald in figuring out the weaknesses of these creatures.”
“Don’t know if we can spare a Herald,” rumbled the Lord Marshal. “Even with that new treaty with Rethwellan, we’re having trouble with Karse. We need the Heralds down there.”
“Wouldn’t we be able to spare at least one, though?” Lord Taving asked. “I’m all for going against Karse, but we do not need two Borders heating up. Especially since the other Border has creatures we don’t know how to deal with yet. If we send someone to find out the creature’s weaknesses, we can have them back to the Karsite Border as soon as possible, and leave the people there to deal with them.”
“Would there be enough trained fighters over there to deal with it, once the Herald is done?” Seneschal’s Herald Joshel asked Withen.
“Yes, if you remember the proposition of sending young volunteers for the Guard there to get combat experience before sending them to the Karsite Border. If we stick to that, then we can have enough there to deal with the things, once we know what their weaknesses are, that is,” Withen replied.
“Forgot about that idea; that makes sense,” the Lord Marshal said. “We can spare one Herald, then send the new recruits around. But which Herald should we send?”
“There’s Herald Eria, who has Animal Mindspeech and FarSight. She would be useful down at the Karsite Border, but we can get her there once she’s done in the West. She’s also in Haven right now, so we can give her the new assignment right away,” Treven said, after a bit of thought.
The Lord Marshal stood up. “With Your Majesty’s permission, I’ll go find Herald Eria and inform her of her assignment.” At Randale’s nod, the Lord Marshal left the room.
Jisa stood up. “Is there anymore pressing business? If not, I –” the sound of her voice was cut off by the sound that everyone in the room dreaded hearing.
The Death Bell was tolling.
No one moved; no one could move. The non-Heralds didn’t know whom the Bell was tolling for, but they could guess, from the look on the Heralds’ faces. Jisa was looking at her husband, her eyes growing continuously wider. For a while, no one spoke. It wasn’t until the Death Bell stopped its mournful tones that Jisa was able to speak again.
“Trev? It’s not him, right? I mean, it can’t be him, it just can’t be…” there was no doubt in anyone’s mind who ‘he’ was. Treven just took Jisa in his arms, which was answer enough.
“NO!” Jisa shouted, her face buried in Treven’s shoulder. “He can’t be dead, you know he can’t be. This is some joke…something…he’s not dead!”
“Jisa,” Herald Joshel came up to her and put a hand on her shoulder, his face a mask of sorrow. He was unable to come up with anything else to say, and so just stood there with his hand on her shoulder.
“Uncle Van…Uncle Van…” Jisa kept sobbing into Treven’s shoulder, though to herself she was silently crying out ‘Father!’
Withen just sat in his chair with shock. It wasn’t that no one was expecting the news of Vanyel’s death; it was that everyone was hoping it wouldn’t happen, so when it did, it came as a shock. Withen couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Tears welled up in his eyes and ran down his cheeks, but he made no move to brush them away. He just sat and stared, seeing his eldest son in his mind’s eye as Vanyel grew up, as Withen himself continuously pushed him away. Withen’s throat was closed with grief; all he could do was shut his eyes tightly, the tears leaking out anyway. It was all his fault…maybe if he’d been a better father, he could have found some way to prevent this…
Jisa lifted her head up from Treven’s shoulder and looked straight at Withen. “It’s not your fault,” she said, knowing how he was feeling from her Gift of Empathy.
“But maybe…if I’d been a better father…” Withen started brokenly, staring at his hands.
“I said it’s not your fault! He was a Herald, and he knew his duty. He knew his duty well enough to defy King and Council over it,” Jisa said, then moved and knelt by Withen’s side, taking his hands in hers. “Lord Withen, you were his father and he loved you. He would not have you blame yourself for this.”
Lord Taving cleared his throat and said gruffly, “The girl’s right, Withen. The Heralds know their duty, and the boy was Chosen. He died the way he wanted to, protecting Valdemar.”
Behind Withen, King Randale and King’s Own Shavri sat dumbly, still in shock, holding each other’s hands tightly. Sweat broke out on the King’s face and he began breathing laboriously. He collapsed against Shavri in a faint, which broke her out of her shock enough to say, “Randale—someone help me get him to his bed! Dammit, just the time for that boy Stefen to be away…”
“That’s right…what about Stefen…?” said Treven slowly as he moved to help Shavri get Randale into his bed.
“Worrying about Stef won’t solve anything right now,” Jisa said as she too moved to help Randale, her voice full of pain. “Either Stef’s fine, or he’s…not, but either way, we can’t help him right now. What we can do is help the King; find those Healers who learned painblocking. And…we should probably tell Medren. He and Uncle Van were very close.”
The members of the Council slowly filed out of the room, leaving Shavri alone with Randale. Tears rolled slowly down her cheeks as she prepared to use her Healing power yet again for her beloved.
Lady Treesa Ileana Brendywhin-Ashkevron entered the suite she shared with Withen to find him slumped in a chair, downing glasses of brandy. His eyes were red and bloodshot, and when no more than a couple drops came out of the brandy bottle, he stared dumbly into the glass. Treesa hesitantly approached him.
“Withen? Withen, what’s wrong?” she asked, concerned.
Withen looked up as if he were surprised to see her there, and focused on her before saying, “He’s gone. You heard the Death Bell, didn’t you? He’s gone.”
Treesa went cold and pale, and sank in a chair next to Withen’s without real thought of what she was doing. There was no doubt in her mind who ‘he’ was. Tears rolled softly down her cheeks, running through her cosmetics, but she made no move to brush them away.
“Oh, Withen…not him, not him…” Treesa said brokenly as she groped for her husband’s hand, and held it.
“I know, Treesa,” Withen replied heavily, and patted her hand. “I know.”
Medren, Breda, and Andrel were talking amiably in Breda’s room in the House of Healing, when they heard it. The sound they most dreaded hearing. The Death Bell. None of them were Heralds so they couldn’t be truly sure who it was, but they knew it just the same. They knew for whom the Bell tolled.
Breda made a soft gasp and collapsed back onto the pillow, her eyes wide open as she fought to breathe.
“BREDA!” two voices yelled simultaneously as they rushed to the figure on the bed. Andrel flung himself toward her and grabbed her hands, locking her eyes with his own.
Medren just stood at Breda’s bedside and watched her closely; watched Andy try to help her belabored breathing and slow her heart down. Breda’s chest moved up and down in short, choppy movements, her breath coming out in audible gasps. Then her breathing slowly became less halting, until finally, it stopped altogether. Andrel put his head to her chest to listen to her heartbeat, but slowly took his head away, shaking it, his eyes infinitely sad. Medren just stared at her, in shock. His mind could barely comprehend that Breda, one of his life’s constants, was gone now. He’d nearly been able to accept that Vanyel wasn’t likely to come back; after all, Vanyel had risked his life too many times to count. But Breda…yes, she was old, about as old as Savil was, but Medren didn’t really think that she could die, not even during one of her many dazzle-headaches.
The silence stretched on inside the room until Andrel broke it. “A heart attack,” he said, his voice very quiet. “She had a heart attack, when…when the news came. After that last dazzle-headache, she was very fragile…Dammit!” he swore suddenly, his eyes now filled with anger and grief. “That’s too many friends lost now! Jays…Savil…Lancir…now Van and Breda…it isn’t fair! Though why I should be carping about fair now, I don’t know. It’s about time for me to follow them…I’m as old as Savil and Breda were…” his voice trailed off.
Medren was shaken out of his shock by that comment. “Andy, Andy, don’t lose hope now, please don’t lose it. You’re still needed here,” Medren pleaded, his voice breaking with grief for Breda and his uncle. “You’re one of the only ones here who can painblock for Randale, we still need you, don’t leave us yet…”
Just then the door to the room quietly opened, and Jisa stepped through, her eyes red-rimmed from crying. “Medren, Andy,” she said, her voice straining with the effort not to cry. “We just came from Council, and I thought you should know that Uncle Van-”
“We know,” Medren said, still looking at Breda and Andrel. “We heard the Bell and knew who it was tolling for. But it…it was too much for Breda. Andy said she had a heart attack.”
Jisa looked stricken all over again. “Not another one,” she moaned softly, fresh tears running down her cheeks in the tracks already there. “Too many people…we’re losing too many people…”
Medren moved over to Jisa’s side and held her. He stroked her hair while she cried into his shoulder. “It’s not fair!” she sobbed, and unknowing echo of Andrel. “Why did it have to be Vanyel? Why?! I want him back, Medren, I want him back!”
“I know…I know,” he soothed, tears running down from his eyes into her hair. “We all want him back. There can never…there can never be another like him. Never,” he promised.
“It doesn’t help,” Jisa cried into her cousin’s (though he didn’t know it) shoulder. “I wish it hadn’t been him…”
“We all do, Jisa, we all do. What are we going to do, now that he’s gone? He was the last Herald-mage we have…” Medren trailed off as he stepped back, surveying Jisa’s tear-streaked face for answers.
“We’re going to have to cope with it,” she told him, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. “There’s nothing else we can do but learn to cope. We still have the Heralds and their Gifts, and that will be enough.”
“I hope so. For all our sakes, I really hope so,” Medren replied, looking over her shoulder through the open door. It was raining. ‘Fitting,’ Medren thought, gazing at the downpour. ‘Very fitting, that it be raining now. The world is crying for Vanyel…’
On a day several months after Herald-mage Vanyel Ashkevron died, it was raining again. A drenched traveler and his equally drenched horse sought and gained entry to Haven, and rode through the city. He was wearing a hooded cloak, but that didn’t stop the rain from soaking his hair. He looked up at the overcast sky through the wet auburn locks and looked back down again, too morose even to swear at the weather. His horse clopped through the paved streets, sounding as tired and morose as the traveler was himself. After some time of weaving through the myriad streets to the palace, the traveler presented himself to the guards at the gate, throwing back his cloak to show his Scarlets. After taking his name and the time of day he returned, the traveler and his horse slowly plodded inside. Bard Stefen was home again.
A lithe figure in a black dress ran to greet Stefen as soon as he entered the Audience Chamber, which was nearly empty except for a few groups of nobles, drifting and talking quietly among themselves.
“Stef!” Jisa cried as she threw her arms around his neck. “I thought…you’re alive!”
Stefen gently hugged her in return, and stepped back. “Yes…I’m alive, aren’t I,” he made it a statement instead of a question.
“Oh, Stef…” Jisa said quietly, searching his face for some trace of the Stefen she had known.
“I’m alright. Don’t worry about me,” he said, cutting her off as she was about to say something else. He gave her a quick kiss on the check and turned away. “I’m really tired, I’m going to my room. You can find me at Bardic Collegium if you need me.”
Jisa stood there, arms at her sides, staring at Stefen as he strode out of the room.
Medren knew Stef was back; a couple of his hostler friends saw him come in and unsaddle Melody, so Medren was waiting in Stef’s old room at Bardic Collegium, knowing his old friend would come here. He wouldn’t want to go back to the suite in the palace he had shared with Vanyel; it would have held too many painful memories. So Stefen would come back here, and Medren would be waiting for him.
Medren was right; Stef was coming back to this room. After only a couple minutes of waiting, the door opened and Stefen stepped through, dropping his traveling packs on the floor with a sigh. Then Stef looked up and saw Medren.
“Medren? What are you-” Stef started to say, but Medren interrupted, “I heard you got back, so I came to see you, and to warn you about a couple things. First of all, the King isn’t doing so well, and none of the Healers who learned painblocking are as good as you are yet. Some people feel that you deserted Randale when he needed you, and they’ll probably be out for your blood.”
“That’s nothing new,” Stefen remarked, dropping bonelessly into a chair and closing his eyes. “Is there anything else?”
Medren bit his lip and debated telling Stefen about it, but finally he decided being prepared for it was better than not being prepared. “Stef…there’s going to be a funeral for Uncle Van soon…in another week, in fact. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to; we all understand how much it hurts, but nearly everyone at the palace and Collegia will be there.”
“You understand how much it hurts, do you?” Stefen gave a bitter, sardonic laugh and opened his eyes. “Shavri likely understands, since she lives with the pain of knowing Randale’s going to die soon. But the rest of you? You don’t understand. You don’t understand the pain of having half your soul and all your heart ripped away, never to return. You don’t understand the whole in my chest where my heart used to be, torn away when Van died. Before, I thought I understood what Van went through when he lost Tylendel, why he still grieved so deeply ever after twenty years passed. But I didn’t understand, and now I do. Now I understand all too well. Leave me alone for a while, Medren. I need to be alone right now.” And he closed his eyes again, paying no more attention to Medren.
Medren was at a loss for words. The Stefen sitting in the chair was totally unlike the Stefen he knew; the carefree young man he used to be. This Stefen seemed aged far beyond his years after that trip. So Medren, not knowing what else to do, left the room and his best friend behind, and went to seek his grandparents.
Medren knocked at the door of his grandparents’ suite in the palace, and when he heard a muffled grunt that sounded something like “Come”, he walked in. Withen and Treesa were sitting on the bed, arms about each other, both looking as if they had aged twenty years in those couple months since Vanyel died.
“Medren,” Withen looked up and said. “What brings you here?”
“Stefen’s back,” Medren said quietly.
Withen lifted his head up from Treesa’s shoulder. “So he’s alive…how is he?”
Medren swallowed, remembering Stef’s words. “Not too good. Van’s death hit him real hard, I guess, and he doesn’t seem to care about anything anymore. I’m worried about him…I think sooner or later he might…” Medren trailed off.
Withen ponderously got up from the bed and slowly made his way to Medren. When he reached the young Bard, he hesitantly put a hand on his shoulder. “I know, Medren, I know. I remember…when Van was like that…again, my fault…”
At that, Medren turned sharply toward his grandfather and gripped his forearm. “Don’t think like that! It was not your fault. Tylendel’s death, Vanyel’s death…none of it was your fault!”
Withen exhaled heavily. “Thank you for trying to make me feel better, but I understand whose the blame is for some of that. If I had shown the boy some affection…”
Medren simply gripped his arm harder, his eyes reflecting his worry, a pained smile appearing on his face. “Hindsight is ever perfect, Grandfather. But think, if you had, you wouldn’t have sent him to Haven twenty years ago, he’d never have met Tylendel, never been Chosen, and then where would we be?”
Withen gave a short laugh. “I appreciate your effort, Medren. But back to Stefen. Is there anything we can do for him, do you think?”
Medren stepped back, his forehead furrowing thoughtfully. “He didn’t seem like he wanted any help, and I don’t think he’d take any if we offered some. But we can keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn’t…”
“We’ll do that,” Withen agreed. “Now if you don’t mind, Medren, I’m tired. I’d like to go to bed.” Medren nodded in reply and left the room.
