Stefen shut the door to the Chronicler's office quietly and attempted to stop his hands from shaking. The new Chronicler was a thin, intense woman with a penchant for furrowing out uncomfortable, erstwhile-hidden information. Worried that Stefen would die—blunt, but true, he thought with a certain grim humor—she'd asked him to come in to record, in detail, as much of the famous Herald-Mage Vanyel's life as possible.

I don't know how she convinced me to do it. She was just so earnest, and I thought it should be on the record. Who knows who'll need to know about his power— or his decisions— later? He leaned against the wall for a moment. But I had no idea she would ask me about that. She certainly did her homework. Well, I knew that already, since she knew me on sight… barely anyone does anymore, save Jisa and Treven. Their children. Medren.

His thoughts stopped their mad swirl and turned back to the original thought. I just didn't expect her to ask me about that.

She'd looked up from her various notes with a slight frown on her face. "Why did it take you so long to get to Crookback Pass? Council notes say Vanyel Ashkevron took his leave of the final Guardpost three months before you made it to Crookback Pass. That trip is only a fortnight, at most. What happened?"

He'd simply stared at her. Stared, and fallen blankly into memories that drowned out all rational thought. Fire, everywhere, and dead bodies piled like flotsam. Van, bruised and bloodied, mage light glowing red in his eyes. Then, the dawning of understanding and that broken, utterly broken, look in his eyes. The horse tack, twisted on the floor. His limping walk, the endless nightmares.

"Bard Stefen?" Her voice sounded concerned. "Are you all right?"

He knew she was speaking, but he was caught in another time. Van's voice—I don't know if I'll ever want to again, Stef—the cold nights, the hurt, the image Yfandes had shown him. His tears—real, in this time now, rolling soft and damp down his cheeks.

Looking abashed, she'd told him they'd continue later. He took the proffered lifeline and left with barely a nod. The memories clung, though, tenacious little things, driving into his brain like daggers.

Jisa. I need to find Jisa. Blindly, he followed the corridor toward the best—and often, only—support he'd known these past forty years. Turning left, then, right, then left again until his hand hung over the door, about to knock.

Concern etched on her face, Jisa opened it, letting him into the Royal Suite. "Come in, Stef, I Felt your pain across the Palace!" She gathered his slight frame into her arms. "I knew you were with the Chronicler, but—"

He cut her off gently. "She asked me about Van's last trip—why it took so long—" then his voice broke, memories flooding afresh, and he could hardly feel her arms lowering him to the couch, her warm presence beside him, her hand stroking his hair.

"Shh, love, I'm here," she murmured, drawing his head to her breast and his mind back to the present.

"I've never told anyone about it, Jisa, about what happened out there. Why it took so long to get to Crookback. Why we never sent word after the Guard post. I've tried never to think of it; I've blocked it for years, decades now."

"You don't have to talk about it now, either." Jisa continued to caress his hair. "I'll tell her you were delayed by storms, or you fought off bandits, or anything, really."

Stefen finally began to relax under her touch. "I don't know—I'm losing it, here, dearheart. Never having spoken of it feels like I'm damming it up inside me, leaving it to flood out at the slightest question from a stranger. I can't keep it like this. I know I'll have nightmares tonight, like I've had for years and years."

"Out with it, then, if you think it's best. I can handle it. I'm listening… and I won't lie, I've wondered what happened enough times myself."

He took a deep breath to steady himself, then began. "We were arguing—about Van's coldness, his need for revenge, the way he kept shutting me and everyone out. Gods, he could barely unbend enough to discuss the weather with me. You know how he gets."

"Got," Jisa murmured. "Yes, I remember. He could have shut out a MindHealer if he wanted."

"Well, he'd gotten even colder at the end of the argument, just about told me I could go home for all he cared, when all of a sudden 'Fandes screamed in alarm. That was it—no other warning—and bandits charged out of the woods. Hells, Jisa, he chopped one of them in half with his sword right off the bat! I ran, I just ran, I ran as fast and far as I could." His voice had gained that Bardic cadence as he spoke, rhythmic and hypnotic, dropping to a bare whisper at the end. Pulling back from Jisa's stroking hand, he spread empty hands. "I'm not a warrior. I'd never even seen combat—especially not like that, bloody and brutal, twenty against one. I was scared, so scared."

"Of course you ran, Stef. It was the best thing you could have done. I warrant Van even placed that thought in your mind—first thing he did as soon as he saw the bandits."

With a half-smile, Stefen closed his eyes. "He did. But I would've run anyways."

"So that's what getting to you, dearest? That you ran?" She smiled at him. "That's what Van was there for, that was his job: fighting. Defending you, defending Valdemar. I'm sure he never thought twice of it."

He shook his head, slowly. "No, Jisa, I wish that was it. They were Dark servants, the lot of them. They had some powder that stunned Van, knocked him flat out. When I came to, I ran to the battle site and found Yfandes lying like a dead thing on the ground, Vanyel gone. I went into shock, blacked out screaming, and woke hours later to the last, desperate hope that Yfandes was bleeding because she was alive. I found a dart in her flank. I pulled it out, she regained consciousness and Mindspoke me. We searched for Van together, following the blood trail, and we found him—easily enough."

He paused and his voice dropped again to a whisper, a disbelieving whisper, as if he still couldn't reconcile what he saw so many years later. "He had imploded their shack. The bandits were burning like logs on a fire, Jisa. Piled on top of each other in bloody, stinking messes. When I saw Van, he was forcing a man to disembowel himself."

Capable and experienced as Jisa was, she'd never been in a brutal combat situation. Never seen her friends mad with rage or hacked by enemies. Her face had gone utterly white. "But—that's murder, that's abuse of the Gift, that's—"

"Worse than murder," Stefen cut her off. Sitting up straight, he took her hands in his. "Don't think less of your father, love. He was talking to the man as he disemboweled him—something about a little white horse. I didn't think anything of it, then, at that moment; I just wanted to get Van somewhere safe and stop him."

He paused. "Then, when we did get Van to stop, Yfandes Spoke me. The damage is worse than we thought, she said. Gods." Shaking his head, he repeated, "Gods." Silence, then: a hushed, lumbering thing.

"If you want to stop, I understand," Jisa finally said, face still ashen. Her hands trembled slightly in his. "But I think you need to tell your story. His story. And—I still want to know."

He nodded, a lump in his throat, and forced out the next words. "Yfandes showed me—images—they raped him, Jisa. All of them, or most anyways. Brutally, savagely, tearing him apart. A lesser man would have died; Van essentially did. They tied him in 'Fandes tack… when I found it, twisted, I lost the contents of my stomach."

Jisa had fallen back on the couch and now she stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief. Her hands trembled worse, and when she spoke, her voice was barely audible. "How could they do that to Van, to Father—he was so noble, so private—I can't—" tears were streaming down her face, now, and she shook violently. "How could anyone do that to him? He was the gentlest, kindest, best person that ever lived—"

Now Stefen held her. "I'm sorry, love," he murmured into her hair. "I'm sorry to burden you with this."

Slipping out of his arms, she shook her head. "Stop. I wanted to hear it. But—tell me, and tell me true, did he spend the last moments of his life in post-rape trauma? Was he… broken? " She'd seen it, seen Heralds' lives destroyed by it.

"No," Stefen replied, face softening. "Not at the end. But for a while, yes, he was broken, completely broken. The way he was… so honorable, his moral code so strict when it came to his person, his body… only made it worse, I think. Everything about him felt shaken. We—'Fandes and I—carried him out of there, no idea where we were going. A kyree found us."

"A kyree?" Jisa asked, curiosity warring with sadness and anger in her face.

"A giant talking wolf," Stefen replied, a hint of humor returning to his voice. "Seriously. Sort of like Companions, but no Heralds. They took us to their caves and we spent two months there, at least."

"Did he recover?" she questioned in a pained voice.

"Yes. Slowly. But I've never felt so helpless in my life. I would listen to him scream all night until his throat was raw. Or some nights he would shake all over, for hours. He couldn't bear to have anyone touch him for weeks." He paused. "I thought I might go mad."

"I don't blame you," she said, her grip tight on his hands. "I wonder, sometimes, why the Gods saw fit to be so cruel to Father… if anyone didn't deserve such a fate, not that anyone does, but Father." She shook her head once, eyes growing damp again, and repeated: "Father."

He freed one hand to lay it on her cheek. "I feel the same. I wouldn't have told you, but I thought I might lose my mind again. I was walking the brink just now. And there's precious few I trust to speak to about Van… it's like they're greedy for information, any information, about the legend."

She sighed heavily. "I know, Stef. I won't talk to anyone about him either, much, anymore, save the Chronicler or the occasional earnest Bard. And I'm glad you told me, in a strange way. It's an awful, horrific thing, but to know that he managed to get through that—to survive that, and still go on to save Valdemar—is magnificent."

"I know. He was the most magnificently noble man I've ever met." He smiled wryly and tapped his chest. "Made him sort of irreplaceable in here."

Jisa gave him a slight smile. "That, and the whole lifebond thing."
"Yes," he said, closing his eyes for a moment. "That too."

The ensuing silence threatened to drown them in melancholy. Jisa broke it, a twinkle returning to her eye. "Well, I know something that'll cheer you up."

"Oh?" he raised his eyebrows.

"We're getting very, very old," she said with a cheeky smile.

He moaned. "Macabre humor! Just because I'm closer to joining Van doesn't mean I enjoy every ache in my aged, abused body."

"How about looking in a mirror to find out you've got a thousand wrinkles when you never even saw the first one come?" Jisa replied dryly.

He chuckled. "I remember that day."

Jisa laughed with him. "I swear, it happened to us at the same time. You were walking down the hallway, that gloomy expression on your face."

"You asked me 'what's wrong,' " Stefen continued, smiling. "I'm old! I replied. And you burst out laughing, took my hand and said, 'We all are, you idiot Bard!'"

Jisa shook her head. "Oh, Stef, it could be so much worse. We look pretty good, you know. This is uncharitable and unHeraldic of me, but have you seen that group of ladies who used to buzz around Van at court, back in the day?"

Stefen burst out in unchecked laughter. "Gods, Jisa, that is Unheraldic of you!" He paused. "The ones who were far younger than him—well, my age— and had that bet going about who could bed him?"

"The very same," she replied, smiling. "I knew you would know about them; they were in your classes too. I had a few in History back in the day—you know, Father—Randale, not Van—always had me take ordinary classes with Heralds and Blues. I used to listen to them rave about his alabaster skin."

Stefen rolled his eyes. "Oh, yes, I had Lady Jacqueline in Religions, a year before I met Van. She thought being shaych was a perversion on the natural order of things. The one time I shut her up about how she was going to be the one to finally crack Van's shell— by saying he would more likely bed me than her—she set her older brother on me."

"Well," Jisa said, "She's certainly looking quite the harridan these days. I think she uses cleaning chemicals to color her hair, and now it's all started to fall out."

Stefen looked at her and burst into laughter again. After a moment, she joined him, until they both sat gasping, catching their breath.

"Idle gossip from the Queen?" Stefen smiled broadly. "I couldn't have asked for a better distraction."

"Good," Jisa said, wiping her eyes and recovering her aplomb. "Because we're needed—right about now—for that meeting about the new Heraldic Collegium we've been plotting."

Stefen checked the wall clock and swore. "Shall we go as fast as our aching bones can take us?"