This is my first fic based off of Mercedes Lackey's books. I chose my favorite of all her stories, The Last Herald-Mage. I own nothing. I am a huge lover of Vanyel. Most in particularly, Lereath really drew me. Who is he? Why does he look like Vanyel? This is my interpretation on it...
White Emotions
Icy wind forced its way across a barren land of snow. Twisted rocks carved jagged by the harsh elements loomed over a white world. A constant fall of solid ice blotted out the skies over-head and pelted the land relentlessly. Not a living thing stirred and only the howl of the wind could be heard.
Beneath the snow something moved. The air suddenly became still as if the eye of a hurricane had passed into the lands. The movement from below the freezing snow ceased. Then long, slender fingers found their way out of the frozen coffin. Blued by the cold, a second set of digits found their way to the chill surface. The ground heaved upwards and the packed snow seemed to hold onto its captive for only a moment.
Smooth hair as black as ocean waves in the pitch of night cascaded over pale shoulders, falling semi-frozen, forward like a curtain to conceal a man's face. The thin torso of a young man's body wriggled free from the snow. Standing up straight, slowly, as if unsure how to even move, the man held out his lovely, almost feminine hands. His naked body tingled in the crisp air and he gasped loudly, breaking the silence the elements had woven. The last of the snow found its way back to the ground and left thin trails of icy water in its wake on the paled skin.
His first breath burned as it grabbed onto the burning cold air and dragged it down to his lungs, causing him to shudder. Ebony hair began to harden from the wet of the snow. Tourcherously slow, the man brought one hand up to his face and laid his finger tips upon the frozen flesh. He barely felt his touch as he ran fingers over high cheek bones and a perfectly sculpted jaw line.
The world was completely dark and he almost panicked as the realization of his existence settled in. Fear sunk down into his very bones, where even the cold couldn't reach. He felt his thin, pale pink lips stretch tightly into a frown. His frozen lashes resting against his cheeks twitched with the effort to open his eyes.
-.-.-
Eyes the color of the finest silver opened wide. Throwing himself forward, Vanyel took deep shuttering breaths. He ran the back of his hand over his sweaty forehead. He tried to remember what he had just been dreaming about but the images of it were fast fleeting from his consciousness.
Vanyel ran thin, girlish fingers through deep black hair and sighed. He truly felt alone. He was only a couple days into his escorted trip to Haven, the capital of Valdemar, and he was already home-sick. Never mind that his father treated him like a cowering sow and Jervis, the arms master, acted as though he deserved a daily dose of beatings. Vanyel would give anything to even be back in the stuffy bower of his mother, Thereasa.
With a sigh, the young man rolled onto his side and stared at the embers of the dying camp fire. He steeled himself against tears. Vanyel had a new persona now. He mustn't show emotion. No happiness, no fear, no anger...no sadness. If he couldn't reign in his emotions when no one was around, how could he do it each morning amongst a crowd of simpering fools.
The soft smell of burnt wood tickled Vanyel's nose and he threw his blanket over his head. He wanted to hide from his two "prison guards." Sneering to himself, Vanyel imagined his fantasy of snow and ice. If he could be numb inside, he could be safe.