Title: Greys
Fandom: Mercedes Lackey's Heralds of Valdemar
Character/Pairing[s]: OC, Herald trainee
Theme/Prompt: None
Rating: PG
Warnings: None for now, but future malexmale.
Summary: The beginning of a new life in the Collegium. OMG GEN!FIC!? NOT.
Notes: Raith's introduction…TADA. Rather smoother than Dreamwind/Ceron's but that was always going to be the case. In the middle of sorting ideas for the next Bodyguard/Prince prompt anyway, so there should be some ease with practice.
Next is Andres. I had thought of doing this from each muse's point of view because they pretty much occupy equal space up there.
Raith's first night at the Herald's Collegium was something of an event. Being one of the older cadets – only a month more and he would be nineteen – and being reunited with a few friends who had been Chosen when they'd been much younger, there was an uproarious celebration, in which much singing, drunken dancing and laughter was involved. It'd been wonderful and he'd almost forgotten that it'd be a long time until he'd get to go back to the small townhouse at the edge of the city to visit his parents and little brother, Errol.
He'd staggered back to his small room with the aid of one of his new classmates and promptly collapsed onto the bed, fully clothed and snoring before the door had been shut behind him. A few hours later, he was awake, albeit with the beginnings of an awful hangover, and suddenly hit with a rush of the feelings he'd been trying to drown out the previous evening. Staring up at the ceiling, he'd reminisced about the moment that the noble Companion had come up to him, white coat gleaming in the morning sun, blue eyes kind but firm.
: Ah, a nice memory: came the thought that was not his own, in a light, teasing tone.
: Portias:
Raith's lips quirked at the edges. Well, at least he wasn't alone as such. Although his thoughts might never be his own again.
: Not true. You'll learn to keep some of those to yourself. And your emotions too:
:…Last night?: Raith thought with a little wince and no small amount of trepidation. He really couldn't remember much but with Arran at the party too, well-known even back before he'd been Chosen as one of the lewdest people Raith had ever met, then there were bound to have been some catching up on the state of each other's private lives.
There was a small comforting chuckle from his Companion.
:Nothing like that. It works both ways you know. Besides, last night, I was having some fun of my own. A friend, Silane, came back late with her Chosen so I-:
:Enough: With a small groan of disgust, Raith rolled over onto his front, dimly noting that he was still dressed and even still had his boots on. Portias' laughter echoed in a rather cruel fashion around his head.
:Alright, alright. Anyway, don't you have your first classes this afternoon. You should get something for your head from that pretty Healer trainee you were ogling last night:
He frowned into the pillow, concentrating on thinking past the increasing pounding in his head. He vaguely remembered sparkling green eyes and tight red curls. :You saw her?:
:Oh yes. She was the only thing you were focusing on for a while. Quite pretty that one. Although you might want to wait until later - it seemed like she was going to race you into a stupor:
:I don't even remember her name. I think Arran put something in my wine after that:
He sat up, a palm pressed firmly over his eyes as he slowly opened them, to shield against the dawn light coming in through a crack in the curtains that someone, probably whoever had put left him on the bed last night, had conscientiously drawn. Raith could at least thank them for that even if his feet felt uncomfortable after spending the night in his shoes and that now he'd have to break in his spare set of greys rather earlier than he'd thought.
Finally standing, he fought against a wave of dizziness and nausea, Portias' amused concern in the space in his mind containing his new bond, but the Companion mercifully stayed silent, until Raith managed to stagger slowly over to the small washstand with a jug of cool water. Bending over the basin, he poured a good half of it over his head, until the dripping in his eyes began to irritate and he grabbed the small towel from the rail, wiping them and draping it across his shoulders as he pulled back his hair and tied it into a tail.
The promise of a remedy to settle the jumping of his stomach and the headache, he changed quickly, wringing out his still wet hair a bit into the basin. Staring blearily into the mirror, he shrugged at the ghost-like complexion with hollowed-out eye sockets staring back, and left the room, intending to at least clear his head with the cool morning air.
I'd like to know what people think actually. The conversation with the Companion came out suspiciously easily, so I hope it's really okay.