A/N: This is a short one, and my first! Be nice. I'm a self-confessed recent Mercedes Lackey convert - three days old. Most of my childhood was spent casting dubious glances at people in the library holding odd-looking books with a dark-haired man and a white horse on the cover. And then - lo! Read the Last Herald-Mages trilogy, and well, what more can I say.

I love the who-loves-more-than-who game.

Forgive me if there are glaring errors, I shan't claim anything more than a surface knowledge of how her world works. And do review! The title was stolen from a line of that rather yummy Ashkevron bloke… :)

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Vanyel stood a few feet away from the tree, watching it cautiously. His hands were outstretched, reaching towards it on 'Lendel's request, and he felt more than a little foolish in such an awkward position. But he managed to ignore it: Tylendel was pressing his ear to its bark, listening. His eyes were shut, as though in rapture; Vanyel thought he looked almost angelic. There in the sunlight dappled garden, his face was lit with a soft glow that came as much from within as without—Vanyel was afraid that if he stepped any closer, or said anything, or even made one wrong move, it might break the spell, and this vision of his 'Lendel might vanish into whatever greater Haven he must have come from.

He closed his eyes.

Gods, he can't be real.

"Oh, Vanyel-ashke." Vanyel's eyes flew open, and he had to steady himself. 'Lendel was taking deliberate steps towards him, a soft, teasing smile on his face. Vanyel felt an answering blush creep over his face.

"I'm perfectly real."

Vanyel closed his eyes again as Tylendel closed the distance between them.

"Y—you aren't supposed to—you—read—my thoughts."

"Mmm. I'm sorry. Are you angry?" 'Lendel murmured in his ear, and then, quite unapologetically, he ran his hands under Vanyel's shirt. Vanyel's breath came out in a long, shuddering sigh. To his surprise, his lover wrinkled his nose and stilled his hands, although – and this Vanyel read as a good sign – he kept them exactly where they were.

"Ashke, you need to brush your teeth."

Vanyel's startled laughter rang out through the pines.

* * *

"What were you doing with the tree?" Vanyel asked, through a mouthful of grit. The twig he'd chosen was particularly vicious, with tiny thorns that he hadn't seen before he'd stuck it into his mouth. They were cleaning remarkably well, but they were reducing the insides of his mouth to a bloody pulp.

"Listening." 'Lendel looked thoughtful. "That tree, it's sick—Savil wants to test my Healing Gift; she says it's not distinct, but she thinks it's there. I was just—trying."

"What were you listening to—ah, hell."

Tylendel came over and helped him mop up the blood on his lower lip. He flung the twig aside in distaste and looked around for another.

"It's funny," 'Lendel said, after a suitable candidate had been located, "it felt like didn't want to live anymore. I couldn't speak to it, but I—I felt around, and it felt as though it had simply—given up."

"Why?"

"I don't know," Tylendel said, his eyes on the space beside Vanyel's shoulder. "I didn't know anything could feel like that. It was so—hollow. Empty spaces where things—where feelings—used to be. Sort of—deadened—"

He looked at Vanyel, but Vanyel simply looked back, his face blank. Tylendel shivered. Vanyel saw the distancing in those eyes before it destroyed their brief time together that day.

"Well," he ventured, "it was old…"

"That isn't it, Van! It was as though—it had nothing to live for, as though there was nothing worth living for. It isn't living, it's existing. Didn't you feel some of that pain? I was borrowing your Gift energy. That's why I could hear your thoughts—it was almost like you Mindspoke me. Didn't you feel it?"

Vanyel shook his head unhappily.

"I'm not Gifted, 'Lendel. I can't—feel things the way you do. I don't even know how any of this is supposed to work, I don't know how I'm lending you my—my energy, I just do it. I just—trust you."

He glanced uncertainly at Tylendel, who looked immediately contrite, and gathered him into his arms.

"You're right," he whispered against Vanyel's hair, "you're right, ashke, I'm so sorry. I'm trying to make this your fault, and it has nothing to do with you."

"It's alright, love," Vanyel whispered back, as he wrapped his arms around Tylendel's warmth, happiness and relief making them tighter than usual. "I don't mind, 'Lendel. I love you."

And that, beloved, will have to do for now.

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