Stefen had known Sovvan-night was approaching, if only because of the traveling merchants and the accumulation of tents in the Haven town square. Bright flags flew high, showcasing a sword for the smith, a gittern for the instrument maker, a bolt of scarlet cloth for the weaver, and various other trades with their respective symbols.
He had forgotten it was Sovvan itself, however, until he had run out on an errand for Breda; she'd wanted some herb for her dazzle headaches—none of the Healers' remedies were working, and she swore by some rare remedy that only the most expensive apothecary in town carried. Coming home, he'd had to navigate his way through the sea of blustering merchants, all seeking to convince him of their honesty, fairness and the importance of owning a new tunic for the evening's festivities. He doubted most of them, and the others he'd have time to seek later—for now, he was due back with the herbs and for court; there was some sort of grand fete occurring for the foreign delegates from Hardorn. He was to play, of course, rousing music to set everyone in the reveling mood, to set them drinking and to loosen their tongues. That alone should have reminded him it was Sovvan, but with so many events, he'd brushed it off as simply another potentially romantic evening lost to politics. Havens knew he and Vanyel lost enough of them.
Well, tonight certainly wouldn't have been the moment for roses and ballads at any rate, he thought sourly. He'd expected more of a change in Vanyel's behavior, more of a warning that this night was coming—but Van's been totally normal. Or rather, as normal as he ever is… Vanyel had a way of shifting from public to private persona that left Stefen guessing whether he even remembered they were lovers outside the bedchamber or Savil's quarters. They'd discussed it, and Stefen had accepted it, but with all the tumult of the Hardornern delegation, he'd had even less real Vanyel than usual. And that overdose of the great Herald-Mage Vanyel Ashkevron is most likely why I haven't noticed anything. He's been "distant public figure" Van for the past fortnight, save those rare moments we had an hour or two alone before he passed out from sheer exhaustion—and then, we barely spoke, simply fulfilled our physical needs. So how could I have guessed? He sighed. This wasn't going to be an easy evening… and since they shared living quarters, Vanyel couldn't simply hide from him. At least, I hope not. I hope he thinks enough of me—and of us—that he needs to share this evening.
When Vanyel had been in Rethwellan, he'd asked Savil about Tylendel, simply because Vanyel never spoke of it, and it was part of what had made him who he was today. Besides, all he had otherwise were stories—snippets from Medren, who'd never known the Trainee, and the bits of rumors that still circled about "that repudiated Herald Trainee" who you'd never want to be. Savil had been reluctant to talk, but he'd convinced her that he genuinely just wanted to understand Vanyel better.
"I hear you, lad," she'd muttered. "He's gotten shut up so tight this past decade, I'm surprised he hasn't strangled himself with all his secrets. Gods, some days I feel like I barely know how he's feeling…" she'd trailed off then, and given Stefen an appreciative look. "Although, he's gotten much better since you came along. I can finally joke with him again; he acts like a human being at least some of the time."
"So will you tell me the story?" he'd asked, not wanting to lose this perfect opportunity.
She'd stalled a bit, then finally come out with the whole of it: how Tylendel and Vanyel met; how they'd come together and Vanyel had discovered that he was shaych; how Tylendel has lost his sanity and Vanyel had contributed, in part, to his madness and to his conspiring to murder—Stefen had been shocked at that last. Savil had smiled sadly at him and said:
"Lad, Van back then was no Herald. He was nothing like the man he is now—he was shy, awkward, and utterly dependent on 'Lendel. He had no clue what he would do with himself; he figured he'd be disinherited and that he'd have to be a Guardsman or something of the sort to even stay with 'Lendel. He had nothing else to hold on to. Lord knows I wasn't there for him like I should have been…" she'd frowned and shook her head. "Nobody else seemed to love him besides his sister, and she was miles away. He did everything 'Lendel asked him to."
"But… I can't imagine him like that. He's so confident, so in control of his emotions and everything that happens around him; everything that happens in Valdemar, for that matter!"
Savil had chuckled drily. "Years and years of practice, lad. Losing 'Lendel changed him, too—completely made him rethink life, his values, and what he could do for the people around him… what 'Lendel would have wanted him to do."
So he'd learned the whole story, the whole sick mess of it. He wasn't sorry he'd asked, but he was sorrier for Vanyel—To not only have lost a lifebond, but to feel in part responsible—Gods, the guilt, and Van is so quick to guilt already.
He'd also not known about the pain; Vanyel had never told him that his insides had essentially been ripped apart and burned for weeks. Of course, having seen Vanyel naked, he knew that was far from the worst thing he'd experienced, but still. Vanyel had been seventeen.
And now it was Sovvan, and Savil had forewarned him not to expect much from Vanyel:
"Sovvan is when he grieves, lad. For the waste, for what could have been, for the bright spirit lost to us all… he always wants to be alone. He always breaks down to a point he rarely lets himself go."
Since Stefen had never truly seen Vanyel break down—except in the throes of passion, he thought with a slight smile—he couldn't really imagine what that might be like. And I'm not sure I want to see.
Lost in his musings, he'd barely noticed passing the Palace gates; his feet had found their own way to Breda's door and he knocked twice. She took the herbs, thanking him profusely, before rapidly shutting out him and whatever light the hall candles were casting with a muttered oath.
Good old Breda, he thought with a half-smile. There's one who won't be at the fete tonight.
Then, quick on his feet as ever, he rushed to his and Vanyel's quarters to change into formal Scarlets. Vanyel, of course, was absent—Stefan suspected even he, with his well-known excuse, would not consider it wise to miss tonight's event. He's too important—as much the King as Randale, and everyone knows it. I bet he hasn't even left Court all day.
On his way, he passed the first few guests leaving their rooms in full Court dress and was glad he'd taken the time to change. They really seem to have nothing to do but have outfits tailored and their hair pinned up, he thought with a bit of envy. He'd never had such luxuries, and even now, he worked these events; he didn't get to appreciate them.
When he arrived, Bard Hedron set him up in the corner speedily, casting anxious looks at the first guests all the while. "You need to start playing as soon as possible," he hissed. Stefen nodded, sighing internally. I didn't even get to ask where Van is, he thought, a bit plaintively. He'd expected him to be here already; Tantras and Joshe were, rubbing shoulders with the minor members of the delegation. Tantras spared a moment to look his way and Stefen held his gaze, the question in his eyes.
Tran's always the best bet for knowing, he thought. And the first to understand what a pain it must be to be Vanyel's lover. Plus, he'd made an effort to get to know Stefen and let him know that he approved of the relationship heartily.
The older Herald made his way through the maze of courtiers to murmur softly, "He left to change in Randi's quarters—he'll be back in a moment." Tantras sighed, then, and looked out at the crowd. "I don't know if he'll hold up, but he said he'd do his best."
Still bent over his instrument and pretending to tune it, Stefen spoke softly back, "Tell me, Tran, how bad is he on Sovvan?"
"Bad," Tantras replied shortly, his brow creasing. "Incapable of anything but silence and solitude. He used to stand duty for me, and when I'd come to get him, he wouldn't speak a word, his face set in grim lines, his eyes… lost." He paused as the door opened and a solitary figure came through. Stefen would have known that elegant walk anywhere, especially when combined with the silver-streaked black hair and face that the candles lit in sharp planes of ethereal beauty.
"Well, there you are," Tantras said, laying a hand briefly on Stefen's shoulder. "He always makes an entrance, doesn't he?"
All eyes had turned to Vanyel and Stefen noted no small number of women fanning themselves coquettishly. He rolled his eyes, which Tantras noted with an amused snort. "Ah, yes, that never ends either. Although I wouldn't want to be the pretty bird that tries to make silly conversation with him tonight. He's here to make an appearance, nothing more." With that, Tantras squeeze his shoulder again, then walked away to speak to a tall, hawk-nosed man who looked to be the Hardornen general. Better start playing, Stefen thought with a start. Half the crowd's here.
As usual, his mind faded into blankness as he played with his Gift, influencing the crowd to enjoy, enjoy, enjoy—drink and be merry, and he never came to awareness again until a hand on his arm, what must have been candlemarks later.
It was Tantras, who began to slap his cheek lightly as he shook off the dazedness. "Come back to us, Stef," he said.
"I'm here, I'm here," Stefen murmured, still a bit out of it. He took stock of his surroundings; virtually no one was left, save a few drunk stragglers and Tantras, who organized such events and always stayed until the end. The implications of the room's emptiness set in and he cast an alarmed look at the Herald. "How late is it?"
"The midnight gong struck two candlemarks ago," Tantras replied, helping him up. "That's when Vanyel left."
"Gods," Stefen said, shaking his head. "He didn't say a word."
"Well, to be fair, you were in a trance." Tantras paused. "Although I empathize. He didn't say much to anyone, you know, only the absolutely required courtesies. And your guess for where he is now is as good as mine."
Exhausted from the past weeks and tired of chasing Vanyel, Stefen felt the tears rising and struggled to hold them back.
"Hey," Tantras said, taking his arm. "Easy now. It'll be all right, I'll take you to your rooms. This is all over at any rate."
The walk back was silent; Stefen felt that if he tried to speak he would choke on his words, and Tantras seemed to understand that. When they reached the door, Tantras knocked once. To their surprise, Vanyel answered it—still in his formal Court wear, still obviously awake, but with his face utterly ravaged. Stefen took a step back and Tantras steadied him.
"He's exhausted, Van, I forgot to get him out of trance—the General wouldn't let me go—and he played until a minute ago. He hasn't even noticed his fingers bleeding yet." At that, Stefen looked down in surprise—his fingers were, indeed, bleeding.
Vanyel nodded and cleared his throat, seeming to try to find the courage to speak. What came out was more like a croak than his usual musical voice. "I'm sorry I wasn't there to help…" he trailed off, then, really looking at Stefen for the first time. "Gods, Stef, you look a mess!" he exclaimed, his voice gaining strength.
"No worse than you," Stefen replied hoarsely, the pain of his hands combined with the burgeoning reaction headache preventing further speech.
Vanyel arched an eyebrow and hint of life seemed to return to his face. "Still able to make insolent comments, I see," he murmured, taking Stefen's arm. "Thank you, Tran, we'll be all right," he continued, grasping the other Herald's hand with a grateful look.
Tantras simply nodded and shut the door behind him, leaving Stefen and Vanyel alone in the dim room. Vanyel let go of his arm, then, and turned away while Stefen shifted awkwardly on his feet, waiting for his lover to say or do anything.
After a moment, Vanyel sighed, straightened his shoulders, and looked back at Stefen. "Let me take care of those fingers for you."
Nodding stupidly, Stefen let Vanyel massage that same marigold cream into his hands that he had used so long ago, in such a seemingly simpler time. All I wanted was to get him into bed, then… Stefen thought ruefully, shaking his head.
"Are you all right?" Vanyel asked quietly.
"What? Oh, yes," Stefen replied, attempting to refocus his thoughts. He was exhausted, mentally and physically, when he most needed to be there for Vanyel. "Van…" he began tentatively.
"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you tonight," Vanyel interrupted, letting Stefen's now-bandaged and massaged hand fall away. He had turned away again, and his long hair hid all but the planes of his face from view. "I didn't want to hide from you tonight, but all those people… it was too much for me."
With his good hand, Stefen reached over to take Vanyel's. "Of course I understand, Van. I won't lie, I wish you'd been there at the end. I know, though, that you can't give me anything tonight. I'm just glad you were here when I came in and that you aren't running away from me."
"No, Stef, I wouldn't do that. That wouldn't be fair to you, especially knowing that he—'Lendel—" his voice caught for a moment, then he carried on "—would have wanted me to be with you tonight, and every night."
They sat there silently for a moment, holding hands, until Stefen finally broke the silence. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked hesitantly. "I mean, him and you and… your relationship. It won't bother me…"
Vanyel shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry, Stef. I can't—I know you mean well, but I still can't. You know me," he said a bit wryly, finally turning his face back to Stefen and the light. "Talking about my emotions is not my strong suit."
Laughing weakly, Stefen laid his head on Vanyel's shoulder. "Yes, I've noticed," he replied dryly, earning an answering, equally weak laugh from Vanyel. His face sobering, he pulled his head back, laid a hand on Vanyel's cheek, and said quietly, "I don't have to stay here tonight, ashke. I can go back to Bardic… I do understand."
"No," Vanyel said firmly, placing his own hand over Stefen's before moving it away from his cheek. "That's not what I want." Chastely and ever-so-softly, then, he kissed Stefen full on the lips.
"What do you want?" Stefen asked, a bit tremulously.
"Will you—" Vanyel paused and looked down, almost as if embarrassed. "—Would you just hold me tonight?"
A bit incredulously—I'm still shocked he wants me to stay—Stefen replied, "Of course, love. There's nothing I want to do more."
"I have to warn you, I might cry," Vanyel said with a small, self-deprecating smile.
"Well, then, I have to warn you, so might I," Stefen replied, gathering Vanyel's stiff form into his arms and gently stroking his hair. "Your grief is my grief."
His only reply was a quiet sigh and the slow, folding surrender of Vanyel's form into his own.