A/N: Good day! I am Alyse, and for those of you who are reading this for the first time, welcome! This story is currently undergoing some serious edits, so I beg your forgiveness for any story-breaking errors. I hope there aren't many of them.
This idea came to me while playing Skyrim, oddly enough. I read 'Galerion the Mystic' and wondered, "Well, what was his life really like? I mean, Mannimarco seemed really interested in him in Oblivion!" Naturally, ESO has only made my obsession with this strikingly rare pairing grow. Seriously. It's probably unhealthy.
I decided to write about them. And make it slash.
I have no shame. Whatsoever.
Changes in this chapter: slight lore tweaks, nothing too different.
I DON'T OWN ANYTHING.
◊Prologue◊
Fires. Ashes of knowledge floating weightlessly into the night sky. Weeks of running, smuggling and hiding. The discoveries. The hanging. The end of his family, the end of his life as he knew it…
Trechtus's lungs burned. He could barely breathe as his legs carried him away from his home, fueled on further only by the grisly thought of his father hanging from a tree in the center of the village. The thought of it almost made him sick to his stomach, but he couldn't afford to stop so close to the border. Once Lord Gyrnasse's guards knew he had escaped, he'd be dead, too. They didn't care that he'd only lived eight years.
Fallen leaves crunched beneath his small feet as he fled through the forest, looking back every so often to make sure he wasn't being followed by anyone. When he had made it far enough away so that he could no longer see the jagged outline of the village through the tall trees, he leaned against one, sinking to the ground in a trembling heap. Though the skies above him had been clear when he'd left that morning, a rumble of thunder sounded, heralding rain and lighting from the heavens. He pulled his knees in close to his thin body, letting his head rest on them. In the midst of the droplets falling from the clouds, a child cried unashamedly, tears flowing from his wide, pale blue eyes.
Heliand felt like something momentous was going to happen to him. He had even told the rest of his group so. The golden blonde Altmer couldn't explain why he felt like that, he just did. Most of the others wrote it off as a side-effect of his training in mysticism, some residual magic hanging on from his youthful days as a mage. Heliand brushed them off with a wave of his hand. He knew when he was right.
The group of troubadours were on the road, hoping to reach the next city by nightfall. It was only just morning, so all had positive expectations; they were ahead of schedule. Heliand could hear them laughing behind him as he lead them on, walking his horse, reins in hand. It warmed his heart to hear their happiness. Every single one of them had lived a rough life, and it was a good sign that all of them could bring themselves to be cheerful again. Smile on his handsome features, he allowed himself to get lost in the thoughts of their performance in the next city. He longed to sing again.
Heliand was drawn out of his musings when his horse stopped short, ears forward and eyes wide.
"Mallari," he said to the stallion, stroking his nose, "What's the matter?"
The tall horse didn't avert his gaze from where it was pinned. He was staring off to the side of the road, at an unknown object off the shoulder of the path. It was rather large, dark in colour with no discernible features. As indeterminate as its appearance was, it had made Mallari curious. The golden mer had to investigate, at the very least.
Noticing that their leader had halted suddenly, the entire group followed suit. Heliand handed Mallari's reins off to another member and walked forward toward the object cautiously, leather boots making little noise on the travel-worn stone of the road. When he neared it, he gasped in surprise.
"Nereidan, Breylinor! Come over here!" he yelled, voice tinged with an uncharacteristic urgency. Two other mer came running to him, questioning looks on their faces.
"What in Oblivion's name is it, Heliand?" Nereidan asked, breathless, "You never sound this nervous." Breylinor nodded in agreement, running a hand through his thick, auburn hair.
Heliand didn't say any more, instead stood back, pointing to the object on the ground. The object wasn't an object at all, but a child. His filthy clothes were torn to shreds, stained in places with splotches of blood. His long, chocolate-brown hair was matted to his head, unwashed. The trio of Altmer realized with stomach-twisting horror that he was still bleeding, a wide river of red running out from both his pale, parted lips and his pointed nose. Heliand knelt down next to the child, placing two long fingers on his neck. A frown on his face, he stood.
"He's still alive," he said, "but only just. He needs help now if he's going to survive."
The blonde's two companions looked shocked.
"We can't take in anyone else," Breylinor noted, "We can barely feed ourselves on the money we earn! You think we can afford another mouth to feed?"
Heliand ignored his friend and bent down to the child, easily scooping him up.
"I couldn't care, Breylinor. I'm not going to leave him here to die. He can have my rations if it comes down to it."
Breylinor rolled his eyes, but followed his leader back to the awaiting group. Heliand's heart sunk as he looked at the small, broken body in his arms. It was clear that the boy had been through Oblivion and back. He was curious as to where the child was from and what had put him in such a condition, but he refrained from attempting to wake him. He walked slowly through his group, drawing eyes as he made his way to the caravan in the back.
He managed to get himself and the dying child inside the wooden carriage, laying him down carefully on one of the cushioned benches.
"Lead them on," he said to Nereidan and Breylinor as they appeared in the doorway, "I've got to tend to his wounds."
Breylinor opened his mouth to make another comment, but held his tongue when he received an angry glare from Heliand's amber eyes.
"Go."
Trechtus slowly opened his eyes, realizing that the light he was rushing towards was no longer present. The image that formed before him instead left him curious; a wooden ceiling, the sensation of moving…and the calm, concentrated face of an adult Altmer leaning over his arm with glowing light emanating from his long fingertips. The youthful mer sat up with urgency, eyes swollen with sudden fear. Where was he? Who was this man? Why wasn't he in pain anymore?
"Relax, relax," said his attendant, brushing locks of aureate hair behind his pointed ears as he raised his hands in a placating gesture, "I'm not going to hurt you."
Breathing rapidly, Trechtus looked warily at the man. He backed up as far as he could, spine hitting the wooden wall of the carriage.
"Where am I?" he asked timidly, voice trembling with as much intensity as his hands.
"In the interior of a carriage, on the way to our next performance," the other mer said, smiling, "We found you on the side of the road, nearly dead. I've been healing your wounds for the past day and a half. You had many, so it's taken quite some time." He outstretched a refined hand to Trechtus, steady and reassuring.
"My name is Heliand," he spoke warmly, "And yours?"
Trechtus looked at the offered hand, then back to his face, unsure. Deciding that, one: he was still alive, two: this mer had actually healed his wounds, and three: he seemed nice enough, Trechtus accepted the handshake.
"Trechtus…" he said quietly, avoiding looking Heliand in the eyes.
"Well, Trechtus," Heliand said, standing, "Welcome. Take some time to rest up, you'll need it."
With that, the tall, golden Altmer stood and opened the carriage door, stepping out of the moving vehicle with practiced ease. Trechtus stared after him curiously.
By the Auri-El's grace, he thought, rubbing subconsciously at his now-healed arm, What is this?
"Trechtus!" came the yell from the group of songsters in the center of Potansa. Heliand was waving at him, smile wide.
"Trechtus," he said, as the adolescent ran up to him, "Did you manage to get the lodgings sorted out?"
"Of course," Trechtus replied, re-tying the hair that had come loose when he ran, "The innkeeper arranged it all flawlessly, if I might say so."
"Good. Go and get some fruit for tonight's dessert, if you would. Don't forget to get some for yourself!" Heliand handed him a few coins and watched with delight as the lanky boy ran off once more into the busy streets.
"There's something different about him," he said to Nereidan who was chewing on sugar cane beside him.
"You think?" Nereidan replied, spitting out the rind, "He is awfully smart for eleven years of age. He went through every book we gave him in two days or less and he certainly seems to have a grasp on the arcane. I caught him practicing in the woods the other day. He's talented, that's for sure."
Nereidan looked at Heliand curiously, noticing the thoughtful look on his friend's face.
"What're you thinking, Hel?" he asked, furrowing his brow.
Heliand tilted his head as he searched for the proper way to answer.
"I'm thinking he deserves better than this."
"Like?"
Heliand bit his lip and looked at Nereidan, unsure.
"You remember how I trained with the Psijics when I was young?" he asked, averting his eyes to the cobblestone ground.
"Yes, of course. Why?"
"I never truly lost contact with them. I figured there'd be a day when I'd need them again, and I think that now might be that time. Trechtus is intelligent, a fast-learner…They…They could use someone like him. They could definitely give him a better life than anything we could ever offer."
Nereidan looked at Heliand incredulously, dropping the last of his sugar cane onto the street.
"You're going to give him to them? Are you sure that's the best idea? I mean, not many people trust them anymore. Do you think you should?"
Heliand nodded.
"My tutor, Iachesis, would be his mentor as well. I trust him with my life."
Nereidan shook his head and sighed.
"Well, it's your decision. If you think it's what's best for the boy, then do it. Just keep your wits about you."
Heliand did his best to smile, heart twitching uncomfortably in his chest as Trechtus came trotting back towards him, half-eaten apple in his left hand.
"Trechtus," he said, trying his best to restrain his sadness, "We need to discuss something…"
Ritemaster Iachesis knew the boy was special as soon as Heliand had brought him through the grand doors of their tower on Artaeum. He looked at everything with calculating wonder, both curious and analytical. He had seemed hesitant at first, warily eyeing Iachesis's offered hand cautiously when they met. After Heliand had assured him that all was well, he accepted the greeting and began to talk quietly about what he knew and what he wished to learn. After their chat, the old teacher had smiled.
"From this moment on, you will leave the name 'Trechtus' behind you. You are above that, now."
Trechtus had looked up at him guardedly, unreadable expression on his face.
"You will be called Vanus Galerion, a name that befits someone as bright as you."
Vanus hadn't reacted to his new moniker at first, but bowed his head after a few tense moments.
"Thank you," he said solemnly, "Thank you for allowing me to study here."
It had been a week since then, and the young, dark haired mer had rarely strayed from his room. It was high noon on the Morndas of his second week in the study when Iachesis decided to pry him from his shell and introduce him to the rest of the Order.
"Vanus," he said, tapping lightly on the intricate door leading to the adolescent's room. He heard some shuffling before the door opened to reveal Vanus with a questioning look on his youthful features.
"Master Iachesis," he acknowledged with a polite nod of his head, "Is there something you need?"
Iachesis glanced around the shorter form into Vanus's room which appeared to be covered floor-to-ceiling in papers and books. He raised his greying eyebrows in surprise, but made no mention of it to his student.
"Actually, there is. Get yourself tidied up and presentable. I'm taking you to meet the rest of the Order."
Vanus Galerion's sky-blue eyes widened. He nodded hastily, bowing lightly.
"Yes, sir," he replied, "I'll be downstairs in no time."
Iachesis gave him a smile before closing the door, laughing to himself when he heard the sound of books and papers crashing to the ground. Today would be interesting…
An hour or so later, a primped and polished Vanus swallowed thickly as he was lead into a colossal, circular room. The windows were nearly as tall as the wall, five in total framing a massive, cherrywood table in the center. At least fifteen Psijic mages sat at it, all staring directly at him. He felt awkward enough already, unruly hair tied back in a neat braid and dressed in impeccably clean white and gold robes that were given to all students. He couldn't maintain eye contact with any of the mages that watched him until his large orbs settled on a young individual that stood leaning on the front of the table, shockingly bright green-yellow eyes boring into Vanus's. He looked to be only a few years his senior, attractively sharp features framed by pale blonde hair that hung to his rib cage. His gaze was piercing, and Vanus felt his stomach twitch under it. He couldn't look away from him, even as Iachesis stopped pushing him forward and began speaking.
"Thank you for coming," the aging teacher said loudly, addressing the whole room, "In accordance with our traditions, I would like to give you the opportunity to welcome our newest apprentice, Vanus Galerion!"
All the observers clapped, including the green-eyed teenager who still held his gaze. Vanus broke it momentarily to smile awkwardly at everyone, unsure of what to say. Iachesis nudged him subtly, urging him to speak.
"Umm," he began, choking on his words, "Thank you for accepting me. I'm looking forward to learning all I can from you all. I appreciate the opportunity."
Happy that he had managed to cough something out, Vanus bowed. The mages clapped again as he returned to full height. Iachesis patted him on the back and led him forward, the rest of the room standing and migrating over to them.
"Ah, time to meet everyone. Good job, Vanus. You'll make a fine student."
Iachesis introduced him to the rest of the Psijics, telling him their names. Vanus didn't really pay attention until they were approached by a thin figure wearing the same robes as he.
"Well, he must be smart. If he wasn't, I'm sure you'd have left him in whatever ditch you found him in."
Iachesis and Vanus turned to face the voice.
"Hush," Iachesis said, chiding the pale-blonde mer, "Vanus, this is Mannimarco, our top student."
Vanus froze as his eyes once again met Mannimarco's. He was smirking lightly, appraising the younger apprentice.
"Pleasure," he noted coolly, taking Vanus's hand in his own. Iachesis sensed something between them, but didn't remark on it.
"Mannimarco arrived here about five years ago, when he was a year younger than you. You'll be training together from now on."
Mannimarco's smirk turned sour as he shot Iachesis a filthy glare. Iachesis returned it, eventually squashing his other student's attempt at objection.
"Well, we shall see how well this works, shan't we?" With that, the older boy turned on his heel and sauntered out of the room, long hair swishing as he walked. Vanus stared after him, filled with a strange sense of foreboding and fascination.
"Don't mind him, Vanus," Iachesis reassured him, shaking his head, "He can be moody on the best of days. He's brilliant, but his attitude gets him in trouble more often than not."
Vanus only nodded in acknowledgement.
'Mannimarco', he thought, watching the teenager's retreating back, 'You're different. More than anyone here can tell…'
A/N: Fortunately, this one didn't require as much editing as some of the later chapters. However, the formatting on this one has been (and always will be) a bit of a nightmare. Hopefully it wasn't poor enough to chase away any readers. This is the only chapter that's cut up into so many small fragments, I swear. :V
