What Might Have Been
By Cybra
A/N: Hey, everyone! I'm starting a whole new series! (Gaspo gaspare!) This one's a crossover with Mercedes Lackey's Valdemar. I've got the whole thing pretty much mapped out in my mind, so it should be pretty good. I've got Point A and Point B, and I've got some real good ideas for the stuff along the way. ^.- For those of you who know nothing of Valdemar, I'd suggest that you either check out the books (They rock!) or, for those of you who like short cuts, check out The Valdemar Companion! Also, the gang's about five years older in this tale because I think it'd be more believable that way.
Disclaimer: Arnold, Phoebe, and the rest of the Hey Arnold! gang whom I have abducted from their homes belong to Craig Barlett. Valdemar, Rethwellan, and the rest of Velgarth, which I am currently messing with, belong to Mercedes Lackey. Enjoy!
Chapter 1: Rethwellan Princess and Valdemaran Herald
A young woman who had recently graced the age of fifteen gazed out over Petras, capitol city of Rethwellan. A light breeze tugged at her long raven hair, trying to tease it out of the braid that stretched to the middle of her back. Absentmindedly adjusting her glasses as they slipped down her nose, she sighed.
Another young lady – taller than the first with long blonde hair – walked up to her. "Phoebe, your parents want to see you."
Princess Phoebalania, "Princess Phoebe" or "Phoebe" for short, looked up at her friend and maid. "Thank you, Helga."
Helga waved off her thanks. "It's my job, remember? Besides, it sounded important. You may want to hustle."
"Right." Waving goodbye, the princess and Heir to the Rethwellan throne hurried through the palace.
As she briskly walked the corridors of the palace, she couldn't help wondering what her parents wanted her for. They had been planning something large with Valdemar lately in order to bring their two kingdoms even closer together. Even though closely allied already, it never hurt to strengthen those ties with enemy kingdoms so close by.
Karse hadn't done anything to try and cross Menmellith lately to enter Rethwellan, but there had been too many instances in the past where the religion-ruled country had taken Menmellith and then tried to take her family's kingdom. She hadn't been born during the last time Karse had tried this, but she knew the threat still lingered.
Entering the impressive audience chamber, the Heir gazed up at the King and Queen. Both smiled at her, making her stiffen. She had a feeling she wasn't going to enjoy this.
Her mother didn't mince words. "Phoebe, we have decided to arrange a betrothal between you and one of the Valdemaran princes."
Phoebe's jaw nearly hit the floor. "You what?"
"It's for the good of Rethwellan, Phoebe," her father told her. "This alliance betrothal will ensure that Valdemar and Rethwellan can keep their oaths to one another. If Karse attacks either Valdemar or Rethwellan – or if Hardorn decides to try and stir up trouble again – one kingdom might be tempted to back out."
"The Valdemarans wouldn't do that," Phoebe pointed out. "Their Monarchs have Companions to check them and make sure they uphold alliances."
In her grooming to become the future Queen of Rethwellan, tutors had taught Phoebe how the governments of the other kingdoms were run. Valdemar's system had fascinated her the most because due to the cursory explanation her tutors had given her, she couldn't understand how such a system could last even a decade without rampant corruption.
But further, self-guided study had revealed Valdemar's not-so-covert secret: the Companions. These were strange, equine creatures that had appeared after King Valdemar prayed to all the gods – even Karse's Vkandis – for something to ensure his people would not suffer under tyrants like they had before he led them into exile. She had seen a Companion only once, and that was from a distance and many years ago. But she remembered a white so pure that she found nothing to compare it to and graceful movements so unlike a horse that she might have been comparing a dancer to a drunk.
"It's not the Valdemarans we're worried about," the King told his daughter. "It's us."
Here Phoebe blinked. "Us…?"
"Phoebe, I don't mean your mother and I or you when you become Queen personally, but I mean future generations. We have no Companions to check us and remind us of our duties. What would stop our successors from simply denying aid except allowing Valdemar to hire members of the Mercenary Guild?"
The Heir sighed. Her parents had a point. "Which of the princes is it?"
Chuckling, her mother lightly scolded, "Don't be so downhearted! As you know, Valdemar has only two princes and a princess. The eldest, Prince Jamio, has been Chosen and is now Heir to the Valdemaran throne, so it's not him. It's Prince Gerald, and he's your age." At the relief clearly evident on Phoebe's face, she added softly, "We wouldn't have you betrothed to someone old enough to be your father, Phoebe. You know that."
"I know, Mother, but I sort of hoped…" She didn't finish, looking at the marble floor in shame.
"You hoped you'd get to choose," the Queen finished for her, eyes softening further. "I know, Phoebe. And I'm sorry."
Straightening her stance like the Queen she would become, she answered, "I probably would have had to do something like this anyway. It's for our people's protection, and a good Queen always protects her people."
Her parents beamed with pride at their daughter. Though nervous and shy (especially around strangers), she showed more than a little spine when Rethwellan was involved. They already could see a great Queen in her.
"A Herald should be arriving within the next week to take you to Valdemar to meet your future husband and see his native land. Pack something light," her mother suggested. "You may have to ride on Companionback considering no horse can keep up with a Companion." She paused. "Of course, the Companion might not let you ride behind the Herald." She shook her head. "But if the Companion does let you ride, the rest of your luggage will be following behind you. It'll take a little longer, so you may have to have what you brought washed so you can wear it again before it arrives."
"What a crime, Mother," Phoebe told the Queen, fighting to keep a straight face as her dark eyes twinkled with mirth.
The King and Queen chuckled. Still smiling at his daughter, the King stated, "You may go, Phoebe."
Feeling still a bit uneasy about the entire trip but willing to do whatever seemed necessary for the kingdom she would rule in the future, Phoebe left the audience chamber to pack.
'I wonder what the Herald will be like…'
~@~
A white blur zipped past the Palace Guards at the gate, leaving quick, silver bell-like tones in its wake. One of the Guards shook his head at the blur. Even though none got a good look at him, all recognized the blur. The Heralds had been keeping tabs on this one and telling the Guards at the gate so he didn't give them a heart attack.
Racing past Companion's Field, the blur pressed on, charging towards the entrance into the palace. Another alert Guard swiftly opened the door, allowing the blur to enter. He shook his head at the fact that the rider didn't bother to stop and dismount his steed.
Across plush carpets, through corridors, and around corners, rider and steed sped. When hooves hit floors not covered by carpets, silver tones rang out, announcing their presence to all.
At the same time, King Martin of Valdemar sat with his Queen beside him. He had just finished another interview with one of the Holderkin when he heard the faint tinkling of silver bells.
:Incoming,: a voice in the King's head warned, chuckling.
Before King Martin could question Krisdan, his Companion, further, one of the servants opened the doors to the audience chamber. Bent over in an attempt to catch his breath, he shouted, "Presenting Companion…Sarabi…and Herald…Arnold!"
Even as he spoke the Herald's name, an elegant Companion mare ghosted over the servant. The servant's face turned nearly as white as the Companion who had just cleared him and looked ready to faint. Neither the Companion nor the Herald noticed as they charged up towards the Monarchs, the mare stopping gracefully before them.
Anyone who has ever handled a horse would expect the Companion to have been covered in foamy sweat after such a mad ride through not only the palace and palace grounds, but also through the winding streets of Haven. But a Companion has stamina no horse could ever dream of having. Sarabi's knees didn't even tremble like they should have after the hard ride.
Instead, she gracefully bowed her head, her Chosen bowing over her neck.
"Your Majesties," the young Herald began, "I have the proof you seek."
Herald Arnold straightened in the saddle as Sarabi stepped forward at a more leisurely pace. Prince Gerald – who had been forced into watching his parents deal with these hearings that people considered too important for even the head of the court system to hear – forced himself not to laugh.
Arnold was the youngest Herald in Whites to grace Valdemar. Born to the lifebonded and married Herald Miles and Healer Stella who had vanished after going to help a plague just north of the Forest of Sorrows when he turned two and then placed in the care of his grandparents (also Heralds), he had grown up in the Heraldic tradition. His grandparents made sure that he learned everything a good Herald needed to know. However, they had taught him those things since those skills also made a good, self-sufficient person. Just because his father and grandparents had been Heralds did not mean Arnold would be Chosen.
But when his grandparents died while trying to save a village from a fire after he turned six, his Gift of Empathy finally unleashed itself and a young Companion filly by the name of Sarabi Chose him. With the support of the Companions (who had always seemed to love the way he'd come to Companion's Field just to watch them or give them little treats) and Sarabi most specifically, young Arnold entered the Heraldic Collegium, completing classes and his internship by the age of ten. A remarkable feat that many doubted would ever happen again.
Reaching into his quiver for an arrow, Arnold hummed absently. He loved his work, and no one thought twice about him when he performed his job. After all, what could a fifteen year-old really do?
But Arnold knew better. Due to his youth, people's tongues loosened a bit more, thinking he didn't understand the double meanings to their words. Those people also knew that Sarabi was as young as he, thinking that she, too, wasn't experienced enough to understand. A definite advantage that would leave him over time, but he would use it to his fullest advantage now.
Lately, groups of bandits kept escaping Guard raids, almost as if they knew when the Guards were coming. The Queen had suggested a traitor since the bandits seemed to have very specific targets in mind though the thread that connected them continued to elude her. The Monarchs had then asked the Heraldic Circle for advice on whom to send.
The King's Own had immediately responded, "Arnold's between circuits. This sounds right up his alley."
The Herald before the Monarchs fiddled with the arrow until a folded piece of paper revealed itself from some sort of hiding place. He handed it to the King who read it, skimming over the lines.
"Well, well, well…" King Martin muttered.
:Looks like they've got some explaining to do,: Krisdan mused. :The boy does good work.:
:Don't we know it? And that Empathy Gift of his lets him know who's lying to him without casting Truth Spell. Handy when you need to know if someone's trying to feed you false information without attracting attention to yourself.:
The Truth Spell, useful under most circumstances, simply wasn't practical when trying to ferret out information from someone while keeping a low profile. The Truth Spell involved using the vrondi which made those people under Truth Spell glow a faint blue. Arnold's extremely strong Gift of Empathy allowed him to do the same job without anyone knowing that he was checking for lies.
"Our gratitude, Herald Arnold," the King told his Herald. His eyes twinkled as he added, "Though I must say that your entrance was a bit dramatic."
The Herald blushed, pink staining the cheeks of his odd-shaped head. "I'm sorry about that, Your Highness, but I felt it was imperative to get here before – "
Lord Reshind entered the audience chamber, angrily glaring at the Herald and Companion before turning to the King and Queen. "Your Highnesses, this Herald has stepped outside the bounds of his authority!"
"How so?" the Queen asked. At the same time, she used her Gift of Mindspeech to ask her husband, :His name's on the list, isn't it?:
:The top.:
"He has been collecting information to try and incriminate me of associating with those bandits on the southern border!" the lord raged. "I would never reduce myself to something so low!"
Arnold stiffened in the saddle, strengthening mental shields to not only keep Lord Reshind's rage out but also his own rage in.
:Trampling him sounds very tempting right now,: Sarabi told him, glaring at the lord with one large sky blue eye.
:I'll be the first to agree with you.:
"And what makes you think that he would do such a thing?" King Martin pressed. "He is a Herald of Valdemar and is honor-bound to serve and protect Valdemar in any way possible. If he did otherwise, Sarabi would repudiate him."
The Herald visibly shuddered at the thought. It didn't happen often, but Companions could repudiate their Chosen. The most famous of those Companions was Gala when she repudiated her Chosen Herald-Mage-trainee Tylendel Frelennye, lifebonded to the legendary Vanyel Ashkevron before Vanyel was Chosen by Yfandes. All of those repudiated by their Companions went mad and committed suicide rather than live without the constant touch of their Companions' thoughts.
To live without Sarabi would do Arnold in. He had already lost his family though he had gained another through the Companions, the Heralds he personally knew, and other friends (including the royal family). But Sarabi was what held him most strongly to this world. Some days when the pain of his great loss seemed unbearable, he thought about embracing the Shadow Lover, but Sarabi was always there to help him. He knew that if she ever repudiated him or died, he would rather join his parents and grandparents in the Havens than remain in Valdemar.
:I wouldn't repudiate you, Love,: she assured him. :Your parents and grandparents did too good a job of raising you while they had you. Sure you're stubborn and there are days when I want to throw you out of the saddle in order to knock some sense into you, but that's no reason to repudiate you. Remember, those who were repudiated broke that trust that a Companion places in their Chosen so badly that the Companion could never forgive them.:
:Thank you, Beloved.: He stroked her neck.
"He broke into my home!" the lord screeched, unknowing of the mental conversation going on. "He broke in and interrogated my servants!"
"He broke in?" King Martin asked, raising both his eyebrows.
The blond Herald before him gave a slightly lopsided smile. "I didn't break in. What servant wouldn't take pity on a poor hungry boy? And I didn't interrogate his servants. I just let them gossip and listened."
The Queen placed a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing as Lord Reshind sputtered for a response. When Arnold needed to use techniques that some would argue bordered on the illegal side to gain more information, he didn't toe the line. In pure teenage and Odd fashion, he danced on it.
"Your Majesties," Arnold continued, "I conferred with Sarabi before this. She agreed that my choice of action was necessary."
The King turned to the King's Own Herald. "What do you think?"
"If the Lord Reshind would be willing, I think it would be a good idea to use Truth Spell in order to find out his side of the story," Herald Wentrin commented. "After all, Barris is telling me that Herald Arnold speaks the truth for his side."
The lord before them paled as the King stated, "An excellent idea. Well, Lord Reshind?"
"I…I…"
"Lord Reshind, I must tell you that there is more than enough evidence along with the names of your supposed co-conspirators on this list to incriminate you even without Truth Spell," King Martin pointed out.
Sullenly, the lord nodded his head, allowing himself to be led away by the Palace Guards.
The King's Own Herald Wentrin rose from his seat. "If you'll excuse me, I believe I have an interrogation to conduct."
The King waved his chief advisor off then turned with an amused look on his face to Arnold. "You enjoy living on the edge, don't you?"
"Me, Highness?" Arnold asked with wide innocent eyes. "I thought I was merely performing my duty as one of your loyal Heralds."
Chuckling now, King Martin shook his head. After a few moments of silent conference with his Companion and his Queen, he then stated, "I hate to send you off after performing such a service, Herald Arnold, but I have a mission of some importance for you to handle."
Emerald green eyes lit up at the prospect, and the small teenager leaned forward in the saddle. Sarabi's ears pricked up.
"I want you to go to escort Princess Phoebalania here. She's going to be betrothed to my son Gerald, and I think she'd be more comfortable if a Herald traveled with her who was her age."
"She's from Rethwellan, isn't she, sire?"
"You've heard of her?"
"Only vaguely," Arnold honestly answered. "But her name screams 'Rethwellan'."
Chuckling once again, the King told his youngest Herald sternly, "I want you to ensure her safety. We'll have the nobles who controlled those bandits soon enough, but that won't stop the bandits from attacking anyone."
"Understood, sire."
"You may go."
Now dismissed, the young Herald rode easily out of the audience chamber. Prince Gerald glanced at his father, seeking permission. At his father's nod, he left as well.
