A whitewashed light prodded Tylendel into wakefulness. While the light in itself didn't bother him much at all, the deep-set throbbing in his head that the light likewise prodded into wakefulness cast something of a pall over the morning's virginal innocence. With a muffled curse, he pushed himself into a vaguely upright position, head buried in his hands and thoughts buried under a thrumming haze of familiar pain. Such was the price of sins committed under cover of darkness: if they were worth it, they made sure to make the memory of their presence known come morning.

Tylendel felt himself smiling at that – or possibly grimacing – and turned his head to peer at the body sleeping next to him. He hadn't felt Vanyel stir at his outburst, which meant he must still be blissfully asleep, oblivious of the hangover cruelly waiting to pounce at the slightest sign of life; that, or –

There was no one beside him.

A flash of confusion crowded the pain in his mind, and Tylendel turned to the window despite the glaring light, trying to determine the time. It was early yet. Earlier than Tylendel was accustomed to rising, his first class being set slightly later to accommodate his… disreputable – as Savil put it – nightly habits. Tylendel smirked slightly at the thought: he and Savil had never quite resolved that argument, but youth did have its prerogatives. And its needs.

But Vanyel's classes were set even later, as the highborn's habits were often more extreme than his own, Vanyel consistently dragging himself out of the haven of linens and drawn curtains much later than Tylendel. It was a part of Tylendel's daily routine – one that he never really spoke of to anyone, out of a strange mixture of jealousy and embarrassment – to start the day just laying next to Vanyel, watching his face as he slept and stroking his hair. In fact, Tylendel was hard pressed to come up with an instance in which Vanyel had actually managed to wake before him, nightmares in the middle of the night aside…

Nightmare. Tylendel grasped at a rather confused recollection of Vanyel crying out in his sleep, jolting into wakefulness with fear in his eyes, trembling like he had been left out in a blizzard; he could also remember trying to comfort Vanyel, trying to calm him down and meaning to have him talk to him about whatever it was he had dreamt… but then Vanyel's face had closed, all emotion swept away, and he had told Tylendel that everything was fine, letting him slip back into the clutches of Morpheus.

Damn it. Tylendel ripped at the sheets twined around his legs and attempted to manoeuvre himself into a proper sitting position, eventually managing to push himself off the edge of the bed in his haste, landing rather painfully on his hands and knees. After a spate of cursing rendered largely ineffective by his breathlessness, Tylendel pulled on whatever clothes were on the floor nearest him – he knew they weren't Van's just by the fact that they were on the floor and not carefully arranged in the wardrobe. Even in the deepest drink-induced oblivion, Vanyel still seemed to have an protective instinct toward his clothing.

When the clothes were decently arranged to cover all the important things, Tylendel took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair, waiting for the shadows hanging about the walls to stop spinning. When he was moderately sure that he could take two steady steps in a straight line, Tylendel made his way to the door, stumbling only once. Well, twice.

Finally reaching the door, Tylendel grabbed the handle, prepared to throw it open and burst into the common room in a rush of instability and poorly buttoned fabric. But, before he could carry out this plan of action, a pair of voices brought him up short and he paused to listen. He was a Herald trainee, but that didn't mean he couldn't see the advantages of eavesdropping. And it certainly didn't mean he considered himself above taking advantage of an opportunity when one offered itself up to him.

And an opportunity this evidently was, the unassuming yet firm murmur of Donni's voice mingling with a voice Tylendel knew he could place anywhere, one he felt almost inscribed in his soul.

"…. how you managed to get such a headache, Vanyel? I'm doubting it's a result of too much sleep." Donni's voice was teasing, light and friendly.

"Ah, well. I could regale you with tales, but I fear sullying your enviable innocence." Van's voice was just as light as Donni's, but Tylendel couldn't help remarking that it was… odd. It wasn't just hoarse, or brittle – it was definitely both of those things, given the things he and Vanyel had been doing last night – but it had a certain faintness to it that couldn't be explained away by a late night or too much drink or…

"Vanyel Ashkevron, I think you underestimate my level of experience in debauchery." Tylendel almost gave himself away at that: only Van could cajole Donni into such a conversation. Though, oddly enough, it seemed like Donni was doing the majority of the cajoling this morning. Vanyel was quieter than usual, not offering anything more than short responses to Donni's openings, seeming to be actively avoiding a conversation. And his voice, it sounded –

Distracted.

Tylendel shook himself and opened the door, aiming at first for a casual air of having just woken and ending up focusing on making it to the couch without causing himself serious bodily injury. When he was safely sprawled on the gently spinning couch, Tylendel ventured a slurred greeting.

"Hi, Donni. Hey, Van." He winced at the turgid, uncooperative feeling of his tongue, but felt slightly cheered at the wry glance Van and Donni exchanged at his expense. At least Van still felt well enough to make light of his pain. As usual.

Donni offered a good morning that was just a little too thickly spiced with suppressed laughter for Tylendel's liking, and Vanyel just smirked at him knowingly. Tylendel heard himself grumbling sloppily before he realized he was doing it; and, by the growing grins on the others' faces, he wasn't maintaining anything even bordering on dignity in doing so. After a second's hazy consideration, Tylendel decided to cut his losses.

"Oh, stop laughing at me!" His plaintive order only seemed to add fuel to the fire. "Come over here, ashke, and make me feel better." Tylendel threw in a pout to go with that last, hoping it would encourage Van to take pity on him. Vanyel raised an eyebrow, but didn't make any move to get up from the stool he was currently perched on.

It was Donni who got up, poured a battered cup full of some kind of liquid and shoved it into Tylendel's hand. She turned an unreadable glance on him, standing over him by the couch, before saying playfully, "Oh, well, you aren't the only one who's feeling the night's toll on the morning. Poor Vanyel is currently locked in mortal combat with a terrible migraine." Donni returned to the breakfast table at that, smiling at Vanyel's scowl, but not before Tylendel caught a flicker of something in her eyes. Something that looked an awful lot like concern.

Struggling into a slanted position, depending to an embarrassing degree on the arm of the couch to keep him there, Tylendel carefully took in Vanyel's appearance. At first glance, he didn't seem any different than usual: slightly hunched with a dazed look in those silver eyes – better than Tylendel had managed in these early morning hours of penance – his clothes perfectly matched, accessories arrayed on his person with impeccable taste, his hair slightly tousled but still the sleek ebony envy of the court. Altogether, the peacock – the hungover peacock.

But in his hands was a cup, steam curling up from its contents, and Vanyel was sipping at it with a single-minded avidity, as if desperate to inhale as much of it as possible. Tylendel took a deep breath – the air had a medicinal tinge, as if one of them had just returned from the healer. Or taking medicine. Tylendel stared at the cup, then shifted his eyes to Donni. She nodded slightly.

Vanyel had never needed to take medicine to deal with a hangover before, and the pair of them had brought down much worse on their heads before. In fact, Tylendel wasn't sure he had ever seen Vanyel take medicine before – particularly not for a headache. Vanyel didn't get headaches. He –

"Hey, Van, what are you drinking?" Tylendel took a sip out of his own cup and made a show of grimacing. "Could I have a bit? Mine's terrible."

Vanyel looked over at him, then down at his cup. Not hesitating for a moment, he tipped his head back and swallowed the last of it, setting the cup on the table. "Sorry, love, you'll just have to make do." Vanyel gave him a wicked smile that didn't seem quite genuine and rose from the table.

"Thanks, Donni, I'll see you later. Tell Mardic that I wished you both luck on your field exam – I think you'll both need it." Donni waved him off with a twinkle in her eye, and Vanyel turned to Tylendel, walking over to the couch. He leaned down and, staring into Tylendel's eyes, kissed him, his hair brushing Tylendel's cheek. "I have to go take care of something – I'll be back later. Don't think about me too much." With a final wink, Vanyel swept out of the room before Tylendel could marshal his thoughts into any kind of coherent order.

The odour of pain medication lingered in the air.

"Donni, what was that? Is there something I should know?" Tylendel pinned her with his gaze, the gesture somewhat tarnished by the fact that he suddenly couldn't quite focus his eyes. He took another sip of his water.

Instead of answering, Donni just gazed at the door, a look of consideration on her face. It was when Tylendel had resigned himself to waiting, taking a second sip of water to appease his parched mouth, that Mardic decided to lumber in, fully-clothed and looking as if he had been awake and alert since dawn. He paused with a piece of bread halfway to his mouth, finally scenting the apprehension in the air. And, characteristically, he dispensed with subtleties and bluntly dived straight to the point, asking into the silence, "What's gone wrong?"

Tylendel spared him a fleeting glance before returning to Donni. Mardic's question seemed to rouse her from her contemplation, and she met Tylendel's eyes, voicing the very words he had been dreading:

"There's something wrong with Vanyel."