#tylendel frelennye

[isnt-it-pretty]

Anyway reading The Last Herald-Mage is going great

[wafflelovingbatgirl]

Are you a fantasy fan? Do you love tragedies? Do you want a new poor little meow meow who can do magic? Do you want to read a gay book from the late 1980/early 1990s? Would you like to enjoy the first high fantasy with a gay lead?

Read The Last Herald-Mage by Mercedes Lackey, staring Vanyel Ashkevron and his soul bonded magic horse Yfandis. Vanyel is a young man who journeys to Haven to study music, and meets Tylendel Frelennye, quickly becoming his lover. Their happiness is cut short when Tylendel makes a very dangerous choice that reshapes the destiny of Vanyel and the country of Valdemar.

As a fun bonus, the author wrote in world ballads that can be found on YouTube!

[artbyvampiraptor]

Vanyel and Tylendel from Magic's Pawn by Mercedes Lackey ;u;

[softlysilverfountainsfall]

Savil's death was the most devastating one in the entire Herald Mage Trilogy and I will die on this hill.

"I [Vanyel] can take care of it tomorrow. It's not that urgent...It can wait until morning. He watched the fire through half-closed eyes, listening to Stef breathe, and waited for sleep to take him. Then the peace of the evening shattered.

:VANYEL!:

He was out of bed and grabbing his clothes before Stef woke.

:VAN—:

Savil's cry was cut off, abruptly, and Vanyel doubled up and fell to the floor—Pain—knives of fire [...] Then, nothing—" (Ch 15, Magic's Price)

You can hear her screaming through the all-caps mindspeech. You can hear her desperately calling out to Vanyel, her beloved nephew and protégée for help, the strongest herald-mage in Valdemar and now the last.

You know exactly when she dies because her cry for help is brutally cut off in the middle of Vanyel's name.

"Savil's door was locked; Vanyel kicked it open. His aunt lay in the center of a circle of destruction; furniture overturned, lamps knocked over, papers scattered. Blood everywhere. [...] Claw and teeth marks on Savil's throat and torso showed that she'd put up a fight. A trail of greenish ichor and a broken-bladed knife told that her enemy had not escaped unscathed.

"Not that it mattered to him. The damage was already done, and this time Vanyel's hard-won detachment failed entirely. While the others checked the locks, and looked for clues or any sign of what had attacked her, he sank down to his knees beside the body, and took one limp hand in his—and wept.

Oh, gods—Savil, you were right, and I didn't listen to you. Now you're gone, and it's all my fault. . . ."

"'She was afraid she was going to be next; she asked me to help her, and I just thought she was being hysterical. I promised to strengthen her wards, and I didn't; I forgot. This is all my fault—'"

You are devastated by Vanyel's heartbreak as he curses himself for not listening to her, for putting it off when she said someone was targeting the herald mages and asked him to help her.

"She's never going to sit there in her chair and expound at me again. I can't ever ask her for advice. She'll never take on Father for me—she was my mother in everything but flesh, and I failed her, I failed her, when I'd promised to help her. He hung his head, and closed his eyes, choking down the sob that rose and cut off his breathing" (emphasis mine).

Savil was a rock for Vanyel and thus for the reader throughout the trilogy (and her death is near the end of the last book & the catalyst for the end). She was very human and fallible but steady, devoted, and talented mentor and mage.

But what about Tylendel?, you say. Yes, Tylendel's death was awful, but it doesn't get nearly the lengthy treatment that Savil's does, and...there was a lot of other stuff going on. But what about Vanyel?, you say. Well, there is a reason that I put off reading the last part of Magic's Price, and it's because Vanyel's death is horribly devastating, but also victorious, and he gets his happy afterlife.

"Savil, Savil, I'm so sorry—and sorry isn't enough. Sorry won't bring you back. Tears escaped from under his closed eyelids, and etched their way down his cheeks. He couldn't swallow; he could hardly breathe." (Ch 15, Magic's Price)

She called for him. The last thing Savil ever did was call Vanyel for help. He was down the hall from her and much, much too far away.

[bluewingedcoyote]

Somewhat belated April Fool's crack-fic! (Last Herald-mage series)

[Summary: For weeks Vanyel Ashkevron has been making snide, back-biting comments about Tylendel Frelennye. One evening Tylendel finally decides to do something about it.]

(Or... what if the staged fight wasn’t nearly as convincing as they thought.)

------------Muck-Raking----------

“Fight! Fight! Fight!!” Chanted a group of boys clustered by the doors that opened into the commons where several days of rain had flooded the paths and turned the little dirt ‘short-cut’ everyone took into a mire of mud.

“Your name is going to be mud when I’m through with you!” Tylendel Frelennye, Herald-trainee shouted just before he punched Vanyel Ashkevron, heir to Forst Reach, square in the mouth.

The dark-haired boy staggered back, wiping the blood from his lip with the back of his hand, his surprisingly deep voice a growl that carried easily to the watching crowd. “Big words from an even bigger pervert! I’ll bet you are quite the connoisseur of filth!”

“You’ll pay for that you puffed up little toad!!” Tylendel roared and lunged at the smaller boy who adroitly dodged his outstretched hand while mocking him for his slowness.

Read on Ao3

[meat-loving-meat]

Nuclear weapons AU snippet to answer @bluewingedcoyote 's question about Tylendel

I LOVE making supplementary multimedia stuff for fanfics, so this snippet is meant to be a Something Awful (or. well. the Valdemaran equivalent of Something Awful.) thread with comments from several different users about Tylendel's death announcement. Idk if it'll make it into the final fic (if there ever is a final fic lmao), but it was SO MUCH FUN to make. Hopefully I'll find the time to make it into a doctored screenshot at some point!

It's kind of long, so no pressure to read it btw! Posting it just in case you're curious and have some time to kill.

Original forum post from user 0:

This makes me sick to my stomach:

www.heraldiccircle.gov/anouncements/oct2007/tylendelfrelennyeobituary

Comment from user 1:

For anyone too lazy to read the full announcement, a summary: Tylendel was just 17 years old. He died by calling a Final Strike after an unexpected airstrike killed his Companion, Gala. The last thing he did before dying was lead 20 refugees through a Gate to safety. He was posthumously promoted to Herald status to honor his and Gala’s sacrifices.

To reiterate: Tylendel was 17 years old. 17. He wasn’t even old enough to vote in the country that sent him to war. He was planning to take online classes in praxographical studies once he graduated secondary. He ran a gimmick [MySpace] account where Gala would try to type out inspirational quotes with her nose. By all accounts, he was funny and loving and joyful and seventeen. 

He hardly ever posted pictures of himself online, so there are only a few to showcase here. www.imagehostersite.com/albums/remembering-tylendel-frelennye

I’m in shock that Valdemar, a country so deeply obsessed with righteousness and upright morality, still has fucking child soldiers. I feel sick that Tylendel, a boy the same age as my little sister, killed himself to protect us, when us adults should have been the ones protecting him.

Comment from user 2, quoting user 1:

Hey can someone tell me what the photos are? They aren’t loading for me

Comment from user 3, quoting user 2:

The image hosting website is experiencing really high traffic, so that’s no surprise. Here are some descriptive captions:

1. A professional portrait of Tylendel Frelennye riding Gala in a vibrant green field. Tylendel is wearing a gray set of formal riding wear, and his blond hair is mostly hidden by a helmet. He is smiling at the camera with one hand resting on Gala’s neck. Gala is wearing ornate ceremonial tack. She has her head turned to the side so that she can make eye contact with the camera.

2. A slightly blurry photo of Tylendel Frelennye sitting in the rubble of a collapsed, burned-out building. He is wearing military fatigues and has a rifle resting across his lap. He is laughing with his head thrown back and his eyes closed.

3. A screenshot of a [MySpace] post from the account LendelLendel. The post contains a photo of Tylendel Frelennye and another boy, whose face has been censored with a cluster of black pixels, asleep together in a plush armchair. The chair is almost too small to fit both of them, even with their feet propped up on an ottoman. Tylendel’s left leg rests over the other person’s right, and the other person’s head is tucked against Tylendel’s shoulder. The lighting is low and warm. The post is captioned, “The best way to celebrate our one year is with a nap, apparently.”

Comment from user 2, quoting user 3:

The description of that last photo is so heartbreaking. Does anyone know who the boyfriend is?

Comment from user 4, quoting user 1:

Fuck you’re so right about the child soldier thing. I can’t believe that he was allowed to fight. What do the Companions have to say about this???

Comment from user 5, quoting user 4:

So I’m a lurker on heraldspotting.net, and there is all kinds of speculation over there about this, but to sum it up, the majority of Herald Trainees never see fighting until their internships, and it’s almost unheard of (at least in recent memory) to send a minor to a combat assignment. However, from the size of his Final Strike, Tylendel Frelennye had a very powerful Mage Gift—the prevailing theory is that things are much, much worse than the government is letting on, and the Circle felt they had no choice but to use Tylendel’s Mage Gift to fill the gap left by Eivaran’s death. In response to the recent outcry, they released the minutes of the meeting where they made the decision to send Tylendel—mostly just to prove that the King’s Own Companion supported deploying him—and several Heralds and even a few Companions opposed sending him, but they were in the minority. 

It’s painful to admit, but Tylende Frelynnye prevented a massive incursion of Karsite forces and he likely killed upwards of half a dozen of their mages. I can’t speak to whether the ends justify the means in this case, but from a purely utilitarian perspective, sending him was the correct choice. I have relatives who would have been displaced from their homes without his sacrifice, and many Valdemaran lives will be saved with the deaths of those mages. It breaks my heart that a child had to die for that, but I can’t say without qualification that it was the wrong choice.

Comment from user 6, quoting user 5:

Child soldier apologist spotted ^^

ASDLKDFJKLSDFLK ANYWAY. THAT'S HOW TYLENDEL DIES IN THIS AU

[averrse]

ten favorite characters from ten different fandoms.

Kelsier - Mistborn

Niclays Roos - The Priory of the Orange Tree

Daniel Jackson - Stargate

Tracker - Black Leopard Red Wolf

Tylendel Frelennye - The Last Herald Mage Trilogy

Oree Shoth - The Inheritance Trilogy (NK Jemisin)

Louis de Pointe du Lac - Interview with the Vampire (TV show)

Joe Macmillan - Halt and Catch Fire

Laurence - Bloodborne

Locke Cole - Final Fantasy

tagged by: nobody i wanted to do it tagging: @obrechenniye @stcrmhund @therooftopsofketterdam @knifeathers and whoever wants to do it~

[geneseedraws]

Vanyel and Tylendel from The Last Herald-Mage trilogy 😢

No I am NOT done drawing fanart for this book series!! This scene still won't leave my mind with how, uh,,, terrible it was.... the emotions I felt, I wanted to draw something to let it all out 😭😭 I'm nearly done with book two now, I can't get enough of this story!! 😭

[theroseandthebeast]

Yuletide 2021 - Fic Recs Batch Three

14 fic recs for Little Women, Marvel (Spiderman, Scarlet Spider, Fantastic Four), Midnight Mass, Midsommar, Mythic Quest, The Night Circus, Only Murders In The Building, Over the Garden Wall, Peter Pan / Peter Darling, and The Power of the Dog

meet me in the green glen, Theodore "Laurie" Laurence/Josephine "Jo" March, Amy March & Josephine "Jo" March

In which there is a different road.

don't read the comments, Peter Parker/Johnny Storm

This time, it was The Daily Bugle Online that had betrayed him.

SPIDER-MAN AND HUMAN TORCH SHARE GROUNDSHAKING MOMENT

“Uncle Johnny…” Franklin said. “You’re not dating Spider-Man, right? You would have told us?”

“Of course I would have told you,” Johnny assured him. He looked at the picture again.

Fire in the Cold, Peter Parker/Johnny Storm

“I need you to do me a favor,” Johnny said.

“No,” Peter said.

“But you didn’t even hear what it is yet!” Johnny protested.

“And somehow I already know it’s going to be stupid,” Peter said. “Okay, fine, shoot. Tell me what it is and then I’ll say no.”

Johnny took a deep breath.

“I need you to come with me on my family’s holiday trip and pretend to be my boyfriend,” Johnny said.

A Champion Ring, Kaine/Flash Thompson, Kaine & María Aracely Penalba, Andrea Benton & Flash Thompson 

Flash asks for Kaine's help on a case that requires them to pretend to be married. Kaine overthinks everything.

Sundowning, Mildred Gunning/Father Paul Hill | Monsignor John Pruitt

John, coming back to himself.

The Midwinter Podcast, implied Dani Ardor/Pelle 

Connie's sister makes a podcast investigating what happened during that one eventful midsummer for the Hårga. Reddit and facebook react.

a queen for all seasons, Dani Ardor

In her dreams, dark smudges crowd the edges of the world. One looms larger than the rest, twisting into impossible shapes, morphing into a figure with many faces, all of them howling with rage.

When she jolts awake, the dream-figure lingers. She tries to ignore it. She’s no stranger to nightmares. Her whole life has been one ever since her family’s deaths.

But things are different now. This is a new life. A new family.

Right?

a world full of wondrous things, Dani Ardor/Pelle

In the depths of winter, Dani spends some quality time with her family.

Lions and Trevor and Bugs, Oh My!, Ian Grimm/Poppy Li

Ian and Poppy explore their new partnership, along with the standard amount of mayhem they've come to expect.

Periapsis, Vanyel Ashkevron/Tylendel Frelennye

The circus is made up of secrets, known only to a select few. Tylendel himself knows more of them than most.

He runs his thumb along the base of his ring finger. Nothing, not even a scar, betrays the band of binding magic that’s sunk there into his skin. He can feel it if he tries, the loop of it cinched around his very soul. His life is bound into a contest, a game; tied to the circus and to his opponent, whose identity he doesn’t even know.

sick: affected by physical or mental illness; slang for cool, hawt or fabulous, Mabel Mora & Oliver Putnam & Charles Haden-Savage 

"I'm sick," Charles tries to say, but his voice is nails on a chalkboard.

"Mabel, see if he has a fever," Oliver says, gesturing.

She rolls her eyes.

the road through the woods, Gregory & Wirt

They come back different. Wirt would like to pretend otherwise.

The Man Who Was an Island, James Hook | James Harrington/Peter Pan | Peter Darling 

Peter Pan has grown up and made his peace with James Hook. But what if they didn't go back to England? How will Neverland fare now its egotistical god has a man's strength, a man's consistent determination, and no nemesis to hold him in check?

how the white lilies grow, Phil Burbank/Peter Gordon

Peter lays traps, and is caught in them

[im-the-punk-who]

2, 10, 11!!

2. how old were you when you started questioning?

OH BOY. Okay so uhhhh when I was like 12? 13? I read the Magic’s Price series about a depressed gay mage and basically consciously went I KIN THIS ONE and then put that feeling in a box for like 6 years while simultaneously being really REALLY blasé about telling everyone I was a gay man because like? I was cis and straight or something??? And I could do that???? Honestly I don’t know how no one realized what was going on I literally dressed as Spot Conlon for an entire year in middle school I was vice president of my schools GSA (I WAS THE STRAIGHT ALLY OKAY AND IT HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH HOW ATTACHED I WAS TO QUEER CULTURE I WAS JUST BEING SUPPORTIVE) anyway I cried any time someone put me in a dress I latched onto literally any female-who-defied-gender-norms-by-cutting-her-hair-and-dressing-as-a-boy I could find and I constantly wrote about queerness and gayness and how much I related to gay male characters I really don’t get it either. 

ANYWAY When I was 19 or 20 I watched Queer as Folk and did the same thing with Justin I had done with Vanyel, at the same time that I learned like....what trans people were lmao. And I s2g it was a clouds parting moment I called my best friend at the time and was like I THINK IM A GUY???? WHO LIKES OTHER GUYS???? and after that everything kind of just fell into place. Like idk I never....questioned it? Like as soon as my brain realized it was an option that was the ONLY option. 

10. favorite queer character?

JAMES FLINT MCGRAW HAMILTON NEXT QUESTION

(God no I can’t leave Thomas out, Thomas Hamilton is actually so so so fucking important to me also Vanyel Ashkevron + Tylendel Frelennye. Uhhhhhhh yes I will go with those four oH NO. FUCK. KLAUS??? I also love Klaus Hargreeves but less so like if I had to pick at gunpoint at this moment in time I would probably dither between James and Thomas and Vanyel and Tylendel until you cocked the pistol and then admit to it being James McGraw because he owns my entire heart, truly.)

11. have a childhood crush that you didn’t realize was a crush until later in life?

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA 

absolutely not I knew every time what my crushes were about HOWEVER I did have a brief stint with lesbianism when I had a years long crush on a friend from middleschool and I was absolutely CONVINCED that she was my soulmate until I stopped being a dramatic bitch. I still love her and would probably be a total fool if we met up IRL but like I’m cool about it now *finger guns*

[isnt-it-pretty]

What's really interesting to me from a story perspective is that Vanyel's reaction to Savil's death was with the same vengence as Tylendel did to his twin's, straight down to the obsessiveness and borderline madness Stefan observed in Vaynel that young Vanyel once observed in Tylendel, and the desire both of them had to go along with whatever they thought their partner to see them returned to their old selves. If I compared, I bet I could find similar descriptions/passages of Tylendel post Staven's dead and Vanyel post Savil's, and the reactions between young Van and Stefan.

The only initial difference is that Vanyel has the backing of the Companions. His need for vengence just happened to line up with what Valdemar needed, but before the time spent with the Kyree, Vanyel was motivated by the same vengence as Tylendel was, not the greater good of Valdemar.

Even though Vanyel's actions were eventually for the good of Valdemar and required to save it vs Tylendel who just wanted to hurt the Leshara, Vanyel still pays for it with his life and leaves Stefan behind.

History is cyclical, the past parallel's the future, etc. etc.

Anyway this series has ruined me.

[lesbianhanguangjunji]

The Listicle the World Isn't Ready For Part 1: LGBT Characters From Fantasy Novels I've Read Recently and the College Football Positions They Would Play

*no one is in the band because half these motherfuckers should be in the band

from The Last Herald Mage by god give me the strength not to @ her Mercedes Lackey comes the Valdemar Horny Horses, a team that won two national championships in the eighties and never recovered. Lackey serves as their coach and makes headlines for her counterintuitive play calling: punting on first downs, handing the ball directly off to the opposing team, and directing her offensive line to sack her quarterback are three cornerstones of Coach Lackey's playbook.

Vanyel Ashkevron serves as the Horny Horses' beleaguered quarterback. He takes enough beatings (from opposing teams as well as his own) that he really should be carted off the field on a stretcher during every game, but Coach Lackey makes him play every down whether he's concussed or not.

Tylendel Frelennye (tight end) literally fucking died on the field but before the NCAA could slap a fine on Coach Lackey for gross mishandling of a character he was reincarnated as Stefen. Stefen is the holder, because Coach Lackey decided to throw out his backstory as a scrappy street kid and make him a scared little bitch three quarters of the way through the series. All the holder does is, uh, hold the ball for the kicker. It's a cushy job.

A grievously injured Vanyel will die when a water boy steamrolls him on the sidelines. Coach Lackey will go on to coach the Horny Horses for three more decades.

Notable Wins: The Horny Horses beat the University of Gusu every year when Gusu's rigidly conservative play calling goes up against Valdemar's absolutely fucking insane play calling. Valdemar throws Gusu into disarray with such classic moves as releasing a dozen horses in heat onto the field or giving the center a kazoo to draw Gusu's o-line off-side. (This is often Valdemar's only win of the season.)

Notable Rivals: The University of Gusu, Good Writing

[araneaes-order]

In the Bleak Mid-winter Ch. 9

LAST HERALD-MAGE FANFIC

Fix-it…ish. canon mm

Young Stefen, living on the streets, found out someone was looking for him and decided to lay low, avoiding the mysterious stranger in red, so he’s never taken to Haven by Bard Lynnell. It was an unfortunate decision, but in spite of it, he and Van do meet up, just later, and under less kind circumstances. Basically a redo on the ending. ~55k words Finished.

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5| Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Visit my master list

Word Count: ~7370

Rating: Mature for, sorry, lots of bad stuff, rape, sexual abuse, child abuse. Canon was pretty dark, especially what I was redoing here, so’s this.

On AO3.

Chapter Synopsis: The end.

Van panted, heavily, blinking stinging sweat from his eyes, too exhausted to reach up and wipe it away.

Beside him the Bard had retreated when he was done, and curled up, hugging the edge of the bed, with his back to Vanyel.

What had he—what? He didn’t even have the brain power to finish his own thoughts. He hurt; he felt raw, inside and out. He had a thousand little wounds,

from teeth, from nails, from having his hair pulled, his ass slapped, his—how, how had any of this led to… this?

Adrenalin had finally cleared his head but the Bard had done a damned fine job of clouding it again. He hadn’t been that—it hadn’t been like that in—

What had he done? Panic and guilt sobered him. Gods, what had he done? He’d recoiled at the maid’s touch and then? This wasn’t better: the Bard was a child, over-sexualized, sexually abused, and Van had—gods! He scrambled from the bed, most of his clothing remaining behind, in shreds, at least most of his shirt. He’d rent it himself, because the Bard had clearly wanted to but hadn’t been quite strong enough and it had made him—gods!

Barefoot, shaking, he wove on his feet in the darkened room. The fire had gone out, as had the candle on the bedside. From behind drawn curtains faint blue light seeped in around the shadows. Dawn? Dusk? Van couldn’t have said.

The Bard was an indistinct shape, huddled on the bed, looking even smaller than he should have.

“Can’t undo it now,” the boy said sleepily, a husky, satisfied timber to his voice that belied his youth.

“I’m sorry—”

“Aw, shite, don’t start that again,” the boy interrupted, annoyed now, as his silhouette sat up, distinguishing him a little from the bed.

“I shouldn’t have—”

“Seriously. I don’t. Fucking. Care. Think you’re the first to wake up and realize, all scandalized and proper, that you dipped your toe in the gutter? Spare me.”

“No,” Van fumbled, hearing the bitterness under the annoyance. Sensing the pain that undercut them both. “It’s not that.” He was doing everything wrong. Everything since he’d met the boy—since he’d come to in the brigands’ hall, at least, or maybe— “You’re just a… a child, I shouldn’t have—”

The Bard laughed, so hard he started choking and had to sit up again. “Right. That’s it. Took advantage, did you? I was the sober one. And I’d lay odds I’ve had more men than you. If one of us did take advantage it wasn’t you, if you’ll pardon me saying so, m’lord.” He finished on a sneer and left Van standing, and staring, confused.

Then the boy sighed and ruffled his hands through his hair, groaning. “Look, if guilt’s what gets you off, fair enough, but it’s cold and it’s an ungodly hour and we’re probably not long for this world, to quote the old song, and I—” His own yawn interrupted him and he slumped back down again, turning his back to Van. “Yeah, whatever. Do as you like.”

Reminded, feeling like a fool that he’d had to be, he shook away his personal guilt and the sting of the Bard’s accusation that he ‘got off on it,’ compartmentalizing, refocusing. “You said your Master Dark wanted us to kill each other?”

He felt the immediate chill from the bed. The Bard didn’t sit up, or even turn back to him, leaving his voice muffled by the covers he’d pulled up. “Don’t you think? Telling you I’d sold you to him and leaving you armed. Telling me you’d killed Warin, and warning me you thought I gave your stupid ruse away.”

“And how did he arm you?” he asked, touching the magic-blocking cuffs on his wrists. It was better than the powder, at least he could think with them on, though he was certain he’d been drugged with something else when he’d killed… Warin. A name to add to a too long list, and there were more unknowns on it than he cared to think about.

“How do you think?”

Van nodded. “You still have it?”

“Stop. Would you just stop?” The Bard sounded weary beyond his years.

“I can still—”

“What? No magic, no horse, no army, no friends here but me, more’s the pity for you. No idea where Dark is right now, unless you know more than I do. No idea what he’s doing. What can you do now?”

He paused, standing in the dark, as the Bard said, utterly alone.

After a moment there came another heavy sigh. “Well, don’t just stand there then. Come back to bed.”

He was weary enough to fall if he didn’t sit soon. He wasn’t ready to give up, but he didn’t have much left in him after coming so far, already facing the challenges he’d faced just getting here. And now he was making excuses.

He shut them down, along with the worries, the guilt, the uncertainties. He wasn’t giving up, but rest would serve him better than worry. He slid back onto the bed, on the side away from the Bard, pulling the covers up over himself. Rest. He’d learned to take it where he could, even when he didn’t want to. Like food, it wasn’t optional, no matter how hard he sometimes wanted to fight it. A catnap to refresh himself and then he’d start reconsidering his options—

Tylendel had him pinned down in a bed of green grass, under an arching canopy of green-gold leaves against a summer bright sky. One hand caught in Van’s hair, using the grip to force his head back so he could savage his neck with a burning mouth, the other was down the front of his breeches, staking his claim there too and making Van writhe helplessly.

It had been ages, absolute ages, since he’d had a dream like this and even then something about this one was different, though Lendel wasn’t letting him focus on anything else enough to figure out what.

Lendel laughed, breathless, joyful, the vibration of the sound against his skin striking chords in Van that made that other life without his love seem even further away. This was real. This was the only thing that was.

In that brief, golden time they’d had together, that fleeting season, Tylendel had always been the leader in their bed and out of it, the more experienced, the more dominant in his way, but it had never been like this.

He yelped as Lendel nipped his neck.

“Are you saying I didn’t please you?”

He caught his own hands in Lendel’s curls, soft as silk between his fingers, and dragged his lover’s head up so he could meet his eyes, those warm, brown eyes, that looked at him as no one else ever had or ever would. He couldn’t help the giddy smile that stretched his lips, that mirrored his lover’s. He didn’t know why a part of him had expected Tylendel to look different but he was glad he didn’t.

But Lendel’s mouth pursed in a sudden, playful pout and he cocked his head, leaning his chest and body more firmly against Van, giving him a squeeze down below that nearly had his eyes crossing and could have distracted him completely if Tylendel hadn’t spoken again. “Wouldn’t you still love me if I looked different, ashke? What if I started getting older?”

His voice had been playful but Vanyel blinked, wishing for a moment that was possible. An image, familiar and cherished, of his Tylendel: not the forever-sixteen-year-old he’d been since he’d died, but the man he would have been, growing older, year by year, at his side. He’d been a mage, Savil would have trained him to work node magic as she’d trained Vanyel, they could have gone silver-haired together.

“A possibility.” Amusement colored his words, so bright Van could see the brilliance of it in the air between them—not that there was much between them. “But what if I decided to go for a different look?”

But Vanyel didn’t care about what-ifs when his reality was finally what it always should have been: Lendel in his arms, pressed against him, warmth and weight and that smell and those eyes and that mouth—he leaned up to kiss him, to steal the mysterious words directly from his lips and with a happy groan Lendel gave in to him, even sliding his hand away from Van’s suddenly vanished pants—funny how that always seemed to happen when Lendel was around, in dreams and in their brief romance—to cup his face with both hands and deepen the kiss.

Van pulled away in alarm when he felt tears at his own fingertips and realized they were Tylendel’s, but his beloved only offered an embarrassed smile, lashes dropping to veil his teary eyes. “It’s okay, Van. I’m just glad… we finally found our way to a good dream, together.”

There was more. There were lifetimes more, and Vanyel knew it without understanding. But he did understand that the person he loved was in pain somehow, for some reason, so he wrapped his arms around him and held him close, glad if he could be some comfort, not knowing what could move a dead boy to tears.

Lendel sighed, clinging to him, not trying to hide the tears that were wetting the side of Van’s neck. “Vanyel—I—I don’t know what’s going to happen from here.”

“Shhh. It doesn’t matter,” he soothed. Meaning it. This was enough.

“It might…” But Tylendel trailed off and for a long moment silence fell around them and they just held each other and breathed. “I’ll always be with you, Van. It’s important that you know that. I haven’t forgotten my debts, to you or Valdemar—”

“There are no debts between us, Lendel,” Van said softly, chiding. What a foolish thought.

Tylendel laughed. “Ah, Van. There are, though. I was young but I—I left things undone. I left you alone.”

“It wasn’t your fault—”

“That doesn’t matter. My fault or no. I still left you alone to shoulder a burden that should at least have been ours, if not mine. But I won’t fail you again.”

Talk about guilt—wait, who had been talking about guilt?—

“I don’t blame you for any of it, Lendel. You know I don’t. And if I knew how it would end I would still do it all again, just to have the time we did.”

Tylendel inhaled deeply and shuddered, pressing his forehead to Van’s neck. Van licked his lips and sighed. Yes. For all the years of loneliness, it had been worth it. It still was. He would pay that loss a thousand times over just to have once had it to lose.

Lendel squeezed him. “Things are about to change though, Van. It’s finally time.”

“What do you mean?”

He felt that green, summer dream slipping away and he tried to hold on, but in the way of dreams the more he tried to cling to it the faster it faded.

“Lendel!”

“I’m with you, ashke. Whatever happens, trust that.”

“Lendel!” But he was saying it to a dark room in Leareth’s castle. In front of him, the Bard stirred in his sleep.

In reaching for his long-dead love, Van had tangled his hand in a lock of the Bard’s hair and he couldn’t easily free himself of the knots that had woven themselves around his fingers.

Gods, what a dream. His heart ached, a dull, physical pain he would have tried to massage away if one arm wasn’t pinned beneath him and the other wasn’t tangled up in an auburn snare.

He blinked away tears, feeling a fool. A moment before he’d been comforting Tylendel through his tears, now—

The Bard grunted and half-turned, stopping short. “For—What the hell did you do?” he demanded, disgruntled, reaching behind his own head to try to help detangle his hair from Van’s hand—and, Vanyel realized after a moment, from the magic-blocking cuffs. “Okay, stop. Just be still,” he finally muttered, carefully holding his hair against his skull, controlling the pull as he rolled towards Van to get a different angle on the hair around the cuffs.

It only took him a second to free himself once he’d moved closer, so every pull wasn’t stretching the knots out tighter, but moving closer to do it had him… too close. Van blinked even as the Bard seemed to realize it himself, and his expression turned briefly, poignantly blank, before the mask fell again, and the cool, disaffected young man was back. But he didn’t pull away.

“I’m sorry,” Van said without thinking, and the Bard pulled a face and sighed. There was enough ambient light in the room for Vanyel to see the flash of expression and despite everything, even his tears, he laughed a little. He’d really have to try harder to hold back his apologies.

The Bard smiled at Van’s laugh, a small, wry smile and an almost shy roll of his eyes, and Van felt again that they were too close, but he didn’t want to pull away and he hoped the Bard wouldn’t. Just for a moment longer.

Neither did, instead the Bard closed the small distance between them, sliding his hand over Van’s chest, and kissed him. There was none of the frantic passion of his earlier kisses, just warmth and closeness and it reminded Van of his dream, a distraction when he should be working out a plan to stop Leareth, but as a distraction it was an embarrassingly effective one. It felt so good, right, like a strained joint snapping back into place; a little pain, but it was still right.

He pulled away with a gasp when he realized just what felt so familiar and so ‘right’ about the Bard in his arms. The young man blinked in confusion, a hint of hurt even, that left Van wanting to fall all over himself apologizing—which wouldn’t be appreciated—and immediately redress the hurt he was causing in any way he could. But he detangled himself and scooted away on the bed as though the Bard had transformed into a monster at the kiss, a fairy tale in reverse.

And he felt it. He felt the Bard’s confusion, his hurt, even his soul-shriveling acceptance, like a night blooming flower closing in the too-bright light of dawn. He couldn’t hear him, unlike Yfandes the Bard was no MindSpeaker, but he felt it all along that old, old familiar channel where a long-broken lifebond had once connected him to the other half of his soul.

He shouldn’t feel anything, Empathy and MindSpeaking blocked by the cuffs that blocked the rest of his Gifts, but magic couldn’t block the soul-deep connection of a lifebond, not entirely. The drugs might have dulled him to it, but the cuffs couldn’t.

A lifebond?

The Bard wrapped his arms around himself, shutting down, withdrawing, but he couldn’t turn away or back away, not yet. He was confused. Hurting. Even though he knew better, knew his own worth, he wanted—Van shook his head in unspoken negation.

He didn’t want this. He didn’t understand how it was even possible. Lifebonding was surpassingly rare, most people could go a lifetime without ever coming across a lifebonded pair, let alone finding themselves as part of one. Surviving the death of a lifebond as Vanyel had was unheard of, and likely only possible because of the lifebond-like Herald-Companion connection Yfandes had caught him in before he could slip away after Lendel, but being lifebonded again?

To a Bard? Little more than a child, not much older than his Tylendel had been when he’d died?

Lendel. What did this mean for Lendel? Vanyel had never wanted anyone else. There had been lovers, a few, hearthfires to warm at in the winter cold, as the Hawkbrothers had counseled him, but he’d had that memory of summer warmth, and the anticipation of a summer yet to come. How did the Bard fit in to any of this? How in the havens could he?

Across the bed he’d tucked his chin to his chest. Perhaps trying to feign sleep, there were tears seeping out under his lashes.

He didn’t have the right!

Van knew it wasn’t fair of him to be so angry, but the Bard didn’t have the right to do this, to be this—

The door slammed open, magelight left him blinking, surprise pinning him to the bed. He’d thrown his borrowed sword at the ground before he and the Bard— He wished now he’d at least left it closer to hand.

He felt the waves of terror rolling over the Bard as Leareth stalked into the room, smiling. He felt the sickness, the panic. The young man’s only, frantic hope was that the dark mage would be angry enough to kill them both quickly.

He wasn’t brave like Tylendel. He wasn’t bright, or hopeful.

Leareth tutted, smirking, eyes only on his servant as he stood at the foot of the bed like a cuckolded lover, as though the Bard had ever had the freedom to choose, his master or another. Van fought the urge to reach for him. Perhaps with Leareth distracted—

“I should have known you’d make a cock-up of even the simplest of commands, Stef.”

The Bard hated that the dark mage called him that.

“I just can’t trust you to keep from crawling into the bed of any man you meet, can I? The Herald, my guards, Rendan and his brigands, probably even that boy, once or twice, hmm?”

Despair, a black, towering wave of it, crashing down, like he was drowning, literally stealing his breath—then, up from murky depths like some strange creature of the darkest oceans, a burning, churning fury, so hot and encompassing that Vanyel had to close his mental barriers against the Bard’s emotions or risk being overcome.

And the young man thought his master couldn’t tell how much he hated him? Van’s gaze flicked between them, while he was still being ignored. The dark mage obviously reveled in the Bard’s helpless fury.

Damn it, if he’d only kept the sword, now—

As though he heard him, Leareth suddenly waggled one finger at Vanyel. “And you! Clearly no better. Every reason and opportunity to get your revenge and instead you let my servant fuck you. And I thought you Heralds were supposed to be so noble,” he sneered. He shook his head, his lips twisted in disgust, but there was a sick joy shining in his eyes that made a lie of his moralizing. “And you leave your allies to suffer for it too.”

He tossed something at the bed, between Van and the Bard and Vanyel stared at it, not recognizing the long, white and red shape at first, even in the mage light. That white though, the way it gleamed and glowed, where it wasn’t smeared red—

He would have fallen apart, should have, touching the long, silvery strands of the grisly, still bleeding trophy, but this was too important, this moment needed a clear head.

There was a thick white bone showing through red flesh at the base of the tail. But he’d know if she’d been killed, wouldn’t he? Even across a distance, even through Leareth’s shields?

Even distracted by the discovery of what the Bard was? Even through the confusion of that new connection?

Yes? Surely, despite all of it…yes?

“She actually succeeded in getting past my men, back to this side of Crookback Pass.” Leareth sounded vaguely impressed but Van couldn’t tell if it was just part of his performance. “Led them a merry chase—pointlessly. I know she already went for help. Your army is marching—they’re a scrambled mess on such short notice, but they are headed north. You’ll be even happier to know Valdemar’s Heralds are positively flying before them. In fact, my forces have been marching through the pass all night and we go to engage them even now.

“Since you brought this all together, this great battle, this grand drama, I think it’s only fair I take you to see how it ends in person. How often have you had that opportunity, hmm? A man of your stature is normally moving his little wooden soldiers around a painted map, I’d think. How often do you get to see the full fallout of your orders?”

More often than he’d like. As a mage, as one of a shrinking pool of them, he’d hardly had the luxury of standing back from battle and he’d seen more men and women die following his orders than he cared to remember, though he’d never honestly imagined it would be any easier to stand at a distance and know they were dying anyway.

He ran his fingers through the long, tangled hair of the silver tail and said nothing.

“Oh! But forgive me. Do you need a moment first? Time to mourn? To reflect? We haven’t much, I’m afraid. It will all be happening very soon. In fact, why don’t you just take that with you, while I—”

A scream ripped from Vanyel’s throat, his fingers clutching spastically at the tail. Too close! The gate opened too close! Oh gods—pain—like his skull was being ripped open, his spine collapsing in on itself. Light and darkness at once, a universe shattering explosion—

No drugged stupor this time, much as he wished it was. This was a pain he was too familiar with, like the inside of his head had been scraped out and set on fire. He couldn’t guess how long it had been since the gate had been opened, everything hurt and he reeled as someone slapped him, not for the first time.

“Finally coming back to us? Good,” Leareth crooned. “Let him go.”

The Bard had been holding him up and Van could feel the hesitation as he released him. His mental barriers all shot to hell, he could feel the young man’s worry, his guilt—gods, the boy should mock him for guilt!—like acid churning through the mental wounds. He wished he could block it, but it didn’t matter. Everything in him was screaming that now was his chance. Here, now was when he needed to strike!

He collapsed on his face, helpless as a newborn, his body curling in around his pain like a dying thing.

He shook, grunting with every breath. He felt like years had stripped away. Tylendel was a fresh loss, Van’s powers were new and raw and improbable, burning through his head along paths the backlash of Lendel’s gate energy had riven in fire. Yfandes… ’Fandes was gone, perhaps she’d finally listened and found someone better, more deserving of a love like hers—

:No!: the mind voice, bright as moonlight, cut through the confusion and pain—though it brought its own pain with it. Gods, it hurt as much the first time, a life time ago. But Yfandes…

:Leareth said his men killed you.: A thought sent out to no one. Calling at shadows.

And it left him groaning, writhing. Listening hurt, MindSpeaking hurt so much more. He hadn’t known how then and he regretted that he knew how now.

Leareth sighed, dramatically.

:I made them think they did.: Dark satisfaction, but weariness and worry under it. And pain. He was still holding her severed tail, somehow, in a locked-fist grip he didn’t think he could release if he tried. If this was real she’d paid dearly for whatever deception she’d managed.

“Up now, no more lazing about!” Leareth said, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him. Easier to give in than to fight. And far better to seem quiescent.

:Plan?: ‘Fandes sounded only worried now, and he suspected she was keeping her thoughts to a minimum because she knew how much it was hurting him to communicate at all. It was her. She was alive.

:None, but open to anything you’ve got,: he answered, still only half believing.

He hissed through gritted teeth.

Leareth braced him, leaning him against his own body, Van on his knees in front him, both facing out over a precipice and a swirling, icy hell.

Only then did Van notice the biting cold, the rushing wind. They stood at the top of one of the Ice Wall Mountains, overlooking the end of Crookback Pass. Shapes moved through the snow below them, large, impossible, dark shapes pouring from the pass itself, a small collection of distant forms lining up in much smaller numbers to the south.

They could still stop it. There was a chance they could keep most of Leareth’s army from even reaching Valdemar if they could just bring the damned pass down around them before too many got through. But how to do that, when the enemy himself, with all the power of his nodes, countless captive mages, and who knew what reserves of blood magic, was standing triumphant, overlooking the battlefield from the safety of the mountain?

:Final strike?: Subdued, spoken in defeat, and he felt it like a spear to the heart. She was alive, he’d been right before, he would have felt it if she’d died, no matter what distance or barriers had been between them. And she wouldn’t even suggest this if she still saw any other way. For Valdemar she would see him sacrifice them both.

And he would, without hesitation or regret. But it was too late.

:Cuffs.: The most he could manage, with an impression of the barrier they’d created around his magic. Not as complete as the barrier created by the powder if they could communicate through it, but strong enough to keep him from using his magic to do anything to Leareth, even with her help.

Damn it, if he thought it would do any good, he’d just try to grab the man and tumble them both off the cliff, but a powerful enough mage would have ways around even that. With Vanyel’s magic bound and all that Leareth had access to, there wasn’t anything he could do.

But there had to be! There had to be something—

“See all the players taking the field?” Leareth shook him and he swore he felt his teeth rattle. But the dark mage stroked his face, in what could have felt like apology—while also making sure Vanyel was facing the battlefield. “This was ordained, Herald-Mage Vanyel Ashkevron. This has always been your fate. To see this—and die, knowing that you could do nothing to stop it. It’s been hunting you your whole life. I’ve been hunting you your whole life. And everything you’ve ever done to fight me, not even knowing I was there, has only led you closer to this. Your friends down there will die. Your family. Your country. Everything you love will be mine, and I will crush it all, while you watch and weep.”

:I can give you enough to break the cuffs.:

:But it wouldn’t be enough to take him down, too. Pointless.:

“I will have Valdemar, and from there, I will take everything. Everything that should always have been mine.”

But without the cuffs, maybe he’d have enough power to at least engage the mage while he pulled him off the mountain, distract him enough to kill him with the fall?

:Everything I have to give is yours,: Yfandes promised, all her magic to the dregs, to the point of death and past it, and all the magic that could be gleaned from that last sacrifice as well.

He was just afraid it still wouldn’t be enough. If everything they had together still couldn’t—but what was the alternative? Not to try anything at all?

Below them the dark shapes were still streaming from the path—so many. Mage beasts and constructs and monsters from the Pelagirs, driven before the full force of Leareth’s army towards the line of Heralds.

:It’ll have to be quick. Ready?: So much left unspoken. There was so much there was no time for.

He felt her wordless assent and more, her love. Even that burned, as raw as the gate energy always left him, but he clung to it anyway. There were pains that were worth it. He thought of Lendel. In the dream he’d promised to be with him always.

Gods, Lendel, be with me now. And gods, please let this work.

Not yet! That wasn’t ‘Fandes, and it certainly wasn’t Van, that feeling that was more the impression of intent than actual words. Who? He’d been ignoring the Bard, Leareth’s pet, Van’s lifebonded, the new, unfamiliar presence in his head. Would he have caught all that? His and ‘Fandes desperate, suicidal plan? How much would he have understood, if he had?

For a moment Van pitied him. Poor boy, caught up in something so much larger than Bards and children—

Leareth cried out and shoved Van away from him, dangerously close to the edge of the cliff, he rolled over in time to see the dark mage backhand the Bard and then send him flying with a blast of energy to the chest. That connection in his head went quiet—not broken, but silent and still.

What?

:Stabbed him?: He could feel her confusion. She didn’t send the word but he could feel her wonder: lifebonded?

Delayed, the boy’s last conscious thoughts untangled for him, the burst of memories, determination. A small dagger, for eating, or cleaning your nails, or scraping the mud and rocks from a little hill-pony’s hooves. It wouldn’t do any damage, for all the times he’d wished he’d dared shove it through one of his master’s eyes. But he’d dipped it in the powder the night before, while he’d crouched before the fire, in case he’d needed it against the Herald, and Learath had allowed him a moment to grab his pants—and belt—before he’d taken them through the gate.

:Now! Help me break the cuffs!:

Leareth pulled the small dagger out of his side, a little thread of blood briefly trailing from it as he threw it blade first into to the snow at his feet.

The magic surged along their bond, nearly blinding him with the agony of it. But where the cuffs wouldn’t let him touch his own magic they weren’t designed to keep him from using Yfandes’ through their bond and he wielded it like a sledgehammer, no time for precision, just pure force, battering at the cuffs until he felt them loosen and literally shatter, falling away from him in pieces, leaving him free, if drained and weary and in pain.

Leareth turned on him, snarling, as Van got to his feet, the drop off the mountain at his back, his enemy before him.

The wind battered them, tossing his hair, shoving at his bare chest. His toes flexed in the snow, scraping against the rock beneath it. Unlike the bard he’d had no opportunity to dress. He’d be worried about frostbite if he thought for one second he’d live through this.

Leareth smiled, a demon grinning at him from behind his own reflection. “You won’t survive,” he said, as though he’d heard Van’s thoughts. “I admire you choosing to die on your feet, but you will die just the same.”

There was a chance now though. He’d seen it when the Bard had stabbed Leareth. Obviously the powder hadn’t done to him what it had done to Vanyel at first, but he could see the dull, thin barrier around the dark mage nonetheless. He was powerful, horrifyingly powerful, and it would take him a few moments at best to break it, but at the moment he couldn’t touch the magic outside of himself: the nodes, the mages he was draining, whatever else he had feeding him from his castle. For the moment he stood alone.

Van gathered himself, all his power, all Yfandes could give, opening himself to receive the rest, what she wouldn’t be able to give until the last. Staring at the dark mage, the mad, grinning monster that wore his face, he was terrified it still wouldn’t be enough.

If he failed—

“Valdemar will be mine,” Leareth promised, triumphant.

Van had access to more than the dark mage saw yet though. Bardic magic wasn’t like the Mage Gift, any more than mere magic potential was, but through a lifebond, as he’d learned at great cost, power could be traded in ways that weren’t otherwise possible.

:Van…: She saw what Leareth didn’t, how he opened himself to the Bard as well, as gently as he dared, reaching for what had not been offered but might be all that could save them. Or not them, but perhaps at least his people.

Would he sacrifice the boy to save so many more lives?

Oh, yes. With regret, with boundless gratitude, but if he could save Valdemar by killing the three of them, he would.

He only hoped it was quick enough that the boy didn’t regain consciousness.

I’m with you.

The memory of a dream or an answer, there was no time to ponder it. He braided their power, his, Yfandes’ and the Bard’s, weaving them into something new and strange. A weapon. For his aunt and the other Herald-Mages. For children and Companions slain before their Gifts could fully mature or their bonds could be established. For the sons and daughters of Valdemar who didn’t even know the danger that had stalked them from the north. For a brigand child, who’d never known a better life but had deserved a kinder death.

Behind Leareth Yfandes came limping out of the swirling snow as if she’d materialized from it. Her head low, a deep, bloody wound in her chest that stained the fur all down her side. Pain and determination washed over him as she came to him. They would die together. Despite his nightmares, the ice wouldn’t find him alone.

With a roar he put his hands out and sent it all at Leareth, all the power they had, all that was left.

The mage laughed, throwing his arms out to take it all.

Yfandes collapsed, falling to her knees.

He hated—it killed him that he was doing this to her—it would kill him.

“It’s not enough!” Leareth shouted over the wind. “You’ll kill yourselves and I’ll still win!”

Van had never thought magic was enough. Only a fool would have.

He reached out and grabbed one of Leareth’s outstretched arms, using his distraction and surprise, and Van’s own dead weight, to swing them together to the very edge of the precipice. He’d just wanted to make sure he didn’t leave the dark mage with enough—

Their feet teetered on the edge. Van, barefoot, had better purchase, but Leareth had a death grip on his arm. It was Van who smiled, grimly, as the ground fell away below them.

:I love you!: he sent to ‘Fandes, not sure she could even still hear him, certain in a moment she wouldn’t.

Something heavy hit his legs—the edge of the mountain?—as Leareth slipped from his arms, howling. Vanyel closed his eyes and let himself go limp, finally just letting go.

But he didn’t fall, not much farther than just over the edge, just far enough to bang his head against the icy rock that was still, somehow, supporting him.

The Bard had him, by the leg. It would be comical if wasn’t so pathetic. So much for hoping he would slip away peacefully, never regaining consciousness.

He couldn’t leave him holding on like that, though, until Van’s weight pulled him over too or the cliffside crumbled under them, so he forced his arms to hold him, forced himself to keep fighting, to help pull himself back over the edge and away from it.

The Bard studied his face when they were both on solid ground, letting Van do the same. He was pale, trembling, his lips almost blue, clearly feeling the cold as Vanyel wasn’t yet. The only color to his face was in his bloodshot eyes and the red mark where Leareth had struck him.

“He’s still alive,” Van said softly, apologetically. The Bard knew what he’d been doing, the choice Vanyel had made without him.

Leareth had fallen, but not far enough. He was wounded, by magic and the fall, but Vanyel could still feel him. He was weak though. It had to be now. It had to be everything.

The Bard looked away for a moment, but nodded.

Vanyel pulled the Bard to him; he was freezing, and clung to him. He tucked the boy’s head under his, resting his chin on those fiery waves, and sighed. He wouldn’t apologize, knowing how little the Bard cared to hear it. He just cradled him closer, closed his eyes—and took.

Above the snowy battlefield, where men and monsters clashed, things that looked horses screamed, and blood had started running in earnest, a column of lightning reached down from the black sky like the finger of god.

It flared along one side of Crookback Pass, an explosion of rock and ice, a thunderous roar—and brought both sides of the pass crashing down, crumbling together, making the dark path of the rushing monsters disappear behind them, sending many into a frenzy, and, strangely, sending them fleeing.

As though they’d been freed from some compulsion, loosed from an invisible rein, many of the creatures stopped trying to fight, either attempting to break free of the crowds of their fellows and Heralds both, or simply freezing where they stood, immobile and unresisting, whether they were hacked to pieces or left to stand, shifting, confused and docile.

Some still fought, blood-maddened, joyful in it, if such terrible things were capable of that feeling, and the Heralds didn’t dare withdraw. Even the monsters that were fleeing were too dangerous to be allowed to do so, if they could be stopped, though far more than anyone liked made it free into the dark forests that stretched along the mountains.

There just weren’t enough Heralds to stop them all, though as many as could be gathered and reach the pass on such short notice had come.

There were losses. Any were too many, but still, for the fight they’d faced they weren’t nearly as numerous as they’d rightfully expected. And they’d won? It seemed, anyway. Even if some of the creatures had gotten away, most had been slain, or were being slain, and the pass had been brought down on the heads of the rest, blocking the way of the force they’d been warned was gathering in the north.

Ragnalf pulled up next to Tantras, who, along with his Companion, Delian, was staring at the sheer mountain face where Crookback Pass had been. Instead of the pass, the mountain had a new foot, a hill, of ice and rock that had spilled out along the former path.

He knew, everyone knew, that Tran was one of the Herald-Mage’s few friends.

He waited there for a moment, Liber shifting under him.

:Ask him!:

:You could ask!:

:You’re closer to Tantras than I am to Delian.:

:Just because he taught at the Collegium while I was there.:

:It’s still—:

“…Final strike?” he finally managed to get out. Nothing else made sense. He couldn’t imagine anything else that could have looked like that and caused all that damage. But even for the legend, it had been… amazing and terrible and just…

“I don’t think so,” Tran answered, dour but musing.

Ragnalf looked at him in surprise.

:Do you think he just can’t face it? What else could that have been?:

:I… I don’t know?:

:But—:

“We all should have felt it if they’d died. You too. We felt the others, didn’t we? After the mages cast that spell, everyone in the capital felt the last Herald-Mages die. Since they…” He seemed to stumble over that. All the mages were dead. Except perhaps Herald-Mage Vanyel, if Tantras wasn’t letting sentiment make him too hopeful. He sighed heavily. “You ask Liber if she thinks they’re dead.”

:…?:

:I… no, he’s right. We should feel it, and I didn’t.:

“What…what does this mean, then?”

“It means we secure the valley. And when we’re done we do our best to climb a mountain and save another Herald.” Tantras looked down at his hands and he and Delian turned together, back to help put down another of the creatures and, as he’d said, secure the valley.

Vanyel woke.

That was a surprise. A big enough surprise that he didn’t try to move, just stared up at a fabric roof, pondering the fact that he could possibly, impossibly, still be alive.

He didn’t even know how to feel about it.

His fingers twitched. One arm was hanging off the side of a cot, at the right height to let him rest his hand on Yfandes’ back as she lay beside the cot on the floor of a tent. They were both under blankets and a fire was burning in a carefully cleared firepit, the smoke venting through a small hole in the canvas.

:How is it we’re alive, dearest?: he asked her, knowing she was awake.  

She sighed and shifted. Along their link he felt the many places she still hurt: the stub of her tail and the wound in her chest being the worst, but even those weren’t as bad as they���d been last he remembered. He’d been out for a while.

:I’m not sure, but I think it was the Bardic magic. It isn’t like…magic magic. I think what you took from him didn’t work the way anyone would have expected. If anyone could have expected you to try anything as insane as that in the first place.:

:I work with what I have.:

She snorted.

:You’re a madman.: But she said it with fondness.

He smiled and scratched the part of her back that he could reach without having to move significantly, since he wasn’t sure he could. :You’ve called me much worse.:

He would have worried about the Bard, but like Fandes,’ he could feel him, though more distantly. He was alive, wherever he was. And not particularly distressed.

Discomfort from Yfandes.

:About him…:

:Hmm?:

:That Bard?:

He winced. She’d want an explanation and he didn’t have one to give. A second lifebond shouldn’t have been possible, but it had saved them all, and all of Valdemar when it came down to it, so perhaps—

:He’s gone.:

“What?” His voice was strange, rusty. How long had he been out?

:No one was sure what to do with him—they were good Van, he wasn’t mistreated. But he recovered a lot quicker than either of us and once he was up and about, no one was sure if he was really friend or foe, ally or captive.:

:And? How is he gone?:

:…And then, one night about a week ago, he was just… gone. Stole a horse that had come in with the army and disappeared. They tried to track him but a hundred feet or so into the forest the trail just vanished. There was no sign of him past that, no matter how they looked:

“How many of Leareth’s creatures made it into that forest?” he demanded, as though anyone could know that.

:He’s fine, Van.: she soothed. :You know he is. Wherever he went, you’d know if he was hurt. You were just thinking the same thing. It’s no different now.:

True. That was all true. The Bard was safe. Somewhere.

After what he’d done to him, it was no wonder he wouldn’t have stayed; he didn’t owe Vanyel or Valdemar more than he’d already given, especially when it had come so close to costing his life and he hadn’t even had a choice in it. Still, even knowing that it was probably better for both of them, for a while, for now—they’d have to face the lifebond and all it meant, someday—he couldn’t help wishing that the Bard had chosen to stay safe here.

Thanks for reading!

Continued in Angels We Have Heard. 

Or Visit my master list

[bluewingedcoyote]

Chapter 7: Truth and Consequence

Lissa had been with them a week now and the girl was an absolute godsend. Practical and unflappable, she had refused to let her brother wallow in self pity after Withen’s disastrous visit, brushing it off as ‘good riddance’ and assuring Vanyel of her unwavering support. Savil wasn’t sure what she would have done without the girl’s steadying presence. It wasn’t just that Vanyel had the support of someone else in his family, the one person who had always supported him, she was also better at dealing with his worst moods. Lendel was quickest to predict when his bond-mate was going into a downturn, but it was his sister who was able to deftly handle what was apparently a common refrain to her ears.

Lissa had the ability to pick through his surface complaints to cut through to what was actually bothering him underneath it. And she was unafraid to call Van out when he was being particularity bratty, whereas Lendel felt far to guilty to ever complain about anything Vanyel did or said. It probably helped a great deal that she had concrete examples of the good in his life to point out to him as balm to his father’s rejection. He had received a nigh-hysterical letter from Teresa trying to warn him that his father was coming for him and assuring him that her love for her firstborn son was undying.

Savil had also received a letter from her sister-in-law, while not noticeably any less hysterical, it had however contained some vital pieces of information. First of which was the enclosed letter of ‘anonymous concern’ that had sent Withen off in such a frothing fury it had terrified even those who were used to his temper. Second was that Withen had been convinced by the household priest to send Vanyel away to a remote monastery of his order to ‘purify’ him of the perverted taint that had led him astray and into a life of sin. Teresa had begged her to use whatever power was at her command, to use her position, her magic, anything to keep Withen from Vanyel. Begged her to take him far away and hide him if necessary, that she feared for her son’s life should Withen get his hands on him.

Teresa had also confessed to how much casual abuse Vanyel had suffered while at Forst Reach; the daily sword practices that were little more than public beatings, how any prank committed on him by his cousins or brothers, no matter how cruel or dangerous, was always brushed off as ‘boys being boys’. How all her protests were put down as feminine hysteria and motherly softness, how any attempt to complain to her husband that he was too hard on Vanyel had only led to harsher treatment of the boy.

It had sickened her to realize just how bad it had been for her nephew there, and for her niece as well. Lissa had gotten the opposite side of that clipped coin, constantly dismissed and diminished, too unkempt and uncouth, never feminine enough, never going to get a good husband the way she was. Barred from the sword-lessons that her brother had so hated, she had taught herself in secret, with help from rapier manuals bought without her father’s knowledge and with Vanyel as her secret sparring partner. The two of them had banded together as the black sheep of the family and been each other’s only support until Lissa had the chance to go foster with Lord Trevor.

---Read it on Ao3!---

Link to Chap Seven- Truth and Consequence

Link to Chap One- Darkest Night

[meat-loving-meat]

In the mood to share a bit of the nuclear weapons AU tonight, sooooo please enjoy an excerpt of Vanyel and Staven being messy and terrible (per this post)

On the fourth anniversary of Tylendel’s death, they skipped the fighting and moved straight to the painful intimacy. When they met on the beach, Staven took Vanyel’s face in his hands. Vanyel, expecting a session of their bizarre sparring, tensed and grabbed Staven’s wrists. But instead of wrestling Vanyel to the ground or leveraging him into a grappling hold, Staven pulled him close, and—

The kiss was sloppy and tasted of vodka.

Vanyel shook like a leaf for hours afterward, trading drinks and updates on his life with Staven as he struggled to sort out his emotions. They spoke of everything but Tylendel, from Vanyel’s childhood to Staven’s sexual exploits to their half-hearted plans for their futures.

At sunrise, Staven again touched his forehead to Vanyel’s, returning to their well-established script, before he stumbled back to the Frelennye mansion to sleep off the alcohol. Vanyel stayed on the beach, staring at the sky until his skin burned and his eyes hurt.

[littleglitterbab]

A light off a storm-tossed coast chapter 3

Fandom: The Last Herald Mage

Summary:  After the death of their father, eleven year old Tylendel and Staven Frelennye are sent to Forst Reach by their uncle to keep them out of danger. Despite their difference in age, they become fast friends with nine year old, Vanyel Ashkevron. But despite leaving their their home, the brothers have not left danger behind them.

i swear to god writing the last 10% of this chapter was like pulling teeth. i wrote parts of the next two chapters easier than one specific section. Sorry about the wait, folks.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12316932/3/A-light-off-a-storm-tossed-coast

https://archiveofourown.org/works/9233453/chapters/36498867