Chapter Text
“You saved my life,” Staven says, almost wonderingly as he clutches the blankets to his bare chest. He watches as his lover for the evening crosses the room to drop to a crouch next to the crumpled form on his bedroom floor, unminding of his own nakedness.
Vanir Ashley was more to Tylendel’s tastes than Staven’s, all lean and delicate and a study in contrasts with that pale skin and those silver eyes and that dark hair, and not to mention undeniably male . But while Staven wasn’t fey (or shay’a’chern, as his brother Tylendel would call it, like his teacher’s mysterious Tayledras contacts), he certainly wasn’t picky enough to turn down a nice tumble between the sheets when it was offered.
Now, he’s glad that he did so as Vanir turns the body over onto its back, sending pale hair splaying across the dark wood of the floor. Vanir glances up after a moment. “He’s alive. You need to call in a Herald.”
“That’s it?” Staven asks, letting the blankets drop a little to pool around his waist as Vanir strips the man’s shirt off and starts using it to tie his hands behind his back. “We fuck, you save my life, and then you just leave?”
“I’m a minstrel, Lord Frelennye,” Vanir says, not pausing as he goes around the room, picking up the clothes he’d thrown off on his way to bed. “I can’t afford trouble, and I don’t know what you’re trying to get at, but yes, I am leaving.”
“You saved my life,” Staven points out, only growing more bemused with the situation. “You aren’t in my employ, and not to give you any ideas, but you aren’t going to ask for a reward?”
“I neither need nor want-”
“I could send you to the Bardic Collegium,” Staven says, and that finally makes Vanir pause, his shirt half on. Staven smiles, proud of himself for that. “You may only be a minstrel, but I know many minstrels get some training there, even if they don’t have what to takes to become a full bard. You could get training there. You seem like you’ve had some before.”
“I have,” Vanir says shortly. He finishes pulling on his shirt and turns around to face Staven. “And what do you get out of it?”
“Why the honor of repaying someone I owe my life to, of course!” Staven says.
Vanir snorts. “Right. If that’s all-”
“More seriously, you’re an investment,” Staven says, watching him. “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors about me-”
“Ah, yes. The stubborn, hotheaded, arrogant fool, too young to be ruling his Hold.” Vanir gives Staven a look as Staven mimes being hit by an arrow and swoons. “This isn’t exactly convincing me otherwise.”
“Oh, but you’re an investment ,” Staven says, finally sliding out of bed to gather his own clothes now that Vanir doesn’t seem quite so likely to bolt. “Hotheaded young fools don’t normally invest in the arts. Whether or not you actually come back to Frelennye holdings doesn’t matter, just by being sent out, you’ll improve my reputation.”
“And you’re going to send someone you just met?” Vanir asks. “What, don’t you have any other minstrels on your holdings you can send?”
“No,” Staven says frankly.
“. . . we can talk about it in the morning. I’m going to go find that room you offered me and sleep,” Vanir says, lifting his lute case and slipping the strap over his head.. He casually kicks the crumpled form on the floor when it moans again. “You might want to send for that Herald now. And for your guards.”
Staven frowns slightly as he watches Vanir leave. Towards the end there, that hadn’t been all suspicion. He lets out a long sigh. Despite his argument, Vanir wasn’t exactly wrong about how fast Staven had offered the sponsorship.
Then Staven shakes his head and hauls the assassin over his shoulder and goes to find one of his guards.