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Vanyel woke slowly, bits of the world creeping into his fogged consciousness. The first thing he noticed was that he was unbearably warm, and he shifted up from under the quilt, stretching his legs out from hip to toe. He gasped quietly in relief, wondering which drugs- and then he remembered, his mind shaking off bits of sleep. Stefen . Strains of soft songs of love and spring still filtered through his weary, jaded mind, and he wondered at how many hours he’d played for him. At how long he’d plied his Gift simply to ease his discomfort. The thought sent a flutter through his heart, which he immediately dismissed. He would’ve done it for anyone; that’s just who he is. A twinge of consciousness rebelled at that last, hinted at more, but he shoved it down. I’m naught but another friend.
He gently shifted his weight onto one leg, then the other, marveling anew at the ease of movement. The relief was beyond words, beyond what he could have hoped. His left food brushed wood and he stared down for a moment. The odor of vomit spread acrid through his nostrils. Oh gods, I had one of the fits last night, didn’t I? Other memories brushed through the dregs of the pain drugs to remind him of exactly how bad a state he’d been in, of just how much he’d revealed to Stefen. He set his head in his hands and sat back on the bed. I’d almost trade this relief for my dignity back.
Lifting his eyes, he caught his reflection in the bedroom mirror, the claw marks marring his chest backlit by the mid-morning light. Beside them, the thin lines of mage lightning struck down to the scarred mass from Leren’s knife. Lower, no scars were visible, but his eyes wandered down to the knee that plagued him so, the aching bones of his shin, the shot nerves that burned agony every fortnight. When I was twenty-eight and chasing death, another near-fatal injury didn’t matter. And now? He sighed at the wreck of skin covering tightly wound muscle, at the knotted insides that made him feel double his age. Young fools never spare a thought for living with the pains of their past.
His silvered hair wasn’t unflattering, and his face held few wrinkles, but the rest- why am I sitting here worried about whether I’m appealing shirtless? He scoffed at his absurd vanity and stood, reaching to pull clean Whites out of his wardrobe. That same small voice whispered that it might have something to do with the lovely Bard who’d sung him out of misery, and he again banished it. If nothing else, perhaps he’s finally realized that I’m no prize, no handsome hero out of a storybook. I know our friendship had already disabused him of the image from the songs, but seeing me in last night’s state is something else. He flushed. He’d never wanted anyone to see him like that, and the fact that it was Stefen- would he could have seen me at sixteen.
Dismissing the ridiculous thought, he pushed the curtains open and squinted at the bright light washing through. Hells, what time is it? I know Tran covered yesterday for me, but I’ve double work left after my absence. I hope I haven’t missed all of morning Council. As if on cue, Yfandes’s voice broke hesitantly into his mind.
:Vanyel, love?:
:Yes, dearheart?:
Her Mindvoice registered shock at his clear response. :I was worried you’d be worse today. What happened?:
:Stefen used his Gift.: He Felt her relief, surprise, and something else- amusement, hope- that he chose to ignore. :Am I needed?:
:Randi was wondering if you’re able to join this morning. He hates to ask, but the Rethwellan ambassador arrived earlier than expected, and was apparently instructed only to treat with you or the King.:
:I’ll be there.:
He ran a comb through his hair and sighed. So much for enjoying my first pain-free morning in ages. He felt as if an enormous burden had been lifted, as if the entire world was somehow lighter. I can’t remember the last time I hurt so little.
Opening the door to his sitting room, he spared a thought as to whether Stefen had already woken, a strange hope that he hadn’t rising in his chest. The memory of their first meeting flashed briefly through his mind, the feeling of Stefen’s hand closing around his, the heated desire in his gaze- Gods, what is wrong with me? He sings himself ragged to ease my pain and I imagine that?
The image that greeted him did nothing to ease the tremors in his heart. Stefen lay half-covered by an old blanket on the couch, hair fanning out behind the sharp angles of his face, his eyes fluttering with easy sleep. He’d clearly stripped to his small clothes to sleep, and Vanyel’s gaze wandered down his bare chest. His breath caught at the smooth, lightly muscled panes of skin before he averted his eyes, flushing at his impulse. Look at him, and look how broken I am. He surely expected a different version of me shirtless.
He penned him a quick note of thanks before turning to leave, nearly cursing as his knee buckled under him. So much for a pain-free morning. His Gift can only last so long. With a sigh, he resigned himself to the usual dull agony that plagued his days, sending a quick prayer to the Star-Eyed that it would be the kind he could bear in stoic silence. He took one last glance at Stefen’s sleeping form, at his face fresh with health and youth, and sent a small wish for him as well- I hope you find someone deserving of you, someone young and hopeful, someone without the weight of broken lifebonds and years at war. And limping ever so lightly, he shut the door on both the handsome Bard and that small voice that kept whispering forgotten feelings to his closed, tired mind.