[Fandom] Fanfic: Part of Us
Title: Part of Us
Rating: PG for vague mention of suicide
Fandom: The Last Herald-Mage trilogy, by Mercedes Lackey
Characters: Withen, Treesa (in passing mention), Stefen
Warnings: I don’t think there are any homophobic people watching my LJ, but just in case: talk of gay people. Get over it. And for the bad-grammarphobes: this has not been betaed at all.
Spoilers: Magic’s Price and Magic’s Pawn specifically. A tiny one for Magic’s Promise.
Word Count: 1,024
Author's Notes: I’ve just finished re-reading these books, and just finished writing fics for two ficathons, so it stands to reason that my still very emotional reaction to these books would come out in the form of fanfiction. I’ve always wondered how Withen and Treesa-but especially Withen-reacted to the news; this is my exploration of that idea.
Notice: Whoever you are, whatever site you want to repost this on, you do NOT have permission to do so without asking me first. If I find out you have, I WILL take action.
Part of Us
The boy looked like hell, but Withen couldn’t blame him. He wouldn’t blame Stefen if the Bard passed out or started screaming, or did any number of other things one would expect in this situation. Instead, Stefen just sat in the chair across from Withen’s desk, eyes unfocused as he stared through the wooden surface. He told the story from beginning to end, without any of the usual embellishments of a Bard-and, Withen suspected, without telling all the details.
Not that Withen had needed to be told what happened to Vanyel; he and Treesa had been summoned to an audience with the King just after the Death Bell began to toll. King Randale, looking aged well beyond his years and ready to let go of life, had told them personally of Vanyel’s sacrifice. Even he had looked better than Stefen. The Bard spoke with absolutely no inflection in his voice, telling of traveling with Van through the winter, to the mountains, what they’d found and how Yfandes carried him as far as the Guard post before turning around to return to her Chosen. He’d spoken slowly, and so softly Withen could barely hear him.
All the while with the same hollow-eyed despair Withen had seen once before in the eyes of another boy.
Treesa brought Stefen something to eat and some wine, but couldn’t stand the look on his face and left quickly. Withen understood, knowing what she went through because he felt the same; there was so much about their son they hadn’t had a chance to know, to understand, and now it was too late. Vanyel had done what he knew he had to, leaving them all behind without him.
For a long time after Stefen finished speaking, Withen let him sit in silence, watching him, thinking and remembering that day so many years ago when he’d gone to Haven enraged at the thought of his son becoming exactly what he’d feared. That Savil had allowed Vanyel to associate with that sort of people, undoing everything Withen had tried to accomplish with the boy . . . it infuriated him.
So many years later, to his surprise, he found himself wondering if he might have actually liked the first boy as much as he liked Stefen. Tylendel. Between Vanyel and Savil, he’d heard the name often enough to remember. For years after Tylendel’s death, Withen had looked at his son and seen nothing but a tight ball of grief wrapped inside a shell of dedication to duty. After the business with Tashir, the grief had lessened somewhat, then been covered over again by more dedication and a remote coldness that worried everyone who knew him.
Until Stefen.
Gods, how could I ever have thought what they shared was filthy? Look at him; anyone with eyes and a brain can see he’s suffering. I’ll never know sorrow that deep.
“Stefen,” Withen finally said, clearing his throat, “Treesa and I will be going to Forst Reach for the winter, to be with family.” They needed to go, both of them, to mourn their son in the place where they’d raised him with others who’d known Van as a child and a young man, not Herald-Mage Vanyel Demonsbane. He watched the Bard nod numbly. “You are welcome to join us, of course.”
A moment passed in which Withen thought Stefen hadn’t even heard him, then a slight jolt of his body and the Bard looked up, confusion written over the loss in his eyes. “Me? Why? I-I thought-”
“You wouldn’t be welcomed now that Van’s gone?” Withen sighed, and found he couldn’t muster even a small spark of annoyance at Stefen’s misconception. This was not the time, and the years had taught him some few things.
Rising, Withen moved around the desk to put a hand on Stefen’s shoulder. “You were a part of him, boy. That makes you a part of us, now and always. Even if you hadn’t been Van’s . . .,” The time was long past to say it without euphemisms, without contempt. “Even if you hadn’t been Van’s lover, we’d be eternally grateful for all you did for us when we first came to Haven, especially Treesa. Stefen, you’re welcome in our home at any time for any reason.”
You’re what we have left of him. All we have left of him.
Stefen’s lost expression did not fade, it was merely buried beneath surprise and what Withen thought might be gratitude. He hoped as much.
“Th-Thank you, Lord Withen,” the Bard finally managed, along with a smile that trembled about the edges before it collapsed. “I appreciate the offer, honestly I do, but . . . I think it’s best if I spend some time alone. Get used to it.”
You don’t fool me, boy. You have no intention of living without Van, any more than Van wanted to live without Tylendel.
He couldn’t force Stefen to come with them, or even to want to live, but he could warn Bard Breda and some of the Guardsmen he knew were friends with the boy. They probably knew already, but it wouldn’t hurt to throw in his worries with theirs to make certain they kept an eye on him.
“All right. I wanted you to know the offer is there, and it’s open. I mean it, boy. You find yourself in need of company, get on Melody and let her lead you to Forst Reach. We’ll save a place at the table for you.”
Once again Stefen thanked him with just as much gratitude and with no more intention of taking him up on the offer. At last, Withen had to let the boy go, uncomfortable with the depth of Stefen’s misery because no matter his own, it could never be as profound as the Bard’s.
Frowning, Withen sat himself back at his desk to consider summoning a scribe to write a set of letters for him--one to Bard Breda, one to King Randale--who surely would also care about the well-being of Vanyel’s lifebonded. In the flickering shadows of his study's fireplace, he fought back his own grief, which he would not indulge in until Forst Reach.
Van, I tried. I tried to do right by him for you. All I could do was try.
End
Rating: PG for vague mention of suicide
Fandom: The Last Herald-Mage trilogy, by Mercedes Lackey
Characters: Withen, Treesa (in passing mention), Stefen
Warnings: I don’t think there are any homophobic people watching my LJ, but just in case: talk of gay people. Get over it. And for the bad-grammarphobes: this has not been betaed at all.
Spoilers: Magic’s Price and Magic’s Pawn specifically. A tiny one for Magic’s Promise.
Word Count: 1,024
Author's Notes: I’ve just finished re-reading these books, and just finished writing fics for two ficathons, so it stands to reason that my still very emotional reaction to these books would come out in the form of fanfiction. I’ve always wondered how Withen and Treesa-but especially Withen-reacted to the news; this is my exploration of that idea.
Notice: Whoever you are, whatever site you want to repost this on, you do NOT have permission to do so without asking me first. If I find out you have, I WILL take action.
Part of Us
The boy looked like hell, but Withen couldn’t blame him. He wouldn’t blame Stefen if the Bard passed out or started screaming, or did any number of other things one would expect in this situation. Instead, Stefen just sat in the chair across from Withen’s desk, eyes unfocused as he stared through the wooden surface. He told the story from beginning to end, without any of the usual embellishments of a Bard-and, Withen suspected, without telling all the details.
Not that Withen had needed to be told what happened to Vanyel; he and Treesa had been summoned to an audience with the King just after the Death Bell began to toll. King Randale, looking aged well beyond his years and ready to let go of life, had told them personally of Vanyel’s sacrifice. Even he had looked better than Stefen. The Bard spoke with absolutely no inflection in his voice, telling of traveling with Van through the winter, to the mountains, what they’d found and how Yfandes carried him as far as the Guard post before turning around to return to her Chosen. He’d spoken slowly, and so softly Withen could barely hear him.
All the while with the same hollow-eyed despair Withen had seen once before in the eyes of another boy.
Treesa brought Stefen something to eat and some wine, but couldn’t stand the look on his face and left quickly. Withen understood, knowing what she went through because he felt the same; there was so much about their son they hadn’t had a chance to know, to understand, and now it was too late. Vanyel had done what he knew he had to, leaving them all behind without him.
For a long time after Stefen finished speaking, Withen let him sit in silence, watching him, thinking and remembering that day so many years ago when he’d gone to Haven enraged at the thought of his son becoming exactly what he’d feared. That Savil had allowed Vanyel to associate with that sort of people, undoing everything Withen had tried to accomplish with the boy . . . it infuriated him.
So many years later, to his surprise, he found himself wondering if he might have actually liked the first boy as much as he liked Stefen. Tylendel. Between Vanyel and Savil, he’d heard the name often enough to remember. For years after Tylendel’s death, Withen had looked at his son and seen nothing but a tight ball of grief wrapped inside a shell of dedication to duty. After the business with Tashir, the grief had lessened somewhat, then been covered over again by more dedication and a remote coldness that worried everyone who knew him.
Until Stefen.
Gods, how could I ever have thought what they shared was filthy? Look at him; anyone with eyes and a brain can see he’s suffering. I’ll never know sorrow that deep.
“Stefen,” Withen finally said, clearing his throat, “Treesa and I will be going to Forst Reach for the winter, to be with family.” They needed to go, both of them, to mourn their son in the place where they’d raised him with others who’d known Van as a child and a young man, not Herald-Mage Vanyel Demonsbane. He watched the Bard nod numbly. “You are welcome to join us, of course.”
A moment passed in which Withen thought Stefen hadn’t even heard him, then a slight jolt of his body and the Bard looked up, confusion written over the loss in his eyes. “Me? Why? I-I thought-”
“You wouldn’t be welcomed now that Van’s gone?” Withen sighed, and found he couldn’t muster even a small spark of annoyance at Stefen’s misconception. This was not the time, and the years had taught him some few things.
Rising, Withen moved around the desk to put a hand on Stefen’s shoulder. “You were a part of him, boy. That makes you a part of us, now and always. Even if you hadn’t been Van’s . . .,” The time was long past to say it without euphemisms, without contempt. “Even if you hadn’t been Van’s lover, we’d be eternally grateful for all you did for us when we first came to Haven, especially Treesa. Stefen, you’re welcome in our home at any time for any reason.”
You’re what we have left of him. All we have left of him.
Stefen’s lost expression did not fade, it was merely buried beneath surprise and what Withen thought might be gratitude. He hoped as much.
“Th-Thank you, Lord Withen,” the Bard finally managed, along with a smile that trembled about the edges before it collapsed. “I appreciate the offer, honestly I do, but . . . I think it’s best if I spend some time alone. Get used to it.”
You don’t fool me, boy. You have no intention of living without Van, any more than Van wanted to live without Tylendel.
He couldn’t force Stefen to come with them, or even to want to live, but he could warn Bard Breda and some of the Guardsmen he knew were friends with the boy. They probably knew already, but it wouldn’t hurt to throw in his worries with theirs to make certain they kept an eye on him.
“All right. I wanted you to know the offer is there, and it’s open. I mean it, boy. You find yourself in need of company, get on Melody and let her lead you to Forst Reach. We’ll save a place at the table for you.”
Once again Stefen thanked him with just as much gratitude and with no more intention of taking him up on the offer. At last, Withen had to let the boy go, uncomfortable with the depth of Stefen’s misery because no matter his own, it could never be as profound as the Bard’s.
Frowning, Withen sat himself back at his desk to consider summoning a scribe to write a set of letters for him--one to Bard Breda, one to King Randale--who surely would also care about the well-being of Vanyel’s lifebonded. In the flickering shadows of his study's fireplace, he fought back his own grief, which he would not indulge in until Forst Reach.
Van, I tried. I tried to do right by him for you. All I could do was try.
End