And the Valdemaran half of the team trickles in. 

"Leareth." Savil slips in and takes a random seat in the capsule. The seats are arranged in descending concentric circles, tightly packed but comfortable. "Nice interior. Your design?" 

"Mostly I delegated it." Leareth isn't in the mood for chitchat, and doesn't lift his eyes from the notes he's reviewing. "Herald-Mage Savil, right? My condolences on your losses." He says it tonelessly, and goes back to reading. 

Savil can take hints. Or, well, Kellan can, and lately there's been a LOT of FEELINGS happening in Savil's vicinity and so she's cheating nearly all the time at reading body language via letting her Companion watch through her eyes. 

:- So, what do you think?: she asks him. 

     :Of Leareth?: 

Impatient wordless mental noise.

     :He seems tense: 

:Yes, I can see THAT. I meant, should I be, er, worried or something. Dara seemed to be: 

     :Dara can't mother-hen him from a different star system: 

:Heh. Guess that's why she tried to delegate it to every single other person on this mission: 

     Kellan's flank swells and settles. :Chosen, no offence, but you're - not exactly the best person for that: 

Savil bites back a chuckle. :No kidding: 

Shavri trails in a few minutes later, carrying two laden travel-packs. 

"Leareth." 

He lifts his eyes to hers. "Healer Shavri. I am sorry for your loss." 

Shavri lets the travel-bags slide to the floor, landing with a thump. "For at least one case, it was both our losses. Vanyel would've wanted to be here." 

- she's not even looking at his face and she can still tell that the words hit a lot harder than she was intending. Expecting. Something. 

"I'm sorry," she says at her shoes, and she's not sure if it's her own condolences for his grief or an apology for bringing it up. 

'Are you all right' isn't just a stupid question these days, it's downright rude. Shavri keeps it to herself, and starts stuffing her bags - mostly full of everything she thought she might want if she's about to be the only Gifted Healer around - into one of the cargo areas. 

:Shavri. Could you help me with the door -: 

And the mysterious second Companion, which Leareth wasn't even warned about, joins them. 

Yfandes isn't a Mindhealer. She's not even trying to read Leareth with Thoughtsensing and it wouldn't work if she was. 

She is, nonetheless, a Companion of Valdemar - an unusually broken instance of said class, but still. Companions...have a particular sense for minds. Not one that they talk about, much, or are even very consciously aware of. 

Yfandes sees him. Not very clearly, not undistorted; it's like a fragmented reflection in a broken mirror which is also underwater for some reason; but there's one mind that she once knew in all its messy intricate glorious detail. In Leareth, there are reflections of Vanyel, and the part of her where a bond was once rooted recognizes, and remembers. 

She sees a loss too broad to encompass, too deep to swallow - a pain that can't ever, quite, be seen clearly enough to transmute into grief. A loadbearing foundation ripped away, and no choice but to build over it anyway...

She feels the desperate tension inherent in a goal both impossible and essential - she sees a shape tied to the world, not by duty, never by duty, just by...being what it is. A pattern that can't and won't walk away, no matter the cost. The same path chosen at the crossroads, however many times it has to. 

She smells the rage that has nowhere to go. Anger wants to break something, but no amount of vengeance will bring back the dead. 

She tastes despair. A familiar flavour of it. A child's mute uncomprehending helplessness in the face of an unknown, uncaring, unpredictable world – and it doesn't stop, no amount of power and knowledge eases it, but it doesn't, really, get in the way either. It's just there. 

And, of course, the weariness. Vanyel was weary. It never stopped him, and it won't stop Leareth, and Yfandes sees and recognizes and remembers and knows...

Being seen hurts. 

Everything hurts, though, and Leareth is too busy reading to notice immediately that this particular hurting is new and different. 

Finally he looks up, and freezes. 

:...Yfandes?: 

:Leareth. I'm - so, so sorry -: 

:I ought be the one saying that to you, surely: 

:Horseshit. We can both be sorry: 

Yfandes wriggles into one of the Companion-spots. Settles herself down. 

Saying that he's surprised she survived is inane and he won't subject her to that.

Leareth tries to go back to reading, but his eyes are doing the thing where they won't focus properly and the writing won't come clear. 

:I watched him die: 

- what, he didn't mean to say that at ALL, or he doesn't think he did, it just - happened...

:You what– oh. In the Foresight dream? ....Gods. What a nightmare: 

:Indeed. Often the literal content of my actual nightmares, now: 

That was ALSO an inane thing to say. 

It gets him a bark of bitter mental laughter, at least. :Can't blame you. I - at least he, he wasn't alone - did he know, do you think, did he - feel it happening...: 

Leareth considers this for a moment. 

:I think so, yes: 

He thinks about it some more, which is painful, but he owes Vanyel's Companion that much and more. 

:...I do not think he was afraid. Or in pain. He seemed -: what was the final expression in Vanyel's face, :- he seemed annoyed:

:How sensible. I bet if you'd dissolved into dust, you'd have been irritated about it too: 

Why is he suddenly about to cry. Leareth wasn't expecting that at all. It's very confusing. 

Yfandes can tell when someone needs a minute to themselves. She can especially tell when Leareth does, apparently, because his mind - the angles she can see of it - does some of the same motions that Vanyel's used to do when he was overwhelmed.  

She falls silent. 

He closes his eyes and holds his head in his hands and waits for the world to go away for Captain Marvel to arrive. 

It takes her several hours. She's in the middle of deescalating a succession dispute that's about to turn into a coup by a newly formed order of religious fanatics on a world even lower-tech than Velgarth, but a pager-call from Leareth is at least arguably higher priority.

She lands in Haven and goes aboard, looking for Leareth.

This is more than adequate, she says, when she finds him. Actually quite impressive, for your apparent tech level. If you are ready to depart please give the signal to get everyone aboard.

It would have been a much harder engineering challenge if he had to worry about weight, which he didn’t given her physics-defying transport plan. The capsule is sturdy and rather overbuilt.

:Our visible tech level should not be taken as indicative of what I can do. We have magic, and also I have been trying to advance our technology for centuries and our gods kept sabotaging my plans and assassinating me: 

Leareth doesn’t sound especially worked-up about this, just matter-of-fact and tired. 

:Also, where are we going? We have some volunteers for un-Gifted support roles, if our destination is appropriate for that:

She makes a mental note to look into these "gods" when this is over. There's several worlds with extremely questionable policies on interference in primitive cultures, but she doesn't know of any that go so far as to artificially restrict their subjects' technological development.

We're going to Earth, she says. My home-world. Not the highest-tech place in the galaxy—not even a part of the galactic community, as far as the average citizen is concerned—but it produces an unusual number of...people with various special abilities. There's a group of such people called the Avengers who are mostly from Earth and have their headquarters there. That's who I'm taking you to.

However, their tech level is much higher than yours, ignoring magic or special abilities, and the population is...three to four billion, post-Thanos. I don't know how their governments are functioning, probably not well, but I doubt that your support personnel would be worthwhile.