The door opens slowly to reveal a young woman, brown hair pulled back in a sensible bun. She's dressed plainly, but her blue eyes are kind. "I'm Healer Melody. May I come in?"
At Vanyel's nod, she enters and closes the door behind her, surveying the small room. There are two chairs and a table, and a washbasin in the corner. Hardly luxury accommodations, but then, this is a war camp. She takes the remaining empty chair, folds her hands in her lap, and smiles at him.
"It's good to meet you, Herald Vanyel. I've heard a great deal about you."
Vanyel shifts, crossing his arms over his chest. His thoughts feel fragmented, scattered. "Likewise, I'm sure." He's heard of no such thing. Lissa sprang this on him with no warning.
Melody seems unbothered by his brusque tone. "Why don't we start by discussing why your sister felt it prudent to request an emergency appointment for you today?"
He flinches. Of course Lissa would have told her that much. Vanyel stares down at his boots, fingers clenching on his arms. His chest feels tight again. How is he meant to explain last night without sounding like he's lost his mind?
Melody waits in patient silence. The quiet stretches out between them, but her gaze never leaves him. He can feel it, compassionate but expectant, and the words start to spill out almost against his will.
"I couldn't sleep. I was...upset. Not thinking clearly." His voice sounds ragged to his own ears. "Lissa found me pacing around camp in the middle of the night. I didn't mean to worry her, I just..." He trails off, throat abruptly tight, and shakes his head.
"She cares for you a great deal," Melody says gently. "As do many others. It's natural that seeing you in distress would worry her." Her tone is comforting, without judgment. "Can you tell me what was troubling you last night, to make rest so difficult?"

Everything. And nothing. Everyone else is coping fine, as usual it's just him who's broken. 

Vanyel swallows hard. "It's - I don't know. Just. The war, I guess, it just - it keeps going, and..." 

Focus. He digs his nails into his palm, where hopefully Melody can't see it; if he bites himself in front of her, she'll definitely notice and it would be incredibly embarrassing. He fixes his eyes on a point just above her head. “Um. Background, I guess." His voice is toneless, and it feels like someone else must be speaking the words. "I lost my lifebonded nine years ago. I...had...a pretty hard time for a while.” 

Melody nods slowly, compassion flooding her gaze. "Losing a lifebonded is an unimaginable tragedy. It's no wonder that would still haunt you, especially in times of war and loss."
Her understanding makes his throat tighten further. Vanyel swallows hard against the ache, but his voice still comes out hoarse. "It was a long time ago. I should be over it by now."
"Grief knows no set timetable. There's no 'should be' when it comes to recovering from such a profound loss." Melody leans forward, expression intent. "Vanyel, do you still feel alone? As though no one could understand what you've been through?"
His breath catches. How does she know? He wraps his arms tighter around himself, but the chill he feels comes from within.
Melody sighs softly. "The pain of losing a lifebonded never fully heals. But over time, for many, it does become easier to bear. Talking about it, sharing memories of better times - these things can help. As can speaking to others who have had similar losses."
Vanyel shakes his head quickly. "I don't want to burden anyone else with - with this." His anguish feels like a raw, open wound; he can't imagine willingly subjecting someone else to its ugliness.
"You wouldn't be a burden." Her tone is gentle but firm. "There are Mindhealers who specialize in just this type of grief work. And fellow Heralds who have lost lifebonded partners, and who would understand as no one else could."
He goes very still. Other Heralds, like him? The thought terrifies and intrigues him in equal measure.
Melody smiles, perceptive as always. "Would you be open to meeting with someone in a similar situation? Speaking with them could help you find comfort you didn't know was possible."
Vanyel takes a slow, shuddering breath, and forces himself to meet her compassionate gaze. After a long moment, he gives a small, hesitant nod.

What did I just agree to? Vanyel is already regretting the nod. Now he's going to have to TALK to people. About his incredibly stupid and out-of-proportion feelings. Talking to a Mindhealer about his feelings is bad enough. 

He still hasn't told her the most important part, and it's mortifying to say out loud but he really should. He takes a deep breath. 

“Last night was... I always have a harder time when I’m tired, and I’m really, really tired. And I’ve had to do a lot of things I’m not very happy about. Like the battle of Fairweather. I feel like a butcherer, and I just spent months running around in the woods by myself because I’m a target, and I’m so tired and I, I wish, I just want it to stop -" 

He closes his eyes.

“I keep thinking about wanting to die. - uh, to be clear I don’t actually want to. I'm not going to do anything. But I can’t stop thinking about it, and it’s really distracting. I was wondering if you could put in a block or something.” 

Melody's eyes widen, her smile fading into a look of deep concern. "Vanyel, those thoughts are extremely troubling and dangerous. Putting in a block could be masking a serious issue, rather than addressing it."
He cringes at her stern tone, hunching his shoulders. "I just - I can't focus. I need to be able to do my job, and -"
"Your mental health and safety must come before your job." She leans forward, expression intent. "Thoughts of suicide are never normal or healthy, no matter the circumstances. They indicate deep anguish and hopelessness, and must be addressed through open discussion and healing - not blocked away as though they don't exist."
Vanyel wraps his arms around himself, a futile attempt at comfort. His chest aches with shame at admitting to such weakness. "But the war -"
"The war has taken enough from you already." Melody's voice softens. "Let us help you, before it takes your will to live as well. Speaking to others who share your experiences can help lift the weight from your shoulders, remind you that you are not alone. And allow me to see you regularly, to provide an outlet for these feelings so they do not consume you."
He blinks quickly, vision blurring. Her compassion is almost too much to bear. "I don't know if anything can help. I feel so tired, and alone, and like I've lost myself somewhere along the way. Like all that's left is this - weapon they aim at enemies. I'm not sure there's enough left to save."
"There is always hope, if we fight for it." She reaches out, grasping his hand firmly. Her touch is warm, anchoring. "Your life has value, and meaning, beyond any weapon. Let me help you find the parts of yourself you fear are lost. It will be difficult work, but together, we can get through this."
Vanyel closes his eyes, torn between longing for comfort and the urge to flee from the pain of her words. But beneath the anguish, a small spark of hope still flickers. He takes a shuddering breath, and squeezes her fingers in return.
"I'll try."

Something feels looser in his chest - and, obnoxiously, he's suddenly shaky. And getting very annoyed with his sore throat. His stupid cold has been lingering for weeks, probably from all the sleeping out in the rain and being woken twenty times each night by web-alarms.  

"Do you have tea?" he asks diffidently. "I can heat water for it, I'm a mage." He sighs. "I - know I need to talk about it and not - keep running away from it - but I really wish I could just. Not remember it. I keep thinking about him and it's, it's never going to stop hurting, and it's so pointless, it's not like remembering him will ever bring him back..." 

Melody smiles gently. "Some tea would be lovely, thank you." She rises and retrieves two mugs from a cabinet, setting them on the table between them.
Vanyel lifts a hand, channeling a tiny mage-fire beneath the pot of water waiting on a side table. As it heats, Melody spoons dried herbs into the mugs. The scents of lavender and chamomile begin to waft through the room.
"Grief is often a hopeless feeling, as though the pain will never end. But in time, the sharp ache does fade to a quiet sorrow, more reflective than raw." Melody sits across from him, folding her hands around her warm mug. "The memories remain, but they become bittersweet rather than unbearable. Speaking of loss, and of happier times, allows us to honor the depth of what we have lost - but also helps us begin to heal."
Vanyel pours the hot water and takes a seat again, cradling his own mug close to his chest. The warmth seeps into his hands, soothing. "How can talking help when nothing will change? He's still gone." His voice cracks, and he bites his lip hard.
"No, nothing can change that loss. But sharing stories allows us to remember the joy and meaning our loved ones brought to our lives. It helps us comprehend the depth of our grief, so we can start to make peace with it." Melody smiles into her mug, then looks up to meet his gaze. "The pain reminds us of how deeply we can love. There is a kind of solace in that."
Her words resonate within him. He understands that kind of deep, unending love that shapes you into someone new. And he aches for that closeness again, even knowing the cost.
Melody is right; speaking of 'Lendel may be brutally painful, but staying silent hasn't lessened his anguish either. Perhaps it's time to stop running, and face his loss at last. He takes a sip of tea, the warmth sliding down his throat, and allows a rush of memories to surface for the first time in years.
"He would have hated this war," he murmurs. And slowly, hesitantly, the words begin to come.

Melody listens as Vanyel hesitantly begins to speak about his past. She wants to use her Sight to assess the state of his mind, but she is of course never going to do that without his consent, and she wanted to wait until he seemed slightly more at ease in her presence. He was so tense at first; he clearly hates revealing what he must see as "weakness" to anyone, even a Mindhealer sworn to keep it confidential. 

Eventually Melody clears her throat. "Herald-Mage Vanyel, may I use my Gift? Just to look, at first, I never touch anything without a patient's consent and I'll always explain what I plan to do, all right?" 

Vanyel hesitates, hands tightening around his mug. Allowing a Mindhealer into his inner self feels intensely vulnerable. But he's come this far; what point is there in holding back now?
He takes a slow breath and sets down his tea, bracing himself. "You may use your Gift."
Melody nods, closing her eyes. He feels a feather-light mental touch as she extends her Sight toward him. It's nothing invasive, just a surface scan, but he still has to resist the urge to slam up his shields.
After a long moment, Melody opens her eyes. Her expression is solemn. "You have extensive unhealed trauma, and your mental state is quite fragile. However, your mind is still intact, and with work, there is hope for improvement." Her gaze meets his, direct but compassionate. "This will be difficult, but with time and effort, we can strengthen you. If you're willing to persevere."
Vanyel releases a shaky breath. He's not sure if he feels relief at her diagnosis, or dread at the prospect of delving deeper into his anguish. But continuation of the status quo isn't viable either. His outburst last night proved that.
"What do you recommend?" he asks, trying to keep his voice steady.
"Regular sessions with me, to start, so we can address your grief and trauma directly. Speaking to others who share your experiences may also help. And when you're ready, focusing on self-care - proper rest, nutrition. Reconnecting with loved ones." A hint of a smile touches her lips. "You've been fighting for a very long time. It's time to start healing."
Healing. The word itself feels foreign. As though his capacity for it had been burned away, leaving only purpose and duty behind.
But perhaps those parts of him still remain, buried beneath the scars. And with Melody's help, he might uncover them once more.
Vanyel meets her compassionate gaze, and allows a spark of hope to flare within him. "Where do we begin?"