in all the lonely places | Glowfic Constellation

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Content	in all the lonely places Herald-Mage Vanyel is depressed during the Karsite war and sees a new Mindhealer Vanyel Ashkevron no-laid-course Swimmer963 Vanyel paces, miserably, and finds himself yet again thinking of Leareth, and the bitterly laughable incongruity of going to him for comfort. Though he’s tried to offer it enough, without being asked. Their shared Foresight dreams are longest conversations he’s had with anyone face to face, in recent months, and sometimes he finds himself longing for them. What’s wrong with my life, he thinks, that the only person I can think to ask for help is my worst enemy? Vanyel kicks a stick, sending mud flying. Everything. Everything is wrong with his life. With the world. It might just be tiredness speaking, but the future feels grey, empty. It doesn't feel like the war could ever end. Too many deaths on both sides. Pointless destruction, a blight on the world, inescapable. I don’t want to be in a world like this. It feels like he finally understands why ‘Lendel had called a Final Strike. When everything’s hopelessly broken, sometimes all you want is to burn it all down. Wherever you are, ashke, it’s better than this. And he's part of the problem, isn't he? A weapon aimed from a distance at people only trying to do right by their own country. How could there be anything good left in him by the end of the war? He tries to wrench himself out of the pointless loop. Pull yourself together, Herald. He tries to focus on his sister's face. Lissa cares about him, and drinks with him, and understands the war. But Lissa is good, he finds himself thinking, and he...isn't. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t exist. “This is ridiculous,” Vanyel says out loud. Maybe he should to the mess tent. Get some food, talk to some people, rather than pace alone in the darkened war camp and stew in his thoughts. He needs a distraction. But he can't summon the will to turn back toward Lissa's tent. What would be the point? It won't change anything. Won't fix anything, because the thing that's wrong with the world is that Tylendel is dead, and it's impossible to undo. Not for the first time, he thinks longingly of his vial of argonel, and wishes vaguely that Andrel had given him more… Stop it. He bends over, hands on his knees, trying to breathe through the aching tightness in his chest. He has to stop this. Do something, anything, else. Talk to Lissa. Ask to sleep in her tent tonight. Anything except walking around the edge of camp in the middle of the night, avoiding speaking to his own Companion and thinking about killing himself. --- Less than twelve hours later, Vanyel sits on the edge of his chair, fidgeting, in the room where he was told to wait for the Mindhealer. Melody, apparently; they haven't met before. Though Lissa was still able and willing to pull rank, and get him on the list for noon today. It feels like he barely slept last night. There's a buzzing in his head, and his body feels like it only half belongs to him. Not to mention, in the light of day he's incredibly embarrassed. He can't believe he barged in on his sister like that. Though she really didn't seem to mind; in fact, when she bounced out of her bedroll before the sun was even above the horizon, she kissed his forehead and said she would like it if he came by more often. Vanyel has no idea what he's even going to say to the Mindhealer. He never needed to explain his past to Lancir, who was there to see it firsthand, and he's not looking forward to the prospect of having to speak about it directly to a stranger. "Herald Vanyel?" There's a polite knock on the door, and Vanyel startles, flinging power into his shields, before remembering where he is and flushing in embarrassment. He's so jumpy lately. Probably the Mindhealer will ask about that too, damn it. He grits his teeth. "Yes, this is Vanyel."
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Vanyel paces, miserably, and finds himself yet again thinking of Leareth, and the bitterly laughable incongruity of going to him for comfort. Though he’s tried to offer it enough, without being asked. Their shared Foresight dreams are longest conversations he’s had with anyone face to face, in recent months, and sometimes he finds himself longing for them.

What’s wrong with my life, he thinks, that the only person I can think to ask for help is my worst enemy?

Vanyel kicks a stick, sending mud flying. Everything. Everything is wrong with his life. With the world. It might just be tiredness speaking, but the future feels grey, empty. It doesn't feel like the war could ever end. Too many deaths on both sides. Pointless destruction, a blight on the world, inescapable.

I don’t want to be in a world like this. It feels like he finally understands why ‘Lendel had called a Final Strike. When everything’s hopelessly broken, sometimes all you want is to burn it all down. Wherever you are, ashke, it’s better than this.

And he's part of the problem, isn't he? A weapon aimed from a distance at people only trying to do right by their own country. How could there be anything good left in him by the end of the war?

He tries to wrench himself out of the pointless loop. Pull yourself together, Herald. He tries to focus on his sister's face. Lissa cares about him, and drinks with him, and understands the war.

But Lissa is good, he finds himself thinking, and he...isn't. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t exist.

“This is ridiculous,” Vanyel says out loud. Maybe he should to the mess tent. Get some food, talk to some people, rather than pace alone in the darkened war camp and stew in his thoughts. He needs a distraction.

But he can't summon the will to turn back toward Lissa's tent. What would be the point? It won't change anything. Won't fix anything, because the thing that's wrong with the world is that Tylendel is dead, and it's impossible to undo. Not for the first time, he thinks longingly of his vial of argonel, and wishes vaguely that Andrel had given him more…

Stop it. He bends over, hands on his knees, trying to breathe through the aching tightness in his chest. He has to stop this. Do something, anything, else. Talk to Lissa. Ask to sleep in her tent tonight. Anything except walking around the edge of camp in the middle of the night, avoiding speaking to his own Companion and thinking about killing himself.

---

Less than twelve hours later, Vanyel sits on the edge of his chair, fidgeting, in the room where he was told to wait for the Mindhealer. Melody, apparently; they haven't met before. Though Lissa was still able and willing to pull rank, and get him on the list for noon today.

It feels like he barely slept last night. There's a buzzing in his head, and his body feels like it only half belongs to him. Not to mention, in the light of day he's incredibly embarrassed. He can't believe he barged in on his sister like that. Though she really didn't seem to mind; in fact, when she bounced out of her bedroll before the sun was even above the horizon, she kissed his forehead and said she would like it if he came by more often.

Vanyel has no idea what he's even going to say to the Mindhealer. He never needed to explain his past to Lancir, who was there to see it firsthand, and he's not looking forward to the prospect of having to speak about it directly to a stranger.

"Herald Vanyel?" There's a polite knock on the door, and Vanyel startles, flinging power into his shields, before remembering where he is and flushing in embarrassment. He's so jumpy lately. Probably the Mindhealer will ask about that too, damn it.

He grits his teeth. "Yes, this is Vanyel."