It was already too late to save his battered dignity anyway -
Vanyel surrendered appearance, self-respect, everything. He sagged against Tylendel's shoulder, burying his face in Tylendel's soft, worn, blue robe. He let the last of his pride dissolve, releasing all the tears he'd been keeping behind his walls of indifference and arrogance. Soon he was crying so hard he couldn't even think, just cling to Tylendel's shoulders and sob. He didn't really hear what Tylendel was saying, only the tone of his voice registered in his sleep-mazed grief; comforting, compassionate, caring.
He cried his eyes sore and dry; he cried until his nose felt swollen to the size of an apple. All the time he shivered with the terrible cold that seemed to have become one with his very bones; shivered until the bed shook.
Finally there just weren't any tears left - and he wasn't shivering anymore, he was warm - and more than warm; protected. And completely exhausted. Tylendel held him as carefully as if he was made of spun glass and would shatter at a breath; just held him. That was all.
It was enough. It was more than he ever remembered having. He wished it could last forever.
- may the gods help me. I've always wanted this -
"Done?" Tylendel asked, very quietly, a good while after the last of the sobs and the tremors had finished shaking his body.
He nodded, reluctantly, and felt the arms holding him relax. He sat up again, and Tylendel cupped both his hands around his face, turning him into the light. He winced away from it, knowing what he must look like; the trainee chuckled, but it had a kindly, not a mocking, sound.
"You're a mess, peacock," he said, somehow making the words a joke to be shared between them. Vanyel smiled, tentatively, and Tylendel dabbed at his eyes with the corner of the sheet.
"Do you have so common a thing as a handkerchief around here?" he asked, quite casually. Vanyel nodded, and fumbled at the drawer of the bedside table until Tylendel patted his hand away and got the square of linen out of it himself.
"Here," he gave it to Vanyel, then settled back a little. "I couldn't sleep; got up to get some wine and heard you. Do this often?"
Vanyel blew his nose, and looked up at the older boy through half-swollen eyes.
"Often enough," he confessed.
"Nightmare?"
He nodded, and looked down at his hands.
"Know why?"
"No," he whispered. But he did. He did. It was hearing the Bards - hearing what he'd never, ever have – and then encountering Tylendel and knowing-
Gods.
"Want to tell me about it?"
He dared another glance at the trainee; the quiet face of the older boy was not easy to read, but there were no signs of deception there that Vanyel could see.
But -
"You'll laugh at me," he said, ready to pull away again.
"No. On my honor. Van, I don't lie. I won't laugh at you, and nothing you tell me will go outside this room unless you want it to."
Vanyel shivered again, and without any warning at all, the words came spilling out.
"It's - ice," he said, sniffing, studying his hands and the handkerchief he had twisted up in them. "It's all around me; I'm trapped, I can't get out, and I'm so cold - so cold. Then I cut myself, and I start to turn into ice. Then - sometimes, like tonight - I'm somewhere else, and I'm fighting these things, and I know I'm going to die. And the worst of it isn't the pain, or the dying - it's that - that - " he faltered, " - I'm - all alone. So totally alone - "
It sounded so banal, so incredibly foolish, just put into words like that. Especially when he didn't, couldn’t, tell Tylendel the rest, the part about him. He looked up, expecting to see mockery in the older boy's face - and froze, seeing nothing of the kind.
"Van, I think I know what you mean," Tylendel said slowly. "There are times when - when being alone is a hurt that's worse than dying. When it's easier to die than to be alone. Aren't there?"
Vanyel blinked, caught without words.
Tylendel's voice was so soft he might well have been speaking to himself. "Sometimes, maybe it's better to have had someone and lost them than to have never had anyone - "
Then Tylendel's eyes focused for a moment on Vanyel. And Vanyel's heart spasmed at the flash of emotion he saw. A longing he'd not ever dreamed to see there. Directed at him.
- oh - gods. I never - I thought - he can't -
He does. He is. Father will -
I don't care!
He snatched at what was proffered before it could be taken away.
"Vanyel - " the blond began.
“ ‘Lendel - " Vanyel interrupted, urgently, daring the nickname he'd heard his aunt use. "Stay with me - please. Please." His words tumbled over one another as he hurried to get them out before Tylendel could interrupt; he caught hold of the older boy's wrist. "The ice is still there, I know it is, it's inside me and it's freezing me from the inside out - it's killing my - feelings. I think it's killing me. Please, please, don't leave me alone with it - "
"You don't know what you're asking," Tylendel said, almost angrily; pulling his hand out of Vanyel's, his eyes no longer readable. "You can't know. You don't know what Iam."
"But I do," Vanyel protested desperately. "I do, the girls tell me things to get my attention - they told me you're - uh - shay'a'chern, they said. That you don't sleep with girls; that you - " He felt himself blush, the rush of blood almost painful, his cheeks were so sore from crying.
"Then dammit, Vanyel, what do you think I'm made of?" Tylendel cried harshly, his face twisted and his eyes reflecting internal pain. "What do you think I am?
Marble? You're beautiful, you're bright, you're everything I'd ever ask for - you think I can stay here and not want you? Good gods, I won't take advantage of an innocent, but what you're asking of me would try the control of a saint!"
"You don't understand. I know what I'm asking," Vanyel replied, catching his wrist again before he could get up and stalk off into the dark. "I do know."
Tylendel shook his head violently and looked away.
" 'Lendel - look at me," Vanyel pleaded, pouring his heart out in a confession he'd never have dared to make before this. "Listen - I don't like girls either. I'm not an innocent, I know what I want, 'Lendel, please, listen - I've been - rl've bedded enough of them to know that they don't do anything for me. It's - about as mechanical as dancing, or eating. They just don't mean anything to me."
Tylendel stopped trying to pull away, and turned a face to Vanyel that was so full of dumbfounded surprise that the younger boy had to fight hysterical laughter.