"Lord," he whispered, unable to muster enough coherent thought to say anything more.
"Vanyel, no," replied a voice of amber, silk, and steel.
He felt hands, gentle hands on his shoulders, hands that drew him up to his feet. He dared a glance at the Power's face, and was caught again, a moth in sapphirine flame.
"No, Vanyel," He said, shaking His head, denying Vanyel's assumption. "Not 'Lord.' Only a messenger, a servant. You mustn't kneel to me.''
The longer he looked into those eyes, the easier it became. "I'm - dead," he said steadily, feeling nothing at the words except a soul-deep relief, that it was finally over, that he could rest.
But the Other shook His head again. "No. Not yet, Vanyel." He hesitated a moment, and His eyes were shadowed with pity. "Vanyel, because of what you are, what you have become, and that you stand at the crossroads of many possibilities, it is given to you to choose."
"Choose?" he said, honestly bewildered. "Choose how?"
"Life," replied the Power, His eyes dimmed, as if with unshed tears, "Life, or -" He touched His hand to His own heart. "- or myself."
Then he understood what stood with him in this timeless nothingness, what gazed at him with eyes of sorrow; beautiful, perfect, and serene.
The Shadow-Lover.
"Ask me what you will," Death said, eyes radiant, and voice soft with compassion. "You must choose in full knowledge of what your choice will mean."
"What do I go to," Vanyel asked, marveling at his own steadiness, as he ached for the peace those eyes promised him, "if I choose to live?"
"Pain," Death replied, bowing His own head so that Vanyel could no longer see those eyes. "Loss. You will see good friends die, one by one, until you are alone. You will find yourself growing apart from others, day by day, until there seems to be nothing but loneliness and your duties. You will receive hurts and will not die of them, though you may long to. And the end - will be only more pain."
"And - the alternative."
"For you - peace. And an end to pain and loneliness and grieving."
Vanyel felt all the burdens of his existence heavy upon him; felt taxed beyond his strength. But he had not missed that subtle phrasing, and he asked a further question, though he knew in his heart that he would hate the answer.
"And what of those I leave behind?"
Death looked up again, and held his gaze with those brilliant, depthless eyes - and was it his imagination, or did a sad, proud smile touch those sculptured lips for a moment?
"They will come to me," Death said quietly. "And sooner, and in greater numbers, than if you choose to live. The Valdemar you knew will be no more; her people will struggle to maintain their freedom in a shrunken land, bereft of allies and hemmed about by enemies. You are not the only hope, Vanyel, but you are Valdemar's best hope."
Vanyel closed his eyes in a spasm of despair, struggling to maintain his composure. He was so tired - so very tired. So tired of pain, of loneliness, of a life that seemed harder to endure each day. But what he had told Jervis was no less than the truth. He could no more leave his duties unfulfilled than he could repudiate Yfandes. Especially not now - not knowing, by the word of a Power that would not tell him false, that there was no one else to do what he could do.
But he was so tired.
"What is magic's promise, Vanyel?" asked the vibrant voice. "You thought you knew the answer once. Is it still the answer you would give now?"
He rose out of his own soul-deep weariness, and realized that-no, the promise of magic's power - to a Herald - was not what he had thought at seventeen. And that was the difference between what he was, and what those of Vedric and Krebain's ilk were.
"It isn't a promise made to me," he replied, slowly opening his eyes and meeting Death's unblinking, steadfast gaze. "It's a promise made to those who depend on me, on my strength; it's a promise I haven't fulfilled, not yet, not completely." He closed his eyes again, and bowed his head, feeling tears of weariness slipping from beneath his lashes and not wanting the Other to see them and his weakness. "It's a promise that gives me no choice. I - have to go back. No matter how - tired - I am -"
There was a whisper of sound, and a feather-light touch on his jaw. He opened his eyes, and Death's hand lifted his chin so that his gaze again met those beautiful eyes. There were tears in Death's eyes, tears that matched his own, and a tender, sorrowful smile on Death's lips.
"I have never been so grieved - and so glad - to lose," he said, and touched his lips to Vanyel's. Their tears mingled on his lips as Vanyel closed his eyes; he tasted them in the kiss, his own salt, bitter tears - and Death's sweet -
Strong arms closed about him, supporting him, holding him against a comforting shoulder, as Death held him with all the sensitivity of the lover that He could be.
Vanyel yielded to the greater strength, and crumpled in his arms, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Gentle hands caressed his hair, and gentle words came to his ears.
"Not yet, beloved," Death murmured, breath moving against his ear, lightly stirring his hair. “There is no time here, while I will it so. You need not take up your burden until you feel ready to meet your life again."
So he wept out his weariness, his longing for respite. He wept, and then he rested on Death's shoulder.
"Vanyel, is it only duty that calls you back?"
"No." He found another tiny crumb of strength and slowly straightened in the Power's arms. "No - it's more than that. Moondance said it a long time ago. I lost my own hearth-fire, but that's no reason why I can't warm myself at the hearths of my friends, not when they've offered that warmth." He blinked, and realized that he was smiling. "Not so many friends," he said, half to himself, "But all of them - good friends."
"Worth returning for, Vanyel?"
"Yes," he replied simply.
Death actually laughed softly. "So long to learn what Moondance meant?"
"Sometimes I'm a bit dense." He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “For some reason I never had any trouble figuring out what death was all about; but life - that's taken me until now."
The Power held him for a moment longer, then let him go. He met the compassionate, luminous blue eyes for one final time, and saw them flare with a strange mixture of pride, grief, and joy. "Vanyel," Death whispered. "One thing more - there is one who would make his farewell to you."
Vanyel felt someone behind him, a lesser presence than the Shadow-lover, and turned.
"Hello, Vanyel," said Jaysen, holding out his hand. "Or - I guess it's good-bye."
"Jays?" Vanyel took the hand, momentarily stunned. "Oh, Jays, no - I didn't -"
"No, you didn't. Don't go all guilty on me." Jaysen actually smiled, ruefully. "It was my own stupid fault for being so distracted by the fact that you went and fathered our little pet that I gave those things of Vedric's a chance to get at me."