Thou Far We May Wander (Valdemar, Tylendel/Vanyel)

The inn is much like any other. Vanyel has seen far too many to really distinguish one from any other. They blur together in his mind. Only the people stand out and the landscape that led up to it. He’s learned by now how to read a crowd, to know what mood they’re in and thus what music to play to make them more free with the coin. The more the crowd spends, the happier the innkeeper, the better his meal at the end of the evening. The places he plays are usually remote so he doesn’t expect much in tips from the crowd. Surprisingly, it’s the older generation that tip him the most, handing him a few meager coins after he’s made the grannies’ hearts swell with love ballads or brought memories of honor and glory back to the old men.

What would they think if they knew he used to be heir to the great Forst Reach? That his sister is the great Lissa, a renowned soldier of the Guard? Or his aunt the Herald-Mage Savil? He chuckles to himself as he takes a sip of water. No one would believe him. After all, no one in their right mind would leave a life of luxury to travel the road as only slightly better than a beggar.

Obviously they didn’t know that luxury came with a price. After getting his arm broken once, it was no longer a price he was willing to pay.

The door to the inn opens and Vanyel glances over at the newcomers from the far end of the bar. His break is almost over and the crowd eager for more music.

The man who walks through the door is like none Vanyel has ever seen before. His blonde hair seems to glow in the candlelight but it’s his smile that holds the real light. Vanyel has to look away as a blush threatens to cover his face. He’d learned long ago that women were not to his liking, but he’s had few opportunities to dabble with men. Sensibilities varied by region but he’s found more areas in keeping with his father’s notions of propriety than not.

He finishes his water and passes the cup back to the barkeep. He risks a glance back to the handsome man and freezes. The man is not alone and with him is a face Vanyel would never forget – his aunt Savil. Vanyel forces himself to turn back to his lute where it sits at the side of the room. There is no stage to perform on here, but all of the eyes in the room still turn to him when he begins to play. Including Savil’s.