I was tagged by the amazing @the-font-bandit!
This a rough excerpt for a little event in the Valdemar fandom. It is yet another fic where I expand on a tiny character in the original media because that is, apparently, my thing. But I do have the rockstar of the fandom in it too, so that's something.
Note: Whites are the name for the uniforms of Heralds in this world.
Margret swept a hand over the coverlet on Vanyel’s bed to smooth out the wrinkles and tried to pretend that there wasn’t enough black cat hair stuck to it to spin and knit into a kitten.
“I’ll not be cleaning this Master Vanyel," she said. "I’ll brush your Whites, but your blankets will just have to wait until they’re due for the laundry. I’d be all day picking fur off this!”
Vanyel, curled up on his sofa, tea in one hand and a letter in the other, smiled. “That's fair, but if you leave a brush, I can do my Whites myself.”
“Aye. And then you’d toss them on a chair and the next moment the beast would have them covered again.”
Vanyel cast the chair by the bedroom door a guilty look. His uniform was draped over the back. “I’ll hang them up when I’m done this, I promise.”
Margret snorted and waved his words away. “The day they make it back into the wardrobe is the day I retire.”
“Then I will have to make sure to never put them in the wardrobe.” He gave her a quick, mischievous grin and then went back to his letter.
For any other Herald, even Savil, Margret would never work while they were present. Most of the time she tried to make sure she wasn’t seen. She was supposed to be, as the old woman who had trained her years ago had said, “a breeze that blows through and takes with it any wee bit of dirt or dark humours.”
Not so with Herald-Mage Vanyel.
I'm tagging @dmonfoxfire, @mythals-whore, @alinnsurana, and anyone else who wants to join in. Especially if you're a Valdemar fan!
