#valdemar series

[fandomsforpalestine]

FFP artist - Griselda Gimpel

Want to donate money for Palestine? Ask for a commission here.

I can knock out 2000 words a week consistently and have participated in Fandom Trumps Hate for 3 years running now. (FTH commitments are in the editing phase now, so they won't interfere with this effort.)

Pronouns: She/Her

Social media: @griseldagimpel (Tumblr)

Fandoms:The Magnus Archives, The Magnus Protocol, The Locked Tomb, Our Flag Means Death, The Old Guard, Fullmetal Alchemist, The Murderbot Diaries, Valdemar series, Leverage/Leverage: Redemption

Ships and characters: I'm open to what bidders want

What you can't ask for: Rape/Non-con, Underage, Domestic violence, cross-generation incest, scat, watersports, rimming, sounding

Type of fanworks: Fanfic

How many fanworks the artists propose: 3

Price of fanwork: 1 $ per 100 words in a range of 10$ to 100$

NSFW possible? : Yes

Art:

[bookwyrmshoard]

Gryphon in Light, by Mercedes Lackey and Larry Dixon

Mercedes Lackey teams up with her husband and co-writer Larry Dixon to carry the story of Valdemar and its neighboring land beyond the events of the Owl Mage (Darian) trilogy. Gryphon in Light picks up several years after Owlknight. The titular gryphon is Kelvren, an engaging, charismatic, and enthusiastic gryphon who currently serves as the leader of the gryphon guards at the diplomatic enclave of k'Valdemar. The book is entertaining, and I loved seeing Kelvren and several other familiar and beloved characters. If you're new to the series, this is not the place to jump into the Valdemar books, but if you're already a fan, read on!

[saphira-approves]

Alright buckle up y’all, I’ve got a book series recommendation and propaganda under the cut for any fans of the Inheritance Cycle.

If you read our beloved farmboy-turned-dragon-rider books and had a particular fondness for: the idea of an order of individuals chosen to be both partner and rider to powerful and beautiful magical creatures; Snowfire; an immortal evil that resurfaces in disguised and unexpected forms (specifically referencing the Draumar cult which we now know had influence in Galbatorix’s rise to power); and/or the juicy juicy drama of complicated parent-child relationships, then oh boy do I have a recommendation for you.

Mercedes Lackey’s Valdemar series, comprising of many, MANY individuals novels, trilogies, and short story anthologies. I don’t currently have a count for the exact total of published books, as I’ve been getting most of these from my local secondhand bookstore, but she’s been publishing these books since 1987 and is still writing them today in 2024.

Since this is such a huge collection, it can be hard to know where to start, so first of all I’d like to assure you that you can start pretty much anywhere, with any of the individual novels or series, so long as you make sure to find the first installment of that series. Personally I started with The Black Gryphon, which seems to be one of the chronologically earliest books; Arrows of the Queen of the Heralds of Valdemar trilogy would also be a good place to start, being the first published Valdemar book, though I haven’t actually read it yet��I only just got my copy today, actually!

At any rate, wherever you start, there’s a lot to look forward to. Lackey has a knack for writing characters with depth and complexity, giving them flaws that are so well balanced by endearments that even at their worst, you can still understand and empathize with them; she absolutely refuses to write idiot-plots, allowing her characters not only to remain consistent with their established characterizations, but also to communicate with each other and allow their relationships to evolve as the characters do. Characters are allowed to make mistakes, be vain and stubborn and prideful, get angry, get jealous, get scared, and yet afterward still be received with love and forgiveness when they apologize. The magic is beautifully described and, at least for me, easy to understand; the schemes are clever, diabolical, and exciting to watch unfold. There is true, pure evil in the villains, and satisfaction in their endings.

There’s also a decent amount of diversity, which may or may not be surprising, depending on what you’ve read of 80s/90s SFF. Of the handful of books I’ve read so far, here are my observations: Lackey writes fantastic and complex women full of depth, emotion, and ingenuity, each as different from each other as their backgrounds would demand. There are several canonically queer characters across the timeline, including a main protagonist. Lackey’s worldbuilding establishes several unique and disparate cultures, drawing clear influence from many non-European real life sources, with featured characters of those cultures given, in my opinion, respectful and appreciative spotlights. There are characters with disabilities, respected both by the narrative and the characters around them. There are also non-human cultures, characters, and protagonists!

As fantastic as I have been finding these books, it would be remiss of me not to add that these books will not be for everyone. They are firmly adult fantasy, and Lackey does not pull her punches when she wants her characters to suffer. There is torture, sexual assault, suicide. Not all of this is graphically described, but some certainly is; most of the graphic stuff I have so far read is of about the same intensity as the torture scenes of Inheritance, but some of the abstractions are much more intense, and I get the sense that some of what I haven’t yet read may be both graphic and visceral. That being said, if you could handle Game of Thrones’ graphic violence and assault but disliked the persistent pessimism of that series, this one might be right up your alley!

Anyway. That’s all from me for now. I’m off to go read about characters bonding with magical creatures somewhat beyond mortal ken and going on fantastic and harrowing magical adventures. :)

[kyuohki]

Oh, oof. This went from a silly, "What if the Guardian Gods are real, and the fallout from that?" to "Oh, shit, Resh'an we need to get you some therapy..."

[galesfandomcollection]

Aaaahhh! It makes me happy to see thissss! My childhood blorbo was Talia from the original trilogy (I think it's literally just The Heralds of Valdemar even though ALL the books are about the heralds of Valdemar... Basically all, anyway)

whump aesthetics • vanyel ashkevron (a sad sweet gay wizard boy from mercedes lackey’s the last herald-mage trilogy)

a (belated) birthday gift for @much-ado-about-whumping - for vanyel is their beloved childhood blorbo! 💙🎂💙🎂💙

[rukafais]

There really is such a strange vibe to reading Drizzt standalone because the rules, the style, even the attitudes that it references in older books are several decades past. The books were meant to be one part of a greater whole, and while they do stand by themselves fairly well, surprisingly so in some ways, it always makes me wonder if that's part of why it can be frustrating to read now for some people.

There's extra information that's meant to enhance and tie in with the novels because the novels were always tied to other novels, or the gameline itself, as part of a shared universe. Now the novels essentially have to stand by themselves, with no context given for the inexplicable events that the author had to write around because it was the gameline shifting editions, or the fact that it's IP fiction and thus plays by different rules than a completely original creation.

If I wasn't already into DnD lore even by osmosis, or willing to find out about older editions, would I have enjoyed it as thoroughly as I do? I don't know. Kind of an impossible question to answer.

[write-kin]

Prologue - Rebirth.

Eight hundred years ago, a king made a sacrifice.

CWs: Sacrifice, murder, painful transformation.

[Now on AO3]

--

Seventy-seven lives. 

Not that much, in the long term. Less than a village. Less than a regiment of men in an army. Two digits. 

Seventy-seven men. 

More than seventy-seven lives would be affected. These men had friends, wives, children, parents, siblings. Lives cut short too soon. 

Seventy-seven innocents, taken to a mountaintop. 

Seventy-seven lambs.

Seventy-seven slaughtered. 

Montresor stood among the bodies, breathing heavily. 

It had not been easy. 

The men had been his own soldiers. Many of them had served under him for a decade or more. 

On the battlefield, Montresor had sacrificed hundreds of his own men. Possibly more. It had been in the name of strategy. Of victory. And it had worked. Their deaths were not in vain, as they died under his command to secure victory for those who mattered. Eventually, the victories of those in charge became his own. 

Many of the men whose bodies laid before him tonight had been instrumental in the coup that made him king. Their bravery and valor and willingness to sacrifice the lives of others had brought him here. 

And yet, for all those whose deaths he had caused, to slit the throats of his own men was difficult. 

His arms were heavy. The dagger he had brought was dulled by the blood caked onto it. His heart was heavy, like the weight of every man he had slain laid upon it. 

There was one more. The seventy-seventh. Like the others, he stood before the ornate metal basin. 

Magic was a tricky thing. On his own, without the assistance he was receiving, Montresor would have collapsed under the strain of putting so many under his thrall. These efforts were already taking their toll on him.

The final sacrifice was the hardest. It had to be. It was necessary. 

The general stared ahead. His hair was tied back, and the sweat and blood couldn’t conceal the scent of lavender that always lingered around him. 

He was small, before Montresor. Everyone was. But the way the general carried himself, you would never know. 

He had always been a lucky man. Montresor had so often spoken of him as a good luck token, his own rabbit’s foot. Any battle with him leading the men was sure to end in victory. 

These sacrifices were necessary. He had committed to this. He had sworn. There was one more throat to slit. 

The man before Montresor had been Lusalle Luchesi, once. Lusalle. His own. 

And perhaps it was cowardice, or perhaps it was a lingering tenderness. He wouldn’t know. He wouldn’t ruminate. He would do what he could to cast the memories from his mind. But whatever the reason, Montresor dropped the thrall once his arm was around the general’s chest; holding him in place. He held Lusalle still, even as he yelled, as he panicked and began pleading to Montresor, asking him those horrible questions like why and for what purpose? 

Montresor was silent as the blade ran across the general’s throat. As his throat spilled into the bowl. Like all the others. As his body fell down at Montresor’s feet, making its final noises. 

Montresor did not weep. 

He would, later, alone. And he would weep, and be done. He would have better things to do than shed tears. 

But for now, he stood. Removed his gauntlets, exposing his hands to the cool night air. 

As he had been told to, Montresor laid his gauntlets aside. Took his hands, and dipped them into the basin. 

The blood was still warm. 

When he drew his hands up, the night air stung them. The blood dripped down to his wrists, under his clothes, drying onto his skin. 

He brought his hands up to his mouth. The blood was sickly and metallic as it entered his mouth, and he choked it down. 

Another. His hands dipped back into the basin. He drew them to his mouth. 

And again.

And again.

And again.

Over and over, until his knuckles scraped the bottom of the basalt, until the last of the blood had long since seeped into the porous stone. 

And when it was done, the pain began. Like a shot of white-hot agony tearing through his mind, burning all that it passed. Down the back of his throat, the pain snaked into his spine, and traced veins and muscles as Montresor collapsed to his knees. 

He bled. His canines fell into his bloodied hands, replaced with ones that were sharper, stronger. His body remolded itself, becoming something else. His eyes, once a brown so deep they were almost black, opened again as a deep crimson.

The blood he coughed up- his own, already the dulled black ichor of one long-dead- did not return to him. His skin paled, a near paper-white pallor left behind. 

When he closed his eyes again, the pain returned, and with it came visions. Shapes. Colours. Incomprehensible gifts. Some, he thought he could perhaps understand parts of. Others were esoteric and alien to him. Flashes of red. A sword. A pipe organ. A child. Movement. Power. Patience. But power, he understood. Patience, and power beyond his wildest dreams would come to him. The visions were barely comprehensible. But all of a sudden, they left, and with them went the pain. 

And there he was. 

King Montresor Valdemar, knelt before a basin of stone, taking unnecessary gasps of air. Surrounded by seventy-six bodies, and one laid over his knees, staring up at the night sky. 

Montresor took Lusalle’s body in his arms. The dagger laid there on the mountain’s stone, long forgotten. They looked up at the sky together. 

The stars were gone. 

The moon was blood-red. 

Just over his kingdom. Just for this night. Just as he’d agreed. 

He was near-immortal now. He had killed seventy-seven men. He was a being that defied death. His power was more than any man could dream of, and more would come to him. The only man who could have slain him was cradled, dead, in his arms. In mere moments, he would turn around, making his way back down to his castle. 

And yet, staring up at the moon that stared back, he felt something he would never have to feel ever again. 

Montresor felt small. 

[falconfate]

Had to doodle some horses, so of course I made them Companions… I’ve had Van’s little saddle nap pose stuck in my head ever since I read that scene, desperately wish I was riding often enough to try it out for myself lmao (don’t try sleeping in the saddle at home).

Anyway. Helloooooo Valdemar series fandom. I’m currently devouring these books as fast as I possibly can.

Also I gave Sayvil a Roman nose because even in reincarnation I don’t think you can ever be rid of the Ashkevron nose. (And who would want to be? (can you tell I love a good distinctive nose))

[queer-book-character-tournament]

Character, book, and author names under the cut

Neek (NYC)- The Great Cities Duology by NK Jemisin

Celie- The Color Purple by Alice Walker

Carter Bennett- Green Creek Series by TJ Klune

Vanyel Ashkevron- The Last Herald Mage by Mercedes Lackey

[ibrithir-was-here]

Last year I tried to make an 80s cover for one of my favorite fairytale books, Shannon Hale’s “The Goose Girl” and I liked some of what I did but not all, so I tried again and I think this one is much better!

(With credit to Walter Crane to the bottom border drawing, and unknown Victorian artist for the castle background)

(Click for better quality!)

Here’s the og version I did in 2022

[meat-loving-meat]

I want to write a Vanyel/Stefen modern-with-magic AU soooo bad but I don’t know Valdemar lore like at all. There are six books standing between me and feeling comfortable enough in the lore to imagine what Valdemar might look like with the internet and planes

[courtier-arcana]

a friend sent me this outfit challenge (is from someone on deviantart, don't know who, credits to them) and of course i had to do it with Valdemar cause it looks so out of place lmao.

so then:

Valdemar's many professions and also costumes, part 1: Nurse.

[wileywere]

new OC ref sheet !!

might colour him, might not

also might change his name, or I might not

idk lmao

he’s just. a guy

[stresslitzia]

while khuxdr confessional hour is ongoing I would like to say that I would like to read books w/ Vala

[bluewingedcoyote]

Chapter 7: Truth and Consequence

Lissa had been with them a week now and the girl was an absolute godsend. Practical and unflappable, she had refused to let her brother wallow in self pity after Withen’s disastrous visit, brushing it off as ‘good riddance’ and assuring Vanyel of her unwavering support. Savil wasn’t sure what she would have done without the girl’s steadying presence. It wasn’t just that Vanyel had the support of someone else in his family, the one person who had always supported him, she was also better at dealing with his worst moods. Lendel was quickest to predict when his bond-mate was going into a downturn, but it was his sister who was able to deftly handle what was apparently a common refrain to her ears.

Lissa had the ability to pick through his surface complaints to cut through to what was actually bothering him underneath it. And she was unafraid to call Van out when he was being particularity bratty, whereas Lendel felt far to guilty to ever complain about anything Vanyel did or said. It probably helped a great deal that she had concrete examples of the good in his life to point out to him as balm to his father’s rejection. He had received a nigh-hysterical letter from Teresa trying to warn him that his father was coming for him and assuring him that her love for her firstborn son was undying.

Savil had also received a letter from her sister-in-law, while not noticeably any less hysterical, it had however contained some vital pieces of information. First of which was the enclosed letter of ‘anonymous concern’ that had sent Withen off in such a frothing fury it had terrified even those who were used to his temper. Second was that Withen had been convinced by the household priest to send Vanyel away to a remote monastery of his order to ‘purify’ him of the perverted taint that had led him astray and into a life of sin. Teresa had begged her to use whatever power was at her command, to use her position, her magic, anything to keep Withen from Vanyel. Begged her to take him far away and hide him if necessary, that she feared for her son’s life should Withen get his hands on him.

Teresa had also confessed to how much casual abuse Vanyel had suffered while at Forst Reach; the daily sword practices that were little more than public beatings, how any prank committed on him by his cousins or brothers, no matter how cruel or dangerous, was always brushed off as ‘boys being boys’. How all her protests were put down as feminine hysteria and motherly softness, how any attempt to complain to her husband that he was too hard on Vanyel had only led to harsher treatment of the boy.

It had sickened her to realize just how bad it had been for her nephew there, and for her niece as well. Lissa had gotten the opposite side of that clipped coin, constantly dismissed and diminished, too unkempt and uncouth, never feminine enough, never going to get a good husband the way she was. Barred from the sword-lessons that her brother had so hated, she had taught herself in secret, with help from rapier manuals bought without her father’s knowledge and with Vanyel as her secret sparring partner. The two of them had banded together as the black sheep of the family and been each other’s only support until Lissa had the chance to go foster with Lord Trevor.

---Read it on Ao3!---

Link to Chap Seven- Truth and Consequence

Link to Chap One- Darkest Night