WHO: Gansey, Rhy Maresh & Kell Maresh (background Ronan Lynch) WHAT: Identifying & saving Kell WHEN: Late Saturday/early Sunday September 15/16th WHERE: Fairy Ball WARNINGS: Issues of self-worth, some cruelty, vague references to violence, etc. What you'd expect from a log making a deal with fairies.
The last day had been hellish, and Gansey had only eaten because he wanted everyone else to eat, because he knew he would need his wits about him. No matter what he told himself, Gansey had not slept; a few hours laying in his bed had convinced him he had really tried. The rest of the night and the day, well, it had all been about other people, not him. Gansey had done what he thought needed doing, to be there for Adam and Noah and everyone else. His shower had been simply habit, the act of getting ready before a formal event, something he could have done in his sleep, which was just as well given he had hardly felt conscious.
Every bump and jolt in the carriage ride had traveled up his spine. It was happening. Fray’s warnings played over in Gansey’s mind, as well as the dilemma she had suggested, the one so popular in Fillory. It quite possibly would come to pass, and Gansey was not sure of the strength of his character. He never was. Trials of mettle only tested them in the moment. One passed once then had to do it again and again and again. At any of those opportunities, he could fail. At this one, he could fail. That would mean Ronan’s life or someone else’s.
The point of which was that Gansey was hardly surprised when a servant marked him upon his entry to the ball. At a party, Gansey had learned to recognize when someone’s eyes were on him. So he held his posture, accepted the card, read it, and held his face still. Kell Maresh. His mother’s voice echoed in his ear. Certainly Gansey had looked at the list of names, and with that memory, he noted Kell’s name upon it. That did not explain why Gansey held his name - and with it, his soul - in his hands. With his family’s drawl coming back to him, Gansey thanked the servant and continued on his way.
The night continued, but the music, the dancers, the opulence and cheer washed over him. Oh Gansey was polite and amiable, as a reflex. The whole time he thought, and when he needed time alone with his thoughts, he ended up again before another portrait of his best friend, the closest person he had to a brother, staring at the most ridiculous clothes he had ever seen. Honestly, seeing it on the visage of someone he knew drew that point home. As per before, something vulgar in Latin was said. Gansey waved it off. “I am not remembering my Latin right now, Ronan,” Gansey said. There had been a tone to it. A feeling to the way Ronan moved. Gansey was certain this one was Ronan. But Ronan was right in sentiment. There was no point in feeling sorry for himself.
Gansey turned to look out toward the crowd. Again, his eyes passed from one appearance of Kell Maresh to another. They took the role of a servant, and though they passed throughout the crowd, some of their hosts received more of his attentions than others. The fairy were like nothing Gansey had ever seen, and these ones had redder lips, more flush cheeks, a liveliness about them that no human could imitate. Each moment seemed to contain more life than the two lifetimes Gansey had already been given. A feeling, perhaps, but Gansey recognized it as it was: something to decide the matter. His card had said to make a deal, an offer. It had been vague enough to leave the terms to him. Simply… something they would accept.
What more did they want than life?
His eyes glanced behind him, and Gansey saw the glare that had burned against the back of his neck. “No worries, Lynch,” Gansey said lightly, “That will not be necessary.” His death, that was. Gansey’s thoughts had turned that direction enough times as he tumbled over possibilities.
His steps led off sure and confident. Not toward Kell, nor the fairies holding him. There still remained the task of choosing which Kell to make the deal for. Gansey made his way instead toward the gilded visage of Kell’s brother. If Gansey could tell which Ronan was his, surely Rhy could identify his brother. In Virginia, Gansey would have offered a handshake. In Arnes, a bow. At the Unseelie Court? He considered his options and gave a small bow.
“If you would be so kind as to help me, I can save your brother,” Gansey greeted him. Certainly that was the entire reason Rhy had come. And Gansey needn’t have suggested; he could have asked or demanded Rhy’s help to the same effect. But that was not the Gansey way, and it did not feel right, even knowing the answer.
--
The fae magic was still muting Rhy’s bond to Kell, especially the inexplicable draw that led him to his brother even when he didn’t know where Kell was. It was stronger here at the ball than it had been since Kell’s disappearance, which was heartening; he could tell that Kell was here somewhere. The problem was that multiples of him were here, and Rhy felt drawn to all of them at once.
He had approached the one on the dance floor first. He had chosen that one, in particular, because he knew how much Kell would hate being forced to dance. They’d had a whole dance, and Kell had behaved very much like himself. Until Rhy had stepped hard on Kell’s foot, and the flare of pain had taken just a little bit too long. Then the fae impersonating Kell had gotten angry, and pulled away, accusing him of being a terrible dancer, saying that he hated dancing anyway.
It would have almost been a convincing impersonation of his brother, perhaps might have fooled someone other than Rhy. But Rhy knew better. And now he knew how to find his brother.
But he had seen the card that Holland had received, and he hadn’t received one. Even if he found his brother, he didn’t know how to get him out of here.
The answer to that question presented itself in the form of Gansey. He approached Rhy as Rhy was making his way off the dance floor, heading towards the version of his brother that was playing in the band. But he stopped when Gansey appeared in front of him, or at least he was fairly certain it was Gansey. He hesitated only for a brief moment before returning the bow.
“Yes,” he said, “Of course I will. Are you the one who saves him?” Oh, that was such a relief. So much better than having to trust Holland to bring Kell back. He trusted Gansey, and would have chosen to entrust him with this any day.
But then it caught up to him; Gansey would have to make a sacrifice. If he could have chosen someone to make a sacrifice, he would have preferred to see Holland do it. He swallowed. “What do you have to do?”
--
Gansey gave a small nod in recognition of the fact he would be the one who saved Kell. He would, certainly, save Kell. Gansey had been confident for the others, but he believed it now. He believed it, and even in this place that muted abilities, Gansey had no more doubts. It was not about his ties to Cabeswater and what that (or whatever else) gave him the ability to do. The hardest part had never been doing something but believing that he could, that it would be true. It was the same here, magical ability or no.
He smiled at the question, glad that Rhy was still Rhy enough to be concerned about what it would cost Gansey. They all so desperately wanted the people they loved most. Gansey would have gladly paid the same cost - or higher - to save Ronan. He still wished that to be true. The hardest part of walking away from the painting had not been what he was about to do. It was the fact that Gansey would not save Ronan. That still shook him, violently, at the thought. But Gansey focused on what he could do, on the next step. Ronan would be saved too. Gansey had to believe that too.
“I have to make a deal,” Gansey replied. The card’s directions had been vague. An important part of any dealmaking was knowing what the other party wanted. And Gansey, after all his observations, felt sure. That was why he knew they would accept his deal. It was what he had that they would want. Gansey himself was no comparison to Kell or Rhy or the other people they sought to win back. But that was okay. He was good enough to get Kell back.
“The terms of which I have drawn up and they will accept,” Gansey stated evenly. “It will be worse if I do not.” Gansey had made his peace with what he was going to do. Everyone else would too. It was not their decision to make.
“I simply have to make it for the right man,” Gansey stated confidently.
--
Behind his mask, Rhy’s brow furrowed; his honey-colored eyes looked worried. Nothing about this was going the way he wanted. But of course that was how the fae intended it. He wanted to know what deal Gansey was going to make, but Gansey had already decided what he was willing to give.
“I can help you with that,” was all he said, after a moment of silence. “I will know the real Kell when I find him. It’s not that one.” He gestured towards the version of Kell he’d just left, that was hovering at the other edge of the dance floor.
He looked over at the one in the band. “I was going to talk to that one next…”
But even as he looked, another Kell crossed his vision. A servant. Yet another job that Kell would hate, even more than dancing. “No. That one.”
To Gansey, he said, “Come with me.”
--
Gansey marked the man who looked like Kell with a slight limp. Nothing much, but Gansey could tell him apart from the rest. Even as he moved, Gansey kept watch over each tall, red-haired person with two differently colored eyes. It was like one of those games meant to test mental acuity. Track the fish in a pond or the like. “Excelsior,” Gansey replied and followed Rhy toward the servant.
What would Rhy do? Gansey supposed that minor bodily damage was a distinct possibility, but certainly that was less hurt than leaving Kell here. With a thought, Gansey remembered Ronan’s lessons teaching him how to throw a hook. And the too late reminder from Fox Way not to set his thumb inside his fist. He hoped it would not come to fisticuffs.
--
The closer Rhy got to the version of his brother acting as a servant, the more sure he was that this was him. It wasn’t the bond -- that felt the same. It was Kell’s posture and his expression. He had seen it so many times, in some of his worst memories. The fury simmering just under the surface, the restlessness, the way he chafed at the indignity of it and itched to be free.
“Hello, Kell,” he said simply, his eyes searching his brother’s face as he debated how best to get through to him.
--
Kell was really over the fucking faeries. It had been less than ideal to be brought through a portal made of his own blood, but his time with the fae had been less than thrilling throughout. Kell found it humilitating, and it smacked far too much of what he remembered from how the Danes had kept and treated Holland.
He hadn’t known whether to be relieved or concerned when Holland, Alucard, and Rhy all appeared. (As ever, more concerned for Rhy.)
He watched as his brother moved around the room, unable to give him any clue as to what was actually happening. When Rhy finally did approach him, Kell’s heart tightened. Help, he wanted to say.
He’d been serving drinks and food throughout the night, and he currently had a tray of drinks, some of which were an all-too-familiar red.
“Hello, Rhy,” he answered.
…
Rhy watched him carefully, and was struck by a particularly awful idea. But now that the fae knew he was trying to physically hurt his brother to feel him through the bond, it was possibly his only option. And they might be able to fake pain, but he was fairly sure none of them could fake the lifetime of resentment his parents had instilled in Kell. And unfortunately, Rhy knew exactly what that looked like.
“They have you as a servant,” he said coolly, in the best royal voice he could muster. Every word hurt even as he thought them, but he pushed on. “That’s appropriate. It’s what you’ve always been, isn’t it?” He leaned in, looking Kell directly in the eye. “But you serve the crown, not them, and you always will. And I don’t appreciate having my servant stolen away from me.” He tilted his head. “Or did you run away and get us both into trouble, like you always do?”
--
Kell looked unflinchingly back at his brother as he spoke. He knew this was likely some kind of trick, either something completely manufactured by the fae or something that Rhy was being forced to say by them. He knew very well that his brother, despite what was happening between the two of them, would never refer to Kell as a servant of the Arnesian crown.
It was the last part that particularly struck, though, because that was an inherited conflict. That was something that was personally and currently tearing at them. Kell would never forget the look in Rhy’s eyes when Kell had shared that he had willingly gone to White London where Holland and Osaron were waiting for him.
His heart stung, his jaw flexing.
“Your majesty,” Kell said coldly, making a half bow as he offered a drink to Rhy or his imposter. It was glowing faintly, and Kell was pretty sure that’s because some sort of bug had been crushed up in it.
…
The bond between them wasn’t strong enough for Rhy to get everything that Kell was feeling, but he didn’t need it. He recognized the hidden anger and hurt, the tension in Kell’s jaw. And only Kell would know exactly how to respond to that in the way that would hurt Rhy the most.
He wanted to apologize, to assure Kell that he hadn’t meant a word of it, but that could wait until they were safe. The priority was getting the hell out of here.
“That’s him,” he said quietly, speaking to Gansey without taking his eyes off of Kell. “I’m sure of it.”
--
Long practice kept surprise off Gansey’s face. He had known the intent before the action, so it was easy to work between the two at that point. But it was hard, still, to see the difficulties, the grievances, between brothers so close brought out. The pain, undoubtedly, was real. And yet, it was worth it, to save a brother. That was a truth Gansey knew, much as Ronan hated it. He said nothing about their exchange, except that he acknowledged Rhy’s statement with a small nod.
“Thank you for your assistance,” Gansey replied politely. Then, reigning everything in further, letting go of any and all cares for how people hurt each other in polite company (even his parents would have worked to smooth that over, but that was not the point; it was not that kind of party). It was Gansey, it was him, but not quite the version of him that attended his mother’s fundraisers. Somehow another side of himself had emerged, something like when he had left for Glendower on his own, sure and confident in it being the time, in his actions leading him to his goal.
“Come with me,” Gansey told Kell. He walked toward the fae Kell had been serving through the night, those who had held his tether, all his forms returning to them time and again. Kell was powerful and special and someone they had taken with ease. But the point was not to have Kell - that was easily accomplished - but in keeping or losing him via the deal Gansey would make. That was where the fun was at. The fae could not control what he offered; or perhaps, it was less fulfilling if they did.
Before the fae, seated off the dance floor, Gansey offered a bow of medium depth, neither rude nor debasing to his own worth. “Greetings, fair folk,” Gansey drawled with his old Virginia accent. “You display an artist’s eye and a philosopher’s interest, a merchant’s heart and an attorney’s wit. On the first I congratulate your skill but have chosen true.” At this, he motioned to Kell, whom Gansey had kept within view since he was identified.
“And for the second I have chosen the meat of the third, to which the fourth will set the terms,” Gansey smiled his sharp polite smile. “In return for Kell Maresh, permanently and wholly returned to our safekeeping, the man I have brought before you, and to whom no further injury shall be set, I offer you, freely and of my own mind, that which is within my full rights to do with as I wish,to make yours brighter, one year and one day of my life, no more, to be taken here and to leave with no bonds, ties, or debts between us.”
That was that. No window left open, no consideration as though it would be rejected or finangled into alternate wording, into something they had tricked from him through words. No, it was an offering of what they wanted, what Gansey had seen them value, and chosen with a number that pleased fae of stories, something that felt poetic to the ear, matching the rhythm and tone of the evening. It was substantial, what could happen in a year. Yet it would leave Gansey no old man, at least, not older than his soul.
A year of life, compared to what they could take from Kell by force. It was not, perhaps, a fair trade in value that they received. But they could not have taken it for their own use without Gansey’s consent, not the way they wished. Therein lay the appeal. Silence hung around them, despite the music and the murmurs of conversation. A waiting, a watching, a worrying. No doubts wormed their way into Gansey’s mind, his thoughts, his posture. He knew it would be accepted and waited for them to do as much.
When they did, when Gansey felt mere moments later the passing of time, something similar to having worked himself to exhaustion swimming or rowing until he could do nothing but sleep like the dead. His body wavered, but Gansey held firm. He was still a youth in the prime of his life. And he walked away with one friend freed.
His eyes glanced back at the portrait of Ronan, off against a wall. But Gansey focused on Kell before him. “I would understand if you wish to return home immediately,” Gansey said. But his heart did not feel like it could leave just yet. Even if he could do nothing to help Ronan.
…
Kell hadn’t known what to expect, but it was certainly a surprise when Rhy didn’t say anything in return and instead Gansey claimed him.
Baffled by the entire fiasco, Kell did follow him. Gansey’s speech only further exacerbated Kell’s confusion, although he knew well enough that a negotiation was about to take place. What he wasn’t expecting was what Gansey offered.
“Gansey,” Kell hissed in a low voice, wrapping a hand around one of Gansey’s wrists, because trading any amount of time seemed to be a poor decision, and Kell was particularly confused why Gansey was doing this for him.. He knew that Ronan Lynch was also here.
“Why did you do that?” Kell asked, too shocked and almost horrified to come anywhere near gratitude just yet.
...
No surprise registered at Kell’s objection, at his continued disapproval of Gansey’s actions once they were done. No, Gansey did not expect anyone to approve of it; none of them had known what he would offer. None of them had had a say in what it would be. And none of them could change what was done. It had been enough. It had saved Kell. Gansey could only hope that whoever had Ronan’s name on a card in their possession would choose as well how to get him back.
“Because I was the only one who could,” Gansey replied sternly. Then, after a pause, “And because you were the only one I could save.” It was not the kindest of words, but Gansey could not so easily step away from himself, the Gansey that had negotiated with fae, for whom both his feelings for Kell and the shallowness of them compared to his need for Ronan had certainly played another aspect to the negotiations. Something that brought them pleasure. For the world had not yet righted itself.
“Who would I be if I would not, if I had not, if I did not?” Gansey asked. He could not deny, to himself, the zing that had come with success, with observing those who held Kell, finding what they wanted, and being able to be - in this moment - the sort of person who saved another, even one who was not the one they loved most. Just now, he could believe in himself.
…
Kell’s gaze narrowed a little as Gansey started to explain. Not just anyone could save anyone, he figured by that explanation. He was grateful that it had been Gansey who had “drawn” him, although he was still not pleased with the bargain that Gansey had made for him. It wasn’t a price anyone should have to pay, but especially not for someone who wasn’t already a part of their soul.
And at the end of it, Kell knew that despite how polite Gansey was being right now, he had to be frustrated too. He hadn’t come for Kell, and Kell knew that. He had come for Ronan.
Kell genuinely liked Gansey as well, and now owed him quite a debt. But if Kell had come somewhere to find Rhy and been told that he had to save Gansey instead, he would have raised high hell.
“Who can save Ronan then?” Kell said, his gaze scanning the room.
…
How quickly a moment vanished. Gansey held himself as well, his smile as bold and confident. But the question had no answer, none that he could give. No one Gansey knew well had Ronan’s name. As much as that possibly kept Adam from making a terrible deal - an irony Gansey let sit until later - it left Gansey and all of them powerless.
“Some… one person in all the room,” Gansey replied. Who remained a mystery. Whether they would succeed, whether they would even try remained unknown. As little as Gansey could do for the whole matter, he felt compelled to stay until things were known one way or another.
His attention returned to Kell. “But to Rhy, my friend,” Gansey said warmly, “You should be with him. I could not have saved you so surely without him. And you belong together.” Here, certainly. And leaving, returning home, now that Kell could.
....
Kell was torn. Not only did he feel an obligation to help Gansey and Ronan but he wanted to. But there was always and only one person who could steal his focus from any moment: Rhy.
And he knew that Rhy was waiting for him somewhere, and he knew that something odd had happened.
“We’ll be back to help,” Kell promised, nodding at Gansey once before heading to his brother.