rhy maresh (goldenhelm) wrote in thedisplaced, @ 2018-04-17 22:19:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log/thread, rhy maresh, richard gansey iii |
WHO: Rhy Maresh & Richard Gansey III
WHAT: small talk, & less small (past death experience) talk
WHEN: the second or third to last day on Alola (backdated)
WHERE: the resort on Akala
WARNINGS: death talk, insecurity, feels
Rhy was looking forward to this evening, but he also had a certain amount of nerves about it. It was not because Gansey made him nervous, but rather because there were a few pointed questions that he wanted to ask Gansey that were very personal, and rather morbid, and tied back to Rhy’s own darkest secret. He was not sure if this particular night would be the time to ask, but it was the first opportunity to do so, the first time that they were meeting alone.
Then again, Rhy was not sure that alone was the best way to broach this. It would probably be best to at least have Kell’s permission, since it was his life that was on the line even more than Rhy’s. On the other hand, without Kell around, Rhy might be able to disclose only a portion of the information regarding his own death, and not the full truth. If he tried that with Kell around, he suspected Kell’s expression might give him away, if not his words.
He mulled that over as he sat at the table he’d chosen for them in the resort’s bar. He had ordered a very fruity cocktail for himself, and had gotten a little bowl for Pikipek in which he’d put the seeds he’d collected that day.
“Gentle,” he reminded the bird as it started to pick through the seeds. It had broken a stone with its beak earlier in the day, and Rhy did not particularly want to explain to the resort staff why their bowl was broken, or perhaps even their table.
--
Excelsior, Gansey had told charizard, when the wondrous pokémon had answered his call for a ride. His excitement continued, eased by the fact he did not need to direct the pokémon particularly beyond saying where he wanted to go. Had such hands on guidance been required, he would have gone the slower route of riding a pokémon across the water. Or taken a ferry. There he was far surer of his ability to successfully navigate.
As it was, he was not that terribly long a ride from Rhy’s location. His shoes were a little scuffed and dirty from the day, but his trousers and turquoise shirt were still in good form. So Gansey felt good enough about meeting with Rhy directly. They were friends now, so declared, so Rhy could see him even when the wind had attempted to pull up his collar.
On solid ground, Ronan was back out of his pokéball and following Gansey around in a small radius, sniffing and exploring the area in looping circles that always returned to Gansey. They entered the resort together and quickly found Rhy at a table. Even within so much color and company, he stood out. “Pek is even more stunning in person,” Gansey complimented as he took a seat across from Rhy, fitting it as naturally as anyone could. His face glowed from the day’s adventure.
--
“And Ronan is even more handsome,” Rhy answered with a smile, offering his hand to the dog. He was pleased when he got not only a sniff but a brush of the pup’s wet tongue. Rhy chanced a scratch behind its ears, and was flattered when it was allowed. “And he does, indeed, seem to like me.”
Pikipek was eyeing the dog uncertainly but did not seem to have as many qualms about Gansey. He stayed on the table, out of the dog’s reach, but moved around the edge of it to inspect Gansey when the other young man sat down. “I hope you’ve had an excellent adventure for the day, the two of you.”
--
His gaze took in the whole table. As the bird made its way toward him, Gansey picked a couple of seeds out of the bird’s bowl and held his hand out, open, seeds on his palm. He left it there, calm and steady, as he looked more toward Rhy. Their meeting had the approval of their pokémon, as propitious a sign as possible in this world. “We found each other early in the day,” Gansey replied, “And hiked for most of it, hours, everywhere we could reach, not always sticking to the trodden path. It’s breathtaking here.” And the little puppy had kept up with Gansey the whole time. Its adorable face was deceptive, if anyone underestimated it. Ronan’s mirror in some regards.
One polite signal communicated the need for further water at the table, and Gansey sat back, in a mildly relaxed position. “And how have you been faring here?” Gansey asked, soft and polite, honestly meant so as not to be formal. The alcoholic beverage could have many meanings, and they were still too new to each other, from different countries and cultures, for Gansey to be sure.
--
“Sounds wonderful,” Rhy answered. “I’ve been mostly exploring the cities. And I made the trade for this little one early this morning.” He gestured to the bird, and was warmed to see that it was taking seeds from Gansey’s hand. Certainly the judgment of their animals was a good sign, even if they were not cats, and therefore their standards were probably not as high as Esa’s. Pikipek already seemed protective of Rhy, though, which only served to remind Rhy even more of Kell. “I’ve really enjoyed this cruise, aside from the pirates, and the ports I’ve seen. I’m a little sorry that it’s coming to an end, although I suspect that means I may soon see the Tumbleweed, Texas that everyone has told me about.”
He lifted his drink to his lips and took a sip. He enjoyed the fruit juice in it; it was refreshing and sweet. “And yourself?”
--
The cities and towns were something of their own here. Gansey had to give them that. And there was no wrong in exploring them. His heart had simply drawn him out, drawn him to quieter places. The islands were small enough it was hard for too much to be forgotten, but he had read about the legendary protectors, about the islands’ histories and explored it as best he could. Having seen, mostly, children while he had done so, Gansey had felt old, though that was common enough. Without an aim, it had not felt truly like home, but then he had been without one traveling the world. It had only lacked Blue and Henry.
“I have enjoyed it all greatly,” Gansey agreed, “None more so than Middle Earth, the port before you came aboard. I read its stories when I was young and was thrilled to become more closely acquainted with some version of it.” Not the original, no, that had been clear when they landed. But it was still something.
“But I too have started thinking about the future,” Gansey thought about his empty bank account. Opening one, at all, had been an accomplishment. He had tried to be responsible. But it was rather difficult without any money whatsoever. “It has been a charming vacation, this cruise, certain moments notwithstanding, but it will be a return to the demands of regular life, at least one kind of it.” One he had seen in Adam, with Blue, without having to experience it himself. Ronan would help, Adam too, he was sure of it. And he was grateful, so grateful for that. Not to be doing it all alone. But he would do what he could.
--
“I was sorry to have missed Middle Earth,” Rhy said. “I heard about it.”
He settled back against his seat. Small talk came easily to him, as it seemed to do for Gansey, and so he expected they could continue like this for a while. He wasn’t sure if or when, at any point, he might be able to broach a more personal, difficult topic. But conversations were an art form that operated on timing, inspiration, and gut feeling. It would happen now, or it would happen later, either way, he would likely not be able to avoid the urge to bring it up.
Thankfully, he was momentarily distracted from bringing it up too soon by the mention of a regular life. He chuckled softly and took another drink. “I haven’t the faintest idea how to lead a regular life,” he said. “I expect to be completely out of my depth when it comes to what most people consider the very basic tasks of cleaning and cooking, not to mention holding a job. But I am not a king here, or even a prince, and as such I will not have anyone waiting on me, so I will figure it out somehow.”
He smiled at Gansey. “Of course, if you have any advice for a beginner, I would gladly take it.”
--
Gansey’s life had been far from ordinary. Ganseys did not lead ordinary lives; they were extraordinary, thrust into greatness, and succeeded. While there was some flashiness to the matter, it was a great deal of kind cooperation, of helping and hoping, of modesty and accomplishment. Add in his two untimely deaths and Gansey was on uneven ground. Fortunately, some of the tasks Rhy listed were ones Gansey was more familiar with.
“I would make no claim to be a paragon on such matters,” Gansey replied, “I have been fortunate enough not to need a job, yet, back home. I shall have to turn my passions and experience into something profitable. But having lived on my own for much of my life, I am familiar with cleaning and cooking, or what passes for it among young gentlemen.”
Malory had been less than impressed with his tea. But Gansey fed himself - and Ronan - decently. A microwave was rather helpful on all sorts of food. “Nearly everything you might think to ask can be found on the internet,” Gansey replied. He paused, considering that Rhy had likely no experience with the internet. “Just as we are connected on a network on the boat, the whole world is connected online and filled with resources, if you are willing to do a little digging. Kind souls out there, so far as I am concerned, have written about and even made videos demonstrating all sorts of basic tasks, so that newcomers can watch, listen, try, and repeat as needed.”
--
“I’m hoping that I’ll be able to find a job involving languages, somehow,” Rhy said. “I’ve begun learning a few of the languages spoken by the people aboard this ship, and I think I’ve gained a fair fluency.”
Languages were, unfortunately, his only marketable skill. He knew that translating was a job that people could hold in Arnes, although Rhy was unlikely to ever need one himself. It was a job he could feel comfortable in, and even better, one that could bring him into contact with all sorts of people. But he would still have no idea how to even begin looking for a job, nor did he have any idea of what to expect in terms of hours or pay.
The notion of an ‘internet’ was new, and Rhy’s attention was piqued. He listened, fascinated. “Would you be willing to show me?” he asked. “Whenever we are in a place with… internet?”
--
A small sigh, mostly relief, escaped Gansey’s lips. He could learn languages just fine, and he learned well enough to do what needed doing. A library of dictionaries and his friends made up the rest. But they were simply no fun to him, an obstacle standing in his way of greater understanding or knowledge. So he felt lucky Ronan was so good at Latin, that Adam cared so much more than Gansey did to excel at it. To have another friend, already learning languages? It was sure to come in handy, and even without an aim in sight, he was glad.
“That should be readily doable,” Gansey replied. He thought, again, about the small town they were referring to. “It may be another reason to familiarize you with the internet. It’s quite likely you could receive translation work that could be done from home. Tumbleweed might have some limits, but with that…” The world was his oyster. Gansey wished he had the contacts to make that oyster even easier to open (five readily came to mind in his world), but alas.
He nodded. “Absolutely,” Gansey smiled, “I would be glad to. You have already taken swimmingly to the network. It shall be something like going from a pond to the sea, but the principles are the same.”
--
The small talk was quite charming, and Rhy was content to sit and talk to Gansey for a while. After almost an hour, when Rhy was starting on his third fruit cocktail and gotten enough liquid courage from the first two, he fell silent for a moment in thoughtful, companionable silence. He did not let it draw out long enough to become awkward, just long enough to choose his next words carefully.
“May I ask you a personal question?” he asked. “Before I do, I want to say that you should feel no obligation to answer, as I’m not sure we know each other quite well enough yet for this conversation.”
--
Gansey’s sense of conversation, the heft of it, held the silence gently. One hand reached for Ronan, to scratch behind one of those giant ears. His relaxed posture secured that silence comfortably, so that Rhy had as much time as he needed to say whatever came next. His curiosity as to what it was patient with hearing it at the moment the other man was comfortable sharing it.
The question surrounded itself with Gansey-like softening, reassurances, and appreciation. Clearly, Rhy too knew how to hold conversations. His parents would like Rhy Maresh very much. Then came the pang, the reminder that he could not simply call his parents, could not drive hours across the state to visit home should he wish, could not take a flight if it were called for. But that ache was a more pleasant one to have around his family, to miss his parents.
Henry had invited Gansey to come with him, to hear his deepest secrets, to reach out for friendship. There had been no embodiment of his fear when he had first met Rhy (or Kell). Gansey doubted Ronan would have permitted it. But he had shared his death over tea. It was something like that measure, save that Gansey had not known Rhy then, had not been able to make a gesture that showed such an understanding. Still, Gansey nodded, not smiling, it was not quite right to smile. “Please, ask,” he encouraged.
--
Rhy had expected that answer. In fact, he expected Gansey to answer all of it, or at least thought there was a good chance he would, or he would not have asked. That was not the hardest part of asking this question. The hardest part was what it revealed about Rhy that he would even think to ask.
“You told me the first day we met,” he said. “That you have died twice, and come back.” He paused, to phrase this properly. “How did you feel when you came back?”
He paused again, then clarified, “Either time. Or both.”
--
It was no easy question. And the answers bared Gansey’s soul, much of the uncertainty that hid behind his joyful pleasing face, the doubt and angst which tore at him then and still now, the guilt he felt every time he looked at Noah, the privilege that even someone as blessed as him should not have had. And Gansey had it twice over.
That question was rarely, if ever, asked of him. Not that way. He was as glad as the rest of them to be alive still. Gansey had dreaded his death for months the second time around. It had torn him apart, that it was the only way to save Ronan, to save Adam. But he had been proud of himself for being brave and doing it anyway. It was a rare thing to live with the consequences of dying, of having died.
Less rare, to some degree, in this place, where people came, some of them moments before their deaths. But then, they had been stolen away from those deaths; they hadn’t lived through what haunted them. It suggested something about Rhy, too. But it was only fair of Gansey to face those feelings, again, and to share what he, too often, felt like he could not or should not share with his friends, the friends who brought him back, the friend who sacrificed himself for Gansey.
“You will live because of Glendower,” Gansey repeated the words slowly, those words engraved in his mind. “Someone else on the ley line is dying when they should not, and so you will live when you should not.” He frowned. And paused, just for a moment.
“Those words troubled me,” Gansey said. There was an aspect of time, working in circles, that left further questions, his understanding more complete now around them. Noah knew what to say because Gansey had said it so often. But Noah had said it to Gansey. But the words were not wrong. “I had done nothing that justified that I - of all people - deserved a second chance at life, all the less when it came at the cost of someone else’s life, someone who should not have been dying, should not have died.” It still did not feel quite right.
“I… could not simply continue with my life, walled safely away from anything worth doing, not when the price was so steep,” Gansey said softly. As though, at ten years old, leaving home and traveling the world in chase of Glendower and ley lines was nothing more than something to be decided and done. Then again, it had been, for him. “So I sought answers, I seeked Glendower, and I searched for myself as much as I did him. I had to do more, I had to be more, to be worthy of this life I had.”
His thumb worried his bottom lip, and Gansey considered how to talk about his second death. It was so much more recent. It was less a mystery, not something to be solved. It had not granted him a quest. Instead the future was open, one for Gansey to make something of. “I am glad, I am so glad to be alive now,” Gansey said, “I knew it was coming, the second time, for so long. It did not feel fair, when I was just starting to be someone, that I would have to die. But I never expected them actually to bring me back.” It had been such a nice fantasy. It had helped to keep them moving until the time came. But Gansey had not expected to come back.
“It says more about my friends, than me, that I am living today. They are the remarkable creatures that made it happen. And I still need to make something of it. It wouldn’t do to go and be miserable here, when they have been through worse and they have done so much,” Gansey sighed, quietly enough for most people to miss it. “And I am most grateful to be alive.” As privileged as it was, Gansey selfishly was glad to be alive.
--
Rhy sat silently, hanging on to every word of what Gansey was saying. It was not easy to listen to so many of his own most painful sentiments spoken from someone else’s lips. Gansey did not talk about anything physical, the wrongness of being something that had died and had come back to life, and Rhy was not sure he should ask about that. It was powerful enough to hear the emotional aspect reflected back at him - painful, but it was a pain that felt somewhat cathartic.
“Thank you,” he said, first. “For sharing that.” He knew it couldn’t have been easy, even if Gansey was more free and open in talking about his death than Rhy had ever been - the first time, offering it without even being asked. “You’re probably wondering why I asked.”
He swallowed, and blinked, suddenly aware that his eyes were a little bit wet. He’d been carefully controlling his expression, although it had been sober regardless. He felt a sudden weight on his shoulder, and then a warm, feathered body pressing close against the side of his neck. His bird.
That only served to make him more emotional, but it also gave him the courage to continue. He lifted one hand and rubbed his knuckle gently against the bird’s warm, feathery neck. “You may have already guessed,” he continued, “But you are not the only one at this table who has died and come back. And much of what you just shared...is how I feel, too.”
--
He felt open and exposed, though it was of his own doing. A touch, perhaps, of what Henry had felt like in Aglionby House, in the hole in the basement. Not entirely. This wasn’t Gansey’s design, his way of making friends with Rhy. But asked, he had opened up about some of his deepest trauma. It also felt keenly like he had fallen in on himself, while inspecting it. There, he looked across at Rhy, as emotional, certainly, as Gansey was.
The question had only been whether or not Rhy would share. Even had it not, literally, been his death and return to life, it would have been something like it. Gansey nodded slowly, gestured respect for the sharing Rhy offered in return. And felt a tug between them, not the first time, at the sense of feelings they were both having at the same time. The same ones. On this issue, Gansey had always been alone.
“I would very much appreciate being able to talk about it with you,” Gansey said. Rhy had asked, and he had spoken a good deal. But even this, so far, barely scratched the surface. “It feels terribly ungrateful to speak of it with them, when I owe them my life, when I am so grateful and glad to have it.” Noah had died twice, Adam had risked losing his powers, Ronan had sacrificed Cabeswater, Blue had sacrificed her tree family… They would listen, if he talked. They would care. But it felt unbearably rude.
--
Rhy attempted to pull himself together enough at least to compose his thoughts. He knew it was time for him to share more detail, both about his death and how he felt about it. He sat forward, curling both his hands around his drink, letting the feeling of the cool glass and the warm bird still pressed against his neck ground him back to reality.
“It’s hard to talk about it with Kell and Alucard, too,” he said. “They’re both so grateful I’m alive.”
He took a deep breath. “I’ve never really shared this story with anyone - except for the people who lived it with me, of course, but I didn’t have to explain it to them - so I apologize if I don’t tell it properly.” He raised a hand and ran his fingers through his curls. “As you know, my world is not one world, but four, and there are only certain people - the Antari - who can move between them. Kell is one of them. There are two others that I know about. One of them, named Holland, was from White London. He regularly came to visit my parents, to bring them letters from his King and Queen.” He paused for the space of a breath. “Just before my twentieth birthday, he brought me a present. A necklace that he said would amplify my magical power.”
He paused, realizing that he needed to back up a little bit. “In my world, those without magic are… looked down upon. Magic chooses its own way, and those who have it are blessed, therefore, those without it…” He trailed off, shrugging. “I always considered it my greatest weakness. But as it turned out, feeling weak without magic was what truly made me susceptible. I took the necklace, and on the night of my birthday, I put it on.”
He shrugged again. “It was a compulsion spell. The Queen of White London took over my mind and body, and I don’t remember anything between putting the necklace on and waking up to find I had stabbed myself in the chest. Possibly if Kell had been able to heal me immediately, I might not have died of it, but he was… distracted for a moment, and it didn’t work. But he managed to work a different kind of magic to bring me back.”
Rhy paused there, uncertain if he should put more detail into what kind of magic that had been. Was there any real point in keeping that part of the secret, when he was sharing anything else? Especially when he desperately wanted to share how much that made him feel like a burden, with someone who might actually understand? He took a deep breath and continued. “My soul is bound to his, and I will live as long as he does, so he will never have to lose me again. But as a consequence, he now carries the weight of my life as well as his own.”
--
Gansey nodded at the mention of a story untold, one just being told for the first time. His first telling of his death had not gone particularly well, nor had he been able to vocalize the sense of it, not just the words and the facts but the feelings and that world they built. Helen was also not the best person to try to explain such feelings to, but at that age, Gansey hadn’t had anyone else. Which was all to say, in that small gesture, that Gansey understood, that he forgave any partial explanations, any tripping over happenings or emotions, any inadequacies of what Rhy said to what Rhy felt.
If telling it helped Rhy feel through the fog surrounding it, that alone was enough. But there was something more. He felt it the way time slowed around them, quieting the murmur of the background, everything moving through molasses.
“Everyone I have known,” Gansey thought to Ronan, amended himself, “almost everyone I have known has wanted, still wants, to be something more. More than what we are, more than people see, more than what we have known and done.” Which was to say, if wanting to be more was one of Rhy’s flaws, a fatal flaw, then it was one shared. Gansey, particularly, had felt for some time what it would cost him to find Glendower. Even so, he had rushed headlong toward it because he had to know. He still wanted to know. One flicker of his hand included himself with those words. It was a weakness, perhaps, but one that was also a strength.
It was not the greater point. Just one needing to be made.
A small sigh escaped him, as Gansey thought and felt further. What Rhy needed, what had come last and with greatest difficulty, was how his life tied to his brother’s. That was what Gansey needed to focus on. “I do not believe Ronan had forgiven me, for dying the second time,” Gansey said. “My life is not tied to his the way yours is to Kell’s. And yet, it feels something similar. He loves me, and I love him.” That was not perhaps strictly necessary to say, but Rhy had a limited view of Ronan.
“I feel the way he watches over me, the way he followed me around all of Middle Earth as I tried to take all of it in, to meeting Kell, to meeting you.” To anything that could possibly pose a risk to Gansey. “And I know that he carries that weight, the pain of seeing me dead, lying there,” he frowned slightly. Ronan had other lives tied to his, a multitude of them, including his own brother. Just as Gansey and Rhy understood each other, needed each other to have someone else like them, he thought Kell and Ronan too would understand what their experience was like. If only they opened up about it.
It pulled at him again, feelings Gansey rarely fully vocalized and hadn’t in some time. Because how could he blame Ronan? How could he complain about any of it? “I do not want to cause him further anguish with my tramping across countryside, but how can their sacrifice be worth it if I do not live true to myself, if I let myself be walled away within safe borders?” Ronan did not expect Gansey to sit inside, never to risk the presence of a bee or wasp. Gansey knew that, and still he felt guilty each time he took such risks with himself.
--
“I can only imagine,” Rhy said, “That I would feel the same in their position. I would have willingly done the same, though I don’t have the capacity for it.” He had wondered, though, whether he might have done it if he’d had hold of the stone. Or would it only have consumed him, and possibly Kell as well? They would never know. “Kell was so careful for months after. He was suddenly afraid of everything. He’d always been so confident in himself, in his ability.”
He sighed. “As for me, I cannot even be injured properly. I’ve broken bones and been stabbed by swords, and they hurt, but the wound is gone only a moment later. But Kell feels the pain, as well, and that can make him - us - vulnerable.”
For a moment, he contemplated his drink, not meeting Gansey’s eyes. “I don’t feel as though my life was worth the sacrifice, much less the continued burden. I don’t mean that the prince or the kingdom wasn’t worth it. Me.” He lifted his glass to his lips and took a drink. “But how can I say that to the person who would sacrifice his own life for mine?”
--
Gansey had done just that. Died for his friends. His death had been foretold, but Gansey had given it meaning, purpose. In the end, he had chosen it, in that moment, so Ronan and Adam would live. He had not been throwing away his life, spending it on a whim, or anything so light. That only undermined any issue he had with their concern; he had brought about his death once. That was one more time than anyone else had. Ronan had come close, plenty of times, but never actually died.
Rhy’s ability to heal was something amazing, something for another time. Gansey did not know how to feel about it, something wondrous and horrifying at once.
The words struck deep into Gansey. Most of the time, he never faced that thought directly. Rhy’s words were more naked and true than his. His thoughts skittered away from it, even in the moment, it was difficult to face. Gansey hadn’t expected any of his friends to come with him, had not given them much chance. They had risked themselves, even more, for that (something Gansey still felt responsible for). “I haven’t,” Gansey said simply. He didn’t know how. He didn’t know what it would accomplish other than, inherently, forcing Ronan or Adam or Noah to reaffirm what worth they thought he had. Placing an emotional burden on them, instead of him. Those words, like the bees he had formed with his intentions in the tunnel below the ley line, turned to dust.
--
Rhy’s eyes flicked up to Gansey’s face, and he almost immediately felt bad. “Sorry,” he said. “I’ve needed to say that for a long time.”
He swallowed. He had bared a lot of his soul, and although it seemed to be relatively well received - or at least, his miseries had company - he was still not entirely sure that sharing so much had been the right decision. He could have tried to be more careful with his words, but Gansey had described feelings that Rhy also felt keenly, and the moment had gotten more emotionally intimate than Rhy had originally intended.
--
His arm reached out, and his hand gently, barely, brushed Rhy’s arm to bring his attention back. With some effort, Gansey did not school the misery out of his face. It was easier that way, but it only would have confirmed Rhy’s apology. “Do not apologize,” Gansey said. “Even in misery, it is good to have kinship, not to be alone, and to know you aren’t alone.” He spoke for himself, naturally. And it was such intense sharing that formed the basis of most of his friendships.
“I do not know how anyone could die - and return - without suffering some wound,” Gansey continued. “And I have not known anyone else with this common life experience.” Death experience was not truly a turn of phrase, which only showed his point. “There is much else, I am sure, we will have to talk about, but it is good to be able to discuss it with someone.” It felt less selfish, with Rhy.
--
Rhy nodded, but nevertheless he felt that he had gone too far, or at least that they had reached the end of the miseries they were willing to share tonight. He stayed quiet and listened as Gansey continued.
It had felt cathartic, for a moment. But he had only gotten some of it off his chest, and the rest remained, a pit of misery inside him that he had only gotten accustomed to, learned to drag himself back out of it. It still remained there waiting for him.
He gave quite a bit of thought to what to say next. Finally he said, “I, too, am grateful to be alive, to have the choice in it taken out of my hands, though it feels very selfish. I had made my peace with death. But here I am.”
Hopefully, that was a somewhat lighter thing to say. He raised his glass to his lips and finished off his drink.
--
Rhy had not had much time to make peace with death, from what he had said. But Gansey remembered lying in the woods, buzzing surrounding him, the certainty of his death - that nothing could be done, that there was no purpose in interrupting anyone else’s evening - a form of clarity. He hadn’t been ready to die, not either time, but in the moment, when it was a surety, there was little else to do.
“Having been dead when they did what they did,” Gansey made a small gesture. His friends had worked together. Kell had done it alone. Either way, neither Gansey nor Rhy had had any say in being brought back. “It does negate responsibility, or so logic dictates.” His feelings were another matter.
“I had arranged things,” Gansey shared, “for when I died, the second time. Like I said, it was foretold, and while I spent a great deal of time in denial, I… wanted to make sure they each had the best of possible futures I could contribute too. Even though they would have been angry about me doing it, had they known.” Gansey had never told Ronan all he had done to try to provide his best friend with a chance to graduate high school if he wanted. It hadn’t been what Ronan wanted, all those meetings, all that effort for nothing. But Gansey had wanted so desperately to look after Ronan somehow when he was gone. And Ronan did not lack in money. Unlike Adam and Blue, for whom Gansey had arranged to pay for college (tuition, room & board, books, etc) and even graduate school if they went on to that. It was null and void, now, given Gansey was not dead long enough for his will to come into effect.
And here, in this other dazzling universe, Gansey had no means to pay or provide for any of that. But Adam and Ronan did not need his help, succeeding without him as he had so greatly wished for. Even if, sometimes, it made him feel superfluous. “It’s a lot messier, still living,” Gansey had to figure out far more now, now that he was alive and Glendower dead.
--
“I thought about that,” Rhy said. “After… a while after, when my city was under siege from a dark magic and I thought that Kell and I might both die in taking it down… if we had succeeded, but not survived, it would have left the throne empty, with no clear heir to it. Next in line, officially, was my lover’s older brother, who at the time I did not know as much about, but I knew he had been corrupted by the magic, whereas Alucard had survived it.” He paused. “I wrote a letter, asking that the people of London and Arnes should choose a strong ruler, not only magically powerful but strong of will enough to resist the darkness. I expected that many of those who had been corrupted might end up dead regardless, of course, but just in case any of them survived once the dark magic was gone… I did not want to see the throne in their hands.”
He smiled slightly. “In a way, I left the throne to Alucard, but without naming him. A strong magician, resistant to dark magic corruption, who loves his country… he is all three of those things. And although we were estranged at the time, for personal reasons, I still thought he would make a good king. He will, someday, hopefully.”
He ran his thumb over the glass. “But I did not die a second time, thanks to Kell’s magic making me rather… durable.” He did not want to use the word invincible again, not after Kell had yelled at him about it. And he did not want to mention his parents’ deaths just yet, not when he was trying to let this conversation progress more naturally without taking a dive into darkness. “It also, interestingly, protected me from being corrupted by the dark magic as well. It had no interest in even trying to corrupt me, in fact.”
--
Many people thought of the Ganseys as kings and queens, as royalty. Old Virginian money, accents the way George Washington’s was always portrayed, their very behavior. But Rhy, Rhy was a king, with a throne. Without an heir. It was something else entirely. The well being of all those people. The thought of that weight, even, felt crushing. It was not the life Gansey wanted. And the concerns of those he loved had nearly been more than he could bear. That… that too?
There was plenty of court politics, personal story too, in the little Rhy shared. Clearly, whatever Rhy had learned about Alucard’s older brother was not of good character. But that seemed likely to have less to do with Rhy than with Alucard, so Gansey did not ask. Under the circumstances, it was a secret that could remain where it was. It was unfortunate the Arnesian court was not made entirely of people with Rhy’s and Kell’s and Alucard’s character, but that did not surprise him.
“Had it been necessary, you had looked out for a whole country of people,” Gansey said, not entirely evenly. That was a huge burden, one Rhy had clearly handled well. He was a good king, and his people lucky to have him.
“Hmm,” Gansey thought about the last statement, though. Rhy, in and of himself, was not necessarily of interest to the dark magic Gansey had seen. It only cared about magic. But if magic were keeping Rhy alive, the demon likely would have sought to unmake it. That was what it did - seek magic out and destroy it. “Glad as I am to hear that, and I am, I do not believe that may always be the case,” Gansey spoke slowly. “The dark magic I have seen, back in my world, we called it a demon. But it would best be known as an unmaker. Whatever, whoever, had magic, it worked to undo.”
He shook his head slightly, as though that could remove the image of Ronan passed out in the front seat of his car, dreaming the most beautiful flowers. That secret was Ronan’s secret, so Gansey could not talk more specifically about everything involving the demon, involving his second death. “There was a magical forest we found and spent much of our time in,” Gansey said, leaving out the fact Ronan had dreamed it. Not the magic itself, but its presence in their world, its shape as a forest, so much of the parts of magic inside it. “The trees… the trees could talk, did talk, in Latin actually. They were their own kind of people, of being, able to be inside a tree or separate like you or I. And the demon unmade them, most of the last of their kind.” It broke his heart, still, that they had died. That Aurora had died, another matter Gansey couldn’t bring up with Rhy. And how many of them had remained? Before Cabeswater had sacrificed itself to make him? Gansey still felt responsible for so much.
--
That was interesting. Rhy tilted his head, thoughtfully. “The dark magic, the oshoc, it wanted energy from people. I don’t think it had to be magic, specifically; strong magic, in fact, like the Antari’s, made them immune to its influence. As for me… I suppose it could have been some of my brother’s magic protecting me, but also, I don’t know that I have any life energy left for it to take.”
He listened to the rest of it, and he was sorry, too, for a beautiful old magical forest to be unmade by a demon. “I don’t know what damage your demon could do to me. But I am sorry for the damage it did to your world.”
--
Oh how Gansey wished strong magic made someone immune, that it had protected Ronan, the most magical person he knew. So full of light, soft and gentle. They were in another world now, not his, not Rhy’s; there was no telling what the rules would be, what would protect people and what wouldn’t. Gansey’s mind was always open, there always being something new to see, wonders so vast they sounded like lies when he spoke them aloud. With most people. And whatever came, Gansey wanted to see what was good about it, and to be capable of picking up any clues for those dark things that also came.
“That was what I died to protect,” Gansey said, “Willing death to pay for unwilling death. It was the only way.” They had searched long and far, tried so many things, searched for answers every way they knew. But in the end it had been wholly simple, more simple than finding Glendower, more simple than being forced to use the wish (had there been one) to stop the demon instead of to save Noah, more simple than anything else. There was justice to it, a rightness in feeling. No one ever got to defeat their demon without paying a price. For a moment, Gansey had proven himself.
--
Rhy smiled softly, his expression sober. “I am sorry that was necessary, but your world is lucky to have had you.” He paused. “And I am glad that your world, and your friends, did not have to lose you.”
He ran a finger through his curls. “I’m not sure if that sentiment helps you any more from me than from your friends, but there it is.”
--
Gansey was not entirely sure what he made of the sentiment. Rhy had seen him, golden and leading, filled with the energy everyone was used to him having. But he hadn’t said it then. He said it when Gansey was melancholy and small, open. The words hadn’t been a surprise, more like a memory, a memory Rhy’s curls and relaxed but sober expression, were a part of. Gansey felt he only had to remember what to say, what he had said.
“Whatever it makes us feel, it’s open and honest,” and from someone who wasn’t responsible for bringing him back, for Gansey being the way he was, possibly the way he was when he had met them, “I could not ask for more.”
He paused and focused on the moment. “I know I am different now, than before I died,” Gansey tried to put it into words. “The ley line gave me a new heart, after I died the first time. It was weak; that was why it gave out when there was too much…” Too much between him and Blue, with their kiss, that first kiss. His heart was certainly strong enough now, they had kissed enough times since then to prove that. “And Cabeswater… made me… from it,” the words did not sound quite right. Gansey had stood up again, in the same body. But he was something different and somehow the same. “I experience time differently, not only now, but before, because time is not linear for it. So now it isn’t always, for me.” It was very hard to be in the moment and only the moment. Gansey had thought he was always too much in his own head. But now, he thought that was because of his death, because of Cabeswater, even when it hadn’t happened yet.
He looked across at Rhy, hoping the man wasn’t utterly confused, hoping he had communicated something of it all. Had he said it right?
--
Rhy supposed that was a fair response. He had spoken honestly, and Gansey would take from it what he would. Rhy was not certain how it would have made him feel, to hear such a thing from Gansey. It only made his heart hurt when Alucard and Kell expressed that they were glad he was alive. He let the moment pass.
“Cabeswater?” he questioned. That was the main part of what Gansey was saying that he could not following. It was hard to imagine precisely what ‘experiencing time differently’ meant, but Rhy also wasn’t entirely sure how to phrase a question to clarify it. Frankly, linear was not a word Rhy had previously associated with time, and that in itself was somewhat confusing. But finally he asked, “How does time move for you, if not linearly?”
--
Right, Gansey had talked about Cabeswater but not named it. “Cabeswater was the forest, the magic that was a forest when we came to know it,” Gansey explained, took a breath, and thought a bit more.
“Many people talk about a day speeding by or something boring dragging on,” Gansey started. He watched Rhy, so as to make sure something was making sense. “I would venture a guess that we have all experienced something like that. An afternoon passed in a good book, an unwanted social interaction that feels like it never ends. In Cabeswater, our ways of telling time wouldn’t work, usually. Not a mechanical watch, not the clocks on our cell phones. The first time we hiked in a good ways and explored… something that would take an hour, two, at least. But when we came back out, it had only been seven minutes.”
That had been from their point of view. It was hard to be certain how the forest experienced everything, save that they had found a rock with Ronan’s handwriting on it, when Ronan hadn’t been there before. “As for me, I have lost time more than I could possibly remember,” Gansey said, “I have lost days, where time eddied around me, I could feel it, slow, and though it only felt like a few hours, perhaps, it had been more than a day when I regained cell phone service.” He still felt bad for missing the fundraiser, felt worse with each text message, with the only message Helen had sent.
“And sometimes, it doesn’t feel like the first time I’ve lived something,” Gansey added, “I’ll remember something I’m doing. I’ll feel like I am doing it for the second, third, fourth… however many times. It can be hard to simply… be in a moment. But I make an effort.” He was not sure he was explaining it any better. But Gansey was very familiar with the feelings, if not in communicating them.
--
“Ah,” Rhy said, as understanding sank in. So the forest had sacrificed itself for Gansey; that was interesting. A magical, sentient forest… Rhy liked the sound of that. It seemed the opposite of Osaron, a forest version of the Isle, perhaps. He suspected Gansey would like the Isle.
The explanation of how time moved took a little longer to sink in, but Rhy listened closely, and thought that he was starting to grasp it. He smiled slightly. “I can assure you this is the first time we’ve had this conversation, at least to my knowledge. If that helps.”
--
Gansey smiled. “It could be the first time for you and the third for me,” Gansey pointed out. He leaned forward a little, rather engaged with it. “One of my friends, Noah, the ghost, didn’t experience time linearly, back in our world,” he shared. This world, this experience of time, was possibly a much larger circle, or mobius strip, than in their world. Or perhaps, since he hadn’t died in this one, he experienced it more like the rest of them. “He experienced from his death, through our friendships, more than once. Sometimes he knew just what to say,” Gansey smiled, thinking about those good moments. When Noah was Noah, they were good moments, even when they had been sad and heartbreaking.
“I could not entirely explain it,” Gansey added. “But if you start to watch many tv shows, you will probably see one that uses the time loop trope. As it sounds, people live the same period of time over and over again. And sometimes, one or more people may be able to remember each version of the loop, while the others do not. What happens with me does not really feel like that at all, but it makes it easier to accept, being familiar with that.” It helped him have more words to express how it felt, even to himself.
--
Rhy’s head tilted in thought, and no small amount of confusion. “I won’t pretend to entirely understand all that,” he said. “But it certainly is… something different, from how I imagine time felt for you before. An interesting change to notice, and one I have not personally experienced.”
He considered for a moment whether to continue. “Aside from my ability to withstand fatal wounds, I simply have a feeling of… wrongness. Of something missing. I’ve been calling it my… life force, something that slipped away, that Kell’s magic replaced. I’ve gotten better at tuning it out, but it persists, all the same.”
As soon as he mentioned it, he felt it; and yet, it did not bother him quite as much in this moment. There really was something more comforting, or at least cleansing, about sharing this with someone else who understood. It was not an opportunity he’d ever thought he would have, considering how few people came back from the dead. But here they were.
--
Gansey’s sense of wonder grew, the remarkableness that was Cabeswater. He didn’t know if it was because, when he died the second time, Noah saved him the first time. Somehow going to be made of Cabeswater before it ever occurred to his friends had affected Gansey before it happened. Not before his first death, no Gansey could remember the normal, horrible passage of time within air conditioned halls.
But before he spoke, he felt a pause and waited. Rhy spoke again, of himself. Of his own feelings, those that had changed for him. The academic part of Gansey’s brain connected Rhy’s choice of words - life force - with what Rhy had said the dark magic, the oshoc, had wanted. Not a terrible leap, something he may have done on his own given time. “Some dark things stay with us,” Gansey said. Whether it was Rhy’s life force - something that sounded difficult to regain - or the trauma of what happened, Gansey did not know if Rhy would ever be free of it. Gansey had learned to be happy, but it had not erased the fear or guilt.
“Does tuning it out help?” Gansey asked. He glanced down then back up and looked at Rhy. “I know our feelings are not the same, what helps one person is not the same as another, and what helps us at one time we outgrow in another… I spent years learning to ignore my terror and my fears. It wasn’t easy, and it helped.” It helped him be able to live with another person, without waking them in the middle of the night. It helped him present himself as he wished, no need to ignore embarrassing moments that social customs taught people to pretend had not happened. “I am glad for the help it provided me when I needed it.”
“I do not know when I outgrew that, exactly. But a friend, one you haven’t gotten to meet because he isn’t here, helped teach me how to be happy and afraid at the same time,” Gansey smiled slightly. “It is what I try to do now. If I must be afraid, I can be happy too.”
--
Rhy shrugged. “It’s more bearable when I can forget, for a few moments, that it’s not there.” He supposed that meant that it helped. “I am trying to come to terms with it. I think that would help more.”
Sometimes he felt as if that might be possible. It felt more plausible now than at the other times he had spoken of it, especially to Alucard. It occurred to him now that a great deal of that might have been because he was afraid to be seen as wrong, hollow, a dead and empty thing, to his lover. Indeed, that thought affected him very strongly, and he chewed on his lower lip. Then he asked, “How did you work through your fears?”
--
Coming to terms. A simple phrase, a few words that communicated a long, winding, complicated process full of steps back as well as forward. For so long Gansey had thought he was beyond the sheer utter terror he felt around bees. Certainly, he had chosen time and again to explore where bees and wasps were. But that was only one of his fears. Ironically, coming here had forcibly removed one of them. Having no money, no one could want his presence for that reason. Much as he could walk and talk as though he had it, Gansey didn’t.
“I still am working through them,” Gansey admitted. He did not know if he would ever be completely over them. Fears did not readily abandon people. “ I have faced them, little by little. Even if it’s only for a moment, to prove that I can do something,” Gansey had always been fond of proving himself, not by anyone else’s standards but his own. Something that showed he had mettle. Even if it were only holding a robotic bee in his hand.
“I try not to let them hold me back,” Gansey knew it wasn’t so simple. “It may terrify me to do something. That is okay. But I do it anyway.” Even if that meant, someday, people left him. The rational part of him told him it was irrational, to be frightened that after everything, everything they had done, that his friends would leave him. And yet, part of him, wondered at a Ronan that did not need him anymore. It made him happy, so happy for Ronan. And still, so scared.
--
“That’s very brave,” Rhy said. He was curious what Gansey’s fears were, but unsure whether or not he should ask. Gansey had shared quite a bit without being asked; perhaps he would reveal it if Rhy simply waited.
He tried to think of what fears he still had, which were somewhat different from his stupid insecurities. He was afraid of losing the people he loved; that was not something he could find a way to face, in a way to practice coming to terms. He could only continue on, not let them hold him back.
“I mostly find my fears related to my insecurities. I have much more of those since I returned from death.” He sighed. “But as you said. I try not to let them hold me back.”
--
It was only brave so long as he kept doing it. Bravery was not some status, attained, whereupon one could rest on their laurels. While it was a necessary sentiment to keep near to hand for himself, it was cruel to say aloud. Gansey could not judge whether or not Rhy was being brave. And he had no desire to discourage the man.
A small nod of agreement. “I have many of my own,” Gansey admitted. It was easy enough to say so, in the broadest swathes, when it still sounded grand and brave, the image of Gansey facing them. “I took those words to heart,” he continued, even if it ruined the image, “that I heard when I died the first time. That I should not have lived, and certainly I had done nothing with my life. It has pushed me to do something with it, but I often find myself asking, what have I truly done? Have I made my life worth saving?” Even now, Gansey could not positively answer that question with certainty. And having died twice, even as he had granted himself time to figure out for himself what meaning he would have, instead of Glendower, it weighed heavier on him still.
--
Rhy could imagine the toll those words could take on Gansey’s psyche. Rhy himself already felt as though he should not have lived, did not deserve to have lived, and he’d not had any voice in his ear telling him so as it had happened.
“I ask myself all of those questions,” he said, after a beat of silence. “And more.” He breathed in deep, and then let out a heavy sigh. “One of the hardest conversations I ever had… was when Alucard asked me why I hadn’t said I was happy to be alive.” He ran his hands through his curls, and then left them there, tangled in his hair with his knuckles pressed against his temple. “He and Kell have both sacrificed so much for me, in their own way. It seems like an insult to them to say that I doubt my own worth.”
--
Gansey felt akin to Rhy then. He avoided the same words, the same conversation, with all of his friends, with each of them. Feeling somewhat separate from himself, Gansey knew what they would say, more or less. Ronan had been surprisingly more open and tender than Gansey had seen in so long. Even without words, Gansey knew what they had done. They had proven they thought he was worth something. To them at least. But it wasn’t enough.
It was easier, this time, further into their conversation, to face those words, the ones Rhy said about himself but Gansey thought quietly too. “It is not enough to be loved,” Gansey said softly, “to feel I have worth.” His family loved him, his parents, his sister, his grandparents beyond that. His friends knew him well and loved him without obligation. And yet, to be loved? That wasn’t anything he had done, nothing that showed he was worth anything. Only that their hearts were large, were generous.
He sighed too, rubbing his temple. But Gansey brought his hand back down, to rest by his side, his fingertips brushing Ronan’s fur. “I don’t know that I have learned to be sure of it for more than a moment.”
--
“I know I haven’t,” Rhy said. “And I think that’s a rather strange thing for anyone who has known me a while, because I’ve always been rather confident.” He smiled slightly. “I can still pretend to be, and sometimes I believe it. But as you said, only for a moment.”
He released his grip on his hair and smoothed it back into place. Pikipek nibbled at his fingers once they were free, and it hurt a little bit, but Rhy didn’t mind. It was a reminder of his physical existence, the fact that he could still feel pain. “I don’t know what it would take for me to believe it wholeheartedly. Certainly not any more effort or sacrifice on their part, that would only make it worse.”
--
Gansey agreed. “That would be the last thing that would help,” he agreed. He would only feel more in debt, like there was more to do, more to prove, to be worth his very existence. It horrified him to imagine them sacrificing anything more on his behalf. “I do not have any more of an answer than you,” Gansey wished he had more to tell Rhy, some way to help. “But should either of us figure anything out, let us agree to share it.” Between the two of them, hopefully, they were more likely to figure something out.
At least, he felt less alone with it. Much as it was still there. And so, just then, it felt less miserable than it usually felt.
--
Rhy smiled at that. “You have a deal.”
He offered his hand to shake on it. He found himself glad to have brought up this subject, to have had this conversation, which was surprising. It was certainly the first time that he’d ever talked about his death and came away feeling at all positive about having done it.
“Talking to you has helped somewhat, I think,” he added, “At least, it is the first conversation I’ve had about it that did not make me feel even worse.”
--
Gansey accepted Rhy’s hand and shook it with the practiced ease that came of being a politician’s son. Being a king, it turned out, made Rhy similarly skilled. It had the feeling of the way things were supposed to be done. Which fit the conversation, in a far more vulnerable way.
“It is one of my first conversations, of depth, about my second death. And while it feels raw, it does not feel worse,” he agreed. It had only taken traveling to another world. “I am glad we have both come here.” Glad he had come, with such people here. Gansey could live without the vast sum of money he was accustomed to. But this? This was something he needed.
--
“As am I,” Rhy agreed, warmly. “I am very glad to have met you, Gansey.” He paused. “And thank you, for sharing your story so openly. I doubt I would have had the courage to tell you mine otherwise.”
It was already a strange feeling that someone else knew. Rhy still felt a twinge of nerves at knowing that, the possibility that he was putting his brother’s life at risk, and his own by extension. But he trusted his instincts, regarding who he could trust. He was not always entirely right, but some part of him had suspected Cora’s intentions, her designs on the throne, just not guessed the scope of them. And although he had spent years kicking himself for trusting and loving Alucard, it had turned out that Alucard was worth both trusting and loving. And Kell… Kell had left him behind, but he had always come for Rhy when Rhy was in the most danger and the most need of his protection, had given so much to keep Rhy alive.
He was fairly certain he could trust Gansey with the information he had just shared. Time would prove him right or wrong.
--
Gansey nodded. Sharing his story was a courage he had some experience in. Not everyone believed in something more, in death experiences. At best, they considered it a near death experience. Gansey did not know how many people at the fundraiser had seen him, the steps between dying in the woods and reaching the hospital nonexistent, but it had become generally known that he had nearly died.
“I have a feeling about you,” Gansey said simply. “And I have yet to be wrong.” He smiled, something more confident coming into it. Gansey could feel quite proud about his choosing of friends. They were all incredible people, and Rhy and Kell were too.
“But I do believe it is time to retire for the evening,” he said politely. “I am in need of rest.” And possibly he was exhausted enough to sleep.
--
“I also have a feeling about you,” Rhy said, his own smile growing. “And I am not usually wrong, either.”
It was very strange, and wonderful, to know someone so much like him. There were differences between them, certainly, but they shared death and life experiences that most did not, and they had experienced it much the same way, carried a very similar weight, felt very similar emotions about it. Gansey mirrored him, the darkest parts of him, and it was the first time in a long time that Rhy had looked at his reflection and not been consumed by the wrongness of it.
He nodded, accepting the end to the conversation. He was also exhausted, but not ready for sleep; or rather, not ready for any other person’s company, not before he had fully digested what had just happened. “I think I will stay up a while longer,” he said. “But I hope you will find some rest tonight. I will look forward to seeing you again.”