abraxaslogs | [closed] stay green a little while

Within the week, Rhy makes good on his promise to introduce Wilhelm to all the best taverns the castle town has to offer. So here they are, at the table they've claimed by the only somewhat grimy window, waiting for the barmaid to return with the first round of drinks. Wilhelm remains surprised that nobody takes one look at his face, soft with the last vestiges of baby fat and besieged by acne, and throws him right out. Well, there had to be some trade-off for being stuck in this world.

Out of curiosity, he'd poked his head into a pub once while out exploring the town, but he was deterred from sticking around too long by the feeling of being alone in a crowded room. With company, the experience is much improved. And Rhy makes good company, friendly and funny. Flirtatious, too, except Wilhelm doesn't know how he feels about that. He's half sure he's not meant to take it entirely seriously.

"Quick, before she gets back," he says, leaning in conspiratorially. "Give me those tips on how not to set things on fire."

If Wilhelm has taken particular note of how Rhy interacts with most people in the castle -- even the servants -- he'll realize that the charming smile and easily flirtation is simply a part of his manner. He isn't crass, of course; there's nothing too forward or inappropriate in his comments to Wilhelm, but Rhy pays compliments without hesitation and seems to enjoy seeing the boy fluster and blush.

It's nice to see that Wilhelm has begun to open up to it a little, rather than becoming too shocked and shy to do more than stutter a nonsensical quip back. He even looks more comfortable at the crowded tavern already, where he and Rhy are sharing a small table near the back, dressed down at Rhy's insistence so they don't stand out too much as Summoned from the castle. A good hat, Rhy explained, is a vital tool. (Don't ask him to explain this; he will consider it self-evident.)

When Wilhelm leans in, Rhy mirrors the motion, flashing perfect white teeth in a big grin.

"Naughty. I thought you said we should practice sober."

Wilhelm needed no convincing to dress humbly. Deflecting attention has become one of the primary goals lodged in his subconscious, a natural result of growing up in the public eye. A natural result, at least, for someone who has never worn his title comfortably or borne scrutiny gracefully.

Another good thing he can say about this place is that maintaining a low profile is a lot easier when your face isn't instantly recognizable to everyone who's ever even glanced at the news. Sure, the native Thorneans hold a keener interest in the Summoned than Wilhelm would like, but he's just one of many, and too new to have any reputation attached to his name.

That's nice too, holding a blank page in his hands, with some power over the story it becomes. A clean start. Well, except for a few singe marks...

The gentle reprimand — if it can even be called that, when half of what comes out of Rhy's mouth is vaguely flirtation-shaped — gets a chuckle out of him.

"Exactly. That's why I'm asking before our drinks get here."

While he doesn't back out of their sudden proximity, he does spend a little too much energy trying not to be captivated by those unusual golden eyes. His finger traces idle patterns in the grain of the tabletop.

"Very well." Rhy shakes his head, but he looks amused at most.

"But you might've told me you wanted to practice in the pub earlier. I'd have asked for a glass of water."

He's teasing. Mostly. But actually, it is a bit more complex without the tools he's used to, which is mostly chalk, but he doesn't keep any on him.

Rhy sits back again, just enough to give Wilhelm a clear view of the table between them, and begins shifting things out of the way to clear the space. With one finger, he demonstrates a circle on the tabletop.

"When I was first learning, I started out using a binding circle like this, drawn in chalk. Working with a starter -- just a little bit of oil in a bowl usually does the trick -- you try to form a flame and keep it within the circle. There are some runes you can add around the sides that should keep the fire within the ring unless it's broken, so you can safely practice casting and dispelling without having the spell break free."

Wilhelm listens carefully, trying to be a good student — well, it's less that he wants to master magic and more that he wants to avoid failure. These are two very different things. Although he's the one who asked, and he's grateful to everyone who's gone out of their way to help him, absorbing advice from so many different mouths is becoming a little overwhelming. As Rhy concludes, he huffs a sigh.

"Seems like magic works differently in every world," is all he says, but some of his frustration bites through. He pushes his hands through his hair, scrubbing at the back of his head. "I can try it. If you could show me how to draw the circle right."

At this point the barmaid returns, and Wilhelm drags one of the mugs she sets down closer to him.

"So...healing and fire? You have any other tricks I should know about?"

"It does seem that way. I was only familiar with the way it worked in mine, before this-- but it seems a lot of the same principles apply here, even if the details may vary. Perhaps the bounding circle only works for me because I think it will. I'm not the one to ask about the specifics of magical theory. That would be my brother, Kell."

The magic nerd, as it were. Rhy says it in such a way that it seems to be poking fun and yet impossibly fond at the same time.

He grabs his drink too when it arrives, taking a pause to sip at it.

"Oh, you know me. Full of tricks. Who can say?"

He winks, setting the cup back down. A beat, and then a note of seriousness enters his voice again, the smile turning thoughtful.

"...you see, back home I could barely make so much as a spark on my own. Being here, being able to do this--" He snaps, and a flame appears, before he waves it away with a flourish. "Even this much, it still feels like a miracle to me. And the fact I can use magic to heal people, to help them, is something completely new. Every time I practice, I think perhaps this is the day the magic will realize it's some sort of mistake."

It's wildly unfair that Rhy manages to make that wink come off as smooth instead of corny. Wilhelm doesn't know if he's supposed to laugh, or...let his curious mind wander over the implications of the word tricks. What happens is a little bit of both, a surprised chuckle popping out and a hasty halting of his thoughts before they plunge right into the gutter. A pinch of something like guilt, too, in his chest. A stab of loneliness splitting open a chasm somewhere.

All of which he drowns with a big gulp of ale, smooth and golden and frothy. He nods as Rhy concludes.

"I get what you mean." Tapping absent-mindedly at his mug, he lets his eyes sink into the foam on top. "Magic isn't even possible where I'm from, so...it doesn't feel like it should be mine to have, you know? Somebody else would be a better fit."

A sentiment that has shadowed him his whole life, not fitting into the spaces that have been carved for him, not shaped right for the role he's been shoved into. He lifts his gaze again.

"But I think you deserve it. You're a kind person, Rhy. So it's good that you have the power to really help others."

Rhy takes many compliments easily, preening even. Tell him he's handsome, and he'll be the first to smugly agree. But Wilhelm's words are so sincere, an innocence to them that strikes him in a way that makes it impossible to brush off. Wilhelm is saying what he thinks, no filter, no need for flattery, no trying to get on Rhy's good side. He wants nothing but advice.

It's... moving. Rhy's smile softens, clearly touched, and he ducks his head a little in a gesture that is oddly humble for him, accepting the kindness of Wilhelm's words.

"Who can say what any of us deserve? Thank you, Wilhelm. I'll do my very best with it."

Being able to physically, visibly help someone has been a fulfilling experience, worth every bit of struggle and hour of practice. Rhy knows he doesn't have a particular talent for it, but the fact he can do it at all here leaves him grateful, and still occasionally stunned.

Before they can continue practicing, though, the server approaches their table with the drinks, as well as some bread and cheese Rhy had suggested they order (mostly so Wilhelm doesn't get sick). The conversation lightens up after that; Rhy talks more about his studies, offers a few tips from experience struggling through his own magic practice for years, though he stays away from going too much into what it'd been like back home and instead focuses on his newer approaches in Thorne.

And he keeps ordering more when their cups run empty, as long as Wilhelm seems interested. There's more bread as needed, too.

As they drain drinks and demolish bread, Wilhelm stays interested. Rhy is easy to listen to. And, he can admit to himself — shyly, as if he might be overheard inside his own head — he's easy to look at too. When he's plunged deep enough in his cup, Wilhelm gives up on trying not to stare openly. Honestly — having such pretty eyes should be illegal.

So. He's all smiles, laughing easily and forgetting to fidget as he floats up out of himself. The conversation meanders away from magic altogether. At some point, it strikes him that...he's actually happy, right now. He's with a friend, he thinks, who likes him for him. He's free from all expectations, except for the expectation to enjoy himself.

This revelation comes with the risk that his mood comes crashing down as he recalls all the reasons he shouldn't be so happy, analogous to the precarious moment when you break a dream by recognizing it for what it is. But for now it seems he's safe, glancing around the crowded tavern before returning his grin to Rhy.

"You want to know something funny?" Wilhelm leans in closer, a giggle already bubbling up at the untold punchline. "Nobody here knows who I am, and they don't care. They don't give a fuck."

Lifting his mug in a toast, he gleefully repeats, "Not one single fuck!"

Though he's had more to drink, Rhy isn't nearly as sloshed as poor Wilhelm -- but this is entirely by virtue of being such an absolute lush already that his tolerance is through the roof. (Totally healthy and fine, do not worry about it.)

Still, he's been determined to keep up enough that he's in a good and tipsy mood, happy to be pulled along into Wilhelm's no-inhibitions shenanigans and chatter. They have been joking, telling stories (there might be a couple unflattering ones in there about Kell), and gossiping a bit about the castle staff and who is going out with whom.

When Wilhelm bursts out with that revelation, whatever it may be, he sounds so excited that Rhy laughs and leans in too, close enough they almost meet across the table.

"Nobody at all! Not even me," he points out, laughing, and clinks his mug against the other young man's cheerfully.

"And all this time I thought you were Wilhelm!"

Most of the stories Wilhelm shares revolve around someone else. What happened at a party once, or something funny a friend did. His own brother stars frequently, though always as the hero, never the punchline. The gossip is lopsided, with Wilhelm tepidly accepting Rhy's theories — a lot of maybes and I don't knows. Having been the subject of too much scrutiny and speculation, he's reluctant to turn it against others.

When Rhy leans in like that, he feels like he's going to be swallowed up by those eyes. Booze might not be all that's to blame for his dazed, dreamy look. Speaking of which, the only proper response to knocking mugs is to take another swig.

"I am, I am!" Laughing, he reaches over to pat the back of Rhy's hand, as if to reassure him of...something. Well, it's more like a smack. "But that doesn't mean anything here. I could be anybody, anything. You know what I mean?"

The gesture is... too adorable. Wilhelm is so cute like this, smiling, happy. Rhy grins back, going along with it though he's not entirely sure yet where this is going.

"I think I do," he admits, genuinely.

That sense of anonymity, the realization that he has no inherent place in this world, had been a loss for Rhy, a point of anxiety and confusion he still grapples with. But he does understand what Wilhelm means. Though to Wilhelm, it comes with a sense of freedom Rhy can't help but feel a little envious over.

"You have the chance to toss out any expectations from before here. It's all different now. Like that?"

Wilhelm isn't sure where this is going either — he's hit that level of intoxication where he's as bubbly as the brews and his words flow from his mouth as if some tap in his head has come loose.

"Exactly," he says emphatically. This comes with another happy smack to Rhy's hand — happy for being understood in some fundamental way. Then his grin fades as his forehead creases. "It's like...back home, everyone was watching my every step. They all wanted me to be something I'm not. I'm just not. I wasn't even allowed to be a person, I had to be a pr—"

He has to cut himself off, stumbling to a different ending for that sentence.

"—a role model."

Rhy, perhaps tired of his hand being smacked or perhaps in response to the way Wilhelm's expression falls, turns his hand over to curl his fingers over Wilhelm's instead.

"Go on," he urges, sympathetically. Reining in the drunkenness a bit, which he's got more experience with. He blinks, catching Wilhelm stumbling over his words, but not quite what he means.

"That sounds very frustrating."

He almost apologizes for the fact that they're holding hands — a completely nonsensical urge, as Rhy is the one who linked their fingers in the first place. The instinct to check if anyone's watching prickles under his skin. This one he actually begins to follow, tensing just shy of imperceptibility as he flings his gaze sideways, before remembering that he's nobody here. The relief of it all — his own anonymity, the world's delicious indifference — rushes in.

So. His hand is snugly curled beneath Rhy's, and he's not sure how much he's supposed to read into the gesture, but it feels nice. That sympathetic expression Rhy's wearing softens his defenses further. Releasing a sigh, Wilhelm continues in his ambling way:

"My mom always said it's a privilege, not a punishment, to be a prince, but...the more she says it, the less I believe her. I mean, no matter what your position is, it seriously sucks to have no say in your life..."

He trails off, his thoughts returning to inchoate primordial ooze as he realizes...he might have said it out loud that time.

That time, Rhy does catch it. His attention snags on that one word, and suddenly the pieces begin to rearrange themselves, Wilhelm's tipsy chattering beginning to form a clearer picture. His anxieties given name.

Rhy nods, and gives his hand a gentle squeeze.

"There is no escaping who we're born to. Some people's parents are poor farmers or street-sweeps, cursing having another mouth to feed. Some are kings and queens, with the fate of an entire nation on their shoulders."

He shrugs, stares off into his cup for a minute, trying to maintain his hold on the thread of conversation he wanted to follow. There is a growing lump in his throat. Rhy swallows, taking a breath to ease the ache.

"There are some things you can change, and some you can't. You'll always be a prince. What you do with that power-- that is something that you do have a say in."

Except they're both here, now.

That, Rhy has no answer for.

His brain's not so soaked with beer that he misses the quiet war waged in Rhy's body language. It's a war Wilhelm has fought with himself, doubts and insecurities rising up to overthrow him. Though he doesn't know what shape Rhy's takes yet, he senses that there's something of himself shadowing that advice.

Anyway, it's too late to retract his words now. Suddenly, it seems silly that he ever wasted so much stress on keeping so inconsequential a secret. Rhy doesn't care. Nobody cares.

"No, no, no," he insists, shaking his head and concluding with a clang of his cup against the table. Not hard — he's making a point, not throwing a tantrum. "I'm not a prince here, am I? I'm nobody, and I like it that way."

His expression is halfway to manic — and again, the booze can only be blamed so much. It's the expression of someone who, having lit a fire, finds beauty in the devouring flames.

"The only power I want is the power to live a normal life. To be responsible for nobody but myself."

Sitting back, Rhy lets him go, but his eyes linger on Wilhelm's face. He's left his own cup on the table, suddenly all too sober despite his solid attempts to be otherwise most of the night.

A flicker of a shadow crosses his features, something almost wounded, settling into a distant melancholy.

He meets Wilhelm's eyes.

"You don't really mean that."

It doesn't sound like a reprimand, or even cajoling. He says it like it's true, a matter-of-fact statement, not a question.

As Rhy withdraws, Wilhelm's expression falters and then cracks altogether. Left behind on the table, his hand feels naked. He pulls it around his cup, fidgeting with the handle.

Now he's certain that whatever path Rhy has followed all his life is tangled up somewhere in this conversation. While he's curious about his friend, he feels that he has to explain himself. He doesn't like that wounded look Rhy is nursing, and he likes even less that something he said inflicted it.

"I do really mean that." His tone has softened, a solemn hush held within the din of the barroom, but it's weighted with a plea for understanding. "I wasn't allowed to be myself. I couldn't even be with the person I liked, just because he's a boy."

Another rush of freedom, admitting for the first time on his own terms that he loves a boy. It's not quite penance for the public statement he'd issued, denying his involvement in the video and stranding Simon to deal with the aftermath alone, but it's a tiny step toward something like it.

"My happiness didn't matter. All that mattered to my mom was our stupid family legacy."

Rhy listens. He even scoots a little closer, pulling his chair around the side slightly so they're not fully across each other, closing the space between them to provide the illusion of intimacy even when they're surrounded by people. It helps, of course, that none of the people are paying attention or give a single thought to them; they are all background noise, and so are Rhy and Wilhelm in their lives. Sometimes, a crowded room is the most private place for a quiet conversation.

His expressions shifts, a momentary confusion, then understanding. Sympathy in the way he nods.

"...I see."

He'd had his fair share of arguments with his family for being flighty and unserious, strict talkings-to about securing an heir, but despite their frustration, they'd never tried to stop him being who he is. When Wilhelm says he wasn't allowed, it sounds so-- crushing. And impossible.

"That sounds awful. Your mother shouldn't have treated you like that. That's no way to make sure you can be your best self for your people."

Some knot of tension tugs loose inside him when Rhy pulls in closer, transforming their table into a private moment. Having someone else confirm it — she shouldn't have treated you like that — breathes fresh air into his lungs, fresh life into his resolve to break away from his family's influence. His mother has no say in what he does here anyway, but the deliberateness of his personal revolution matters deeply to him. It matters to who he wants to be.

"That's why I'm done with trying to be anything for anyone else. I just want to be...Wilhelm. For me, and for the people who actually matter."

Judging by the look he presses into Rhy, this is a category that encompasses present company.

"Do you know what I'm saying? I don't think that's selfish."

Not after he destroyed the one thing that actually mattered to him in bending to appease his mother's demanding expectations. He deserves to do something for himself. He doesn't owe anyone anything.

"It isn't." Rhy breathes out, reaching for Wilhelm's hand again. His voice is kind, understanding, despite the next words. "For most people. But a prince has to think about more than just himself. So does a queen. It doesn't make how she's treated you excusable, or your feelings about it invalid. But it certainly... does complicate things, doesn't it?"

It's too bad, even after all those drinks, he's beginning to feel all too sober again. His chest tightens, and he gives Wilhelm's fingers a squeeze.

He doesn't usually bother telling people, not because he's hiding it, but because it simply doesn't matter here. It brings him more heartache to keep saying his title, who he is, when it is impossible to be what he is supposed to anymore.

"I am my country's crown prince. I know what it means to be more than just yourself. And I know what it means to be selfish with that responsibility, instead."

It's not what he wants to hear. The but. The gentle weight of Rhy's hand covering his, bringing it away from his mug and back to the table, pushes down the protest that lurches onto his tongue.

That and the way Rhy, in this moment, reminds him so much of Erik. His brother, kind and considerate, poised and perspicacious, was everything a future king is supposed to be — and Wilhelm could only stumble around in the enormous shoes he left for him to fill. After so much has unraveled, Erik's memory holds as the last tether he has to any sense of duty.

So he can't scorn Rhy for clutching at what his brother carried so seriously. Maybe he finds a sense of self in his title, a title in which Wilhelm feels totally lost.

"Fuck, what are the odds?" he mumbles. A daze of amazement, a bite of irony. His other hand leaves his cup behind, finding Rhy's, idly tracing the ridges and dips of his knuckles.

"But you don't have to be any of that here. You can just...put it down."

Likewise, this probably isn't what Rhy wants to hear. But it's just as much the truth.

A line appears between Rhy's brows, expression crumpling. He closes his eyes a moment longer than a blink, taking a slow, bracing breath as he lets the words roll through him, not entirely unexpected, but heavy nonetheless. They settle in the pit of his stomach like bricks. He swallows.

"One might argue I can't be that here."

Rhy shrugs, and lets him go to reach for the bottle and top off both their cups.

"I spent my life trying to be what my people needed of me. What I thought they needed, anyway. And in the end, I let them down. Princes and even kings are still merely human, after all. I didn't want to abdicate my responsibility to them."

He takes a drink, covering up the shakiness that cracks his voice toward that last bit. And maybe it's not very nice, but he can't help it, looking at Wilhelm like he's trying to understand but simply doesn't know how.

"...don't you feel any responsibility toward your people? Wasn't there anything about it that you loved?"

"No."

Too quick, too blunt — more of a verbal punch than an answer. But it's the truth. He hated the spotlight, the endless scrutiny, the ever-shrinking privacy. He hated that his title kept him from the life he wanted.

"My brother loved it," he adds quietly, trying to soften the harshness of that no. "I don't know if loved is the right word, but he cared about his duties. And I love Erik, so...I really did want to do a good job, you know, to honor him. I never asked to be crown prince, though. All I felt was...terrified of messing up. And angry that everything had to change."

Looking up from his cup, which he hasn't touched though it was topped off, he studies Rhy with a frown. He wants to go back to that golden moment when they were happy and laughing together. Although it's clear that Rhy has lugged this weight around for a long time, Wilhelm can't help but feel responsible for the dark mood louring over him now. Grasping for his approval, hoping to assuage him, he stumbles into an explanation.

"I don't know how it is where you're from, but the monarchy doesn't really have that much power anymore. All the major decisions are made by parliament. The queen or king is basically just a figurehead. 'My people' would be just fine without me."

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londonbound - 2022-10-20 04:31 (UTC) - Expand

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ordinar - 2022-10-21 00:39 (UTC) - Expand

[closed] stay green a little while

rhy - red wine and a ginger ale

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