"They worship their machines and have abandoned the ways of our people. It has made them callous and casual with life. The leaders of these so-called 'Free' Cities are little more than empirical tyrants who wish to see our way of life die entirely. They spurn magic? They believe their filthy machines are somehow greater?"
It's a speech Bryde might have given. A speech Ronan would have given. He nods along with the Queen's words, his eyes bright and furious. The Free Cities have proven themselves to be no better than the Moderators, and if Ronan has learned anything, it's that he should have wiped out the Moderators when he had the chance. It's not a mistake he intends to make twice.
"We will prove them wrong. If they wish a war, so be it. But it is a war that they will lose."
"Damn fucking right," Ronan hisses under his breath, fists clenched as if he's ready to throw a punch. But Thorne's way ahead of him. The magical window opens before the assembled Summoned, Thorne's wrath on full display for them, and Ronan's eyes light with the fire's relfection. It's all happening again, and this time, he refuses to sleep.
None of them are called to battle then and there, but as Ronan turns to follow the crowd out of the throne room, he looks ready to march. His jaw is set, something dark and hungry in his expression. He doesn't share the horror that seems to have seized most of the Summoned. He's glad that Thorne is finally waking up.
Rhy isn't near him when it happens; he's somewhere else in the room, beside Kell, watching with the same shock and horror that is echoed in the eyes of many of the other Summoned around them. He is fixated on the image projected, the window to what the queen has done. His stomach drops out, sickeningly, disgust and disbelief surging through his chest, a flash of anger, before it all goes numb.
He walks out with the rest of them, excusing himself from Kell. Breathless. His heart is pounding, but the feeling is far away. The revelry and drink feels so long ago, but his stomach still remembers it was only a couple of hours, and turns unpleasantly.
He hadn't seen Ronan's face, or the light in his eyes. Perhaps, if he had, Rhy wouldn't have followed him. He isn't thinking; he isn't going anywhere in particular. It's just that he sees the familiar shoulders, and he turns when Ronan does, and sees him there.
Ronan almost fails to notice Rhy, too. His thoughts are elsewhere β the past, the future, battles lost and battles yet to win. He finds himself longing for Bryde's voice in his ear even now that he knows that voice was always his own. Bryde could put into words the nebulous emotion that perpetually churned in Ronan's heart. It was, perhaps, his sole purpose.
Without it, there's only the fire. In spite of Hennessy's best efforts, it was never extinguished, and now it's flaring up again. Old habits. Ronan forces his hands to uncurl at his sides, fingers splaying to graze the ambient energy in the air around him as if running over the surface of water. Everything is different here. The line between dream and reality hardly exists in this world. He won't allow the Free Cities to take this from him.
His fingers catch on Rhy's energy β the delicious thrum of the Singularity coursing through his veins β before he catches sight of Rhy himself. Ronan turns to look at him, not quite smiling but shining with a feeling far removed from the mournful daze of the others. After all, he was made for war.
"Rhy," he says, reaching for his lover's hand, mistaking the look on his face for fear. "It's okay. I'm here."
Relieved, Rhy takes it. He squeezes Ronan's fingers, and with a shaky breath, presses his forehead to Ronan's shoulder from the side.
It's impossible for him to place Ronan's expression; his mind simply skims over it, unable to process the harsh juxtaposition of the light in Ronan's eyes with the heaviness inside his own heart.
"Could you tell?" Rhy's voice is tight and forced. "Where that was?"
He hasn't been able to reach Jaskier. Kell is surely trying to contact Jayce. Right now, Rhy has decided to leave him to it, not wanting to add to the chaos all the others are surely experiencing.
That wasn't really Rhy's immediate concern, but... Well, Ronan isn't wrong to think about defenses against possible retaliation. The war has been waiting on a spark, and the queen's gone beyond it to a whole fucking conflagration. It is inevitable now.
Misunderstanding him, Ronan squeezes Rhy's hand and reiterates, "Your brother will be safe. All of us. I promise."
And, as Rhy knows by now, he is not one to give a promise lightly.
It doesn't occur to him that Rhy's worries might lie elsewhere, beyond the Summoned standing around them here. Ronan abandoned his concern for the rest the moment they abandoned him.
Rhy squeezes back, nodding. He finally lifts his head to really look at him, and though he's still feeling kind of ill, some of the capacity for the rest of all of the emotions vying for space inside his chest is also slowly returning. As is the anger.
"I know you'll do everything you can to keep us safe." And he appreciates it, truly. But--
"But Queen Ellya just set a whole city ablaze in a moment. Thousands of people are waking up right now to find they are at war, and those are the lucky ones. Not to mention the others, in Cadens--"
There is so much to process, from a personal standpoint -- he is worried for his friends, of course, and for Jaskier especially -- as well as from a sort of existential one, the slow dread dawning that this is real, innocent people are burning and dying in the streets somewhere in the desert and it's all so far away but also they'd just watched it happen. The malicious demonstration still sits all wrong in his stomach, but so does the murder, and the attack on the delegates in Nocwich. The fact that it had all happened so fast leaves him reeling.
It's always been this way β Ronan at his most serene while the rest of the world burns. He even takes a moment to search himself for the same turmoil he can see written on Rhy's face, wondering if he'll find it locked away or buried for later excavation.
No. There's no fear within him, no sorrow or panic. He feels like he's standing on the edge of a cliff, facing the sunrise, wings outstretched and preparing to take flight.
"All this time," Ronan muses, "we've just been sitting here with a target on us. How many times have we looked the other way? When they broke into our castle and enchanted everyone here. When they convinced half of us to betray the rest. When they tried to murder us during the Dimming and starve the Singularity. I thought Thorne might keep letting it happen. For the sake of peace."
Ronan practically spits the word. Peace. Peace for the rest of the world never means peace for him. It means a muzzle and shackles, exile and decay.
He meets Rhy's eyes, fierce and alive. "We aren't waiting to die anymore," he continues. "We can finally save the world."
Rhy stares at him, as though he's having trouble understanding the words coming out of Ronan's mouth. Or maybe it's the look in his eyes, the electric too-bright blue that cuts through him with a sharpness Rhy hasn't felt from him before.
Some of what Ronan references is from before Rhy was Summoned, but he knows the basics, both from Ronan and a couple others, not all of them in Thorne. He knows, vaguely, about the strangers who pulled half the Summoned from the dungeons where they'd been imprisoned for no apparent reason. Not the sort of situation where people would have needed much convincing to betray their jailers. But Rhy wasn't there; he doesn't know what happened firsthand. That isn't what he wants to focus on.
Ronan can have his opinions on what the duties of the Summoned are. If he was betrayed by friends who left Thorne then, Rhy cannot blame him for it. Neither can he blame him for the bitterness and pain caused by those who had hurt him and Kylo when they'd gone to defend the Singularity when it had Dimmed. Rhy is under no illusion that he knows all the details.
The thing is, it doesn't matter. None of it, to him, justifies a mass strike without warning or even formal declaration of war, by the looks of it over a city, not a military camp. Likely largely on civilians.
Ronan mirrors Rhy's confusion now, his brows knitting together while the spark fades from his eyes. And then something darker settles there β a shadow Rhy has never seen before, because he has so often been the light to cast away Ronan's darkness.
Human. Rhy has only ever been human, Ronan is suddenly reminded. The magic within him exists only because of a bargain, and as Ronan learned from Adam, such a bargain isn't strong enough to align human interests with the well-being of the world. Not even love was strong enough to do that.
"Yes," he answers, his voice low yet unwavering. His certainty in that answer comes down like a hammer. "This is what it takes to save the world from them."
"Is that what you think the queen had in mind when she sent fire raining down on civilians? Saving the world?" Rhy asks, incredulous.
He's not talking about Thorne's approach to the Singularity as a whole versus that of the Free Cities. He's not talking about their ideology, or even their longstanding animosity and conflict. The politics surrounding all of this are far more complex and far-reaching. But just now, what had happened, had been one decision, made unilaterally by one person with too much power and no desire to heed the consequences that her actions will cascade upon her own lands, not to mention the innocents in others.
It was reckless, irresponsible, and cruel. Not at all the action of a ruler, in his mind.
"This isn't part of saving anyone." The flash of anger is there and gone, wavering as he adds, "It's only going to get worse from here. Much worse, I think..."
It's only now that he's beginning to realize what the look he hadn't been able to place was, earlier, in Ronan's eyes. Perhaps it is excitement. Or, worse-- hunger.
He wants this.
Rhy resists the sudden urge to pull his hand away, squeezing it again instead. His heart beats too-fast in his ears, fear and disappointment mingling with the confusion, leaving him a little breathless, wide golden eyes searching Ronan's face.
Ronan's eyes narrow just a fraction. That's not a question. It's an accusation. He can hear echoes of his older brother's words in it: Are you breaking the world?
What neither of them understand is that the world can't be saved without breaking something. And Ronan refuses to be the one that breaks.
"Rhy," he sighs, tracing his thumb down the sweet prince's cheek. Ronan has sympathy for the pure-hearted, the naive and the soft. He adores them, as he adored his mother and still adores his little brother. People like this are the ones that need protecting. They are the reason a monster like Ronan has to exist at all.
"None of this would have happened if we'd made a move sooner. And if the Queen chose to turn the other cheek just now, we would be the ones to burn instead. The longer we wait, the worse it gets. Believe me. I know. Doing anything other than this would have just left us open to something more terrible."
Rhy closes his eyes for a moment, with a soft exhale through his nose. Accepting the touch, not pushing Ronan away. He understands -- at least, he thinks he does -- where Ronan is coming from, with this logic. But he disagrees entirely with where he's gone with it.
"The mage's assassination is unconfirmed. Unless we're not being told something extremely vital, there's no evidence this was a move from the Free Cities. Maybe it will turn up. Maybe not. The point is that the queen acted rashly, she made the first strike, and this is what leaves this country open to something more terrible. Please don't act like this was the only choice just because it is the one that was made."
He keeps his voice low; he's not that foolish, even if he is upset.
"More lives will be lost on Thornean soil because of this, not fewer."
Relieved that Rhy doesn't flinch from his touch, he draws closer and brushes his lips against Rhy's temple. He doesn't want to fight about this. He just wants Rhy to understand. No one ever seems to understand.
He continues, barely above a whisper, "It was the best choice."
Retreating just enough to look into his eyes once more, Ronan lets go of his hand so that he can cradle Rhy's face with both his palms.
"It's been more than half a year since they tried to kill me. Me. And they almost succeeded. You're thinking of the Free Cities like they're full of innocent people. They're not. They're military bases training a whole population to destroy the Singularity. To destroy me. To destroy you. I'm not sorry that they're getting what's coming to them."
He does not flinch at Ronan's touch-- but he does stiffen, noticeably, as he continues speaking. Somewhere at the word best, like every cell in Rhy's body has frozen still, and he forgets to breathe. It hits him like a blow.
The I'm not sorry.
The what's coming to them.
And now, Rhy does pull away. He is shaking his head, mouth half-open, struggling to find the words to explain because these aren't concepts he thinks should need explaining. There are rules to war. There are boundaries. There are soldiers, and then there are civilians.
"Ronan--" Rhy shakes his head again, unsure if he should be getting angry, only feeling, for now, shocked. "You know it's not that simple. They're no more a whole population of soldiers than the Kingdom of Thorne is one of battle-trained mages. There are children there, women and elderly, all civilians. Mostly civilians, more thank likely. They're always mostly just people trying to get by, while those few with power wield their lives like game pieces. You saw the same thing I did. That was a city, not a military base. You think all those people deserve to die just because of the country where they live?"
It's happening again. And how easy it was, this turn. As if Rhy was just waiting for a reason to see Ronan as the villain. He's taking every word out of Ronan's mouth and twisting it into the worst interpretation. As if Ronan relishes the murder of children. As if he himself struck the first blow.
Instead of dignifying that with an answer, Ronan lifts his chin and regards Rhy with icy disdain. He works his jaw until he's sure he won't bite, and then he utters coolly, "Nice to know what you think of me. Finally."
He should have known. Rhy never trusted him. And Ronan shouldn't have trusted Rhy. He's been a fool, thinking this bond could tether their hearts the way it did their souls, and in the meantime Rhy made a game of bedding every man in sight. It's a humiliation Ronan was willing to suffer while he could at least imagine Rhy placed him in high regard.
But no. Ronan was a plaything to him all along. And now Rhy is looking at him as if he's absolute garbage.
Ronan folds his arms, tucking his hands into the wide sleeves of his robe and hugging himself loosely. Abandoned once more. They're always leaving him. They always want him gone.
"Anything else you wanna know, while you're at it? Wanna ask how many babies I've eaten? How much virgin blood I bathe in? Since I'm such an evil piece of shit."
Rhy, for his part, just looks... stunned. Uncomprehending.
"What?" He takes a step forward again, putting out a hand placatingly, a gesture of reaching for him without forcing Ronan to accept his touch when he's drawn into himself so hard, so suddenly. Rhy can see him clamming up, the way he hugs himself, the way the walls shoot up.
He's sympathetic, not because he agrees with what Ronan said but because he wants to understand, and to help Ronan understand why he's upset. None of this is simple or easy. No matter how much he condemns the queen's choice regarding what they'd all just witnessed, Rhy doesn't actually think the concept of war, as a whole, is black and white.
And he certainly doesn't think Ronan is evil.
"Ronan, please. I didn't say any of that. I don't think any of that. Come on. We can go somewhere more private and talk. Or tomorrow, after we both get some rest-- It's been a long night."
Ronan turns his face away from Rhy, scowling and furtively surveying their surroundings. The crowd has mostly dispersed, but there's still the risk of casualties.
"Somewhere private," he agrees begrudgingly, though he makes no move to draw close to Rhy again. He only ever gives somebody one chance to reject him, and as far as he's concerned, Rhy's had his turn and fucked it.
He unfolds his arms and starts immediately for Kylo's study. It'll be empty right now, Kylo off with his task force getting up to speed on the details. It'll be a safe place to finish this, and if there's a mess to clean up, he can trust Kylo to help him later.
The enchanted lock recognizes Ronan, of course, and the door opens for him without his even having to reach for the handle. Once he's led Rhy inside, the doors swing shut behind them and the lock clicks back into place.
"Tell me what you meant," Ronan says without glancing back to Rhy, staring at the far wall instead.
Despite Ronan's continued avoidance of his gaze, Rhy takes this as a good sign. He exhales, tension easing slightly, though his heart still races in his ears. He doesn't try to reach for Ronan again; it's all right, and they both need space. He's still worried about what's happening outside, but right now, Rhy understands he can't do anything about that. Frustrating as it is, he will have to wait for news.
In the meantime, what he can actually focus on is Ronan. They can talk about this.
He follows, slipping into the study. The silence here is all-encompassing. It makes the echo of his pulse feel even louder in his mind, all the thoughts feel harsher and heavier, the fears gripping his throat. Rhy takes a moment to just breathe and get used to the quiet, to figure out how he wants to say this.
"I'm not blaming you. I know you have good reasons to distrust the Free Cities and some of the Summoned there. To be clear, I'm not including the Summoned among the civilians. We've all made choices, however we could. Those who chose to go and attack others who've only been put in a similar situation without being asked, just as we were all brought here without being asked, are responsible for their decisions too."
He still doesn't really understand why Ronan took his denunciation of the queen's act so personally, and the only conclusion he can come to is that there's a fundamental misunderstanding somewhere. Surely Ronan wouldn't have been so upset and jump to the implication that Rhy thinks he's... eating babies or whatever, if he actually thought attacking innocent people unprovoked was a morally defensible choice.
Rhy sighs, fighting the urge to sink into the nearest chair. He stays on his feet for now, and though he doesn't approach, he pauses to appeal instead, softly.
"Ronan. Please, look at me. I don't think you're evil."
Ronan doesn't look at Rhy. He walks toward the row of shelves where his various throwaway dreams are on display, dozens of beautiful and strange and useless trinkets dreamt for the sole purpose of keeping him alive one more day. Kylo keeps them all, because even these ridiculous little pieces of Ronan are too precious for him to discard.
This, he thinks, is what love is supposed to look like.
Ronan runs his finger over a peacock feather that emits a sound like a harp strum. "I've never killed anyone," he says, his voice wry, as if that's funny in hindsight. "It would have been so much easier if I did. Do you know how hard it is to destroy a world without killing anyone? I deserve a fucking medal."
He moves on, picking up a knife and poking the tip of it against the wall. The blade begins to melt like hot wax, dripping down slowly, then reforming into a blade when Ronan draws it back.
"Dreamers step lightly," he continues, echoing the words of his teacher. "That's the difference between us and humans. When a human blows something up, people die. They don't know how to do it any other way. It's sad, when you think about it. Sometimes all they get is a bunch of shit choices and they have to pick the least shitty. And people still die. The Greeks wrote a bunch of plays about it. Speaking of the Greeks..."
Ronan puts the knife down and finally turns around to face Rhy. There's another dream in his hand now β a silvery orb β and he fidgets with it between his thumb and forefinger.
"Did you know the Greek word for tragedy also means song? Which comes from the word for goat? Because the first songs were sung while sacrificing a goat. Humans don't know how to make anything beautiful without spilling blood. I feel sorry for them."
Rhy just watches him. If Ronan needs to get it out, he'll listen-- even if he doesn't understand half of what he says. Ronan knows that. He knows Rhy has no idea what country or language he's referring to; it isn't said for Rhy, but for himself, and so Rhy doesn't ask.
He doesn't try to stop Ronan or distract him while the other man fiddles with his dreamed-up things on the shelf, golden eyes following Ronan's hands not because he thinks the objects have anything to do with the conversation but for the same reason he assumes Ronan is fidgeting with them in the first place: something to do, outside of their racing thoughts, the way Rhy grounds himself with his arms crossing in front of his chest in an unconscious self-soothing gesture. He wants to reach out; he doesn't.
"I never assumed you had," Rhy responds quietly. Killed anyone, he means. But his attention snags, brows creasing faintly, on the part about destroying a world.
There is so much about what Ronan is and what he does that Rhy can't understand. Rhy's never heard him talk about humans like this before, like some sort of creature entirely apart from the world. Like it somehow gives him the right to be above it all.
Rhy grows frustrated, verging on angry, the sort of real anger Ronan has rarely seen from him. There's an edge creeping into his voice despite his best efforts to hear Ronan out. The conversation has veered so far from what he thought they'd come here to work out.
"Maybe you're right," he agrees flatly. "What difference does it make? Human war, human casualties. You find it easier to separate yourself? Fine. If that's a choice available to you. Unfortunately, I am merely human, and it isn't so easy for me."
"You don't understand," Ronan says, with more pity than exasperation. After all, that's the entire point. The human experience is a narrow one, with fixed rules like gravity and morality. It's a cage Ronan was trapped in, too, for most of his life.
"You'll always be fighting this war. It's the same one you've been fighting since the beginning of time. And even in a world like this, where magic is so alive, the Free Cities are already an industrial cesspit. The sooner they're wiped off the face of the planet, the better. Before they re-invent nukes and Zyklon B."
He's well aware Rhy has no idea what he's talking about, which is of course why he doesn't see where Ronan's coming from. He doesn't know what the stakes really are.
"At least Thorne serves a purpose. That psycho queen is standing between everyone else and the Singularity."
Ronan sighs, drifting closer to Rhy. "I really thought you might get it," he murmurs, his voice growing almost mournful. "You... You're as close to it as I am. I thought you loved it, too. But if you did, you'd care more about protecting it than you do about the people who will destroy it the second they get a chance. The same way they've done in every other world."
"This isn't about the Singularity. This is about the innocent people dying needlessly for one woman's egotistical fit of rage. If you cannot see that, Ronan, I don't know how to explain it to you."
The disappointment cuts deep, his stomach a brick, throat raw.
It feels like a bad dream. That Ronan would be saying this, that he would think like this, after all his talk of saving the world. But it's not the world he cares about. Only the magic.
How is that not clear? Not even that much? Is Rhy so blind?
"They're going to ruin everything the second they have the chance. We can't let them get one."
No.
Ronan shakes his head and corrects, "I can't let them."
Because he failed once already. Because this is his chance to do it right. Maybe Rhy will understand eventually, but until that day comes, he's going to have to stay out of the way. Ronan doesn't want to hurt him. He doesn't want to hurt anyone.
The silver orb cracks like an egg as Ronan's fist closes around it. When he opens it again, a shimmering cloud rises from it, a fine dust of glitter caught in the invisible current of the air. Ronan lifts his hand, palm up, and blows. Carried with his breath, the sparkling cloud tumbles gently toward Rhy's face. It's a beautiful thing. The most dangerous enchantment Ronan has in his arsenal.
"I'm leaving, Ronan," Rhy snaps when he has the audacity to continue. He simply doesn't know what else to say, as the anger grips him laced through with something too akin to grief, his shock at what's just happened compounded now by the shock of everything he apparently hadn't seen in Ronan, and he needs to step away. He needs to leave, now, before he does something he regrets even more than being here at all.
Rhy steps back, toward the door, only dimly noticing that Ronan is holding some sort of item. His vision feels narrow and too sharp, focused on the door handle over anything else, breaths coming fast and tense.
He registers the shimmering dust only barely, but instinct makes him put his hand up, covering his face with the crook of his elbow and flinching away, with a look at Ronan that is just as confused as it is alarmed.
Ronan doesn't make another move, letting the orb do its work. It needs nothing else from him, already dreamt so perfectly for its purpose.
It's a mindfuck. There's no avoiding it once it's detonated, its sparkling dust clinging like frost on Rhy's bronze skin. He can hold his breath, but that won't save him. He can shut his eyes, but that won't save him. It's already too late to run. The bewildering magic began dazzling Rhy before the thought to run could reach his legs.
Ronan waits until Rhy's panic has evaporated, along with everything else that occupied his mind just moments ago. Then he steps forward, the crease between his eyebrows etched with both pity and apology.
"You're alright," he gently assures Rhy, though the gesture is mostly for himself. Rhy has no space to question anymore whether he's alright or not. Ronan pulls him into a tight embrace, then eases him down onto one of the couches. It's not so unusual for the Summoned to meditate here, and from the outside, Rhy looks as though he's crossed into the Horizon. Ronan brushes away the dust that hasn't already vanished, then straightens and steps back to survey his work.
It's hard not to be hurt by Rhy's reaction, but at least it's gone now, along with the memory of the conversation that inspired it. Maybe Ronan can try again later to make him understand. Or maybe Rhy was never built to understand him.
Ronan sighs and turns away, slipping out of the room.
Whatever happens, it happens too quickly-- or not at all. Rhy is aware, very suddenly but also rather dimly, of Ronan's arms around him, the solid press of his body guiding him, the familiar voice in his ear. He relaxes, sinks into the cushions, while his body catches up with the new calm in his mind and the physical reactions of shock and anger melt away bit by bit.
He becomes aware of the room sometime later. Unable to figure out how he'd ended up in it, Rhy stumbles out, and is almost immediately swept up again in the dark, frantic mood of the castle and the other Summoned, especially Kell. When asked where he was, he can't really answer, but considering all that's happened, Rhy vaguely blames the shock and possibly some of those Ikorr drinks catching up with him belatedly. Difficult to tell. Difficult to care, when he is so distracted. He doesn't think about it again for a long while.
Ronan is with the trees. There aren't many of them within the walls of the castle, but a ring of them are crowded in the courtyard, bent like conspirators with their heads bowed together. Knelt in the center of this gathering is Ronan, posed like he's somewhere between prayer and study, listening intently to the soft rustling of leaves in the late summer breeze. Nothing about this scene is unusual for him, save his expression, which is more grim and intentional than it's looked in a long while.
It's difficult for the trees to report on the Free Cities. The Cities were constructed in a dead place, reliant on technology because nature there has already been sucked dry. There are only a few trees that can relay information from the desert, and they have to be very lucky to catch anything of use. Still, Ronan discusses their observations with their worried cousins here in Thorne, responding in his strange and archaic native language, long forgotten by anything that walks on two legs.
Hennessy's approach interrupts the meeting. The leaves go silent and so does Ronan, just before he turns to look at her over his shoulder. It's never quite stopped feeling like she might stick a knife in his back, if he gives her the chance.
She's not interested in sticking a knife in him, though she's brought FROM CHAOS along with her in light of recent tensions. If a war's going to break out she's coming at least marginally prepared. In truth, she's half expecting to be kicked out of Thorne any day now, and there's nothing else she can't replace, though it'll take more work than dreaming it without Ronan to watch her back.
Right now she'd just hoped to catch him without his looming other half attached. Once he notices her, she steps into the ring of trees and tries to ignore the sense that they might've been gossiping about her.
"Should I come back later? I'm not interrupting anything private, am I?"
"We were just talking about what a shithead you are," Ronan answers, because she left that wide open. But whatever conversation he was having with his deciduous friends, they've all obviously decided it's over for now. The next time the leaves stir, it's only the ordinary breeze creating ordinary sound.
He gets off his knees, brushing away the grass clinging stubbornly to the rich fabric of his clothes. He's dressed β as usual these days β for strolling royal palace corridors, not traipsing around in nature. Nevertheless, he does the latter more and more since Nocwich. He does a lot of things he shouldn't be doing more and more since Nocwich.
"What's up?" he asks Hennessy, because he knows she didn't come all the way out here for no reason and she's been weird as fuck for a while now.
Hennessy makes a face and lazily flips him the bird for that retort; she's not even especially offended, but he could've waited to hear just how she's been a shithead this time.
At his question, she makes a show of examining her metallic purple nails as though it didn't matter, like she was just here for lack of anything better to do. They both knew better, but she needed the illusion or she wasn't going to start.
"Thought you should know something before anyone else finds out. About Nocwich, and that spell that went wrong."
She still thinks she'd made the best choice she knew how; it just happened to have been the wrong one. Should've stuck to making bad life choices on purpose, honestly.
The humor immediately dissolves from Ronan's face. He knows it's going to be bad because Hennessy's pretending it isn't. He knows it's going to be bad because it's Hennessy.
"You didn't."
Of course she did. Of course she fucking did. Why wouldn't she sabotage the whole thing. It's Hennessy. Sabotage is what she does. He's an idiot. He's such an idiot for trusting her.
She didn't sabotage it on purpose this time, and frankly she thinks she deserves credit for that. And for exercising some manner of caution in the first place.
"Before you say a word, I just want it on the record that I wasn't trying to get anyone hurt. I was, in fact, trying for the opposite of that. Who just goes along with a secret spell they're supposed to take part in without letting anyone see?"
Would she have done it if Ronan had been the one to hand her the card? Probably, yes, even as indifferent to Thorne as a concept as she is. He's earned it; random courier #5 hadn't.
She really did it. She's the reason this all went to shit. She's the reason hundreds or thousands of people are dead. Hennessy.
"It's always the same fucking story with you."
Risk-taking and widespread destruction are just fine with Hennessy when she's doing it for fun, but when it comes to doing the right thing? It's like she's allergic to saving the world. Like she only knows how to end things.
Now that she's sparked the fire, Ronan can't stop. The heat moves from his face to his fists, clenched tight and ready to swing.
Again, the leaves rustle overhead. Seen, they warn him. Greywaren, you will be seen.
And they're right. If he lunges at Hennessy, the commotion will draw the guards, already on high alert for strange behavior from the Summoned. He needs to scale this back.
"You knew we were on a mission," he hisses darkly, forcing his fingers to unwind. "Why did you come if you were just gonna pussy out?"
Her fingers twitch and she clenches her hands into fists to keep from going for her sword. She's not here to stab him, though the desire to take everything straight to eleven and finally get this over with is there, dimly, in the back of her mind. One day the other shoe was going to drop and they'd have an honest go at each other.
She hadn't meant for this to be that day.
"You weren't there. I had to make a choice, and the last time I just went along with what a stranger told me to do you ended up dying, or do you only recall that when it's a convenient way to try and cut me down?"
It's probably fighting dirty to use it just the way she accused him of doing, but when had they ever done anything else?
She doesn't get to rewrite history like that. Ronan stalks forward, not to attack, but to parry her lies.
"You didn't just go 'along with' the Mods. You know damn fucking well that wasn't the reason you killed the ley line. You were pissing yourself and looking for the first excuse to ruin everything. Just like you're doing now."
Hennessy is so tired of having this same argument. It didn't matter if there was enough truth in what he said to make her feel shitty all over again; she was tired of living a life where she had to be so fucking careful not to put a foot wrong. Had she subconsciously wanted to ruin things? Maybe. She hadn't thought so at the time, but maybe. It's not as though she can go back in time and ask herself.
"At least I have the conviction to make my own shitty choices. Do you enjoy unquestioningly following orders, or are you just far enough up Kylo's ass that you no longer have to?"
She knows she's being unfair; Ronan had worked to earn his own status in Thorne, but right now she's just trying to find a barb that hurts. She's not sure why she'd been stupid enough to try to come to him as a friend to begin with; they weren't anymore, were they?
For a moment, Ronan just stares at Hennessy. Then something shifts in his expression. It begins with his eyes, their blue intensifying like a flash of lightning as they narrow. A mirthless smile tugs at his lips, drawing across his face until his teeth are bared and ready to snap at her.
But he doesn't snap. He laughs.
It's an ugly, cruel sound. It cuts through her accusation like a knife. Because she isn't just wrong in her assumption. She's wrong about all of it. So far off the mark she's as good as blind.
Just as quickly as his laughter erupted, it dies. "You wish," he says, his voice even darker than usual. "Wouldn't that be so much easier for you? You don't have to think about how bad you're fucking me if you can tell yourself you're fucking them. That's how you can pretend it wasn't me you were trying to get rid of all along."
His gaze flicks, then, to something behind Hennessy. Someone behind Hennessy.
"What do you think?" he asks β but he isn't asking Hennessy. "Have I made my choice or am I your mindless pawn?"
Kylo (for indeed it is his menacing shape that has slid into focus somewhere over Hennessy's shoulder) stands exactly where he is, arms folded and face heavy with an expression of distinctly unamused curiosity. Drawn to the drama of the scene by the writhing tangle of emotions Ronan's unwilling ward always seems to inspire in him and infuriatingly capable of appearing without warning despite his overlarge size, it's impossible to tell just how much of the conversation he was witness to. Perhaps, considering his peculiar set of abilities, it's irrelevant. He knows enough.
"I think," he says, somehow both cool and irritable at the same time, "that if you were my mindless pawn I would spend less of my time waiting for you."
It's Hennessy he has his eyes on, though. Either he knows exactly what she's done, or he's been waiting for her to do something like it all this time.
It's hard -- not entirely impossible, but difficult -- to intimidate Hennessy, considering most days she genuinely would rather tempt death than have a serious conversation, which this is rapidly becoming. Still, she's always been half-convinced that Kylo's going to murder her sooner or later. She doesn't even blame him, much. But she does resent the fact that he can still intimidate her with his sheer presence sometimes, without even the direct threat of murder on the table.
She's not sure yet whether it is or not, which just makes her meaner. Uncertainty is the worst.
"Sorry, am I keeping Ronan from something more important than confessing my sins? Important wizarding business? Orgy to which I've sadly not been invited?"
She shoots Ronan a resentful look as though somehow she's the one who's been betrayed. She doesn't know for sure whether or not he's telepathically summoned Kylo here, but given the latter's status as a mind-reader, it seems reasonably likely.
Ronan returns that look with a shitty grin, refusing to reflect the same resentment she's directing his way. Hennessy doesn't have a right to hate him. He's done everything he could to try and save her, though all she's done is kick and scream and murder him over it.
It ends now.
"You're all out of second chances," says Ronan breezily as he shoulders past her to join Kylo instead. Whether or not Ronan intended to summon him, he's glad Kylo's here now, because it takes the burden of the decision off his own shoulders. Hennessy can confess to Kylo in her own words, if she likes, or she can stand there like an idiot while Ronan and Kylo deliberate her fate. Either way, Ronan is spared the agonizing question of whether to betray the person who is always betraying him.
Nothing about Ronan's acidic tone or sharp words gives any indication he needs or wants anything from anyoneβ but Kylo, at least at rest, is perhaps more accurately a reader of hearts than minds. As Ronan pushes past Hennessy to take his place at Kylo's side, Kylo unfolds his arms. A hand settles, lightly but not idly, at Ronan's back. He assesses Hennessy. He weighs Ronan's heart.
What does Ronan truly want him to do?
"I was waiting for Ronan to bring me anything he learned from the trees about the situation beyond our borders," he decides to inform Hennessy.
Our borders. He chooses his words deliberately. His eyes never lose their focus on Hennessy's face.
"The mages don't know yet how it was accomplished and after this and Oliver's assault last year some among them believe the enemy must have an agent in the Castle. Were you responsible, Hennessy? For any of it. I can't help you if I don't know."
The problem with it all is that Hennessy doesn't want Kylo's help; not merely for Ronan's sake. She's tired of being indebted to someone who'd just as soon kill her if Ronan said the word. She'd rather take her own chances with Thornean justice and die with her pride intact.
For a moment her eyes flash defiance and she looks ready to spit in both their faces. But she's not going down for something she didn't do, not the way she's being accused of. Lord knows she's done enough all on her own.
"I fucked up the spell, but I'm not anyone's spy. Wouldn't you have picked up on it by now if I were, o mind reader who shares a living space with me?"
She may be petty, angry and half-suicidal most days, but she's not stupid.
Ronan doesn't need to be a mind reader to know that. Hennessy would be the world's shittiest spy, starting with her inability to take orders and ending with her complete lack of poker face.
"I think you fucked it up because you hate everything Thorne's trying to do. You want to kill the Singularity just like you killed the ley line. You're on Team Hennessy and all Team Hennessy cares about is wrecking everything."
And yet.
And yet he's praying Kylo doesn't take this to Jolene. Not because he vouched for Hennessy and he'll suffer the punishment, too, but because he wants Hennessy to be okay. He doesn't know why Hennessy is always trying to stop him from making sure she's okay.
What Kylo doesn't say is that he knows exactly what dreamers are capable of, and that if she wanted to conceal her actions from a telepath all she would have to do is imagine something that couldβ and for a few reasons, really. Mainly, it just isn't a good idea to put anything like that in her head. It doesn't serve him. Of course, it would also enrage her. Hennessy hates to be reminded of the abilities she could possess if only she could push past the Lace by herself, and while Kylo considers her lingering dysfunction some kind of affront to his own beliefs he has to admit it is... useful. If she were freed of her limitations while still harbouring this bitter mistrust of Thorne, he'd have little choice but to take care of the problem. And that could be complicated in ways he isn't willing to examine until forced.
Instead, he waits for Ronan to finish spitting venom of his own, looming solid and immovable. His eyes don't stray from Hennessy's face, and he speaks up swiftly once Ronan is done, cutting off the customary returning monologue full of empty bluster before she has the chance to unleash it.
"There isn't room for ambivalence," he says. "No neutrality. No middle path. If you are to surviveβ if any of us are to survive, Thorne must prevail. Do you understand?"
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abraxaslogs2022-09-03 06:16 pm
for rhy
It's a speech Bryde might have given. A speech Ronan would have given. He nods along with the Queen's words, his eyes bright and furious. The Free Cities have proven themselves to be no better than the Moderators, and if Ronan has learned anything, it's that he should have wiped out the Moderators when he had the chance. It's not a mistake he intends to make twice.
"We will prove them wrong. If they wish a war, so be it. But it is a war that they will lose."
"Damn fucking right," Ronan hisses under his breath, fists clenched as if he's ready to throw a punch. But Thorne's way ahead of him. The magical window opens before the assembled Summoned, Thorne's wrath on full display for them, and Ronan's eyes light with the fire's relfection. It's all happening again, and this time, he refuses to sleep.
None of them are called to battle then and there, but as Ronan turns to follow the crowd out of the throne room, he looks ready to march. His jaw is set, something dark and hungry in his expression. He doesn't share the horror that seems to have seized most of the Summoned. He's glad that Thorne is finally waking up.
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He walks out with the rest of them, excusing himself from Kell. Breathless. His heart is pounding, but the feeling is far away. The revelry and drink feels so long ago, but his stomach still remembers it was only a couple of hours, and turns unpleasantly.
He hadn't seen Ronan's face, or the light in his eyes. Perhaps, if he had, Rhy wouldn't have followed him. He isn't thinking; he isn't going anywhere in particular. It's just that he sees the familiar shoulders, and he turns when Ronan does, and sees him there.
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Without it, there's only the fire. In spite of Hennessy's best efforts, it was never extinguished, and now it's flaring up again. Old habits. Ronan forces his hands to uncurl at his sides, fingers splaying to graze the ambient energy in the air around him as if running over the surface of water. Everything is different here. The line between dream and reality hardly exists in this world. He won't allow the Free Cities to take this from him.
His fingers catch on Rhy's energy β the delicious thrum of the Singularity coursing through his veins β before he catches sight of Rhy himself. Ronan turns to look at him, not quite smiling but shining with a feeling far removed from the mournful daze of the others. After all, he was made for war.
"Rhy," he says, reaching for his lover's hand, mistaking the look on his face for fear. "It's okay. I'm here."
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It's impossible for him to place Ronan's expression; his mind simply skims over it, unable to process the harsh juxtaposition of the light in Ronan's eyes with the heaviness inside his own heart.
"Could you tell?" Rhy's voice is tight and forced. "Where that was?"
He hasn't been able to reach Jaskier. Kell is surely trying to contact Jayce. Right now, Rhy has decided to leave him to it, not wanting to add to the chaos all the others are surely experiencing.
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For now, it's of little importance to him. All that he knows is that it's the place where his enemies were, and where his enemies are no longer.
Softening, he reaches with his other hand to caress Rhy's cheek.
"Don't be scared. I'll protect you. I can protect everyone here. Whatever they try next, there's no match for me. Believe me, humans have tried."
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He feels sick.
"It's not myself I'm afraid for."
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And, as Rhy knows by now, he is not one to give a promise lightly.
It doesn't occur to him that Rhy's worries might lie elsewhere, beyond the Summoned standing around them here. Ronan abandoned his concern for the rest the moment they abandoned him.
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Rhy squeezes back, nodding. He finally lifts his head to really look at him, and though he's still feeling kind of ill, some of the capacity for the rest of all of the emotions vying for space inside his chest is also slowly returning. As is the anger.
"I know you'll do everything you can to keep us safe." And he appreciates it, truly. But--
"But Queen Ellya just set a whole city ablaze in a moment. Thousands of people are waking up right now to find they are at war, and those are the lucky ones. Not to mention the others, in Cadens--"
There is so much to process, from a personal standpoint -- he is worried for his friends, of course, and for Jaskier especially -- as well as from a sort of existential one, the slow dread dawning that this is real, innocent people are burning and dying in the streets somewhere in the desert and it's all so far away but also they'd just watched it happen. The malicious demonstration still sits all wrong in his stomach, but so does the murder, and the attack on the delegates in Nocwich. The fact that it had all happened so fast leaves him reeling.
"Saints, how can you be so calm right now?"
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No. There's no fear within him, no sorrow or panic. He feels like he's standing on the edge of a cliff, facing the sunrise, wings outstretched and preparing to take flight.
"All this time," Ronan muses, "we've just been sitting here with a target on us. How many times have we looked the other way? When they broke into our castle and enchanted everyone here. When they convinced half of us to betray the rest. When they tried to murder us during the Dimming and starve the Singularity. I thought Thorne might keep letting it happen. For the sake of peace."
Ronan practically spits the word. Peace. Peace for the rest of the world never means peace for him. It means a muzzle and shackles, exile and decay.
He meets Rhy's eyes, fierce and alive. "We aren't waiting to die anymore," he continues. "We can finally save the world."
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Some of what Ronan references is from before Rhy was Summoned, but he knows the basics, both from Ronan and a couple others, not all of them in Thorne. He knows, vaguely, about the strangers who pulled half the Summoned from the dungeons where they'd been imprisoned for no apparent reason. Not the sort of situation where people would have needed much convincing to betray their jailers. But Rhy wasn't there; he doesn't know what happened firsthand. That isn't what he wants to focus on.
Ronan can have his opinions on what the duties of the Summoned are. If he was betrayed by friends who left Thorne then, Rhy cannot blame him for it. Neither can he blame him for the bitterness and pain caused by those who had hurt him and Kylo when they'd gone to defend the Singularity when it had Dimmed. Rhy is under no illusion that he knows all the details.
The thing is, it doesn't matter. None of it, to him, justifies a mass strike without warning or even formal declaration of war, by the looks of it over a city, not a military camp. Likely largely on civilians.
"Is this what saving the world looks like?"
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Human. Rhy has only ever been human, Ronan is suddenly reminded. The magic within him exists only because of a bargain, and as Ronan learned from Adam, such a bargain isn't strong enough to align human interests with the well-being of the world. Not even love was strong enough to do that.
"Yes," he answers, his voice low yet unwavering. His certainty in that answer comes down like a hammer. "This is what it takes to save the world from them."
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He's not talking about Thorne's approach to the Singularity as a whole versus that of the Free Cities. He's not talking about their ideology, or even their longstanding animosity and conflict. The politics surrounding all of this are far more complex and far-reaching. But just now, what had happened, had been one decision, made unilaterally by one person with too much power and no desire to heed the consequences that her actions will cascade upon her own lands, not to mention the innocents in others.
It was reckless, irresponsible, and cruel. Not at all the action of a ruler, in his mind.
"This isn't part of saving anyone." The flash of anger is there and gone, wavering as he adds, "It's only going to get worse from here. Much worse, I think..."
It's only now that he's beginning to realize what the look he hadn't been able to place was, earlier, in Ronan's eyes. Perhaps it is excitement. Or, worse-- hunger.
He wants this.
Rhy resists the sudden urge to pull his hand away, squeezing it again instead. His heart beats too-fast in his ears, fear and disappointment mingling with the confusion, leaving him a little breathless, wide golden eyes searching Ronan's face.
"Don't you see that?"
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What neither of them understand is that the world can't be saved without breaking something. And Ronan refuses to be the one that breaks.
"Rhy," he sighs, tracing his thumb down the sweet prince's cheek. Ronan has sympathy for the pure-hearted, the naive and the soft. He adores them, as he adored his mother and still adores his little brother. People like this are the ones that need protecting. They are the reason a monster like Ronan has to exist at all.
"None of this would have happened if we'd made a move sooner. And if the Queen chose to turn the other cheek just now, we would be the ones to burn instead. The longer we wait, the worse it gets. Believe me. I know. Doing anything other than this would have just left us open to something more terrible."
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"The mage's assassination is unconfirmed. Unless we're not being told something extremely vital, there's no evidence this was a move from the Free Cities. Maybe it will turn up. Maybe not. The point is that the queen acted rashly, she made the first strike, and this is what leaves this country open to something more terrible. Please don't act like this was the only choice just because it is the one that was made."
He keeps his voice low; he's not that foolish, even if he is upset.
"More lives will be lost on Thornean soil because of this, not fewer."
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Relieved that Rhy doesn't flinch from his touch, he draws closer and brushes his lips against Rhy's temple. He doesn't want to fight about this. He just wants Rhy to understand. No one ever seems to understand.
He continues, barely above a whisper, "It was the best choice."
Retreating just enough to look into his eyes once more, Ronan lets go of his hand so that he can cradle Rhy's face with both his palms.
"It's been more than half a year since they tried to kill me. Me. And they almost succeeded. You're thinking of the Free Cities like they're full of innocent people. They're not. They're military bases training a whole population to destroy the Singularity. To destroy me. To destroy you. I'm not sorry that they're getting what's coming to them."
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The I'm not sorry.
The what's coming to them.
And now, Rhy does pull away. He is shaking his head, mouth half-open, struggling to find the words to explain because these aren't concepts he thinks should need explaining. There are rules to war. There are boundaries. There are soldiers, and then there are civilians.
"Ronan--" Rhy shakes his head again, unsure if he should be getting angry, only feeling, for now, shocked. "You know it's not that simple. They're no more a whole population of soldiers than the Kingdom of Thorne is one of battle-trained mages. There are children there, women and elderly, all civilians. Mostly civilians, more thank likely. They're always mostly just people trying to get by, while those few with power wield their lives like game pieces. You saw the same thing I did. That was a city, not a military base. You think all those people deserve to die just because of the country where they live?"
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It's happening again. And how easy it was, this turn. As if Rhy was just waiting for a reason to see Ronan as the villain. He's taking every word out of Ronan's mouth and twisting it into the worst interpretation. As if Ronan relishes the murder of children. As if he himself struck the first blow.
Instead of dignifying that with an answer, Ronan lifts his chin and regards Rhy with icy disdain. He works his jaw until he's sure he won't bite, and then he utters coolly, "Nice to know what you think of me. Finally."
He should have known. Rhy never trusted him. And Ronan shouldn't have trusted Rhy. He's been a fool, thinking this bond could tether their hearts the way it did their souls, and in the meantime Rhy made a game of bedding every man in sight. It's a humiliation Ronan was willing to suffer while he could at least imagine Rhy placed him in high regard.
But no. Ronan was a plaything to him all along. And now Rhy is looking at him as if he's absolute garbage.
Ronan folds his arms, tucking his hands into the wide sleeves of his robe and hugging himself loosely. Abandoned once more. They're always leaving him. They always want him gone.
"Anything else you wanna know, while you're at it? Wanna ask how many babies I've eaten? How much virgin blood I bathe in? Since I'm such an evil piece of shit."
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"What?" He takes a step forward again, putting out a hand placatingly, a gesture of reaching for him without forcing Ronan to accept his touch when he's drawn into himself so hard, so suddenly. Rhy can see him clamming up, the way he hugs himself, the way the walls shoot up.
He's sympathetic, not because he agrees with what Ronan said but because he wants to understand, and to help Ronan understand why he's upset. None of this is simple or easy. No matter how much he condemns the queen's choice regarding what they'd all just witnessed, Rhy doesn't actually think the concept of war, as a whole, is black and white.
And he certainly doesn't think Ronan is evil.
"Ronan, please. I didn't say any of that. I don't think any of that. Come on. We can go somewhere more private and talk. Or tomorrow, after we both get some rest-- It's been a long night."
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"Somewhere private," he agrees begrudgingly, though he makes no move to draw close to Rhy again. He only ever gives somebody one chance to reject him, and as far as he's concerned, Rhy's had his turn and fucked it.
He unfolds his arms and starts immediately for Kylo's study. It'll be empty right now, Kylo off with his task force getting up to speed on the details. It'll be a safe place to finish this, and if there's a mess to clean up, he can trust Kylo to help him later.
The enchanted lock recognizes Ronan, of course, and the door opens for him without his even having to reach for the handle. Once he's led Rhy inside, the doors swing shut behind them and the lock clicks back into place.
"Tell me what you meant," Ronan says without glancing back to Rhy, staring at the far wall instead.
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In the meantime, what he can actually focus on is Ronan. They can talk about this.
He follows, slipping into the study. The silence here is all-encompassing. It makes the echo of his pulse feel even louder in his mind, all the thoughts feel harsher and heavier, the fears gripping his throat. Rhy takes a moment to just breathe and get used to the quiet, to figure out how he wants to say this.
"I'm not blaming you. I know you have good reasons to distrust the Free Cities and some of the Summoned there. To be clear, I'm not including the Summoned among the civilians. We've all made choices, however we could. Those who chose to go and attack others who've only been put in a similar situation without being asked, just as we were all brought here without being asked, are responsible for their decisions too."
He still doesn't really understand why Ronan took his denunciation of the queen's act so personally, and the only conclusion he can come to is that there's a fundamental misunderstanding somewhere. Surely Ronan wouldn't have been so upset and jump to the implication that Rhy thinks he's... eating babies or whatever, if he actually thought attacking innocent people unprovoked was a morally defensible choice.
Rhy sighs, fighting the urge to sink into the nearest chair. He stays on his feet for now, and though he doesn't approach, he pauses to appeal instead, softly.
"Ronan. Please, look at me. I don't think you're evil."
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Ronan doesn't look at Rhy. He walks toward the row of shelves where his various throwaway dreams are on display, dozens of beautiful and strange and useless trinkets dreamt for the sole purpose of keeping him alive one more day. Kylo keeps them all, because even these ridiculous little pieces of Ronan are too precious for him to discard.
This, he thinks, is what love is supposed to look like.
Ronan runs his finger over a peacock feather that emits a sound like a harp strum. "I've never killed anyone," he says, his voice wry, as if that's funny in hindsight. "It would have been so much easier if I did. Do you know how hard it is to destroy a world without killing anyone? I deserve a fucking medal."
He moves on, picking up a knife and poking the tip of it against the wall. The blade begins to melt like hot wax, dripping down slowly, then reforming into a blade when Ronan draws it back.
"Dreamers step lightly," he continues, echoing the words of his teacher. "That's the difference between us and humans. When a human blows something up, people die. They don't know how to do it any other way. It's sad, when you think about it. Sometimes all they get is a bunch of shit choices and they have to pick the least shitty. And people still die. The Greeks wrote a bunch of plays about it. Speaking of the Greeks..."
Ronan puts the knife down and finally turns around to face Rhy. There's another dream in his hand now β a silvery orb β and he fidgets with it between his thumb and forefinger.
"Did you know the Greek word for tragedy also means song? Which comes from the word for goat? Because the first songs were sung while sacrificing a goat. Humans don't know how to make anything beautiful without spilling blood. I feel sorry for them."
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He doesn't try to stop Ronan or distract him while the other man fiddles with his dreamed-up things on the shelf, golden eyes following Ronan's hands not because he thinks the objects have anything to do with the conversation but for the same reason he assumes Ronan is fidgeting with them in the first place: something to do, outside of their racing thoughts, the way Rhy grounds himself with his arms crossing in front of his chest in an unconscious self-soothing gesture. He wants to reach out; he doesn't.
"I never assumed you had," Rhy responds quietly. Killed anyone, he means. But his attention snags, brows creasing faintly, on the part about destroying a world.
There is so much about what Ronan is and what he does that Rhy can't understand. Rhy's never heard him talk about humans like this before, like some sort of creature entirely apart from the world. Like it somehow gives him the right to be above it all.
Rhy grows frustrated, verging on angry, the sort of real anger Ronan has rarely seen from him. There's an edge creeping into his voice despite his best efforts to hear Ronan out. The conversation has veered so far from what he thought they'd come here to work out.
"Maybe you're right," he agrees flatly. "What difference does it make? Human war, human casualties. You find it easier to separate yourself? Fine. If that's a choice available to you. Unfortunately, I am merely human, and it isn't so easy for me."
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"You'll always be fighting this war. It's the same one you've been fighting since the beginning of time. And even in a world like this, where magic is so alive, the Free Cities are already an industrial cesspit. The sooner they're wiped off the face of the planet, the better. Before they re-invent nukes and Zyklon B."
He's well aware Rhy has no idea what he's talking about, which is of course why he doesn't see where Ronan's coming from. He doesn't know what the stakes really are.
"At least Thorne serves a purpose. That psycho queen is standing between everyone else and the Singularity."
Ronan sighs, drifting closer to Rhy. "I really thought you might get it," he murmurs, his voice growing almost mournful. "You... You're as close to it as I am. I thought you loved it, too. But if you did, you'd care more about protecting it than you do about the people who will destroy it the second they get a chance. The same way they've done in every other world."
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"This isn't about the Singularity. This is about the innocent people dying needlessly for one woman's egotistical fit of rage. If you cannot see that, Ronan, I don't know how to explain it to you."
The disappointment cuts deep, his stomach a brick, throat raw.
It feels like a bad dream. That Ronan would be saying this, that he would think like this, after all his talk of saving the world. But it's not the world he cares about. Only the magic.
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How is that not clear? Not even that much? Is Rhy so blind?
"They're going to ruin everything the second they have the chance. We can't let them get one."
No.
Ronan shakes his head and corrects, "I can't let them."
Because he failed once already. Because this is his chance to do it right. Maybe Rhy will understand eventually, but until that day comes, he's going to have to stay out of the way. Ronan doesn't want to hurt him. He doesn't want to hurt anyone.
The silver orb cracks like an egg as Ronan's fist closes around it. When he opens it again, a shimmering cloud rises from it, a fine dust of glitter caught in the invisible current of the air. Ronan lifts his hand, palm up, and blows. Carried with his breath, the sparkling cloud tumbles gently toward Rhy's face. It's a beautiful thing. The most dangerous enchantment Ronan has in his arsenal.
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Rhy steps back, toward the door, only dimly noticing that Ronan is holding some sort of item. His vision feels narrow and too sharp, focused on the door handle over anything else, breaths coming fast and tense.
He registers the shimmering dust only barely, but instinct makes him put his hand up, covering his face with the crook of his elbow and flinching away, with a look at Ronan that is just as confused as it is alarmed.
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It's a mindfuck. There's no avoiding it once it's detonated, its sparkling dust clinging like frost on Rhy's bronze skin. He can hold his breath, but that won't save him. He can shut his eyes, but that won't save him. It's already too late to run. The bewildering magic began dazzling Rhy before the thought to run could reach his legs.
Ronan waits until Rhy's panic has evaporated, along with everything else that occupied his mind just moments ago. Then he steps forward, the crease between his eyebrows etched with both pity and apology.
"You're alright," he gently assures Rhy, though the gesture is mostly for himself. Rhy has no space to question anymore whether he's alright or not. Ronan pulls him into a tight embrace, then eases him down onto one of the couches. It's not so unusual for the Summoned to meditate here, and from the outside, Rhy looks as though he's crossed into the Horizon. Ronan brushes away the dust that hasn't already vanished, then straightens and steps back to survey his work.
It's hard not to be hurt by Rhy's reaction, but at least it's gone now, along with the memory of the conversation that inspired it. Maybe Ronan can try again later to make him understand. Or maybe Rhy was never built to understand him.
Ronan sighs and turns away, slipping out of the room.
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He becomes aware of the room sometime later. Unable to figure out how he'd ended up in it, Rhy stumbles out, and is almost immediately swept up again in the dark, frantic mood of the castle and the other Summoned, especially Kell. When asked where he was, he can't really answer, but considering all that's happened, Rhy vaguely blames the shock and possibly some of those Ikorr drinks catching up with him belatedly. Difficult to tell. Difficult to care, when he is so distracted. He doesn't think about it again for a long while.
for hennessy
It's difficult for the trees to report on the Free Cities. The Cities were constructed in a dead place, reliant on technology because nature there has already been sucked dry. There are only a few trees that can relay information from the desert, and they have to be very lucky to catch anything of use. Still, Ronan discusses their observations with their worried cousins here in Thorne, responding in his strange and archaic native language, long forgotten by anything that walks on two legs.
Hennessy's approach interrupts the meeting. The leaves go silent and so does Ronan, just before he turns to look at her over his shoulder. It's never quite stopped feeling like she might stick a knife in his back, if he gives her the chance.
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Right now she'd just hoped to catch him without his looming other half attached. Once he notices her, she steps into the ring of trees and tries to ignore the sense that they might've been gossiping about her.
"Should I come back later? I'm not interrupting anything private, am I?"
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He gets off his knees, brushing away the grass clinging stubbornly to the rich fabric of his clothes. He's dressed β as usual these days β for strolling royal palace corridors, not traipsing around in nature. Nevertheless, he does the latter more and more since Nocwich. He does a lot of things he shouldn't be doing more and more since Nocwich.
"What's up?" he asks Hennessy, because he knows she didn't come all the way out here for no reason and she's been weird as fuck for a while now.
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At his question, she makes a show of examining her metallic purple nails as though it didn't matter, like she was just here for lack of anything better to do. They both knew better, but she needed the illusion or she wasn't going to start.
"Thought you should know something before anyone else finds out. About Nocwich, and that spell that went wrong."
She still thinks she'd made the best choice she knew how; it just happened to have been the wrong one. Should've stuck to making bad life choices on purpose, honestly.
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"You didn't."
Of course she did. Of course she fucking did. Why wouldn't she sabotage the whole thing. It's Hennessy. Sabotage is what she does. He's an idiot. He's such an idiot for trusting her.
The leaves rustle overhead. Ronan takes a breath.
"What happened?"
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"Before you say a word, I just want it on the record that I wasn't trying to get anyone hurt. I was, in fact, trying for the opposite of that. Who just goes along with a secret spell they're supposed to take part in without letting anyone see?"
Would she have done it if Ronan had been the one to hand her the card? Probably, yes, even as indifferent to Thorne as a concept as she is. He's earned it; random courier #5 hadn't.
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"It's always the same fucking story with you."
Risk-taking and widespread destruction are just fine with Hennessy when she's doing it for fun, but when it comes to doing the right thing? It's like she's allergic to saving the world. Like she only knows how to end things.
Now that she's sparked the fire, Ronan can't stop. The heat moves from his face to his fists, clenched tight and ready to swing.
Again, the leaves rustle overhead. Seen, they warn him. Greywaren, you will be seen.
And they're right. If he lunges at Hennessy, the commotion will draw the guards, already on high alert for strange behavior from the Summoned. He needs to scale this back.
"You knew we were on a mission," he hisses darkly, forcing his fingers to unwind. "Why did you come if you were just gonna pussy out?"
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She hadn't meant for this to be that day.
"You weren't there. I had to make a choice, and the last time I just went along with what a stranger told me to do you ended up dying, or do you only recall that when it's a convenient way to try and cut me down?"
It's probably fighting dirty to use it just the way she accused him of doing, but when had they ever done anything else?
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"Bullshit."
She doesn't get to rewrite history like that. Ronan stalks forward, not to attack, but to parry her lies.
"You didn't just go 'along with' the Mods. You know damn fucking well that wasn't the reason you killed the ley line. You were pissing yourself and looking for the first excuse to ruin everything. Just like you're doing now."
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"At least I have the conviction to make my own shitty choices. Do you enjoy unquestioningly following orders, or are you just far enough up Kylo's ass that you no longer have to?"
She knows she's being unfair; Ronan had worked to earn his own status in Thorne, but right now she's just trying to find a barb that hurts. She's not sure why she'd been stupid enough to try to come to him as a friend to begin with; they weren't anymore, were they?
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But he doesn't snap. He laughs.
It's an ugly, cruel sound. It cuts through her accusation like a knife. Because she isn't just wrong in her assumption. She's wrong about all of it. So far off the mark she's as good as blind.
Just as quickly as his laughter erupted, it dies. "You wish," he says, his voice even darker than usual. "Wouldn't that be so much easier for you? You don't have to think about how bad you're fucking me if you can tell yourself you're fucking them. That's how you can pretend it wasn't me you were trying to get rid of all along."
His gaze flicks, then, to something behind Hennessy. Someone behind Hennessy.
"What do you think?" he asks β but he isn't asking Hennessy. "Have I made my choice or am I your mindless pawn?"
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Kylo (for indeed it is his menacing shape that has slid into focus somewhere over Hennessy's shoulder) stands exactly where he is, arms folded and face heavy with an expression of distinctly unamused curiosity. Drawn to the drama of the scene by the writhing tangle of emotions Ronan's unwilling ward always seems to inspire in him and infuriatingly capable of appearing without warning despite his overlarge size, it's impossible to tell just how much of the conversation he was witness to. Perhaps, considering his peculiar set of abilities, it's irrelevant. He knows enough.
"I think," he says, somehow both cool and irritable at the same time, "that if you were my mindless pawn I would spend less of my time waiting for you."
It's Hennessy he has his eyes on, though. Either he knows exactly what she's done, or he's been waiting for her to do something like it all this time.
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She's not sure yet whether it is or not, which just makes her meaner. Uncertainty is the worst.
"Sorry, am I keeping Ronan from something more important than confessing my sins? Important wizarding business? Orgy to which I've sadly not been invited?"
She shoots Ronan a resentful look as though somehow she's the one who's been betrayed. She doesn't know for sure whether or not he's telepathically summoned Kylo here, but given the latter's status as a mind-reader, it seems reasonably likely.
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It ends now.
"You're all out of second chances," says Ronan breezily as he shoulders past her to join Kylo instead. Whether or not Ronan intended to summon him, he's glad Kylo's here now, because it takes the burden of the decision off his own shoulders. Hennessy can confess to Kylo in her own words, if she likes, or she can stand there like an idiot while Ronan and Kylo deliberate her fate. Either way, Ronan is spared the agonizing question of whether to betray the person who is always betraying him.
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Nothing about Ronan's acidic tone or sharp words gives any indication he needs or wants anything from anyoneβ but Kylo, at least at rest, is perhaps more accurately a reader of hearts than minds. As Ronan pushes past Hennessy to take his place at Kylo's side, Kylo unfolds his arms. A hand settles, lightly but not idly, at Ronan's back. He assesses Hennessy. He weighs Ronan's heart.
What does Ronan truly want him to do?
"I was waiting for Ronan to bring me anything he learned from the trees about the situation beyond our borders," he decides to inform Hennessy. Our borders. He chooses his words deliberately. His eyes never lose their focus on Hennessy's face.
"The mages don't know yet how it was accomplished and after this and Oliver's assault last year some among them believe the enemy must have an agent in the Castle. Were you responsible, Hennessy? For any of it. I can't help you if I don't know."
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For a moment her eyes flash defiance and she looks ready to spit in both their faces. But she's not going down for something she didn't do, not the way she's being accused of. Lord knows she's done enough all on her own.
"I fucked up the spell, but I'm not anyone's spy. Wouldn't you have picked up on it by now if I were, o mind reader who shares a living space with me?"
She may be petty, angry and half-suicidal most days, but she's not stupid.
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Ronan doesn't need to be a mind reader to know that. Hennessy would be the world's shittiest spy, starting with her inability to take orders and ending with her complete lack of poker face.
"I think you fucked it up because you hate everything Thorne's trying to do. You want to kill the Singularity just like you killed the ley line. You're on Team Hennessy and all Team Hennessy cares about is wrecking everything."
And yet.
And yet he's praying Kylo doesn't take this to Jolene. Not because he vouched for Hennessy and he'll suffer the punishment, too, but because he wants Hennessy to be okay. He doesn't know why Hennessy is always trying to stop him from making sure she's okay.
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What Kylo doesn't say is that he knows exactly what dreamers are capable of, and that if she wanted to conceal her actions from a telepath all she would have to do is imagine something that couldβ and for a few reasons, really. Mainly, it just isn't a good idea to put anything like that in her head. It doesn't serve him. Of course, it would also enrage her. Hennessy hates to be reminded of the abilities she could possess if only she could push past the Lace by herself, and while Kylo considers her lingering dysfunction some kind of affront to his own beliefs he has to admit it is... useful. If she were freed of her limitations while still harbouring this bitter mistrust of Thorne, he'd have little choice but to take care of the problem. And that could be complicated in ways he isn't willing to examine until forced.
Instead, he waits for Ronan to finish spitting venom of his own, looming solid and immovable. His eyes don't stray from Hennessy's face, and he speaks up swiftly once Ronan is done, cutting off the customary returning monologue full of empty bluster before she has the chance to unleash it.
"There isn't room for ambivalence," he says. "No neutrality. No middle path. If you are to surviveβ if any of us are to survive, Thorne must prevail. Do you understand?"