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 — a silvery orb — 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.
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abraxaslogs2022-09-03 06:16 pm
no subject
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."
no subject
"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."
no subject
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."
no subject
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?"
no subject
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."
no subject
"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."
no subject
"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.
no subject
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."
no subject
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 — a silvery orb — 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."
no subject
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."
no subject
"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."
no subject
"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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.