Words that had echoed down through the dreams, through the strange paths that he has walked as he slept with his body tangled in the roots of a tree that loved him, old as some of the dreams that had so terrified the Moderators. He hadn't quite known what it meant at first the words running together, and it had been so long since he'd heard his name. Since any creature had called him something other than Greywaren, even if it felt like he'd been shit at it.
Ronan Lynch. Sweetheart. Dog. Princess--
Eventually the words started to make sense, the voice started to make sense. Dreamer. His Dreamer. He was so much a dream himself, so heavy with the energy of Illidorin's Ley Line, he'd been a King here for so long..
And then he was Awake.
There was a forest here now. Trees not as old or as wise as Illidorin, but they knew him. They whispered greywaren on their chill breaths, and Ronan found his way out from the forest, back to a world that felt strange and like it was someplace he didn't quite belong to. He almost thought that he'd stumbled into a nightmare at first, but nothing he did changed it, and he finally remembered what reality was like. A very large white night horror ambled after him, tongue lolling from its mouth as its eyes looked around in all directions to take in their surroundings and nuzzled into his shoulder.
Ronan shook his head, putting fingers to its skin. Was it the one from the 4th, or had he dreamt it? They were the same answer, in the end. He just shook his head, jerking his head back toward the forest. Stay-- He thinks it like he would in a dream, but one way or another it seems to get the intention and it ambles unevenly back between the tree trunks flapping its wings to shake them out.
He doesn't really remember how he gets to Kavinsky's. He just- followed the pull. Almost like a dream, but not quite. There's a long moment where he just looks at the other boy, like he's waiting for him to respond to the words he's thinking, and doesn't quite understand why he isn't. But eventually he frowns and slowly works his lips, a flick of pink tongue against his mouth. But it's guileless, like he hasn't spoken to anyone than trying to get his attention. His voice is a little strange, breathy and soft, like a whisper through the leaves. He pauses to try and make his words sound more like how he thinks his voice used to sound.
It's not that he seems older, but he seems tired, overwhelmed, almost confused. Out of sorts, someone who knew him might say, but it's different than that. Of course, for over two hundred years he isn't really doing badly. But it both has and hasn't been that long for him. In some ways it's been even longer. Time was a circle, moments were dewdrops on spider's thread. When they merged together -- when Ronan held them in his hands -- it was every moment and none of them. It was dreaming.
He frowns softly, a slight tilt of his head as he looks at Kavinsky standing in the doorway, like he thought that he knew the answer.]
I was.. you called to me. So I came to you.
[He says it simply, like truth, but like there's weight to it this time. How many times had Kavinsky called to him or reached out to him before, and Ronan had flinched from it? Scared or guilty or terrified? But Ronan had so many more dreams than he had before. And he doesn't have the same walls that he had before, like he was all sharp teeth and he'd bite first just to make sure no one hurt him. He's all soft edges and wide blue eyes, like just the world around them is sharp on his pale skin.
But he'd wanted something. Wanted it enough to burn the whole world for it. And Kavinsky had been part of that, not that Ronan intended to tell him.
What was the point of the world if the boy he wanted still felt like dying? He had thought he could apologize if he fought hard enough. Do whatever it took to give him a world where he could breathe. But that had been so long ago. Now... it was something different. Like something tied them together now. Like being awake came with a price; something he couldn't deny.
He's reminded strangely of Gansey's old dead Welsh King -- what would Kavinsky wish for?]
I was sleeping. For- a very long time. You woke me.
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Words that had echoed down through the dreams, through the strange paths that he has walked as he slept with his body tangled in the roots of a tree that loved him, old as some of the dreams that had so terrified the Moderators. He hadn't quite known what it meant at first the words running together, and it had been so long since he'd heard his name. Since any creature had called him something other than Greywaren, even if it felt like he'd been shit at it.
Ronan Lynch. Sweetheart. Dog. Princess--
Eventually the words started to make sense, the voice started to make sense. Dreamer. His Dreamer. He was so much a dream himself, so heavy with the energy of Illidorin's Ley Line, he'd been a King here for so long..
And then he was Awake.
There was a forest here now. Trees not as old or as wise as Illidorin, but they knew him. They whispered greywaren on their chill breaths, and Ronan found his way out from the forest, back to a world that felt strange and like it was someplace he didn't quite belong to. He almost thought that he'd stumbled into a nightmare at first, but nothing he did changed it, and he finally remembered what reality was like. A very large white night horror ambled after him, tongue lolling from its mouth as its eyes looked around in all directions to take in their surroundings and nuzzled into his shoulder.
Ronan shook his head, putting fingers to its skin. Was it the one from the 4th, or had he dreamt it? They were the same answer, in the end. He just shook his head, jerking his head back toward the forest. Stay-- He thinks it like he would in a dream, but one way or another it seems to get the intention and it ambles unevenly back between the tree trunks flapping its wings to shake them out.
He doesn't really remember how he gets to Kavinsky's. He just- followed the pull. Almost like a dream, but not quite. There's a long moment where he just looks at the other boy, like he's waiting for him to respond to the words he's thinking, and doesn't quite understand why he isn't. But eventually he frowns and slowly works his lips, a flick of pink tongue against his mouth. But it's guileless, like he hasn't spoken to anyone than trying to get his attention. His voice is a little strange, breathy and soft, like a whisper through the leaves. He pauses to try and make his words sound more like how he thinks his voice used to sound.
It's not that he seems older, but he seems tired, overwhelmed, almost confused. Out of sorts, someone who knew him might say, but it's different than that. Of course, for over two hundred years he isn't really doing badly. But it both has and hasn't been that long for him. In some ways it's been even longer. Time was a circle, moments were dewdrops on spider's thread. When they merged together -- when Ronan held them in his hands -- it was every moment and none of them. It was dreaming.
He frowns softly, a slight tilt of his head as he looks at Kavinsky standing in the doorway, like he thought that he knew the answer.]
I was.. you called to me. So I came to you.
[He says it simply, like truth, but like there's weight to it this time. How many times had Kavinsky called to him or reached out to him before, and Ronan had flinched from it? Scared or guilty or terrified? But Ronan had so many more dreams than he had before. And he doesn't have the same walls that he had before, like he was all sharp teeth and he'd bite first just to make sure no one hurt him. He's all soft edges and wide blue eyes, like just the world around them is sharp on his pale skin.
But he'd wanted something. Wanted it enough to burn the whole world for it. And Kavinsky had been part of that, not that Ronan intended to tell him.
What was the point of the world if the boy he wanted still felt like dying? He had thought he could apologize if he fought hard enough. Do whatever it took to give him a world where he could breathe. But that had been so long ago. Now... it was something different. Like something tied them together now. Like being awake came with a price; something he couldn't deny.
He's reminded strangely of Gansey's old dead Welsh King -- what would Kavinsky wish for?]
I was sleeping. For- a very long time. You woke me.