Maybe it had been the wrong choice, maybe it was why Hennessy had been able to win, to fuck the ley line. Maybe he'd been arrogant and the borders between reality and dreams had gotten too blurry. But it meant he was in Lindenmere when it happened. It was fading, but he thought it would have the power for what he needed. Whatever Hennessy had done took time to travel down the line, but it sapped its power. He didn't know what had happened to Bryde, and he couldn't do this alone. And who could he call?
When he steps into the dream it's on fire. Burning. Anything burns if you hit it hard enough. He needed someone that understood. Reality is just what other people dream for you; back then, Ronan had been the one that hadn't understood. He did now. It's a bomb, just like you-- when the molotov shapes itself into his fingers it's not really a conscious thought, it just is. This is his best shot at what he needs. Kavinsky, who had seen the truth before Ronan could face it. The other boy had wanted him, and Ronan had used him to fix Gansey's car.
His best dreams were so often memories.
"Please," he says to Lindenmere. Trying to shape his intention, what he needs, into a weapon. Like with the sundogs, except better. More honest. It has to be here, where the ley line had touched him, where Kavinsky had dreamed. The way when he'd died it had seemed like he was pulled from himself. If there was any spark of him, it was here. He layers memories on memories. A dragon made of fire, the moonlight white of a Mitsubishi, asphalt and stoplights and adrenaline races, the knife-sharp grin of a boy with white sunglasses sprawled on its hood.
"Hey," Ronan says, grinning merrily. He doesn't ask him if he still wants to burn the world; he lets the dream do the complicated talking for him, the fire in his eyes. He had to do this right. He needed Kavinsky, his only shot at being able to change the world, fix what Hennessy had ruined, make this place somewhere he could live, where people like him and Matthew could live.
For Kavinsky; Mister Impossible Spoilers;
Maybe it had been the wrong choice, maybe it was why Hennessy had been able to win, to fuck the ley line. Maybe he'd been arrogant and the borders between reality and dreams had gotten too blurry. But it meant he was in Lindenmere when it happened. It was fading, but he thought it would have the power for what he needed. Whatever Hennessy had done took time to travel down the line, but it sapped its power. He didn't know what had happened to Bryde, and he couldn't do this alone. And who could he call?
When he steps into the dream it's on fire. Burning. Anything burns if you hit it hard enough. He needed someone that understood. Reality is just what other people dream for you; back then, Ronan had been the one that hadn't understood. He did now. It's a bomb, just like you-- when the molotov shapes itself into his fingers it's not really a conscious thought, it just is. This is his best shot at what he needs. Kavinsky, who had seen the truth before Ronan could face it. The other boy had wanted him, and Ronan had used him to fix Gansey's car.
His best dreams were so often memories.
"Please," he says to Lindenmere. Trying to shape his intention, what he needs, into a weapon. Like with the sundogs, except better. More honest. It has to be here, where the ley line had touched him, where Kavinsky had dreamed. The way when he'd died it had seemed like he was pulled from himself. If there was any spark of him, it was here. He layers memories on memories. A dragon made of fire, the moonlight white of a Mitsubishi, asphalt and stoplights and adrenaline races, the knife-sharp grin of a boy with white sunglasses sprawled on its hood.
"Hey," Ronan says, grinning merrily. He doesn't ask him if he still wants to burn the world; he lets the dream do the complicated talking for him, the fire in his eyes. He had to do this right. He needed Kavinsky, his only shot at being able to change the world, fix what Hennessy had ruined, make this place somewhere he could live, where people like him and Matthew could live.
"It's just us," he says, like an echo.