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Quentin Coldwater stared into space, taking in the solid black rock of the cave, built, he now knew, in order to restrain the powerful being possessing Eliot.
Eliot.
Another thing Fillory had taken from him, or at least it had taken the fantasy of what he and Eliot could’ve been. Quentin sighed loudly. The fifty most frustrating, thrilling and beautiful years he’d spent in Fillory with Eliot were mere vaporware, apparently.
Those were memories he couldn’t draw upon, which was very unfair, because he had seen the beauty of all life. Found the beauty in Eliot, the beauty he’d first seen in that moment when he was introduced to Brakebills.
In many ways, Eliot was like Fillory. So much promise, so much magic and beauty, but beyond Quentin’s grasp.
And yet, they had raised a son, hadn’t they? They’d spent decades together, focused on their goal. They were a good team. A great team.
Both had broken his heart, though, hadn’t they?
He’d told Alice he was going to stop trying to make everyone adhere to his ridiculous ideals, and he would. He had to even if she told him not to.
He loved her. Or loved the idea of her, anyway. Why couldn’t that be enough?
Turning his head, Quentin saw the first flower bloom in the Drowned Garden.
His chest knotted. Was that kind of love enough? In love with the idea?
“Guys?” Quentin called to Alice, Penny, and Plover.
He looked out toward the hall when he heard an all-too familiar voice.
“Q?”
Quentin’s breath stopped. It couldn’t be, not here. The Monster had control, and Eliot was buried in his evil, unknowable depths.
But as Quentin looked for the source of the voice, it came again, unmistakable. “Q? Q! It’s me. It’s Eliot. Don’t ignore me, Coldwater; I can fucking see you, and I don’t have long, I don’t think.”
Then Quentin spotted it: A huge, translucent flower blooming from a vine that had looked dead moments ago. He couldn’t exactly see Eliot—that was the wrong word—but the suggestion of Eliot’s dear, well-known features was so strong it was almost the same thing. The flower seemed imbued with Eliot’s essence, and his voice came from it clearly, making its diaphanous petals vibrate.
Quentin gave the entryway one last quick look; it didn’t appear that anyone was coming. Certainly, they hadn’t heard Eliot’s voice.
Taking a few steps toward the garden, Quentin knelt to really get a good look at the flower. “Are you…in the flower?”
He reached out to touch a petal in wonder. It was silky soft, like the curls of Eliot’s hair. Warm as it had been in the morning in the shack with Eliot sleeping in on their shared bed.
They’d been so focused on the mission that it hadn’t occurred to them to build another. Then they didn’t need another.
But that was all just a dream, wasn’t it? An illusion.
Quentin frowned as the flower started to wilt.
“In the flower?” Eliot’s voice sounded fainter now, tone on the verge of panic in that energetically neurotic way. “Q, you’re fading. Whatever you’re doing to fuck up right now, I need you to stop. Get out of your head.”
Get out of his head? If only.
“There’s a flower, I had to… there’s a… listen, it’s a long story, but I have to make this flower bloom with my love for Fillory so I can figure out maybe how to free you, and… how are you seeing me?” Quentin leaned in, bringing his eye up to the center of the orchid-like bloom.
Eliot’s melodic, sardonic laugh was the same as ever, and it seemed impossible Quentin had ever taken it for granted. For a long time now, he’d worried he’d never hear it again. “It’s magic, dumbass.”
After a beat, Eliot clarified, “Your face appeared in a window in my…happy place. I can see this delicate, pastel reflection of you. You’re not on the other side of the glass, just reflected in it, your face imposed alongside mine.” His breath hitched. “It’s kind of romantic, actually.”
Quentin paused, shifting his gaze to the side as he did when he wasn’t sure how to react to Eliot. He was so mercurial; Quentin was never entirely sure if Eliot was flirting or observing.
With Eliot as a flower, Quentin couldn’t judge his body language. Couldn’t see if Eliot was dreamy or drunk.
It didn’t matter.
“So you’re still in the monster.” Quentin touched one of the petals again, watching it light up gently under his finger.
He wasn’t sure what to say. It seemed like Eliot had complimented him, maybe, so he tried, “You make a nice flower.”
“Thanks, sweetie.” Eliot sounded droll, but his expression, at least what Quentin could perceive of it, was warm and pleased. “Listen, Q, if you’re done with being awkward, let’s get back to that ‘freeing’ me idea you mentioned. You need to make a flower bloom with your ‘love for Fillory’? I would protest that’s absolutely batshit, but…well. Fillory. What can I do to help you help me?”
“I don’t know. I thought you came here to talk to me.” Quentin sat back, pushing his hair from his face, frustrated again with the absurdity of it all. “Tell me why I love Fillory?”
“I didn’t go anywhere, Q. I’m still here. Monster party central. Whoo.” Eliot sounded so tired, but there was irrepressible energy humming beneath that weariness, the peculiar edge of mania that so often pervaded Eliot’s too-cool lassitude. “I saw your reflection, and I sensed your presence, and when I spoke to you, you answered me. Somehow, whatever delicate, exotic, undeniably sensual flower I showed up as, we’re having a telepathic moment.” He paused. “Or something.”
After a moment, Eliot drawled, “As for why you love Fillory, you love it because it’s where your heart is, Q. No matter how much Fillory has hurt or disappointed you, she’s your first love.”
Of course. That was so obvious. Fillory had been his first love. Half of his love for it was what he thought it would be, that it would be an escape, that he could be a hero.
But being a hero never went unpunished. That was reality.
Eliot knew him so well, sometimes eerily so. Was that why he was given access to Eliot?
As he thought on Fillory, the wondrous time he’d spent reading, imagining this world, another flower bloomed. Smaller, sweeter in a way, like a childish love might be. He let the thought fill him, closing his eyes, because ridiculous as this may be, he had to do it. He had to in order to save Eliot and Julia.
His love for them flowed, as complicated as it was for Fillory, and for Alice.
“Thanks, El.” Quentin opened his eyes and the plant had blossomed. “So much happened, and the longest I’ve ever spent here was…I guess it wasn’t really real.”
Eliot’s sigh carried Quentin back to those early days at the cottage, the constant frustration. Then he laughed, just a little. “It was real, Q. At least, as real as anything ever is. Maybe it wasn’t…who we’d be given the full range of options, but—and I’m waxing philosophical here, bear with me—when does anyone ever have a full range of options? We’re always making the best of the hand we’re dealt. And that hand…”
Eliot sighed again, softer this time, the way he’d used to sigh into Quentin’s hair as they lay curled together on that tiny cot at night. “Maybe I wanted to be dealt that hand. Maybe I wouldn’t have been above cheating my way into that outcome.” He sounded wine-drunk, which was nothing new for Eliot.
“You could ask Margo,” he added under his breath. “She’d tell you that.”
“I would, but she’s tending to Josh who is now a fish.” Quentin gave the flower a brief smile, not knowing what Eliot would even see. “We really were good together there. Whatever it was.”
And I miss you.
More flowers bloomed as he took a moment to just enjoy being with Eliot. As a flower, Quentin couldn’t see if Eliot rolled his eyes or looked uncomfortable. “It made me a better person. To share that, to share it with you. A whole lifetime to see the beauty. And we did, we solved it. I still feel it, part of me wishes things could be so simple again, but it’s not. There’s monsters and sisters, and Alice, we… I don’t know what we’re doing.”
Eliot’s tone was suddenly guarded. “Alice.” He stated it plainly, not a question, as if this was only a foregone conclusion.
The name chastened Quentin. He had blamed her for so much. More than was probably fair. He saw that now. “She’s been helping. She saved my life. She’s going to help us fight.”
They were reasons, valid reasons to have her there. But the kisses, the shared affection with Alice. He didn’t know what he was doing there, either. He wanted her to be part of his life, that much he knew for certain. How he wanted her… how he wanted Eliot… that’s where the dragons lay on the map of his heart.
“I should, um… we need to get you out of there, or die trying or something.” Quentin pushed up from the floor, gaze still on the flower. “But I um, if we die or whatever happens, I love you, El.”
No matter what, that was a constant. If he wasn’t sure how or what to do with that love, what he did know was that he undeniably felt it.
“Q…” Eliot’s anguish came through clearly despite the circumstances. “You know I love you too. I’m sorry I shot you down before, when you tried to tell me. I was… I was scared.” His shuddery breath made the flower tremble. “It will never be that simple again, and I… I don’t know how this works when things are complicated. I’ve been rehearsing this conversation in my head, and—”
Eliot fell silent. After a heartbeat he said with conviction, “I’m braver now, because of you.”
“I never doubted your bravery.” Quentin thought on how Eliot had worn the crown, how he’d moved forward with the marriage to Fen, how he’d embarked on the mosaic quest. He always seemed so sure of himself. It touched Quentin to think he influenced Eliot. “It’s my turn to be brave for you, get you out of the monster. Peaches and plums, motherfucker.”
Though Eliot had seemed on the verge of protest, at that, he made a soft, surprised sound. “Peaches and plums,” he echoed, and Quentin heard the smile in his voice. “Come and get me, lover boy.”
Should he say something about Alice? It hardly seemed the time to start that conversation, and Quentin wasn’t entirely sure how it was going to play out anyway, and—
Before he could say anything, the Drowned Garden bloomed. Not just his flower, but the entire garden, foxgloves, lilies, and peonies all around the orchids. A tropical wonderland.
“El?”
There was no answer but the scuffling sounds of Alice, Penny, and Plover running in.
“Q, you did it!” Alice ran to him and threw her arms around him in congratulations.
Quentin hugged her, already feeling awkward and unsure of the choices he’d made that had seemed so obvious before. “Yeah, we should um, get to work.”
Alice backed off briefly, giving him a concerned look before nodding and turning to the garden. “Yes, of course. Time is short.”
She eyed Quentin curiously, but he squatted down, focused on harvesting the plant. “This leaf should cure Josh.”