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ducunt volentem fata, nolentem trahunt
He loves heedlessly.
He glances quickly left and right and blows through the red light. There's a stretch of road he knows, just on the other side of the hill. Straight as an honest man's intentions, and if he lets his eyes go a little unfocused, it looks like the road goes on forever, into the distance, over or through the mountains and beyond.
Speed promises the potential to outrun everything, never quite fulfilled. But when the windows of the BMW are rolled down, and the noise of the road drowns out his thoughts, it seems possible. Everything seems possible. Life, death, finding Glendower. Escaping himself and his memories with a press of the pedal.
At the next red light, he doesn't look at all.
*
corvus oculum corvi non eruit
He loves gently.
Chainsaw is just as likely to nip his fingers as she is to take food out of them. Each bite reassures him that she is both a real raven and his purposeful creation. She steals from him -- candy wrappers, bottle tops, twist-ties, socks -- anything she can carry to the nest she’s made in the corner of his room. When he wakes in the night, the first thing he looks for are her eyes, nearly indistinguishable in the darkness, but still tiny sparks of light.
Awake now, again, he finds those sparks before he flips on the light near his bed. He knows she sees him, but she doesn't move. It's easier to sleep now than it used to be, because no terrors will follow him back unless he wants them to. He's had to get used to sleeping more like a normal person, with lights out and his head on a too-soft pillow.
He made Chainsaw to prove he could, to have something solely his. To pull something out of a dream by accident -- a pair of car keys, a nightmare, a little brother -- is different from a deliberate act.
It hurts him to think of her when he’s gone, a silent lotus-eater no longer moving, flying, snapping at a passing moth to crunch its wings in her beak. Or will she die before he does, reaching the end of her naturally unnatural lifespan? He's never known a dream-thing to die, but now he has to wonder, has to review every dead thing he's known in his life. Just as he's had to take stock of the living. The calico cat he remembered patrolling one of the barns. Did she die? Was she ever alive?
"Kerah," creaks Chainsaw, cocking her head at him.
"Yes," he agrees, and turns out the light.
*
factum fieri infectum non potest
He loves helplessly.
Matthew is one of the few things he holds in his heart. Where else was Matthew born from, if not Ronan's heart? His brother, more than blood, everything he and Declan are not. Sincere, sunny, lovable.
Declan always knew, of course. He'd been old enough to remember. One day, one brother. Next day, two brothers. Maybe the reason he hates Declan is because Declan look so long to tell him. Made him feel like a fool for not figuring it out.
Matthew comes to church every Sunday, kneels when he should, stands when he should, shakes hands when he should. Knows the Latin names for the parts of the mass and has even before he was an Aglionby boy. And when Ronan runs on automatic pilot, murmuring "Amen" and "With your spirit" at the proper times, he is thinking. Considering where in the rite there is a place for a being without a soul.
*
inveniet quod quisque velit
He loves completely.
Of course there there was a time before he knew the others. A time when it was just him and Gansey, when Gansey added the others one by one until the resulting pentagon. It doesn’t seem like it should be a stable shape, but they all lean on each other in twos and threes, and it works.
He loves Adam like he loves the taste of a dead language in his mouth. Nominative, vocative, accusative. So many rules and variations for both of them that Ronan ought to chafe against the bonds, but instead he tests them and butts up against them, figuring out ways to ease Adam’s life, excuses to touch him.
Impossible now to separate Adam from the others. Impossible to separate the flush of heat that rises in him at Adam's touch from the heart's clench at Noah's ghostly, marred face. The affection for Blue’s competence that he buries under the reflexive irritation she inspires in him.
And Gansey. There’s a word that comes to mind when he thinks too hard about Gansey, so he tries not to.
Gansey and Blue think they’re subtle, but all of them know now. They notice. How the two of them don’t touch unless they think no one’s looking. Someone is always looking. Even if they were completely blind, they can all sense the longing between the two of them. First Gansey knew about Blue’s prophecy, then Adam, and it propagated among them like a virus.
Maybe that virus causes madness, because when Blue lets it drop that she’s kissed Noah, Ronan can’t blame the alcohol for the mischievous impulse that prompts him. He could try, but he never lies, even to himself.
“What’s he feel like, Sargent? Still as the grave?”
He can see her make the decision not to let his needling bother her. “No, it was fine. Nice, actually.” She blushes and does not look at Gansey. Or Adam. They’re all distributed around the big open space that is Monmouth, yet close enough to touch.
Is it that same madness that pushes him farther? “You know, Gansey, if you kissed Noah, it would almost be like kissing Sargent.”
“That’s not funny,” Blue snaps. “Don’t even joke about that.”
“Break it down, then. Spread the love. If Adam kisses Noah, and I kiss Adam…”
"Kissing Noah isn’t high on my list, sorry." Adam stirs, and it may only be his imagination that he can smell Adam’s scent on the air.
"Scared?" he taunts.
Adam heaves a sigh, stands up, and steps over to Noah, leaning over him where he lies on Gansey’s bed. Noah pushes himself up on an elbow slightly less insubstantial than it was the moment before, as if he’s more energized, or Blue is reflecting more energy into him. Adam presses his lips to Noah's briefly, while Ronan lets his gaze linger on the strong muscles of Adam's arms, the way his pants pull tight with his movements.
As Adam pulls away, Ronan sees the smile cross Noah’s face. Next to him, Blue still blushes. She looks to Gansey for guidance, and the mix of wonder and anticipation on his face reassures them all.
Adam reaches for Ronan, calling his bluff. No, not a bluff, because everything he’s ever said to Adam, everything he’s allowed him to learn, he’s meant it. But it cuts through any bravado Ronan might have mustered, and surely Adam must notice his breath coming faster. He must feel it on his skin, as Ronan helplessly parts his lips and sighs at the first touch. He wants. He wants so much.
When he turns to Gansey, who has risen, he suppresses the urge to kneel, as if to receive a benediction. But it still feels like one; Gansey puts his hands on Ronan’s shoulders, leans in, and kisses Ronan. Ronan returns the kiss, heedlessly, gently, helplessly. Completely.
The word he won’t let himself think? Fealty.
Maybe it’s not that Glendower will grant their wishes, but that the quest for Glendower will answer all their needs.
He hopes Glendower never wakes.