Eliot Waugh (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
eliotwaugh) wrote2019-09-07 11:57 am
eliotwaugh) wrote2019-09-07 11:57 am
Entry tags:
Went Down Again Headfirst | Arrival in Darrow (for Martin)
They make their farewells, and even this type of epic literary leave-taking can't dampen the buoyancy of the mood, not really, after all they've won! It's quite literally a miracle! Still, Eliot's expression is serious as he pulls Quentin into a hug.
"Never doubted you for a moment, Q," he says, patting his back. "Well. Maybe just a moment. But you pulled it off! And not a moment too soon, as they say." He looks up at the sky, marveling at the snowflakes. It's cooling off fast, after the brutality of that dire, endless summer. And now it's time for things to change.
Quentin shrugs, and gives a smile that does nothing to hide how tired he looks. "I guess I'm not the fuckup everyone always thought."
"Oh don't be like that, you know we never thought of you like that." He thinks a moment. "Well I didn't at least, I can't speak for Janet."
Janet looks over upon hearing her name and gives Quentin a brief nod. It's hard to read.
“In any case,” he continues, “best of luck out there, we'll try not to trash the place in your absence, et cetera.” And then, because this is the end, he clears his throat and kisses Quentin on the cheek. “Love you. You're going to be amazing.”
Quentin, in classic fashion, fumbles at the sentiment before answering, red-faced, with a “-you too!” and Eliot scoffs.
“I know. Now get out of here, you've got your own adventures to do.”
If his mood is a little less excitable after Quentin and Alice and Julia leave, it doesn't worry him. He and Josh continue chatting about architectural improvements as they make their way to the entrance to the castle. The gates are askew, huge chunks of masonry strewn in the courtyard, and the survivors, bewildered but whole, already trying to get things back in order.
And then of course, there are the bodies of the fallen. Eliot pulls up short, somber, at the sight of it and the thought that here, in place he'd done so much to protect, it all almost ended in such mindless violence.
He straightens the crown on his head. “First things first,” he says, addressing Plum and his fellow royals with all his High Kingly gravitas. “We bury the dead. We will mourn, and then we will rebuild.” A breeze swirls through the courtyard at that moment, dramatically sweeping the snow flurries in spiraling eddies. Time to get to work. He takes the stairs to the keep two at a time, and then-
A sensation of falling, like he's missed a step, and it feels like that because he has and he is, and before Eliot can register any more than that he's landed, sprawled facedown on the sand.
Sand. Sand? It doesn't make sense, and he's jarred enough by the impact that for a second that's all he can think about, it doesn't make sense, there is sand in his mouth and he spits, it doesn't make sense, and he struggles to his hands and knees.
There is no snow, no evening light, no castle. This is somewhere else.
"Never doubted you for a moment, Q," he says, patting his back. "Well. Maybe just a moment. But you pulled it off! And not a moment too soon, as they say." He looks up at the sky, marveling at the snowflakes. It's cooling off fast, after the brutality of that dire, endless summer. And now it's time for things to change.
Quentin shrugs, and gives a smile that does nothing to hide how tired he looks. "I guess I'm not the fuckup everyone always thought."
"Oh don't be like that, you know we never thought of you like that." He thinks a moment. "Well I didn't at least, I can't speak for Janet."
Janet looks over upon hearing her name and gives Quentin a brief nod. It's hard to read.
“In any case,” he continues, “best of luck out there, we'll try not to trash the place in your absence, et cetera.” And then, because this is the end, he clears his throat and kisses Quentin on the cheek. “Love you. You're going to be amazing.”
Quentin, in classic fashion, fumbles at the sentiment before answering, red-faced, with a “-you too!” and Eliot scoffs.
“I know. Now get out of here, you've got your own adventures to do.”
If his mood is a little less excitable after Quentin and Alice and Julia leave, it doesn't worry him. He and Josh continue chatting about architectural improvements as they make their way to the entrance to the castle. The gates are askew, huge chunks of masonry strewn in the courtyard, and the survivors, bewildered but whole, already trying to get things back in order.
And then of course, there are the bodies of the fallen. Eliot pulls up short, somber, at the sight of it and the thought that here, in place he'd done so much to protect, it all almost ended in such mindless violence.
He straightens the crown on his head. “First things first,” he says, addressing Plum and his fellow royals with all his High Kingly gravitas. “We bury the dead. We will mourn, and then we will rebuild.” A breeze swirls through the courtyard at that moment, dramatically sweeping the snow flurries in spiraling eddies. Time to get to work. He takes the stairs to the keep two at a time, and then-
A sensation of falling, like he's missed a step, and it feels like that because he has and he is, and before Eliot can register any more than that he's landed, sprawled facedown on the sand.
Sand. Sand? It doesn't make sense, and he's jarred enough by the impact that for a second that's all he can think about, it doesn't make sense, there is sand in his mouth and he spits, it doesn't make sense, and he struggles to his hands and knees.
There is no snow, no evening light, no castle. This is somewhere else.