marlowemuses | ❥ sometimes it's meant to be

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❥ sometimes it's meant to be

Charterhouse was one of the most elite, exclusive schools in England.

It housed only boys. Boys of all ages, from ones first learning to button their pants on their own to the ones that couldn't seem to keep their pants on when in interesting company. With a campus that covered more than 27,000 acres, the schools had plenty of room to be spread across. Rich, green grass and old fashioned cobblestone streets—it was the pride of the academic world. Rich in history and pedigree, only the cream of the crop could even glance at an application, much less apply and attend. It was a school for future politicians, royalty, and celebrities. The men bred from Charterhouse were said to be the most cultivated in the world.

And, naturally, the richest. Only those from a well-to-do family could attend Charterhouse. Which was why one Richard Campbell Gansey the Third was one among the golden—like his father before him, and his father before him. The Ganseys were internationally known. Mrs. Gansey: a popular and well-known politician in the United States of America. Mr. Gansey (the Second): an ambitious and clever member parliament. Helen Gansey: fashion entrepreneur and lawyer, likely to end up going into politics once she tired of running the runway.

Richard Gansey the Third: one could only wonder what the future POTUS would do. On the campus of Charterhouse he was a golden boy. Popular—captain of the crew team yet also quite an intellectual, spending a great deal of time involved in the expansion of the library and archiving old, important texts. He was the man that everyone liked and talked to. The laughs of Ganseyboy were oft heard throughout the marble halls of the College campus. Handsome—he was more American than most of his peers, having a presidential and charming look about him, with a perfectly golden sun-kissed tan. Thick brown hair swept back neatly almost always, a square build, gentle olive eyes, and a straight nose. The sort of man that entranced those who spoke to him; that wasn't even taking the velvety, almost magical quality of his voice into account.

What the members of his crew team could never figure out was why Richard Campbell Gansey "Ganseyboy" the Third was always single. Never spoke about his sexual conquests, never brought a girl along to parties (when he attended, reluctantly), never even so much as mentioned being interested in anyone. It boggled their minds. The man spent his time with his nose in dusty old books and wandering around old buildings so often that they had grown concerned; the guy should get laid. As friends, as bros, as fellow eventual members of congress of what-have-you, it was their duty to see their beloved Ganseyboy paired off. Or, at least, getting some kind of action in his youth.

Which was why there was a plan. A plan, and a bet that eventually formed because of that plan. A bet in which a lot of money was placed. For, the subject of their little game (along with good old Ganseyboy) was the iciest, coldest, most shut off of all the students. What was the point if there was no challenge? No doubt, among the boys involved in the bet, there were a few that had been spurned by the ice prince, too. Revenge was a sweet thing. Two birds with one stone: they got Ganseyboy laid and they burned the ice prince that had burned them. Or three—someone was bound to make a tidy profit.

When one of the boys approached the ice prince's brother about setting him up with the charming golden boy on campus, the man had launched at the opportunity—for the happiness of his brother, no doubt, and he was not told about the bet.

That was how it would begin. It was a Wednesday, around 4 in the afternoon, when one of the boys dragged Gansey toward the library. The rest of the boys had made sure it was empty. The one dragging him—Charles Defonte the Second—had begged Gansey for some tutoring in history. It was agreed with Laurent's brother that he would also manage to bring Laurent to the library somehow—and the two of them would be left there together to formally acquaint.

There was no tutoring. Charles shoved Gansey into the library in front of him and then shut the door behind him and locked it. "Oh no," the boy faked a gasp, "the door has gone and locked itself, Ganseyboy! A ghost, it's gotta be. I'll go get the janitor. Be back as soon as I have lunch and then find him!" Leaving a very confused Gansey staring at the door and trying to push it open, to no avail. Locked.

"Do you really think it's a ghost?" he said to no one, because Charles had run off to tell the boys that he'd done his part.

There was another door on the other side of the library that was left for the same to happen to Laurent. Unbeknownst to Gansey, who took a seat at one of the tables and glanced around, quickly. A curious time for there to be no one else in the library.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Luckily, Laurent's estimate of time was more or less correct. The documents had arrived the night before and were being kept in the basement, still sealed, and Gansey arrived around fifteen minutes later, paired with a leather-bound book tucked under one arm and a styrofoam cup of hot chocolate in the other.

It was also early enough that he hadn't bothered putting on his school uniform. His normal attire made him look like a young professor—the nerdy kind, in an endearing sort of way. A pastel blue polo paired with a tweed blazer, black pants, and loafers. Normally he didn't wear his glasses out but, as an insomniac, he hadn't fallen asleep until quite late... an hour of sleep made putting contacts in so early an irritation to weary eyes.

Spotting Laurent waiting, he perked out of his tired slump, offering a pleased smile. Making no comment about the other man joining him, Gansey simply greeted, "Good morning." The keys to the building jingled from the ring caught up in his fingers, and he somehow managed to maneuver enough to keep hold of the leather-bound book and hot chocolate both as he opened the door. Pushing it open with his shoulder, he left it open for Laurent to follow along.

"The others won't be by for a little while longer. I usually like to work without them for a while." There were indeed benefits to making friends with the faculty—it was more peaceful working without some of the history professors gasping every three seconds.

"Did you sleep well last night?"

The ghost of a smile flitted around Laurent's lips at the sight of Gansey. He looked charmingly rumpled and tired. The glasses and the fatigue took away the veneer of perfection and made him look human and flawed. He had some opinions about Gansey's eclectic wardrobe, though all of it was obviously expensive and fitted flawlessly to his well-formed body.

Laurent was dressed simply in the school uniform, which he wore at all times. It made things easier for him, because it drew less attention. His uniform was always flawless and crisp, collar closed and tie knotted, even in hot weather.

Extending a hand to hold the door while Gansey juggled everything he was holding, Laurent followed after him without comment. They reached another locked door, and this time, Laurent reached out and lifted the hot chocolate from his hand so that he could open the door without trouble.

Dropping his apple core into a waiting trash can, Laurent held out the cup as soon as the keys were back in Gansey's pocket, and walked forward to inspect the waiting scrolls. Most of them were still in boxes. Each scroll had already been carefully sealed between sheets of plastic, protecting the fragile parchment and vellum.

Utterly reverent, Laurent bent to study the ones on the table already. The light was low, and he felt incredibly privileged that their school was well-funded enough to have museum-quality archival lights and supplies. "This is Koine," he said, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. "I studied Attic. Do you read Greek?"

Gansey thanked Laurent for his help, and even though he didn't receive a response to his inquiry, he didn't seem too bothered. There were much more important things to think about—specifically, the beautiful scrolls they found upon reaching the basement. Truly they were lucky—even boys with power and influence weren't always able to get their hands on such important, rare documents. Charterhouse had its upsides, even if Gansey found the school to be fairly stifling.

Carefully, Gansey rested his book down on a clear desk along with his drink, not allowing it anywhere near the scrolls. The scent of dust, parchment, and ink was heavenly. Were he not destined for politics due to his parents' incredibly annoying expectations, Gansey would happily have planned to spend his life as a museum curator that spent a great deal of time exploring ruins.

When Laurent examined one of the documents Gansey stepped close to the other boy, peering down at the piece as he rubbed his thumb over his lip. "Some, but languages aren't my strongest suit," he admitted. "I'm sure you're much better than me." He sounded impressed—as far as he knew, none of his friends or other peers knew Greek. Or... cared about it, honestly. They preferred buying cars and getting girls.

Still, he could recognize it for what it was, and could understand a fair amount of words. The grammar was mostly what stuck him when it came to Greek. He was much better at Latin.

"This is... Euripides?" His voice was low, a gentle caress in the utter quiet of the archive room. "Amazing. I believe we're holding these while one of the museums is under construction."

Intrigued, Laurent glanced over at the scroll Gansey indicated. "Medea," he confirmed, with a nod. "My favorite."

His shoulder pressed against Gansey's as he drew his fingertip along the line. "Eroti thumon ekplageis Iasonos. I never thought translation could do justice to that line. It suggests a sort of overwhelming passion of the mind and soul. More than just love. They're absolutely obsessed with each other, a bonfire sort of love, so they can't help but burn everything around them."

Reaching past Gansey, having completely forgotten all his defenses in the immediate rapture of scholarship, Laurent picked up another document, peering at it in fascinated befuddlement. "What is this? I've never seen it before." He searched his mind, but he couldn't match it to the dozen ancient dialects that he could recognize.

[I'm thinking Carthaginian. *geeks out happily* If Gansey wouldn't recognize it, there can certainly be a sticker on the back corner of the sheet. XD]

With the utmost care, Gansey slid the Medea scroll back into its place, not wanting to disturb the parchment more than necessary. They would have to examine all the scrolls to make sure they were in the shape noted on the inventory slips and then store them in the proper storage canisters and file them.

Eroti thumon ekplageis Iasonos. It was a beautiful notion in its own way. Something wholly encompassing—though, Gansey wasn't sure how he felt about burning everything else in the process. Dido of Carthage met a terrible fate at the hands of such intense emotion; tragic, though she had been the only one to feel the fire of obsession (and, in the end... well).

Curious, Gansey leaned over, which made their shoulders brush again.

"That's... hm. Hold on." With care, he stepped back over to the desk and returned with his leather-bound book. Upon opening, it revealed itself as his journal. Mad scribbles and newspaper clippings, pressed copies of pages of books, maps, red blue black ink soaked into each smooth yellow page. Flipping to the back, he skimmed through the various languages he'd made heavy notes on. Languages were not his specialty, no, but he found them beautiful.

"It looks like... maybe Phoenician? Or related..." Slowly, he traced a fine finger down the sprawling letters and the histories he'd scripted beside them, grammar and countries, marks of a restless mind that was constantly searching for stimulation.

"A Semitic language... it's lovely. I wish I could understand more."

[ They can be dorks trying to figure it out~ :3 ]

Laurent turned to watch as Gansey went to fetch his notebook. He leaned over, openly interested in all the scraps, but when he saw Gansey's notes on languages, he smiled. Laurent loved languages, and Gansey's approach to them appealed strongly to him. Laurent knew the alphabets of a dozen ancient languages, and he had notebooks filled with basic grammar charts for half a dozen of those. With the help of dictionaries, he could manage translations of almost any ancient text. His idea of a well-spent afternoon was trudging through a Sumerian hymn, surrounded by reference books.

"We can be friends," Laurent said, because now he believed that Gansey was genuine and that they had shared interests. Very esoteric shared interests.

"What is this one?" he asked, pointing to a clipping of a language he didn't recognize, and asking a couple more questions about sections from Gansey's notebook before he was able to focus again on the task before them.

Charmed despite himself, he glanced over frequently at Gansey as they began to unpack and catalogue the scrolls. "We could copy down some of that one. Look it up in the library to see if we can find a match for the alphabet. See if it's something we can learn and translate. Can you imagine? Some of these scrolls may be texts that have been lost for centuries."

Gansey grinned when Laurent said they could be friends but didn't say anything—no point in startling the fawn when it was finally so close—and answered his questions with delight. Very rare shared interests indeed. Not many students cared about this, less wanted to hear him talk about it, though some humored him. Mostly faculty were prey to Gansey's endless rants on history and the possible. And Adam. But Adam was actual friend tier and it was his duty to put up with Gansey's oddities.

Cataloging the scrolls was peaceful work. It felt good, checking them over and making sure they were in proper condition. As much as Laurent glanced at him, he glanced at Laurent, eager to point out drawings or different scrolls that he couldn't make heads or tails of.

"We could," he agreed with some wonder, rubbing his thumb across his lower lip. "This might be our only chance. Pictures would put the intergrity of the scrolls in danger, of course. If we move quickly, we might be able to copy enough to really work with." On that note he flipped his book open to a blank page, smoothed it down with his hand.

"Were there any others that caught your eye?" Gansey had already begun scribbling his copy, hands graceful and practiced as he studied the scroll carefully, so as not to make any mistakes. A few loose strands of hair fell across the middle of his forehead and his glasses slid down his straight nose, slightly.

"Flash photography would damage the scrolls," Laurent agreed, lifting his head thoughtfully. He couldn't help but grin at the sight of Gansey, so focused, so handsome, so endearingly geeky. The urge to brush aside his strands of hair was incredibly strong, and Laurent turned away, heart clenching as his eyes widened.

He had a crush. A schoolboy infatuation, with a boy he'd only spoken with twice. No wonder, since Gansey was painfully his type, and they had such strong, rare shared interests.

It meant nothing. It wasn't going to be reciprocated. Gansey wanted to be his friend, fine. Gansey maybe even found him appealing, fine. But the odds of him also being romantically interested in Laurent seemed... astronomical.

"We could," he said, clearing his throat and trying to remember what he'd been saying. His cheeks were flaming. "Digital. No flash. For... archival purposes, so that the school could keep a copy."

So that we can keep a copy.

It was dim enough in the room that Gansey didn't really notice that Laurent was blushing—there was obviously some color shading the other boy's cheeks, but he quickly chalked it up to digging through scrolls and working. Or perhaps he found a raunchy old poem. Those were always fun.

Gansey had already declared his attraction toward Laurent. On the roof. It had been ambiguously said, in a way, but he understood that the underlying feeling involved a desire for maybe more than just friendship. A thing he wouldn't initiate because—well, he didn't want to do that to Laurent. Didn't want to make him throw up those defenses again. Friendship was a wondrous thing and Gansey was happy with it; used to ignoring his own wants, he tucked any of those stray thoughts away neatly. Gansey's thoughts ran similarly: it was unlikely Laurent would feel the same, anyway. He'd nearly thrown Gansey off the roof yesterday at the mere thought.

"Forget the school," he laughed, looking up from the notes he was taking, hazel eyes sparkling in the low lamplight, "I want copies for us. Even just seeing them... amazing. I'd love to travel, to see the ruins these came from. I'd like to go to Greece, too. Some of the temples are well preserved. I bet the walls are fascinating." Pausing, he added, "I suppose there's a lot I'd like to see."

Standing up straight, he felt around his pockets for his iphone. "I think I can turn to flash off on my phone and get a few nice shots."

"No reason why we can't," Laurent said, though there were reasons. He'd never been allowed to travel anywhere without a host of guards--even when he was with Auguste. Especially when he was with Auguste, since the two of them together were so incredibly recognizable, the heirs of a kingdom. "Fall break. Christmas. Summer."

He moved scrolls out of and into place as Gansey took the pictures of them. He did what he could to keep them in order, but it was more important simply to get the pictures. Focused on his task, he didn't think again about his crush until the task was done and they were both a little flushed with triumph and recklessness. Then they returned to work, getting the files stored away so that they could be taken out later and studied. The two of them could work from the photos as much as possible, but if the pictures were too hard to interpret, they'd want to consult the originals.

Skin tingling with pleasure and excitement, Laurent shared a grin with his new friend.

When Laurent grinned, Gansey felt a knot deep in his belly tighten a bit. Not too strong; just enough that he recognized it and it made him flush a little more than necessary. Laurent looked much... cuter when he grinned. Happier. It was nice.

Skimming through the photos, he made sure that they were up to snuff. Of course he had the latest iphone (that wasn't something only rich kids were privy to anymore), and the resolution was good. Even zoomed in, it was easy to read the script. Not as good as having the real thing but good enough that he gazed fondly at the photos, a genuine small smile curling at his lips.

"They look good," he confirmed, looking up happily, like a kid in a candy shop. With a pause, he continued, "Would it be all right... can I have your number? I can send you the photos and—well, if you text, we can do that, but I know that not everyone likes to." Holding out his phone, he offered it to his new friend so that he could put his contact information in.

It would be easier for them to translate and decipher if they could keep in touch. Naturally.

[Important-ish question: are they in the same year? Because if Auguste is in the school, he has to be at least one year older than Laurent (in canon it's six but let's not do that). I feel like it would kind of make sense to have Gansey be Auguste's age, and that would make for interesting/different plot when Gansey graduated and Laurent still had a year to go. Or we can have them the same age with a year to go.]

Nodding once, Laurent entered his number into the phone. It was warm from Gansey's hand, and Laurent could feel his heart pounding against his ribs. Handing it back, he checked his own phone. "I have to get to class. I can... I can meet you for lunch."

He tensed slightly, jaw tightening. He wasn't used to extending invitations, and hated the feeling of vulnerability in the moment where he might be rejected. They'd made an agreement here, and begun a project. Laurent wanted to continue it, though he had no idea how high of a priority he was for Gansey. Popular, beloved Gansey, who could have any friend in school for the asking.

[ One year older sounds good! It makes sense for him knowing Auguste better, and also for his incredible senioritis. :) ]

Nodding, Gansey checked his phone to make sure everything was in order, instantly sending Laurent the pictures through text as he had promised. Class... ah, right. Gansey didn't have as many classes as some—he'd taken too many in his first year, so now he was able to slack off and read books to fill his time.

"That sounds good," he said happily, clicking his phone off and giving his new friend another smile. "Sometimes I like to drive off campus and grab some pizza from this place at the town nearby. Does that sound good to you? The cafeteria gets way too crowded and the pizza just isn't as good." Especially since he liked his smothered in sausage and avocados and not some fancy cheese or whatever.

"Unless you have another class right after lunch? It's not a long drive, mind."

Laurent tensed visibly, breath quickening and eyes shifting from side to side. Leave the campus? Unescorted?

He'd been dragged into town a couple of times with Auguste, and that had been fine. They'd been doted over by the locals even more than most of the Charterhouse boys. Mostly Auguste--Laurent was widely considered by celebrity spotters to be only a consolation prize.

He climbed buildings without hesitation, but the prospect of leaving campus made his heart speed up.

Nodding once and lifting his chin to hide his momentary surprise, Laurent ignored when his phone buzzed from the pictures. "I'll meet you in the parking lot."

Unaware of Laurent's internal debate, Gansey grinned, not knowing that Laurent wasn't supposed to leave campus unescorted. "Great. I'll see you then. Don't be late to class." Winking, Gansey turned back to his book so that he could finish scribbling a few notes and straighten up. The other professors would be by later to have their own fun and he was terribly pleased to have gotten so many pictures and notes.

Once the room was tidy Gansey left to take care of a few errands and return the keys to the staff, change into his school uniform as was proper, and make sure the Pig was in good shape.

The Pig was his car. A bright orange Camaro, the thing stood out like a sore thumb in a parking lot filled with expensive, brand new cars. His was old. While sporty given the type of car it was, it had its share of dents and discoloration. When it started, it roared and then ticked, as though it was deciding if it was going to work or not. Anyone else would get rid of it and pick up a new Hummer, but not Gansey.

Lifting the hood, Gansey muttered as he messed around, bending over it as he tried to figure out what was making that noise. Adam would know but Adam was at work—the boy couldn't afford a sweater unless he worked at the town's garage for three weeks straight. It was fine—messing around with cables entertained him until Laurent showed up.

Laurent barely paid attention through his classes. It took considerable willpower to leave his phone in his pocket, even at the risk of confiscation. The scrolls to be translated were irresistible, and the memory of Gansey's grin was highly distracting.

Slipping out as soon as his morning classes were done, he wove through corridors and stairwells on the shortest route to the parking lot.

He hadn't asked for a description of Gansey's car, and he didn't see his new friend at first glance. Students were milling around, getting in their sleek new vehicles and heading out to lunch, but Laurent didn't spot Gansey among them. His heart was just starting to thud with the horror of rejection when he caught sight of a familiar pair of broad shoulders behind the beaten, bright orange hood of some car that was almost twice their age. He'd assumed it belonged to one of the faculty, some old beater that someone couldn't afford to replace.

Befuddled to find Gansey under the hood, Laurent strolled over, hands in pockets, and bent over to look at the engine, and then at Gansey. Even for Gansey, this seemed like eccentric behavior.

Standing, Gansey scratched his head. Still couldn't find the problem. Adam had tried to each him about engines but it was still pretty complicated... plus, it wasn't like he worked with them for a living, like his friend did.

That was when Gansey noticed the handsome figure in the corner of his eye. Turning his head toward Laurent, he smiled. "Hey! Have fun in class?" Wiping a spot of oil from his cheek with the back of his hand, he stepped back and slammed the hood shut.

"I was just messing around with the engine. Sometimes it makes noise, but it's nothing to worry about. Probably. Usually."

Shrugging, he stepped closer to his friend, "Hungry?"

Perplexed, Laurent looked from him to the car and back again, raising a brow. "This is your car?" he asked, amused, befuddled, and slightly judgemental. Everyone in school knew that Gansey's family was flush. There was no reason at all for him to be driving around with a beater like this. "Did you lose a bet?"

He kind of liked the smudge of oil on Gansey's cheek. It suited him. Stepping forward, Laurent wiped the remains of the smudge away with his sleeve, then dropped his eyes away and went to get in the car.

Fastidious by nature, the car made Laurent squeamish. He wrinkled his nose as he inspected the interior, and very gingerly got in.

The inside of the Pig was relatively clean. A couple of receipts tossed in the backseat along with his sweater. The mess was really hidden in the glove compartment (old beef jerky, an epipen, a dozen or so more receipts, a book, etc) which would remain hidden unless Laurent tried to open it.

Cheek tingling from the brush of Laurent's sleeve, Gansey slid into the driver's seat, eyebrows raised in mild amusement, "What? You don't like the Pig?" It really was like nothing else in the lot; an older car, a bright obvious color, and once it sputtered to life it roared.

Turning his eyes onto the road so he could pull out of his spot, Gansey continued, "I love it. When you're soaring down the highway with the sound of an engine loud in your ears, wind in your hair, arm out the window... well. The Pig feels like freedom to me." Even if it wasn't the most expensive, newest model in the parking lot.

With practiced ease Gansey steered the Pig onto the road that lead off campus. Trees flew by and he rolled down his window, the breeze ruffling his hair, sweeping it across his forehead gently.

"As long as it doesn't catch fire," Laurent said, teasing. He could almost understand the sentiment--there was so much that they were expected to be. Laurent had spent his whole life expected to conform, to fill a role and serve a purpose. He belonged to his country, less and more than his brother. Auguste was Vere. Laurent was the promise of an alliance, the spare prince, the prize to be won. Appearances had always been crucial, and Laurent had designed his to be untouchable. If his fate was to be married off for an alliance, he was at least damn well not going to be pawed at by anyone else along the way.

This car was a shameless defiance of everything they'd been raised to be. It flew in the face of their old money, refined, extravagant backgrounds. Freedom. Laurent smiled a tiny bit. "It's the ugliest car I've ever seen."

He watched Gansey more than their surroundings. The view out the window--trees and fields--he could see those well enough from the school rooftops. Gansey was the sort of view that he'd never before had the opportunity to admire in person. "Why do you care about dead languages so much?"

Gansey's mouth quirked with a smile at the comment about the Pig, quietly amused. The Pig hadn't been named the Pig because it was a delicate, dainty thing. Hand steady at the top of the wheel, Gansey guided the Pig across various roads until they reached the main, long road that headed into town. About a twenty minute drive, you needed a car to leave Charterhouse campus, unless you were fond of walking through wilderness for at least an hour. Maybe more.

Glancing at Laurent in his rearview mirror, Gansey considered the question, as well as how he wanted to answer it. "A few reasons," he responded, focus back on the road lest a deer prance out from the woods. "I've always been a fan of history. There's that. Language is one of the best ways to understand it, as well as other cultures.

"I also find if beautiful. Different writings, and how ancient writing influenced language today. From a linguistic perspective it's fascinating. In particular, I'm a bit fascinated by the history of Wales and one of it's rules—do you know anything about Owain Glyndwr?"

"I don't," Laurent said, watching him with interest. If Gansey was handsome and charming normally, Laurent found him ten times as entrancing when he was talking about history. He listened with a fond smile on his lips, eyes slightly low-lidded as he relaxed into his seat. Gansey's voice sent tingles down his spine, and he couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to hear that voice in a low murmur at his ear.

Unlikely, he knew, but the fantasy was exquisite.

He felt safe with Gansey. Wary though he was about his new friend's car, Laurent liked the way he handled it. Confident, steady, careful. He liked that Gansey's sense of adventure, like his own, wasn't reckless. It was just, maybe... fearless. And, in Laurent's case, came with a particular fondness for heights.

There was little that Gansey loved more than talking about history. Especially this particular brand—his voice was liquid gold as he spoke, like a man in love, smooth and warm. "He was the last native Welshman to hold the title Prince of Wales," he answered, glancing at Laurent with a quirk at the corner of his mouth before looking back to the road. He... quite liked the way Laurent looked, reclined in the passenger's seat, blond hair a stark contrast against black leather.

"In 1400 he instigated the Welsh Revolt against the rule of Henry IV—overall unsuccessful and branded him an enemy of the crown. Despite the orders for his arrest and many rewards he was never caught and never given up by his people. In fact, there is no reliable account of anything regarding his whereabouts or death after 1412. There are guesses, of course, and over the years some supposed information has been found but nothing concrete."

He was quiet for a moment as though he was deciding something, lips pressed together as he considered his words. There were always two versions of the story he told. One that was purely historical, one that was more supernatural. Often he judged the listener as a believer or a non-believer before deciding. With Laurent, it was a little more difficult. It wasn't the same as Declan's line of girlfriends he always brought around, using Gansey as a token (ah yes, look at the friends I keep) as a way to bed them. Those stories were purely historical.

Laurent... was not like that.

"They say that, like Arthur, he's waiting for the call to return and liberate his people."

~~[Gansey I'm sorry]~~

Laurent watched him as he spoke, curious about the topic and fascinated by Gansey. He wasn't a believer--they'd already established that, on the topic of ghosts--but he was fascinated by stories and possibility. He liked the story of the last king, liked the romanticism of a lost ruler.

"I never liked the story of Arthur," Laurent said in response. There was a sharp, cold challenge in his eyes. Intrigue though he was, Laurent liked tearing apart any argument or theory that wasn't strong enough to withstand him. "I don't like the way it's told. Arthur, who united England. I think," Laurent tilted his head, nose wrinkled slightly in pretense of searching for the right word, "that the people who got united might have used the word 'conquered'? If anyone had asked them. And then what? Arthur returns in England's darkest hour? So I suppose the Norman invasion didn't count, since he didn't appear then, when his country was conquered and his people essentially enslaved, and their claim legitimized by a marriage to an out of the way female heir, as I recall? I confess English history isn't my forte. But I suppose he couldn't be bothered to appear anytime during the hundred years war with France? The English civil war? No? And then there's the blitz. That's the part I wonder about, see. Terrified citizens crammed into bomb shelters, praying to Arthur or Jesus, both promised to return in the darkest hour. Emerging into a dawn of rubble, the ruins of London, their home, the pride of England."

Laurent's voice had become sharper, more scathing, but the edge was a defensive one, revealing the sympathy that he felt for the suffering and the wrath he held toward any savior who failed them. "Do you suppose Owain Glyndwr is having a very lovely nap while he fails to answer his cell phone? How many centuries of subjugation do you suppose he'll require his people to endure before he bothers to return?"

Sneering, Laurent looked away down the road ahead of them. His brief flare of wrath cooled again, eyes low-lidded and defenses back to normal. "No. Either those stories aren't true, or the sleeping kings are assholes. They abandoned their people. A promise to return means nothing, if you're not there when your people need you."

It was fascinating, listening (not really seeing, as he couldn't very well remove his attention from the road for long) to Laurent go from relaxed to reeling in less that a minute. Very much like a cat bathing in the sun seconds before it was flying through the air, claws drawn. No wonder that the other boys couldn't deal with it; they were entitled and privileged and, if anyone spoke to them in anything but a pleasant manner, reacted poorly. The image of one of them trying to hit on Laurent only to be blessed with that almost made Gansey laugh—he didn't, of course, because it would be terribly rude of him.

"I can't say I'm exactly a fan of Arthur either," he admitted calmly, unruffled in the slightest by Laurent's lengthy rant. "And I don't think you're wrong. What constitutes as need, when events such as those don't? Is the implication that there will be an hour even darker one day? But one could argue that the myth of Arthur or Jesus gave those people hope through their darkest hour, that there was something good left—particularly for children, who couldn't understand the scope of what was happening. The stories were often told for their sake. They learned the truth later, as we all do, but comfort during crisis... perhaps not a terribly big thing, but something."

"As far as Glyndwr is concerned, it's not quite the same as Arthur—the story I'm interested in, anyway." Turning on his blinker, he eased off the main road, as the town wasn't far. "There's a different myth that during his slumber he was taken across the sea to America and buried by his followers. That he's waiting for someone to find him, to take him, and that person will be granted a single wish. Whatever wish they please.

They could very well not be true, or very well be ... well, unpleasant people," he said, slowly, because Gansey did not curse—even the smallest of them, "... but I find the different stories fascinating." If he told Laurent the entire truth, he was afraid his new friend would not believe him. It was something altogether too personal and likely to give him a panic attack that it was better left alone.

"There's quite a bit about magic and ley lines as well. I've mapped some of those out, and I've traveled to the points where they're the strongest. Without fail, I've seen some interesting things in those places."

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