Chapter Text
Leading Jasper, Duncan walked up the hill to Corvo Bianco behind Rhys. The sunshine and the never ending song of the cicadas in the vineyard covered hills lifted his spirits. Maybe, everything would be alright. Maybe, it would help Rhys as well.
Things had not been good lately. Rhys denied it, but something was wrong. It weighed on them in everything they did, every conversation they had. And they didn't have all that many any more because Rhys refused to talk to Duncan, really talk.
They still interacted pleasantly and normally enough, going about their day, preparing meals, watching movies, taking walks. But that was only the surface.
Below, there was a barrier, and Rhys' real self had sunk beneath it, leaving Duncan to scratch at the impenetrable walls. He couldn't reach him, couldn't get any answers from him.
Duncan thought it might be depression, and he had tried to convince Rhys to look for help. All his gentle hints and offers had gotten him nowhere. So he had sat Rhys down one evening, had basically cornered him. It had resulted in the worst fight they had had in years, and in Rhys slamming the door to his room behind himself and not coming out for the rest of the day. He had left Duncan to sleep alone.
The next morning, Rhys had apologized. He obviously hadn't slept. Neither had Duncan. They made breakfast and ate it up on the roof, sitting together and cuddling. It had turned into sex, the first they had had for weeks.
For a while, things had been good again. Not perfect, but Rhys seemed to be getting better. He had let Duncan in again, even talking about how numb he had been, and how he hadn't found the right way to ask for help. Duncan had held his hand, and kissed him and told him that he only needed to ask.
He didn't kid himself that it would be over just like that, and neither did Rhys. But Duncan had thought they could handle whatever would come, now that they were truly together again.
Then Rhys had started to shut him out again, and it had happened from one day to the other. Duncan had been on a work trip and when he had come back, it had been almost to a stranger. One who didn't want much to do with him.
There had been another fight, another night spent separately after Rhys had yelled at Duncan to leave him alone and had slapped his hand away when Duncan had tried to hold him back.
Another apology in the morning had repaired the worst of it, but things were still not right. They were so far from right and normal as they had ever been, and it terrified Duncan.
When he had suggested they visit Eskel and Geralt, Rhys had been more enthusiastic for it than Duncan had seen him for weeks. They had left the same day.
Duncan had hoped that both Eskel and Geralt would be there, and he smiled at seeing both Roach and Scorpion out in their pasture. Having all of them in one place would help Rhys. It had to. And Duncan wouldn't be forced to carry this alone any more. He couldn't.
Geralt and Eskel came to meet them in front of the main house, surprised but delighted to see them. Duncan hung back a little to watch as Rhys greeted them, hugging first Geralt and then Eskel.
Rhys probably fooled any casual observer, and maybe he fooled Eskel and Geralt. But he didn't fool Duncan. There was something deeply wrong with him. He laughed, and hugged, and chatted, but it was all muted. Duncan could tell how exhausting it was for him to pretend.
He wanted to cry, even as he hugged first Geralt and then Eskel, and pretended himself. They had lunch at the main house, Marlene gladly putting together a small feast for them. Duncan ate his fill, finally noticing how hungry he was. He hadn't really been in the mood for cooking, and neither had Rhys. So they had lived on takeout and microwaved meals.
Freshly baked bread, fruit that had just been picked, fragrant cheeses and goat milk still a little warm - it all served to remind Duncan how famished he was. As did the conversation around the table, feeding his ravenous hunger for companionship and love.
Rhys ate, but not much. He talked, but mostly just listened. His hand rested on Duncan's thigh, but there was a cold space between them.
Eskel and Geralt chatted easily, telling tales of the Path and of the things they had gotten up to at Corvo. If they noticed anything, they didn't show it. But at first, Duncan himself had thought that Rhys had had just a bad day. It only got really noticeable as time went on. So maybe, they thought the same.
With the food all gone, Rhys stood, leaning down to kiss Duncan's temple. There was warmth in his touch, and Duncan tried to hold on to him, but Rhys gently extricated himself.
"I need to lie down for a bit. The drive gave me such a headache. Will you come get me for dinner if I'm not awake until then?" Rhys smiled at Duncan, running his hand down his back.
"Are you sure you don't want company?" Duncan looked up at him, answering the smile even while worry gnawed at his heart.
"Later. Let me sleep off my headache." Rhys went to hug both Eskel and Geralt and then made his way to the guesthouse. Duncan watched him leave, all graceful long limbs and ponytail bouncing with his steps, and his heart ached.
Geralt’s face had been that utter placidity that often masked it when he worked the Path as he watched Rhys walk away from them all. It was clear to him that something was not right. Rhys seemed like a shadow of himself. There had been smiles, but they lacked the exuberant brightness that Geralt knew and loved from Rhys. There had been good food, a thing the little hedonist in Rhys was always willing to explore with delight, and yet it was barely touched.
Geralt immediately recognized these signs as symptoms he was more used to seeing in Eskel. A slump. A deep one. It had Rhys in its grips and wasn’t easily releasing him to all of Duncan’s efforts, because Duncan looked like shit.
“What’s pulled Rhys down?” Geralt directed all of his attention at Duncan but his face remained blank, not willing to influence Duncan’s answer in any way.
Duncan’s haggardness had hit Eskel in the gut. A punch he wasn’t prepared for. A visit from the orks was always joyous and comforting but there was nothing comforting about what he saw in Duncan’s posture. There was only defeat. Complete frustration that has met its limits.
Over the meal Eskel had seen why too. Rhys had not enjoyed his food, barely touching it. And then he’d hugged them all and simply left to sleep alone. No invitation for a group cuddle and nap— nothing.
Eskel didn’t believe Rhys had a headache, or that that was the reason for the fog that seemed to cover Rhys’ usually bubbly enthusiasm for life. He was happy, yes, but it just simply did not hold the same quality as normal. Eskel wondered what had happened and was glad when Geralt brought it up first.
Leaning across the table Eskel held his hand out to Duncan and offered him a measure of comfort while waiting for the answer.
"I don't know. He won't talk to me, and I can't make him. He just shuts down when I push too hard and I'm afraid to go too far." Duncan took Eskel's hand and didn't let go. Simply explaining to them what was going on was such a relief, the weight on Duncan's shoulder losing weight with every word.
"It started a while back. I don't know. Two months? Not that long after you had left last time. Rhys had taken a trip for work, and when he came back, he was like this. When I tried to get him to talk to me, or maybe get professional help, we fought. But it was better after that. For a bit. Until it got even worse."
"He tries, and I try, but I can't reach him. I don't know if he doesn't want to let me in, or if he has forgotten how. Everything about him is muted. He has to work at being interested in things. And it gets worse. I'm afraid for him but I don't know what to do. I'm sorry for springing this on you, but I can't do this alone. And I thought being here, with us all, might help him. Maybe it will, I don't know. He seemed happy enough when I brought it up. Happier than I had seen him for weeks."
Duncan slumped on the bench, his own exhaustion spreading in his body, turning his limbs to lead. He hadn't known how tired he was, just from worrying and trying to find a way to help Rhys, until Geralt and Eskel had offered to help, not even thinking twice about it.
It broke Eskel’s heart to see Duncan so defeated. He was sure this was something that they could all handle together, they had handled so much, even him being held prisoner and all the horrid repercussions of that.
“C’mon. Before anythin’ else you need a real nap. Let’s sleep on it, then we’ll figure this out together, alright?” Pushing up from the table Eskel pulled his hand out of Duncan’s only to stand, but kept it outstretched once he was away from the table, waiting for Duncan to come around and take it again.
Once Duncan did, Geralt joined them on Duncan’s other side, taking Duncan’s arm and bringing it around his shoulders. Without a word of communication the two of them directed Duncan to their own bedroom in the main house, turning sideways to guide him through the door single file.
Leaving Duncan with Geralt, Eskel turned back their covers. The bed was made for two large witchers but they could add an ork if they cuddled together and Eskel had every intention of holding Duncan tightly. Eskel shrugged his swords off his back and hung them on the bedpost, shucking his shirt next. He caught sight of Geralt and Duncan at the foot of the bed.
Geralt had already divested Duncan of everything but his braies and wasn’t far behind himself. Eskel flicked the candles out with a twitch of his fingers and laid down on his side of the bed. Arms open, he invited Duncan in.
Duncan ended up sandwiched between Eskel and Geralt, with Eskel’s leg thrown over his hip and Geralt’s wormed in between them. Eskel gave Duncan one bicep as a pillow and slung the other arm low on Duncan’s stomach, hand resting over one of Duncan’s few scars there. Pressing his scarred cheek against Duncan’s warm back, Eskel listened to the soft sounds of Geralt kissing Duncan quietly. He didn’t mind in the slightest. Duncan needed this.
Geralt curled his arm above Duncan’s head, threading his fingers slowly through Duncan’s mohawk, pulling them out and then doing it again. The other hand cupped Duncan’s face, steering him toward Geralt's and holding Duncan still while Geralt tenderly captured his lips.
It was a chaste kiss, and so was the next and the next. Simple reminders of their love.
Geralt rested his forehead on Duncan’s when he was convinced Duncan understood his actions and let his hand slide down to Duncan’s chest. It rested there, the steady drum of Duncan’s heart getting slower under his palm as the moments ticked by.
“It’ll be alright. We’ll sort this out.” The words were nearly inaudible and Geralt wasn’t even sure Duncan heard him, he seemed to have fallen deep into sleep as if it had been weeks since he’d slept properly.
Eskel and Duncan slept hard, hearts and breathing slow and unremarkable while Geralt laid awake next to them thinking. With Eskel, it took time to bring him back from a deep slump, but Duncan had said it had been two months already. And that it had started suddenly— after a work trip. That made some sense though, Eskel was prone to similar bouts. Triggered by something, they would spiral out quickly if not caught.
It just seemed odd that Rhys hadn’t been willing to say what had happened on the trip. Geralt had a horrible sinking feeling. There was very little he could imagine triggering Rhys in this way, but one thing did pop into his mind— Graham. He wondered if it would be worse to ask Rhys directly about it or to bring it up with Duncan.
Geralt was well aware how much Rhys hated it when people went behind his back thinking he couldn’t handle something, but Duncan had made it clear that talking to Rhys in this state didn’t gain the best results either. He decided he would talk to Duncan about it when the other two woke up, see what Duncan thought the best idea was.
It was early evening when the sounds of the vineyard caused Duncan to stir and ever vigilant Eskel was right behind him. Geralt smiled at Duncan, a real smile, because he was excited to see his lover, even if it wasn’t the best of circumstances.
“Let’s peek in on Rhys. Then you want to come check the grapes with me?” Somehow Geralt had serious doubts Rhys was up, since Rhys himself seemed to doubt he’d be up by dinner even. But he wanted to see Rhys for himself and he was sure Duncan did too. After that he was positive some fresh air would do Duncan good as well. Not fresh London air but real fresh air, outside of a city.
Rhys curled up on the big bed, vast expanses of empty sheets to both sides of him. It ached to be alone, away from the others. But it was easier. He didn't have to pretend.
He guessed that Eskel had seen through him, that they both had. They had been together for long enough, and Rhys was exhausted from playacting for Duncan. He couldn't keep this up.
Pulling the covers over his head, Rhys closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. Sadness sat heavily in his chest like a lump of ice, stealing away all the warmth the others tried to give. He had been glad to come here, thinking it might change things. But it had only gotten worse.
The food had been without taste to him. Every smile he had produced for the others had been hard work, every word an effort. He knew they were worried, and their concern only added to the weight that dragged Rhys down, that he had to fight against even to get up in the morning.
He wished that they would leave him alone. He didn't have the strength for their love.
Sleep came and Rhys gladly took the escape it offered, at least for a while.
He was woken by the voices outside, quiet as they were. The sun had wandered, he had slept the day away, and they had let him. Rhys was glad of it, but it also meant he couldn't avoid them any longer.
Footfalls on the stairs announced them and Rhys sat up, curling his legs under him. He even mustered a smile when the door opened.
It faltered the moment he saw their faces. They had come to talk, and Rhys didn't know what to tell them.
Eskel came to sit by his side, and Rhys couldn't help but seek comfort in his touch. Duncan and Geralt sat opposite them, and it was hard to miss the encouraging gaze Geralt gave Duncan.
"Listen, please don't jump down my throat for asking this, but did you maybe meet Graham when you went to Montreal?" Duncan chose every word carefully, like Rhys was a bomb he was trying to defuse.
The hot anger flaming up in Rhys' mind at the question almost proved Duncan right. He bit it back down at the last second.
"Graham? Where did you get that idea? I haven't seen him since— since that relationship ended." Since Rhys had lost his composure after two years of abuse and had attacked Graham, had almost killed him. It wasn't a topic Rhys was eager to talk about, and they all knew everything they needed to know about it, Duncan in fact knew everything there was to know about it, and Rhys hated that he brought it up.
"I'd have told you, you know that." Rhys tried to wave away the topic, shut it down.
"Do I? Know that?" Duncan's own anger had flared up, his voice rising well above the gentle tone he had started in. "At this point I'm not so sure."
"I don't know what you want of me. What you want me to tell you. Nothing happened! I'm just tired, and my head hurts and I would like some time alone without facing the fucking inquisition." Rhys matched Duncan's tone, shivering with anger. It churned in his stomach, making him ill and nauseous.
Geralt had expected this, it was in fact exactly the reaction he had been afraid of when he’d brought his concerns to Duncan. But it seemed unavoidable. This was a question Geralt needed an answer to, they all did.
As soon as the anger burst into the room, Geralt could see Eskel fall into his role as the calm keeper of the peace, a reconciliator— the reasonable one.
Eskel’s arm didn’t twitch around Rhys even as he rocked slightly in its light hold with anger, but he didn’t pull away either. Appearing completely unrattled, Eskel’s voice was level when he spoke, unraised and even. “All we want is for you to tell us the truth, Rhys. An’ if the truth is that you don’t know, tha’s alright too. But I’ve seen you tired— exhausted even— with a headache before, an’ it’s never been like this. None of us are tryin’ to attack you, we jus’ wanna help.”
Thanking the Gods silently for Eskel, Geralt took Duncan’s hand and leapt in mouth first. “Eskel’s right, we’re sorry if it feels like we’re interrogating you, but we are just trying to figure out what’s got you so down. The only thing I could imagine right away that would make you withdraw this much was running into that man unexpectedly. I’m glad you didn’t but in a way I am also sad that you didn’t because it means I still don’t have any idea what’s bothering you so much?”
Before Rhys could answer Eskel interrupted him, “An’ like I said, ‘s alright if you don’ really know. Sometimes I get so wound up in my own head I couldn’t really say what started it either. The important part is that we’re all here now an’ we want you to know we won’t let this beat you.”
A little bit of the fire seemed to go out of Rhys then and Eskel risked running his hand up and down Rhys’ back in a bid to offer comfort.
It was frustrating to see Rhys struggle like this, and Eskel could identify with it all too well. He was sure it was difficult to muster the energy to get up each day, dress, and put a face on. Those were fights he was familiar with in himself at times.
“Do you wanna lay down with us all? We can have finger foods for dinner, bring it up here, eat in bed, an’ then maybe Geralt will read us all to sleep?” Eskel raised his eyebrows at Duncan and Geralt first, the scarred one always lagging, then at Rhys to see if his idea would win Rhys’ mood over.
Rhys' anger had burned itself out as quickly as it had kindled. It simply took too much energy to maintain it, especially in the face of all three of them.
And it was clear they were worried, and only meant the best. They wanted to help and he had snarled and bitten. Rhys' shoulders fell and he brought a hand to his face, covering his eyes for a moment. Breathed in, breathed out.
"I'm sorry. You didn't deserve this, just for wanting to help me." He leaned into Eskel for a moment before crawling forward into Duncan's lap. Duncan easily hugged him, pulled him close until Rhys was straddling him and could hide against him.
"Please, I would like you to stay. Have dinner with me. I'm starving." Rhys hadn't really eaten much for the last couple of days, he hadn't had the energy and Duncan had stopped pushing him to. Right now, he felt like he could eat, and could enjoy it and the company of the others.
He stayed in Duncan's lap, simply held on to him, and Duncan didn't let go until Eskel and Geralt returned with food. Crumbly goat cheese, bread, butter, honey, grapes fresh from the vine, cold chicken and a plate of small custard cakes that were still warm from the oven.
The smell alone was enough to draw Rhys out, but he stayed close to Duncan, one hand on his thigh most of the time. Maybe it was the food, maybe it was the company of everyone, but for a bit Rhys didn't feel the weight of his sadness as much.
Once the worst of his hunger was sated, Rhys started to nibble on bits and pieces. He bit into one of the cakes, flaky dough holding a dollop of custard, and gave a content hum as the sweetness filled his mouth.
"Thank you for not leaving me alone. I— I can't tell you what's wrong with me. I don't know. But I'm glad you're here, all of you." Rhys reached out to Eskel, smiling at Geralt across the spread of food between them. Duncan's arm was still slung around his waist, and right now, everything seemed normal to Rhys.
Duncan turned his head to kiss Rhys' temple. It had soothed him to see Rhys eat and drink and talk, and to know that he wasn't pretending. That for once, he didn't have to work at it, that it came as effortlessly to him as it used to.
As much as he enjoyed the moment, Duncan didn't think it would last. They had been there before, many times, over the past months. Things seemed perfect one day, and then Rhys was back to locking himself in, barely speaking, pushing him away at every turn.
It wasn't like Duncan was a stranger to depression. Rhys had gone through this before, and Duncan had had bouts of it. Eskel for sure had. But it had never been this rollercoaster, and Rhys had never been this aggressive about not accepting help. And before, Duncan had been able to tell what triggered a downward spiral with Rhys. Now, he almost never could. Rhys just fell into these bottomless holes that Duncan couldn't even see, let alone reach Rhys when he was trapped in them.
But at least Duncan wasn't alone with it any more. He did believe in what Eskel had said, they could handle this together.
Eskel cleared the trays from the bed while Geralt went down to the cellar to look for a book to read from. ‘The Ballad of Torgeir the Red’ caught his eye and Geralt snagged it from the shelf. That would do quite nicely. A cautionary tale of Jarls and witchers, something of a bedtime story for training tots on neutrality and the price one pays if they fail to follow it. Geralt snorted to himself and thought he may have failed to grasp the point.
By the time Geralt had returned to the guest house, Eskel was curled protectively around Rhys, who in turn was hugging Duncan. The three of them intertwined on the bed like overly large snakes. Geralt stripped down to his braies and joined them, extinguishing all the candles but one right by the bed.
It was more than enough light to read by.
Hark! ... I shall sing you a tale,
Geralt turned and gave a small grin to the other three, then turned back to his page.
Of a jarl, brave and true, a warrior bold
Friend to his people, and to his foes wrath unrolled.
Like a sturdy ship, his courage never leaked.
Might was Jarl Torgeir of Clan Tuirseach.
Eskel wasn’t sure when exactly he’d nodded off. Geralt’s sonorous voice had lulled him to sleep like a baby, the tale from when they were young oddly making Eskel nostalgic for those times with a keep full of witchers and trainees. The four of them all crushed together in the bed then sated that need for company and left Eskel feeling warm, content, and full of love.
At first he wasn’t quite sure what pulled him from his rejuvenating slumber, but then he heard the swish of the bedroom door and felt the emptiness in front of him. It dawned on him that Rhys must have gotten up to take a piss. Eskel laid there for a drowsy moment before scooting in and finding warmth with Duncan.
The longer it was before Rhys came back, the more awake Eskel became though. Until he was lying wide eyed staring at the window, senses honed listening for anything out of the ordinary. It had been too long and Eskel worried. Perhaps Rhys had gotten hurt? Hurt himself?
Fuck. On the one hand Eskel desperately wanted to wake the others, go out looking, make sure Rhys was alright, and on the other, he understood. He’d been there. Gone out to collect his own thoughts for an hour or two alone in his orangerie at night because sleep eluded him. And it might be as simple as that. Rhys might just have gone for a long walk among the grapevines, or be sitting on the porch of the main house watching the stars.
It only killed Eskel because he didn’t know. So, he laid awake, worrying. Worrying about Rhys, and worrying about his indecision about what to do about Rhys until the door scraped quietly open again and to Eskel’s great relief Rhys snuck back in.
Eskel’s relief was nearly audible in his voice. “Everything alright?”
“I couldn’t sleep and took a walk.” The tired anger in Rhys voice was apparent even though he kept it quiet in an attempt not to wake the others. Tired of being asked. Tired of answering.
Eskel understood that. Could identify with it. Sometimes people just wanted more answers from him when he was down than he had to give. If it was only a walk it was nothing to worry about.
Eskel nodded at Rhys in return and made space for him holding up the covers, inviting him wordlessly back into their pile of bodies. Not offering any argument, or any pithy nonsense about hope, or even stating that he understood. Rhys didn’t need talk, he needed to be shown support.
Duncan had woken when Rhys had left, asking him softly what was wrong. Rhys had soothed him with a kiss and assured him he'd be back. Just a trip to the outhouse, and for some fresh air.
Eskel had huddled up to him, and Duncan had fallen back asleep. The door woke him again, and he blinked himself awake to the sound of anger in Rhys' voice at Eskel's innocent question. His heart sunk at hearing it. He doubted it would be gone come morning.
But Rhys came to lie between them again, scooting up to spoon into Duncan and to take Eskel in his arms. Duncan took heart from that and wrapped one arm around him. Geralt behind him slipped a hand between Duncan's stomach and Rhys back, and they went back to sleep.
Breakfast was almost normal. Rhys ate, and talked, and even smiled. He did decline the invitation to walk the vineyard with Geralt, saying he wanted to do some reading. Duncan needed to get out, to move and walk and have fresh air, so he didn't argue and left him to it. Eskel would keep him company.
Out in the sun, walking between the rows and rows of vines, sampling the grapes as they went, some of his tension rolled off of Duncan.
"You had a good point with Graham. I didn't even think of that. I'm glad we brought it up, even if it went nowhere." Duncan looked around and since there were no workers around, he took Geralt's hand and squeezed it.
“It was a good idea for you to bring him here. More ideas, more support. I’ve been here with Eskel before. More than once.” It’s hard. On the one supporting everything. went unsaid.
“It’s strange in that, from one moment to the next he does and then doesn’t want help though. With Eskel, it’s either one or the other. Usually one slowly bleeds into the other. The refusal of all assistance until the gradual breaking down and then desperation for help crawling out of his dark. But this seems to flip, from lunch to dinner.”
“I still feel like something must have happened there on that job. What kind of job was it?” Geralt needed more information. This was a problem he wanted to, if not fix, then at least understand, and he knew Duncan felt the same way. They were alone and Duncan was lonely. Geralt could tell from his touch. Pausing their stroll, Geralt stepped in front of Duncan and simply held him for a moment before carrying on.
"Nothing out of the ordinary. It wasn't even really a job, it was a small conference. Rhys was one of the speakers. I watched his lecture, it went well. He seemed fine. He was fine when we spoke, and he was only there for a week."
Duncan had breathed in Geralt's scent, leather and the sweetness of the grapes. Simply being out here helped, and talking about what had happened provided some structure to the mess Duncan's feelings and thoughts had crumbled into over the weeks.
"I know he went to see the Botanical Gardens, they have a good collection of Awakened poisonous plants. And he went to see a friend that he hadn't seen for years, she's apparently something of a hermit. I actually called her and asked, he was fine when he was there. He was excited about all of this before, and when he told me about it after. We didn't speak for the last three days of it because our schedules just didn't line up, but that's not unusual for us."
With a sigh, Duncan shrugged. He had gone over this again and again, and he couldn't find anything. And Rhys truly didn't seem to know. For all his hostility and aggression, Duncan didn't get the impression that Rhys was lying to him about things.
"But when he came back, he was distant. Muted, and sad. It gets better, then it gets worse, just like you've seen it. By now, even when he seems fine, the only thing I can think about is how long it will last, and how bad the drop will be." Duncan took a deep breath and turned to look out over the valley, a merchant's cart trundling by on the path below.
“Mmm. I hate to say this, and I already know Rhys isn’t going to like it, but I don’t think we should leave him alone anymore. Just in case he dips too low. At least until we get a handle on this.” It was a grim reality that Geralt didn’t like to bring up, and he wasn’t going to lay it out quite this explicitly for Eskel. He didn’t think he would have to.
“You said Rhys is against any kind of professional help? We don’t really have the kind of help you have at home here. But we have oneiromancers, I know one in Novigrad that I’ve remained friends with. Maybe Rhys doesn’t know what triggered his slump consciously, but that doesn’t mean it’s not locked away somewhere in his mind.”
“That won’t work if we can’t get Rhys to talk to Corinne though.” At the bottom of the hill the merchant had stopped his cart, plying his wares to a Knight Errant.
Geralt turned them back towards the house, steering Duncan to the greenhouse where they would be able to sit and enjoy the heat of the sun. It would also afford them more privacy.
Duncan had thought over Geralt's words in silence as they walked. Now that they were seated in the greenhouse, he leaned into him, glad for the support. Overhead, the roof panels were propped open and the air moved through the glasshouse, making it warm but not sweltering hot. The air smelled of citrus and wet soil, and they were hidden among the orange trees.
"I want to suggest seeing the oneiromancer to Rhys. I'm pretty sure he will not want to do it, but it's worth a try. Maybe he'd be more comfortable with something magic than with talking to a stranger and trying to figure out what's going on that way. Especially if it's something he can't or won't remember. And I'm sure he's not keeping secrets from us, not on purpose. He might be angry, and depressed and he might just want to be alone, but he doesn't lie to me. Never has."
Stretching out his legs, Duncan intertwined his fingers with Geralt's, looking down on them. What Geralt had said about not leaving Rhys alone made sense to him, and it scared him.
"He doesn't bring Artrí around. I haven't seen Artrí for so long. Not since I came back from my own trip. That was a month back or so? Just two days, and Rhys spent those at home. As far as I know."
"Things are bad when Rhys won't call Artrí. I don't know if he still talks to Bear. I sure hope he does. I've seen him call up watchers and stuff, so I know he can still do that. But I don't know if he hasn't cut himself off from Bear and Artrí as he tries to cut himself off from us." Curling one leg under himself, Duncan turned sideways on the bench and hugged Geralt to himself, hiding in the crook of his neck.
Arm around Duncan, Geralt gave him a place to hide and let his emotions pour out where it was safe to do so. Geralt got the impression Duncan had been holding in all this fear for the whole two months he’d been trying to deal with this alone. Putting his hand under Duncan’s tunic, Geralt ran his blunt fingernails up and down Duncan’s muscular back in a relaxing light scratch.
“I didn’t know it ever got that bad for Rhys. That worries me. I’d worry there was something messing with his ability to do magic, but not if he can still conjure a watcher or other things if he chooses.” Under Geralt’s hand Duncan’s back moved silently with his breaths and Geralt laid his head over Duncan’s. “This sounds more like you said, him choosing not to.”
After that Geralt just held Duncan. He didn’t have anything more to say. The things Duncan had brought up about Artrí and Bear worried Geralt— greatly. They were more concerns to add onto the pile that was ever growing and Geralt wasn’t really sure anymore how to deal with this. He’d tried being forward, Eskel had tried being patient and giving Rhys space, Corinne seemed like his last hope and Geralt was already sure Rhys was going to react poorly to the idea. He was at a loss.
Eskel had offered to sit out on the deck of the main house while Rhys read more of the book they’d fallen asleep to, but Rhys declined that as well. Instead Rhys had wanted to retreat to the guest house, and Eskel had followed.
After spending half of the precious day laying in bed taking naps Eskel felt the need to move and while he would have liked to lay in bed with Rhys and cuddle, Eskel knew he needed to see to himself as well. So he’d brought a whetstone and oil upstairs, and went about part of his normal morning routine anyway.
The sound of metal sliding of stone filled the silence room with a melancholy note, slow and repetitive. Eskel concentrated on his swords, first steel, then silver, honing them to an immaculate point, occasionally glancing up at Rhys to see him staring blankly down at the book. Rhys’ eyes didn’t really seem to be moving, but Eskel wasn’t going to comment on it.
Swords sharpened, Eskel placed them in his harness and stood at the foot of the bed facing the window. He centered himself and started a routine of forms slightly truncated by the limited space. It was freeing to continue on with this normal part of his day, even amongst the sadness around him, and Eskel easily found that space in his head where everything else fell away for a little while.
When he finished, Eskel glanced at Rhys and was surprised to see him still staring blankly at the page. It almost hurt a little bit. Eskel was aware of how stunning he looked when he did swordwork. It was one thing he was confident in, and doing it always drew Rhys’ attention. That his whole routine hadn’t even garnered a passing glance was painful.
“Hey, how’s the book?” Eskel slung his sword harness over the bedpost and crawled up next to Rhys, putting one arm over his shoulders to look at the page with him.
Rhys had been thankful for the silence. He had been thankful for Duncan not insisting he come with them on the walk, and for Eskel's easy acceptance of his wish for quiet. But Rhys had also known it wouldn't stay that way and had sat there with the book open in his lap, dreading that moment.
Now that it had come, he forced himself not to move away from Eskel's touch. Although maybe it might be better to do it. To withdraw himself. But if he did that, they would worry, even more than they did already. There would be more well-meant conversations, more questions Rhys couldn't answer. The thought alone was enough to exhaust him.
He closed the book, not bothering to mark his place with a bookmark or even his finger. It wasn't worth it, he hadn't taken in a single word anyway. Mostly, he had been far away in his thoughts, trying to come up with a solution for his problem. How to get away from all their attention without hurting them. And after a whole night and half a day of brooding over it, he was no closer to a solution than before.
It might be best if he just left. But Rhys knew perfectly well that none of them would let him. Unless he went back through the portal and collapsed it behind himself, but he wasn't willing to strand Duncan in this world. Rhys wished he could just disappear. If he had known a way to delete himself from his lovers' minds he would have done it. Their constant concern was what made this so hard. If it was just him, he would have been able to stand it, or maybe just fade away. Knowing that they would not stop trying to help, that they would keep on caring about him, was a trap for Rhys, a chain around his neck.
He became aware that Eskel was still waiting patiently for an answer. With a sigh, Rhys sat up straight and stretched.
"I think I must have drifted off. I'm having trouble concentrating. Maybe I should take that walk after all." Rhys said it without much hope that Eskel wouldn't offer to come along. He tensed up when he heard Duncan and Geralt outside, back from their own walk. He should have gone while Eskel was doing his forms, slipped out of the room before Eskel had a chance to offer his company. It was too late now.
Rhys sat unresponsive in Eskel’s loose hold, worryingly lost in his own thoughts still. But Eskel didn’t push, patience was a hallmark of his manner, and it would serve him well with Rhys in this time he was certain.
When Rhys finally did answer him, it was flatly. Honestly, but without emotion or interest. Eskel knew it was the truth from the deadness in the words. It wasn’t just his forms that hadn’t caught Rhys’ attention, the book hadn’t either. It was cold balm on the hurt.
Eskel heard them before they entered the guest house and it was clear in Rhys’ body language when he heard Duncan and Geralt a few moments later. There was a palpable flinch. Every muscle suddenly just a little more tense as if prepared to flee.
A frown clouded Eskel’s face, he couldn’t stop it. It wasn’t Rhys to what, be afraid of his lovers? Loathe the idea of them being around him?
Eskel almost asked what was wrong, but then thought better of it. Rhys was not in a talking mood. At all.
They were sitting up on the bed, a closed book in Rhys’s lap, and a sour look on Eskel’s face. Rhys’s face was pale and drawn, he looked as if Geralt and Duncan were coming to take him to the hangman’s noose.
None of this did anything to ease Geralt’s nerves.
Best to just get it over with. “Hey.” Geralt smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes, as fake as the ones Rhys had been putting on the last day.
“I know you’re not lying to us, you don’t know what’s wrong. I think there might be a way to find out though. I know an oneiromancer, her name is Corinne. She’s good at what she does and discreet. We could have her come here, you don’t even have to go to her, and she might be able to uncover what you don’t even know is locked away in your mind. I know it’s not ideal, but I think it’s our best shot, your best shot, at figuring out what has you so down. Please?”
Geralt tipped his head forward slightly and looked at Rhys from under his eyebrows, already ready to weather the burst of anger he was expecting. Knowing it was coming didn’t mean he wanted to handle it any more. Geralt’s instinctual response when a lover got angry was to blame himself and run, but he was sure this wasn’t his fault. Rhys was broken somehow, just like Eskel got sometimes. Running wouldn’t fix that, so he would let the anger blow over his head instead.
Rhys bit back the angry reply that was burning on his tongue. But he wouldn't have that conversation. Not again.
Slipping out of Eskel's arms, Rhys stood and grabbed his boots. He didn't take the time to put them on, just walked past Geralt and Duncan with his head down.
Duncan moved as if to hold him back, maybe put a hand on Rhys arm, and Rhys dodged him.
"Just leave me the fuck alone. I don't need to talk about my feelings, or have someone analyze my dreams. I just need some space, is that so hard to understand."
Rhys fled from the hurt in their eyes, walking blindly out into the vineyard with no idea where to go, as long as it was away.