Afterimages

Ryan looks over the text messages one more time, settling into their seat. The shop that Aggie had suggested is nice, one that they themself like; it’s near the university and probably favored more by professors than by students, given the general tone of the place, but to Ryan it’s comfortable, the wood paneling and tall bookshelves that ensconce the café area reminding them of the museum offices, or of libraries.

They’ve gotten coffee and picked a table that’s out of the way enough that they’re confident nobody will be listening, which is probably for the best. They’ve got a book to keep them occupied until Aggie arrives; it’s a newer translation of a Greek tragedy, which is more poetic than their usual fare but a nice break from translating Latin until their eyes blur. They’re finding it hard to focus, though, as they sort through the information they know about Aggie.

*Sir Agravain,* of course, they know a good chunk of lore about, but that’s secondary. What they know of the *person Aggie* is this: they’re young, they were studying Asgardian magic before accidentally stumbling into their memories too early, they fell in with the Black Magic Club--which isn’t great--before getting set straight by the people they’d sent to the movie Disney’s Descendants, which Nat had paused the explanation to show Ryan. And that they’d wanted to talk to someone Avalon-adjacent but not *from Avalon,* and because this was Ryan’s life, now, everyone in the group had pointed Aggie to them.

Agravain, because for better or for worse that’s been their name far longer than Aggie has, walks into the coffee shop precisely five minutes prior to their agreed meeting time. Even before the Norns saw fit to dunk them headfirst into the Well of Fate, Agravain’s parents (and generals, and *king)* had impressed upon them the importance of punctuality. Forget cleanliness--*earliness* was close to Godliness.

That being said, absolutely nothing could keep their nerves at bay today. They’d tried everything, all one hundred years’ worth of anxiety busting tools, since apparently this had always been a thing for them, but they still can’t quite still the trembling in their hands. They’d tried on like, seventeen different outfits before time forced them to make a decision and the pants they’d chosen still felt scratchy and ill-fitting, like they were someone else’s clothes instead of Aggie’s comfiest pair of well-worn corduroys.

They order a London fog, giggling a little hysterically at the name, and spot Ryan in the back when they pick up the drink at the counter. They offer them a little wave, but make no move to walk closer just yet.

Ryan spots Aggie by the wave--they weren’t entirely sure what to look for, as Nat’s description, at least, had focused more on DCom opinions than physical characteristics. They’re young, younger than Ryan was expecting somehow,  brown hair pulled in a tight bun and patch covering one eye.

They also, to Ryan’s eyes specifically, are unmistakable. The second Ryan focuses on them, they can see it—the shadow of another form superimposed over the teenager, clad in armor rather than corduroys and a button-down. A stern face aged by frown lines; Sir Agravain hadn’t led an easy life, last time around. Ryan had seen echoes like this before—the cyclical fates of Avalon were recognizable in their bizarreness— but never this constantly and visibly. Never *all the time.*  Nothing about ordering tea at a café demands the heavy history of the name and role of Agravain be present, but that isn’t stopping him.

The other most noticeable thing--at least to Ryan--is how clearly they seem uncomfortable in their own skin—both the memory of the knight and the very present teenager. It’s probably not the kind of thing most people would notice, but--

Well. Ryan has done their time in a similar state, so perhaps it’s easier for them to see. They wave back and offer what they hope is a comforting smile, putting their book aside as they do. They’re not going to push by going over to Aggie; some part of them is uncomfortably aware of the fact that Aggie’s coming to them as...some sort of authority figure on Avalon,  which is *weird,* and they don’t want to intimidate the younger teenager.

Aggie sees the offer for what it is, and her shoulders sag a little in relief. They walk over carefully--they’re not looking at the nearly overflowing mug of tea in their hands but you can tell that they’re trying really, *really* hard not to spill. It hasn’t occurred to them that they could have just drank some of it at the counter.

When they get to the table, they first place the drink carefully on a napkin, before daintily taking a seat across from Ryan. “Hello,” they say, then wince. “I know, I know. The accent’s stupid. But when I try talking the usual way and my brain yells at me, and when I--” they slip into a Celtic sounding accent “--try talking the old way my brain yells at me.” They take a breath. “So here I am, sounding like a baby Obi-Wan Kenobi. Hello there.”

The reference, combined with the *hello there,* makes Ryan snort with laughter. “General Kenobi,” they finish, in their very best--extremely bad--General Grievous impression. “I don’t have four lightsabers, I can’t continue this reference any further, sorry. But don’t worry about it, you sound fine. I’m Ryan--although I gather you probably know that. It’s nice to meet you.” They offer their hand to shake.

Aggie takes it. Her handshake is firm, but brief. “It’s nice to meet you too! In person, I mean. Not sure what you’ve heard about me from, uh, well, anyone, but I want to clarify I’m really just looking for a friend. Knowledge would be nice but that can come later. Right now we have--” they lift up their mug “--beverage, you know?” They take a sip and grimace. “Ugh. Too sweet. Everything tastes too sweet. What is it with the 21st century and putting way too much sugar in everything? Bread doesn’t need sugar!”

“It got really big in the 1700s,” Ryan says absently, drinking their own--very sweet--mocha. “Processed food got bigger and a lot of that needs to be sweetened so sugarcane plantations became a bigger thing, and then Prussia figured out sugarbeets were a thing and Napoleon started relying on that for France’s sugar production because he didn’t want to fund the British by getting sugarcane sugar from their Carribean colonies, and *then* people figured out how to mechanize both sugarcane and sugarbeet production, and suddenly there was a *lot* of sugar, everywhere, and people started using it in everything.” They realize they’ve started to ramble, and make themself stop talking.

“Anyway,” they say, “I’ve heard a lot about which movies you like from Nat, and the...basics of what’s up with you, which sounds like a lot, but would you mind telling me yourself? Not that you have to, but it might help me understand...the everything,” they gesture vaguely around. “I’m also not sure what Nat and the others told you about me, so…” They shrug. “I work at Halcyon Museum of Culture and History when I’m not at school, I spend a lot of my spare time trying to translate old treaties and fixing things around town when they break, and I’m on Big Team. I’m not a particularly interesting person,” they admit readily, “But I’m always open to making a friend, and you seem nice. I will warn you, though, that knowledge kind of...always comes first when you’re friends with me. I have a chronic inability to shut up about trivia I know.”

Aggie laughs. “Thank you for the information about the sugar. It’s been bothering me for quite some time. And same here! Well, kinda. I used to not be able to shut up about Norse myth. I wanted to be a Norse myth when I grew up. Now...I’m not so sure?” They sigh.

“Ok, so. My deal. My deal is that I was an idiot. Specifically, I did a ritual without proper warding, though honestly I doubt any level of warding would have been able to block out the Norns but, well, it’s the thought that counts, right? At any rate, I wanted to do a simple past life regression. Instead, I managed to fall headfirst into what seems to be an Arthurian conspiracy? It’s...confusing. I’m confused. I was more confused a year ago, when I wasn’t as good at compartmentalizing. That’s when I started my freshman year, and Vic promised to help me figure shit out in exchange for...uh...I can’t remember? That whole year is kiiiind of a blur to be honest. There was some ritual stuff going on I think? Um, yeah. Anyway. From there, I decided to strike out on my own and do some research, and I found out about Prince Arthur, and managed to get it in my head that he should have the throne instead of Guinevere, which I now realize is stupid but at the time seemed like a good idea because literally *who* put Lancelot and Guin in charge of everything?” They take a deep breath.

“OK. Back on track. Honestly, that whole misguided mission ended up being a good idea because once all of me had a mission, memories started clicking into place. I started to see things in the Black Magic Club I really didn’t like, but I figured, they offered to help me so they can’t be bad, right? Sure some of the members are terrible but that’s just the nature of magical spaces! They always attract some weirdos. And then I found out that no, the BMC is objectively terrible. So I left. Now I’m in thaumaturgy club, which is *much* better. And the rest is history?”

They take another sip of their drink, which has now gotten lukewarm. “Sorry, I’m not usually this talkative if you can believe it. You’re very...comfortable is the best word I have for it.”

Ryan’s eyes narrow at the mention of Vic Toxic--god, fuck that guy--and they find it hard to smother a smile as Aggie vents about current Avalonian politics. They’re surprised, though, that Aggie says they’re comfortable to talk to--they suppose there’s no reason for them to be lying about it, but it isn’t a compliment they’ve gotten often.

“You don’t have to apologize for talking,” They say, sorting through what Aggie has said. “But wow, that sounds like a rough year. I know the feeling--accidentally finding yourself launched into something a lot bigger than yourself.” They shift, running a finger along the band of their watch, something between a nervous tic and a comforting reminder. “Glad you got out of the Black Magic Club and Vic’s…” they pause, searching for a word. “Orbit,” they settle on, remembering how he drew his followers around him as a shield, like satellites taking asteroids for a planet.

“As for the ‘who is running Avalon’ deal,  I think that the systems of regenthood and hereditary monarchy were the ones that made the call, not any person in particular. I don’t really know, though--I know the Halcyon Knights a lot better than anyone who’s in Avalon. I haven’t managed to visit, yet.” They’re pretty sure at this point that that *is* a “yet”--given how much magic they want to study, they doubt they’re going to be satisfied merely learning from the Consortium. Also, they’re pretty sure that Guinevere and Lancelot the Elder are doing a fine job, but they aren’t invested enough in that to argue the point. “I’d suggest that you go talk to the Halcyon Knights if you want to know more about the state of things in Avalon, but I’m guessing that’s a pretty terrifying prospect at the moment.”

They try to keep their voice reassuring and even; they’re glad that they took time after Nat texted them to go back through their sources on Arthuriana, looking for the mentions of Sir Agravain and trying to reconcile them with the stories that Nat told. It’s difficult to see the teenager in front of them, anxious and sipping gingerly on their tea, as Prince Agravain of Orkney, the Hard-handed—even with the afterimage of the knight right in front of them. Fortunately, they’ve had a lot of practice seeing the differences between the stories about someone and the reality of their existence.

Aggie grimaces, and their frown lines are far more pronounced than they should be on a fifteen year old. “Who are the Halcyon Knights? I only know about the Avalon group, and they’re understandably reluctant to share information.”

They pause for a moment, considering whether or not to divulge their next secret, but the kindness in Ryan’s voice pushes them over the edge. “Frankly, I’m not sure I’m ready to face anyone. The last I remember...well, what I remember doesn’t bear mentioning. Still, it will be...odd, seeing the new iterations of people I know better than I know myself, really. Especially when a lot of them hate my guts, for uh...nebulously justified reasons? Or well, I don’t suppose they hate *me*, me, but you have to admit I’m starting at a bit of a disadvantage.” They take another sip of tea to hold back the tears glinting in their eyes, with mixed success.

Ryan’s gaze softens as they see how upset Aggie is. From their knowledge of the death of Sir Agravain, they can’t blame the kid.

“Hey,” they say, keeping their voice quiet and comforting. “Nobody’s gonna make you talk to anyone. If what you want is to walk away entirely from this whole mess, that’s your right and I’m certainly not going to stop you.” They doubt that’s what Aggie wants, but it’s important to know that they have the option.

“And nobody’s going to blame you for things you didn’t do—or, they’re not going to get away with it. Your past life isn’t your responsibility to fix or atone for, and if anyone tries to hold you accountable for it they’re not the heroes they say they are. The knights, of all people, should know this.” Ryan crosses their arms, pre-emptively irritated at whoever would even think of trying to blame Aggie for their predecessor’s actions. “Nobody expects Elle to answer for Lancelot’s actions, and god knows that nobody thinks that because I’m dating Merlin, I’m in any way interested in the old Merlin.”

Aggie nods, and dabs at her eyes with a napkin. “Thank you,” she says with a sniff. She collects herself quickly, an older sibling being caught feeling things by the baby of the family. “Now, who is Elle? And what is this about Merlin having a sexuality?”

She smiles. “I thought I noticed something familiar about you though. You kinda like...you do this thing with your eyebrows that looks *just* like him. It’s so funny.”

Ryan raises their eyebrows in mild surprise--probably mimicking the exact expression Aggie is talking about--but they also didn’t miss Aggie trying to hide the evidence of having experienced an emotion, and narrow their eyes.

“Nobody’s pointed that out before,” they say, keeping their voice light. “Well, you learn something new every day, I guess. All there really is to *that* story is that I asked him out and he said yes. I gather that’s how these things normally go,” they add, their amusement expressing itself--as it often did--in deadpan sardonicism.

“As for who Elle is, that’s a bit more of a story and I’ll be the first to admit I don’t know all of it. She’s the leader of the Halcyon Knights, and--” they consider how to put it in a way that probably won’t alarm Aggie, and quickly come to the conclusion that there really isn’t any, “--is also a younger Lancelot. Well, some version of a younger Lancelot. Again, I don’t really know the full story there.” Both because they don’t want to pry into Elle’s privacy and also because she terrifies them a little bit, but Aggie doesn’t need to know that part. It’s not that Ryan genuinely thinks that Elle would hurt them; that’s laughable. She’s just...intimidating. And also the current legal guardian of the person Ryan’s dating. And that’s a combination that can be a bit scary.

Aggie nods absently before letting out a surprised laugh. “I went from extremely confused about Merlin having a romantic orientation to extremely confused about which one of you I should be shovel talking. This is a very strange impulse to be having but I can’t say it’s...uncomfortable? It’s nice to have evidence that Merlin did matter to me, even if some of the stories say otherwise. Don’t let him walk all over you when he gets excited, okay? He needs someone to reign in some of his more chaotic impulses and encourage some of his other, less damaging chaotic impulses. Seems like you fit the bill nicely...”

They listen attentively as Ryan explains about the whole Lancelot situation, eyes visibly widening at the use of the feminine pronoun. “Wait, so when people are talking about Lancelot running Avalonian diplomacy, they *don’t* mean the prissy ginger guy? This is someone new? That’s...unexpected. Are they in any way shape or form unduly pompous or a windbag? As long as they’re not an overly pompous, treasonous windbag, we might get along okay.”

Ryan—who has never once tried to rein in Merlin, who is on Big Team, which can generously be described as driven by “destructive chaotic impulses,” and who is far more likely, most of the time, to drag Merlin into a project than vice versa—sips their coffee and thinks for a moment. It’s not that Aggie’s heart isn’t in the right place. They’re pretty sure it is.

But it’s also a little galling to have a kid younger than them who they just met contemplate giving a shovel talk on their behalf, based on some--admittedly very powerful--past life memories and maybe fifteen minutes of conversation. On a different topic. They sigh and put their cup down.

“Aggie. Can I be frank with you?” Aggie nods.

“Great,” Ryan says. They try to think of how to put this--what someone else, someone who was good with people and patient and understanding and who knew anything about past lives at all, would say. They come up blank, because despite their best efforts, they’re mediocre with most people, can be impatient, and don’t know shit about what Aggie’s dealing with, so they decide to put this the only way they can, which is bluntly.

“You’re gonna have to tone it down, like, a *lot.* Because I know you want to be helpful, and to fix problems for people, but--you do realize how *weird* it is to say you want to give a shovel talk to my boyfriend on my behalf after only having spoken to me for about fifteen minutes, right? It’s weird. And more than a little presumptuous, because some of the conclusions you jumped to are wrong. And if you’re like this with *me,* who you had no prior history with, I’m pretty worried about what will happen when you stick your foot in your mouth like that around the knights, or someone with a worse temper--or when you decide you know what’s best and go tearing off and join something like the Dark Magic Club again.” Because, honestly,  this conversation has given Ryan a pretty clear window into how that happened.

Aggie blushes a bright crimson, and says, “You know...I’ve never heard it put like that...” They sigh. “I’ve had an impulsivity problem since before this whole mess. At least, according to mom. But I had no idea how to fix it then and less idea how to fix it now. We uh. We don’t have a lot of, well, anything to spare, to be frank.”

Ryan’s irritation drains away quickly--they haven’t been precisely where Aggie is, but they do know a bit about not having the resources to deal with the problems right in front of you. Without thinking, they reach to adjust their glasses, before remembering that they aren’t wearing them.

“Oh, that sucks,” they wince. “Especially now that you’re essentially dealing with two lifetimes worth of issues, one of which--I am assuming--never got anything close to therapy or counseling at all. Well, I assume two lifetimes. Do you happen if there are any intervening Agravains between the first Agravain and you?” If not, that will explain why *so much* of his history and legacy is resting on the teenager in front of Ryan.

“Uuuuuh, I’m not sure?” Aggie replies. “Just give me a second, and I can check. Uh, bear with me. This is gonna look *super* weird, and it might not even work—I haven’t been able to trance since the, uh, this, but—.”

She starts chanting under her breath. If you pay attention you can tell she’s quietly singing along with whatever is playing over the cafe radio and tapping her thigh to the beat. After about 20 seconds of this, she freezes, and a green glow emanates from under the patch. As the glow dies, she shakes herself and says, “Nope! Just checked. It’s only him and me. Something about preparedness and environmental guides. The symbols aren’t always transparent. What can you do, it’s seidr, am I right?”

“I have no idea but would assume that you are right,” Ryan admits. They had looked mildly surprised again at Aggie’s magic, but as far as weird things they’ve seen just in the past week, it doesn’t manage to make the top twenty list, so they don’t make a big deal about it.  “I...haven’t actually managed to study many forms of magic. Yet. Kinda been busy trying to get a handle on my own stuff for the time being.” They glance down at their wrists, where the gauntlets are. The arms of their hoodie used to cover their wristwatch and bracelet, but now their wrists are starting to peek out from the sleeves, showing the silver glint of both items. “*Time* being. I didn’t even mean to make a pun.”

“Anyway, that’s *probably* why he’s...kind of literally overshadowing you. At least, to my vision.” it’s true; the frame of the knight is so much larger than the teenager that the effect is almost foreboding, even though--by this point--Ryan is pretty sure that it’s unintentional.

Aggie looks mildly unnerved at the thought of being overshadowed by anything, but laughs at the pun. “That makes sense. I assume it’s because he’s clocked more hours of existence than I have? Speaking of clocks...” She trails off, bites her lip for a moment. “Would you mind if I asked what wielding unyielding dominion over spacetime is like?”

“It could also be that Avalon is weird, and has the whole cyclical fate thing happening. He’s a lot stronger than a normal past life,” Ryan points out, before snorting at Aggie’s phrasing.  “And pardon my language, but I wield unyielding dominion over jack shit.” They run their thumb along the watch’s strap again, thinking.

“It’s...unnerving. I’ve always had some...ability with it--I’ve been retrocognitive my whole life--but the larger power is...a recent development. And a dangerous one. Just the other week I managed to give myself a serious fever because time got messed up enough that my body interpreted it as a virus.” They sigh. “So that’s what I mean when I say I haven’t really had time to practice much else. I’ve gotta prioritize.”

Speaking of prioritizing, they start to think about what the best way to start helping Aggie with...their entire deal. Therapy of some sort is probably a good start--someone in the team probably knows a way to find affordable therapy, and for the rest of the cost…

Ryan wonders how the Halcyon Knights would react if they arrived at the office talking about the need to pay for Agravain’s therapy, and decides to table how to phrase *that* for Later Ryan to worry about.

“But yeah. Maybe one day I’ll be able to say that I control time with any degree of accuracy, but I don’t really think I’m there yet,” they admit. “For the moment, I stick to what I can manage. Like fixing things. Or trying to stop Avalon and Asgard from getting involved in a proxy war that levels Halcyon. Or homework.” They shrug. “You know, normal stuff.” Their smile indicates that they know their statement is ridiculous, as they sip their coffee again. “You go to Big High too, right?”

Aggie--no, Agravain, squints at Ryan. Both the teenager and the shade superimposed over her make the exact same face at the exact same time, and it is one of extreme suspicion. “That is the non-answerest answer about your powers you could have possibly given me, k--ah, Ryan.” They lean back. “That being said, I trust that your reasoning for holding back is sound and your modesty is admirable. To an extent.”

At the mention of big high, current Aggie very visibly reasserts herself. It seems like the memories of Agravain are only triggered when relevant experiences he would have shared are brought up, and suffice it to say the knight had never been to high school. “Yep! I’m a freshman! Actually, I might be in the same class as Cadenza? We don’t have any classes together, but you don’t exactly forget seeing someone wearing bright pink on bright orange walking past you in the halls, you know? I’m not judging. More power to her for making it work, honestly. And the rhinestones are, dare I say, *fabulous*.”

Ryan raises an eyebrow at Aggie’s scrutiny. They honestly don’t think they’re underselling their powers by any degree--they *don’t* have control, and that has been proven to them time and time again. “I answered your question about what it was like, which is that it’s unnerving and dangerous,” they point out back at them. “You didn’t ask about the *extent* of my powers. And I don’t have an honest answer to give you on that one, because I haven’t pushed my limits.”

At the mention of Nat, though, they grin--which does a good job of lessening the ‘young professor’ air they perpetually have. “She is pretty hard to miss, huh? And yeah--I’m in my senior year, so I didn’t think we’d have many classes together right now. I just thought I might have seen you before, and you didn’t seem like you’d be going to St. Smithton’s.”

“Yeah no, definitely not St. Smithtons material,” Aggie says with a halfhearted laugh. “But I’m gonna backtrack here for a minute. I’m sorry if I came off as patronizing before—I promise I’ll keep working on it but I’d super appreciate if you could keep patiently reminding me when things come off bad. I didn’t mean to imply you aren’t the ultimate authority over your powers, or turn this into a strategy meeting. I...well...”

They pull out their phone, and open their photo app. The only photos in the entire album are images of what look like pieces of paper. They click on one that’s particularly brightly colored in neon green. It’s a clumsily made card, with “Thank you Kairos! Thank you Big Team!” written out in crooked script.

“My youngest brother made this two weeks ago,” Aggie explains. “See, the mayor before Mayor Crossover put affordable housing between the warehouse districts ‘cause the property values there are like, in the negatives. Seriously. We might get eaten by the fae forest soon. But anyway! As you can probably guess super...person activity used to make a really big mess. Like, every six months or so we’d have to rebuild at least part of the building. People lost some really precious stuff, and Arash had a really tough time ‘cause, like, routines are really important for seven year olds, and doubly so when you have Down syndrome, turns out. He kept getting his life disrupted and losing his favorite stuffed animal and it was all a mess. Until a year ago when some Big Team person started cleaning things up when they were done? No more lost routines. And more recently, stuff started coming back. Tia Alicia two floors down woke up the other day and her photos of her great grandparents were back, frames unsmashed and everything. Your power is wild, sure. I’m sure there’s a lot of it we don’t see that really really sucks. But you and Big Team really do a lot of good for us. I thought you knew that and were like, being cool about it? The landlord is supposed to send these to Big Base every month so they can be passed out. Do you not...do you not get them?”

They start swiping. “Here, you can look if you want. I don’t have all the adults’ cards, so a lot of your thanks are missing, but the kids make me take pictures of theirs to keep. We put em on our fridge. There’s one for at least everyone on the team in here, I think.” They offer Ryan the phone.

Ryan stares at the picture, and then starts flipping through the album. This is probably the first time their shock goes beyond mild surprise; they look genuinely stunned that people have been trying to send them things as thanks for what they’ve done. They look through all of them--letters for Ernest, for Nat, for Faith (well, for Faust) or Overgrowth. And them; they finish back on the same image that Aggie started with, the card with green writing.

It’s clear, just from the look on their face, that Ryan never expected to be thanked for their work as Kairos.

“I--” They start, before shutting their mouth, swallowing hard around the lump suddenly in their throat, and trying again. “I had no idea. Thank you,” they say, genuinely, passing the phone back to Aggie. “Really, thank you. Would you mind sending me those pictures? I can forward them to the rest of the team. I...don’t think they made it to Big Base? Or, if they did, they aren’t being picked up. I don’t think anyone knows to look for thank-you cards. I’m pretty sure people assume most of the mail we’re going to get is hate mail.” Ryan tries to snort and turn that line into a joke, but it’s too real to be funny. “That, and people usually just yell at us online.”

They clear their throat again, nervous tic of rubbing their watch back. “And--well, first of all, I’m not going to stop calling you on when you’re being patronizing, because I don’t let *anyone* pull that shit on me, up to and including my dad, supervillains, and AEGIS. And second of all, I genuinely don’t mean to say--that what I can do doesn’t matter. It does. But it’s also, like, the bare minimum anyone with a moral compass and access to these powers would do, you know? It’s not...I’m not some time-controlling super-powerful god.” They seem unaware that that’s *exactly* how most people informed of their powers would describe them. “I’m just someone who’s trying to help out. Tell your brother thank you, though, from me--and shoot me a text if anywhere around you gets broken again. I can’t be everywhere all the time, but I try to fix public utilities, people’s houses, places that probably don’t have HeroFix insurance or something like that.”

They shrug. It’s pretty clear that while they’re genuinely really grateful for the pictures--and they don’t mind being complimented, per se--they’re also not very comfortable with a lot of attention being paid to their powers, at least right now.

“But that’s also enough about me right now,” they say, in the world’s least subtle redirect, before considering for a moment. “Have you *thought* about talking to a therapist or someone like that about what you’re dealing with? Because I’m down to help as much as I can, of course, but I don’t actually know how to help. And put the cost issue aside, if you think therapy would help I can definitely figure out some way to get around that problem.”

If they have to go to Avalon, hunt down Morgause’s final resting place, and find out how to resurrect her so she can pay for her son’s therapy costs, they will, but they’re also pretty sure Nat’s parents know some people who do superpower therapy and might know who, out of those options, is both good and affordable.

Aggie squints at Ryan. “While I respect and acknowledge everything you just said, and while everyone will appreciate your message, and while I will take you up on that offer of bringing back Brigitte’s grandma’s wedding china, I would just like to point out the fact that of course you’re not a god. You’re a good person. That’s far rarer and more valuable than godhood in my book. But yeah, we can stop talking about this. Theoretically if you want to be friends after this we’ll have plenty of time to discuss confidence issues later.”

They sigh. “Speaking of which, yes, I would appreciate a therapist. I would have talked to the guidance counselors at school already, except for the fact that I’m not sure they’d be helpful and I’m pretty sure I don’t get one til senior year...”

Ryan ignores the comment about their confidence--they’re completely confident in their ability to do a lot of things. Like figure out how to make *someone* pay for therapy for Aggie, who definitely could use it if they wanted it, which they do.

“Good to know,” They say, nodding to themself. “Well, I’ll see what I can do on that front, okay? And…” they pause, the list of things that they need to do clicking through their mind until it stalled on a familiar item. “...this might seem like a bit of a non-sequitur. Do you happen to know Old Welsh? Or, for that matter, Old Norse?”

“Thank you,” responds Aggie, “and yes, I know *so much* Old Welsh. Or well, *Brythonic? Whatever the Celtic proto language was called.”* They say the last bit in Old Welsh, and you notice their voice goes down half an octave. It’s not odd, per se. A lot of people use different vocal registers when speaking different languages. But it’s slightly more pronounced than most to be sure.

They straighten up in their seat. “Is there anything I can help you with requiring the knowledge of Old Welsh? I apologize, but I don’t know much Old Norse. Certainly not enough to be fluent. I’m looking for a teacher actually, if you know anyone?”

“Well, would you be alright with helping me with some translation?” They fish around in their backpack and pull out the sheaf of papers, heavily gone-over with a green pen, and a pad of paper full of notes. “I’ve gotten pretty good at cornering Boon--he works over at the HONOR office, you could probably ask them for lessons, or someone who could help you with lessons,” Ryan notes, absently while sliding some of the pages over towards Aggie.

“Anyway, they’ve been helping me with the old Norse. But the Avalonian half of this is in Old Welsh--and a lot of the medium bits are in Latin, but that’s something I’m pretty confident of on my own.” Ryan’s not *fluent* in Latin, but they’re close. “But the main sources I have for the Old Welsh is Merlin. And I love him, but he’s *biased as hell,* and I’m not saying you aren’t, but if I pingpong things between enough people, I figure all the biases may level themselves out.”

“Oh, I think I’ve heard of Boon! He’s Friðr right? I’ve been following the Valkyries pretty closely since I decided to devote myself to Odin and Freya a couple years back...which, uh, I’m going to have to ask someone if I can even do that anymore, huh?” Aggie says, all in a rush as Ryan is probably starting to realize is more typical of them than they realize.

“But yes, in the meantime, I’d love to help you translate things. I am happy to help however you need me to help, to be quite honest. It’s been...a long time since I’ve felt helpful, which is weird to say when I’m helpful every day? I keep having two sets of feelings about things and it’s absolutely bizarre. At any rate, let me see what you have so far.”

They look over the notes, then tap a button on their phone. “Would you mind if I took a scan of these to take home? I promise I’ll delete them when I’m done reading if this is a matter of extreme secrecy. I just...well, it appears the dyslexia has also been an “always” sort of thing with me. Who knew? It’s going to take me a hot minute to get through these in their current state. Do you think Avalon would take it as a declaration of war if I digitized these and switched the font to Comic Sans?”

“I don’t think the typeface is the most important part of the treaty,” Ryan says, deadpan, “Given that I already had to scan it in and type it up in order to have this.” They shrug. “And I couldn’t say anything on the part of Asgard, but I know one of the du Lacs is thinking of becoming a Valkyrie, so you might be alright. And from my point of view--well. I’m all for cooperation between Asgard and Avalon, both because I think it’s good, and also for the patently selfish reason that the more they get along, the less likely it is that they get into a fight and wipe Halcyon off the map.”

Ryan’s smile is wry, the smile of someone who knows the precariousness of being between two old enemies. “And honestly, if you give me your email I can just send you the copy that I have backed up on the computer. From there it’ll be easier to adjust the font and anything else--and I have a lot of backups of this.”

“Yes, please send it! I’ll make another backup on a separate server of the original, you know, in case,” Aggie replies, and rattles off their email address. It’s simple and professional, and not her school email. “Also listen, the number of times I’ve had points taken off assignments because I used sans-serif typeface A instead of sans-serif typeface B is...a lot. Some people get really into fonts. I never make assumptions. But that’s a digression.

“In the meantime...” they tap a few buttons on their phone and make a quick scan of the page that seems to have the least green markings. “I assume you want this to be a literal translation? Letter of the law rather than spirit of the law for now? That seems like it would be the most helpful for teaching you words. I can annotate with what I think it actually means but like.......I don’t know much about current Avalonian/Asgardian politics so you might need to fill in some gaps on your own. Hopefully that will help?”

“Well, in all honesty I don’t really know about the politics,” Ryan admits, letting the phrase *I never make assumptions* go uncommented-on. “And I’m also not really trying to learn the language. Mostly, I want to have this translated so if anyone tries to put a toe out of line towards a war in Halcyon, I can cite paragraph and line of their own treaty back at them and accuse whichever side is doing it of breaking their own treaties, being devoid of honor, and--if I have to pull out the big words--being oathbreakers in a way that calls into question all of their prior sworn oaths.” Ryan’s smile is a little ruthless.

“So...half of me wants to just tell you--” their voice slips into a celtic accent “--that this isn’t going to do anything, and if you really want to call someone on being an honorless swine, you ought to just challenge them to a duel as is good and proper.” They switch back to their usual accent. “However, this piece of advice seems largely unhelpful and highly dangerous in the current day and age, so I trust you when you say passive aggressive citations are the way to go.”

Ryan may notice the eye under their patch glowing faintly green as they tilt their head to the side, as though listening to someone just out of earshot. “And now I’m arguing with myself in my own head. Huh. That’s new. I’ll have to get back to that one. Anyway, I’ll have an annotated and translated version of this back to you by the end of the week. You will definitely want to check with Merlin when it comes to contextual foundations, et cetera, but I can at the very least provide a sort of...overview of the Avalonian perspective of justice and honor as it relates to the Asgard treaty? I can find citations too if you want to publish this--which, do you want to publish this? It’s really good work and would look great on your college resume…”

Ryan has a brief thought of reminder emails last fall mentioning college application deadlines and grimaces. *Whoops.* Moving along from that thought with all deliberate speed, they think back to earlier points Aggie had made.

“Well, I’m not going to challenge anyone to a duel,” they say, gesturing to the everything about themself, “because first of all, I would lose, and second of all, fighting is the *opposite* of the goal. This--” They tap the paper “--is more useful to me, because I can’t figure out how to stop a fight until I know the rules everyone is playing by.” It’s clear that the idea of perhaps leaving the interplanar diplomacy to someone else has never once crossed Ryan’s mind.

“And, uh, as for publishing it,” and it’s clear this *too* has never crossed their mind. “I mean, I guess it would be a good idea for everyone to know the terms of this, as well, although I worry that if people want to start shit knowing the terms will be as useful to them as it is to me trying to stop shit from being started? If you know what I mean? Also I’m not sure how one would go about citing “Merlin, just trust me on this one,” as a source.” Their laugh is a little rueful. “But if you have suggestions for further reading, I’ll definitely take them.”

“Frankly, if people want to “start shit,” they aren’t going to be asking for permission. I think a fancy bit of paper isn’t going to change the landscape of an insurrection all that much,” Agravain starts, accent slipping once again, “but then--” Aggie continues, in a more typical tone, “if you’ve got enemies like Loki, presumably, since this is Asgard, you’re right that knowing the exact text of the treaty would be uh. Bad news to say the least? Huh. Asgardian diplomacy is *hard*. Why isn’t an actual adult person doing this?”

They blanch. “Uh, not to say that you aren’t talented and authoritative or anything, but also you deserve time to like. Be you, you know? Anyway...sources, right. I don’t have any Avalonian ones, cause that whole thing is pretty new and I wasn’t in a good enough headspace to do proper research, but if you want, I have plenty of english texts on Asgard. I’m sloooowly working my way through Old Norse, but teaching yourself a dead language without a good instructor is hard work, and I need to keep up on my schoolwork if I’m gonna get a scholarship to college, so. Slow going. I can still send you a couple of the papers I *have* read though?”

“Diplomacy as a field argues otherwise on the topic of pieces of paper stopping people from starting shit,” Ryan observes mildly. “And there are plenty of adults doing this, I guess. I’m just not sure any of them are from Halcyon, and even if they are, I’m not sure they’re doing it *right.* I don’t want Asgard and Avalon to go to war for a lot of reasons, but the main one is that if they do, right here--” they gesture around themself, to the cafe and the street outside “--is going to be ground zero. We’re going to get caught in the crossfire because that’s what happens to places stuck between two warring powers. And I want to do everything I can to stop that from happening, not because there aren’t adults doing it, but because I want to make sure that if they’re doing it wrong, I can catch and fix any problems before the problems hit Halcyon.”

They have grown more and more tense as they speak, but then force themself to take a sip of coffee and relax. “But I would love to see any sources you have on Old Norse, and also just to get your opinion on the translation I have thus far. It doesn’t have to be like, a formal paper or take up time you should be using for other things, so no pressure. I’d just also like your perspective.”

Aggie shrugs. “Just this once, I’ll defer to your better judgement. I’m afraid you shouldn’t get used to it. I’ve uh. Always been a bit of a stubborn bastard you see. At any rate, gimme a sec.”

They tap on their phone a couple times “Okay, I shared my resources folder to your school email—feel free to share it anywhere else if you need to. If you want to like, make this a journal thing just let me know. I’m aiming for a comparative literature degree so this really *is* what I should be doing and I can take care of the boring stuff so you have time to do real stuff like rescuing people. Which, speaking of, do you know any Latin? You seem like the type but I don’t want to make assumptions. I uh. Have this Cicero translation assignment that’s kinda kicking my ass, so any help you could offer would really save my life. Doesn’t help that I keep trying to translate into Not English by accident...”

“Oh no, stubborn bastards,” Ryan deadpans, checking their phone quickly. “I have no experience dealing with those. You’re fine, Aggie, and thanks for these.” They’ve made a mental note to check the folder more thoroughly later, because what’s in there might be interesting for more of their projects as well.

They return to the conversation at the mention of Latin, though, and snort when Aggie says they seem the type to know Latin.

“I do, in fact, know some Latin,” they say, with the tone that Aggie at this point recognizes as them downplaying their abilities. “And I think I remember that assignment--it was hard enough with only one other language bouncing around in my head.” Almost unconsciously, they’ve straightened up, and their hand is fishing around in their bookbag for a pad of paper. “Alright, what part of it is giving you trouble? Let’s see if we can figure it out.”