The Greywaren and the Magician [Pynch One-Shots]

A Myth More Real

The Barns were a thing of lore, bedtime stories and things whispered about around campfires when the night is cold and the sky is clear and uncertain light makes everything that much more believable.

There lives the Greywaren, Adam's uncle had once murmured, and then he'd been taken over by wracking coughs and had not elaborated. His tone had been enough to make Adam shiver.

His father had laughed scornfully and dismissed it as a childish whimsy, had berated him for even thinking about such things and cuffed him behind the ear.

His mother had used it as a kind of not-threat. Be good, Adam, or the Greywaren will set his night horrors on you.

They say, an old, ragged man had rasped from beneath his torn blanket, the coin Adam had dropped into his tin glinting in the sunlight, that he can make your dreams come to life. He can pull things from the very depths of his mind. That kind of power... Imagine the kind of things you could do. Boy, heed my advice and do not chase after him.

All through town, you could hear whispers of a man or a boy or something that wasn't quite human (he had heard rumors of horns and wings and teeth like knives) who lived in a brooding castle or a quiet cottage or a dark cave, tucked away in rolling hills and towering forests. Someone who's dreams had power,who carried answers to questions deep in the depths of his eyes, who had armies of creatures at his command.

He could wipe away all of your worries, he could make your life a true and living Hell, he could show you your deepest desires and set them down on the table before you as tangible things, he knew anything about everything. And once, because of this, when Adam had stolen a rare moment to himself and away from the grueling farm work, Gansey had found him and whispered in awe that if a Greywaren really did exist, he must have the answers about Glendower.

So, to find Glendower, they must find the Greywaren.

They had trecked and scavenged and scored, but it wasn't until Adam pushed his fingers into the earth of a forest that spoke Latin and your thoughts, and whispered the conditions of a deal, that they knew where to head.

His mind was filled with spurts of images, trails that burrowed deep beneath the earth and radiated a raw kind of energy. His fingers twitched, he found himself compelled to shift stones and bury seeds.

Gansey had watched him with barely veiled fascination and trailed after him on a trip that lasted a week and landed them breathless and awed at the top of a hill, looking down at a sprawling mass of structures and things that simply could not be and Gansey had whispered, We've done it, you've done it.

When they picked their way up the large dirt path and worked up every ounce of their courage to stand on the doorstep of the main building, Adam drew in a deep breath and took his knuckles to the door.

The door swung open and Adam's throat closed. His mind did a sort of check-off list: Horns, no. Wings, no. Human, yes. Probably.

The Greywaren (Adam assumed) was tall and barbed. High cheekbones, piercing eyes, thin mouth, sharp nose, strange markings crawling over his shoulders, hair cut down to his scalp. Looking at him, Adam could not imagine another expression on his face; all withering snarl and narrowed eyes.

Gansey, son of a Lord and student of many scholars, gave one of his signature grins that made inn-keepers croon, took a large and sure step forward, and swept into a low bow, "We give our most humble apologies for disturbing you, but we have traveled a long way and would ask that you at least lend us a moment of your time."

The Greywaren leaned against the door frame, folding his arms over his chest, eyelids falling half-closed. "My time comes with a price. I don't live all the way out here so that I can get visitors every day."