Chapter Text
His name was Stare Decisis of Ham-on-Rye, yet as far as anyone was aware or could discover, not a single soul of this noble family had actually lived in Ham-on-Rye. Then, it seemed as if it may have been a name wrought from a profession. Sandwich makers? In any case, it provided food for thought.
Stare Decisis had the usual upbringing for a noble boy. That is to say, not very usual, but usual for the circumstances. He had the usual thoughts for such a normal boy, such as It’s not that I don’t like girls—I just haven’t found the right one, and, Why are all my friends so concerned with kissing? It looks completely not fun! But he couldn’t tell anyone about these thoughts, of course, even though they were normal. He would even tell himself things like, “It’s completely normal!” And it was. There’s nothing to see here.
Stare Decisis even once had a friend who—when he thought about him too intently, or when he saw this friend lying down with his midriff showing—would cause a certain feeling in his stomach. It was like a heat that rose and then settled in his cheeks.
But this was perfectly normal too. In fact, the Ankh-Morpork summers were hot, and one couldn’t help getting a bit flushed from time to time, even when the indoors sat at a perfectly comfortable temperature. It was also perfectly normal that—when they were both teenagers—Stare would get angry sometimes. That he got angry when his friend was off snogging with his girlfriend couldn’t be helped. Even, it was completely natural, especially when his friend was his only confidant, and when there was no one else to turn to, his friend was always there.
His friend’s girlfriend was also quite beautiful, so it also must have been the case that Stare just had a crush on her and he was just jealous. It definitely wasn’t the other way around! It couldn’t have been so that Stare wished he were his friend’s girlfriend and he was the one snogging his friend. It couldn’t possibly be the case because Stare was completely normal.
And so it was completely normal that he got angry in general, at his friend, and at his girlfriend, and at himself, too. His friend was one of only a few people that gave Stare a sense of Home. His own family provided not even a twinge of the feeling, so he had to build Home brick by brick. He wasn’t an of Ham-on-Rye, he was a Vanguardian! The quartet of mischief. And now she was stealing all that away!
Besides this particular girl, though, Stare got along quite well with girls. From the teasing his friends gave him, he gathered that this was not usual. They called him a lady’s man, except he never wanted to date his friends. And it never felt romantic. He was sure this was, in fact, usual, for why would he want to date his friends anyway? Girls made great friends, and they were generally more willing to have some emotional vulnerability. Not that he would ever open up to anyone, though, girl, boy, or something else!
Except, well, there was this one time. But it really wasn’t his fault. How could he have known that his friend, Matilda, would be in the bathroom at six in the morning (the same time she always was)? He’d arrived thirty minutes earlier, and it had been an ambush!
This time in particular was one of those times where everything came to a head: exams, family, those feelings about his friend which were completely normal. But everything was okay, and there was no reason to share it with anyone. “A load shared is a load doubled!” his father would say.
But Matilda had the knowledge of the words unspoken. It wasn’t magic, but it really ought to be.
Upon seeing him, she probably would have said something like, “What’s wrong?”
And Stare Decisis of Ham-on-Rye would probably say that, nothing, nothing is wrong. Why would you think anything is wrong? But he would have said it in a way where of course something was wrong. And he probably would have begun crying even when he really didn’t want to. And he would likely have turned away to hide it. Normal people—normal men—don’t cry, and so with that logic, there was no need to cry, for he was a normal man.
But Matilda would know. Even if Stare hadn’t turned around with a choking noise in his throat (something which even those without the knowledge of words unspoken could pick up on), Matilda would still have known something was wrong. She knew, and she would always know. And she would think to herself: why am I doing all this emotional labor for these thick oafs? But, well, Stare was her friend, and she cared about him, and he was only an oaf from time to time. She probably would’ve thought something like, I really wish he would open up more; he’s so kind and quiet and helpful, but he never helps himself. Pride, she would think.
Here was one of those weird sorts of bathrooms. Marble everywhere, and more like a posh and private bathhouse rather than a bathroom. It was steamy and probably would have smelled like tangerines and honeysuckle.
In the past, everyone had teased him that he and Matilda were going out. The logic was: how can a boy and a girl be so friendly if they were just friends? Yet, at one point, she really did fancy Stare, but that was short-lived. Once she figured that, not only was he not interested in her, he couldn’t be, the feeling faded away. But now they were alone together* in the steamy bathroom where just a half an hour ago Stare had taken a plunge in the soapy waters. And he had been, of course, completely oblivious to the fact that Matilda would arrive thirty minutes, on the dot, and carrying a small bag with toiletries and a change of clothes.
* Completely clothed, sicko!
After seeing him trying not to cry because he was a Man, she probably would have said, “You’ve been completely out of it all week. I know something’s wrong.”
He was still turned away and attempting to fight the tears. “I think I’m…” And he would have tried again, still unable to get out the words. “I’m…” And what he was he didn’t want to be. He finally lost that fickle war and broke into sobs. He was neither usual nor normal. His mind had already made itself up. But how could he tell anyone? Being his sort of unusual and abnormal was probably something that could get him kicked out of the University. And if that were the case, he would lose his Home.
He had hid it for so long that he almost even fooled himself. But, after all this time, how could he tell Matilda who would then gain that terrible power to destroy him?
But she had the knowledge of words unspoken anyway, and asked him, “Is this about Omnian?”
Stare sputtered. “What!? How did you know?” And a feeling of horror blanketed him, for if Matilda knew, anyone could have known.
“I see how you look at him, and how it makes your face go red.” She smiled at him, and she secretly relished her omniscience.
Oh! How Stare looked at Omnian, his friend and main confidant. How he hated and loved it. How he felt dirty and wrong and ashamed. But also how he felt indignant and rebellious! Who had the right to tell him not to love? No one! Unless, of course, they could destroy his Home or if it was his mother or—Om forbid—his father.
“I’m not a broom handle*!” he would shout, and then he would regret it. Because, in fact, he was.
* Broom handle was an Ankh-Morporkian word to disparage those men who loved other men.
“Don’t use words like that, Starry! You’re perfectly fine the way you are.” She would’ve said something of that sort because that’s the sort of person she was.
And then Matilda crossed the distance to hug him, and for a moment, according to Stare, it really was fine. Sopping wet in that bathroom, being comforted by Matilda, anything in the world could be all right. That was her magic.
* * *
She cornered Stare later in the Library. Well, technically not the Library Proper, but the Library Outer-Vestibule as libraries did what libraries always do when a lot of people want to read a lot of books at once. They rebel, and towards exam season in the Unseen University, the books got buck nasty. They would think, Use your brain! Remember things by yourself! Neither Stare nor Matilda felt like spending an afternoon wrangling and castigating books, and so they sat in the vestibule. No one dared yet enter the Library Proper and disturb the books, so it was peacefully quiet.
Even after their bathtime heart-to-heart, Stare still felt down. That his parents continued hounding him, that his grades continued lacking, and that Omnian still had his tongue down Amarantha’s throat weighed him down.
Stare’s parents weren’t too bad, really. Simply said, they cared too much about legacy, and that’s all they’d ever be concerned about. They weren’t mean, per se, but they definitely weren’t Home.
Omnian’s parents were a different breed entirely from the rest, especially according to them. Where Stare’s parents were not understanding, Omnian’s parents were downright mean. Even worse, they thought being mean helped. What an indignity that is! But Omnian was their heir. And he was rich, and he was going to be the next leader of the house Omsmouth.
Stare was all of those things too, of course, but less so. He was heir quadrice removed, and his family had a lesser fortune. It was only because of the former that he was allowed to attend the university. For the of Ham-on-Ryes, it would be completely out of the question to allow the direct heir to become a wizard! Stare’s oldest brother Domitae Naturae of Ham-on-Rye II—son of Domitae Naturae of Ham-on-Rye I who was himself son of Domitae Naturae of Ham-on-Rye 0—was the well-bred, mild-mannered, charismatic, diplomat-aristocrat heir to the house of of Ham-on-Rye. He was perfect, and he consumed most of the need for perfection from his other siblings, which shielded his youngest brother from the worst of it. He still got some of it, though.
Then there was the Omnian problem. When he wasn’t off scheming and pranking with his best friend Garotte Livebetter, he was probably fondling Amarantha Duress and eating her face off. There was really no reason to be so cruel, but Stare always tried to make Amarantha feel lesser whenever she asked him for help on a homework question. It really wasn’t fair, but he wanted her gone. At the same time, when Stare saw Amarantha sat in Omnian’s lap, it would make him as stiff as a broom handle. Thinking about himself in Amarantha’s position, that is.
And then finally there were the exams, but at least that offered distraction. He could forget about Omnian and his family while studying (if he was actually studious, which came more in waves). But he had a great motivator, however. If he wasn’t the best, strongest, and most powerful wizard there ever was or ever going to be, then there’s no reason to become one! According to his parents, at least. And deep down, according to Stare Decisis, too. If he wasn’t the best at everything, it followed that he wouldn’t have Home.
So studying in the Outer Vestibule it was. You could request a book from the librarian, who (it was rumored) was over two hundred years old*. Oh, and he was an orangutan. But all those books barely interested Stare. What was the point of learning about the theories of messaging and teleportation if it didn’t actually help anyone. How cool: he could teleport to the Hub and send messages to the Rim. What good did that do anyone? And what good did it do if he needed some expensive gem to do it? And the Clacks were faster anyway.
* He was two hundred tears old only technically and from the right frame of reference. All those words have weight, and they warp time around them. A student could study for two hours inside the Library and have only half a second pass outside. It would have been a great boon if the books weren’t so mean.
That’s all to say, his education was more theoretical than it was practical. This made Stare wish his education was more like witchery, which he had heard was more practical. He yearned for praxis, but praxis was women’s work, according to some of the older professors, who still couldn't stand the accepting of women into the university.
Stare had brought this up to a trusted professor once, who was immediately taken aback when Stare said he kind of wished he were a witch. The professor said a male witch is called a broom handle, but then he quickly corrected himself because that was mean and inappropriate even if he did mean it. Maybe he did mean it, but Stare hadn’t been sure. It was always like that. He was stubborn, yet unsure.
He had argued for himself: but wizards don’t actually do anything. They do research, and read books, and write papers, and attend conferences. But what good did this do anyway? Stare had said, “What if we actually start helping people with our magic!“
But the professor had been appalled. How could they do something so— so of the earth at a wizarding school? Something so grounded, and— and practical! Practical wasn’t useful, he cried! And that had been the end of that. For forever, Stare thought.
At that moment in the Outer Vestibule, Stare Decisis was reading some textbook or another. Something about theories concerning the history of theories, probably. He would be completely unbothered because Omnian would never be found at or near the Library. And if he wasn’t there, neither would Amarantha.
Earlier, Matilda had found Stare sat in a corner, and sat next to him. “Had him cornered,” as it were, according to Stare.
She leaned over the desk towards him, and she spoke in a hushed whisper. It wasn’t a matter of etiquete, though; it was to not rile up the books just on the other side of the Library door. “So what do you like about Omnian?”
Stare reeled back, startled. What was she getting at? Stare thought. And he flushed bright red, and stuttered a response, thought better of it, and then looked around concerned. “Um… should we be talking about this here?”
“Why not?” she replied. She relished her omniscience. She knew just what buttons to press to wind him up.
“It’s not— It’s not normal!” he whispered!
“Not normal? At any moment a horde of books could bust down that door and murder us all! It’s normal to love, Starry. You’re human!”
“Don’t call me Starry,” he murmured, looking dejected.
But with Matilda’s knowledge of words left unsaid, she heard instead, “I love when my friends call me Starry. It feels like the world needn’t be so serious. And it feels like Home, and like love.”
So she replied, “But you’re my Starry, Starry!”
There was a glimmer of relief on his face. He probably thought something like, Why am I like this? So serious and demanding everything be so?
Matilda continued. “So what am I missing about him? Yeah, he’s beautiful, but otherwise he’s so full of himself! You find that appealing?”
“What!” he whispered again! “No he’s not,” but then Stare admitted that he was. Of course he was, but he was also kind, and funny, and understanding, and dramatic, and also the opposite of all those things, too, sometimes, he told her.
And then what he didn’t tell her was that he was mental about Omnian. Completely Obsessed. He also didn’t tell her that, when he went to bed at night only some feet away from Omnian, he would think about Omnian’s face—its fair skin and high cheek bones—and his long, black hair. And he would think about the way he laughed and that way Omnian would smile at him which was completely disarming. He as well wouldn’t have said that he wished nothing more than to feel Omnian’s arms around him. And, additionally, he wouldn’t have told Matilda that there wasn’t a piece of himself that wasn’t wild about Omnian. He felt like a beast, a dejected creature, and, even worse, a…
But with her omniscient knowledge, Matilda understood it all, and asked knowingly, “You’re starstruck wild about him, aren’t you?” And she giggled.
Stare looked down at his notes in shame. But at the same time, there was a comfort in talking about it. It was a small proof that he really was normal, actually, and not some degenerate broom handle. In fact, it was others who were not normal for not letting Stare love whoever he wanted. But this thought of resistance was fleeting and lasted only so long.
“I thought so,” Matilda whispered. With a smirk she said, “I see you eyeing him at dinner.” She teased, “Like a piece of meat.”
“What! No I don’t!” My life is ending, he thought.
Matilda tapped her fingers to her lips, considering and weighing the effects. She went in for the kill, “Don’t worry, he hasn’t— no, no one has caught on.” She saw a smidge of relief cross Stare’s face. “But… I think he’s in love with you, too.”
An expression of terror and devastation wrought itself across Stare’s face. “What!”
And a susurration of pages began the other side of the door…