Disclaimer: They are not mine. I own nothing but my ideas.
In addition, I know very little about Yale and American Universities, I'm a canuck born and bred so forgive me for any blatant discrepancies. Also any references to persons past or present are purely coincidental.
A Brief History of Time"Is there somewhere we can go and chat? You know catch up for old time's sake?" inquired Tristan.
Rory just glanced off into the distance, miraculously after all the tensions and turmoil she had just put herself through, she managed to find her voice. "There's a Japanese Garden not far from here, I…I like to go there for the comfort." She looked up, her eyes pleading for him to agree to accompany her there, to her refuge away from everything and everyone. She was unsure of why she was willing to share her special place with this boy, no, man that had reappeared as suddenly as he had disappeared, but she would eventually be happy that she did.
"Sure," he replied. "As you wish."
Rory gazed at him quizzically. She thought to herself, surely he doesn't comprehend the magnitude of meaning behind those words. Rory Gilmore, how well exactly do you know Tristan Dugrey?
The walk to the garden was quiet, each lost in thoughts. Rory Gilmore concentrating on willing away the headache that always plagued her after being visited by memories. The near panic attack always left her a bit breathless, light headed and just a tad claustrophobic.
Tristan ran a hand through his short helter-skelter locks, contrary to popular belief, he did not grace the salon every other week just to obtain that highlighted look, his was pure sunshine. Between playing rugby with the guys and competing with the rowing team, his hair had over time, taken on the various shades of gold that contrasted nicely with his even tan. He was worried though, about the change that had overcome his Mary. He had known her better than she thought at Chilton, watching her at lunch, in class, even when making out with his flavour of the week beside her locker entranced by the enigmatic girl that was so special, even he took notice. He had been at Yale for a week, visiting his native land and calling upon those who he had an actual past with. Those few Americans he called friends once upon a time before hormones reared their ugly heads. He sent out emails to the few that he wanted to see, Paris surprisingly emailed back. She updated him on all the latest, her outburst on public access TV, her foray into the relationship with the older man, her fears that medicine may not be the life for her. He didn't even realize Rory Gilmore was on the same campus till Paris mentioned her. His eyes peaked with attention, hungrily considering if this was actually a second chance presented to him, or if it was just history teasing him with a barbed hook. Paris had warned him of how Rory had changed. His curiosity piqued he resorted to almost begging Paris to tell him why. She simply shook her head, three and a half years was too much to share without Rory's ok. Besides, Paris didn't understand Rory completely at the moment either. She simply warned him, "Rory's on a rollercoaster of emotions right now, some days are great, she's herself, other days… well just let me say, Rory left on her own is extremely volatile. She's sorting out who she is."
They reached the garden. Each wordlessly taking in the beauty surrounding them; the focus of the garden was a small pond filled with koi that soon would be removed to a heated holding tank once the winter set in. There was a pathway that wound through the grass and between tall coniferous trees, a pagoda shaped seating area across the way would provide them shelter while they sipped their coffee. Tristan took in the well kept look of the garden. In the eastern style, he could see that the gardener carefully groomed all the trees and removed dying leaves as they appeared on the branches, not a single leaf graced the ground in here, not a single dead pine needle or cone lay carelessly abandoned by its host. Each branch strategically moulded and pruned to fit in inconspicuously withthe master plan.He could see why she would come here. Control. Plain and simple, the environment screamed it, he hazarded a guess that she unconsciously hoped it would also fill her. Heaven knew she needed it back, whatever way she could get it.
As they sat, Rory jumped and then scrambled to find her cell phone without spilling her coffee. Tristan watched the emotions run across Rory's face. First reluctance, guilt, resolve, then vivaciousness? Once again he was unsure of his analysis, he had always thought she was an easy read. Her emotions exposed in her eyes and mannerisms but now he was getting a better idea of what Paris meant. Rory's emotions were changing so fast he was having a hard time reading her.
As Rory began to banter, laugh and make random comments about Quentin Tarantino being a cone head, Tristan recognized elements of the Rory he knew.
"Mom, yes I know, just because the blue sweater has been spotted in a different state doesn't make it a different sweater. You'll just buy it and then regret it…" Rory explained.
"Ok, I love you too, you'll be in San Francisco tomorrow? Ok, tell Luke I said hi." As Rory finished the conversation, the fire in her eyes died, her posture started to slouch and she took a long sip of her coffee, eyes closed like a druggie desperate for reality to disappear.
"Need a refill there, Mary? You seem to be really inhaling that coffee." Tristan inquired.
To that Rory simply smiled weakly and answered, "being bubbly requires copious amounts of caffeine and energy. Its good to see you Tristan, it really is, but what on earth are you doing here?" He poured the back up caramel macchiato into her waiting and empty cup.
"Taking a short vacation, came back here to tie up some legalities and say hi to some friends before I head back." Tristan replied.
"Glad to know I'm considered a friend, though the it begs the question of how you found me. When are you heading back to North Carolina? Are you at Duke?" once distracted, the Rory he once knew with the multitude of questions started to shine.
"Well you did promise me we were friends, before that party and before you said you hat…" began Tristan with just a hint of bitterness.
"Sorry about that, I always felt bad about saying that, I never meant it, I just…didn't want Dean to go away, I would have said anything to make him stay. Even that I loved him I should have known that if it took so much thought that it would have been a mistake. I would have apologized, but you seemed so distant and…how should I say… occupied when I saw you afterwards. I thought it didn't matter to you." Rory rambled. " I did mean it, the apology, not the hating thing."
Tristan cut her off with a smile, "no it doesn't matter now, and everything has sorted itself out. I didn't come for an apology or even to close our chapter in my life. Home for now is at Oxford, yes in England. I finished my junior year at military school in NC, and then I did my senior year at Eton. Some things happened, my cousin passed away, he was thrown from his polo horse. They say his neck snapped and he died instantly."
"I'm sorr…" Rory began.
"Don't be, he died doing what he loved, polo was his escape like rowing is mine. Just mine is slightly safer I suspect," reassured Tristan. "My Aunt Clarissa needed a heir, and I was her favourite nephew. My brother Reginald stands to inherit the Dugrey empire and I had always been off the hook to do as I willed, goof off, whatever, as long as I didn't mess up bad enough Daddy's lawyers would have taken care of it." Tristan reminisced.
Rory nodded in understanding, "I know what you mean, I've seen the other side, Huntzberger…" Rory's voice wavered, "Logan, was the goof off, but he is the heir, and he did so because he knew one day they'd force him into the mould. Painfully or willingly, he went willingly. I ended up with high school you under a different name. Funny huh?" Rory weakly attempted a laugh. "Go on. Tell me the rest? Distract me please." Tristan could only watch in amazement as the Rory he knew slipped away from view, replaced by this horrible replica.
Does she actually think she fools anyone when the original Rory makes a brief appearance? No wonder Paris was worried. However, he could see her eyes call for help, even though Rory was still too proud to outright ask for help. It seems that at least Rory was aware that the way she was was not healthy. She just didn't know how to fix it though. Tristan made a comand decision right then and there, he seemed to be making more of them as of late. He would help her, and not go away. She could control everything with him. How much or how little she told him, how much or little she let him into her life to help. He understood the responsibility that came with his decision. He would likely end up hurt by her in her confusion and naivety, whereas she may end up hurt by his good intentions. All he knew for certain, is that no one around her was able to help her, maybe because they knew her past, and she didn't like that. He was in a completely different position. One he would try to maneuver from.
"Well Aunt Clarissa is also Comtess Clarissa. Distantly related to the last of the reigning French monarchy. Aunt Clarissa was also slightly eccentric by society standards. She was a riot. She played by the rules and she schmoozed with the rest of the elite better than the D.A.R. ladies. However, when she changed her will and it became public knowledge, you might say she caused quite a scandal. I now stand to inherit the title. On my 21st birthday I will no longer be just Tristan Dugrey. I will be Comte Tristan de Montpensier. The Count of Montpensier."
"Wow…uh…wow" Rory was stunned. Once again her mind started racing with possibilities. Why would he tell me this? I haven't spoken to him in more thanfour years! What is he doing here? What does he mean by he doesn't want to close OUR chapter in his life. He can'tstill like me if he ever liked me? I can't handle this right now? Wait, he's still talking…
"If the truth was all it took to make you speechless I should have tried it sooner," joked Tristan. "The scandal is, although the title holds great wealth, enough to keep anyone in the highest standard of life imaginable, it all remains in trust. That just isn't "done" in society.However, thatway the family manages to stay wealthy regardless of how reckless the current Count is. It stipulates that in addition to attending at least 5 society events a year, ones that the Count or Comtess has always attended, I must hold down a job, give at least 15percent of my net personal income from the job to a charity each year. In exchange, I retain control of any trust funds placed solely in my name and in addition, each month I will receive a supplemental three million dollars. However that three million is the maximum allowance, should I act inappropriately, be discovered in an illicit scandal with even a shred of evidence or waste the money away it can be cut to only one thousand dollars, enough to save face at the black tie events and dress appropriately. That sort of thing. It made me grow up, made me prioritize. I've been given freedom from the Dugrey empire to do as I wish with my own. Until I'm 21 I have to request money from theMontpensier lawyers, I send all the bills to them, they have the right to make me pay my own bills if they deem them outrageous but they're quite good. They consider things like Lamborghini's outrageous and unnecessary, but that just means I get to drive a Beamer Z4 in the summerand an X5 in the winter. So my education and living expenses,the two cars, a few vacations, all paid for by Montpensier money. It was completely up to me to choose, I could have declined, no questions asked. I get less money now than I did with my father. I crashed my father's Maserati and my own Lamborghini within 4 days of turning 16 and he didn't bat an eyelash. There's a lot more control over the finances, but I'm happier. I had the freedom to grow up and make something of myself. Amazing thing is, I didn't have to choose to go into business or corporate law. I chose to study human rights law. Next year should I pass the bar, I'll be a human rights barrister. "
Rory could see how much the cock-sure little boy from Chilton had grown up. Through a chance of fate, or destiny, had given this boy masquerading as a man a way out. A way out of forced social obligation, of a domineering father constantly disappointed at how the back up heir was beginning to turn out. In comparison, Rory felt she had moved backwards. She had it all figured out at Chilton. The life plan consisted of Chilton, Harvard, now substituted with Yale, internships, hard work, the big break and finally being an overseas correspondent affiliated with the New York Times, freelance otherwise. Now? She didn't know. She was still studying full time, after Logan convinced her to come back to school and finish the journalism degree regardless of what his father thought. However there was no certainty after that. Her grades were ok, the emotional upset and time Logan took up had taken their toll on them. She was not top of the class, not even top 5. She had no standing job offers upon graduation. She had no security of the life plan. She was up the proverbial creek without a paddle with no idea how to get back on route. She managed to finally get out, "I don't know if this means anything, but I'm proud of you. You figured it out, your life plan, and you're still on track. You've got your future lined out before you and I really admire you."
Rory reached out and touched the back of his hand. Willing the physical contact to convey the sincerity of her words. The warmth radiating off his skin warmed her cold fingers and he instinctively but tentatively turned around and clasped her cold digits within his. As the tendrils of warmth reached out and cocooned both their hearts, Rory sighed, recognizing at least a temporary safe port to weather her emotional storm. A person to keep her grounded for the moment, linked to the present, not the past.
"Life is pain Mary. Anyone who says differently is selling something," comforted Tristan. Rory's eyes widened in shock and realization. "It would take a stone gargoyle not to realize the pain you let out when you let your guard down, I can feel it, and see it. Everyone can. Talk to me?" ventured Tristan.
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Author's Note: Thank you for reading, I'll try to update again by the weekend, or next week at the latest. I'm cramming for the MCAT on top of everything else and I had to pick now to get stuck in my head a story line that won't leave me alone and bugs me enough that I would hazard writing it down. I apologize that my writing is sometimes confused, I know the sentiment I want to express, but I just can't seem to find the words to explain it perfectly. In addition, I'm new to the whole getting my posts online etc. I am definitely not computer savvy. Some formatting mistakes occurred when I uploaded the first chapter. I will try to fix them. However, italics are thoughts. Constructive criticism welcomed. Oh, and The Princess Bride must be accredited for "As you wish" and "life is pain…"