@volchtsa : Sorry, Didnt Mean To Interrupt, You Just Looked Sad. Amren

@volchtsa : ‘ sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt, you just looked sad. ’ — amren

sad seems to be an understatement, with the high lord being multiple drinks in — alone, surrounded by a mist of shadows, eyes burning a hole into the paperwork that was neglected hours ago. it's become a nightly routine since returning from under the mountain, wrapping up his days of hunting rogue illyrian war bands with anything to take the edge off. they were gruesome confrontations over the fifty years they'd decided to push boundaries, that ended with blood being spilled more often than not. a waste of life, especially when they'd need as many bodies as they could round up for the festering war. what he'd thought would be a decent enough distraction from the upcoming wedding, ended up only adding onto his stress.

her words pull him from his thoughts, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. after so many years, isolating himself to deal with his problems on his own had become second nature — but in moments like this, he is reminded of what it is to have a friend again. his family. he straightens, waving a hand. " no need to apologize. don't tell me you've gone soft in my absence. " a glass appears before them, a gift from the house for amren, filled with blood. " i was just lost in thought, i suppose. "

for the first time in years, rhysand allows himself to relax. eyes flutter shut, soaking up every second of bliss that only seems to come in her presence. he can picture spending every night for the rest of his days with her like this, the image so colorfully displayed out for him behind his eyelids: feyre in his arms, as she tells him about her day. the kisses they would share — how easy sleep would find him. his imagination drifts to these thoughts most nights, only to wake up disappointed by cruel reality, his bedside cold.

her confession brings hope that maybe those dreams weren't so far off, after all. he doesn't remember the last time he has felt so seen beyond the image he had crafted of himself, or if he ever even has at all. rhysand swallows past the growing lump in his throat, eyes opening to meet the one's he'd felt on him, before pivoting to linger on her lips. wrapped up in her scent, with all of the courage she has given him, it would be too easy to kiss her right now. but the thought is pushed away almost as soon as it even begins. she's healing, maybe even still loves tamlin ... it's the last thing she needs right now. instead, he only shrugs, flashing a smirk as he meets feyre's gaze. " i tried to tell you, i am quite delightful. "

it was the safest i had felt in months — curled up in his arms, surrounded by a starry night that coaxed me towards a peaceful slumber. no one could hurt me here, no one could break past his power. he was here — i wasn’t alone anymore. as he whispered softly against my hair, my heart sputtered eagerly — goosebumps raising on my arms, as his fingers brushed against my flesh in soothing strides. my breathing quieted and evened out, chest raising softly as he comforted me, bringing me back down to earth. i continued to clutch his hand, forbidding both him and myself from daring to let go. for a quiet moment, we were the only two people left in the world and i wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

this was by far my favorite side i had seen of him. his touch was so tender and his voice so raw, so unlike the lord of darkness he had presented himself as. i couldn’t help but wonder how many others had been fortunate enough to truly know him in the quiet light as i did. i both pitied those that never would and delighted in knowing that this moment was entirely mine. a part of me never wanted it to end, almost afraid that once i woke up again, i’d realize none of it had been real. my eyes fluttered open at the thought, head tilting up to admire him — how he was even more beautiful in the dark of night. the way the shadows accentuated his sharp features and the stars reflected in his eyes, his mask slipping as he let me in. “ thank you for getting me out of there, ” i whispered, no longer meaning just amarantha’s underground prison. “ you knew i needed help before i did. i was wrong about you. ”

what form of love do you embody?

[ love is knowing all of someone and loving them anyway ] when tim kreider said "if we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known" and when joe wright said "The idea that these two people know each other, knew each other when they first saw each other. That they recognized each other from their future" and when micah nemerever said "it was a relief and a horror to be known so perfectly"

tagged by: @luminour & @literare tagging: @feydarling, @valkyrd / @dayqyeen, @socialpolicy, @chaosfable

he's never seen cassian so tied up about anyone like this, let alone a female — he uses care when approaching the subject, keeping his taunts to himself, for the sake of his brother's open vulnerability. it's only when he realizes the hurt in his brother's eyes, that rhysand scowls, fingers drumming against the arm of his chair. " she has been going down a dark path. feyre has expressed her own concern, as well. " his tone is kept neutral, biting down the resentment that lingers. her treatment of his mate had been excruciating to watch, to know that it'd been effecting cassian too ... rhysand finishes off his glass, resting his cheek against his fist. " perhaps, we can all discuss further steps together. she can't keep going on like this. " if it's what he suspects, if there is a bond between them, a warning won't keep cassian away — but there is a chance that this will end in only heartache for him. " just ... don't allow yourself to get too close, if she'll even allow it. for your own sake. "

he gives only a huff in answer to rhys's statement, throwing back the rest of the liquid in his glass then before more appears in its wake. he's rather grateful to the house for filling it for him, but nothing will take his thoughts fully from the archeron sister a few rooms away. he listens to his brother, somehow managing to focus enough on his words to form some of his own. ❝ i don't... i don't know. ❞ a lie. he knows damn well why it bothers him so much, but aside from being too afraid to say it out loud, he's worried his brother will laugh at him. not for any particular reason, but the worry is still there. shifting as rhys settles beside him, the two of them now drinking together as they have more times than he can even begin to count, cassian goes on. ❝ i'm trying so hard, rhys. seeing her destroy herself... i can barely take it anymore. ❞ he'd never try to control or dictate the female's actions, but he's afraid of what might happen if he can't step in and help her in the right way. he looks to his high lord, a sad look about him. ❝ she's different around me. sometimes. and just when i think she's opening up, she snaps at me. ❞

i was meaningless. her thoughts echo over the bond tying them together, loud enough that his lips part to object, to bring her any sort of comfort — to ensure feyre of what tamlin hasn't. that he'd do whatever it takes, give his own life, to make sure she leaves this mountain alive. he decided it as soon as she showed up: the human girl who has kept him going, without even knowing it. it was now his turn to repay the favor. but the risk of amarantha catching even an inkling of how important she is to him … it’s enough to kill his urge. he’s already risking too much with these visits, as is.

but that softness lingers in his features, that mask becoming harder & harder to wear around her. everything he has gone through, every awful command he has followed, the faces of everyone he’s had to kill. it all flashes before him, with enough detail to make him flinch. after all of these wasted years, he was barely surviving. his will to live had been shattered, any hope of seeing his family again lost, until he started dreaming. visions of quiet peace suddenly flooded his mind, then: beautiful paintings, soft hands, sunlight beaming through trees onto the forrest floor. to know of such an existence out there, that wasn’t plagued by all of this darkness, pulled him through. gave him some semblance of hope that had been lost long ago. how cruel the cauldron must be … to show him all of that, just to make him watch as all of that light is killed. to make it worse, she doesn’t even know. how he’s survived — it’s all thanks to her human heart, too.

rhysand shrugs, that sadness traded for a cold exterior, as if he suddenly remembers the part he must play again. even if she knew, would she be happy to hear it? that she helped such a monster continue on … the disgust in her gaze, every time she so much as looks at him speaks enough. & suddenly, all of that sly charisma is turned back on, forcing a smirk that’s unable to meet his eyes, finally allowing himself to glance at her. “ i’m more adaptable to the darkness than most, feyre darling. “

my final trial was fast approaching — just a couple more nights and it would all be over. certain death awaited. i knew amarantha would never let me out of here alive, but i would still do everything i could to ensure that tamlin and the others had a fighting chance. my life had been forfeit the moment i went under the mountain. all we would have left were a few decades — an otherwise, insignificant amount of time in a immortal high lord’s powerful existence. i was meaningless. they would all forget about me as soon as i was gone. my human heart was failing.

my nights had blurred into days, as i accepted my looming fate. somehow rhysand had become my most frequent companion — the most pitiful part of myself was almost grateful for it. even if that meant being subjected to his depravity and condescension, it was still somewhat better than being left to waste away on the cold floor with nothing but my doom and despair. rather it was simple boredom or a ploy to get under tamlin’s skin that brought him here, i no longer had it in me to care. i ignored his attempt to place any doubt in my mind — i knew not to question tamlin’s heart. i knew that even in his silence and stoicism, he was protecting me in his own way — even if that lack of acknowledgment was killing me just as slowly.

i didn’t move from my spot on the ground, leaning against my knees to relieve my aching back. i’m sure i looked as pathetic as i felt, crouched in the corner surrounded by filth. i blinked up at rhysand — it’s perhaps the nicest thing he’s ever said to me, that anyone had for months. i did not understand this side of him — such a far cry from the high lord who had almost crushed my mind with a flick of his fingers, or the one who sauntered through the throne room with his head held high. there was the slightest hint of defeat that hung from his shoulders now, just as it did mine. perhaps, because i was so tired of fighting, and of being alone, i found myself asking, " how have you survived for so long down here then? "

the fire in her words is expected, rhysand unflinching with the fervor packed outburst. they've gone through the same song & dance countless of times now, ever since feyre issued her ultimatum. he knew nesta wouldn't be eager to go along with it, but she was wasting away, pushing away everyone who cared about her. someone had to step in. " i hate to be the bearer of bad news, but for as long as you live our court, burning through our gold marks, like it or not, you do. feyre has given you enough patience. " if he didn't witness firsthand how this was effecting his mate, rhysand thinks he might be able to extend that same amount of patience. he knows what she's going through, being forced to live a life you didn't want, the self hatred that seems to burn you alive ... maybe, if they didn't have such similarities, they wouldn't always be at odds like this.

" i'm well aware it won't work. " his voice is bald, shoulders shrugging. " you would have to actually want to change — to get better, and clearly you are more than fine wasting your days away in this miserable existence. " he had his own moments of shutting everyone out when he returned from under the mountain, uncertain of where the mask he had to wear for so long ended & he really began. but his family pushed him to get through it, helped him see the world in color again. even if he sometimes finds him lost in that facade, slipping into those same habits, constantly questioning his own morals. every day slowly gets easier. she deserves at least a chance for the same. " i implore you to at least try, if not for yourself, then for the people that care about you. "

@rhysie: do you mean to spend your whole life running away?

prompt vault. * always accepting !

“ what do you care? ” she snaps, words cold and hard as ice. nesta is sick of this meddling, this intervention they're trying to stage for her. he's not doing it because he cares ( she's not a fool to expect that from him ). he's doing it for feyre, and for the inconvenience of her existence in this blasted court. it's not like she asked to be here. “ what i do or don't do with my life is none of your business. i don't answer to you. ” nesta knows that's not entirely true. she lives in velaris. just a few months ago she'd agreed to work with him, to be an emissary of the night court to the human lands. but that was before elain was taken away due to her lackluster attempt at scrying. before the war with hybern, before cassian's broken body on the grass, before her father's broken neck. things have changed since then. she might be under his jurisdiction but it doesn't mean she has to be happy or willing. “ it won't work, you know, ” nesta adds, every syllable dripping with malice. “ whatever the point is of you asking me to train with cassian. it won't work. ” she almost feels sorry for feyre, almost wants to beg for elain's forgiveness. but there are things she just can't allow herself to feel anymore ( and things she simply can't feel, no matter if she allows it. ) “ this is who i am, ” nesta tells rhysand in a flat, colorless voice. “ not even your damned cauldron managed to change that. ”