Denouemente - Tumblr Posts
it doesn't take a daemati to see the grip nesta archeron has on dear cassian. the way he chased after her on winter solstice, the sour expression upon his face when he returned, wearing every thought of rejection on his face & drinking them away carelessly. there is no need to claw into his mind to see what is written so clearly in front of him. rhysand hadn't pointed it out, didn't want to rub salt in an open wound, but ... the holiday is over, & technically he has official business to tend to. if he happens to also meddle in cassian's love life — or lack thereof — it's only out of care.
rhysand watches his brother battle it out with the poor dummy for a moment, intrigued by the undeniable anger that unleashes with every hit. he's seen him like this countless of times over the years, in the battlefield & even firsthand, the same movements, like a dance he's memorized. it never seems to stop impressing him. the lord of bloodshed indeed.
he's come prepared, tossing a bottle of water towards cassian with a serpentine smile. " well, i wanted to discuss the illyrian camps with you ... " words trail off, gaze flickering between him & the dummy, beaten & nearly on it's last leg. " but it seems i've caught you in a particularly heated battle. " amusement seeps into timbre, arms crossing over chest. " the archeron sisters really know how to get under our skin, hm? "
he was looking for a distraction, anything to keep his mind off her. no one had made him as angry as nesta archeron, the image of her CRUEL REJECTION still fresh in his memory. fuck! he almost felt bad for the poor dummy he was about to take his frustration out on — at the same time, he needed to put this somewhere. “ sorry. ” he tells the dummy, who just stares back at him with its featureless head. he holds his sword in his hands, breath steady, IN THROUGH THE NOSE, OUT THROUGH THE MOUTH, and . . .
he strikes. and strikes. and strikes again. he should probably stop — but instead, he keeps going, and after enough time has passed, his arms start to burn. sweat drips down his back, but he keeps his breathing consistent. in through the nose, out through the mouth. strike, strike, strike.
YOU LOOK LIKE SHIT. cassian turns to look at the source of the voice, but he already knows who it is. @rhysie stands behind him, and he stops his training to look at his high lord, his best friend. “ thanks. feel like it, too. ” his chest heaves now that he's stopped, and he searches around for water. nothing. of course he'd forget it today. “ need anything? or can i get back to . . . ” he motions back to the dummy, which, after turning to look, could probably use a break. but cassian doesn't want one. not yet.
he laughs as he watches cassian drop the dummy: a reminder of the of shadows & anguish he'd become upon returning back from the mountain, where he should have been relieved seeing his family again, rhysand was a mess of conflicting emotions. distracted, distraught, every thought leading back to the newly turned fae ... feyre, promised & engaged to his enemy. through it all, every rough night, cassian was there. a pillar of support, even if he didn't know the full extent.
so, rhysand will be that for him, now — no matter how much he seems to be shying away from the topic. sadly, for his brother, he wont be dropping the topic that easily. " ah, it seems they haven't taken a liking to our new rules. unsurprisingly. it may be time for another visit ... " words trail off, as if he's already grown bored of playing high lord, waving off the topic of the camps with a shrug.
" but, that's something i can easily handle myself, if need be. i was planning on checking in, anyways. besides, it seems you already have your hands full here ... " a knowing smirk, hands sliding into pockets. cassian's silent plea goes ignored, as rhysand stalks around the training grounds, getting a closer look at the nearly destroyed dummy. " tell me, how is it going with nesta, hm? that bad? "
he shouldn't be surprised that rhys knew what was bothering him — after all, he's had his own wrestle in an attempt to get his archeron sister. he remembers watching him before feyre realized their bond, each and every facial expression once she left the room, his own training when she so much as wore something revealing or wore her hair a certain way. HE FEELS LIKE THAT, BUT TENFOLD. they didn't kiss or bed each other before they shared those feelings. cassian hated sleeping alone. she never asked. did she want him to stay.
“ that is the understatement of the century, my friend. ” cassian says, letting out one final blow and watches the dummy topple over. he walks over to the nearest weapon rack, chest heaving with each and every breath. damn her and her grip on him. he wonders how much rhys is going to pry — a lot, if he knows him. cauldron, save him.
with his hands on his hips, the illyrian male makes his way back over to his high lord, ignoring the sweat - drenched hair falling in his face. “ what of the illyrian war camps? there's nothing i want to talk about more. ” he's half pleading, eyes squinting. “ is something going wrong? ”