Denouemente : Cassian - Tumblr Posts
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? ”