Work Text:
She was breaking. He could feel it.
The numbness.
It clawed at the edge of his awareness through the…bargain- he didn't dare think the other word; didn't dare hope. Dangerous.
But that was the killer.
That was what made this even more painful; he'd started to hope. Despite his best efforts, a tiny flicker that grew with every success she shouldn’t have had…at the improbability of her. And that hope, that ridiculous, painful flicker was possibly going to kill them all.
In the relative safely of his own quarters, Rhys, weary, almost to the point of collapse pressed his back against the door and slid to the ground. Digging his hands into his hair he sat slumped and allowed himself to think, just for a moment. He was exhausted.
His own numbness; his carefully built shields where he hadn't allowed himself to even think their names- she'd awoken those dormant memories and they sang against his carefully constructed walls in his mind. His friends, his family, his…Again he strengthened the mental shields that were weakening for those memories. Dangerous!
But she'd reminded him of them- she'd awoken those memories; that longing for them and it, it hurt. And now she, this mortal girl, who should have died many times by now, this incredible, strong, important human was beginning to crumble.
They were so close to the end, possibly of everything. Maybe it would be a relief when it was over. To allow the darkness and despair to swallow him as it almost had numerous times in the past 49 years. To sit here and not care what happened next.
The hope though. The hope. It depend on her; on this naive, ridiculous, enchanting, breakable human.
So, so breakable. The things Aramantha might do…again he slammed that door in his mind. He wouldn't, couldn't go there. What she did to Claire...That thought was enough to have a wave of nausea rolling through his body. Dangerous, dangerous territory.
But she, was losing herself. Feyre, her name brought a jolt of...something anytime he heard or thought of her, but she was fading. Was breaking apart crumbling under the relentless cruelty and viciousness of this place. He barked out an angry laugh, bitter even to his own ears. This place modelled on his own court below the mountain. Perhaps there was a justice in that- that this poor facsimile of that place should destroy something so precious to him while he could only watch, himself a cruel facsimile of who he truly was.
He held his head in his hands.
His usual insults hadn't sparked any kind of response the last couple of nights. She'd always responded before; so strong, so very.. Alive. Despite it all. But that had stopped she'd barely acknowledged him tonight. She'd practically grabbed the goblet of Fae wine earlier, eager to embrace the brief oblivion it offered. His heart cracked at that. Strange, he didn't think there was anything left of him to break.
They would die here. He'd long known that, and yet…that tiny glimmer, now rekindled, refused to die in him. He prayed to the mother that matching spark of fire hadn't been completely snuffed out by all she was enduring. Would it matter if they escaped if they, if he lost…her.
His breathing was too fast. He had to centre himself and then he had to do something, anything to do stop her from breaking. As he forced his lungs to breathe deeply, slowing growing panic he let his head fall back against the cold wall and closed his eyes. Going to her cell wasn't an option. Not tonight. SHE was in a mood and he was too closely watched for a vist to his ‘pet’ to go unnoticed. He couldn't risk unnecessary scrutiny; wouldn't risk bringing the attention of her jealous anger more fully on Feyre than it already was.
He struggled to centre himself and in desperation he allowed thoughts he had barely entertained in decades to slip through little cracks in his mind. Thoughts of home.
He thought of the city, didn't even allow himself to think the name. It had been so long since he'd allowed himself to think of it, so aware of the danger of posed as well as the crushing grief he felt now that it was lost to him. But at this moment he allowed himself to remember. What it represented; Why he had done all the had done; Why it was worth it if they, at least, were safe. He could keep going. For them. For her. He could keep going and he would ensure she kept going - even if the price was her hatred of him.
The memory small and controlled was so soothing to his whirling thoughts. As it always did when he thought of home, even as a youth far away in the Illyrian camps, long buried music played in his mind. Vibrant, alive, filled with joy and laughter. He thought of the new symphony they had seen together only a few nights before this had all begun. Of how his friends had laughed. How the music had affected them all, wringing a tear even from silver eyes that rarely showed soft emotion.
No names - just the softest impressions of the them - Tiny and powerfully ancient; vibrant and lovely; strong, so strong yet kind; and silent, watchful gentleness. His family. The pain of the shadows he still felt of them.
It felt crushing yet…breathing more steadily he focused on the tune, the soaring melody. There was a sorrow in the rise and fall of the strings and yet, a joy, a bittersweet reminder that goodness existed.
He opened a small section of the power still available to him, focused on the connection he barely dared acknowledge and let the music flow down, down through the layers of stone willing her to hear; to understand. “You are not alone. You will not break. There is still beauty to fight for.”
Two more days. By the cauldron. Two more days and all their fates would be decided.
Across the bond, he felt her shift, felt her hear the beautiful, soulful sound. Felt the tiny spark, still there. It was all he could do. It would have to be enough.
Letting the lilting melody build and wrap itself around his own mind, he allowed himself a brief catharsis; a single moment to break. One lone tear, the only outward sign of the inward pain and turmoil....and hope.
Two more days.
The echo of the ghostly music faded. He allowed himself another moment to sit; thoughts and emotions storming before he shut it all down. Strong black walls surrounded all he loved and cared about again.
Two more days.
He stood, straightening his clothing, removing all trace of weakness. His mask slipping back into place. Lips curling with disdain; eyes icy and assessing, emotionless, the High Lord of the Night Court returned to the party.