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Some nights are worse than others.
Some nights, after they've thoroughly enjoyed themselves, Rhysand will find himself lying awake, a wave of disgust washing over himself. Not at Feyre — never at his beautiful, darling Feyre — but at himself, bathing him in a darkness that should be his to control but is so far from his grasp that it unnerves him.
He spent decades being her toy. A discarded plaything to be summoned and used on a whim. Nevermind what he wanted, nevermind his own choices, desires — because down there, he wasn't allowed any. He had to submit to her, over, and over, and over again. For fifty long, seemingly endless years.
When Amarantha would enter that lair of a bedroom, Rhys would put on the face she expected, radiating desire and doing whatever it took to please her. One more night, one more night, one more night , a mantra he’d repeat, something he needed to believe. He may have physically been inside of her, but mentally, he was only ever inside himself.
Whore. Amanratha’s whore. The words would bounce around his skull as he fought them back, a battle unlike any he’d ever trained for in his several centuries of life. The Illyrian war camps had prepared him for many things, but not this. Never this.
But despite everything, he mastered his part. Played it well. A survival tactic he’d needed to hone. He’d offer her release as he himself was knotted up and suffocating. Outwardly, he had appeared poised and able to take anything she threw at him, but now, it was becoming clear to him, more nights than not, that some of those bruises had yet to heal.
He has since found his mate, and oh, how she has helped, truly helped, in ways he knew she didn’t even realize. Rhys was able to lose himself with Feyre, lock away those most-hated parts of himself behind inaccessible walls, walls he could hardly stomach knowing were there. But they remained. Against his will, they remained.
So he did what he felt he had to do: He hid his demons — from his friends, his family, his mate. Himself. Only sometimes, like now, did he find himself being overcome by them, his adamant walls weak, weak, weak , like he was Under the Mountain. Weak. Whore. Whore. Whore. Amarantha’s whore.
His eyes burned as the memories ran wild inside him. Straddled underneath her, a smirk etched on her face. Taking her from on top, her legs forcing his thrusts. In the throne room, in the halls, anywhere, everywhere, wherever she wanted.
“—ys?” He heard a whisper enter the onslaught of his internal screaming.
“Rhys? Rhysand?” Feyre. No, she didn’t belong in this personal hell. Where was he? What was happening?
“ Rhysand .” Her forceful tone cut through the noise raging inside him, their bond alight in his mind.
“Feyre?” he questioned, voice hoarser than anticipated.
“Yes, love, it’s me, it’s me. Follow my voice. I’m right here.”
His eyes turned warily toward his mate. “Why are you awake? What’s happening?” Her eyes swept across him, cataloging the sheen of sweat on his forehead, the scratches on the sheets from the talons that had emerged unknowingly, and finally on —
“Rhys, look around,” concern clear on her features.
So he looked. And he realized, much to his despair, that the overwhelming darkness that had been cascading inside of his mind had broken free. Not strong enough. Weak, weak, weak. A cocoon, similar to the one that had enveloped Feyre all those moons ago, now swept around the bed, protecting him and his mate from the threats of the outside. Except the threats weren’t outside. Not outside their bedroom, not outside the townhouse, not outside Velaris. They were right here. Inside of him.
“Rhys, what’s going on?”
He inhaled sharply, eyes squeezing shut, his breath not quite filling his lungs. So he inhaled again, and again, in quicker and quicker succession. Feyre sat hastily, her arms pulling him up and against her, laying his head on her as a place of comfort in this sea of unease.
“Rhys, please, focus on me. Hear my voice. I’m right here, I’m right here. It’s me, it’s Feyre. I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got you.” Her comfort echoed inside of him, fighting valiantly against the hard-flung insults and abuse being lobbed from his own mind.
“I-I don’t know. I’m trying. I-I can’t.” The voice of a broken man, stepped on and over so many times.
Feyre cradled him against her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around him.
“Listen to my breaths. Follow my breathing.” She inhaled deeply for five seconds, exhaled for the same. Rhys’s sporadic inhalations continued, but he tried. For her, he’d try.
“It’s okay, you’ve got it.” In, one, two, three, four, five. Out, one, two, three, four, five.
“You’re doing great, love. A few more, just a few more.” A whisper of encouragement against his ear.
In, one, two, three, four, five. Out, one, two, three, four, five.
His breathing slowed, the air finally, finally reaching the deepest parts of his deprived lungs. He cracked open his eyes, taking in his surroundings, the body of his mate, the unfamiliar darkness fading, replaced by the stars and moonlight they each found solace in.
Feyre lovingly stroked his hair as she broke the silence. “Rhys, please talk to me. I don’t know what you’re thinking.” A beat. “I-I felt so much… fear, coming from the bond. So much hatred.
“Help me understand,” she whispered. “Let me help you. Let your family help you.”
He weighed his options. Rhys had been carrying these demons by himself for so, so long. His family still didn’t quite understand the scope of what he had endured Under the Mountain. The lengths he went to ensure they were safe, protected. That only he would be the one who was harmed.
Feyre knew some of it, of course. Would become infuriated by the jeers lobbed at him by passersby, the ones who didn’t understand what he had sacrificed.
But it’s possible, just perhaps, that he’d been keeping his deeper wounds hidden from the surface. Back then, he suffered because he had to. There was no one around him who cared. No one, quite frankly, who could care; they were all trapped, each and every one of them ruled by Amarantha’s ire. But that wasn’t the case anymore. He had returned to his family, had found his one true mate, the one who loved him despite, or maybe because of, his flaws.
“Anything you need, Rhys,” Feyre whispered, “I’m here for you. We’re all here for you.”
He felt his eyes turn glassy before he fully understood what was happening. Those parts of himself that he despised so deeply, so completely, were now rushing to the surface. The memories he thought he had buried behind walls of incredible thickness were seeping out and into the open, no longer able to be contained. They needed to be set free. He needed to let them be set free. Or else he would always be her whore.
“S-She,” he began, eyes focused on the moonlight, head steadied by his mate’s chest and the beating of her heart. Feyre’s arm stayed around him as her free hand rubbed soothingly along his spine.
“She,” he continued, stronger this time. “She raped me.” Feyre’s movements halted only momentarily at the malice emanating from her mate before she resumed.
Emboldened by that initial declaration, Rhysand continued.
“She raped me. Whenever she wanted. I-I was just a toy for her. And it served its purposes. It needed to happen. I couldn’t think of any other way. I needed to keep her close to me during that hell. But now…,” he trailed off.
Feyre remained silent, allowing him to speak when he was ready.
“The memories,” he breathed, “the memories just come out of nowhere. I do my best to hide them, but.” A pause. “But they’ve been getting worse. I don’t know why. I-I can’t keep shoving them down. I dream of it so often these days, and I’ve tried not to bother you. But they’re so vivid, and it’s like I’m there again. Reliving it. Over, and over, and over again.”
He inhaled steadily for a few beats before forcing himself to vocalize the thoughts burning inside of him.
“I don’t want to be a burden,” he whispered. “I don’t want you to see how broken I am. How much she broke me. And I try to always be strong for you, for everyone, but it’s getting harder. And I don’t know what to do anymore.”
Feyre stared at her mate, who was keeping his gaze anywhere but on her.
“Rhys,” Feyre spoke, placing her hands on either side of his face and moving him slowly, lovingly up. She stared into the eyes of a man who was so afraid. Afraid of losing everyone around him.
The love that poured out of Feyre, into the room as well as through the bond, as she continued could not be mistaken. “Rhys, you will never be a burden.” His eyes tried to break away, but she held firm.
“You. Will never. Be. A burden.”
She leaned forward and brushed her lips gently against one cheek, then the other, and he realized belatedly that it was because of the tears that now stained them. Tears he hadn’t realized he’d let fall.
Her forehead now against his, noses touching, her fingers offering the warmth he longed for, she spoke: “You are everything to me, Rhysand. My true love. My mate. You are not alone in this world. These burdens you carry, they are not yours alone. They are mine.” A soft brush of lips against his cheek. “And Mor’s.” Another kiss. “And Cassian’s. And Azriel’s. And —.” She halted, considering for a moment.
“Yeah, and Amren’s, too,” she chuckled, a touch of laughter breaking from him as well as they pulled apart ever so slightly. The first crack of a smile he’d offered her so far.
After the sounds died down, Feyre’s hands still upon him, she looked at him with breathtaking sincerity: “Anything you need, we're here for you. You saved me from myself before. Please, please let us help you.”
He considered his mate’s words, wondered whether he was worth the trouble — but only for a moment, the love twinkling brightly in Feyre’s eyes as he saw their future together shining brighter than the unrecognizable darkness that tried to weigh him down.
“Okay,” he whispered, hope blossoming deep within his chest. Hope that he might finally escape the walls he no longer wanted to keep up inside of himself.
“Okay,” he repeated. “I-I’ll talk to them. Tell them. What happened, what… What I’ve been going through.” He paused, noting the smile that now graced his mate’s face. He couldn’t keep away the one that appeared on his own. “And I’ll let you in. Stop keeping so much from you.” His eyes turned to the window as he noted the first rays of dawn beginning to emerge, his ears picking up the chirp of a distant bird.
“But maybe we start tomorrow,” he chuckled, gazing now at Feyre. She leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss to the side of his mouth, then the other. “Tomorrow,” she promised.
They broke away and lay back down, Rhys turning on his side. Seconds later, he felt Feyre at his back, her arms wrapping around him, holding him in a way that didn’t keep him down, didn’t bring up the horrors of his past, but instead offered him security. A reminder of the good that had graced his life.
Safe. Loved. Deserving.
Nobody's whore.
And he knew, really understood, that he needed to get through this. Needed to lean on those he cared for. That he wasn’t Under the Mountain any longer, but under the stars with his family.