Chapter Text

Chapter 86

Arwen was surprised when Feyre and Mor asked if she wanted to go to the Rainbow for a girls’ day out. She had woken quite groggy and unwilling to even pull herself out of bed but the opportunity was one she didn’t want to pass. Mor even did her hair into an intricate braid for her.

The Rainbow was just as she remembered, with new music down every street, murals painting the walls and artists selling their works in carts and shopfronts. Arwen already had in mind a few artists that she would approach once the town house was hers. Feyre showed them her studio as well as some of the paintings she had been working on. Portraits, for the most part. Over lunch, as Feyre and More ate, Arwen continued to admire the clay earrings that she had bought. The clay had been dyed black before firing and had flakes of gold through them like glittering, gilded rain.

“You should have gotten the blue.”

Arwen's eyes snapped to Mor. “What?”

Mor smirked. “The blue ones. You should have gotten those.”

Arwen frowned down at her black and gold ones. “But I like the gold better.”

Feyre grinned, tipping her head towards Mor. “I don’t think they make gold siphons, do they?”

Mor shook her head. “They don’t. But if they do, Azriel will be the first to change over to them after he hears about this.” Arwen stammered and blushed as she caught in on what they were snickering about. “Tell us, Arwen. We’re dying to know and all he’ll give us is it's that ‘it’s complicated' bullshit.”

Arwen twisted her fingers in her lap. “That’s because it is. We’re… moving forward,” she decided. “But I ca-don’t want to reach for something that might not happen.”

“Don’t you want it to move forward?” her cousin asked. “Stay and be with him?” Arwen shrugged, putting her thumb between her lips. Mor and Feyre shared a look. “How about we head home before our feet start aching?”

Although Arwen was glad for the company and the trip, she readily agreed with the idea of being back in the comforts of the town house. Mor’s questioning of Azriel lingered in her thoughts. Two sides of her head fought. She could be happy with him—would be, if she decided to take Helion’s help. But it came at a cost.

Arwen had been prepared to live. It had been, and was still, an uphill battle, but giving up seemed pointless. She just had to make it through each day to reach the next. And death terrified her—of getting stuck in that prison world again, tethered for another eternity.

But what if she didn’t tether? What if she finally moved on? Arwen could almost feel that pull again, the soft hands that wanted to guide her away into a world of bliss. With her mother. She might even join the other spirits on Starfall, soaring across the sky in such a beautiful form. An eternity awaited her.

What was the point of staying in this life when she knew that she would make no mark on it? Once she died again in years to come, given no chance at an afterlife, she would be wiped from existence by the very people who claim to love her. What was the point of being here, knowing this was all she had, if she knew that it made no difference? What if she was never truly happy again and it was not worth trying to fight?

If she chose to die now, at least there was a good chance she could live on in another form. A spirit. A star. Something. The fact that she was here now was a testament that something more had to exist.

If she chose to live, then it would only be memory that carried on her existence in death. Arwen had already seen what they would do with her memory, the evidence of her life. But she could pretend. She wouldn’t have to watch them cut her marks away.

As they turned onto the quiet street, the awnings of the town house poking out just a hundred yards down, Mor took Arwen’s hand. Arwen peered at their hands, then at her cousin, expecting some sort of talk as the gesture implied seeking. But Mor only looked ahead, her expression calm.

They let Arwen enter first.

She yawned, pushing the front door open into the foyer, then through the next into the main hall, making a gentle swing with the small bag in her hand. She could just make out the edges of Illyrian wings in the sitting room. Frowning, Arwen veered closer. Cassian was the one she saw. He stood at the edge of the seating arrangement, arms folded over his leathers. Arwen’s gaze moved on to Rhysand standing by the fire, then Azriel perched on the arm of the furthest armchair. Even Amren stood near the bookcase, picking at her nail. They looked at her.

“I thought you were all supposed to be busy today,” she said. Arwen glanced back over her shoulder to Mor and Feyre, wondering if were surprised as her. But the two females only looked at Arwen, Feyre with a small smile and encouraging nod. Fear scraped at her heart. “Is something going on?”

“How was your day?” Cassian asked. Rhysand’s lips were rested even but she could see the subtle downturn on them.

Arwen gave a momentary glare at the avoidance of answering her question. “Fine,” she answered. “Until now. You’re scaring me.” She looked to Azriel, hoping he would be the one to step forward and deign to let her know what was happening; why they all seemed so morose. “Cassian?”

“We were hoping you might tell us what you’re thinking, sweetheart.” The general glanced at his brothers, then down at her feet before finally meeting her eyes again. “So we can get Helion up here before it’s too late.”

That’s what this was about. Arwen swallowed away the dryness in her throat, shifting her weight back and forth to each foot. “I-I haven’t decided. I have time.”

“We’re not risking it,” Rhysand said, his voice low and near empty, like a siphon that had grown dull after giving too much. “I’m not risking it.”

“It’s not your choice,” Arwen breathed. “It’s mine.”

“And if you don’t decide, Arwen?” Rhysand kicked off the lip of the hearth his boot had been on, taking three steps closer. Her chest began to tighten. She glanced back over her shoulder but Feyre and Mor still stood in the doorway. “I can’t sit around and watch you die. Not again.”

Her knuckles whitened from the viper grip she took on the small bag still at her side. Cassian had his head turned back down. Azriel remained seated; calm and collected. Amren watched the scene carefully. “What if that’s what I want? I am supposed to be dead, after all.”

“Is it?”

“I-I…” Her mouth opened and closed like a yapping dog without a bark. “I don’t know.”

“Arwen you haven’t let me in.” Rhys pointed to himself. “Tell me what I’m doing wrong, what I can do to make this a home for you again. Because I don’t understand what you’re thinking and I can’t help you when you lock me out. I feel that block in your mind.”

Cassian held out a placating hand to her brother but was looking at her as he said, “Sweetheart. Remember what I told you? That it will get better. You’ll get used to being back and things won’t seem so strange after a while. Ianthe is dead and you know we’ll do everything we can to keep you safe.”

Her throat stung and felt swollen like bees had swarmed inside of it, stinging the fleshy walls. “I know that,” she whispered meekly.  

“It’s okay, girl.” Arwen’s eyes drew to Amren. The dull greys were as warm as they ever had been. “If you chose not to stay. I’m here to make sure you know that.” Tossing a glare at a seething Rhysand, she added, “And that they do too.”

“Your decision will be respected,” Rhysand stated calmly. “Whatever it is. But I want you to stay. We all want you to stay. I am pleading for it.”

Arwen shook her head, stepping away from them all and towards the wall facing the street, the furthest place away from them without winnowing. “I don’t want to talk about this now.”

“We have to.” The soft voice belonged to Mor. Had they planned this? Had she and Feyre taken Arwen out to lower her defences? Betrayal cut through her. “If you want this to be your decision, you’re going to have to make it.”

“Or I will make it for you.” Azriel. His voice, however soft and low it was, grated against her ears. He met her gaze even from the opposite end of the sitting room. “I’d rather you not hate me for the rest of your life, because I will make sure it is long.”

Her breaths came unsteady now. Her knees felt weak and her skin clammy. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice sharpened into a plea. Arwen needed more time. They were all around her, encasing her like a cage she didn't want to be in. “Please, I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“You’re scared.” Rhysand stepped forward again, a stream of sunlight catching the desperation in the mirror violets of her own. “You’re scared of something, so tell me what that is, Arwen. Let me in.” Her head continued to shake, her vision now becoming blurred by tears. He stood before her. “Tell me what I can do to convince you to stay. Please.”

“No.”

“Arwen.”

“You forgot me.” Arwen’s mind gave her no warning that those words would be pouring from her lips. Like a dam broken, they burst through. “You forgot about me.”

Before her, Rhysand stilled, overcome with an odd expression of uncertainty and sorrow. Azriel had risen from the armchair, standing in front of it with a cocked head. Amren became all the more intrigued, as did Feyre and Mor. It was Cassian to ask, “What do you mean?”

She gave a hard sob, hot tears along her cheeks, clutching at the chest of her shirt. “Y-You forgot about me. I saw it. Everything. You-you took down my portraits an-and—” Arwen bent forward with another sob— “got rid of everything. My belongings.” Pain—physical, real pain—coursed through her just at the memory of it. “You wouldn’t even say my name. I was nothing.” She was a complete, blubbering mess, barely able to put a thought together. “What is the point? What is the point of living if you just want to forget me? I-I can’t—”

That was all she could manage to get out before the shaking of her body overtook her. Arwen wailed, covering her face with her hands, the small bag with her earrings forgotten somewhere along the way.

“How do… Arwen, what did you see?”

She couldn’t answer. No denial at least.

Arwen wasn’t sure how long it was before two arms engulfed her. She recognised the touch even blind. Azriel’s hand pulled her close to his body, one cupping the back of her head, keeping it to his shoulder. Her hands seized his leathers where she could, letting him take her weight, her body without strength. The leather was soon soaked with her tears.

Someone touched her wrist. Touched her scarring.

She felt herself being flung back into it. She felt the tug of the tether and the utter emptiness inside of her. 

Arwen screamed, lurching away but Azriel wouldn’t let her. His muscles flexed to battle her pull and she only gave in because the touch at her wrists, which was not his, disappeared. “I don’t want to go back!” she cried into her mate’s shoulder, throat rough and protesting. Not that prison, anything but that prison. “I’ll stay, I’ll stay.”

Arwen held him tighter, wondering if managed to hold him tight enough for long enough that she might melt into him, away from the world. But she focused on his hold, the quietness of the world around her, and her tremoring body began to pacify. It was in her growing calmness, that she felt Azriel’s head move, chin grazing her hairs. A nod.

She thought nothing of it, narrowing her focus onto the way his body felt, the way he breathed against her. Arwen felt how much he loved her, how much she loved him. She listened to the gentle whistle his breathing made that she could only hear because they passed directly above her ear. She smelt—

These weren’t her thoughts.

Arwen lifted her head, nose brushing against Azriel’s leathers as she angled to look beyond the shoulder she had been resting against. Rhysand stood just two steps away, his shoulders low. All of him unmoving except for the twitch in his jaw.

He knocked on her mind’s barrier.

Arwen jerked in surprise, Azriel’s grip tightening again, his hand dropping from her head to the backs of her shoulders. Rhysand had to have been in her head longer than she had realised if she was feeling him there now.

“Arwen,” her brother whispered. “Tell me what those scars are from.” She stared at him, pressing her mouth back to the leather padding at Azriel’s shoulder. Tears still strolled down her cheeks. “You remember, don’t you? What don’t you want to go back to?”

Arwen said and did nothing, her heart making painful, uneven thumps, the echo of each in her throat and stomach. Blood trickled from her nose.

She winced at a pinch of pain in her head. Azriel’s hands tightened around her. Arwen whimpered and winced again as the pain in her head grew. Her barrier, the blockade against those memories was so strong that she could feel him at it. Rhysand was breaking down her shield. He was prying it apart.

Her lips rounded into a silent cry of pain.

“Rhys?” Cassian called, sharp and firm. “She’s given an answer.”

Her eyes clenched shut as a memory was forced out. The mist world. Shadowed figures. Death claiming her. Azriel’s shoulder muffled her moan. Another memory seared into the backs of her eyelids, her wrists burning as she watched again how the tether formed, fear burning through her.

“Rhys!”

Arwen didn’t realise that the screams she was hearing were her own. Azriel had a hold on her so tight it was as if he planned to never let go. Rhysand’s claws were deep in her mind, burrowed in the hidden depths that was so agonising to feel being torn through that she let the barrier go. She let those memories flood out willingly and Arwen lived through them again. All two hundred and fifty years of torture.

Blood filled her mouth. She couldn’t tell if it had poured in from her nose or filled up from her throat. Her chest heaved up and down erratically, unable to breathe even though she felt her lungs expand. Everything moved too fast, yet she felt stuck and stiff.

Trapped.