Chapter Text
If there was one thing that Rhysand had learned about Feyre during her brief time in the Night Court, it was that she liked pillows. Lots of pillows.
During her first bargain week at the Moonstone Palace, she had refused help with anything. Refused to spend any more time with anyone than necessary, and yet she’d still asked Cerridwen and Nuala to bring her extra pillows. Twice. He’d made sure they were cleaned and returned to her chambers for her next visit.
Now she had been in Velaris for less than a week, and all of the pillows in the Townhouse, save for the ones in his own room had mysteriously disappeared. Mor had even brought a few down from The House of Wind at Feyre’s request. A few fleece throw blankets had joined them a day or two later. Rhys was beginning to wonder if there was even space for Feyre to walk in her room anymore.
At this point Rhysand wanted desperately to know what had become of all the cushions which usually dotted his home. It wasn’t because he missed them or wanted them back. Feyre could have his whole Court if she wanted it; he was more than willing to sacrifice some pillows and blankets. Hell, he would buy her more if she asked. He was just curious as to what she was doing with them all.
Getting up from his desk, he stepped out into the corridor, deciding to finally get some answers. He knew he should leave Feyre be. She’d made it quite clear that she valued her privacy, but like the rest of his family, Rhys was a snoop.
Heading through his home, he let his mind wander as to what had become of the pillows. Was she using them to build forts? He smirked at the idea of her curling up in a pillow fort like a youngling. Perhaps it was a sensory issue, maybe she was trying to find the right one, but then why not return the ones that she deemed unfit? A more somber thought struck him. There was a chance they were becoming damaged or even destroyed by her fledgling powers as they had the night he’d helped wake her from her nightmare.
Rhysand shook away the thoughts as he reached her bedroom door. He really should leave her be, and yet…
He rapped his knuckles against her door four times. There was shuffling on the other side for a few moments before it opened, revealing Feyre. She wore a comfortable looking blue sweater and pair of leggings, her hair was pulled up in a haphazard braid, and a book dangled from her right hand. He pressed down a wave of pride at the thought that she could now take pleasure in reading.
“Did you knock on my door for a reason, or are you just going to stare at me all afternoon?”
Rhys blinked, realizing that he had yet to speak. Smirking, he pretended the lapse had been intentional, “Apologies Feyre Darling. When I see something of beauty it’s not in my nature to ignore it.”
His words earned him one of her signature eye rolls, and though her mental shields were shut tight, he could almost hear the word ‘prick’ float down the bond. “Look, Rhys. I just recovered from the Bone Carver, The Weaver, and the Attor. If you are here to drag me on some new field trip. It can wait until tomorrow.”
He chuckled to mask the jolt of guilt that went through him. He had certainly put her through a lot since her arrival. “Fret not, I’m not here to whisk you off to further danger. I merely have a question for you.”
“How generous of you High Lord.” Feyre pretended to curtsy, “What answers do you seek?”
A real chuckle escaped him at her willingness to go along with his dramatics. A drastic improvement from the husk of a girl who they’d rescued from Spring. “I wish to inquire about the rapid disappearance of pillows in Velaris. They were quite plentiful prior to your arrival.” When Feyre initially bit her lip, he continued in an attempt to quell her nervousness, “I don’t need them back, I just need to know whether or not to tell the Palace of Thread and Jewels to bolster their stocks.” His words elicited a snort. Confident that he had avoided his own slip-up, he gave her a knowing smile, “Really though, I am incredibly curious as to what you’ve done with them all.”
“You are incredibly nosey is what you are.” He shrugged, but made no effort to deny it. In response, Feyre pushed the door open wider, “See for yourself.”
Stepping inside, he wasn’t sure what to make of what he saw. The bed was almost completely obscured under the mound of missing pillows. A small nook had been carved out in the middle of them all, which he could only assume was where she slept. The blankets which more than likely usually lined the little alcove were cast aside, giving the impression that was the shuffling he’d heard before the door had opened to him.
“I’m not entirely certain what I was expecting…but this was not it.” He glanced back over to her, “Where’s the bed?”
“Under the pillows, smartass.”
Despite being faced with the answer, Rhysand couldn’t wrap his head around why she needed so many pillows. “How do you not suffocate when you sleep?”
Feyre shrugged, “I arrange them like a nest.”
“I can see that…” He glanced over the pillows she had abducted. “Don’t you think it’s a little excessive though?”
“I don’t think so.”
Her words were slightly clipped, but not much more than usual, so he walked across the room, toying with the filagree that bordered one of the cushions. “Really, because it seems a bit–”
“Look if you want the damn pillows back just say so!”
Rhysand actually took a step back at the sudden venom in her voice, putting his hands up. “You can have all the pillows you want, Feyre.” He took a deep breath, dropping all humor from his voice, “I was teasing…I’m sorry if I struck a nerve.”
Like a flame being blown out the anger left her eyes, and as her shoulders slumped forward, he couldn’t help but notice how much smaller she now looked. It broke his heart to see this brilliant, courageous female reduced to such a defeated state.
Turning around, Feyre sat down amongst her amassed comforts, pulling one into her lap and holding it close. Only then did he see the silver which lined her eyes. “N-No…I’m sorry.” She sighed, wiping her eyes with a sleeve, “I shouldn’t have snapped.”
Making a point not to startle her, Rhys moved over to an armchair in the corner. “If I’m prying, tell me to piss off…but might I ask what exactly I said that bothered you so much? Mostly so I can avoid it in the future.”
Feyre took a deep breath, looking around at the pillows. When she spoke her voice was soft, so different from the woman who had screamed at him before throwing a shoe at his head. “I know this probably is excessive…but it helps…”
“Helps with what?”
“Mostly to calm down after a nightmare…” A small shiver ran through her body and Rhys resisted the urge to get up and hug her. “The soft pillows help me remember even when my eyes are closed that I’m…I’m not there.” A tear rolled down her cheek, “That I’m not back in that c-cell…with nothing but hay and a stolen cloak for comfort.”
Rhysand’s heart shattered.
Of course she was hoarding pillows, and by the gods she had earned the right to. Of course the comfort would help her to forget about that hell. He could understand that much at least. After all, he never slept with his curtains closed like he used to. He needed to be able to see the sky when he woke from his own nightmares.
“I see…I’m sorry for poking fun.” He shook his head, “I didn’t realize that’s why you had so many pillows.”
“It’s okay…”
“No, it’s not.” She blinked up at him, “You went through a special type of hell Feyre. You deserve to at the very least have some creature comforts to see you through the hard days without being made fun of for it.” He gestured out the window to the city beyond, “And if you want even more pillows and blankets, or a softer mattress, or any other damned thing that might help…all you have to do is ask.”
Feyre sniffled softly, but nodded, “Th-Thank you, Rhys.”
—
The day after the encounter over the pillows, Feyre looked up at the knock on her door. Was Rhysand really going to make a habit of coming to her door to annoy her as well as when they ran into one another throughout the house? If so she was going to clobber him over the head next time they stepped into the training ring. When she opened the door however, no one was there, but glancing down, she couldn’t help the tears which flooded her eyes at what she saw.
Sitting on the floor was a plush bat with a purple bow around its neck. Picking it up, she drew it into a hug. It was made of the softest fabric, and she recognized the traces of sea and citrus on it from the gifter. Stepping back into the room, she paused on the way back to the bed when a note fell from where it had been tucked under the ribbon.
Picking it up, she read over the now familiar elegant writing it held.
‘I noticed how you held onto one of your pillows yesterday when you were upset. My sister used to do the same thing with her favorite plushie after her nightmares. Maybe a plushie of your own could help you through your nightmares too.
Hope you like it.
-Rhys
P.S. It has an enchantment on it that most toys from the Autumn Court do to make it fireproof.’
Feyre couldn’t even scoff at the postscript. It was one of the most thoughtful gifts she’d ever received, and though she would never admit it, it wasn’t long before she couldn’t sleep without it.
*****