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“He think he’ll be remembered as the villain in the story … But I forgot to tell him, that the villain is usually the person who locks the maiden up and throws away the key … he’s the one who let me out.”
~*~~~~~~~*~
“Why are you with me? Is it just because of this -” Rhysand gestured wildly between the space separating our two bodies, doing a poor imitation of the mating bond between us. “This whole mating bond? Because that’s a shitty reason. And I’m sorry.” The way he said it, words slurring, back arching over the bed as he tried to lie down with folding wings, a single boot half off his foot, hair a disheveled mess; it made her want to laugh out loud. He had said he was going out for a quiet drink with Cassian and Azriel, but quiet drinks with those three never seemed to involve much silence.
“It’s because I love you, Rhys, despite you currently being a drunken mess, is that a better reason?” She asked as she stood up from where she had been perched on the edge of the bed, and moving around from her side to his.
“That’s even worse.” He whined - finally unfolding his wings so they stretched along the width of the bed - slumping against the mattress, feet scuffing along the floor trying to find purchase. “Things you love tend to go away and never come back.”
“I forgot how morbid you can get when drunk.” Feyre mumbled to herself as she let out a sigh and knelt down infront of him and began unlacing his boots.
“What are you doing down there?” Rhys asked, propping himself up on his elbows to peer down at her with wide violet eyes and a sloppy smirk. Feyre pulled his first boot off, setting in down next to her and started on the second.
“Helping you get undressed.” Feyre caught the glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “You, are far too drunk for anything else but sleep, so you can stop those thoughts right now.” She laughed. A half hearted stroke along the adamant wall in her mind had her rolling her eyes at him.
“You know as well as I do that I am always capable of pleasing you, Feyre darling.” His usual purr was lost in his words as his arm fell from under him and his head hit the mattress again.
“Oh yes, I’m sure you’re very capable. And when you can keep your head up without help, you can show me just what you can do. Until then,-” She paused, pulling off his second boot and standing up in one fluid movement. “Bed.”
“I’m already on the bed. Why don’t you join me?” he drawled slowly with his eyes closed.
“I can’t get on the bed, you and your impressive wingspan are taking it all up.”
“I’m too tired to move, Feyre.” The way he dragged out the two syllables of her name made him giggle - giggle - to himself, like it was both the most amusing and best sound he had heard all year. “Feyre. Feeey-rrrrrr. Fey-rrrruh.” It had Feyre smiling at him, a soft smile that, if he had been sober and looking, conveyed just how much she loved hearing him say her name.
“Ok High Lord, come on, up, up, up.” She grabbed one of his arms and pulled him into a sitting position, and keeping one hand on his shoulder started to pivot him around till Rhysand had both legs up on the bed and his head was propped on a pillow. He gave her a lazy smile, holding on to one of her hands.
“You’re too good for me, Feyre.”
“No I’m not.”
“You are. You’re too good for this whole world. When people write stories about us, they’ll all say it. How you were too good for such a dark court.”
In the human realm people would say that the drunken speak freely and truly, and Feyre was sure the same could be said about Fae. Even after so long, he still thought the history books of Prythian would write him as the villain of their story. It made her heartache for her mate, and so when he tugged on her hand she willingly crawled onto the bed - a knee on either side of his waist - and she kept ahold of his hand as she spoke.
“If they’re saying I’m too good for a place like this Rhys, then they’ll be saying you were too good for it as well. I am not too good for you. You...you are too good for me, for this land. For all the things you have ever done to protect it, even when people scorned you for trying. You never locked someone away in a tower and threw away the key. When people write our story Rhysand, they will say how you were the hero, not the villain.” Feyre paused and leaned down to place a chaste kiss against his lips before sitting up and moving off of him so that she could lay down beside him instead, Rhysand turned his body towards hers.
“How do you know I’m the hero?” he asked, voice hoarse and momentarily sober as his eyes trailed along her face, lingering on her lips before focusing on her eyes. Two heads on the same pillow with hands clasped between them.
“Because you let me out of my prison Rhys.”
“But I didn’t save you.” he said. A fact, not a question.
“No, but you helped me save myself. Which makes a much better story, I think.” Feyre smiled at him and at the awe she could feel streaming down the bond. Only with her did he ever let those mental shields falter in a little. “Now you should sleep. Don’t you have a meeting tomorrow?”
“Shush, we were having a moment, don’t spoil it with work talk.” Rhysand groaned, letting his eyelids fall shut and brow furrow. Feyre laughed lightly at him, and was leaning forward to kiss away the furrow when his lips caught hers instead. It was a soft kiss, sloppy and over too quickly, but still left her with a smile on her face.
As the High Lord and Lady of the night court were surrounded by darkness, the soft and quiet sort that lulls you into a peaceful sleep, Rhysand whispered, almost inaudible to her ears;
“I love you.”
And just as quietly, but with just as much conviction, Feyre whispered the same three words back.