Chapter Text
Mark woke up with a start, sweat beaded across his forhead, his breaths coming out in gasps. His heart pounded,threatening to leap out of his chest. He closed his eyes tight, willing his pulse to slow, his breathing to become more normal. The nightmares were getting worse. He had asked Magnus for a sleeping draught, which Magnus had willingly provided, though it had helped somewhat in the beginning, his body seemed to have become resilient to it. He sat up, feeling the chill of the night air on his bare arms and legs, his eyes starting to adjust to the darkness in his room.
He glanced over at his brother, Julian with whom he shared a room. The blankets were pulled up over Julian's head, the rise and fall of his chest visible under his covers, his breathing heavy and even. Mark loved seeing his brother asleep, the lines of worry and responsibility erased from his features, seeing him sleeping peacefully brought some relief to Mark. At least Julian could have these moments when he wasn't burdened with the responsibility that weighed so heavily upon his shoulders. And yet, Julian bore it stoically and without complaint. Never uttering a word of anger when feeding Tavvy or a word of complaint when patiently explaining something to Ty. Mark wished he could be more like Julian, be more the brother his siblings needed him to be.
He stood, his bare feet cold on the wood floor, sending shivers to run down his spine, and a chill to his bones. He walked softly to the window, which was facing towards the woods just east of the institute. His footsteps made no noise, he was a faerie after all and faeries were able to be still and quiet when they needed to be. And there had been many times when he had needed to be invisible and quiet when he had been in faerie. Faerie. Kieran.
The words were just words to anyone else but not to Mark. No, to Mark that one word, Kieran, brought so many memories rushing to the surface of his mind, overpowering his thoughts with their unforgiving torture. If he closed his eyes, he could summon Kieran's face to his mind, every line, every feature clear and etched into his brain forever. The soft wavy hair that often changed from dark black when he was angry, to a beautiful dark blue when he was sad, to a turquoise blue when he was happy. And a brilliant light sky blue.
That light blue was a colour only Mark had seen. The colour reserved for when they had lain together in the grass or when they had kissed in the moonlight. He could see Kieran's eyes, one black onyx and one silver gazing into his own. He could get lost in Kieran's eyes, their dark orbs like two bottomless black holes wild and feral as the night. He could look into them and see the wild hunt reflected back at him. The wild hunt. The memories were a mix of times spent alone and afraid, and others of declarations of love whispered into the night. Times when Kieran and he would find safety and comfort in each other's arms, lying tangled in a blanket beneath the stars. The times when he would ride through the clouds with Kieran, on Windspear, a horse so magnificent and Mark would lean his head on Kieran's shoulder, his arms wrapping around the body pressed tightly against his own, his fingers clutching at Kieran's belt.
Mark's hand flew up to his neck, fingers searching for the elfbolt necklace that Kieran had given him, as a token of his love. Mark chest tightens as he remembers how he had given the elf bolt necklace back to Kieran, the memory bringing a sharp pain and taste of regret to the back of his throat. He had sent Kieran away, back to faerie, alone and hopeless. He searched his mind, reaching his thoughts out to Kieran's, but all he heard was silence. He used to be able to sense Kieran, use his mind to communicate with the fairy prince, but now he couldn't sense him at all, just nothingness. He had no way of knowing if Kieran was alive or not, if he was hurt or well. He flung himself violently from the window, he had to stop torturing himself.
Kieran deserved whatever happened to him, didn't he? Mark fought the rush of overwhelming anger rising up within his chest. What did he care if Kieran suffered? What did he care? The problem was he did. No matter what Kieran said he would always care. Because he loved him. Yes he Mark, loved Kieran and it did not matter what Kieran did, Mark would always love him. He was angry, yes, hurt even. But he did not hate Kieran, he couldn't, it was not possible. Kieran had been there for him when no one else had. He still felt anger when he thought of what had happened to Emma and Julian, how ilarath had whipped them. He can still hear the sounds of their cries echoing in his ears. Kieran had told the faeries about how Mark had shared faerie secrets with Christina.
Mark knew how possessive Kieran could be and how jealousy often got the best of him. It was something Kieran had always struggled with, having no one that had loved him until Mark had come along. His father, who would only be all to pleased to see Kieran dead, his own son. Kieran's sibling who would all be thrilled to see him cut down. Kieran's father had been the one to sell him to the wild hunt, tossing his son away like he was nothing, like he meant nothing. What must that feel like to be abandoned by your own parent. What would that do to someone. Kieran's actions were wrong yes, but they were acted out of love. Mark chokes back a sob, he doesn't want to wake Julian. It is almost morning and he can see the sun rising just beyond the lake. Mark wiped the back of his hand across his face erasing any evidence that he had been crying. He took a deep breath and tried to regain his composure.
Kieran stood on the hill staring past the wide expanse of land that stretched out before him. He closed his fingers around something clenched in his fist, the sharp edge of the elf bolt necklace, digging into his palm. Blood dribbled through the spaces between his fingers and dripped onto the grass under his feet. He wanted to fling the elfbolt far out into the depths of the ocean and turn his back on it and Mark and never look back. But he knows he cannot do that. He would never be able to turn his back on Mark. He loved him. Love. The word was alien on his tongue, even as he said it, tasted it, he couldn't help being confused by the notion of love. That someone could love him, that Mark had loved him, it was unbelievable. In all Kieran's life as a prince he had never been shown love, not even kindness. Sure he had had lovers, but Mark was different. He hadn't known what love meant until Mark had come along, his father, the king hated him, never failing to remind Kieran of his low status as a faerie.
His father, who had sold him to the wild hunt, could care less what happened to him. He was taunted mercilessly and constantly for being a prince, a prince whom was a disgrace to the faerie courts. He glanced back at Gywn, whom was speaking with one of the other faerie convoy, in his harsh grating voice. Kieran could not stop the ache that spread throughout his body and dug itself into his bones. It was an ache that was always with him, always there to remind him of how badly he had screwed up. How he had lost any hope of being with Mark ever again. He had truly thought that when he had told ilarath and Gywn about Mark sharing faerie secrets with that Shadowhunter girl, that they would make Mark come back to faerie. He had wanted it so desperately that he hadn't even considered that the faeries would act the way they did.
He had wanted Mark back, back in his arms, kissing his lips. The rage he had felt when he had seen Mark with that Shadowhunter girl, had been something he had never felt before. It was like a vice wrapping itself tightly around his heart squeezing till he felt he would die. It had exploded within himself sending him into a panic, threatening to destroy everything he had with Mark. He had heard the word jealousy before but had never expected it to be a feeling he would ever experience. Sure, he had felt jealousy towards his siblings on occasion but never because he was afraid he would lose someone he loved.
He had never thought it possible that he, Kieran, the prince of faerie would ever feel love. He had lied to himself at times, telling himself he did not need Mark, that he could survive without him. Now he wondered if he could. He drew his fingers to his lips and whistled for Windspear. His horse, white as snow came thundering over to him, in the darkness. He knew he should stay with the faerie convoy but something out across the lake was tugging at him, like he was on one end of a rope and someone was pulling him in. He swung up onto Windspear and whispered something in faerie, and the horse took off to the skies. He was going to see Mark if it was the last thing he did.