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✴ a one shot inspired by the theory that Elain reminds Rhys of his sister
✴ word count: 1.1k
✴ warnings: grief, loss, nightmares
✴ Hespera Masterlist
Rhysand woke to a room cloaked in starry midnight. His eyes scanned each corner for threats, heart beating so quickly it ached in his chest. He was too warm, skin sticky with sweat.
Thunder rumbled, rattling the glass of the windows. It took him a moment to understand that it hadn't come from himself, but the summer storm approaching Velaris. He held his breath, glancing toward Nyx's bassinet, but the wards had held. The sound hadn't gotten through and his son was still asleep, little face peaceful and painted silver with moonlight.
Rhys's gaze shifted toward the bed. The space beside him was empty and the anxiety rattled harder against his ribs. He knew Feyre was only at the House of Wind with Nesta. But he needed her now.
Before he could stop himself, Rhys was out of bed and tugging on clothes. His nightmare and the real world were still merged, horror crawling down his spine. In this strange version of the world, a pair of glowing purple eyes overlapped with a pair of shining hazel ones. The sharp sting of loss filled every inch of him, coursing through his veins like the night-kissed power he'd inherited.
If Feyre were here, or Cassian, or Az, they would help him slide back into reality. But they weren't here and he was stuck in this world of rumbling darkness. This rendition of the truth, created by his nightmare.
Running down the hall, he barely registered how stupid this would look and how foolish he would feel in the morning. He didn't care. He couldn't care. Not with the panic and the grief warring for space in his mind. And worse, something deep in his gut was clawing for a shred of hope. He fought for it, chest heaving. Because accepting the truth would hurt more than he could bear.
Trembling fingers grasped the doorknob to Elain's room and swung the door open wide. Lightning illuminated her form as she shot upright, fear written across her features. Thunder rolled again and Rhys jumped, scurrying toward her. Elain's shoulders sagged as she realized it was just him, though her brows furrowed at the wild gleam in his eyes, the sheen of sweat on his torso as he struggled for a breath.
"What's wrong? Is it Nyx?" She pulled back the covers and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Another flash of lightning ignited the amber of her eyes.
When he saw it, the honey brown that was supposed to be violet, Rhys crumbled. He dropped to his knees by Elain's bed, the harsh thud of his landing coinciding with another wave of thunder. When the sound faded, sobs filled the room. Rhys bent forward slowly to rest his forehead on Elain's knees.
She was still for a moment, processing the High Lord coming undone at her feet. Then she silently reached toward her sister, hoping the message made it to her, before pushing Rhysand back with gentle hands so she could kneel in front of him. She wrapped her arms around him, letting him weep into her shoulder. An image drifted into her mind and she didn't know if it had come from her own gifts or if Rhys had shared it with her. Wherever it came from, it sent a wave of aching grief so strong it pulled tears from her own eyes.
The heart-shaped face of a winged girl, blushing and laughing. Her golden skin and thick black eyebrows matched Rhysand's. Her eyes the same shade of violet, flecked with stars. Unruly black curls bounced over her shoulders. She was so young. Younger than Feyre had been when she'd gone over the wall with Tamlin. Elain could see her youth and promise, possibility wreathing those dark curls like a halo. As brilliant and glowing as her brother's power.
"Hespera," Rhysand croaked, grasping fistfuls of Elain's nightgown. Her jasmine scent filled his nose and pulled another choked cry out of him. It was not Hespera's scent. Not the smell of summer nights and moonflower he'd likely never experience again.
Elain's heart broke in two as she understood. He had come looking for her. He would not find her, would never find her again.
Rhys had told her once that she reminded him of his sister. It had filled her chest with warmth, made her eyes gleam with the honor, though a part of her had wondered if he was just being nice.
Now, she knew it was true. As he had rushed in his half-awake state to her room, to the closest thing in this living world he could find to his sister. Mind hazy from his dream, he had forgotten she was gone. Elain knew what it felt like, the jumbled mess of emotions that came from dreaming of one you've lost.
"I'm sorry," Elain whispered, threading her fingers through his own inky hair and cradling his head. The floorboards dug into her knees and snagged against her nightgown but she did not move, only reached toward Feyre again. "I'm so sorry."
Elain couldn't guess how long they stayed like that, Rhysand enveloped in grief as the storm raged outside. She listened carefully for Nyx but he seemed to be sleeping through it all and she thanked the Mother for it.
Then she heard the snap of an incoming winnow and hurried footsteps on the stairs. Feyre ran past Elain's open door, doubling back when she registered what she'd seen. She stopped in the doorway, eyes drifting over her mate in Elain's arms, the panic in her eyes turning into sorrow.
"Feyre's here," Elain whispered as Feyre sat on the floor with them. Rhysand released Elain, looking at Feyre with such devastation in his red-rimmed eyes. Feyre held his face in her hands, brushing away the tears, murmuring comfort.
Elain wondered how her sister could stand even a fraction of the grief he must be sending through the bond. Her thoughts flashed toward her own mate, wondering if he had ever experienced such an episode and held it in so as not to send it to her unwittingly. It was another wave of pain in her already twisted heart.
She stood and walked toward the door a little numbly. Tea. Tea might help.
"Thank you," Feyre whispered over her shoulder at Elain, tears falling freely down her cheeks.
Elain nodded, not bothering to wipe away her own. For the millionth time, she cursed the cauldron for the power it had thrust upon her. This time, though, she did not wish to be human again. She wished for more. Something greater than her visions, greater than either of her sister's stolen powers. Something that could reverse the cruel death of Rhysand's sister. Or something that could help her dole the most fitting justice. She would send that vengeance to the afterlife, if she must.
Just as Nesta hadn't seen the silver glow of power in her own eyes, Elain could not see the golden light of her own.
