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Like Calls to Like

Edition #1: Bryn and Rhysand

A/N: AKA What Would Happen If WoHF Characters Met Canon Characters. If you’re new here hi! World of High Fae is a text-based rpg set in the Maasverse. You should join us, we have a lot of fun!

Disclaimer: World Of High Fae does not claim ownership of any of the characters or locations featured in ACOTAR or the greater Maasverse. Those are the intellectual property of Sarah J Maas. The only thing we claim to have created is the original character of Bryn Kaen.

Word Count: 5904

Genre: Fluff with a bit of Angst

Characters: Rhysand (ACOTAR) and Bryn Kaen (WoHF)

CWs/ TWs: Mentions (vague) of miscarriage.

Every day Rosaceli Romalis gave Bryn more reasons to wonder why they’d ever agreed to hand a High Ladyship to her. Today, though, had to take the cake. Having an expert on relics close at hand may seem like an advantage for any ruler, but when that expert was Rosaceli it became more of a workplace hazard. She seemed to insist that the only way to find out what a magical artifact could do was to use it. This time it had been potentially catastrophic. She’d discovered a new relic and decided to bring it to Bryn. It was an hourglass with golden sand within it, and the power of the magic radiating off of it was palpable to everyone, humans included. The problem was that Rosaceli had no clue what it did, and Rosaceli was a hands-on learner. Bryn had called a meeting of the Trusted Few- their leadership- to discuss what to do with something so obviously powerful. As they’d all been theorizing over what it could be, Rosaceli had decided simply to flip the thing over, unable to be stopped by their protestations. Now they were here, falling from what was probably the sky (but they truly weren’t sure), until they thudded onto stone.

Bryn let out a soft groan, smoothing the fabric of their white dress shirt and dark brown dress pants mindlessly as they sat up and looked around, tossing their head to clear some of their short near-black curls from where they’d fallen into their deep-brown eyes. They most certainly weren’t at their round table. They weren’t certain of where they were. Well… perhaps that wasn’t entirely true. They knew the view they were seeing, and they had an idea of where they were seeing it from. They were looking down on Velaris at a beautiful dusk. Nothing in the continent could contest that view. They considered every chance they got to see it a blessing from the three-faced goddess. The balcony they stood upon was beautiful- carved out of a mountain on the north of the city of dreams. Rowan would have loved the way the blues and pinks reflected off of their near-golden skin. She’d always loved them in this light.

That aside, they had a very good idea of where they were- somewhere they had never been permitted entrance to, and somewhere they most certainly wouldn’t have been allowed to enter without permission. In the months since the coup, they simply hadn’t worn down the powers that be in the Night Court to allow them an official visit to the Headquarters of the Court of Dreams. But the thing at the forefront of their mind- the one reason why they had doubts- was because if they truly were standing on a balcony in the House of Wind, that relic had to be unfathomably powerful. There were strong wards on this place surrounding magical transportation- wards that blocked even the High Lords in all of their power from winnowing into this place.

Their mind was reeling, trying to grapple with precisely what they were seeing- what had happened. They still felt like they were falling through static even though they’d most certainly landed. Then, all of a sudden, they felt something trying to slip into their mind. One of the first things they’d done even upon becoming High Liege of the Western Wastes was learn to counter Daemati. Their mental privacy meant a great deal to them, and while the gift was rare it was present. This Daemati in particular seemed to push with substantial force, scraping against the walls guarding their mind with what could almost be described as talons. They felt the hairs on the back of their neck rise and they got a deep, unsettling feeling that they weren’t alone. They turned themself around and found themself meeting a pair of violet eyes that almost seemed to glow. They looked up as the High Lord they belonged to sauntered closer, not allowing themself to cower. If anything, they summoned every ounce of steel they had within them.

This confirmed the most popular hypothesis among their colleagues- that the relic had brought them to the past. Far enough back that they were face to face with Rhysand- the most powerful High Lord Prythian had ever seen.

They sized him up, their chest puffing a bit- although it was a bit of a ridiculous gesture given that he was over a foot taller than them (probably closer to a foot and a half). He didn’t laugh though- he only responded in kind, exerting the full scale of his intimidation. As strong as they were playing themself off they stood no chance against him in a fight and they knew it. They were deadly with a weapon in their hand, but he could snap his fingers and things would cease to be. Nothing stood a chance against that. The High Lord only stopped in his advancement when he was close enough that Bryn could almost feel the body heat radiating off of him. He looked down at them, his gaze just as calculating as their own. His eyes raked over every little feature, lingering on their ears, chest, and arms. They weren’t the only one masking their thoughts. They could almost see his mind at work before he finally broke the silence.

“What are you?”

“A witch.” Bryn told him plainly. That earned a half-amused scoff from him. For a moment they’d forgotten what that meant to Illyrians before the Joining.

“What are you,” He repeated, taking one step closer to them and glaring down at them. “And how did you get here?”

“Still a witch,” Bryn sighed, squaring up. “And an ancient relic.”

“What ancient relic?” He asked skeptically.

“I don’t know if it has a name, but it’s an hourglass.” Bryn admitted, their stance weakening slightly. “I only learned of its existence this afternoon.”

“And you decided to immediately put it to the test?” Rhysand gave them an unimpressed glare.

“I didn’t.” Bryn sighed, before grumbling a little bit, their gaze falling. “One of my council members did.”

“Who are you to have a council?” Something shifted within Rhysand- there was a genuine intrigue in his tone.

“It’s… complicated.” Bryn told him, meeting his gaze again. “If I tell you, you’re not going to take it seriously.”

“I have my ways of checking.” Rhysand shrugged coolly.

“I’m from the relatively distant future.” Bryn admitted. “And where I’m from, I am the Monarch of the Continent- which now encompasses Prythian, among other regions.”

Rhysand blinked slowly before starting to chuckle. As Bryn had said, he wasn’t taking them seriously. So they elected to do something drastic- something they would never normally do. They let down their mental shield, just enough for him to get in. This was politics, and Rhysand seemed to understand the significance of it fully. They didn’t have to challenge him to check whether they’d been telling the truth verbally, because the sliver of room they’d given him was invitation enough. It made them an open book- far more vulnerable than they usually liked to be, especially knowing how far Rhysand had historically been willing to go to protect his people. Rhysand immediately sobered, all semblance of chuckling dying in the cool dusk air. He looked them in the eyes as if asking if they knew what they’d just done. Bryn met his gaze, giving a soft nod to reaffirm their choice. They got one in turn before Rhysand slipped through the crack in their wall and into the depths of their mind, starting to sift through their memories.

Images flashed through Bryn’s head as Rhysand searched for answers. First and foremost, because it was the freshest in their memory, the final moments before they’d found themself here- everyone in their inner court scrambling to stop Rosaceli as she’d flipped the hourglass. Well- perhaps not everyone. They’d had tunnel vision in their panicked state, but they could remember some of their council having more positive reactions. Some of them were excited. Not Bryn though. Bryn remembered it in slow motion- and to be fair, it had felt like it was in slow motion as they’d tried to stop what was inevitable. Rosaceli Romalis was an unpredictable creature who seemed to attract chaos, but she was their Right Hand’s wife and Enza advocated for her fiercely.

Rhysand started to sift backwards through their memories- to when they’d asked Enza to be their Right Hand, through the coup. That was a bloody mess, but it was a bloody mess that they could be proud of. They got to watch their relationship with Rowan again through Rhysand’s meanderings in their mind, from when they’d met to their mating ceremony to where she now sat as their Queen. Rowan was the light of their life. They hadn’t thought that they’d ever have a mate, being a witch. But now that they’d found her, they could never imagine their life differently. Rhysand surely had to have felt the way Bryn’s heart ached as they realized she probably didn’t feel them over the bond, just as they couldn’t feel her right now. They didn’t want her worrying about them. Rowan was going to have a good many things to say about this entire situation if Bryn ever got back to her, and to be quite honest they would give anything to be by her side, letting her tear a strip out of them.

Rhysand explored Bryn’s memories with their adoptive daughters- the day they decided to take in a clan-raised fae, and the day they’d found a young Illyrian girl freshly clipped and taken her in as their own. Bryn was proud to show him Sylvine and Aesira. Their daughters were their pride and joy, and they always would be. Plus they knew Rhysand would particularly sympathize with Aesira, as an Illyrian himself. Then he moved on from the girls, watching their days before ruling The Continent. He watched them reform the Western Wastes with an iron fist. Those were brutal times, hosting public trials and executions to get a point across, and holding all accountable for crimes regardless of rank or class. Brutal, but effective- which could also be said of the guard they’d built themself in that time. The assembly of the underprivileged that they’d turned into a feared unit remained an integral task force within their arsenal. Then when Rhysand was satisfied with what he saw there he started to dig back into their nomadic days.

They started to resist a little. As much as they could appreciate how thorough he was being, there were things they’d rather not experience again. They’d become great, and greatness rarely came without a deep-seated trauma. Something to set them on a path. Although when they’d been set onto their path leading a Continent hadn’t exactly been where they’d anticipated landing. They tried to close their mind to Rhysand, but he just went deeper and deeper no matter how they tried to push him away. He gave Bryn a wary look. They understood why- resistance was rarely a good sign. So it didn’t surprise them that he kept going until he got to the very part they hadn’t wanted to see again. Their heart stopped, but there was no way they could look away from what was happening as it played out within their head. The blood. The screaming. The isolation, the mockery, the shunning, until they’d felt forced out of their clan. Rhysand’s eyes softened, and he withdrew. Bryn immediately reinforced their mental walls… and slapped him across the face. He held his cheek, but he didn’t protest, as he knew he had no grounds to.

“I deserved that,” Rhysand admitted as he took a few steps back from Bryn. His eyes were trained on the ground just in front of them.

“I told you to stop.” Bryn growled, blinking back the tears that had threatened to well.

“I know.” He sighed, finally meeting their gaze again, lowering his hand from where it nursed his cheek. “You have to understand why I’d be wary…”

“You should have stopped.” Bryn glared at him. “I allowed you in as an extension of trust. You abused that.”

There was silence in the room for a moment, and certainly not the comfortable kind. They knew why he’d done it, and if they were being truthful it had affected neither their trust nor respect for him. He was just being discerning, and they would have done precisely the same thing in his shoes. And they would have accepted the slap just as gracefully.

“I’m sorry about your child.” He told them. “That must have been painful.”

“You have no idea.” Bryn looked down, trying to ground themself. He would not see them weak.

“You’re formidable.” Rhysand told them. When they met his eyes, they didn’t find the compassion and pity that they’d been dreading- they found understanding. They nodded in thanks, unsure of what to say in response to that. “Why do you think your relic brought you here?”

“I don’t know.” Bryn sighed. “It could be completely random.”

“The magic required to get you here would have had to have been extraordinary.” Rhysand reminded them. “That magnitude of magic is rarely random.”

“I didn’t ask for this if that’s what you’re asking.” Bryn stated defensively.

“I know you didn’t.” Rhysand scoffed, giving them another quick look-over. “I was just in your head. But I do think that it brought you to me for a reason.”

He had a point. They knew he had a point, but they didn’t particularly want to admit it. They had a good rapport going on with Rhysand as it stood. He respected them. Rhysand, Lord of Night- the most powerful High Lord to ever live- respected them. He’d called them formidable, though they still weren’t entirely convinced that it wasn’t out of sympathy. He couldn’t have known what that meant to them, but it meant a great deal. Rhysand was a man any leader could look up to. Perhaps he hadn’t been perfect, but he’d kept the heart of his court safe during Amarantha’s reign. He’d protected Prythian and the lands beyond. He’d stood for what he believed in countless times, and he’d often been a leader among leaders. To say that his respect was high praise to Bryn might be the understatement of a lifetime, and considering they were already two and a half centuries into theirs, that bore a significant amount of weight.

“Why do you think the relic brought us together?” Bryn asked him, quirking a challenging brow. “Clearly you have an idea.”

“I think it’s because you need me.” Rhysand told them. Bryn scoffed halfheartedly. “I see myself in you.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere with me.” Bryn deadpanned, shifting a little bit. Their options were either squirm or blush under the attention they were getting and blushing was far more obvious. Though they didn’t have much choice over what happened either way.

“You consider that flattery?” Rhysand smirked.

“Of course I do!” Bryn scoffed, crossing their arms over their chest and looking away from Rhysand. “You are the most powerful High Lord of all time- one of our history’s great leaders. To compare anyone or anything to you is essentially sacrilege.”

“Well, now I’m flattered.” Rhysand chuckled softly.

“I can only dream of history remembering me the way it remembers you.” Bryn admitted. Rhysand sobered a bit of that, giving them an appraising look.

“Regardless of how you’re remembered, you possess a strength that I will never match.” Rhysand told them. “It’s one thing to be born into nobility and step into your birthright. It’s another entirely to start with nothing and no one at your back and fight for what you believe in until there’s a crown atop your head. I know many people who would have let themselves die after the loss you experienced and the abandonment you faced because of it, but you used it to fuel you. You didn’t just live- you lived to become great.”

“You reduce yourself to nothing to defend your beliefs time and time again.” Bryn countered, looking him in the eye. “Do not diminish the strength that conviction takes.”

“You’d do the same.” Rhysand told them. He seemed so confident of that fact- it caught Bryn off-guard.

“Perhaps.” They shrugged, before letting out a sigh. Their arms dropped back to their sides. “I modelled so much of the ruler I am after what history knows of you. We are equals at best.”

“So few people understand the importance of the mask we put on.” Rhysand sighed, looking away from them for a moment. “Nor that it takes as much of a toll on us as it does them.”

Bryn considered that. They’d worked hard to cultivate their image as a ruthless ruler who settled for nothing. They’d staged and orchestrated a coup to perfection to take their continent in the direction it had needed to go in. They’d spilt blood for their cause, but it had borne fruit. Their lands were at peace at last. Clans had learned better than to wage wars, Lords had learned better than to abuse their citizens, and fiends of all varieties learned that justice would find them they would get their dues. Bryn had ushered in an era where people could feel safe in their homes, safe to feel joy, where that hadn’t always been the case before. They were feared, yes, but those who reaped the benefits of their work revered them. Respected them. Some even loved them. Did they hate sometimes that people who didn’t know them flinched at their very presence in a room? Yes. But would they change what they’d done? Not for the world. This was the way things had to be. This was the way that kept everyone safe. Whatever personal sacrifices they would have to make to preserve this way of life would be made proudly.

“I have a family. They know my true nature.” Bryn told him, their left hand crossing over to fidget with their right wrist. “That will suffice.”

“Sometimes.” Rhysand mused. “Sometimes it won’t. And you’ll lose sleep.”

“You don’t have to tell me what I already know.” Bryn scoffed bitterly.

“You could expand your idea of family, to make things easier.” Rhysand told them, angling himself slightly away from them. “I consider my entire Inner Circle to be my family.”

“You have a history with yours. I don’t have that with mine- save for Enza and Rosaceli, but that history was… complicated.” Bryn countered, suppressing a chuckle. Complicate didn’t cover the half of it.

“Regardless… you chose them. You chose them because you knew that you could trust them.” Rhysand pointed out, looking back at them. “You should let yourself do that.”

“I didn’t ask for advice.” Bryn glared at him.

“No, but perhaps you need it.” Rhysand chuckled softly. “Your relic brought us together.”

“How do you know it’s not you who needs the advice?” Bryn pointed out, giving a little nod towards him.

“I don’t.” Rhysand admitted. He paused for a moment, before scoffing amusedly. “I suppose that was a bit self-centred of me.”

Bryn looked him over. Anyone with sense knew what an honor it was simply to be in Rhysand’s presence. The High Lord had every right to be self-centred. There was something about even being in his presence that was awe-inspiring. He had this aura around him that demanded reverence. Of course, Bryn didn’t want to trip over themself, because they were building a good rapport with him, but truly? They weren’t in any place to complain about any of it. They paled in comparison to the Lord of Night. That didn’t mean they were going to cave and start to grovel for him though- desperation wasn’t a good look on anyone. They kept themself cool so that Rhysand would continue to take them seriously. Perhaps that was why his advice had agitated them so much- because it felt as though he were in a position ever-so-slightly above them. But they didn’t want to linger on that.

Nor did they want to linger on going home quite yet. It dawned on them amid everything that this entire fiasco had begun because Rosaceli had flipped the hourglass, and thus commenced the flow of sand through it. It stood to reason, then, that the effects would be reversed once the sand ran out. Now, that hypothesis could very well be disproven- and if that happened, then they would worry about it. But for now, they’d try to enjoy the ride. Who knew where it could lead? They weren’t one for making friends, but they’d come into this conversation with an existing respect for Rhysand and they were enjoying aspects of the conversation already. So they might as well take this rare opportunity to bond with a man who made so much history. They set aside anything that could let negativity fester and moved on to something with more potential for lightness.

“I wonder where the others are…” Bryn mused, turning once more to look over the city as dusk turned to evening. Velaris was gorgeous all alight.

“Yours wasn’t the only unfamiliar presence I felt in this house.” Rhysand told them, joining them at their side. “You were just closest. I sent Mor after one. One, I believe, fell into the training ring. Cassian will deal with them, I’m sure.”

“Do you know which one is in the training ring?” Bryn’s face fell slightly. They wanted it to be Cassandra or Enza. Even Naexi or Calla would be manageable. But their gut told them they weren’t going to be that lucky. Then they heard a faint battle cry and the clashing of swords, and they started to rub their temple. “Start sending your prayers to the Mother”

“Why?” Rhysand started to chuckle softly.

“That cry you just heard came from Rosaceli Romalis.” Bryn sighed, looking over at him. “Wife to my Right Hand, and a High Lady in her own right. She’s a half-blind Seraphim Valkyrie with a vendetta against all men, and especially against Illyrians.”

“She’s pitted herself against the General of my Armies.” Rhysand told them, a semblance of a smirk starting to creep onto his lips.

“One of the most powerful warriors to ever live- I know. His name has been far from forgotten.” Bryn hummed, giving a soft nod. “It’s an even match.”

“You’re putting a lot of faith into your High Lady.” Rhysand raised his brows.

“You’ve never met Rosaceli.” Bryn gave him a tired look that spoke of far too many experiences.

“Then I suppose I should be grateful that she wasn’t the one thrown into the library with Nesta.” Rhysand hummed amusedly.

“I wouldn’t breathe any sighs of relief.” Bryn let out a wary chuckle. “Nesta Archeron is either faced against our Court General- which is your best case scenario- Rosaceli’s equally violent partner, an off-kilter dragon tamer and circus performer, an assassin, the owner of a longsword and ax named Judge and Executioner, a man who will Illyrian Bargain you out of house and home if you give him the opportunity, our most recent Carynthian, or my sister-in-law.”

“Your sister-in-law?” Rhysand raised a brow.

“She’s our Spymaster and the General of our Armies.” Bryn elaborated, their fingers brushing and inaudible rapping on the railing.

“That’s a lot of power for one person.” Rhysand let out a soft bemused chuckle.

“She’s deadly.” Bryn told him with a casual gravity that wasn’t uncommon to them. “Violent, and smart about it. She could probably kill me in my sleep and I wouldn’t see it coming to stop her. Not that she would do that to me, but… the point stands.”

“Lovely circle you’ve formed for yourself.” Rhysand snickered, hands crossing behind his back.

“None of them are sane, but I’d trust any of them with my life.” Bryn smirked softly. “I think you could appreciate that sentiment, couldn’t you?”

“Well…” Rhysand tried to counter.

“One of yours isn’t even of our plane. She drinks blood.” Bryn deadpanned, making a small gesture with their arm. “Cassian destroyed a building in Summer.”

“Those are fair points.” Rhysand admitted, another bout of chuckles escaping him.

“You’re going to lose a few pieces of furniture no matter who’s down there.” Bryn warned him.

“I’ve had to rebuild almost this entire house.” Rhysand shrugged, the chuckles giving way to a smirk. “At the very least it’s Cassian and Nesta’s responsibility now.”

“Oh, so they’ve mated.” A smirk grew on Bryn’s face.

“They have.” Rhysand nodded before a soft chortle escaped him. “Cauldron save us all.”

“Does that mean you’re also a father?” Bryn smiled softly.

“Why do you think that I was so quick to find you once I sensed your presence?” Rhysand smirked in turn. “I’ve got a little bat to protect… which I’m sure you know can be a challenge.”

“I do. Aesira’s certainly… strong-willed.” Bryn hummed contentedly, before letting out a soft sigh. “We’re trying to rebuild her wing strength. Sylvine made her a device that’s functioning fairly well.”

“Do you think she’ll fly again?” Rhysand raised his brows, interest piqued.

“We’re hoping. I have the best healers aiding her.” Bryn mused. “There’s no guarantees, but the process seems to be taking nicely.”

“You’re a good parent. Most would have resigned themselves to the fact that she wouldn’t have use of her wings.” Rhysand told them. “Nyx is starting to get fussy about his wings.”

“I can imagine they would be uncomfortable for an infant.” Bryn considered.

“Would you like to meet him?” Rhysand offered. Bryn hesitated. “He’s here- down for a nap, but he’s already slept plenty for the day. I don’t think he’d mind the interruption.”

“How would his mother feel about me meeting him?” Bryn checked, a weak attempt to decline without expressly declining.

What they didn’t want to say was that babies could be painful for them. It reminded them of what they’d lost. But they were sure that Rhysand knew that.

“Feyre trusts me to protect the child. If I thought you posed any kind of a threat to it, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Rhysand told them, a look in his eyes that told them that he saw right through them. “Come on- you likely don’t have much time left.”

Ah, so apparently that hadn’t been so much an offer as it had been an order. Rhysand turned, and it was clear he expected Bryn to follow- which they did. It would be rude not to. They were shocked at the amount of trust Rhysand was extending to them, though they knew that they probably shouldn’t be. There were two very logical explanations for it. The first and most obvious one was that they were likely to vanish at any given moment. There was very little they could reliably do to harm anything in the past without massive repercussions to their future. On top of that, Rhysand had taken a stroll through their head. He likely knew Bryn as intimately as Rowan did, which had most certainly not been the witch’s intention but was also very much their own fault. Rhysand had a reputation for pushing boundaries that had made its way through millennia of histories. It had been a small price to pay for his trust, especially considering how little he could do with any of the information.

Bryn soon found themself in a guest room with a crib in it. Inside the crib was a tiny babe with small black wings. They weren’t sure of how old it was- probably less than half a year though. Their heart stopped as they tried to push ‘might-have-been’s from their head. Those would do them no good. They hadn’t had their baby. It had passed long before it was even supposed to see the light of day. It wasn’t anyone’s fault that things had ended before they began, no matter how much they blamed themself when they lay awake at night. But they weren’t thinking of that right now. They were thinking about Nyx- a great leader in his own right. Bryn wasn’t cursed- the rational part of them knew that. Their being in this room wasn’t going to cause terrible things to happen to the baby. Any inklings of that nature that their mind fed them were utterly ridiculous. Nyx was safe around them. Safe. Their heart thumped as the baby opened tiny blue eyes, making a little crooning noise. Bryn hadn’t even realized that they were crying until they heard the light thud of a tear splashing on the floor.

“Bryn… this is Nyx, my son. Heir of Night.” Rhysand introduced gently before his tone shifted to more of a coo. “Nyx, this is Bryn. You may serve under them years from now.”

Bryn wasn’t going to tell him that he didn’t. Instead, they took a knee, bowing their head to the future High Lord of Night- another immensely powerful High Lord. They raised their head, looking in at the baby in the crib.

“My Lord.” They croaked out, voice raw with emotion. Babies were the one surefire way to break them.

“You’re going to give him a big head.” Rhysand teased softly. Nyx reached a tiny hand towards the bars of the crib and let out a little coo. “Looks like he wants to say hello.”

“Hello…” Bryn cooed at him. Instinct told them to reach for the baby, to meet his greeting, but something within them blocked them from doing that.

“You can touch him- he won’t break.” Rhysand told them gently, laying a hand on their shoulder. They weren’t sure if they were being obvious or if Rhysand was in their head, but it was still a bit jarring that he knew exactly what was on their mind. “You could even hold him if you’d like.”

“That might…” Bryn started to protest.

“Have you held a baby since?” Rhysand asked bluntly. Neither of them had to clarify what he meant by that.

“No.” Bryn admitted.

They avoided children under eighteen months at all costs. Once they grew into little people Bryn could stomach them- and was quite fond of them. Children that small didn’t lie. They only learned to lie later when adults taught them to. Bryn could always trust them.

“Then it’s time you did.” Rhysand sighed, picking up Nyx and putting him into their arms. They couldn’t refuse, otherwise the baby would drop to the ground- and they certainly didn’t want that. “There. Is that so bad?”

Nyx wriggled ever so slightly, adjusting in their hold. Bryn was tense with shock, tense with nerves… but the baby seemed contented. He gurgled softly, eyes closing again in their arms. Slowly, the tension faded, and Bryn simply held the little thing. He was so tiny, with his tiny little hands and feet and wings. They almost cried again, but to cry twice in front of Rhysand would weaken their image- which they didn’t want. Instead, they gently rocked and bounced baby Nyx, relishing in every coo and gurgle he gave them. This had been Rhysand’s plan all along, they realized- probably since he’d stumbled upon that memory. It was insanely invasive of him, and not even close to being his place to do. They were not a problem to solve, much less were they his problem to solve. But… they were grateful for it in some capacity, as inappropriate as it was for him to do. They had needed someone to give them a kick in the right direction, they just would have preferred it to be Rowan.

“No.” Bryn let out a shaky, breathless sigh.

“I thought so.” Rhysand smirked triumphantly. “Now, give him back here- you’re liable to vanish.”

“You know I’m not broken- I don’t need fixing.” Bryn told him, a hint of coldness in their tone as they handed the baby over.

“I didn’t imply that you were.” Rhysand furrowed his brows as he held his son, bouncing him softly. Bryn raised their brows in turn, unimpressed, looking at Nyx until the High Lord seemed to realize what they were implying. “I was just trying to help.”

“I didn’t ask for help.” Bryn pointed out.

“That doesn’t diminish the fact that you needed it.” Rhysand countered.

“Are you my mate? My family?” Bryn retorted, an unimpressed brow quirked. “Did the situation even remotely pertain to you?”

Rhysand was silent. The High Lord of Night likely wasn’t used to being talked to so plainly, but Bryn was both his equal on the social hierarchy and had no way of reaping consequences for their actions. They could, in theory, say whatever they wanted to him. Their respect was a choice- and certainly one they intended to keep up. They could be saying things that were a lot nastier, and a small part of them wanted to (a power-hungry part, mind you, that would have gotten a rush from putting the Rhysand in his place). But they would settle for being firm. Now that this door to the past was opened who knew what it could mean for their present? They’d unwittingly managed to introduce a powerful magic into the mix, for better or for worse, and as much as they were seizing what should be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity they also should probably treat it as a diplomatic relation.

“My trauma is not yours to heal, Lord of Night.” Bryn stated clearly. They then broke the intensity of their tone, softening as they leaned in to coo at Nyx. They weren’t upset enough that they wanted to risk any negativity lingering between them. “You tell your Dad to stop being a meddler.”

“I’m certain he will, many times.” Rhysand sighed, chuckling softly. “I apologize for overstepping.”

“I suppose I can’t hold it against you too strongly.” Bryn shrugged, holding out a finger for Nyx. “Your intentions were pure.”

“The future seems to be in good hands.” Rhysand told them. They tried not to flush too much at the compliment.

“Thank you.” They nodded graciously.

And so they spent what remaining time they had playing with Nyx and swapping stories with Rhysand about their inner circles. It was funny, they considered, how history repeated itself. Perhaps one day they would have the kind of kinship he had with his group. They could see it if they tried. Being here made them realize that making friends was a lot easier for them than they let it be- or perhaps that the High Lord was very easy to make friends with. They weren’t entirely sure which it was. It could be either for all they knew. What they knew on more certain terms was that Rhysand had been right earlier when he had said that he saw himself in Bryn. Now that they were here truly getting to know him, they saw bits of themself in almost everything he did. Soon, as quickly as they’d fallen into this place and time, they felt themself ripped out of it. Their head swam until they found themself seated back at the table, the rest of their Trusted Few seated just as Bryn had left them. The air was still for a moment as it was obvious they were all trying to recover before Bryn sighed.

“Anyone have particularly fun stories to share?”

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