#acotar:restrung

[court-0f-dreamers]

ACOTAR: Restrung Chapter 2

Fic Summary: What if it was never up to Tamlin to break the curse? What if, instead, in a true test of love, Amarantha sent out Prythian’s most abhorred and cruel Highlord, to watch his land fall into ruin while trying to change the heart of a hateful human? A Court of Bitterness and Jasmine…A Court of Rhysand. Set in the same universe as our favourite Sarah J Maas characters, but with a twist. 

If Rhysand were to take Tamlin’s place how different would our story be? Or would it stay the same? 

Chapter 1  Chapter 3

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CHAPTER 2 4 days later

I need this. A few moments just for me. No one cares anyway, Feyre thought, as she leaned her head back against the coarse wooden grain.

She had had a surprising few days. After her night in the forest, she had had three days of kills. Three days of food. She was able to sell the pelts in the marketplace, where a mercenary gave her twice the normal amount for them. Yet, she couldn’t stop thinking about that creature. At the most unexpected moments she would see those keen eyes, or remember that sense of home.

The rhythmic thumping sound brought her back to the present. From the sound, it was pretty obvious what was going on between Feyre and Isaac in the Hales’ old barn.

He held her, her legs wrapped around his waist, and lifted a single iron cuffed hand to push his hair off his sweaty brow.

She gripped his slight but toned shoulders harder.

He released her legs, spinning her around. She now faced a shoulder-height shelf piled high with rusty, old milk pails. She grabbed the edge and arched back urging him deeper.

His hands came around her front, squeezing her breasts, his fingertips grazing her erect nipples.

She looked down at his hands. Lean knuckled fingers, that often helped his father on the farm. She tried not to think back to last week when those hands were deworming a pig.

“More”, Feyre urgently whispered back. He increased his pace, and she arched even closer to him as the sounds of their meeting filled the barn.

She also heard a slight rustling to her side. It was a goat poking its nose in the hay strewn across the floor. It lifted its head, slowly chewing a mouthful of straw. Its beady eyes held her stare with idle tenacity.

“More!” she said, and slid her hand down. She groaned as her fingers rapidly moved between her legs.

She tried to ignore it when the goat sat down and watched.

Isaac stepped closer and thrust harder against her inner depths. For a few moments nothing else in the world existed but their bodies. Nearly there…

The door flew open. 

SHIT! Feyre thought. 

Nesta was standing there, hands on her hips, looking far too much like their mother. Shit shit shit. 

“What the hells Nesta?! Why are you here?” Feyre shrieked, as she grabbed for her clothes. She clamped down the anger and embarrassment welling inside her. No, I will not be embarrassed. She knew what we did here. “Get dressed and get outside.” Nesta said sharply, staring them down like disgruntled queen.

She buttoned my tunic and pants, not bothering to say goodbye to Isaac as she pushed her way through the doors. “Really, Nesta...!” Feyre started.

“I don’t care about your sad little tryst. There is someone waiting to see you at home, and you better start explaining yourself now.”

                                                    *** *** ***

Aalop Archeron dropped the bowl of thin soup. With even shakier hands he tried to pick it up, nearly falling over in the process.

Rhysand cringed inwardly. He should be used to this.

The older man’s cane slipped dangerously on the now wet floor.

“Father, let me”, Elain said rushing forward. “Please Sir, forgive us, please,” she whispered, bowing her head to him, unable to make eye contact.

Rhys’ expression remained impassive. He had worn this face many times over the last five hundred years. The cold, dark, soulless Highlord. For the last fifty years, this had become his face to the world. The mask he couldn’t remove.

Unless you do your job and free them, he reminded himself.

“Enough.” he said, the low tenor of his voice an unfailing command. “I don’t care. Where is Feyre, your youngest daughter?”

“She is c-coming, Sir,” Elain said, still unable to so much as lift her head up as tears silently streamed down her face.

“Please. Please.” their father begged. “Take me. I will do anything. Please. I will pay--”

Rhysand forced a cruel laugh, “You think you can pay me? How much is a life worth to you, Aalop Archeron?”.

The fact that he knew their names scared them as much as his words.

He casually picked up a small wooden carving from the table, examining the fragile object in his large hands - a winged woman with shining halo. He stared at it, the work was so delicate, and her face triggered a wisp of memory-

Behind him he heard a gasp.

He turned towards the door where Nesta held a shorter, thinner version of herself tightly in front her.

Such big eyes, was his first thought, big stormy eyes.

Feyre looked around the room, taking in the scene. Then she looked at him, and he wished she didn’t.

“Who are you? What do you want?” she spat. She seemed to look straight passed the mask, she seemed to look straight into his soul. And then across her face swept a hard look of hatred.

He would have hesitated if he hadn’t had fifty years to get used to that look.

“Now now now, Feyre”, his mocking voice drawled out her name. “Is that any way to speak to your new Highlord?”

She looked shocked. He saw her take in his immaculate black on black suit, his unnatural poise, perfect face, and his clearly non-human pointed ears. “Alright, pack your things; say goodbye. You killed a Fae in the forest, someone who was a vital part of the running of my court. As the treaty demands, you must now come with me to repay the debt.”

“What! This is absurd. I didn’t know. There is no law--”

“ENOUGH.” Rhysand raised his voice and very slightly released the damper on his power. Night filled the room. Wisps of darkness reached out and caressed Nesta’s cheek, trailed across Elain’s shaking shoulders, and clouded Aalop’s vision.

The fear in their eyes was real. He could hear it in the erratic beating of their hearts.

Good, he thought. He wanted this over as quickly as possible.

“Feyre,” her father pleaded.

Rhysand’s night receded.

Aalop reached out for his young daughter. “He has promised me that you won’t be harmed. That you just need to live in his court. You will be treated well, and then he will release you when you sentence is served. I-I am s-sorry my love”. His eyes beseeched her to understand. Understand how he couldn’t help his child. “You have always been too good for us…”

Elain finally looked at her, “Feyre, he will kill us all. He will raze this town. Feyre, help us.” she said between sobs.

Nesta said nothing, but released Feyre’s shoulder and stepped aside.

Rhysand watched shock, betrayal and then fearful acceptance cross her face. He couldn’t stand this stifling house anymore. With the single word “Hurry”, he stepped outside and waited at the road.

He was so angry. And the emotion burned through his guilt.

The fools! They had so much. They had their free lives, they had a roof over their heads, and most of all, they had each other. Yet they gave her away so easily. Even as their selfishness suited his cause, his anger grew.

He couldn’t hide his deep frown.

The Archerons mistook it for impatience.

“Go Feyre. Go.” Nesta pushed her out sold chattel.

Feyre turned away from the door and walked alongside him, looking back at her family with hungry eyes until she lost sight of them.

He looked at her small face and her stiff shoulders as she kept pace with his long strides. She was trying to be brave in front of the beast that took her away.

He was about to reach his hand out but stopped. She doesn’t want to touch you, he thought.

“We are going North”, was all he said before he grabbed her by the bag and winnowed them away.

                                                   *** *** ***

This wasn’t real. This wasn’t happening to her. It took Feyre at least an hour, or longer, who knew, to get used to the idea that she was flying. No, not flying. Appearing and reappearing. Like her whole body was being shattered into a middle pieces and then reassembled in the blink of an eye. Each time in a different place across the land.

The first time she saw a sweet-smelling dark garden, the second was a stifling sandy beach, then so much orange and yellow she couldn’t tell the roof from the floor. Then, snowy blizzard. Warm light. Hot brighter light. Cold night. And then it was over.

The male next to her had barely touched her but she felt his magic release her from his side.

She tried not to look at him. He had the most stunningly beautiful face she had ever seen. That only made the terrible dark power rolling off him more terrifying. 

He turned away, panting.

They were outside a massive black wrought iron gate. Beyond it were red mountains to one side, partially obscuring the edges of a river bordered by more sharp dark mountains. On the other side were black buildings with heavy smoke churning out of the chimneys atop them.

But Feyre’s eyes were focused on the gate and its surrounding fence, and she couldn’t help but notice the intricate work, the curling whorls interspersed with ugly dangerous-looking spikes. Spikes facing inwards. This wasn’t a gate to keep people out, but one to keep people in.

She forgot all the assurances of her safety he had granted her before they left.

She was looking at the Gates of Hell.

He reached towards the double-doored gate, and at his touch it opened.

“Welcome home”, his voice, calm and soft, didn’t hide the malice at the last word.

6 hours later.

It was midnight and nothing was keeping me inside this house.

They told Feyre it was a “house” but in reality, it was a palace. A dark, festering palace atop a red mountain that looked like the maw of a giant beast. She supposed it was a fitting home for the male who ruled over it.

The city was called “Velaris” and from the little Feyre saw of it, it was a place of nightmares. It was mostly a ghost town, the buildings daubed with moist black streaks of mould. On her way in, she saw a family of faeries with long blue limbs being threatened by large, angry insectile creatures with batons. The night court police perhaps, Feyre assumed, and gave them a wide berth. Upon seeing their Highlord in the streets they immediately stopped and returned to their posts. Feyre tried not to think about how terrifying the male next to her was if these creatures feared him. The citizens hurried away without glancing in their Highlord’s direction.

After that he rushed her into this palace,and she didn’t see another being while they wandered through hallway after hallway. It might have been grand once. The red uncut stone of the walls might have been warm, the high ceilings open and inviting, but like the rest of the city it felt abandoned. Feyre tried to track the turns and distances they travelled, but she quickly lost count. She had never been in a place like this. They turned abruptly and headed down a dark staircase.

He’s taking me to the dungeons, Feyre panicked.

It must have shown because he immediately stopped, and said, “These are my private chambers. Only those closest to me can enter here. You will not be harmed.”

They went down more twisted hallways and then travelled up a long spiral staircase, which finally opened over a wide white-marble antechamber lined with high windows. Feyre realised the whole palace had been carved out of the mountain itself, and they were now at the summit.

The Highlord stopped at the first door on the left. A single glossy black door.

Throughout this journey, her emotions were a riot, swirling between blind panic and brave resignation. All those thoughts stood still when he pulled out a heavy golden key and placed in it her hand, careful not to touch her, “Your room. Once you are inside no one except your handmaiden can enter without your permission.” he said. He paused for a moment, hesitating, and then started to step away, his head low.

Who are you?, Feyre thought forcefully.

His head snapped up like she had shouted it. He looked at her for the first time since entering Velaris, really looked at her. Feyre didn’t dare look away from those fierce violet eyes.

He stepped closer, tilting his head to the side.

“What do I do now?” she blurted, “Highlord”, she quickly added.

That broke the strange silence over them.

His expression changed, and he gave her that frustratingly cool smile. “Tonight? Whatever you want. I don’t care. Eat, sleep, read, stare at the wall. I’ll come get you in the morning. Until then, feel at home.” He said mockingly, knowing she could never feel that way.

He spun on his heels and walked away, hands in his pockets, with an aura of complete satisfaction.

A beautiful Fae was waiting in her room. Cerriwden, she said her name was. She spoke softly and moved through the rooms with silent grace, her straight, waist-length hair swaying behind her. Rooms, Feyre had rooms now. There was a sitting room with a desk, shelves of books, and a large fireplace framed by a comfortable couch. The bedroom was dominated by a decadent high-canopied bed, and was connected to an equally large bathing room holding a sunken grey tub. Each room was at least three times the size of her whole house.

Cerriwden ran a bath for her and helped her into clean, soft night clothes. Her warm, sure hands on Feyre were the only reminder that this was real, and not a twisted dream. And though Cerriwden spoke little, her gaze was keen, taking in everything Feyre did.

Well, she doesn’t work for me, Feyre thought.

Occasionally, Feyre noticed a twinge of pity, of sadness when the handmaiden’s clear black eyes met hers. In those moments, Feyre felt shame, and guilt, and hurt. She wasn’t going to be kept here, a prisoner in a lavish cell.

Which brought her here, at midnight, with her legs thrown over the ledge of her window, high above the sleeping city. Feyre tried to judge how quickly she would die if her accidentally slipped right now. She had used the trimmings of the rich curtains to fashion a rope, and she planned to attach it to the multiple balconies and balustrades that dotted her path down the mountain face. Just like the trees in the forest at home, she told herself as took in deep breath and jumped.

She made leap after leap, careful not to look down the at the dizzying fall should she miss. But her forest and her home were far from here. She didn’t know if she was thankful or angry at that fact. Thankful that despite the little they had, her family were not in this place. But angry that they were left to die. Without her, how would they feed themselves? And deep down, she hoped they would realise how much she gave them, and then they would come to regret how they barely fought to keep her.

A few more leaps and she was at the bottom. She was careful to tuck her homemade rope into her bag. She then grabbed the bow and two fighting knives she took from home and secured them within easy reach.

Preparation first. Know your what you are dealing with, Feyre, she thought. Then figure a way out.

She was not prepared for the sight of Velaris at night.

Feyre’s senses were assaulted as she took in the scene before her. Everywhere the sights, sounds, and smells of the crowd was overwhelming. The streets were teeming with High Fae, pushing each other around, yelling, leering, grinding against each other. Thumping music blared from doorways, different beats and rhythms, all merging on the street into a chaotic cacophony. The main street was lined with bars and restaurants, all filled with fae and faeries. Feyre sensed the threat of violence slinking underneath the revelry, a manic intoxication was could be uncorked at any time.

Her subconscious had picked it up before she acknowledged it. This was not the celebration of a happy, satiated people. These were the revels of a cruel and angry court. Her eyes narrowed to the faeries interspersed between the High fae. The faeries were waiting on them, servicing them, desperately trying to keep their establishments from being torn apart by them - the faeries were being abused by them.  She tasted something bitter in her mouth. Fear.

She was an outsider here. She was a weak human. She quickly walked away from the broadway. She avoided the storefronts closing for the nights, patrons throwing down their rubbish as they left,  smashing bottles and swearing. She was careful to dodge a drunk vomiting man only to nearly walk into someone pissing off the broadwalk. Thankfully, no one paid much attention to her.

She decided to make for the docks. Docks meant ships, and ships meant a way out.

But there were no ships.

By the waterfront inside the abandoned boatshed, there were only more faeries. It was quieter here, but somehow even more dismal. There were faeries from every part of Prythian, it seemed. Some looked like humans, some seemed like an extension of nature itself. A faerie with verdigris skin and hair like the richest leaves sat next to a pale white faerie with skin like translucent tissue paper. Groups of threes and fours clustered around barrels filled with fire, clutching packets of food in paper. Others were sitting up on thin bed mats and cardboard mattresses laid on the floor. There was muted conversation amongst the heads held low. Feyre had seen enough of hunger and poverty to recognise it on all these faeries instantly. She didn’t dare speak to anyone, it was clear that no one here wanted to be noticed either.

She crossed a bridge to the other side of the river and entered another cluster of buildings.

Here were hundreds of houses built almost on top of each other. They had sprouted up in a disorganised mass, a colony that had grown too quickly and irregularly, crawling from the waterfront to cling to the steep mountain face. But there was a beauty in it, for it was the only speck of colour in this city of stark black, tarnished red and drab grey. All the shanty homes were painted every colour of the rainbow. Though fading, with nothing of the bright technicolour of Elain’s garden in spring, it had a coherence and unity that was lost everywhere else in the city.

As she walked through the uneven alleys, she saw the walls of the homes were crumbling, roofs replaced with corrugated iron, and doors and windows sealed shut with makeshift wood planks. There were signs of the fae that inhabited those homes, with occasional clotheslines, rain waterpots on doorsteps, and the telltale flicker of a candle beneath a door frame. But for so many homes, the silence was eerie.

Until she heard something.

The scratching of claws against a wall. A girlish scream cut short. The sounds of scuffed boots on the ground.

She cautiously turned the corner.

Four creatures with bat-like faces, leathery wings and insectile bodies were crowded around a Fae girl.

“Hmmm, out after curfew. Your Highlord’s rules don’t protect you now”, one of them hissed. They leaned in close. Their leering glances made it clear what she needed protecting from.

The girl looked around for any path to run into, for anything that might help her.

They creatures started clicking, rubbing their claws together, purposefully taunting her.

Before Feyre could consider the consequences she picked up a large rock and aimed it. The creature closest to her grunted loudly as it hit him on the back of the head.

They turned towards Feyre in unsettling unison.

“RUN!”, Feyre yelled to the girl, who needed no encouragement as she bolted towards Feyre. They both ran through the pot-holed alleys that bordered the homes, turning often in the hope they could lose the creatures.

“Attors!”, the girl exclaimed pointing to the right, “We need to go this way. Attors hate water”, she pointed back towards the docks.

They veered sharply right, ducking under a low clothesline.

Straight into the path of a waiting Attor.

“Aren’t I lucky? I get two of you all to myself”, his voice dripping with vicious pleasure.

Feyre palmed the knives she had hidden in her boots as they backed away.

They barely got three feet away when the Attor flapped its leathery wings and appeared behind them, obstructing their path out.

“Rhysand has been careless”, he hissed gleefully. “Let’s get rid of those”, he reached over and with one swipe knocked both the knives out of Feyre’s hands, cutting her skin with his razor claws.

Defenceless now, Feyre tried to reach for her bow.

My bow!, she realised belatedly it wasn’t on her back. She had made the thin linen string herself. It must have snapped while she was running.

Panic seeped into the souls of her feet. This is it. It’s over.

The Attor moved in closer, reaching towards Feyre. “I think I’ll start with you”, he rasped, breathless at the thought.

Suddenly his head jerked up, and before either of them could make another movement, a bone-shuddering tremor snapped through the ground. Immediately followed by another.

Feyre held her breath as everything stopped. A hundred feet behind the Attor, still crouching from the impact of their landing, were two leather-clad Fae.

They stood together and started walking towards them, their magnificent wings flared out wide, spanning the length of the alley. The way they moved their tall, muscular bodies with restrained ease, the weapons strapped to every inch of them, and the fierceness of their expressions made it clear who they were - Warriors. These were the Fae of dreams and nightmares. And they were beautiful, in all their gloriously and deathly fury.

Feyre made herself small and started to inch back the alley. For whatever reason they were here, the distraction could save her life. They surely didn’t even sense her insignificant human self.

“Who in the hells are you?” the Attor hissed at them.

“I’m glad you asked,” said the broader one with shoulder length hair and rough-cut features, coming up to them, “now you will know who sent you back to that pit you crawled from.”

In a flash of silver, he unsheathed two short swords and scissored them across the Attor’s thick neck. Feyre stopped still, barely noticing the black blood spraying the walls as its lifeless head rolled towards her feet.

“Oh I lied. I didn’t let you live long enough to find out”, he said with an angry half-smile.

The taller one, a dark Adonis, rolled his eyes. Shadows swirled around his ears as his gaze turned to her. She was trying to still her hammering heart, when he nodded and said, “Hello, Miss Feyre. I’m Azriel, and this is Cassian. Welcome to Velaris”.

[court-0f-dreamers]

ACOTAR: Restrung Chapter 3

Chapter 1   Chapter 2

Fic Summary: What if it was never up to Tamlin to break the curse? What if, instead, in a true test of love, Amarantha sent out Prythian’s most abhorred and cruel Highlord, to watch his land fall into ruin while trying to change the heart of a hateful human? A Court of Bitterness and Jasmine…A Court of Rhysand. Set in the same universe as our favourite Sarah J Maas characters, but with a twist.

CHAPTER 3

He was livid. Rage pulsed off him in lashes of warm night. Idiot girl. Stupid, unthinking, impulsive girl. He continued pacing across the floor of his private study.

“She wouldn’t have done it if she wasn’t so scared, Rhysand,” Cassian snapped, from his seat in the comfortable brown leather chairs, “You should have given her more of a reception.”

“She jumped out of the window!”, Rhysand said through clenched teeth, unable to stop himself gesticulating wildly.

“She abseiled out of the window.” Cassian couldn’t help the small smile across his face as he corrected Rhys, “Using your priceless curtains.

“And you know, you could make her feel more welcome. Find out what she likes. Be less...this”, Cassian continued, pointing to all of Rhys.

And then he leaned back and put his dirty boots on the ebony coffee table.

Azriel sighed from his spot on the mantelpiece, “If you’re going to pick a fight with him, please do it after we eat.”

“I can’t just go into her mind and find out what she likes, Cassian”, Rhys continued. He moved in between Cassian and the table and tossed his feet back down onto the carpet. “The curse doesn’t allow me to just delve into her mind. If not, don’t you think I would have just made her fall madly in love with this!” He pointed at himself, repeating Cassian’s gesture.

Cassian pushed on, “Now that we’ve found her, can’t you just do your daemati business and make her like you-”.

“You know I can’t, Cassian”, Rhys responded with equal snap. But Cassian’s words had found their mark.

He turned hitting his palm on the coffee table with an uncharacteristic unchecked rage, “Dammit! If I could enter minds so thoroughly, I’d have fed Kier and his subjects out there pillaging my city to the damn Attors!” His expression was fierce as his anger grew, and a dark shadow of his wings appeared behind him. “And then I would mist them all while they were still being devoured.”

He locked eyes with his brothers. His brothers knew him so well that they hardly blinked at the Highlord mask he wore. They had unshakable faith in the man underneath. Faith that he would uphold his duty to his land, his people, and most of all to his family. Looking at them reminded him of what he had to do here - and all that he couldn’t do.

He sighed and sat down next to Cassian. “Amarantha’s spell was so cunning. So slippery and yet so pervasive. The more I try to delve into its magic, the more it evades me. Now that Feyre is here, it’s starting to change, starting to become...more oppressive.”

He put his head in his hands. “I can feel it inching towards the core of my power.”, he softly whispered.

He could see Cassian schooling his features to hide his surprise.

Some nights were harder than others, but for them, for his people, Rhysand would never give up. “I am trying. With Feyre, I will try better-”

Azriel coughed. Rhysand could hear hesitant steps down the hallway.

They all fell silent and waited for the door to slowly open.

When they brought her home, she was in no state to talk to anyone. The girl, Rita, who was with her was equally shaken, but Az made sure she was returned to her family, while Cassian flew Feyre back to the House of Wind. On arriving, the always courteous Cassian pointed out the closest bathroom, and asked her to meet them in Rhys’ study when she was done hauling her guts out.

Feyre slowly stepped in, shoulders hunched, head held low but unharmed. Rhys didn’t let himself imagine what would she would look like if his brothers hadn’t happened to be flying so close to the Rainbow.

Almost unharmed. Rhys’ eyes immediately went to the backs of her hands. The cuts there were relatively shallow, but dirty. He had spent enough time during the war with humans to know how quickly those simple wounds could become life-threatening infection.

She met his eyes, and straightened her spine defiantly.

He quirked an eyebrow. So you think you were right to come up with that ridiculous escape plan?, he thought.

The fire in her stormy blue eyes clearly answered the unspoken question.

He peaked his fingertips together and lifted them to his lips. His hold on his emotions tonight was taut, like a tightly pulled string. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

Azriel coughed again.

He sighed, anger deflating.

He was actually at a loss. How am I meant to treat you?, he thought, grappling for words. He was five hundred years old. He had ruled over two very different courts for most of that time. He used to command legions of Illyrians and Fae alike. And he didn’t know what to say to a 19-year old human girl. Not just any human girl.

He looked into her small, proud face, holding her gaze.  Feyre Archeron, you could save us all.

“Sooooooo...” Cassian came and stood between Rhys and Feyre, breaking their intense stare, “you seem to have some battle scars there.”, he gestured to her hands.

She quickly tucked them behind her back.

Azriel looked pointedly at Rhysand.

Rhys broke his silence. “The Attors have their own poison. To prevent those from getting worse they should be cleaned. There are those I trust, in fact I can have Velaris’ best healer-”

Azriel coughed a third time. Rhysand’s eyes narrowed at him, I should punch him in the throat, give him something to cough about. The stoic shadowslinger barely moved a muscle, but the small gleam of light in his eyes betrayed his mirth.

Ok Rhys, big smile, he thought and forced a smile of his face, “Well, how about I’ll heal them myself. Please sit down, Feyre”.

                                                          *** *** ***

Cassian and Azriel subtly stepped out of the room.

Feyre had been terrified that whole walk into the study.

After their initial interaction, the highlord suddenly excused himself, remembering something important he had to tell the two males outside the room.

Feyre was left alone in the surprisingly personalised and homely study. Unlike the rest of the palace, the usually bald red walls were covered with rich tapestries and abstract artwork, with the most surprising being a wall-high landscape vista painted directly onto the stone face.

Amazing. She had never seen art like this.

The painting showed a beautiful waterside city, teeming with life. There were vibrant buildings, giant cargo-filled boats, lush trees and pockets of wildlife scattered throughout. And there were people - well, Fae. Fae from all different origins; High fae that looked like the highlord, and faeries that looked like those in the dockyard.

That was when she noticed how familiar the broadwalk looked, how if the light was different, the dark looming mountains that shadowed her flight here could be like the open and inviting peaks of the painting. And the city, the colourful, alive city, could have been like Velaris. She turned towards the window where a wretched dying mirror image of the painting looked back at her. Why did he have this here, only to create the world outside?

Wait, what are you doing you idiot!, Feyre started, You’re alone in his study. Stop examining the art and find something that will help you.  

She began looking around. There were rows of books stacked neatly, a few choice artifacts on the low table between the couches, and in the far corner a desk with-

A desk! Feyre quickly moved to the desk hoping she would gleam any information that might help her.

She was ecstatic to find a map. She had never learned to read, she family too consumed by their own poverty to realise that she only knew her alphabet and nothing more, but she could understand a map.

Or so she thought.

There was neat scrolling writing throughout, possibly labelling cities, rivers and mountains. There were also lines all through it, making paths through various points on the continent. None of it makes sense, the script didn’t look like she expected. She squinted in the dim firelight, her eyes frantically trying to find the human settlements beneath the wall.

“Interesting technique. Not one I’ve seen before”, a cool voice said behind her.

Shit! Feyre said, jerking and dropping the map. Before it could hit the floor, he bent down snatching it up.

The Highlord of the Night Court. She dared to look him up and down properly for the first time since she returned - if only to see if he had any weapons on him. Instead, all she saw was his all-black fitted suit jacket and tapered pants, this one with violet embroidery on the edges. Even after midnight he looked pristine. Did he sleep in that? Feyre thought, despite knowing that she really had more emergent things to worry about that his sleep attire.

Just distraction as a coping mechanism. She knew being caught rummaging in his desk was only going to make her night worse.

“Maps,” he said, a self-satisfied tone to his voice, “are usually read with the inked side facing the reader, and the right way up.” He spun the map around.

Oh. She couldn’t stop the shame from blooming on her face.

His looked at her again, head cocked to the side.

She just stood there silently, holding her head low in a fake gesture of subservience. Try not to piss him off any more, Feyre, she told herself.

He rolled his eyes, not buying it, “Alright, fine. I’ll ignore your invasion of my privacy. Give me your hands.”

“What are you going to do?”, she tried to not let the very real fear show on her face as she whispered, “...Magic?”

She almost thought she saw a shadow of a smile, “Not today. Just antiseptic and bandages.”

He waved his hand and a metal table with various sized pieces of cloth and brown glass bottles appeared next to her. He carefully picked up her hands.

Silence descended over them as he methodically cleaned each scratch. He seemed content not speaking, which suited Feyre perfectly.

Her mind whirled with conflicting thoughts. It was hard to rationalise this male next to her. Here, in what had to be his personal study, there were personal touches and an inherent warmth that did not fit in with the dangerous and destitute city below and the dark highlord who ruled it.

Not to mention, he surely has more important things to do that tend to his latest prisoner’s minor wounds.

She was surprised by how gently he picked swabbed the fragile skin before applying a cool cream. She noticed he was careful not to touch her more than necessary. And she very much noticed that when his warm hands did lightly brush her skin, she didn’t want to jerk away.

Surprisingly, he hadn’t mentioned how thoroughly her escape plans had failed.

As if by thinking it, she had jinxed herself, he said “Unlike your cartography skills, I hope your survival instincts are sharp enough that I don’t need to elaborate just how insanely stupid your plan was tonight.”

And just like that every kind thought she may have had about him was gone; he is such a arrogant, self-absorbed…

“Not only was it stupid, but I would have lost something valuable to me,” he continued while tying off the clean bandage on her hand.

...entitled, egotistic... wait, what?

He looked up at her as he finished the clipping the gauze in place, “My beautiful curtains.”

...PRICK!

She snatched her hands back, huffing out a breath.

He stood up, nodding towards the door.  

Feyre was sick of him having the last word; “Well the only thing truly beautiful in your disgusting city is that painting!” she blurted, pointing to the painted wall.

He didn’t say anything as he rearranged the bottles and gauze pads on the table. His head down, it was as if he didn’t even hear her.

She felt stupid standing there, after being so clearly dismissed by the highlord.

However, as soon as she stepped outside she could have sworn she heard him whisper; “I know.”

                                                         *** *** ***

She wasn’t sure how she managed to fall asleep that night, but at some point during her uninterrupted mental stream of swear words to describe Rhysand, she had drifted off into dreamless sleep.

She was awoken the next morning by gentle sunlight as Cerriwden pulled back the curtains. She could not recall the last time she had slept in after dawn, and it looked terrifying like midmorning already.

“The highlord requests your presence on the grounds this morning.”, she informed Feyre softly, while subtly ushering her out of bed and in the direction of the bath. Feyre’s eye caught on the tray Cerridwen had brought up, laden with breakfast food.

Food. She skipped the bath and immediately sat down devouring the fresh pastry and brightly coloured fruits.

Halfway through, a thought struck her and her eyes jerked up at Cerridwen, “Oh! Can I eat this? I mean, is this safe for...humans?”. Cerridwen looked at her with a small smile, “Yes Miss. I would never serve you otherwise. You are safe here.”

Safe. She held back a snort, Cerridwen sounded like a parrot for her prick of a highlord. 

Although - she had been treated with nothing but kindness by her, Feyre wasn’t stupid enough to believe she could truly trust anyone in this world - she thought, as she relished a second serving of fluffy flourcakes and spiced milky tea.

“Sorry Miss Feyre, I’ll make sure that there is lunch waiting for you when you return, but the Highlord insists on your presence now”.

Feyre may have been dragging out her breakfast, particularly as as she doled out the last of a large bowl - which had likely contained a serving size for at least four people - of cream and strawberries onto her plate. She knew the highlord was waiting, she somehow sensed his…impatience.

“Miss Feyre--”, Cerridwen’s voice held a strong warning now.

Before she could shovel the plump strawberry with the perfect ratio of cream into her mouth, it vanished.

In the next heartbeat, the whole breakfast tray vanished!

And then, before she could voice her outrage, her table and chair vanished - landing her smack on her bottom on carpeted floor.

Fae prick! She narrowed her eyes. She had seen him perform his vanishing trick before.

Fine, I’m on my way.

                                                         *** *** ***

Rhysand squinted in the distance, fiddling with the coins in his pockets. The training ring on top of the House of Wind almost had a pleasant view, if you overlooked his ruined, sprawling city. He looked away and started rearranging the knives.

“We have company” Azriel mumbled.

A moment later, Feyre walked into their training room, her duelling emotions of surprise and agitation clear in her expression. It’s the tilt of your eyebrows, I can tell exactly what you are thinking, little darling, Rhysand thought.

He knew his little magic would have made her angrier with him. He was willing to pay what it may cost him - it was infinitely preferable than her being scared of him again.

He turned around reaching for her bow. Azriel had found it when he returned to make sure all the Attors were taken care of. Rhys had fixed it himself this morning with a bowstring that wouldn’t fail her again.

“Good morning, Prick,” she said.

Rhysand’s head snapped up in surprise. Oh!

“Good morning, Fiery”, he said, deliberately mispronouncing her name. He could almost hear Az rolling his eyes. His brothers had made it very clear later last night that his skills with the ladies had truly suffered in the last few decades, and he wasn’t doing a great job at proving them wrong.

“Well ‘Highlord’ seems to be pronounced ‘arsehole’ so why not?” she retorted.

“His name is Rhysand,” called Azriel, the nosiest shadowslinger he had ever met, from his spot near the grass.

Feyre pursed her lips, stopping herself from saying it.

“Oh. “No shove it up your arse” for Azriel here? He is saved from your loving nicknames, even though I am the one who made sure you had a delicious breakfast waiting this morning.”

“Do you expect me to thank you?”, she snapped, with none of the confused reticence she had last night.

She turned gesturing around her. “Since you seem to have so quickly forgotten. I am a prisoner here. I’m your prisoner, entirely at your mercy. My whole life and my family’s life is in your hands, and- and” she voice shoke, all her bravado stripped away, “And you expect me to be grateful?”

Her words hit him hard. He had sworn her safety to her family and to her. He had made sure her rooms were fittest with the most luxurious trappings, and even had Cerridwen, one of his most trusted employees watch out for her, and yet his city, his palace remained a prison. He shouldn’t have been surprised, its destitute walls were a cell for people who called it home, let alone a human he had forcibly brought here. 

He suddenly wanted to do anything in his waning, fading power to help her. He would at the very least help her.

“Let me make you a bargain.” he said quickly, “In my lands, you will be safe, you will not be harmed by anyone’s hand, not even my own. And I promise that while you are here your family will not want for anything.”

It was intricate, difficult magic but he could do it. He understood more than a little of that magic now, and Cauldron-damn him it was the very least he could do for this girl that he had taken everything from.

“And what do ask from me in return?”, she asked cautiously.

Smart girl. “Your time. No more escapes. No more climbing out windows. No ripping up my curtains.” he replied, holding all emotion out of his voice.

She bit her lip, unable to hide the uncertainty on her face.

“Oh and - let’s throw in learning to read there too.” Rhysand said, picking invisible lint off his suit.

Her face became flushed and her eyes narrowed. He could see her weighing up lying versus admitting her vulnerability. He noticed how she misread the map, it was clear she didn’t understand what was written on it. Plus, he knew how cruel human societies could be towards their females, it wasn’t unheard of that she wouldn’t be given her right to education.

Come on, take my offer, he urged her.

“Okay”, she whispered, looking at Azriel, rather than Rhysand.

“What did you say?” Rhys pushed.

“I said Okay!”, Feyre growled at him.

With a half-smile, Rhys dug in deep, deep into the recesses of his power, and starting winding out the bargain magic. In response, he felt a twinge between his shoulder blades, just as he could see the tattoo forming on Feyre’s forearm. He couldn’t help but detail in night court-black  ink, his beloved illyrian whorls, sprinkled dots shaped like Velaris’ unique starlight, and the leaves and blooms of jasmine, the flower of his court and his mother’s favourite.

He was surprised at the twinge of joy he felt looking at her arm.

And she looked appalled. “I didn’t agree to this. What is this?”

The unbridled consternation on her face took him the closest he’d been to laughing in half a century. His face remained impassive as he decided to add something to the already-completed tattoo.

A devious cat-eyed pupil winked up at from the middle of Feyre’s palm.

Her jaw could have hit the floor, and this time, Rhysand couldn’t hold back his smile.

                                                        *** *** ***

Eight hours later, Rhysand found Feyre where he had left her at her desk in her room. She knew her letters but she needed to practice her penmanship and progress to words if she was going to learn to read in the next few weeks.

Azriel had checked on her earlier in the day, and the shadowslinger had decided to stay in her rooms finishing off his own work and keeping her company.

Rhys was quite sure she didn’t wanted to talk to him, and he was happy taunting her from a distance. He had given her some provocative lines to copy, that she detested. Plus she was no doubt staring at that eye thinking he could somehow see her through it.

Strangely fun. He had had plenty of time to imagine what it would be like when he finally found the human, but fun was not what he expected. It was not an emotion he thought he could feel anymore; perhaps it wasn’t an emotion he deserved to feel anymore.

Despite his guilt, he found himself looking forward to seeing her progress.

He nonchalantly leaned against the door frame, “Ahem,” he said, crossing his arms in emphasis. 

The shadowslinger nodded his hello from the couch across the room, but Feyre continued to ignore him. He didn’t expect any less. It was odd, he hadn’t known her for very long but he felt like he knew her responses exactly. Not that she was predictable, but rather, somehow, she was familiar.

“You know if you don’t speak, I can just hear what you are thinking,” he said.

Her head snapped up, shock in her eyes.

“Just joking.” Rhys said, using her distraction as a reason to jump up behind her and peer over her shoulder.

She smelled...nice. She smelled like citrus and a fresh cool breeze. And her hands, most of them were covered in his dressings, but he could see her long delicate fingers poking out of them. Her hands were poised gracefully, like an artist’s.

“Are you happy, Highlord?” she looked up at him.

He paused, lost in those stormy eyes. He took in a breath, that was the first time she didn’t look at him with fear, or anger, or feigned disinterest. She was looking at him with laughter.

He snapped back, quickly looking down remembering he was meant to be checking her progress.

In already surprisingly neat script she had 100 lines of Rhysand is the most pompous Highlord. Rhysand is the most conceited Highlord. Rhysand is the most FLATULENT Highlord.

Feyre sniggered. Cerridwen, making up Feyre’s bedroom, giggled. And he could have swore he heard quiet laughter from Azriel’s newly-vacated chair, where now only wisps of smoke remained.

Unable to stop himself, and even Rhysand let out a small but very real laugh.

                                                        *** *** ***

Nesta pushed through a bramble of thornbushes, and came upon a tree with dark peeling bark and sprawling roots - a very familiar, tree with dark bark and lots of roots.

“The fire of all the hells!”, Nesta swore aloud, likely realising this was the third time she had come upon this same tree in an hour, from three entirely different directions.

Cassian stepped out from where he was hidden from her eyes.

“Why are you here?”, he asked frankly and with authority.

She straightened herself, trying to hide the shock from her face. “None of your business. Leave me alone.” Her eyes darted from side to side, looking for an escape route.

Stupidly, she pulled out a kitchen knife, which she held with clear ineptitude.

He was tempted to roll his eyes.

He had been monitoring the Archerons. Rhysand had made sure they were cared for, the day he brought Feyre home. He had seen the poverty they lived in, and he knew Feyre had kept them alive. Cassian was there to make sure that everything went to plan, that they had everything that humans desired. He was on his way in when he scented the older Archeron sister in the woods. He scoffed, he could have just as well heard her. Not only did she swear every five minutes, but she wasn’t very good at keeping her position in the woods a secret.

In a few hours, her dress was already ripped, her shoes were falling apart, and her face covered in mud. But her eyes were clear as they looked up at him, instead of fear, he was fierce determination thinly veiling crushing despair.

Cassian didn’t want to feel sorry for this girl.

Damn myself! He thought - because he did feel sorry for her. Rhysand had shown him all of what happened that day in the cottage. This girl standing before him with squared off shoulders had let her little sister get taken away by a stranger, had not fought back one bit to keep her, had not used her last moments to bid her goodbye. 

He understood what it was like to have family that rejected an innocent. Despite that, the girl was standing in front of him with her head held high. 

“You are Fae. Show me how to get through the Wall.”, she demanded. 

“Why?”, he demanded back. 

“None of your business.” she retorted. 

Cassian’s temper was uncharacteristically short. He wanted this girl back in her home. He didn’t want to have his Highlord or Feyre troubled by her insignificant family anymore. 

He became the Commander of the armies of Night Court, the Lord of Bloodshed, and he held it all over this girl. Standing to his full height, letting his wings flare out.

Her eyes widened as she took in the wings he knew she hadn’t seen yet. Instead of cowering, she stood her ground, even widened her stance. And unblinkingly locked her stormy grey eyes with his hazel ones. That was not something even most battle-hardened soldiers could do. 

“Tell me where the hole in the Wall is.” she said, this time slowly, vehemently.

“No,” he said, trying not to be impressed. “Go home.” 

“You know her?”, her wall of ice chipped, there was some hope in voice. 

“Yes.” 

Despite the set of her shoulders, her eyes betrayed relief, and he could see the toll of physical exhaustion hitting her.   

“Tell me.”

He sighed. “She is safe. She will not be harmed. And honestly, she is better off without you.”, he said, knowing his last words would find a mark. He needed her to stop looking for Feyre, and he needed to know.

“Now GO HOME. If not I can promise you the next time you run into a Fae in the woods, they won’t hesitate ripping you into little shreds.” he said. He pointed behind her. “Go that way, in about twenty minutes you will be on the border of your town. Now.”

She didn’t look like she was going to go anywhere. She gritted her teeth and stared him down. But finally, something in her snapped. Her shoulders sagged as she sensed the truth in his words. She turned around and started walking away, but not before imperiously glancing over her shoulder with one last word: “Bastard.”

How she knew he was from Rhysand’s court, he didn’t know. How she knew he wasn’t there to hurt and harm humans like some of the other Fae that made it over the wall, he had no idea. How she knew that that he could be trusted, that he would eventually give her the information she so desperately wanted, he didn’t know. 

But he thought about it the whole way home.

                                                       *** *** ***

The Highlord watched Cassian fly back into the city borders. It was a common sight, the silhouette of the Highlord looking out of the watchtower above the heavy city gates. Most knew, and those who didn’t, suspected the truth; that the curse trapped the Highlord in Velaris. As payback for keeping this city a secret from Amarantha, he was sentenced to watch it fall. He could leave sometimes, when the terms of the curse allowed him to, but he could not leave of his own free will. They watched his harsh, cruel expression as he stood unmoving as a statue above the city dying around him.

No one noticed the hooded figure walking straight through the small service door in the iron fence. No one could truly see him, their brains filling in his image as a just another guard or part of a shadow. No one saw as he finally did what he had been planning for the last 49 years, the plans that caused him to stretch him magic further than he ever had before, the plans her arrival had solidified. He was going to save Prythian. 

And as Rhysand, Highlord of the night court, winnowed away, no one would know.  

[court-0f-dreamers]

ACOTAR: Restrung Masterlist

~~ If you would like updates on this fic please follow the tag “acotar: restrung”~~

Individual tags on tumblr have been very temperamental and haven’t working well for most people so I don’t think i’ll be doing it with this fic anymore. 

Fic Summary: What if it was never up to Tamlin to break the curse? What if, instead, in a true test of love, Amarantha sent out Prythian’s most abhorred and cruel Highlord, to watch his land fall into ruin while trying to change the heart of a hateful human? A Court of Bitterness and Jasmine…A Court of Rhysand. Set in the same universe as our favourite Sarah J Maas characters, but with a twist.

If Rhysand were to take Tamlin’s place how different would our story be? Or would it stay the same?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 

Chapter 3

Extras:  Deleted snippet

[court-0f-dreamers]

Tag to follow: “Acotar: restrung”

I’m sorry the tags for Acotar: restrung just aren’t working. I’ll tried a million things and its killing me 😭! Can I please ask that you follow the tag “acotar: restrung” if you would like updates on this fic?  Thank you so much for reading!! I really appreciate all your support and comments!!! 😘

And sorry for the spam but I’m going to tag everyone that asked to be tagged in the comments so they see this!  To follow, just type “acotar: restrung” in the search box of your main dash and hit the little blue text that says “follow”

Masterlist  (chapter 1 -3 out now)

[court-0f-dreamers]

Coming Wednesday! ACOTAR: Restrung Chapter 2

Here’s a snippet I will be cutting from the final version of the chapter. But I love it too much not to share with you: 

He put his hands into the pockets of his tapered black pants and turned fully towards the door.  Best smile Rhysand, show all the teeth, remember, you are the most charming high lord in Prythian, he thought.  And then he turned the full strength of that smile to the slightly muddy, annoyed-looking, stormy-eyed human girl.

[court-0f-dreamers]

*deep breath*

ACOTAR RESTRUNG HIATUS

I am so so sorry I don’t have chapter 4 for your this week. I’ve been getting slammed at work and as a result have not been able to write very much or very well (as exampled by the fact that I have rewritten chapter 4 three times now and its still utter garbage). 

I truly appreciate all the amazing support I’ve gotten with this fic - when I conceptualised it I thought only the only people reading it would be the friends that I forced to.  So the response has completely blown me away! I’m so honoured and thats partly why it taken me so long to make this decision, because I didnt want to let you guys down. 

So *deep breath* in order to actually give you something that is worth your time, I have decided that I am going to take a hiatus from posting. I am going to write the whole thing over the next month or so (instead of a chapter a week) and then post a chapter every day so you can enjoy the whole story - as opposed to the long breaks between chapters i’m currently subjecting you to! 

Thank you so much again for reading my words, I am so touched that people enjoyed it, and I hope you enjoy ACOTAR: RESTRUNG when it is finished and posted. 

[court-0f-dreamers]

Hello! I was just wondering, I’m not sure if you have already addressed this or not, but were you ever thinking of finishing your ACOTAR Restrung fanfic? I absolutely loved that fic and how you began it and changed the dynamic of that world. It was so incredible and I could go on forever on how amazing of a writer you are but this is getting a little awkward... I hope you do but was I just curious. 😂☺️

Oh my goodness, thank you so so much!!! You are very very kind and it means a lot to hear you enjoyed it and liked my writing! Unfortunately I haven't written any more because I got a new job earlier this year that's very demanding (for example I am currently at work doing a 16 hour shift on top of my usual hours, and will be at work every day for a 21 day stretch with no days off in between because we are short staffed). Needless to say I come home and am just not in the headspace to write well. Part of why I loved writing acotar:restrung was that I felt fully immersed in Sarah J Maas' amazing world, but it's a bit too difficult to try and do that when youre exhausted. I really do want to finish it (because there were a few bombshells coming and I know exactly how it's going to end), and I want to learn to write everyday despite how busy things get but I'm not there yet.So thank you so much from the bottom of my heart for reading, I'm sorry it's unfinished. And ha ha sorry you got an essay in response to your question!

[court-0f-dreamers]

its 00:04 on wednesday, so I can post the latest chapter of ‘restrung’ right?