SO GOOD ASDFGHJKL

Could you do one where Nyx is like a bit older and has like a nightmare of his parents' past (insert magical reason here) and crawls into bed with Feysand and they comfort him

So. Not what I expected to write with this prompt, but here we are. It’s pretty Nyx centric, but of course has Feysand moments.

I’m working on some other prompts and the next part of What Hurts the Most will be ready next week. I’ve also got some Rowaelin in the mix.

warnings: nightmares, panic, mentions of past traumas, hurt/comfort

...

Of Things In the Past

The boy was used to nightmares.

A shame really for one so young. But he lived in a place of horror, of terror, where war had carved its mark so carefully that it was impossible to escape.

Usually, his nightmares only consisted of having his wings disappear while he was in flight. Or his sword would turn to ivory bone in his grasp. They were simple things. Simple nightmares that he knew how to chase away. His mother was the Defender of the Rainbow after all. His father the High Lord.

Nyx knew how to deal with nightmares. His parents had taught him since he was a child after all.

“Again,” his mother said.

Nyx brushed his hair out of his eyes and scowled. His mother stood before him clad in her Illyrian leathers and a determined look in her eyes. They were in the training hall just off the regular rooms of the house and had been for nearly two hours.

Under normal circumstances, Nyx wouldn’t have minded the extra training. But he was fifteen and had other things he wanted to do. Particularly explore the back woods of Velaris with Zephyr and Torin. He and his cousins were supposed to go camping later that summer, but at the way his parents were hovering Nyx doubted it would happen.

“Nyx!” his mother shouted.

Nyx put up his mental barrier just as his mother sent an attack. He felt the wave of magic beat against his defenses in an attempt to breach him mind. Gritting his teeth, Nyx kept the barrier up.

“Hold it,” his mother encouraged.

His defense was slipping, just a bit. Just enough that Nyx knew he wouldn’t be able to hold out for much longer.

“Ma,” Nyx tried to say, but he never finished. A fracture formed in the wall he’d put up and a pulse of magic sent him sprawling on his back.

For a brief moment, Nyx got a flash in his mother’s head.

Feyre Archeron—High Lady of the Night Court—was as closed off as they came. Nyx knew that. He knew how strong his mother was, had heard plenty of stories depicting how capable she was. She had been trained by his father and never let anything get in her way.

So when he was sprawled out on his back, Nyx almost didn’t realize what he’d done.

But in a quick moment, Nyx was thrust into his mother’s mind.

He saw her first. His mother with her hair hanging a bit lackluster down her back as she stood in a dark throne room of sorts. It was unlike anything Nyx had seen before. But there was no mistaking what he saw, nor the woman with bright red hair sitting on a throne as she smiled cruelly down.

Just as suddenly as the vision started; it was gone.

Nyx gasped and sat up. He was in the training hall with his mother kneeling beside him.

“Are you alright?” Feyre asked. She reached out to brush his hair from his face and make sure nothing was amiss.

“I’m fine,” Nyx insisted. He pushed his mother off, ignoring her frown and flash of pain in her eyes. He’ never liked it when she tried to treat him like a child. And she was very skilled at doing that.

His mother pulled away with a sigh. “Alright. Why don’t you head off to bed? It’s getting late.”

Nyx rose and brushed off his pants. Of course it was late. She always kept him at home doing things he’d rather not do instead of having fun with his cousins.

“Yeah, alright,” he muttered.

Feyre stood as well and made sure to offer him a hug. She was always fond of hugs and physical touch.

"Sleep well little prince," his mother said and kissed him on the forehead. She was lovely, Nyx knew. Father talked about her beauty enough as it was. But with mother's long dark blonde hair and her bright blue eyes, and a defiant tilt of her chin...mother was lovely.

He pulled away from her. “Good night, mom.”

Nyx left the training hall, trying to keep his mental walls up against the subtle pokes and prods she sent his way even now. Sometimes his mother never really left well enough alone. She was always there either in his mind or around the corner.

He knew she worried. Knew she cared. But sometimes it was too much.

Nyx made it to his rooms and changed into his nightwear. He was too tired to sneak out tonight—though he knew Zephyr wanted him to, they’d talked about meeting up tonight if just for a chance to get out of the house before their supposed camping trip. But Nyx doubted if Uncle Lucien and Aunt Elain would be easily fooled by Zeph’s attempts to get out of the house.

Sighing, Nyx settled into bed. One of these days he’d get out of another late night training with his mother.

...

Run.

Keep running.

There was no escape now.

Mud smeared Nyx’s boots, his pants, his hands, and face. He could smell the rot and salt of it and feel it burn against his skin. The scent burned his nose and stained his tongue until the taste of it lingered no matter how many times he spat or swallowed.

Where was he?

He had no idea having never seen these walls of dirt nor floor of grime before. All he knew was that he had to keep running. Behind him he heard a guttural growl, something ancient and bred of horror.

Vaguely, Nyx wondered if this was how he'd die.

He turned down another path, desperate for escape. He was met with a dead end. Cursing, Nyx spun to head back the way he came. He tried to use his wings, tried to fly above this labyrinth of mud and stink, but every time he flexed his muscles to move his wings searing pain shot through his body.

His only choice was to run.

Nyx tripped over a rock at his feet and went sprawling on his face. He spat gunk out of his mouth and braced a hand on the wall, slick with something he didn’t want to know. As he hauled himself to his feet, Nyx’s mine whirled. Which way? Which way?

"Move!" A voice shouted from overhead.

He paused. Looked up into dark shadows. So many shadows and forms that he couldn’t quite make out. But then he remembered. This was an arena. There were people watching him play out his death.

"Move!" The voice came again.

Nyx ran, mud falling from his tattered clothes, his dirty skin. He was so tired. So alone.

He turned down one path and came to a large wall. Another dead end. This was it. There was nowhere else to run. He shifted his feet, something crunched. Nyx glance down to see bones. Piles of bone from all those who had come before him.

Among the heaps of ivory and gore was also a body. A body dressed in tattered tunic and fine gold blonde hair turned red with blood.

They shouldn’t be here. They shouldn’t be subjected to this. This was his fate and his alone.

"Get up! Nyx screamed. "Get up, it's coming!"

The body didn't move. Not as another shape came to kneel beside it. A shape dark as night with a pair of great black wings unfurling behind him. Nyx immediately recognized his father, but couldn’t imagine what he’d be doing here.

Rhysand fell over the body, weeping openly cursing the gods and cauldron alike.

No. No. What was happening? That body, that women… could it be?

Nyx slid in the mud as she came to his father’s side. He could feel horror and dread building up inside of him even as he told himself it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be.

"You were too late," his father whispered looking up at him. "Don't you see?"

Nyx stared down at the body cradled in his father’s arms only to find his mother staring lifelessly back at him.

Nyx shot out of bed with a silent scream on his lips and his heart thudding too hard in his chest.

What had happened? What had he seen?

The lights of his room came on without a second thought as Nyx kicked off his blankets and ran his hands over his face, his chest, his legs. No blood. No mud. Just sweat staining his skin. Just bile rising in his throat.

Breathing heavily, Nyx ran a hand through his hair. He was used to nightmares. Used to terror and fear. Used to everything the world lay at his feet.

But that? That had been too visceral, too real.

Nyx flew out of bed, barely pausing long enough to find a pair of slippers for his chilled feet. He ran from his room, not caring for the late hour. He moved down hall after hall, panic rising with each wrong turn he made. He'd grown up in this palace why was he getting lost?

His dream came back to him. Each wrong turn. The low growls. His mother, dead.

Nyx burst into the main living room having followed that invisible thread that tied him to his parents.

The room was almost completely empty, save his mother. She sat on a stool facing a canvas and a pallet of paint in one hand. She seemed to be pondering whatever scene she was creating. But as soon as Nyx stumbled into the room, she looked up.

Concern laced her features as she took him in and set aside her paints. “Nyx?”

She was no longer streaked in blood. No longer covered in mud lifeless in his father's arms.

Without waiting another moment, Nyx was dashing across the room, pulling his mother into a crushing hug.

"What happened my prince?" Feyre murmured. She didn't pull back, only kept him pulled tight against her. He wondered if she could feel his panic coursing through him like an arrow released from a bow. Quick and sharp and strong.

It had only been a few hours since they’d finished their training session, but it felt like centuries now.

Nyx shuddered a breath as tears pricked at his eyes. Shame and sorrow pulsed through him. He was nearly sixteen, he should not be crying over nightmares no matter how they tore at him.

Mother ran her fingers through his hair and continued whispering soft kindnesses to him. Nyx tightened his hold. He almost didn't notice when father joined them. He wished he had so he could get his wits about him.

Nyx tried to pull out of his mother's grasp, but she wouldn't let him get far. He noted the pain in her eyes which caused more shame to well within him. Why did he only manage to cause his mother suffering?

“What happened?” Father asked from behind him. He sounded just as concerned as Mother looked.

Nyx shook his head and stood as tall as he could. “Nothing. It is nothing.”

He considered winnowing away but father immediately put a shield up through the room.

“It's alright, Nyx,” Mother assured him. She kept one hand laced with his and ran gentle circles over the back of his hand. “Tell us what happened.”

Nyx ran a hand beneath his eyes. He was not weak. He was strong like his father and mother.

“It was only a nightmare,” Nyx admitted.

“What sort of nightmare,” Mother prodded, soft and kind with her words.

Nyx took another shuddering breath. It was odd speaking so plainly. He’d never liked doing so despite how his parents continuously encouraged it. But it had never been something that had come easily to him.

He looked away and focused instead on the fireplace that had eased down into a small pool of glowing embers.

“I was in a pit. A dark pit full if mud and bones. And I had to run—I had to run through these tunnels while a monster chased me.” He swallowed stiffly feeling the dark tendrils of that dream clawing at him even now. “And I saw you mom, but you...you were dead. And it was my fault.”

His voice shook on the last notes of his words. Mother pulled him back into her arms, whispering to him that it was alright, that he was safe.

Father's hand came on his shoulder and drew Nyx into a near bone crushing hug. And when father looked at him, Nyx could see tears in his father’s eyes.

It was a startling sight, Nyx realized. To see such open vulnerability displayed.

“That is not a place I wanted you to see,” mother murmured as she reached out to take Nyx’s hand again. “I think when we were practicing before bed, part of you remained within my defenses. And you witnessed some of my memories.”

Nyx frowned. He’d heard all his mother’s stories. Everything about Prythian and the human lands, Spring Court, the war. What was that from? He looked between his parents and could see that they were having one of their silent conversations that they always did.

“Under the Mountain.” Mother’s voice held none of its usual buoyancy. Rather it was flat and cold.

Under the Mountain.

Oh.

He’d heard about that to. When mother had in fact died. Died to save the Fae and end a curse that had destroyed so many lives. But it would seem he hadn’t heard everything about that time.

“That was a dark time Nyx,” Mother continued, “for both your father and I. And…there will come a time when you’ll hear more about it, but not yet.”

His parents exchanged another look and Nyx could feel that subtle twist of magic that pulsed between the two of them. He wasn’t sure why he could often feel their mate bond like this—that innate power of shared love and life—but he could. It was easy enough to ignore as it so rarely concerned him. But this little tug, this was something deep and abiding.

Feyre ran her fingers through Nyx’s hair as she always did. Her blue eyes were filled with more pain that Nyx ever wanted to see there again.

“You don’t need to have any of that in your life right now.” His mother pulled him into another embrace and this time Nyx didn’t fight it. All he knew was that his mother was here. That his dreams were gone. And he was safe.

...

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