One-Shot: Fighting Lessons with Rhysand

Hi, everyone! This is a Feyrhys/Feysand fanfic (about 10 pages) where Rhys teaches Feyre how to fight. There is a reference here and there to the lovely Reading Lessons Preview that we just got (AHHH). Please be kind - this is my first fanfic I've ever written! (Much less posted! I'm actually really nervous, but here goes!) I hope you enjoy!

It was during one of my first weeks at the Night Court that Rhysand decided to make good on his promise to train me how to fight. After I nearly destroyed all the glassware in his dining hall with my lack of control–in front of his court, no less–there really wasn't much of a choice. Though, at least I didn't have any other Night Court High Fae taunting me about my powers anymore. The fact that my rage had shattered all the glassware and sent a single, deep slice across my tormentor's cheek was more than enough warning. I hadn't even meant to. The magic had just–exploded out of me, and I was left there breathing hard where I stood, clenching and unclenching my fists as I stared at the damage.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could have sworn Rhys was smirking, but not at me–it was almost like he was…proud?

Congratulations, Feyre, his voice whispered in my head. You just unlocked your magic. We'll add magic and fighting lessons to your reading ones.

In my head, I had groaned. He just had to remind me about those dreaded reading lessons. Prick.

The High Fae I'd sliced up had gritted his teeth then, moving as if to grab me while I was half-turned to Rhysand, but then his body froze. And I knew that Rhys had those lethal claws latched onto his mind, digging.

When he spoke, it was with that dangerous tone I remembered from Under the Mountain: calm, but with undercurrents of terrifying ire. "Consider it a warning, Loriel," he said, eyes glinting from his casual sprawl on his chair. "That is what she can do as a High Fae now, at the birth of her powers. Imagine what glorious havoc she could wreak on you once I've trained her." Loriel's eyes had widened at that, and his skin had paled as a tremor visibly ran down his spine.

"M-my Lord, I beg your pardon, I…"

Rhys waved him off flippantly. "Now, now, Loriel, I don't have time for mindless flattery. I will not crush your mind today, but if you or anyone else decide to play with our…guest…then know that the consequences will be severe." He flashed a feral grin at that, and I swear I could see the shadow of those glorious wings. No one else seemed to see them, though–or if they did, no one reacted.

After that, Lorien had apologized profusely to me and fled. Not that I blamed him–I wouldn't want Rhysand truly angry at me either. An angry High Lord of the Night Court was a true terror to behold.

That had been during my first week at the Night Court, though. Since then, the fae here had been welcoming, even if they did enjoy their mischief. But now Rhys was calling in the fighting lessons. The ballroom, 1 hour, he'd said in my mind while I was in my bedroom. And now here I was in the cavernous ballroom like he'd requested. It had large, glass windows, which stretched to the ceiling to reveal the glorious mountains and starry sky beyond. I still couldn't bear to take in all the colors, but some dormant part of me stretched toward the surface. Beautiful, it whispered.

Behind me, I heard Rhysand's smooth steps on the marble as he walked to me from the shadow portal he'd taken. I turned to him, wary but excited. I hadn't been able to exercise or run or fight since I'd been turned into a High Fae, and even though I yearned to try, part of me was shouting that I'd never get this cursed immortal body under control.

"Today, we'll start your fighting lessons in the dark."

I raised an eyebrow at him, broadcasting my skepticism. "I kind of got that, since, you know, it's dark outside."

"I see your sarcasm truly hasn't weakened since you've became fae," he deadpanned.

I smiled sweetly. "Only for you."

The High Lord of the Night Court actually rolled his eyes at me.

"And wouldn't it make more sense for us to, I don't know, fight in the light? So, you know, I can see what I'm actually doing? Fighting in the dark seems like at least level two material to me."

Rhysand's smile turned dangerous, and somehow I knew I'd said the wrong thing.

His eyes flashed, and then the room was plunged into darkness. Pitch black and all consuming; even the stars had gone out.

I tried not to panic. When he said we'd be fighting in the dark, I hadn't realized…we obviously had a different definition of "darkness." Typical.

"Rhysand, what are you…?"

His voice spoke into my mind, a playful purr: Run.

Panic gripped me. Stumbling in the dark, arms out in front of me like an idiot, I ran, not quite sure where I was going or what I was supposed to be doing.

When he didn't immediately attack me, I slowed down, heaving for breath. My eyes tried to pierce the darkness, but it was useless.

"Let's play chase," Rhys's voice said from somewhere in the black.

Hell no. That sounded like a terrible game, and one I'd surely lose.

Rhys laughed, and I felt the talons of his mind scraping against my walls of adamant. I suppose we could do more reading lessons, he said playfully. That was rather enjoyable.

The urge to punch him was growing exponentially by the minute. I reinforced the mental wall we had been working on in our lessons, to defend me from people who had powers like Rhys's.

"Fine!" I yelled into the black, holding my ground. "Can you at least tell me who is chasing whom here?"

Rhys's deep voice was suddenly by my ear, whispering lowly, "That's the question, now isn't it, love?" I caught the trace of laughter underlying his words, and I shrieked–half in shock, half in anger–but he was already gone. He was the night itself, the ultimate predator.

I turned slowly in my spot, glaring into the blackness. If he could see me, at least he'd see how pissed I was.

"And how am I supposed to get you if I can't see you?"

I heard his deep chuckle from somewhere to my right. Wonderful. I was amusing him.

A ghost of a hand trailed my jaw, the tip of my ear, and along my braid–all in an instant and gone before I could swat him away. Then came those claws again, a light caress as he whispered into my mind: Don't use your eyes, Feyre. Sense me. Listen for me. Find me.

I tried, I really did, but it was impossible. I chased after whispers of noises, following that laughter and the light taunts he threw at me.

At one point, I turned so sharply on my still-too-new legs that I twisted my ankle. I swore a rather obscene string of curses, many of which involved Rhysand and his "lessons." But it wasn't over yet, because then I stumbled over my own feet, and even though I couldn't see the floor rising to meet me, I knew the impact on the cold marble was going to hurt.

Bracing myself, I flung out my hands, but I never hit. Instead, large, familiar hands caught me beneath the arms, stopping me mid-fall. And in that instant of suspension, I was trapped in a moment of déjà vu, remembering when the same set of hands had caught me on another night, one that felt like both yesterday and forever ago.

But it wasn't Fire Night, and I wasn't that human girl anymore, and Rhys wasn't saving me from those three fae. Just as quickly as he grabbed me, he switched positions, sliding one arm around my waist and arms to pin them to my sides while the other crossed my torso to lay his hand on my collarbone, close to my exposed throat. I growled, thrashing in his arms, but his arms were like steel bands, immovable as a mountain. The pulse in my throat fluttered against his hand, and I knew the silent threat there, the reminder: death. If he had truly been my enemy, if he had truly wanted me dead, I would have been. He would have been able to gouge out my throat in a moment, in the blink of an eye.

Try to break free, his voice whispered into my mind. Don't take this lying down. FIGHT.

"You bastard," I growled, but his goading had worked because I was struggling and thrashing in earnest now. I tried to stomp on the inset of his foot, but he must have sensed what I was about to do because he simply lifted me up higher, adjusting me against his chest so that my feet were dangling several inches above the floor.

"Cauldron-boil it. Put me down." I tried to kick back at him, but I had no purchase. My useless kicks just hit his calves, and I cursed the several inches' difference in our heights that gave him the advantage. Opening the connection between us, I shoved a stream of several rude names at him.

Truly amused laughter rumbled in his chest, rolling along my back and seeping into my bones, down to my toes. I couldn't help but shiver at the sensation.

He was still a bastard.

"Now that was rather rude of you, Feyre. But at least you had the decency to keep up your mental shields this time." He slid his hand up, cupping my throat and chin lightly, like feathers against my skin. "Dead," he said cooly.

He set me down, withdrawing into the darkness again. "Dead at least three times over, but I lost count. I know you can do this, Feyre. Try to find me again."

And then he was gone entirely, once more blending into that still darkness.

How was I supposed to find him when I couldn't see? When I could barely walk without tripping or hurting myself? I was useless in this body–worse than useless: a liability. How could I ever protect the ones I loved when I couldn't even walk without tripping over myself?

I huffed out a breath, and Rhys's mental voice spoke into my mind, as smooth as glass. Ignore your eyes; they lie to you. They're used to different arms, different legs, different proportions and movements. Listen for me, sense me in the dark.

It may have been stupid, but I closed my eyes, trying to recenter myself. He was right: my eyes were useless, and had been ever since my time Under the Mountain. They couldn't catalog his movements in this darkness, just as they were no longer able to catalog the light and colors that I so loved to paint–once upon a time, before the queen beneath the mountain broke my spine and ripped out my human heart, before I had become like her, killing innocents with my own wretched hands. Useless, useless, these eyes that could no longer see the light or the colors or the walls closing in and–

Breathe, Feyre. Rhys's voice came again, calm and steady amidst the storm in my mind. My breathing, which had picked up in my panic, slowed incrementally. Better. A pause. And I did not say that. You are not useless, Feyre. His voice almost sounded gentle–I'd never heard that undercurrent to his tone before, either out loud or in my head. But even as I thought it, that current vanished beneath the tide of his thoughts, sinking deep so quickly it was like it had never neared the surfaced at all. Now, your eyes are not useless; they just aren't your biggest advantage in the dark. Use what you have available.

Right. Like the desire to slap him–did that count as "what I had available"? I took a deep breath through my nose, trying to resettle myself. I was determined to catch him at least once in this lesson. Listen, listen, listen, I chanted in my head. Where is he? I thought I caught the edge of a sound, the shift of a foot. I ran, lunging for where I thought he was. I only swiped air.

Growling, I stopped to regroup, only to feel a trail of fingers ghosting down my neck and spine, there and gone in the span of a few seconds but leaving behind a cool tingling sensation that raced down my nerves and made my back arc in response. My cheeks flushed–from anger, I told myself. If he had really been hunting me, I'd have been dead. Again.

"Rhys."

He laughed again, this time coming from my left. "Come on, Feyre. Just think about how much you want to hit me right now." He poked me in the shoulder blade, chuckling as he did, and I lunged for him. I caught the tips of his fingers as I did, but they slipped away before I could tighten my grip.

"Better," he said from my other side now, right in my ear again.

"How do you do that? Stop," I growled.

"Find me and fight me, Feyre."

The fae in me was coming to the surface now. The growl in my throat dug deep into my chest, making my chest vibrate. I breathed deeply, trying to scent him. Find him.

"I cannot wait to get my hands on you," I said.

"Why Feyre," he purred, "I didn't know you wanted to move that fast. You only need to ask, love."

My blood heated. "To strangle you, you-" I sputtered.

"If that's what you want to believe for now," he said, and oh, I could hear the smirk in his voice.

Now, let's move faster, shall we? he said in my mind.

My sense of foreboding spiked. What–?

But I didn't have time to finish the thought, because the game had changed again. Rhys had apparently decided to take a more direct approach. In the darkness, his eyes flared with magic, two twin flames of deepest sapphire. I stared in awe and terror, caught in those twin flames, those eyes that saw me even in the dark.

And then he lunged for me.

Cauldron boil it all, he was fast. And I knew he wasn't trying, not really. He was playing with me, like a cat teaching a kitten how to pounce. Except I didn't much like getting pounced on, and he knew it.

But he sure did enjoy watching me squirm. Prick, prick, prick.

It was nearly impossible to get away, and I never had a second to stop moving. I cursed as I saw those eyes appear out of the darkness again. I dove out of the way but still felt the wind of his passage.

"Good!" He said.

I was really going to enjoy hitting him later. If I ever got to later.

But then he was attacking again and I was forced to run. I didn't think, didn't second-guess myself. I just let my body react to him, to the sneak attacks and lunges. At first, I stumbled and fell, but I was managing to evade him. I could never slow down, could never tell where he would come from next, but slowly I began to enjoy this game. It was thrilling–the most exercise and challenge I'd had in over three months. And I loved it, even with the mild terror of getting caught.

I began to stumble less as my body took control for my mind. I had to constantly correct my reach, my stride, but I could feel my fae senses adjusting in the dark, now that my eyes couldn't trick me with how I should move. Responding to him was easy, natural, and at some point I realized that I was no longer looking for the blue flames of his eyes in the dark. Those were gone, and for the last few minutes, I had been relying entirely on the sound of his breathing, the shifting of his feet, and the scent of him: like brisk mountain skies at night and that intangible scent of stars and freedom.

The fire was on purpose, I realized, even as I dodged. He did it to work me into the game. But now I didn't need it; now I could hear the breath of his near-silent laughter, hear the shift of his weight before the lunge.

I couldn't help it. I laughed, and it sounded like bells in the darkness. I felt so light, for the first time in months.

And then I went on the offense. Rather than wait for the attack to come, I went to him. When I nearly latched onto his arm, Rhys gave a startled laugh. It echoed in the hall, rich and resonant, and then we split apart.

That was very good, he whispered into my mind. Again.

With pleasure.

We circled each other in the dark like partners in a dance, attuned to the slightest sound and whisper. My blood raced, and I was grinning. I felt powerful; I felt strong; I felt somehow larger than myself. I wanted more; I was more.

I would find him, and then I would punch him.

Such a one-track mind, he teased. I'd almost say you were trying to cover up some deeper feelings. Why don't you tell me how you really feel, hmm?

I glared at him in the dark, and he somehow knew, because he laughed again.

The High Lord of the Night Court would be the end of me.

Find him, find him, my senses urged me. I had been close to getting him before, but I was always slightly off, slightly too slow. So I lowered my mental wall just a little bit and I pushed me outward, searching, searching, following that invisible string that had tugged my center in the past, looking for the other end.

And it led me straight to Rhys. He wasn't behind me now, but in front–about to lunge.

I had a split second to act, and so I did, grabbing onto that invisible bond and leaping.

I collided with him when he was still on the balls of his feet, just about to leap himself, and I took us both to the ground with an oomph.

We laughed, our voices entwining and echoing off the ballroom's high walls as we rolled.

A high running through my veins, I pinned him, sitting on his hips as I wrestled to pin his hands down as well. By the time I managed to, I was heaving for breath above him and Rhys was still laughing. I had just pinned him, I'd won, and he was still laughing when he breathed out, "Excellent."

"Bastard." But I was grinning as I said it, and he knew it.

Rhys lifted the shadows on the room, and suddenly I could see his face beneath me. The moonlight streaming through the tall glass windows of the ballroom played with the shadows on his face, chasing each other in a dance that highlighted his sharp cheekbones and sensuous mouth. His night-black hair was tousled from our tussle, and his grin was brilliant beneath those starry eyes.

He was still the most beautiful man I'd ever seen.

I felt myself go still on top of him, staring, as I felt the bond in my center tug and tighten. Rhys stared up at me, cocking an eyebrow in challenge. And now what, Feyre darling?

I panicked, so I reacted the best way I knew how. Swiftly releasing one of his hands, I took my one opening.

And I slapped him across the face.

Rhysand didn't get angry–not at all–but his eyes did get that dangerous glint and his grin took on a predatory edge.

So perhaps that wasn't one of my best decisions ever, but cauldron, did it feel good.

You made a mistake, Rhys said across our bond, those claws trailing along my mind shield, when you let go of my hand.

And before I had even withdrawn my hand from the slap, he'd grabbed it with his free hand and yanked me down to him, until I was sprawled across him. Then he rolled, and I was done for.

Our positions were now reversed, and it was his weight pinning me to the floor. Grabbing my wrists, he locked them into place above my head, and I tried not to breathe or focus on the warm weight of him or the fact that his chest hovered only inches above my own.

His face was way too close. I could see those fascinating constellations, like kaleidoscopes of light in his eyes.

When he spoke, I could feel the vibrations. Rhys's voice was dark, rich and deep like a lover's, when he closed the distance between us and rested his forehead against mine. "Got you."

I tried to glare. He crooked up the corner of his mouth in a feline smirk.

And then silence fell, and I was locked in that gaze that pinned me just as effectively as the rest of him. His nose flared slightly as he took in a breath, as if he was scenting something. The motion triggered the memory of our last parting on the side of the mountain, when he had scented the air and looked at me with shock and–but why?–

Above me, Rhys blinked slowly, and I felt the strange phantom touch of his eyelashes against his cheek, but no–I wasn't seeing his eyes. I was seeing startled blue-gray eyes–my eyes–my face, not his–

And suddenly I was me again, staring up into Rhys's eyes, mere inches from my own. Our foreheads were still touching, and Rhys's smirk widened slowly, as if he had confirmed something. But I still didn't understand.

"Game, set, and match," he murmured, his lips brushing against mine as he said the words, the lightest whisper of a kiss.

He drew away before I could react, rising to his feet and pulling me up with no apparent effort.

I was reeling and confused, but I didn't know what to ask or what to say or what to feel.

What just happened?

"What just happened is you slapped a High Lord. Normally, that would call for execution–or at least a wonderfully gruesome maiming–but because you look particularly… delicious tonight, I'll let it slide."

I snorted. He smirked.

You're ridiculous, I shot at him.

And yet still not lying. You really should wear Night Court fashion year-round.

Back to normal then.

Maybe the second slap would be worth it after all?

"In all seriousness, though, you did excellent work tonight. If you keep progressing like this, you'll be delightfully frightening to behold. Tamlin will be so pleased, I'm sure."

More glaring. I crossed my arms to stop myself from slapping him again. I didn't think repeating whatever had just happened would be in my best interest.

Rhysand tutted. "Now, now, no need for the hackles. That's Tamlin's department, isn't it?" His smirk widened as he began to turn away. He stopped midway, though, looking back at me over his shoulder.

"You have more power than you know, Feyre," he said softly. Shadows started to curl around his body, swirling with that night-dark hair of his. "Now you just need to learn how to harness it, before it's too late. We'll work on magic lessons tomorrow." He was almost shrouded in darkness now, but his teeth glinted in that feral smile of his. "But don't worry, this won't be our last fighting lesson. I'm finding them as…enjoyable as our reading lessons."

I couldn't resist anymore. I lunged for him. But it was too late; Rhys had already vanished into the shadows, his rich laughter echoing in the hall and along my bones long after he had vanished.