Nyx couldn't halt the tears filling his eyes as the priestess in front of him spoke, he barely registered what she was saying, but he knew the words, he'd been prepared for this since he was old enough to understand. Two centuries, it had been two centuries, but still he remembered his mother's smile when he returned a day early from Ramiel, remembered the way she'd laughed when he'd asked her for advice about girls. He still remembered his father's barely-hidden worry each time he did anything alone, especially the blood-rite, he still remembered the tears in his father's eyes on his return, the pride on his face.

The priestess finished speaking, and Nyx bowed his head, dropping to one knee before her, tears now cascading down his face as she set his father's crown atop his head. It was too soon, he couldn't do it, he wasn't ready. He barely avoided sobbing as the priestess finished her prayer, wishing him a long, prosperous reign, but he didn't hear her. He knew what his father would say, knew that he would tell Nyx that he was ready, but he wasn't, how could he be ready? He should have died, it should have been him. He lifted his head, and the priestess finished her last prayer, lifting a hand to his cheek,

"You have the strength, My Lord, find it." She whispered before continuing, "Do you, Nyx, firstborn son of Rhysand and Feyre, High Lord and Lady of the Night Court, accept your father's title of High Lord?"

"I do." He couldn't control the shake of his voice. He couldn't be doing this, he couldn't, if they named him High Lord, it meant, it meant that they were really gone. He didn't care that they had chosen to save him over themselves, he just knew that when the explosion had torn through their house he had lost everything. He blinked away the memory of the flames, his mother's last whispered 'I love you', either to him or his father, Nyx didn't know.

"And do you swear to protect and cherish the citizens of the Night Court?"

"I do." Power glimmered inside him, that extra power he had refused to acknowledge, it was shining in the crown atop his head.

"Will you, by sword or by magic, defend them from those who would do them harm?"

"I will." More power glimmered,

"Then rise, High Lord, and claim your Court." Nyx closed his eyes as he rose, glad beyond measure that he had refused a public coronation. He turned, only his family were stood behind him, tears in their eyes, and he met Nesta's gaze, but for a moment it wasn't his aunt staring back at him, it was his mother, his mother who had given everything for him, his mother who he had failed when it had mattered most. He couldn't hold it back anymore, and the priestess melted away as Nesta closed the space between them, and threw her arms around him. Gods, she even smelled like his mother, and the grief that he had hidden inside himself for too long exploded outwards as his whole body shook with the force of the sobs now wracking his body,

"I've got you, I've got you," Nesta murmured, gently stroking his hair as she held him, letting him cry into her, her own tears mingling with his, "I've got you," she said again, as he clung on to her, the rest of their family leaving him space,

"I can't do it."

"You can."

"I can't." He shook his head, and pulled himself up, collapsing onto the steps where the priestess had stood.

"Nyx. Listen to me. I can't promise that it will stop hurting, but I can promise that you can do this, you can do this, you are not alone, okay?" He nodded, and she knelt in front of him, lifting his chin to make him look at her. Mother, all all he could see was his mother, he half expected her to offer him a mug of cocoa, to read to him like his mother had when the first female he'd loved had left him. He half expected her to sing his old lullabies like his mother had the first time he'd led his warriors into disaster, when some of them hadn't returned. He half expected her to tell him the story of the High Lord who had healed the Cauldron, the great warrior who had softened the heart of Death itself, who had made it's wielder love him, the demon from another world who had learned to love, the warrior who had been trapped in darkness and had tamed it, made it his strength.

He could almost hear his father's voice telling him about the great huntress who saved all of Prythian with her love, who had spat in the face of death, again and again, and emerged triumphant. He could almost hear his mother's snort at the story, even as she chipped in with details about the handsome High Lord who had stolen her heart. Nesta cradled his head against her chest, mumbling softly to him until his shoulders stopped shaking, but still the tears slid down his face, and his hands were shaking as he sat up. In front of him stood his Court, his family, who loved him very much, he could not have possibly made it this far without them, all of them.

Without Cassian he would never had learned to fight as he had, to protect those who could not protect themselves. Without Mor, he never would have learned the joys of infuriating the Hewn City's courtiers. Without Azriel he would have never learned the nuances of war, how kingdoms rose and fell depending on their ability to obtain information. Without Nesta he would never have learned to love fiercely, to never waste his time. Without Elain he would never have paused to appreciate the beauty of his home, his people. Without Amren he wouldn't have had the patience to study history, to learn from the mistakes of the past. Without his cousins, all of them, someone would have killed him by now, long ago. But without his mother and father he would never have learned what the weight of power was, and how to cope. He was forgetting all their lessons, everything they'd taught him was to prepare him for this moment. He would not let them down. Nyx dried his eyes and stood before his Court, staring past them to the doors to Velaris, to his people waiting outside. He squared his shoulders and stepped towards them, he would not let them down.