Disclaimer: I don't own ACOTAR, or any of the characters. They belong to Sarah J. Maas.

Rhysand

I was wandering the human realm in an attempt to run away from the guilt that haunted me over my part in Amarantha's schemes when I first saw my painter. As of the time, I didn't know who she was, but even without the knowledge of what she was fighting for, I admired her fight.

Really, it was unfortunate that we were on different sides - at least on the outside. Because the moment I saw there was still some fight against Amarantha left, I started debating whether or not to join it. What would benefit my court and Velaris more.

I can't remember why I decided not to turn her in in the end; after all, it didn't really benefit Velaris or me at all. Not at the time. But I'm glad I didn't.

It was in her woods that I saw her first.

The woods that bordered the wall between Prythian and the mortal realms weren't ventured by many humans, and only the most desperate of hunters would dare traverse so close to the wall. Especially since the recent and far more frequent faerie attacks on the village. So I didn't expect to encounter anyone on my wanderings, not whilst Amarantha trusted me more than she should, and with her situated in the Spring Court, she knew I couldn't wander too far. I would probably have to service her again that night, after Tamlin's disappearance. She hadn't asked for my company since she'd won - she'd had Tamlin, after all - and now that she'd lost him again, she wouldn't be happy.

Of course he'd run away. Rutting coward that he was.

I froze as I heard the crunch of footsteps on fallen leaves. This was no faerie; the person's scent was undeniably human, and. . . familiar. I stepped, quietly, silently, into the shadow of the nearest tree and watched as the girl stalked into the clearing.

She was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen.

I didn't know why. I'd seen more breath-taking faeries, been with absolutely stunning beauties, and her beauty was very much of that human imperfection that Amarantha used to mark them as lesser. True, the slant of cheekbones, the flutter of her hair, the precise shade of her grey blue eyes was alluring and pleasant, but beautiful. . . It wasn't a look, I decided. It was more of a feeling I got from her - of love, of appreciation, despite the harsh frown her face was set in, and the graveness of those bright, bright eyes. She seemed too young to be so serious.

Her hair - a confusing shade that was somewhere between gold and brown - fluttered behind her as she walked, and she was clad in a jacket and boots that were falling apart at the seams. Dirt crusted her face, her hands, the right of which clutched a bow. A quiver of arrows was slung over her back. The image of her standing in the centre of that glade, with the November trees stripped of their leaves behind her, and only shadows and light surrounding her, it struck me that I had never met someone who seemed so lonely.

She clung to the edges of the glade, and it was only when she froze, then, very slowly, reached up to nock an arrow in her bow, did I remember why her scent seemed so familiar.

.

About a year ago now, I'd been wandering these same woods, wondering whether or not Tamlin, with only a few more months to go before the bargain, would start to dispatch his sentries again in hopes of breaking the curse, when I'd seen her, and the wolf.

I immediately recognised the wolf for what it was: a faerie. One of Tamlin's faeries, even, whom he'd shifted into a wolf, presumably in hopes of making them more. . . killable.

And there was this girl. Staring at it. It was staring right back.

She'd had an arrow nocked in her bow. An ash arrow.

I hadn't had time to analyse whether or not she knew it was a faerie, or whether the ash arrow she'd selected was from sheer luck, before she'd drawn back her bow, and fired.

And despite the fact that this could be our only saving grace, despite the fact that doing what I did might be the thing that damned us all, I reached out with a tendril of my magic, and altered the arrow's flight path, so that whilst the arrow would have gone straight through the wolf's glowing, golden eye, it missed entirely.

The girl had done the smart thing after that, and run. The wolf hadn't chased after her.

.

Now I again watched from the shadow as she nocked an arrow and crept forwards. Towards-

Towards, I realised, where we'd set up a temporary camp the night before. And left some supplies behind.

How did she know where we'd been!?

Her steps were soft as she crept forward. She was as quiet as the grave; not even I could hear her, and could only hear the rustle of her clothes as she moved, and the slight sniffs emanating from her nose.

Sniffs. She was smelling for magic, to see if she could detect any traps before she fell into them. Clever, lovely human.

Finally, she froze, and I froze with her. Then she bent down, and when she rose, she held those abhorrent chains crafted from the rock underneath Hybern in her hands. She clutched them tightly, glanced around, and went to coil them into her quiver. She went to sneak away.

But I couldn't let her go, not without talking to her first. Unravelling some of the mysteries behind her behaviour. So I stepped forward, into plain sight, and drawled with the typical arrogance expected of the High Lord of the Night Court, "And what, exactly, so you think you'll do with those?"

The effect was instantaneous. Her entire body tensed up, and a gasp ripped from her lips as she spun to meet my eyes. Her lips twisted into a defensive snarl, and a thrill sparked in my blood at the sight. She moved her right hand behind her back, almost as if she was trying to hide the bow in it. I raked my eyes up and down her frame, and noted how it had tensed, and how she was trembling.

Not from fear, I realised, as the wind swept her scent towards me. But something deeper, and far more aggressive - almost territorial - than that.

Anger. She trembled with anger.

I continued talking, and the scent only grew stronger as I said, "You don't have any magic to nullify, as a human, so I really don't see the point in you taking those."

Another scent hit me then, not at all strong, barely noticeable. But deeply hated by me.

Tamlin.

And Lucien.

She'd had contact with them.

How?!

I'd diverted the arrow she'd shot. She shouldn't have gone to the Spring Court. She couldn't have.

Unable to resist, I briefly sifted through her memories, and relaxed as I found that she'd never set foot in Prythian in her life - and had that healthy dose of fear and respect for the faerie lands that almost all mortals had. Then I began to panic at the cold resolution I met, and the borderline suicidal plan she'd made. That Tamlin and Lucien had agreed to.

But I dragged myself out of her head, and faced her. She was glaring at me, the arrow in her bow nocked and aimed. . . for my heart. I snorted inwardly at the irony, then studied the arrow. Ash.

Where in the hell had she gotten ash from?!

She gritted her teeth, and took a surreptitious step back. "What do you want?"

I snorted - out loud this time. "I think that translates to: 'why haven't you made a move to attack me yet?'" I prowled towards her, and heard her breathing hitch slightly in fear, even as she slowly and carefully planted her right foot behind her left - whether to brace herself for a fight or to put as much distance between us as possible, I didn't know. I paused, and cocked my head. I just stood there for a second, my hands in my pockets, and surveyed her.

Despite her obvious fear, her resolution had not lessened. I refrained from dipping into her mind, as welcoming as the brush of it felt, for some reason getting the funny feeling I didn't want to hear whatever it was she was thinking about me.

"But I have attacked you already," I said simply, and she flinched physically then, rolling her weight onto her back foot and taking another staggering step towards the edge of the glade. Away from me. She sniffed the air - once, twice - and narrowed her eyes when she didn't smell the tang of magic. I took another step forward, ignoring her second flinch, and tapped my temple. "Hasn't that faerie lord of yours taught you to keep your thoughts shielded from my kind?"

She spoke then, and her voice was both familiar and infinitely strange, the question I hadn't even known to ask. "My faerie lord?" She said, confusedly and incredulously. I loosed a breath. "And what do you mean by 'your kind'?"

I felt it between us then: a faint bond. Something that bound us together gave an almighty tug, and I stepped forwards. Who was I to disregard the Eddies of the Cauldron?

Alarm flashed across her face at the intensity in mine, and she went to run, but I crooned, "Running, would be futile." She stilled, as motionless as death, as I continued, "You think I can't run faster than a mere human? Especially," I said, eyeing the area where her clothes hung loose on her frame, "a malnourished, half starved, half wild one?"

Her mouth tightened at my words, and I knew that somehow, I'd struck a nerve. But she didn't comment on it, only raising her chin to demand again, "What do you want?"

Perhaps I shouldn't have said it, perhaps it made me a damned fool for being so blunt, but. . . I looked her straight in the eye, and found only an admirable steel will there as I said, "I want to help you."

I knew - Cauldron, I knew perfectly well - how much she might not believe me. A sceptic, a protector. . . She was smarter than to fall for the first pretty words that were flung her way. And she wasn't going to gamble the safety of her wards on the empty promises of a random stranger. Especially a random stranger who happened to be a faerie.

But perhaps it was that bond between us, or some semblance of it that she felt on her end. Maybe she'd felt the tug, and decided to tug back.

Whatever the reason, she looked up at me and said, nothing but a cool and calculating assessment in her tone, "Why?"

I shrugged, but the gesture was far from casual. "Perhaps it's because I don't particularly like the way my kind are headed. Perhaps because I disagree with her views." The girl's eyes had narrowed until only a whisper of cloudy grey remained visible beneath her lashes. I added quietly, and this phrase alone was testament to the bond of trust I felt with this human girl, "Perhaps I have my own court I'd like to protect, just like your Tamlin."

She didn't say anything. Didn't even blink.

I ignored her unresponsiveness, and kept talking. "And your plan isn't the most solid one," I added. Looking back, perhaps that was what caused her to respond the way she did: her opposition to my habit of sifting through her head whenever I pleased. "It has a few loopholes, that could do with some patching up. I could help you there," I supplied with a wink. She didn't stop glowering.

"Get out of my head." She snapped, and my grin turned feral.

"Make me," I challenged, putting my hands back in my pockets. Just for the sake of it, I let one mental claw scrape against her shields, and she let out a quiet shriek of terror. I smirked. "Shove me out."

She glared even harder, but she didn't dare move to attack me, didn't dare breathe, not when I was poised to shatter her mind with half a thought. "Get. Out."

"Make. Me."

A gush of self, and of the pure substance that made up her washed through her mind, lubricating my hold, until I slipped out.

"Good." Was all I said. "Keep it up."

She snarled at me, and in that moment, despite the faeries' primal nature, she looked more animalistic than anyone I'd ever seen.

I refused to let how much that fazed me show. "So," I began cheerfully. "Will you take me up on my offer?"

I sensed her response a heartbeat before she responded. And yet despite that, I was still ever so slightly disappointed.

"No." She said, in the tone that I knew meant not to push her. She turned, and walked away.

I told myself that this was what was best for Velaris. For Mor, and Amren, and Cassian, and Azriel. For me. For even the gods-damned Court of Nightmares. Because if Amarantha found out I'd been working with the enemy to undermine her attack. . . I didn't want to think about what the consequences of that would be.

And what's more, a part of me didn't want to push this girl to accept my offer. Even if that same part now stung viciously with her rejection.

So I just let her walk away. But I kept my eyes on her until she disappeared from sight. And whether she felt it or not, she didn't look back.

If anyone's interested, my friend and I started a fan account on Instagram called books_ships_tears. Check it out if you're interested!

By the way, I promise this is a Feysand fic. Just give it a little while to build up. There were hints of it here.

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