What is to be, if... not at all?

Fireflies

This story is divvied up into four parts: Senario 1, 2, 3 and 4. This is the first Senario, much more like a peaceful/angsty story unlike the other three. So this one is kinda on the safe side until it isn't.

For the first time in months, I painted.

I painted the sky, blue and vibrant and full of fluffy white clouds; the sun, blindingly bright and giving life to the things underneath it; and under that sky, I painted death.

I painted blood, I painted corpses, and I painted the death bringers.

Afterward, I stared at that painting. I stared until the blood of the two innocents I killed felt like it had reappeared on my hands.

And then the painting was on fire.

Still, I stared. Not bothering to move even as it was reduced to ash and smoke.

Afterward, I started another, and another.

This time, I painted blood-red hair, a mouth that curved up into a cruel grin, and a dias carved from bone. I painted every single detail that refused to release its hold onto me, and by the time I was finished, the sun had set below the horizon.

Neither Tamlin nor Lucien had decided to come and drag me away from the easel as I started the last. I'd wished they did, just in case I painted another portrait that would make me burn.

I painted a flower, fiery-red and blooming on the dead battlefield.

And the sky was blue as mine was black. So dark that not even a shred of light could cut through. That painting, I did not burn, instead, I saved it, behind the dusty old shelves that no one had ever ventured past.

I never look back at the paintings, usually, I did, but I couldn't. Not this time.

I wanted to keep painting everything that I felt until this strange feeling ceased. But even then, It took me to feel a certain sense before I could do anything.

Rhysand had felt sick the day Feyre had gotten married.

He'd drug Cassian along with him to get rip-roaring drunk the moment Feyre had said her vows. He could've stopped it, called in their bargain just to not want it to happen, to save them both the suffering, but he didn't. And he was a coward for it, he thinks, even as he examines her son from the other side of the table.

Over the years, as he hoped, the mating bond between them didn't vanish. It was just a long line of aching on Rhys's side. He kept his side tightly shut, cut off everything of himself that wanted her, but feared the bond getting rejected if he were to ever bring it to her knowledge.

"I need you to break the bargain."

Rhysand blinks, "What?"

"Break the bargain, Rhys." Feyre lifts her sleeve, exposing the tattoo on her arm, "You have yet to do anything, call in anything-"

"Because I haven't yet found a reason to call you." Part truth, part lie. He wanted to call it in for plenty of reasons, and then he didn't because of the way she looked at him... "The only way to break it is death, and the only true way is to call it in."

The heir of Spring opens his mouth to speak, Rhys beats him to it, "Are you, Cursebreaker, asking me to call in the bargain without dearest Tamlin around?" He visited a total of ten times in the years past. Took only Mor with him because she would be the only one to stop him from doing something he might regret after their friendship had slowly mended.

"Tamlin may be my husband, but he doesn't run me." Indeed, he'd taught her everything from using her powers to reading. He'd figured Feyre would have a strong want to read after the trials under the mountain. He had been there once, in the middle of them doing something that was the exact opposite of training.

His eyes then flick to her son, "Why are you here then?" He asks.

"I have my reasons. I do not have to explain myself to you."

"You will as long as you're on my land Tristan." Rhysand stood, "If there isn't anything else Feyre, you know how to get back home." A dismissal and if anyone squinted hard enough, it was one of hurt.

"Rhysand," he pauses, and she takes that as a chance to continue, "Just one thing, one thing that would get rid of this bargain."

One thing. The words rang through his head. There were plenty of things he could think of. But most of them wouldn't matter... except for one.

"Live." The air tinged with magic, "Be happy. Don't waste what precious life you have."

He didn't stop to see the tattoo disappear as he winnowed away from his mate and her son. He would need a heavy drink after this.