Rhaemarys

I wake with a scream, frantically clutching at my chest, desperate to quiet my ragged breathing before I wake the whole house. A quiet groan slips past my lips as I tug at the bed covers to stumble to my feet. Mother above I hate this, I hate all of this. Why won't they just stop and let me move on.

Every night the same images play over and over in my head until I'm dizzy with rage and grief. That god awful table they would strap us down to as they twisted and melded our flesh, the breaking of our bones as the unnatural shift took over our bodies and quite possibly the worst of all being the failure of those experiments.

The choked off screams as my friends drowned in their own blood or their heart gave out or they decided to take matters into their own hands. Every single awful moment drowns my mind until it consumes every thought and emotion.

I think I prefer the PTSD from the wars they made us fight in. Somehow, in some fucked up way, fighting before the experiment when I was just another soldier in the ranks was the most peaceful and happy moments of my life. How screwed is that? We were slaughtering and being killed yet that was the first time I ever experienced such comradeship, and the peace missions - oh I loved those.

It was like a little treat, and apology from the power at be to just spend a few days carting supplies and building schools and helping the worst off in the High King's fucked up empire. At least I think it was the High King's Empire. We were conquered by the High Lords and I know that at some point there was a high king that ruled us but it honestly gets a little fuzzy post experiments when I'm burning villages to the ground and acting as some glorified war-dog.

The tea cup in front of me burns my skin enough that I jerk back to reality only to look in around in shock because how the fuck did I get into the kitchen? Let alone brew a full teapot and scrounge up some biscuits without even noticing it?

Wonderful, now I'm losing time. Not at all a sign of insanity or severe-severe trauma.

I sigh, rubbing at my forehead as a headache threatens to build. Might as well read through those reports sent through and the library isn't too far away from the kitchen and I'm certain there's a warm blanket up there calling my name.

The romance book I ended up choosing instead of my reports is a welcome distraction as I bury myself in the blankets and pillows until I have a little nest built. It's a sweet tale, cliched and predictable with no out of turn plot twists and I almost snort in amusement at my own coping mechanism. How predictable of me.

The sun is barely peeking over the hills when I put the book down, having decided that the love interest's proclamation should be saved for when I have a clearer head. Feyre will be waking up soon. 10 months old and already so full of life.

It's hard to appreciate it though. My earlier bursts of passion and care for Nesta and Elain appear to be dwindling. Depression and doubt begin to take root again as I grow comfortable in my routine. How could I have been a general at one point in my life? That confidence and power feels like nothing more than a fever dream now. I wonder if I'll ever get back there, to that state of mind.

Physically I have already begun re-training, the slow process of regaining muscle mass threatening to snap my tenuous patience as I fight the urge to just pick up a sword and start swinging for the hell of it. I really do sound like some overeager infantry soldier. How fun.

Feyre's wailing cries echo down the hallway and I make my way to her nursery, just another day in this boring little quaint household.

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"You miss the adrenaline." He whimsically counsells. "The thrill of the chase, the power and control in plots and plans, the comradeship of war, the-"

"Are you going to continue to philosophise or let me vent?" I interrupt, frowning in annoyance as Rhys smirks at me. "Because I seem to remember a deal that went something like I tell you what's on my mind and you tell me what's on yours and we agree to not interrupt the other."

"So eager to hear about my thoughts and feelings." He purrs, eyes sparking with mischief at my interest and I can't help but roll my eyes.

"You're like some ridiculous riddle that I just can't solve." I huff, piecing together the meagre hints of his life that he has told me so far. "At least you have some sebelance of a code of honour. Though I still don't agree with the decision to project evil and depravity. Some of the greatest leaders I have known all ruled through peace and strength, with allies and unity."

"Known?" He tilts his head in curiosity.

"Studied." I counter, eyes narrowing.

He hums.

"You're going to have expand on how you know all this in depth knowledge about the past before I start drawing my own conclusions." I ignore his pointed look and arched brow.

"Well, I am busy struggling with the present thank you very much. So I'd like it if you'd let me vent in peace." I huff, taking an aggressive bite out of triple-chocolate-ganache-coated- cake before me. I pause, moaning in delight as I savour the gooey goodness and Rhys' eyes glimmer in delight. He tracks the movement of my tongue as I swipe the excess chocolate off my dessert fork.

"Rhys" I purr, dragging out the syllables as he swallows heavily before seemingly shaking off his moment of weakness.

"Please continue, Elskan." He drawls and my brows raise in surprise.

"Illryian." I comment in curiosity and he imperceptibly stiffens. "Your mother taught you well."

"I did grow up there." He sighs in annoyance and I shrug.

"But it was your mother who taught you, no?"

He frowns, clearly irritated that I was right and I hum in satisfaction around another bite of cake.

"Are you going to stop avoiding the reason your here." His voice is gentle in a way that has every primal instinct in my straightening up and I cure my stupid little cavewoman brain.

"I'm not avoiding anything."

"I get nightmares too." I freeze at his confession but I can't stop the predatory tilt of my head as he shows weakness but for once the urge is not to pounce and use that weakness but to- to nurture it? Counter it, perhaps learn and study it till I know every little thing that has him scared and alone dead at my feet. "That's why you look like a ghost isn't it? You can't sleep, eating comes and goes-"

"Don't Rhys." I whisper, smiling at him through my watery eyes. "My trauma has gone on far longer, and has been far worse than anything you will ever be able to understand. And I pray to the Mother that you never will."

He pauses, something akin to rage flickering in his eyes. "This isn't a competition. And just because what we went through isnt the same doesn't mean that I can't relate."

"No it doesn't" I sooth, hoping to rectify my mistake.

"But you haven't gone through it; you're going through it. And the things that are happening to you are similar to me." I try to ignore the way his body tense at the implication of those words, the way death and rage coat his scent. "But I have also experienced things you can't even imagine."

"Like what." His voice is bitter, tears clogging his eyes and I can see the desperation in them. How he craves to relate to someone and have them relate to him. To just have one person who understands and knows without any pity, judgement or consolation. Someone who can just say 'it's a fucked up situation' and understand every meaning behind those words.

Maybe that's why I confessed, "I have been a slave, an experiment, a soldier and a prisoner."

He freezes, gaze darting to mine with barely concealed horror as he scans my body for any sign of trauma.

"But I think what both of us need right now is a distraction." He shakily nods, mind whirling as he tries to comprehend the magnitude of my simple confession. To understand all the many combinations those descriptions could result in. "So how about I tell you the horror of Elanor's princess birthday party and the terrifying nature of 30 little girls on a rampage."

A/N: Is there anything you would like to be represented or talked about in reference to trauma and grief? I would like to make this fanfic an accurate representation and help people feel seen so please comment any suggestions.