this is the most beautiful video i have ever watched
“There are different kinds of darkness. There is the darkness that frightens, the darkness that soothes, the darkness that is restful. There is the darkness of lovers, and the darkness of assassins. It becomes what the bearer wishes it to be, needs it to be. It is not wholly bad or good.”
Rhysand, proud and arrogant and grinning. The Lord of Night, Death Incarnate, Night Triumphant. A male who donned the mask of a monster to save his home, who fought for his family with his final breath, who whispered to his unknowing mate, “You are my salvation.”
Rhys gave the dregs of himself away; his body to the lady of the mountain, his power to a city shrouded in the night, his heart to a female with stubborn blue eyes.
Though beloved dearly by his Inner Circle, Rhys views himself as a monster worthy of only hatred. He has not bothered to conceal the bitter edge to his nature, the creature dwelling beneath his skin. Time and time again, he has said he is unworthy of affection, said he does not deserve his fortune. He has claimed himself a beast.
From the start, we knew Rhys would do anything for our Feyre. They saved each other, not just from blades and curses, but from a darkness that was very different from night. His devotion to her went beyond words, and he made it no secret he would raze the earth for her.
And it’s not just our High Lady. Rhys surrendered his sanity, his pride, his own safety for the family he left back home.
Home.
His city, the townhouse tucked within, a maelstrom of light and laughter and teasing. Rhys must have risen every morning, still shaking from his ordeal the previous night, and thought of his Inner Circle. He must have recalled their messy breakfast, a collection of sweets and eggs and toast and tea and whisky. He must have dressed, the memory of Mor lingering in his mind, how she would stride into his room and leap on his bed like a child.
He loved his family, so, so much. His first thought was always of their safety, their comfort. Sometimes it was the little things, like tucking a blanket over Amren nervously, or tending to one of Cas’s sparring wounds; sometimes it was giving up himself so they might live, and know peace within that sheltered city.
Should Rhys have protected as many lands as he could? Yes, of course.
But you all forget Rhys cast that enchantment hastily, with barely seconds to think. In that moment, he wasn’t a seasoned High Lord. He was a terrified brother and friend and cousin. He was human.
Under the Mountain, when Feyre Archeron made herself, did he have any right to give her the faerie wine? No. It was wrong, and it doesn’t matter if it was for her benefit.
But, for fuck’s sake, Rhys never said it was right. You are allowed to think this was off-putting, but know Rhys never brushed it aside. He never insisted it was for her own good. Rhys, even though he couldn’t have cared less for Feyre, was always mindful never to touch her beyond her arms and hips. I am not making his excuses: I am simply pointing out Feyre was not unwilling, and we should know, as we were inside her head. She looked to numb herself with the wine, sought the haze of intoxication.
Rhys never claimed to be a saint. He never called himself god. He was a male struggling to climb out of his trauma, and he made a poor choice, but not an unforgivable one.
Then came Nesta Archeron, who truly turned the fandom against our Rhys. She hated him, he hated her.
Did it begin this way? No.
Most people fail to recall the Inner Circle extended their hands to Nesta, when they first met.
Amren was civil and brutally honest.
Mor complimented her dress, and she was shamed for her own in return.
Cassian tried laughter and banter, his way of saying “I’m friendly, I won’t hurt you.”
Rhys tried to be civil to the woman who had abused his mate, to the woman who detested his kind. He was forced to watch as his family was cut down swiftly.
Nesta’s “talent” is finding weak spots and exploiting them. So she slut-shamed Mor, ridiculed Cassian’s status, showed Feyre nothing but scorn. Nesta was not trauma-ridden, back then. She was just cruel.
So, how am I supposed to hate Rhys for defending his family?
He is allowed to feel fury as Nesta does without being detested. He is allowed to try and protect his Inner Circle. He is allowed to hate the female who made fun of his brother, abused his wife, shamed his cousin, hurt his friend.
Is Nesta entirely in the wrong? No.
Is Rhys entirely in the wrong? Absolutely not.
Even when he kept the secret of Feyre’s pregnancy from her, he was not so at fault. It was bitter of him to keep such a danger from his mate, but I can understand why he did so. He was trying to keep her happy and carefree. As we know Fae pregnancies are delicate, so why would he want Feyre to feel so much stress and terror and misery when that could risk the child’s life? I do think he should have told her, but again, it’s not impossible to get why he didn’t.
If we are going to blame Rhys for keeping Feyre’s risk quiet, why not blame the others in on it? What about Amren and Cassian and Azriel and Nesta? They are as equally responsible. Even if it was a bad choice, that’s okay. Everyone detested Rhys for being the “perfect” character, and now we hate him for fucking up. He is allowed to make mistakes. I don’t know who told you he can never do wrong.
Rhys is a monster, the unforgiving darkness and the merciless cold. He has never claimed otherwise. He has done awful things, yes, but he aspires to be better. He cares about working through his trauma, because he wants to be a good male for Feyre, for his family, for his son.
He was betrayed and raped. His little sister was brutally slaughtered by an old friend. His mother was tortured. His mate was killed, and his Inner Circle hurt time and time again, and he has never known a moment’s peace.
He isn’t perfect, but he’s learning. He’s learning and working every day.
Rhys may be the Lord of Darkness, but he is not incapable of light.
confused-as-all-hell