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Chapter Text

Half an hour ago my ship had reached shore. About twenty minutes ago I finally received some news about my daughters. There were fae soldiers all around, preparing for another day of fighting. I once would have been terrified of them and the power they held. Now I wanted nothing more than to find my daughters here in Prythian, so I had approached the first soldier I had seen.

On the voyage over from the continent I had learned as much about the land above the wall as I could, so I recognised this soldier as belonging to the Autumn Court by the orange colours in his armour. He looked haughtily at me as I approached. I asked about my youngest daughter, who had been in Prythian for longer, I hoped someone would have heard her name at some point. The soldier smirked at me, looking down. “Oh yes, Feyre… The High Lord of the Night Court has her now”, was all he said before turning away from me, leaving me to my panic.

This was worse than what I could possibly have imagined. The Night Court was not known for niceties, and its High Lord was said to be cruel and wicked, delighting in mind games and bloodshed. For all I had learned about Prythian, the Night Court was the last place I wanted to find my daughters. But if one of them was in that hell, part of me hoped they were at least together.

Once I was able to swallow my fear and get my bearings I looked upon the war camp that lay stretched before me. Tents were grouped together in different colours, again telling me exactly which court they belonged to.

Feyre had always been brave, even when I had not, my youngest daughter had put me to shame. I would not fail her again. So I mustered all of my courage and began to walk towards the black tented camp. I had nothing to bargain with. I would offer up myself in exchange for my daughters. Though if the stories are to be believed, I doubted the High Lord would want an old man in exchange for a beautiful woman. Nonetheless, whatever I could give of myself, I would.

My stomach sank further and further as I neared the Night Court’s war camp. Two males with massive black wings guarded its gates. I had never seen them before, but I had recently learned about Illyrians in the Night Court and wondered if that is what these males were. I swallowed twice and tried to stand as tall as I could, but still had to crane my neck to look up at them.

They looked down at me questioningly, probably wondering what in the world an old human man was doing at the entrance of the Night Court camp. “I wish to speak with the High Lord of the Night Court”, I said with less bravado than I had hoped. Both of them raised their eyebrows but said nothing. “I want to talk to him about my daughter, Feyre Archeron”, I continued. I had already started to lose hope that I would ever be let into the camp, but they immediately stood straighter at the mention of my daughter’s name. They knew her, I thought. How would they know her? My stomach roiled. The High Lord must have either shown her off or shared her.

My heart ached as I thought about what Feyre must have gone through in the time it took me to get my act together and finally come for my daughter as I should have long ago. I failed to protect her all her life. My shame threatened to bury me, but the tallest warrior motioned for me to follow and led me into the camp. As we neared the centre of the camp I took in my surroundings. More of these winged warriors were training all around the camp. They looked more than deathly, they looked more than dangerous. All of them were tall, muscled and broad shouldered. They had been raised for this sole purpose, I thought, they had been born to fight.

Before I could panic even further we came upon a bigger tent, with a banner fastened to its apex. A mountain and three stars, the sigil of the Night Court as I had learned aboard the ship. “My Lord”, the Illyrian next to me said, “I have someone here who wishes to speak to you”. My knees wobbled, I was about to come face to face with the most fearsome and the most powerful High Lord to ever exist. Not to mention a wicked one at that, if the stories are to be believed. “Who?”, I heard a deep voice from within. The Illyrian next to me looked down at me again before replying, “He says to be the father of the Archeron sisters”.

What I had both feared and wished for seemed to be true then. They were all here. They were all in the clutches of the High Lord of Night. There was a long pause from within before the same deep voice replied, “Send him in”.

I walked through the tent flaps and entered an area with a long wooden table. Around it sat three males, food and wine in front of them. Two of them also winged. All of them looking at me with a shocked expression. This I had not expected. I had expected to be the shocked one. One of the winged males had shadows rapidly flitting across his shoulders, I tried to look away from them. The other had food in his hand that he seemingly had forgotten all about in the past minute and his mouth still hung open. That left who I assumed to be the High Lord.

His eyes were wide as he took me in, but somehow less dangerous than I had imagined. His eyes were violet, unlike any I had ever seen before. His chest was broad and muscled and along the neckline of his tunic swirling tattoos were peeking out. I took in the scene in front of me and almost felt amusement. These three males, like the ones I saw outside, were honed to fight. They looked more deathly than any I’d spotted outside, yet all three of them continued to stare at me in shock, a scrawny old man with a slight hunch.

Before anyone could say anything I heard water splashing behind a curtain in the tent. Someone took a deep breath, as if they had been held underwater for a long time and could now finally breath again.

The High Lord twisted his head over his shoulders but never took his eyes off me and silently called, “Feyre”, ending her name in a question. I heard more splashing before the curtain was drawn back and I looked upon a woman wrapped in a towel, hair dripping.

No not a woman, a female. Yet beyond the pointed ears and perfect features I recognised those blue-grey eyes. Feyre looked back at me with equal shock. Neither of us had expected or hoped to see each other, especially not here of all places. I looked at her, taking in her beautiful face and her bare legs, wondering about all the horrible reasons she would be in this High Lord’s tent and in his bath tub with two other terrifying looking males just on the other side of the curtain.

Before either of us could say anything the High Lord tossed her a cloak and the winged male, having now put down his food, barked a laugh. Feyre glanced back at the males and hurriedly swung the cloak around her body. Now covering all except her bare feet. She looked back at the male that had laughed at her with amused eyes and bit her lower lip, seemingly trying to stifle a laugh of her own before turning back to me and asking, “Father, what are you doing here? How did you even get here?” I straightened my back again before answering her and glancing back at the High Lord, “I have come to bargain with the High Lord to get you free.” Feyre looked back at the High Lord in shock, with an almost apologetic expression on her face. I wondered if I was too late.

Before I could get my thoughts in order, the High Lord turned to the winged males and told them to go and find Nesta and Elain. I could not keep my eyes from Feyre and her fae features. I was about to see all three of my daughters again. Were Nesta and Elaine still human? How could a human even turn fae? I had more questions with each passing second.

Before I could voice any of them Feyre took a deep breath and walked to stand behind the High Lord’s chair, putting her hands on his shoulders. Both of her hands were covered in the same swirling tattoos that I could see poking out above the High Lord’s tunic. What shocked me even more was the giant sapphire ring on her left hand. The High Lord reached up his hand to touch hers, a silver band around his ring finger.

I startled, it could not be. Before my mind could even consider the possibility Feyre looked back at me and said, “I do not wish to leave, father. I know you probably heard plenty of terrifying stories but I am home here, in the Night Court”, she paused before continuing, “with my mate.” She looked down at the High Lord, who looked up to meet her eyes. I had learned about mates just in the weeks before but I struggled to recall exactly what a mating bond meant. He had a claim on her, that I knew, and it terrified me to no end. I am her father, shouldn't I get a say in who tries to claim my daughter?

The High Lord had not yet spoken to me directly, but turned his gaze on me now. “I can’t set her free because I hold no power over her. Feyre is High Lady of the Night Court”, he said to me by way of explanation. I had never heard of a High Lady in Prythian, but it seemed they hadn’t expected me to. They faced each other again, smiling, seemingly having forgotten my presence for a second.

This meeting was not at all going the way I had expected it to. I had been prepared to beg and offer up everything I am to free my daughter. I had been prepared to face horrors and fight for my daughters with whatever little I had left. I had not expected her to look at the High Lord as if she loved him, and I had absolutely never expected him to look at her the same way.

I tried to get my bearings, I had lost my mind a couple of times in the past minutes. Had it just been minutes ago that I had walked into this tent? All I knew in the world had shifted in those mere minutes. “There is a larger story to be told, it seems”, I said by way of question. “Yes, there is”, Feyre said, “Nesta and Elain will be here soon. Let me get dressed. I’ll tell you all about what happened.” She turned on her heal and disappeared behind the curtain again.

The High Lord motioned for me to please sit and my wobbling old knees were grateful. A moment later, a blonde female entered the tent. She stopped short when she saw me sitting at the table, throwing a confused look at the High Lord. “Feyre’s father”, the High Lord said by way of explanation. The blonde female looked back at me in shock, before smiling wickedly and offering me her hand. “I’m Mor, Rhys’ cousin. Nice to meet you”, she said. I reluctantly shook her hand. Her hands were warm and felt stronger than mine ever did. She too looked like a warrior.

“Well Rhys”, she said, “hope you made a good first impression.” The High Lord threw her an incredulous look. Before more could be said, the tent flaps opened again and the winged males walked in again with Nesta and Elain in tow. Elain squealed and threw her arms around me. I hugged her back tightly. I could not believe they were here with me. I looked at Nesta over Elaine’s shoulder, to see her ears also pointed. I grieved for them and again wondered how this could have ever happened. Nesta glared at me, it was a look I was used to and knew I deserved. I had come too late. I had lost my daughters to Prythian before I ever knew to protect them.

I heard the curtain open again and Elain pulled back her arms, looking as Feyre walked through. She was no longer dressed in barely a towel, but fighting leathers much like those of the winged males and the blonde female. Unlike Nesta and Elain, who were dressed in elegant but simple dresses, Feyre’s form-fitting leather attire was again scandalous. I frowned at her, not wanting to know what the High Lord had her do on the fur piled bed I’d spotted behind the curtain.

Everyone took a place around the table. The High Lord was still seated right across from me, Feyre sat herself down to his left, the blonde female to his right, Elain and Nesta to either side of me, and the winged males on either side of them.

The High Lord rested his hand on Feyre’s knee and looked at her as if waiting for her to speak. Feyre glanced back at him, before glancing at both her sisters and then back at me. She cleared her throat before launching her tale.

Chapter Text

I had no recollection of Feyre being taken away from us by Tamlin, the High Lord of the Spring Court. To my great shame I had believed the glamour that High Lord had placed on us and had simply thought she went to care for her aunt. I had not questioned it, and in not doing so I had condemned Feyre to Prythian.

She told me that though Tamlin had cared for her and she had been content at the Spring Court at the time, a war was brewing in Prythian and she had no idea to have walked straight into it. She had met Rhysand during her time in the Spring Court and it was him who had scared her into going back home to her sisters. Though I wasn’t sure yet how I felt about him, I appreciated his effort to get her out.

At that point, though, Feyre still hadn’t had any idea of what exactly had been going on in Prythian, but she went back anyway because she had needed to save Tamlin. What followed was a tale about Hybern’s late general Amarantha who had held court Under the Mountain for 49 years, stripping Prythian’s High Lords of their power and playing them into submission in her court, and the curse that required a human girl like my daughter.

I realised two things at once as she told me this. The first being that this war had been brewing since long before my daughters were ever born and yet they now found themselves in the middle of it. And second, by the pained looks on everyone’s faces, that these fae had all been there for it. They were old, I knew that, but it struck me only now, that these youthful looking and handsome fae had fought in the last war, half a millennium ago. I couldn’t quite wrap my head around that fact, and looked back at Feyre who clutched the High Lord’s arm tightly. She was only 20 years old, next to this eternal warrior-looking High Lord.

Out of the people in this tent, only Feyre and Rhysand had been Under the Mountain. She was vague about what had happened under Amarantha’s rule and the trials she had to undergo, and I knew I probably wouldn’t want to know. My already crushing sense of guilt was only building by the minute as her tale went on. “I was never really alone Under the Mountain though”, Feyre continued, looking back at Rhys, who looked back at her but then cast his eyes down, “even if I didn’t understand it at the time.”

She fell silent, lost in thought, so now the High Lord picked up her tale, truly speaking for the first time since I’d walked into this tent. “She survived all three trials and freed our power, but in retribution Amarantha killed her”, he said matter-of-factly, though his eyes looked haunted and a muscle in his jaw ticked. Feyre subconsciously touched her hand to the back of her neck. The atmosphere in the tent suddenly turned deathly and I could taste everyone’s wrath in the air. My survival instincts told me to run as I carefully looked at two Illyrian warriors. Though Cassian emitted brute killing force, the shadowy one had an even colder and more calculated look about him. The blond female, Mor, who I had taken an immediate liking to, looked about ready to spew fire.

“All High Lords were there and we brought her back as High Fae”, the High Lord continued, “and then we all went back home”. Feyre had finally found her voice again and explained she headed back to the Spring Court with Tamlin and was prepared to marry him. She shook her head, “But nothing felt right anymore”, she trailed off and looked back at the High Lord. “I wasn’t the same, and he was turning…”, she trailed off again, as if searching for the right words. “Into a complete asshole”, the Mor filled in for her. “Once he started to lock Feyre up, we took her out and brought her to the Nigh Court”, she explained. “I guess I needed time and space to heal”, Feyre admitted.

“And so we made her eat, and train, and sleep, and I finally had a little sister to play with”, the roguish-looking Illyrian said, grinning at her, his wrath suddenly forgotten. Though I had marked him as dangerous when I had first entered the tent, he did manage to look at Feyre like an overgrown child now. “I truly went from one hell straight into another”, Feyre teased, grinning back at him, and at this the tension finally broke as they all laughed. All, except Nesta, she continued to glare at everyone.

From there the tale became lighter, and everyone pitched in to tell it. Once Feyre had been brought to the Night Court, she had slowly started to heal, as had Rhysand. They had trained her, both in weaponry and combat, and to work with her powers that she had inherited from all High Lords. She had helped to fight off an attack on their city. The High Lord had thought her to read and write, as she worked with him to prepare for the war to come. This took me aback, I had never truly realised that her schooling had not been finished when I let my daughters’ lives go off the rails.

But my guilt was quickly crushed and replaced by a fatherly sense of horror as the roguish looking Illyrian proudly announced that “And then they finally… finally fucked, because it was endlessly frustrating to watch them circle each other to see when they would finally pounce”. He started laughing like a maniac, and I almost choked on my own spit at the image that was being put in my head of my young daughter and this muscled and tattooed warrior. “But pounce they did”, Cassian went on, “and almost destroyed an entire mountain range in the process”. On his side of the table Mor burst out laughing and nodding her head frantically, while the quiet Illyrian nudged his elbow into the ribs of the roguish-looking one in reprimand. Feyre and the High Lord both shot him an incredulous look and had the decency to blush slightly, as did Elain. Nesta continued to glare, but turned it fully on the High Lord this time.

The quiet Illyrian, sensing my utter discomfort, finally spoke up and continued on with the tale of how they had tried to take the Cauldron from Hybern but had been betrayed by Tamlin who had believed he was saving Feyre from Rhysand. Hybern had stolen Nesta and Elain from their beds and turned them fae by submerging them in the Cauldron. He explained how he had been shot by a poisoned arrow and that Cassian had tried to protect him but had been badly injured as well in the process. At this point, Mor continued the story-telling, explaining that Feyre had sensed no other way out than to play into Tamlin’s hand and pretend to free herself from Rhysand’s supposed control over her mind, and asking the King of Hybern to break the mating bond.

“Obviously, that didn’t happen, but they couldn’t know that. Feyre is a great actress, I think she learned it from me”, she said. Feyre chuckled at this, saying, “Oh I definitely had a great teacher in that regard!”. “Rhys and I took Elain and Nesta back home, along with our two idiots”, Mor continued, inclining her head toward both Illyrians, “while Feyre could only go back to the Spring Court with Tamlin now that the bond between her and Rhys was supposedly broken. She did warn them though that she would destroy them if they took her from her mate, but well, males never listen, do they?”, she said, grinning wickedly.

Cassian now leaned forward over the table to continue the tale, saying, “By the time I woke up I learned that little Rhysie here had made Feyre High Lady, and we could do nothing but watch as our High Lady found herself in enemy territory! It was torture”. He threw a piece of bread right at the High Lord, who smiled back at the Illyrian and apparently had no qualms about being called “little Rhysie” in front of everyone.

“It was Feyre’s decision”, he explained, “and it gave us a spy in enemy territory with a direct line of communication to us”. He continued the story-telling, explaining that the Spring Court did fall and Feyre managed to flee it as it did. By the time she got back home to the Night Court they had planned a meeting with all High Lords in order to discuss the war, but before they could reach any sort of agreement Hybern had already taken down the wall, and thus the war had begun. Bringing us full circle to the moment we now shared in the tent.

I had finally found my daughters. Elain and Nesta had remained silent throughout all of it, but Feyre seemed happy here, amongst these fae, and she was their High Lady. The first High Lady ever, and of the greatest and most powerful court in Prythian. It was not what I had been conditioned to expect of it. It was warmer, and led by people who sat around a table like a family, with no apparent pecking order. And I knew that, even if the war would finally be over and we managed to survive it, Feyre would not be returning to the human lands with me, she had found her home.

Chapter Text

Two years have passed since the war. I had gone into Prythian and was finally prepared to give everything to bring my daughters home. To sacrifice anything and make sure the Mortal Lands would be a safe place from these warring Fae. But I hadn’t, my daughters had. And I hadn’t brought them home. Instead they had found a home, or made a home, for themselves, in Prythian. I hadn’t been there when they had needed me, and I had realised they had no need for me now.

The house I’d been left with had felt too big, too empty now. So when I’d heard of one of the governesses in town being out of a job I’d invited her in and allowed her to start teaching children here. Now, morning ‘till night I was surrounded by them; running, singing, yelling, skipping, and most interesting of all, telling stories, stories of the faeries who live north of us.

I am not sure where the children hear all of the tales they continue to spin, but they talk endlessly of lands blanketed in eternal snow, or fields where the spring flowers bloom all year round. My ears perk up especially whenever they would try to scare each other with tales about a court shrouded in endless night, ruled by a Lord so dark and twisted he would invade your thoughts and give you nightmares even while you were wide awake.

I would always grimace at these stories. Rhysand was by no means a cruel High Lord, though truthfully, he did give me nightmares. Not because he had ever been anything but polite to me. No, it had everything to do with the way I’d repeatedly seen him look at my daughter. All of my daughter.

But that had never been the worst of it. The worst had been right after the war, when they had brought me back to Velaris and the entire city was out in the streets celebrating. Not once, as humans would, but for days on end. I’d been out watching the revels for a while, but being old and by no means as spry as the Fae out on the streets, I’d returned to their home a little earlier.

Thinking I’d enjoy a little drink in the quiet living room before turning in for the night I’d settled myself in one of the plush sofas of the town house, already half drifting off, when Rhysand winnowed himself and Feyre in. He immediately had her up against the wall in the hallway, right across from where I’d been peacefully sitting just a moment ago. I’d frozen in place, I had nowhere to go. For once, I would have paid very good money to have the ability to winnow out of there.

Feyre’s legs were wrapped around Rhysand’s waist and her expensive looking dress appeared to have been ripped along the bottom. One of her shoes was lying at their feet and the other appeared to be missing. Somehow all I could think about was where she would have lost her other shoe as Rhysand broke their kiss and started trailing kisses along her jaw and biting down her throat. I forgot all about the damn shoe as Feyre’s panting turned into moans and I noticed that the flap of Rhysand’s dress pants was undone as he rolled his hips forward. I watched her starting to pull at his shirt, which eventually disappeared as if with just a thought.

Part of me, somehow, had to admit that a younger version of myself would probably have killed to have looked like that. But I was brought back to the present as Rhysand ripped open the top part of Feyre’s dress. Why could I not look away? Why could I not move at all? Why was this happening? Why did they not notice me sitting here at all? Could they not both hear other people’s thoughts? I’d thought I might have started to experience heart palpitations when I witnessed Rhysand bow down his head and close his mouth over Feyre’s breast, watching Feyre lean her head back against the wall, gasping, but then they winnowed out again and I heard a door slamming somewhere upstairs. As if a spell had broken, I finally felt my muscles unlock and I slid further back into the sofa, feeling the sweat pour down my back.

I really wished he would at least have had the decency to wipe my memory clean of that particular encounter afterwards. But clearly, he’d been otherwise occupied and hadn’t even noticed I was there. I hadn’t slept a wink that night, I went back out and roamed the streets until sun up, refusing to sleep under the same roof. It had all happened in no more than thirty seconds, but it would be branded into my memory until the day I’d die.

For obvious reasons, I could not tell the children all about what sort of a High Lord I truly knew him to be. So I told them that the High Lord of Nightmares had a High Lady of Dreams and that together they ruled over a city so bright and colourful you couldn’t even capture it in a painting. I told them that the nights in their court were not scary at all, because only then could you see the most beautiful stars and galaxies. And that the sun comes up there as it does here every morning. Not only that, but the High Lord and Lady had a little son, a child “just like all of you”. That usually had them gasping and discussing all afternoon what Court they probably hailed from and why.

In early December a letter arrived from Elain, inviting me back to Velaris for Feyre’s birthday and Solstice. I told the children I had been summoned to the northernmost court in Prythian and immediately the elder children had started gasping, “the Night Court” they had realised. I had told them I could not arrive empty handed and they had set to work immediately, making drawings, pressing flowers from their governess’ little indoor garden and making little toys for the child of the Night Court.

On the day of travelling I walked out into the snowy woods towards the Spring border. Walking in the snow considerably slowed me down, making me hobble on my old legs. Luckily I’d left early enough in the morning to make it to the meeting place by the appointed time. Elain was waiting for me, along with Azriel and Mor to winnow me back to Velaris.

Elain had always been the one to try and keep our family together, to think to include me in everything. Feyre tried to, but she had been on her own two feet for so long she simply didn’t need me anymore. I didn’t blame her, really. And then there was Nesta, who never reached out. Even when I visited Velaris she kept her distance. I supposed I only had myself to thank for that.

“Father, are you alright? You should really just let us pick you up at the house next time”, Elain fussed. “No no, dear, I’m quite alright. It does me well to be out, and it’s better for the children this way”, I answered. “Oh, come, let’s quickly get you inside and get you warmed up”. Such was Elain’s nature, always fussing about everyone. But I let her drag me along and we quickly winnowed to find ourselves in a warm entryway where Mor took my coat and bag.

“Go ahead to the living room”, Mor gestured, “Feyre and Nyx have already arrived. You won’t believe how much he’s grown”, she said fondly. Indeed Feyre was sitting on the carpeted floor next to her son as I rounded the corner of the living room door. The boy was standing up but holding onto his mother for stability as he shook his little wings in a particularly rhythmic dance. I couldn’t help laughing, “Oh how I wish I was young enough to dance with him”, I said. “Hi father”, Feyre said, “Nesta, Cassian and Rhys are on their way here as well”.

We all spend the next half hour watching Nyx as if he were a particularly funny play in a theatre, the boy continuously finding new ways to entertain us. It was almost eerie how much he resembled his father. There would be no doubts about his parentage as seemed to happen in many courts, human and fae alike. Though to my utter dismay, another night in another one of their living rooms had already quashed any and all doubts I could have ever had.

Night was falling as Nesta and the rest of the family arrived. We all said our greetings and quickly Rhysand and Cassian joined Nyx and Feyre on the floor. An amicable quiet had fallen over the group, only interrupted by Nyx’ laughter as his father kept him entertained with fleeting shadows, until Nesta cleared her throat. “So, father, we were thinking and maybe, you could stay at the House of Wind with Cassian and me this time”, she said, “if you’d like”. She looked at Cassian, who nodded at her encouragingly.

I tried my best not to look too surprised. Nesta had always walked away from me, this was the first time she had tried to reach out. They lived in a house with thousands of steps, so I hoped someone would take me up and down them but I nodded immediately, determined not to let this opportunity go to waste. “Yes, I would love that”, I managed. Nesta just gave a curt nod and went to sit by the fire. The evening passed by rather quickly, and soon I found myself at Nesta and Cassian’s house.

Two days had passed since I’d arrived in Velaris. I’d spend them with Elain, Feyre and Nyx as much as possible. Even though I stayed at her house, I hadn’t yet seen much of Nesta. But I’d gladly taken her invitation as an olive branch. I’d scoured the city for presents, both for Nyx and the children at home, and for Solstice that was now less than a week away.

I found myself in my guest room in the House of Wind. It seemed too late to ask anyone to take me into the city but too early to turn in for the night, so I decided to head to the library and pick out something to read for the night. I hadn’t seen or heard Nesta and Cassian since dinner, nor had I been told if they were going out tonight. The house was just so quiet that I found myself automatically creeping through it myself.

I swung open the door of the library and immediately froze in place. I had found Nesta now, straddling Cassian on the chair at the writing desk, her skirt pushed up to around her waist. In the next breath, Cassian had removed his mouth from her throat and swept an arm over the table top, sending flying all that had occupied it just a moment before in order to drop Nesta down atop it. I saw him grab her thigh that was locked around his waist, while her hands were fisted in his hair, kissing him.

It took me about five seconds to get over my shock and silently close the door behind me again. I ran back to my room as fast as my old legs could carry me, bedtime story completely forgotten. Why was this happening to me once again? Why did I have this many daughters? Sure I had been young once too, but never like this. These fae males and their particular appetites for my daughters were ruining my life. This was yet another image I wouldn’t ever be able to burn from my mind, no matter how senile I got. I could only add it to my ever growing collection of traumatic experiences and fatherly horror.