Chapter Text
Rhys landed. Snow, dirt and rock sprayed around them, twinkling in the gleam of moonlight. He set his mate down, an arm on her elbow as she steadied herself in the snow. He had landed them a healthy distance away from the star that fell that night. It was his mistake; his greedy, selfish mistake to try and make the spirit shine for longer in the sky than its path intended. In the last century, since the wall’s collapse, the spirits that made their journey every year were fewer and fewer. It broke his heart. Broke it to think that his child would come into a world without knowing what Starfall looked like.
His eyes slid to Feyre, his mate, beside him. A hand on her full round stomach as she gazed at the smoldering patch of ground not too far away from them. She looked so sad as she took in the sight. Rhys’ eyes followed the dark trail that widened until it halted in the ground. Smoke and steam billowed off the mass that lay there. Rhys thought the mass was so small for how big a hole it made.
A gentle hand brushed his shoulder. His eyes immediately found hers, just as they always had, as they always would. “I want to see if they’re alright.” Rhys could hear the worry in her voice, the non-suggestion. And Rhys knew that if he hesitated, Feyre would charge ahead without a second thought. But this was, after all, his fault. So he guided her to where the trail began, to where the snow was cleared enough that they stood on solid ground.
They walked the 20 or so feet to the mound of smoke and steam; small flecks of bluish flame speckled the edges of the path. Not flame, Rhys realized, but swirling strands of starlight he didn’t doubt burned like fire. Starfire, he mused with a small slash of a smile. He’d never seen one of the spirits of Starfall up close, never dared to wonder what those tails of light looked or felt like. A bitter kind of satisfaction washed over him as they neared the mass where the spirit lay.
Feyre gasped, and he whirled; his senses flaring at his mate’s sudden shock and flicker of fear he could feel echoed down the bond between them. Not a spirit. It wasn’t a spirit at all, or, at least not what he expected one of the Starfall spirits to look like. She was a Faerie. High Fae by the angular features and delicate point of her ears.
“Rhys what did you do?” Feyre breathed and she took hurried steps closer to the female. An atrocity, that’s what he’d done. Forced a spirit to crash land on his mountain for the sake of enjoying it’s presence for a moment longer. “Stop that.” Feyre said cooly as she kneeled awkwardly around her full belly. The corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. He knelt beside his mate and helped to straighten out the female’s limbs, rolled her more squarely on her back, brushed golden hair from her face. Feyre splayed a hand over the female’s body, a soft white glow emitting from her fingertips. Rhys watched as her hand shown with the power gifted from the Dawn Court, watched her as she assessed.
“Good news,” Feyre began, her hand passing over a second time for good measure, “She’s just passed out. Nothing broken besides a few scratches and bruises that are already healing.” Feyre sliced a glance at him, and then back to the body before them, her lips curling between her teeth.
“What is it?” Rhys finally asked, sensing her growing distress.
Feyre wrapped a cautious arm around her belly, “She’s not even settled Rhys.” Tears swelled in her eyes and slipped over a cheek. “She’s so young.”
“But,” Rhys tried, “she’ll be alright.” Feyre nodded. “So why are-”
“Rowan?”
They froze. The voice was small and strained. Tired. The two High Fae exchanged a wary glance before Rhys ventured, “There is no Rowan here.” Turquoise eyes rimmed with gold fluttered open, awake. A strange, otherworldly essence had Rhys shifting between Feyre and the female. Her eyes landed on Rhys and recoiled, not at him he realized, but at the wings tucked behind him. He smiled at her carefully. “What is your name?” Rhys pushed, stretching out a hand to help her sit up.
She did not take it. She recoiled further, going so far as to move as far away from him as she could get in the little ditch. “Where is Rowan?” And although she demanded the answer, the panic that Rhys scented on her told him she knew this Rowan would not be found here. Rhys angled his head at her as he sent a tendril of his mind at her. She had no mental barriers up. Not even remnants of one. He schooled his face into unthreatening warmness as his tendril of power soothed and carressed her mind to calm.
“Please, tell us your name.” Feyre had stood, one hand on Rhys’ shoulder, the other on her stomach. A look of recognition flashed across the female’s face. Her strange, turquoise eyes darted from Feyre to Rhys. He cringed as he felt the thoughts cross her mind.
“You.” She snarled, her elongated canines flashing, and eyes swirling with hate, “You made me fall. Why?” She demanded, practically spitting.
“It was a mistake.” Rhys said smoothly, his dark tendril of power still coaxing her mind. He did not want to change or alter anything, no he felt that doing so would be wrong. But, despite having no mental shields or walls, her mind was steadfast, stubborn. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any harm by it.” Rhys added quickly.
Rhys and Feyre watched as she slumped against the wall of the ditch. A bitter, soulless laugh escaped her lips, “No,” she said, curling her legs to her chest, “I suppose you didn’t.”
Helpless. She looked so utterly helpless. Rhys’ tendril of power was still inside her mind. Thoughts of places and people he had never seen or met raced through her. Images of battles in a city’s streets, in a marsh, and on sea. Scenes between her and a lover - not a lover, mate, passed through her mind. A feeling of reaching for a bond that no longer existed. Nausea roiled in Rhys’ gut and he resisted the urge to reach for Feyre’s hand lest he give himself away.
He pulled his power from her mind just as she asked, “Have you heard of a place called Erilea?” Rhys’ violet eyes met hers, a last glimmer of hope twinkling. He smiled weakly and shook his head, realizing fully that this young, Faerie female truly was not of this world. She pulled her knees in tighter, arms wrapping around them, and she was enveloped in those swirling bluish flames, speckled with little white lights. Starfire. Unknown and new. Volatile. The blue swirls expanded, pulsating with every sob of the female.
“Rhys!” Feyre warned as a lick of that starfire edged dangerously near them. Rhys winced as he threw out his power towards the erupting female’s mind once more. He urged her mind to sleep. To pass through this unbearable torment, whatever cruelty fate put her through. Sleep, his power urged. And the starfire ebbed, coiling back into the female. Sleep.
“Aelin,” Rhys said as he scooped up the now sleeping female. Feyre just stared at the golden hair, the scratched face. “Her name is Aelin.” Feyre nodded solemnly, wrapping an arm around his waist.
And they winnowed home.