A/N: Hello, friends! So, I'm just letting you know that this story is undergoing severe editing and is being mostly rewritten as of August 2020. My goal is to finish the re-writing and start publishing new chapters by Sep 12.

Feel free to re-read the updated chapters if you've been with me since the start of this story (if you have then thank you), as they'll have enough new content to change the story-line slightly.

This is my first story on the website so please read & review! Reviews are my lifeblood. Constructive criticism is welcomed but no flames please. If you don't like it don't read it, that simple.


Time/Setting: Throne of Glass POVS are set in Empire of Storms when they are on the boat (before Aelin is taken). ACOTAR POVS are set several decades (or something) after the final book and the novella doesn't exist in my mind because suck it, canon.

Disclaimer: I am not (Queen) Sarah J Maas, as much as I wish I was. I do not own ACOTAR and/or Throne of Glass. I only own the story idea and any characters you don't recognise.

Trigger Warnings: For this chapter? Not really anything. Minor flashbacks? Sorta? Also there's going to be a side storyline of Freye's pregnancy so if you find that weird then yeh.

Notes: Italics are used either for flashbacks or for when Freye and Rhys are talking through the bond, hopefully it's clear enough to tell which is which but let me know if it isn't :)

Without further ado...


- - RHYSAND - -

Rhysand, Lord of the Night Court and perhaps one of the most powerful beings currently in existence, cursed. In his battle-scarred hands, that damming letter shook ever so slightly. 20 years. He had been given 20 years of peace with Feyre, barely a ripple in his immortal lifespan.

'Where-ever you are, brother, I will always find you.'

A promise from a lifetime ago, it had never weighed so heavily on his shoulders.

"I will always find you." Rhysand's face was streaked with tears as he held his brother - in all but blood - tightly. "And I you. Oh Rhys… take care of yourself. Try and get that Cassian boy on your side." Rhysand flinched.

"Goodbye, brother."

"No, Rhys. Not goodbye. Until we meet again."

The letter continued to shake. Dead - his brother was dead - or so Rhys had thought. He had never been to Pyrathian. Had never permitted anyone to go to the land of the Fae- their distant kin. So really, he had nothing to go by that said the letter he held in his hand wasn't from Aelin Galathyinious, Assassin Queen of his brother's land. Nothing to go by that said his brother wasn't waiting for Rhys to come, with Cassian and Azriel and Mor, to the aid of his long lost brother and the queen who's reputation had reached even Velaris. But he couldn't. Not when Feyre's stomach grew larger every when he could soon call himself a father. Rhys closed his eyes. His voice, as quiet as the first snowfall had been the night before, felt loud and cruel to his ears.

"Goodbye, brother."

The letter burned to a crisp, before floating away on a phantom wind.

Cassian's voice echoed throughout the house, grumbling about the lack of food. The Illyrian had just returned from one of the still rebellious war camps, and after hours of flying through the bitter winds, Rhys didn't blame him if he wasn't in the best of moods. Heading downstairs, Rhys banished all thoughts of the letter from his mind. Maybe it made him as selfish as Tamlin, but he just really didn't want to go to war again. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, Rhysand arrived just in time to see Cassian near dash to the kitchen, where Elaine was no doubt cooking something that would be good enough that Cassian would propose to the food. Again. At the memory, Rhysand smiled. His mate's contentment shone though the bond. Feyre was with child… he couldn't leave her, even for his brother. And either way, Mor, Azriel and Cassian had been with him since the day 'Lord' appeared before his name. Before that. They were his friends. His family. His court. They had been though more than one war together, but if he asked them to come, to fight in yet another, he would have to explain certain things. And that was one thing he might never be able to do.


- - FREYE - -

Feyre's back hurt. Only nine weeks, and already her stomach was big enough to cause discomfort. Thankfully, it was still easy enough to hide. Only she Mor, and her mate knew as yet. Azriel probably did too. But he was Azriel. He knew everything. Feyre still wasn't entirely certain why she kept it a secret from Cassian and her friends at the paint store - she knew nothing would change if she told them. But it was all still such a novelty, the words foreign in her mouth. As she walked home, an easel under one arm and the other keeping her swollen belly from the biting wind that she didn't quite feel like blocking, Feyre felt Rhy's distress down the bond.

Are you okay? His answer came immediately.

Yes, fine. Some stubborn Illayians are still giving Cass trouble about their wives learning to fight. Nothing he can't handle.

Whatever you say.

How was painting? Feyre didn't miss his subtle change in topic, but she knew that her mate would tell her if anything was truly wrong. Fine. Harriet wasn't there today, so we broke into the fancy paints.

Will I have to find space on some wall for your newest masterpiece?

Yes. At her candid answer, Rhysand's amusement floated down the bond.

Feyre darling... I'll see you at home.

Feyre came to a stop at a long light-post that stood exactly halfway across the bridge that spanned the river. Something about the solitary watch kept by the warm lamp stirred something in her. A memory that could have been a dream.

Nesta squealed as Elaine and Feyre ran after her. They were all thoroughly soaked, but none of them cared as they splashed through the puddles that only a summer rain could create. Still chasing her sisters through the street Feyre looked up for the briefest of moments. They were on a bridge, and right in the middle stood a bright lantern, the candle inside braving the rain. The image burned itself into her mind. It meant something. She knew it. Maybe not now, but later, it would mean something. But Feyre was eight, too young to think of the future to know a sign when she saw one. The lamp once again a lowly lamp, Feyre ran ahead to her sisters.

Feyre staggered slightly, gasping. She was in Velaris once more, standing in the cold staring up at a lamppost. Shaking her head ruefully, she continued back to the manor, chalking the flashback up to the cold.


A/N: So, that's it for this chapter. Kinda short I know, I'm gonna be posting longer chapters as soon as I have time. Don't forget to leave a review! Constructive criticism or even just a friendly comment is welcomed, and if you have any ideas for where you want the story to go I'd love to hear them and I'll do my best to reply.

- Coffee -