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Part 1 of The Contemplation Saga
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Published:
2022-02-19
Updated:
2023-11-10
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Contemplation

Summary:

Nesta can’t save Feyre's life in time in ACOSF, so Feyre dies in childbirth… and wakes up 3 years in the past, just as she was resurrected as a High Fae by the High Lords. Feyre has been given a second chance, a chance to change her future. And she’s going to take it.

Notes:

Because I hate y’all for focusing on Rhysand's trauma more than Feyre's. Feyre is the one who was on death's door giving birth to Nyx, not the stupid bat. If Rhysand died by association because of their stupid death pact that's his problem. Feyre deserves better. And she's going to get it. :)

Chapter 1: New Beginnings

Chapter Text

All Feyre could think about was the pain. She had worried for Nyx, of course, and what would happen to him if she and Rhysand both died. But now… the pain was overwhelming. She couldn’t even scream anymore.

Faintly, she thought she heard one member of the Inner Circle—one of the traitors —tell her to hang on, because Nesta was coming. Coming to say goodbye, probably. But Feyre truly could not. Not anymore.

The edges of her vision had gone dark, and she found it harder and harder to breathe. Rhysand was screaming. She was sorry—not for him, but for Nyx, for their baby. 

For her sweet, innocent child, who would grow up without both of his parents. If he survived her death.

The entire world was dark now, reduced to darkness and pain.

Distantly, Feyre swore she heard Nesta’s voice, swore she heard something. ‘I love you,’ it sounded like. But she was tired… so tired. And the darkness was warm, inviting. Comforting. So Feyre fell into that darkness, and Feyre let the darkness claim her. 

And Feyre Archeron died.

~~~

Feyre woke up with a gasp, a different kind of pain searing through her, and a feeling of disgust, a kind of revulsion seeping through her veins—

Then she heard the crowds of people around her, chanting and crying and she felt her senses become overwhelmed because of all of the sights and sounds and smells around her and she couldn’t breathe—

Where was she?

Then there were strong but gentle hands on her shoulders, and a voice from behind her. “It was the only way we could save you.”

That was— that was— 

Feyre clenched her hands into fists, then turned around, being met with Tamlin’s unmasked face. And to the side, she saw Amarantha’s dead body. And the bodies of the two faeries she’d killed. The fae she’d murdered.

This was— it had to be—

She shuddered, falling to all fours, unable to believe what she was seeing. Hearing. Experiencing.

She felt that soft touch on her shoulders again, and gradually Tamlin pulled her to her feet, and guided her away from everyone else. She remembered this, from last time. 

Last— last time. So this was real, then. She was in the past. Nesta must have done something, probably with the intention of saving her life, of giving her more time, but instead she’d… she’d sent Feyre back. Back in time. 

A second chance, a chance to change things. To change her fate. And by the Cauldron, was Feyre going to take it.

Chapter 2: Speaking Up

Summary:

Aka: Feyre debates what to do, and makes a decision that could change the course of her relationships.

Notes:

Like the chapter before this one, this chapter picks up in ACOTAR chapter 46.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Feyre and Tamlin were sitting in a small room, now, the same room Feyre recalled they’d been in last time. And again, he was inspecting the wounds on her legs, healing them as he went along. Feyre remembered from last time that he would take a while fussing over her, so she had a few minutes, at least, to plan her next actions.

She wasn’t entirely certain what she wanted to do, yet. All Feyre knew was that she didn’t want to die in childbirth in three years. Perhaps she could let things play out exactly as they had last time, and simply avoid deciding to have a child with Rhysand until centuries from now. But…

Feyre bit her lip. Her pregnancy had revealed something ugly about the Inner Circle—they prioritized Rhysand’s orders, his wants, his feelings, over her very life. How long would it be before she was stuck in another life-threatening scenario because Rhysand asked them to withhold information from her? It hurt, to think of the Inner Circle that way, but some part of Feyre knew it was true. 

And even if Feyre waited longer before having a child with Rhysand, it would still be hard to avoid another scenario like her fatal pregnancy with Nyx. Rhysand was half Illyrian. Even if Feyre never shifted into Illyrian form during sex, it was likely that the Illyrian wing-gene from Rhysand was dominant, and any child of theirs would have wings as well. Having any child with Rhysand would be a danger to her health. 

Perhaps the safest thing to do would be staying away from her mate—at least until Feyre worked out a plan, or figured out some way to safely carry a winged child to term. 

Cauldron, she had a headache. But when Feyre closed her eyes, all she saw was the dead bodies of the fae she’d murdered, the blood on her hands.

She opened her eyes again and shivered. Her trauma felt fresh and visceral and raw . Would she have to heal, all over again?

Feyre released a shuddering breath, and Tamlin looked up, concerned. She’d forgotten he’d been here, honestly. And Tamlin… was a whole other problem to tackle. Joy.

“Feyre,” he began, cupping her face, “how can I ever repay you for what you did?”

Feyre looked down, for a moment, before deciding to answer as she had last time. “You don’t need to.” Actually, you could repay me by offering emotional support. But I suppose that’d be too much to expect from you, wouldn’t it?

Sighing, Tamlin let go of her face and looked to her hands. Feyre was surprised, for a moment, that he seemed to be doting on her. She’d felt that Tamlin had abandoned her, last time. Left her to fend for herself and wallow in her trauma. But now that she thought back on it—

Tamlin had tried, multiple times, to engage her. To talk to her about how she’d felt, to explain what she’d wanted, to discuss her feelings, and he’d begun—he’d begin —in just a few moments. And every time, Feyre had shut him down. Then she’d blamed him, later on, for not knowing how she felt. And Feyre had found it amazing that Rhysand instinctively knew how she felt, with no work required on her part. Now that she thought about it, though, it was a huge invasion of her privacy.

Shaking her head, Feyre’s thoughts returned to Tamlin again. Perhaps it had been slightly unfair to expect him to know her feelings… without her telling him what her feelings were. Slightly.

The aforementioned High Lord grasped her left hand, looking over the tattoo on it, and frowned. “Feyre…”

Sighing, Feyre thought back to what had happened the first time she’d lived through this day. Last time she’d said she hadn’t wanted to talk about it, and when he’d tried to ask her about the fae she’d murdered, she’d told him ‘later’ and had distracted him from his question with sex. Perhaps… perhaps things would be different if she responded to his questions and actually verbalized her feelings. “The tattoo is the least of my worries right now,” Feyre said, unable to meet his eyes.

“Do you mean the faeries you were forced to—”

“Don’t say it,” Feyre interjected. It wasn’t any easier than it’d been last time. 

She shivered for a moment, and Tamlin sat beside her. “You shouldn’t feel guilty for something Amarantha did.”

“She didn’t exactly force me to stab them, though. I made a choice, and chose to stab them and not myself instead.”

Tamlin merely tilted his head. “If your choices are either ‘do this’ or ‘irreparable harm to yourself or those you care about,’ it’s not a choice, Feyre.”

His words were… refreshing, yet it’d be a while before Feyre truly internalized them and took them to heart. Feyre contemplated what she should say for a moment. “Can we talk about this later? I’m… tired. Just… stay with me, please. Support me.”

Tamlin nodded, and, laying down, he pulled her against him.

Feyre sighed, somewhat relieved that the contact was merely platonic in nature, and intended to be comforting rather than sexual.

And yet… Feyre was surprised at the simple breakthrough she’d had with Tamlin by simply talking to him about her feelings. Maybe some reflection, some contemplation about her first time living through this, could help Feyre change more than she thought.

Notes:

Sooooo don’t attack me but super unpopular opinion here. Feyre is NOT responsible for Tamlin's abuse, but she IS partially responsible for her dissatisfaction with her and Tamlin's relationship in the first 5ish chapters of ACOMAF. Prior to the wedding, there is no abuse, and in that time period, she and Tamlin have a communication breakdown. That is the time period I am referring to here. Do NOT twist my words.

Anyway, this communication breakdown largely contributes to how toxic their relationship would eventually become. And it is a failure on BOTH of them. In ACOMAF, Feyre explains that she doesn’t want to burden Tamlin, so she avoids discussing her feelings and shuts down conversations Tamlin tries to have about them. But if you pay attention, you’ll actually see that this trauma response, refusing to discuss her feelings and everything, begins in ACOTAR:

“Tamlin held my face in his hands, leaning close, but then released me and grasped my left arm—my tattooed arm. His brows narrowed as he studied the markings. ‘Feyre—‘
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ I mumbled. The bargain I had with Rhysand—another small concern compared to the stain on my soul, the pit inside it. But I didn’t doubt I’d see Rhys again soon.
Tamlin’s fingers traced the marks of my tattoo. ‘We’ll find a way out of this,’ he murmured, and his hand traveled up my arm to rest on my shoulder. He opened his mouth, and I knew what he would say—the subject he would try to broach.
I couldn’t talk about it, about them—not yet. So I breathed ‘Later’ and hooked my feet around his legs, drawing him closer. I placed my hands on his chest, feeling the heart beating beneath. This—I needed this right now.”

Not wanting to discuss your feelings and your trauma is normal and fine. HOWEVER, later in ACOMAF, Feyre berates Tamlin for not… instinctively knowing what she needs and how she feels? Feyre can't refuse to discuss how she feels and then get mad when Tamlin… doesn’t know how she feels. Conversely, she can't talk about how AMAZING Rhysand is for knowing how she is feeling when he only knows because he read her mind.

Feyre is bad at communicating, and that is OK because that is a CHARACTER FLAW. I could write an essay about how this flaw affects all the relationships Feyre has with every other character in this series, ESPECIALLY Nesta and Elain, and how it makes her very well rounded character (or it WOULD, if it were addressed as a flaw for her to learn and grow from beyond the first book) because I really LOVE Feyre's character as it is in book 1, but that’d be way too long 😅

But, at any rate, it’s a flaw I’m addressing in here, and based on both Tamlin AND Feyre's characterizations, I feel like things would have turned out way better if they’d actually… talked. For like, 2 seconds. So many things could have been resolved by the two of them talking in chapter one of ACOMAF. For example: the whole dress issue? The text says Ianthe picks the dresses? Nowhere, absolutely NOWHERE does Tamlin say Feyre has to wear dresses. Feyre just should have said “hey, I don’t like dresses” and left it at that. I doubt that the dude who fell in love with her when she was wearing pants 90% of the time in book 1 would flip a lid if she chose to wear pants again? Not that Tamlin isn’t a jackass in other ways, mind you, but MANY of the issues they had could have been resolved if they simply talked like two adults.

So Imma say it again to forestall any argument: Tamlin is 100% responsible for his abuse. However, in the beginning of ACOMAF, when Feyre is merely dissatisfied with her relationship and it has not turned abusive yet, that is in part due to HER OWN refusal to explain how she feels and what she wants to Tamlin.

This being said… mind the tags. Feylin is going to be fluffy and sweet for a while, but do not trust it. Don’t fall for the trap. Feylin is not endgame, and do not be fooled into thinking they get to stay together.

Also: I’m sorry to the ACOHAS fans. The next chapter is coming. It’s just coming slowly.

Chapter 3: The Pull

Summary:

Aka: Rhysand calls Feyre to him using their bond. And she is tired™️

Notes:

I was kind of nervous to update this given it’s my most controversial fanfic, but 🤷🏾♀️

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The pull woke Feyre up. Rhysand. Sighing, Feyre turned over and tried to fall asleep again. 

Though a part of Feyre cried out for her mate, the rational part of her mind knew where things would ultimately lead between them. Death. And the emotional part of Feyre felt slightly… incensed, that she had actually died because of him. 

And yet, he was being persistent. The pull continued, much to Feyre’s irritation. Perhaps slightly incensed was an understatement.

So eventually Feyre gave in, leaving Tamlin behind in the bed and walking up to the balcony where she knew Rhysand was waiting. As before, he had his wings tucked closely behind him, and he was staring off into the distance, beyond the snow-capped mountains, turning around to look at Feyre just as she approached.

Feyre crossed her arms. Last time she’d tried to be angry with him, but hadn’t been able to truly get upset. But now? After he’d promised to never keep secrets from her, had promised to never act like Tamlin—but had instead become worse than Tamlin, willing to let her die in childbirth? Even as a part of Feyre longed for her mate’s embrace, to say Feyre was livid with Rhysand would be an understatement.

“What do you want?” she bit out, surprising even herself with the amount of vitriol in her voice.

Rhysand frowned, taking a step back. “Just to say goodbye, before your beloved whisks you off forever.” Feyre was still unsure of how she wanted to work out things between her and Tamlin, and calling him her beloved was certainly not true anymore, but Feyre wasn’t really sure she wanted Rhysand to know that. And Feyre remembered what she’d told herself last night—she had to avoid Rhysand until she discovered how to carry a winged child to term. 

After humming to herself for a moment, Feyre said, “That would be true if you removed our bargain.” She extended her left hand, letting him see the whorls of her tattoo, before she continued. “I’d be willing to put everything that happened Under the Mountain behind us if you removed it.”

Rhysand shook his head, a sly smile crossing his lips. “Unfortunately, I’m not interested in removing it.”

“Please?”

“No.”

Feyre put her hand down, frowning back at Rhysand, who, at least, looked slightly sympathetic. “Goodbye, then.” It was as Feyre turned around that she felt Rhysand’s hand on her arm.

“Wait,” Rhysand said. 

Feyre sighed. After dying in childbirth and time traveling, she was tired. Why couldn’t he just let her sleep? 

Turning to face Rhysand again, Feyre glowered at him before he spoke. “How are you… feeling?”

“I’ve been better. And I’ve been worse.” With that, Feyre yanked her arm out of Rhysand’s grasp and retreated down to the dark hallways Under the Mountain.

Notes:

Constructive criticism and comments are welcome!

Chapter 4: Talking

Summary:

Aka: Feyre continues to develop her communication skills.

Notes:

I am really on a roll with updating all my fics today. The next chapter of ACOHAS should hopefully be out no later than Tuesday. :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Leaving Under the Mountain was the same as it had been last time, but as Feyre stood beside Tamlin on the rolling meadows of the Spring Court, she didn’t feel the same certainty and peace she’d felt before. 

She knew, of course, how to escape Tamlin, if things went as badly as they had before, but now that they were openly communicating, Feyre wasn’t so sure that they would. Perhaps they’d have a peaceful breakup and separation. 

But there was also Rhysand and the Inner Circle to consider. 

Feyre frowned for a moment. Perhaps she ought to work on building connections elsewhere, prior to leaving the Spring Court for Velaris. That way she’d have people in her corner—friends who’d support her until she’d spent as many decades as it took for the Inner Circle to respect her. But where?

Feyre was still thinking when Tamlin’s voice startled her. “Are you alright?” Green eyes met hers, wide and curious.

Feyre paused for a moment, and considered what to say. She’d asked Tamlin to support her , and she was trying to do her part and keep open communication with him . Voicing her needs as early on as possible, so that neither of them would be worried and overwhelmed later on— 

After another moment, Feyre finally spoke. “I was just thinking about”—she gestured to her neck, and Tamlin winced—“and I was just trying to keep my mind clear.” Feyre sighed and shivered. It was now or never. “I have to… I have to keep my mind off of it, Tam. I need to stay busy. Because if I don’t… I’m afraid I’ll drown.”

Tamlin had stilled beside her, and Feyre held her breath, waiting a moment before chancing a glance at the High Lord. But where she’d expected anger, she found… surprise, instead. “You want to keep busy?” He asked, voice soft. 

Feyre frowned and nodded. “If I don’t, I’ll..” she bit her lip, trying to work out how to articulate her feelings. Cauldron, she was bad at this. It was so much easier with Rhysand, who could simply read her mind and instinctively knew how she felt, and not for the first time Feyre felt a deep cord of longing for her mate. “... then she’ll win. I can’t let her win, Tam.” Feyre didn’t need to explain who ‘her’ was.”

Tamlin seemed surprised again, mouth parted slightly, and eyes wide, before he nodded. For a moment, Feyre wondered if he’d assumed before that she wanted to rest. In fact, that was probably it, now that Feyre thought about it. Prior to Amarantha, she and Tamlin had bonded over being forced to take responsibility for others, and she’d told Tamlin that she wanted to be taken care of, because she’d been forced to care for her family. It had been months later when she finally articulated to Tamlin that she had changed, no longer desiring to be cared for. 

Perhaps she also should work on her communication skills before heading to Velaris, too.

Feyre let out a shuddering sigh, then continued. “Promise me.”

Tamlin frowned, tilting his head. “Promise you what?”

“Promise me you’ll let me stay busy, and won’t let me drown. Won’t shut me out.” 

Perhaps a promise was useless, as Rhysand himself had promised to never act like Tamlin, and had become like him anyway. But it was still a relief when Tamlin nodded and said, “I promise.” Then they were back at Rosehall, and he gently led her inside. “I promise I’ll keep you involved. That I won’t shut you out.” Tamlin cupped her face and kissed her forehead before he went on. “I won’t let you drown.”

Feyre thought back to what had happened last time. Perhaps it was an empty promise. And yet… she looked back to Tamlin again, and smiled.

Perhaps discussion early on would change things. And if it worked with Tamlin, then maybe, just maybe, it would work with Rhysand and the Inner Circle as well.

Notes:

A few things:
1- this is my final warning to not fall for Feylin. LAST WARNING.

2- I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Feyre's poor communication skills are a realistic character flaw. But it's a flaw that worsens as the series goes on, because arguably the worst thing for a poor communicator was to be paired up with a mind reader. Rhysand hurts Feyre's development as a character, because after him, she just... expects people to instinctively know what she wants. And this, IMO, feeds heavily into her issues with her sisters. She's also forced to be reliant on her mind-reader because he IS a good communicator, and it allows Rhysand some measure of control over what information she knows. So communication skills are going to be developed here. :)

3- I've changed the tags for this fic, as I've decided to split this into two fanfics instead of one, because the 'plot twist' is simply too big of a tonal shift for it to work as one cohesive fic. The sequel, Retribution, is empty for now, and it will be until after this one is over. That said, I already have it all planned out. Thus, the updated tags.

Chapter 5: Nightmare

Summary:

AKA: Although angry at Rhysand, when Feyre has a nightmare, she misses her mate.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The nightmares had come that night, and they were just as bad as Feyre remembered. The innocent faeries’ pleads, Amarantha’s taunting laugh, the blood on her hands—

As though nothing had changed, she awoke nauseous, and scarcely had time before she was vomiting in the toilet down the hall.

She was so vile , and blood was on her hands, nothing but a murderess who’d been hailed as a savior—

The door behind her opened with a click, and Feyre heard footsteps behind her before a heavy presence was at her side. “Feyre,” Tamlin said, but she merely rolled his eyes and swatted him away, though with her head still over the toilet bowl Feyre doubted he saw either movement. 

She didn’t want him here, truly. She wanted Rhysand , no matter how angry she was at him. Yes, he’d let her die last time, but he’d also understood her, had made her happy. He’d made life so much better , no matter how short it had been. She wanted Rhysand, and she wanted him back.

So she ignored Tamlin as he tried to talk to her—it was pointless, anyway—and she ignored him as he bent down and pulled her against him. But Feyre was tired. So tired. So she closed her eyes and pretended it was Rhysand, holding her close. Rhysand, stroking her hair and telling her it was ok. Rhysand, kissing her forehead and holding her close.

And if she pretended it was Rhysand, in a world, a day, a time when her pregnancy with Nyx hadn’t shattered their happiness—then Feyre found it was incredibly easy for her to drift to sleep.

Notes:

Very short, I know. But I'm still getting back into the swing of writing after some vacations, and the chapter of ACOHAS I've been writing for weeks now still isn't done despite it being freaking long, so I really gotta focus on completing that. I wanna have it done and posted sometime this week. :)

And I know I said last chapter that that was the final warning not to trust Feylin, but I lied. THIS is the final warning not to trust Feylin. Don't fall for it. Don't believe the hype.

Chapter 6: Honesty

Summary:

aka: Tamlin has nightmares, but they aren't Feyre's problem. More communication happens. And Feyre begins to feel hopeful about potentially finding allies before she joins the Night Court.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Feyre slept, for a while, but was awoken hours later by the bed creaking as Tamlin left it. Feyre kept her eyes closed and carefully controlled her breathing, hoping he wouldn’t realize she was awake as well, as she listened to Tamlin’s breathing, ragged and panicked. He must’ve had a nightmare, then.

A heartbeat later, and the sharp tang of magic filled the air. Then Feyre heard Tamlin’s significantly heavier, plodding footsteps as he walked towards the edge of the bed and curled up on the ground beside it. She remembered this from last time, too—Tamlin’s shapeshifting into the beast at night, awakened and alert from his nightmares. 

Still, Feyre kept up her act. There was nothing she could do, and no point in trying, after all.

~~~

The sun was bright and shining the next morning, as though the land itself was rejoicing that it was free from Amarantha’s rule. Tamlin had gently shaken Feyre awake, and she’d stumbled after him to breakfast, half asleep. Feyre had forgotten the deep exhaustion she’d felt in those first few days immediately after Amarantha—her body struggling with its new form—and almost wanted to ask him if she could begin working tomorrow, instead. But there was always the chance that he’d take her exhaustion as a sign to keep things from her, to shut her out and lock her away—

Feyre stiffened, and shook her head, hoping to clear her mind. Never again. Never again would she allow that to happen. She would simply keep as busy as possible here, and perhaps try to make allies where she could, until Rhysand took her to Velaris.

So when Tamlin turned to Feyre after breakfast and asked her if she wanted to join him in meeting with the subordinate lords of the Spring Court, she said yes, despite her exhaustion.

The meeting was meant to be short—Tamlin simply needed to instruct them all to spend the next week surveying their individual territories of the Spring Court, then to report back to him on all the damage that had occurred and how many people needed to be resettled, and to distribute aid to all those under them until things were fully rebuilt—but after the whirlwind of names Feyre was given as the lords were introduced to her, the meeting seemed to go on for eons. 

And her pounding headache didn’t help things, either. Feyre closed her eyes, for a moment, and raised a hand to her forehead; but a mere second later she felt Tamlin’s gentle hand on her shoulder.

When she opened her eyes, the lords were gone. Feyre’s face burned. She must have blacked out, then.

A warm hand cupped her face, and stealing a glance up, she was met with Tamlin’s concerned gaze. “Your body’s still adjusting, Feyre. You don’t have to do everything so fast.”

Feyre shook her head. “I want to help you, and the court. I want to keep busy.” She didn’t want to be shut out, locked away—

”I know,” Tamlin mumbled, trailing his thumb against her lower lip, “I know you want to keep busy to keep your mind off of what happened. Off Amrantha. But… is it really better to work yourself to death and burn yourself out while your body is still adjusting?” His referencing of her words the day before—when she’d begged him not to let Amarantha win by allowing Feyre to drown in her trauma—was a light balm to Feyre’s soul, and it eased some of her worry. He’d listened , and she was grateful. 

He’d spoken softly, and Feyre’s exhausted mind slowly turned it over, thinking. Then she said, “I just don’t want to be shut out and left alone, like I was Under the Mountain. Even if that means pushing myself to the brink.” 

Tamlin winced, and nodded, even as he frowned. “What if you tell me when you’re exhausted and rest when you’re tired”—Feyre opened her mouth to protest, but Tamlin continued before she could—“and I keep you informed on everything happening around the court? I’ll be fully honest with you—but you need to be completely honest with me, too.”

“You won’t shut me out?” Feyre clarified, and she sighed in relief when Tamlin shook his head.

“But you need to be honest with me too, Feyre.”

It didn’t seem too horrible of an idea, at least on the surface. So long as they stayed balanced. So Feyre nodded, and admitted, “I’m pretty exhausted now.”

Tamlin smiled. “I figured as much. Come on.” He took her hand and led her out the room, back up to her bedroom on the second floor of the manor, but instead of leaving like she’d assumed he would, he sat down at the edge of her bed and magicked a few books beside him. 

“I thought you might be interested in learning a little more about our court’s regions and provinces—and the smaller territories within where each of the lords reigns over—before going back to sleep,” Tamlin explained, though his tone was questioning, almost. As though he was trying to ascertain whether she wanted him to stay or go. A choice. How unlike Tamlin.

Feyre sat up in bed, and nodded. Last time she hadn't wanted anything to do with his courtiers, had been so consumed with trauma that she wasn't interested in trying to get to know his lords or understand their lands. But now? She could hold out a little longer, and if she was going to stay busy and help Tamlin around the court, she needed a lot more knowledge about it. More than she'd had last time. “Don’t you have work to do, though? With everyone needing to be resettled?”

Tamlin shrugged. “I do. But before I can do too much work around the court, I need to wait to hear back from all my lords, first, about what exactly needs to be done around the court.” Feyre recalled from the meeting that it would take around a week for them to all report back to Tamlin. “And although I used a good portion of my magic yesterday to restore most of the manor, many of the servants are using their own magic to clean up and finish the final touches, so I’m free to spend time with you for now.”

Tamlin had found a way to make time for her, then. Something in Feyre’s heart warmed at the thought. Maybe Tamlin himself could remain an ally after she left and joined Rhysand in the Night Court. But she could worry about that later. Instead, Feyre leaned forward to look at the stack of geography and history books Tamlin had brought—the words on the titles again appearing foreign to her, so she’d have to relearn how to read, apparently—while Tamlin grabbed one and flipped through until he found a carefully drawn map of the court, divided up into its provinces, with smaller lines in each province breaking them into smaller territories. The territories of each lord, Feyre eventually realized. 

Then Tamlin began to speak, and by the time she eventually fell back asleep an hour later, the Spring Court was the least unknowable it’d ever been.

Notes:

Sorry for the long wait y'all! I've been very busy lately.

Btw, I got a tumblr account! I'm bookishfeylin, so feel free to stop on by!

And constructive criticism and comments are welcome!

Chapter 7: Adjusting

Summary:

Aka: Feyre is adjusting, and decides she needs to speed up the timetable of her learning how to read in order to make the most of being sent back in time.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The next few days, and the first few weeks after, fell into a sort of pattern.

Feyre ate breakfast with Tamlin, Lucien, and a few of his other courtiers. Some days she rested around the manor, sleeping all day as her body adjusted to the change, and grilling Tamlin for details about what he’d done the minute he returned in the evening. And other days, especially after those first two weeks, when Feyre began to feel less exhausted and more settled in her body, she accompanied Tamlin and Lucien around the court. And at night, when Feyre awoke nauseous and slick with sweat from her nightmares, Tamlin woke up with her and offered her comfort.

Feyre knew better than to let her guard down, but for now—for now things were ok. Tamlin himself also awoke from his nightmares on a near-daily basis, but his behavior hadn’t worsened, so Feyre didn’t bother to wake and help him. He appeared to be coping well, and although she was cautious Feyre felt more… secure than she had last time. Things were under control in the Spring Court, and should things spiral again, Rhysand would rescue her.

But there was always her impending pregnancy to think of, and worry over her fate was the only thing that kept Feyre from relaxing fully. Nesta had given her another chance, and it couldn’t be squandered. 

So three weeks after leaving Under the Mountain, Feyre declined Tamlin’s offer to join him and Lucien in visiting and rebuilding yet another village, and instead went to the manor’s study instead, hoping she could at least begin to relearn how to read. After she became literate again, she could scour the books in Tamlin’s library for information about childbirth—about winged childbirth, specifically—and she could learn about any potential treatments to aid in it. Hopefully. 

But that required being able to read, first, and after spending several of the morning’s hours trying to write sentences in the study, it was safe to say that literacy was going to take longer than she’d thought. It was almost like something was keeping Feyre from learning, keeping her from learning to write on her own. Like her mind was covered in a fog. Strange.

Feyre shook her head and sighed, knowing better than to give in to her own conspiracy theories. But that didn’t change her own illiteracy, and Feyre was just regretting her choice to stay in the manor and was debating heading to the stables and riding out to find Lucien and Tamlin when the sound of someone clearing their throat caught Feyre’s attention. 

Looking up, Feyre nearly jumped as she noticed one of Tamlin’s courtiers, a noble overseeing one of the territories in the western province of the Spring Court adjacent to the manor and its lands, had evidently been watching her. Blinking back her embarrassment, Feyre racked her memory for the female’s name, but trying to remember was like grasping at smoke.

The High Fae noble stepped forward, a soft smile lighting up her warm brown face. Then: “It’s an honor to speak with you, Cursebreaker. I was wondering what you were doing in here and if—if I could be of assistance in any way?”

Feyre’s face heated further at the title and at the question, and she stammered for an answer. “I—I appreciate the offer. I’m just trying to—” Feyre winced as she cut herself off, debating what to say. Learn how to read? Admitting she truly was, and always would be, an ignorant, illiterate beast until Rhysand made her into the best version of herself?” 

But the Lady didn’t rush her, or appear judgmental. Instead, she pushed her box braids out of her face as she leaned forward, looking over Feyre’s paper and books, eyebrows furrowing as it dawned on her what Feyre was attempting to do. “I’ve taught my younger siblings to read. I could help you, if you’d like.”

Feyre hesitated for a moment, thinking over the offer, before nodding. There wasn’t any harm in it, as far as she could tell. And she seemed… Friendly. “I’m Mara.”

“I’m Feyre. But you—you already knew that.”

Mara laughed, pulling up a chair and grabbing a pen and a sheet of paper of her own. 

Allies, Feyre thought. I need allies . And maybe… maybe opening up to people, and accepting help and making conversation even when it was painfully embarrassing… maybe this was the path to getting them.

Notes:

Comments and constructive criticism are welcome :)

Chapter 8: Mara

Summary:

Aka- Feyre struggles to read for some bizarre reason, and she gets to know Mara even better. :)

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Mara was incredibly patient with Feyre as the hours ticked by and morning bled into afternoon, but no matter how hard she tried, Feyre just couldn’t grasp reading and writing. For whatever reason, she struggled with actually seeing the letters, much less actually writing them down, and long after lunchtime had passed—and been ignored by them both—Feyre sat back with a huff, trying to claw back her mounting frustration and swallow her humiliation. 

But if Mara was judgmental, she didn’t act like it. “It’s hard to become literate as an adult,” she said quietly, offering a low smile. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

Feyre snorted, feeling little but ashamed, but managed, “I appreciate it.”

Perhaps this was her punishment, what she deserved for murdering those fae Under the Mountain—

Feyre gulped and pushed the thoughts away, trying to remember what Rhysand had taught her. How he’d fixed her. But it was just like trying to read and write. Her mind went blank, and her memories were… vague. Feyre frowned.

Noticing her expression, Mara closed the book and turned to Feyre once again. “Maybe you need a break.”

“I do.” Feyre mumbled. Then a thought occurred to her. “Where are your lands? Your jurisdiction, I mean?”

Mara raised a brow at the abrupt change in subject, but didn’t object. “Adjacent to Lord Tamlin’s. Perhaps you’d like to see...?”

Feyre nodded, and followed Mara as she stood up. Leaving behind their books and notepads, the pair exited the study and made their way through the manor, quickly notifying a servant of their destination before heading to the stables. Mounting on their horses, Mara offered Feyre a small smile and said, “Follow me.”

~~~

It took a solid hour of riding before they’d cleared the entirety of Tamlin’s estate and were able to cross the border into Mara’s territory.

And, away from the stifling atmosphere of the study, and with nothing to do during the ride but talk, Feyre was able to gradually learn more and more about her new acquaintance. Mara was 75 years old—scarcely an adult among the High Fae, Feyre remembered—who came to be the Lady of her territory of the Spring Court when her parents were killed 50 years prior during Amarantha’s takeover. In the aftermath she’d been left raising her younger siblings—the now 55 year old twins Anara and Gavin—by herself. 

Amarantha has truly caused so much senseless loss, Feyre thought, and not for the first time she was glad the former High Queen was gone. But what surprised Feyre was Mara’s apparent lack of a desire for any children of her own in the future.

“You don’t want children?” Feyre had asked, thinking back to all of her hoping and planning and dreaming after she’d learned of her own pregnancy with Nyx. Her disastrous pregnancy with Nyx.

“After raising the twins I’d like to take my time before having children,” Mara admitted. “But I wouldn’t mind some eventually, I suppose. And with the right person. But in my situation, I’ll have to be careful if and who I wed.”

“Careful?”

“Our politics are cutthroat.” Mara said.

“So I’ve been told.”

“It’s undoubtedly worse than anything you’re probably imagining,” Mara sighed, shaking her head. “Many Lords would wed me, not for love, but simply to add my territory to theirs to give a greater inheritance to their children and increase their own influence.”

“I see.” Perhaps Mara could use an ally, too. And maybe one day they’d be much, much more than that.

It took Mara clearing her throat to draw Feyre from her thoughts, and she gasped. Near the edge of a cliff in front of them was a quaint castle—as quaint as a castle could be, at any rate—that overlooked a low valley. And the valley below, bathed in the early afternoon sun, was dotted with small villages and wild forests and lush meadows. Mara’s lands.

“It’s all so beautiful,” Feyre finally managed, taken aback, and Mara beamed in pride. 

“Our family has overseen these lands for 5 generations. I have so much I’d love to show you.”

This escape, this distraction… this was what Feyre needed right now to keep the darkness, the pain, at bay. “I’d love to see it all.”

Notes:

Criticisms and comments are welcome!

Chapter 9: In which the plot thickens

Summary:

What it says on the tin :)

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

It was as they approached the castle that Feyre began to feel lightheaded. And it was as she dismounted that spots spread across her vision. And she scarcely made it three steps further before collapsing.

~~~

“Feyre,” Rhysand said.

In the blink of an eye, Mara, the horses, the lands and the castle—it all vanished. The world shattered, and froze.

“You need to come back,” Rhysand said.

Back. Back where? There was a deep tug, something pulling Feyre deeper and deeper inside herself. But Feyre pulled away. And by and by, the world came back.

~~~

Feyre came to in someone’s arms, the last vestiges of her unsettling dream slithering away to the edges of her consciousness. 

She felt cold, far too cold, and an involuntary shudder wracked her body. Whoever was holding her—someone smelling of leaves and grass and spring rains—held her closer.

Then: “How dare you.” 

“I-I’m sorry, my Lord,” someone stammered out. “I don’t know what happened—”

“It doesn’t matter. What matters is that Feyre could’ve been hurt, and I wouldn’t have known . She could’ve been killed with you. And you carelessly—”

“I’m so, so sorry.”

“Never take her away from my home without my permission ever again.”

Notes:

Criticism and comments are welcome :)

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