"There are good days and hard days for me—even now. Don't let the hard days win"

Morrigan, A Court of Mist and Fury

Feyre looked at the woman on the throne. Her blood red hair blending in with her dress, her lips the same scarlet, her eyes a picture of cruelty. She gestured to the three faeries kneeling with canvas covering their features.

"Your final task, Feyre, Stab each of these unfortunate souls in the heart."

Feyre looked at the three ash knives. She looked down at her human hands. She looked again at the ash knives. She couldn't hear the words she knew Amarantha was saying over the pounding in her ears.

All she could think was that if she didn't do this, then they'd all die. They'd end up enslaved to this witch for the rest of their eternal lives.

Without her bidding, her legs walked her over to the fae male. He begged her to spare him. She knew, she just knew that she was taking him away from those who loved him. Just as her mother had been taken from her father. As if from another body, she watched herself stab him in the heart. The ash knife fell from nerveless fingers.

She turned, soul empty, to face the fae woman, the one who accepted her fate. The one who knew what she was sacrificing. The one who simply prayed for release. Who said her own death mantra. Feyre listened to the mantra, hoping that her immortality lasted, for she would never be welcomed in the same eternity as this woman. Again, Feyre watched as she killed the woman.

She knew what was coming now. When she faced the third figure, it would be Tamlin. That creature she would kill with rage in her heart.

But when she turned to the third fae, it wasn't Tamlin.

It was Rhysand.

"What's the matter, little Feyre," Amarantha crooned, "Can't you kill him? Don't you want to, after he put you on display? Forced you to make a bargain that you didn't want? It would be a mercy to kill him for the shame he feels every time he takes me to bed. Kill him, Feyre, kill him with my blessing."

She had eyes only for Rhys. For those somehow beloved violet eyes that held only peace and love. For the face that haunted her dreams, for the male who had put her back together when she had no idea if she could. If she had to kill him, she'd turn the knife on herself next. She would not live in a world without Rhysand. The High Lord of the Night Court could not die.

"No," she said to Amarantha with a snarl.

"No?" Amarantha questioned.

"No," Feyre replied, "I won't kill him." Amarantha smiled evilly.

"Then die!" she screamed at Feyre.

There was a sickening crack and a flash of pain. The last thing she heard was a scream of rage and pain.

"FEYRE, NO!"

Several hundred miles away from the city of Velaris, deep in the mountains in an Illyrian fighting camp Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, awoke with a yell to the sickening crack that haunted his nightmares.

In a panic, he reached for Feyre in his mind, and found only walls. He could feel her, but she was blocking him. But her pain was leaking through. He suddenly understood. That was her dream. Her nightmare. He strode downstairs to find Cassian at the table.

"Can you hold down the fort here?" he asked Cassian, "I need to go back to Velaris."

"What's wrong?" Cassian said immediately alert to danger.

"Nothing with the city," Rhys admitted, "It's Feyre. I just woke from sharing a nightmare with her and I think I should be with her today." Cassian relaxed minutely.

"Of course," Cassian replied, "I'll make something up for the rest. You get to Feyre." Rhys simply nodded and winnowed back to his and Feyre's townhouse.

Mor was there in the front hall to meet him.

"I figured you'd be here eventually," Mor said seriously, "She won't leave your room. She cancelled the art classes she was holding today." Rhys simply nodded and strode up to the bedroom the two shared. He knocked gently before opening the door and walking in.

Feyre was huddled up in a ball on his side of the bed, cradling a pillow. She wasn't crying, but she had that empty, despondent look on her face that he hadn't seen in a long time. His chest tightened a bit.

"Oh Feyre, darling," he said sadly, walking over to her. He removed the pillow from her arms and picked her up, cradling her close as he sat down on the bed.

"Rhys?" She said with a suspiciously scratchy voice.

"I'm here," he soothed. He felt for the darkness that he carried with him everywhere and wrapped her in it. After a few moments of that and stroking her hair, she relaxed enough to cry. "It's okay, Feyre, let it out." She had a chokehold on his neck and was sobbing into his tunic. He simply continued to stroke her hair.

"It should have been me," she said, still sobbing.

"You can't live in the guilt, darling," he said, "All you can do is continue to live every day to the fullest in order to respect their memories. The Mother will have told them that you saved us all. Their sacrifice was not in vain. Horrible, but not in vain." Her tear streaked face looked up at him. She traced the planes of his face with trembling fingers.

"Oh Rhys," she said, "The Mother had more mercy on me than I deserved, leading me to you. I don't deserve you." He smiled sadly at her and caught her fingers in his warm hand.

"A wise woman once told me 'we deserve each other. And we deserve to be happy.'" This brought a small smile to her face.

"I told you that," she replied.

"Wait, did I say wise?" Rhys asked in a lightly teasing voice, "I meant to say beautiful." That watery smile turned into something a bit more substantial.

"Thanks Rhys," she replied, "Thanks for coming."

"I'll always come to you, darling. I will be here for you for the rest of your immortal life."