A Different Type of Meeting

Chapter 13 - Feyre

We reached a small stone building, only about twice the size of my small shack in the woods. I could smell the death from here, or maybe it was coming from the bodies all around me. The full effects this war could have hit me like a tonne of bricks when I had opened my eyes again. I couldn't face that much. Not now, not ever. Not in the eternity I still had left to live. I saw men walking in covered in blood, and walking back out covered in bandages, and I wondered whether any of them had lost a friend. 
"Are you sure about this?" Rhsy asked me, his eyes still trained on the steady stream of Illyrians entering and leaving the building. I gulped before nodding slowly. I needed to do this, it was my fault. Not theirs. He squeezed my hand lightly and we walked towards the entrance.

The smell hit me first. Then the blood. My hand slipped out of Rhysand's to cover my gaping mouth. Nothing in here wasn't covered completely in blood. The groans of pain from the males were overwhelming every other sound, including the nurses shouting to each other across the single room. I looked down to my right to the sight of shredded wings and a large Illyrian covered in blood. A nurse was kneeling beside him, desperately trying to fix something she, evidently, could not. Help, help, help. The words thrummed through my very soul. I could do something about this. Rhys must have noticed my gaze, because he said,
"If he loses his wings, many Illyrians would rather die than suffer that." There was something heavy in his voice, something that held meaning. I didn't question him further, instead choosing to focus on the pull of my powers to heal. To do nothing but heal those around me that were slowly dying, or wishing they were dead.

I sighed, giving in to the urge, and knelt down beside the large male. 
"Stay still." I whispered to him, knowing that he was barely holding consciousness anyway. I took a deep breath and let my powers take control, trying to heal the man below me. I felt it reach out and into him, retracing the places were tendons and ligaments and just the skin of the wing had previously been. Creating it again, magically sewing it together. I opened my eyes to a gaping soldier and fully repaired wings. I stood again, shock written all over my face at the realisation of what I had done. 

"Dawn." I turned around a Rhys's words, and his contemplative expression. "You have the powers of every High Lord in Prythian." I looked over my shoulder at the Illyrian now testing out his new wings, giving me suspicious and confused glances out of the corner of his eye.
"That is all very well," I said, my voice now regaining some of its strength, "but I need to help these people." I stormed off into the crowd, leaving Rhysand behind, to find the nearest nurse and ask to see the worst victims.

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I collapsed against the wall an hour later, having healed nearly all of the worst cases, and the nurses having dealt with the rest. 
"You nearly exhausted yourself again."  I heard Rhys's voice say to my right, but I just sighed, close my eyes and let sleep take me.

**********

A/N

Hey everyone! I have been terrible at keeping up, I know, so please forgive me again!
I also know that this is not how Feyre's healing powers work, so don't get annoyed, I just think this is easier to write about and help the story continue. Plus, none of this story is meant to be that similar to the actual book.

Anyway, hope you all enjoyed this chapter, any suggestions on what should happen next? Any POVs you want to see?