Her Provenance, Her Culmination

The universe is full of circles. The butterfly cycle, the circle of life, the theory of conservation... The fundamental law of existence is that everything is made for a purpose, and those purposeless return to their origins.

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Feyre had once heard Azriel say that he might wait at least five hundred years before participating on a new war. Well, it was five hundred years since Nesta ripped off the head of King Hybern, and she knew that she wouldn't be able to handle another war. Five centuries - half a millennium - might span several generations of humans, but it was only slightly longer than the blink of an eye for Fae.

And Feyre had been very busy these past few years. There were repairs to be made around the Night Court - her court. There were thanks to be given, there was the alliance with Eris that had to be fulfilled, there was Vassa who had to be freed - none of it had been easy. And yet she was thankful that throughout it all, she had her mate, and her friends.

Rhysand, dark, beautiful Rhys, had been there like a rock, showering her in surges of pride that flickered across their mating bond, his strong arms and soft lips ready to embrace her at night. Cassian and Azriel, the two brothers had been quietly supportive, sombre pillars beside her. There were her sisters - Mor, Nesta, and Elain, whose soft hands and busy lips were there to comfort her, cradling her and chattering away her tears of pain and desperation. Even Amren's cranky words of tough love had helped her make it through.

The Court of Dreams - this was her family. These were her brothers and sisters, and her husband, who would love her as long as she lived. Every night, while gazing at the faceted majesty of her land, she would send up a small statement or relief to the stars, thankful to this land for giving her and her mate life once more, thankful for the chance to exist in happiness.

Of course, it was slightly different for Rhys, who had been born with these powers. Feyre was human, she hadn't even been Made by the Cauldron. She was given life by the keepers of this land, driven to do so not just by the entreatment of her mate, but by some drive, some instinct to give up some part of themselves to fill her with magic. Feyre had always suspected that she had been made for a purpose, to fulfill her duty to this land.

Which she had.

What she began with the absence of her declaration of love to Tamlin, she finished with her orchestration of Hybern's defeat. What this land, Prythian, had made her for, she had completed, and she thanked the stars every night for the years that had come afterward, for the years to come.

Five hundred years had passed since her creation, and now Feyre had created something of her own - something far, far more precious to her than the peace she had wrought. Something she had made with love, along with her husband, her mate, her love.

Sitting on the carved moonstone balcony of her palace, Feyre smiled at her swollen belly.

Any day now, she thought, and minute.

For she had created an heir to the most powerful Court, the Night Court - a realm of otherworldliness and potential and sugary spreads of stars. Within her womb, Feyre nursed a form who would one day inherit the full extent of the High Lord and High Lady powers, ensuring that this Court would continue its lineage.

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When she gave birth to the baby girl, she and Rhys decided to name her Asteria, or star, after the shining beacons of hope that streaked across the sky on the Starfall night she was born.

Asteria was, as her name suggested, the light of everyone around her, from the very minute she left her mother's womb. She was charming, and her eyes were a deep, violet blue, that sparkled and looked like the center of a galaxy.

She was perfect.

And yet Feyre felt unhappy.

Asteria was perfect. Rhys was perfect. Everyone was perfect. But there was still something missing. There was something within her that was gone, like an aching hole, something that Feyre inexplicably felt would never return to her.