I wrote this in collaboration with fiery-feyre.tumblr.com, as a celebration for reaching 100 followers. This part is my writing; Part II is written by her, and you can find it on her blog. The story follows Feyre on her 100th Starfall.
Feature image is by charliebowater.tumblr.com
The Night Court was beautiful.
Even after a hundred years of being the High Lady, Feyre was still in awe of its quiet grandeur and majesty.
“I would be as quiet and faceted as the night,” she had once told Rhys, a hundred long years ago. That seemed true more so than ever as she drank in the sight before her. This… This was her land, these were her people preparing to celebrate Starfall in the streets below her balcony. This realm belonged to her and she belonged to it, and pride and patriotic joy swelled in Feyre’s heart as she gazed at Velaris.
A hundred years.
Had she still been human, this time would have seemed like an eternity, too long to fathom. But Feyre was Fae, and not just any ordinary Fae. She was beginning to understand what Mor and Amren had told her, about how time flew by as an immortal.
It had been a hundred years, years that had flown by in a whirlwhind of chaos and blur. The years after the war had been difficult. Treaties were signed, and peace negotiations took up the majority of the High Lady’s time for five years afterwards. It had taken years to begin to repair the damage that Amarantha and Hybern had wreaked, decades for the Night Court – and other courts – to slowly set themselves back on their feet again.
Now, it was a century. A century had passed and Feyre was beginning to hope that all would be well and peaceful – for a long while yet, at least. As part of the Night Court’s efforts to maintain peace, alliance, and unity, two representatives from each other court had been invited to attend the celebrations. Rhys had been right that Velaris needed to be opened to the world in order to maintain the city’s prosperity. Still, Feyre always felt uneasy inviting others into her home.
High Lord Tamlin would come alone from the Spring Court. High Lord Tarquin and his recent mate were coming from the Summer Court. High Lord Eris and his mother would arrive from the Autumn Court. High Lord Kallias and High Lady Viviane would arrive from the Winter Court. High Lord Helion and his son Lucien Vanserra (Feyre was looking forward to meeting Lucien after a year) from the Day Court, and High Lord Thesan and his general from the Dawn Court.
Feyre shook her head and traced the silhouettes of the Illyrian mountains with her eyes. Tonight was Starfall. Tonight was a time of happiness and celebration, and she knew that she should not dwell on political matters and difficult times.
Feyre could still remember her first Starfall as though it was last week. She remembered her sparkling dress that glittered like stars eternal. She remembered the sounds of music and ecstacy, and the food, the dancing… She remembered how Rhys had pulled her mildly intoxicated self aside for a dance. Feyre remembered thinking of the similarities between this court and its High Lord. Dark. Comforting. Powerful. Just as she now was.
Perhaps it was a foolish decision, especially where Mor was concerned, but Feyre hadn’t yet begun to prepare herself for the festivities. She felt no urge to get up and head to her room. Nuala and Cerridwen were probably helping Elain and Azriel’s little daughter get ready, so Feyre was content to sit and watch the silent night.
A hum passed along the bond, and she felt the caress of familiar talons on her mental shield. Getting ready?
No, she replied, it’s beautiful here.
So are you.
Then the bond went silent.
Feyre smiled to herself – a special smile that only Rhys could bring to her face. A hundred years had passed, but she could still remember the excruciating silence of the mating bond, and the lifeless form of his body. She still dreamt of it, sometimes, and Rhys would shake her awake from fitful sleep when that happened. It was something she loved to guilt him with.
The door flew open, and Feyre’s wings unfurled as her startled reaction to the sharp bang it made as it collided with the moonstone wall. It was Mor.
“Get up. For the Cauldron’s sake, why are you still sitting here?”
“It’s peaceful,” Feyre explained. But Mor, naturally, was having none of it.
Her crown braided into her hair, Feyre looked into the glass and nodded, pleased with the results.
Her dress looked to be woven from the fabric of the night sky- no, fabric was the wrong word for it. It swirled around her like a mix of shadows and wind and inky blackness. It was made from darkness itself; the darkness of night. Here and there there were glimmers, faint but brilliant at the same time, the stars spattered across the dark sky she saw outside. Her crown of stars and moonshine rest upon her head, the intricate swirls glowing, and they seemed to twist and turn over each other in the moonbeams. She was more than a High Lady; she was a queen. But more than that, with her massive Illyrian wings unfurled and her trademark silver paints on them, she looked like an angel. An angel of darkness.
She was Feyre Archeron, High Lady of the Night Court, and she was Night Triumphant.
Feyre took another sip from her goblet. Her calm state of mind had stayed with her since before the festival, and she found herself more than content to lean against a tree and watch her people rejoice. Not even Keir Dragomir’s presence could ruin her mood.
She had danced once with one person from each court as a courtesy. Lucien had been the most pleasant, as they had greeted each other as old friends, and had spent a couple of dances catching up with each other. Her dance with Tamlin had been awkward, with stilted conversation, but Feyre was relieved to notice that he seemed to be moving on.
Unfortunately, her duties as a hostess meant that she hadn’t seen nearly as much of Rhys as she would have liked to. They had both been busy dancing or greeting guests, and being greeted by their citizens to spend any time with each other.
A shame, really. Feyre supposed that he was busy with some host/High Lord business or the other, and she would prefer not to call him away. She considered this a sort of hundredth anniversary for them, and she hoped he would find his way to her before the actual Starfall began.
As though summoned by her thoughts, she heard a twig crack behind her, and she turned around.
Rhys’ violet eyes glowed in the dark as he leaned against a nearby wall and smirked.
“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”