Aelin and Yrene spend time together. | Rowan takes his family out.

disclaimer: sarah j. maas owns all (except for the new generation).

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Days had passed, and with each moment flitting by, she felt her body heal in the way that no amount of magic could force. But it wasn't to say she wouldn't wear the small pocket of remaining weight around her waist with pride. It marked for what she'd done—conceived, carried, and birthed a healthy son, all in her Fae body.

Aelin held motionless as Rhoe blinked up at her from one arm, and as Yrene pressed gentle fingers to the inside of the other.

"I've meetings to attend," Aelin teased, mock-frowning at the healer. Despite herself, these examinations, performed in the comfort of the royal suite, always seemed to calm her. She lazed against a plush chaise, resting her head on the soft mound the pillow beneath provided.

Yrene only rolled her eyes. "And you know Rowan is handling them well in your stead."

"He might need a break."

"Rowan didn't just push an eight-pound infant out of his body. And Rowan didn't almost die in the process. Who needs the break here?"

Aelin snorted, shaking her head. If she was being honest, she was grateful for the time this temporary agenda was granting her. It allowed her to sleep in longer than she cared to admit, and if Rowan was to be believed about Rhoe being their last child, she took care to cherish each moment with her newborn, knowing she wouldn't relive those kinds of moments again.

Yrene plucked a small log from her bag on the floor and scribbled upon it with a black pencil, her brow furrowing in concentration. She had also rested well after the events of Rhoe's birth; her thick tresses cascaded softly down her back under a simple crown of braids, every hair groomed and tucked into place, and her molten eyes shone with that very Yrene-like spark. The bruises beneath had vanished, as did the paleness in her face—without any magic to make it so, Yrene was glowing.

Aelin frowned, eyeing the lady with a slight twinge of sadness.

"You are leaving soon."

Joyous were the Westfalls' visits. A sense of melancholy always poked at her heart to see them leave, no matter how many times she assured herself she would see them again.

Yrene nodded, hooking her hair behind her ear. "You're healthy; Rhoe is healthy. Not much to work with." She smiled softly.

"And you've got plenty to work with in Adarlan," Aelin sighed.

Another nod. "I have the Torre to run. And my children to look after, apparently."

Ah. Aelin didn't need the sudden twist of Yrene's mouth, or the slanting of her brow to understand.

"Lyanna seems alright to me," Aelin said. Rowan had told her about the incident as they lay in bed two nights ago, spending the last few minutes of the day warm in each other's embrace. He'd recounted how the young lady had climbed up one of the lengthier towers and hopped down to a nearby canopy, drawing Orynth as she perched. And he'd said it had all been for the illustration, and that it was truly one of the most striking pieces he had ever seen.

Ardere presented it to Aelin the next day.

It's not my place to burn it, Your Majesty. Perhaps you should decide.

But what a waste it would have been.

Keep it for now.

Then it had been quiet for a few moments. Until the guard said, "Your Majesty... I never apologized about Felix. I realize asking you to employ him was a severe mistake. And if it jeopardizes my position, I accept any consequences."

She'd waved him off, having already considered. "You are not responsible for his faults. You'll find your position is secure. And the title of Captain of the Guard remains reserved."

Reserved, because there was no one better for the appointment; Ardere reminded her more of Quinn than any of the other guards. Beneath the layer of severity, there was that same kindness her uncle's Captain had always displayed before the world had gone to shit. There was the same patience. Same determination.

"Lyanna's always been impulsive," Yrene muttered, pressing her pencil hard into the parchment. "But this? Jumping from a window? What am I to make of that?"

"She did it for her work. Not that it justifies anything, but after that boy, I think she was feeling empty."

"Empty," the healer said bitterly. "Better to be empty than dead."

She continued her scribbling, shaking her head and mumbling to herself.

"I would guess that she's lost," Aelin sighed. "Her passion is influenced by her emotions, and she has none to give now. And she has no one who shares her interest."

"And I understand that. But endangering her life for the sake of a drawing? Is she suicidal?" The words were angry, but Yrene couldn't hid the pure terror dripping from them, her golden gaze wide.

Aelin could only imagine. To come so close to losing a child. The thought of any one of hers dangling from one of the castle towers made her skin crawl, her bones fill with dread.

"No," she said quickly, doing her best to shake the image from her head and holding Rhoe close to her chest. "Lyanna only feels dull. Perhaps if she knew others like her."

"Others like her?"

"Those artistically inclined. I could enroll her in Delles."

Yrene was quiet for a moment, her rage and fear simmering down as she took deep breaths. She slowly reached for her satchel, sliding the log and pencil inside. "Delles," she mumbled.

Aelin nodded. "It has a branch for visual creativity."

"But... she'd have to stay in Orynth. Until the summer." The lady frowned deeply, etching shadowy lines into her face.

Not that Aelin couldn't understand. Dorian was accustomed to being away from his son. She knew the routine; Castoran would travel to be with his mother in the Witch Kingdom for a few months, then return to Adarlan. But Yrene and Chaol... they had never been separated from either of their children.

"It's up to your family, of course. But there is a place for her here, should she want it."

The healer took a seat at the foot of the chaise, slinging an arm over the back. "In Rifthold... her friends aren't like her. They enjoy superficial things. Riches and luxuries and the like."

"All the more reason to let her stay. Let her befriend others who understands." Aelin raised her brows. "Who wouldn't reprimand her for leaping from a window."

Yrene scowled. "Throw anybody who condones leaping from windows into your dungeon."

She had to laugh. "I'll just let you have at them instead."

Yrene pushed out a weary sigh, the gust of air sweeping the hem of Aelin's gown. "I truly hope your children won't stop your heart like this."

"Too late," Aelin said. "Ava used to injure herself more than she breathed before she became proficient in swordplay. And Ren would sometimes hit his head on the sides of the pianoforte—hard."

A light chuckle. Hesitant. "And the others?"

She pondered for an instant. "Reavan always picked up knives when Rowan and I weren't looking, and then proceeded to slice up those hunks of clay he's always playing with. Amora was springing from our arms long before she was capable of shifting into her falcon form." And still, Amora had only shifted once in her life.

Yes, her sons and daughters, young and rambunctious, were Fae. Graceful and strong, agile and nimble. But they were children. Prone to accidents, still, subject to mishaps.

"I wonder what headaches this little one will cause me," Aelin said, brushing her nose against Rhoe's head.

Yrene hummed. "I don't think he'll be particularly difficult."

"What makes you say so?"

"My magic," she said. "It's like... whenever it touches him, it dances. Like it's found an equal."

An equal. As in powerful healing magic?

"I think he'll be like me," Yrene said softly. "Like Terence. Perhaps with even more potent gifts."

Aelin deliberated. Then said, "So if his power is meant to soothe, then his nature must be the same?"

Even now, while he pierced the night air with his cries as any other infant would, he was calm during the day. A comfort in her arms when she fed him, a sweet touch of cool wind when he napped.

"I think so. That's why I'd said something about him demanded balance when you birthed him. For such a life-giving, revitalizing force to enter the world, something must be taken."

Aelin's life. A spindle of displeasure wormed its way down her spine at the memory.

But she said, "It seems fair. Except I wasn't taken."

"Well, it's only a theory. Regardless, I think you should begin drinking a contraceptive tonic." Yrene's brow furrowed, eyeing the bodice of Aelin's gown.

Aelin grinned, dipping her chin. "Not necessary."

"Given your unusual fertility, I think it's a good choice. Unless you want to be celibate," Yrene countered, her mouth curling. "Though I doubt that is likely."

"Of course it's not likely," Aelin said, rolling her eyes. "And as smart an idea as it is, I'm positive I won't be getting pregnant again. As such, I plan to thoroughly, thoroughly enjoy myself. For a thousand years, at least."

The lady beamed. "Sensually crazed as ever."

"Rowan doesn't complain."

"And what happens when your children have night terrors?"

Aelin frowned. "That has happened before."

Yrene burst into another dazzling smile. "Oh no. Who was it?"

"It was Ava. She'd gotten a hold of an illustration of some beast I'd felled during my time in Adarlan earlier in the day, a horrid thing called a ridderak. Rowan and I were in the middle of things. But then we scented her tears from outside our door, and we had to let her sleep between us."

A snort. "It's happened to us, too. Chaol was once recounting the healing process we had undergone in Antica to Terence. He was young, about seven. Chaol told him about the darkness that dwelled in that broken part of his spine, where the scar still stains his back. He regretted saying anything later that night."

They both laughed, but a twinge of sadness tugged at Aelin's gut. She hadn't realized how much she missed female company; Lysandra was miles away, strengthening Terrasen's trading bonds with other kingdoms from Caraverre, and Elide was performing her duties as Lady of Perranth, carefully presiding over one of Terrasen's largest territories.

Here Yrene was, leaving soon. And as her laughter ebbed, Aelin frowned.

"I do hate goodbyes."

A soft breath blew from Yrene's lips. "We'll be back in a few months."

"You could stay until Rhoe's Hailing." Even as she said it, she knew they wouldn't. But Aelin so rarely saw her friends, she wanted to hold fast to them as long as she could.

"We all have responsibilities in Adarlan. And Dorian... with Cas and Manon and us all gone, he's alone."

She was right of course. Still, Aelin grumbled. "If he'd come, he wouldn't be so lonely."

Yrene lightly swatted her leg. "You'll see him in time. You'll see everyone in time."

The only instances when she could see her friends; the birth of children. Whether it was her children, or Dorian's, Chaol's and Yrene's, Aedion and Lysandra's, Lorcan and Elide's, Nesryn and Sartaq's. They all gathered, always. And they rejoiced together, as they had defeated the Valg and made way for this life together.

Strange the feeling was—her heart pulled her in two directions, wishing Rhoe's time as an infant would pass slowly, but also hoping these first three months would speed along.

Yrene pushed up from her perch on the chaise, gathering up her satchel and slinging it over her shoulder.

"Speak to Chaol and Lyanna," Aelin said. "Tell them of my offer."

A hesitant nod. "It's a gracious offer, Aelin. We'll mull it over."

Yrene strode out, her simple frock billowing behind her as she walked—leaving Aelin alone with her son, who kissed his nose as the door clicked shut.

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This year was different.

For the whole of this new age, Aelin had received gifts from their subjects, from royalty of other kingdoms, from across the sea, from old friends and new. And it was always the same—fine jewels, expensive garments, queenly garb.

But this year was different.

For carrying his five children, for filling them with her light and her flame, he would give her something Terrasen would remember for generations to come.

Rowan scrawled on a thick piece of parchment, Reavan slumped against his chest, melding a lump of glop into a small humanoid figure.

The words he had so far were simple.

To the Grand Master, Irano Belaine.

As is common knowledge, my wife, Her Majesty Queen Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius, has a birthday in a few weeks.

I should like to work with you to comprise my gift to her.

Reavan crushed his small man, rolling the collapsed figure into a ball. "Can we play with Rhoe yet, Papa?" he asked. "I haven't played with him."

"Rhoe is being examined with your mother. And I think you have to wait a bit before he can be any fun."

"Why?"

"He's a newborn. He only eats and sleeps right now."

"I can eat with him."

Rowan laughed, ruffling his son's hair. "Not yet. Besides, aren't you enjoying yourself here with me?"

"You're busy writing your letters, Papa."

"And if I wasn't? What would you like to do?"

Reavan cocked his head to the side, considering carefully. His silky silver hair fanned against his face, catching the light in a bluish glint.

"I want to decorate another room. With Ava and Ren. And Amora."

"We can't decorate a room if there's no one to decorate it for. And Ava and Ren are in their lessons right now."

"You can pull them out."

"Pull them out," Rowan chuckled. "Their studies are important, Reav. Especially Ava's. She's going to be queen one day. She has to be intelligent."

"She already is," Reavan said, shaking his head. "Please, Papa? We can go swimming. We never play together anymore."

Truthfully, they didn't. Before Rhoe, they would often spend time together as a family, being at leisure in the queen's garden, or chasing each other through the halls. Always in the evenings, when the day's responsibilities no longer demanded to be fulfilled, and so they could work up an appetite for dinner. But Aelin had gotten pregnant, and Rowan became more preoccupied with her well-being.

"Please, Papa?" Reavan repeated, blinking those eyes akin to Rowan's pleadingly.

If there was ever a weakness for Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius, it was his damned children. He sighed. "Alright. You win."

Reavan leaped from his perch on Rowan's lap, bounding lightly through the regal office.

"We go as soon as I finish my letter."

The young prince sobered at that. He sank into one of the empty chairs before the large oak desk, his foot shaking in anticipation.

Rowan plucked up his pen, closing off the message briefly and tersely: Write me any ideas you might have. And I'll share with you my own. Best, Her Consort Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius.

Without having thought much about it, Rowan already knew what he wanted. Something to bring her back to their past, when they were just discovering and acknowledging their feelings. But also something to remind her of their thousand years—the ones they were going to spend together.

He scribbled the address and sealed the letter, the deep green wax making a quiet sizzling sound as he pressed the cold metal stamp into it.

"Guard."

The pair that was standing vigilant outside his office door strode in. Why Aelin insisted on keeping them there—as there was almost nothing to guard against, and as Rowan was more than capable of defending his own self—he hadn't the faintest idea. But of course, he couldn't deny they sometimes had their uses.

Rowan stood and held up the parchment, handing it to the slightly smaller guard as he stepped forward. "Give this to a messenger. Tell them it's a priority."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

The young man took the roll and stepped out, his companion following closely behind. As the door winked shut, Rowan turned to his son.

"Let's go find your sister."

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The day was bright and hot, unusual for the spring but perfect for a day at the river.

"And is there a reason you've so suddenly decided we should all go swimming?" Aelin called from beside Rowan, Rhoe bound to her chest and Amora sharing her saddle.

They were nearing the eastern borders of Theralis, making their way to the Florine by horse. Their children trailed behind them—or at least, Ava and Ren did, each of them riding on their own. Reavan sat with Rowan as Amora did with Aelin, chattering excitedly, his pine eyes darting from the sky to the ground, from the trees to the city, which was growing smaller and smaller beyond the plain.

They were nearing the river, close enough to run and hurl oneself into it, but still far that the horses could wander off.

"Someone convinced me." Rowan jerked his chin towards the silver head swaying with the strides of the horse. "I found it rather difficult to say no to him."

Aelin laughed, stroking Amora's own head. "The things we do for them."

"They really should appreciate us more."

His mate shook her head, sighing as she gazed down at their two youngest.

"He said we never spend time together anymore," Rowan said. "Not like we used to. I thought to remedy that state of affairs."

"I'm glad," Rendyll piped. "We hardly get to see you, Mother."

Aelin beamed as they inched closer, the Florine's babble becoming louder with each pace forward. "We see each other every night."

"For dinner hour," Ava said. "And that's it."

"Yes, Mama," called Reavan, "I miss you."

She laughed, light and clear as the wind whenever it sang to Rowan. "Tell me you're not only saying that so you can get me to agree to let you stay up longer."

The prince grinned impishly, not bothering to deny it.

The gurgling waters grew louder still, and it was a few seconds before they overtook the banks, those of small, smooth stones instead of the mud that caked the shore miles down. Ava leaped off her stallion immediately, shrugging off her thin slip to reveal a soft tunic and white shorts.

Rendyll did the same, albeit slower. He wasn't as fond of swimming as his sister, and while he enjoyed it more than any person with flaming magic should, he took his time in peeling off his clothes, having also opted for a pair of shorts.

Rowan swung his leg back, dismounting as they halted a few feet from the bank, and retrieving Reavan from the saddle soon after. The boy immediately scrambled after his brother and sister, who were now toeing the water, testing it for temperature.

"Do you need help?" Rowan said to his mate.

Aelin rolled her eyes in answer, which wasn't unexpected. Gracefully, effortlessly, his wife lowered herself from the grey mare, careful not to jostle their babe. When she stood on her own feet, she gripped Amora from under the arms, unbuttoned her dress and folded it carefully, and watched as the youngest princess toddled over to her siblings, donning the same clothes as Ava.

"Don't know why I ask," Rowan muttered, shrugging off his shirt.

He turned just in time to see Ava dive gracefully into the turquoise current, Rendyll watching from where he waded in.

"I don't either," Aelin replied, padding over, her footfalls silent against the swaying grass. She laid a hand against his chest, digging her fingers in slightly.

He didn't hesitate to lean in and kiss her, with their children too preoccupied to argue against it. He heard their splashes and shrieks, and could guess from mere sound that Ava was bombarding Rendyll with strong little swells, and he was sending water careening into her face in return. Reavan and Amora were sitting in the shallows, the levels to their chests, Reavan's hands burrowing themselves into the pebbles beneath him.

Rowan caressed Aelin's face and pulled her close, taking care to not smother their son between them.

"Reavan says he misses you."

"He wants a later curfew," Aelin laughed, shaking her head.

"And if I say I miss you?"

"I see you more than anyone. You want something, too." She glanced down meaningfully, raising her eyebrows as her gaze rested on the front of his pants.

He chuckled, low and soft, so only she could hear. "Perhaps. Only when you're ready. And if you're never ready, I suppose I'll just live with the eternal urge to take you."

"Eternal urge? As in, ever-present?"

"Could you blame me if it was?"

She made a show of considering, glancing down at her ravishing form and slowly brushing a thick tress of hair back, cocking her head to the side. "No, I suppose not. It is me, after all."

"And as always, your love for yourself knows no bounds."

"Nor will it ever," she mumbled, raising herself onto her toes and pressing her lips to his. Perhaps it wasn't the most appropriate thing, but he couldn't help himself—he parted his mouth to let her tongue slip against his, humming softly as her fingers wound their way into his hair.

"Mother, Father, please," Rendyll grumbled from several feet away, drenched locks plastered to his head.

"Look away if you're so bothered, Ren," Aelin answered, waving him off. He scowled, but obeyed, Ava doing the same.

Aelin dipped her head, leaning her face against his chest, releasing his hair to press Rhoe flush against her. Her body had recovered beautifully, preternatural healing molding her form back to what it was quicker than any human's could. All that remained, any evidence of Rhoe's bloody birth, was the slight layer of weight around her hips, so thin it was almost undetectable. To anybody, it would have seemed she hadn't just carried a lofty infant, shoved him out, and nearly bleed to death in the process.

"Maybe we are too affectionate," she said, a somberness lining her features.

Rowan only snorted. "Do you really believe that?"

She laughed again, swatting his arm. "Of course not. But maybe it says something that they admonish us."

"They can say what they will. I'll be mocking them when they find their mates."

Their children. With mates. An odd thought, it was, to picture them grown, to see them indulge in a love like the one he shared with Aelin...

"I'll join you on that front."

They watched their small creations together. Looked on as they screeched at each other, as they gulped in breaths before disappearing beneath the surface, or howled when they were victims to Ava's powerful little waves.

"We're parents," Aelin said, soft in marvel.

"That we are."

"We made them."

"We did."

His mate smiled. Brighter than the sun, more radiant than any day.

"I never doubted we could, you know," she said. "Not really."

"I didn't either."

Her smile grew. And it was like that moment when he had seen her from across the hall during her coronation—as the Song of Terrasen played and she walked forth in all her lovely glory. Again, he thought he had never seen anyone more beautiful.

He had never seen anyone more beautiful as she lay sweaty and weary after each birth. He had never seen anyone more beautiful as she sat upon her throne, every inch the queen within as she looked without. And he had never seen anyone more beautiful than she in this moment, as she held their son with reverence, with gentleness. As she looked upon her family and her magnificent eyes filled with bliss.

"What do you want for your birthday?" he asked, stroking her cheekbone with the pad of his thumb.

"To be surprised."

He grinned. "Done."

She rolled her eyes, but kissed the base of his throat. "Buzzard."

Then she made for the water, gown and all. Sat beside Reavan and Amora. Playfully trickled water onto Rhoe's head.

And as if his very core was being pulled towards them—towards his family—and as they played and laughed and spread their happiness, after he tied their horses to a stake in the ground, Rowan followed.

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~ shorter chapter this week, finals were dreadful

~ as always, tell me how you feel about it!

xo