After I finished ACOWAR, I had so many feels that I came up with a list of oneshots for me to write, some AU and some headcanons, and this is the first one I wrote.

I was so upset that the Archeron father went to get Queen Vassa and rally an army to save his daughters, only to die, that I wrote this. I understand why what happened in canon happened, but I feel like this is how it could've gone.

Disclaimer: I down own the ACOTAR franchise; it belongs to Sarah J. Maas.

Prince of Merchants

My heart was a piston in my chest. I could feel every inch of the blood covering me, like a second skin, but it was nowhere near as revolting as the feeling that'd sunk deep into my gut. The feeling only intensified as I paced around the war camp, specifically one of the healers' tents, and had no control over how my eyes kept studying three of the ships docked in the harbour.

The Feyre, the Nesta and the Elain.

My father's ships. That he'd named after us.

And Nesta being his flagship, named for the daughter who'd most hated him, whom he'd failed the worst.

The nauseous sensation in my stomach roiled again, and I almost vomited.

In this tent, Thesan had promised to try - try - to save my father's life. To see if the High Lord of the Dawn Court, who'd given me such healing power in my blood, could fix a neck that had been snapped in two by a King of Hybern. He'd gone in there shortly after the battle was won, and hadn't emerged yet. Madja had come in the time since then, and all she'd done was assess the situation before ducking into the tent, and not coming out either.

It did nothing to help my mood.

Rhys had tried to cheer me up, but he realised pretty quickly that I was not in the mood for his flirting, and eventually just resorted to sitting with me. When I paced top hard, he took my hand and said, "Your pacing won't help Thesan heal him. If anything, it's just distracting to hear it whilst he's trying to save your father's life. Come away, and sleep. You need it, after shouting all the High Lords into resurrecting me."

I couldn't even smile at that. But I was tired. I was absolutely exhausted. And I needed to talk to Queen Vassa, and the High Lords, and Miryam and Drakon, and all the other official emissaries and whatnot it was part of my job to talk to. There was so much I needed to do, so much I needed to be ready and invigorated for.

I was High Lady of the Night Court. I no longer had the privilege of worrying over my loved ones every minute of every day.

So I just nodded, and let my eyelids droop for the first time in hours. Days, possibly.

Rhys smiled at me, and this was the first smile in a while that had actually reached his eyes. "Sleep, Feyre," he said quietly. "I'll wake you if anything happens."

I was already half-asleep when he said that, so a) I couldn't process that by "anything happening" he was referring to my father dying, nor b) he had no plans of sleeping himself, when the odds were that he was more overexerted than I was. So I fell asleep before arguing with him about it, but mentally stored it away to argue with him about later.

I was woken by a hand on my shoulder a few hours later, judging by the pink light coming from the east. A dream-induced thought chased its way into my head - would Thesan still be tired when it's the dawn, and he's in his natural element? - before I let clarity of thought clear it away, and pried my eyes open.

The hand on my shoulder wasn't Rhys's, as I'd initially thought, but slightly smaller, slimmer, golden skin stretched over ligaments and muscles. Mor's gold-framed head blinked at me in the morning light. "Come on," she said in a hushed tone. "Azriel and Cassian went to wake your sisters. Your father's alive and awake." A pause. "And asking for you."

I bolted off the bedroll without another word, and practically ripped the tent flap open. A loud snore made me start; Rhys was curled up in the corner of the tent, fast asleep, and didn't so much as stir at the commotion both inside and outside. I didn't know which warring emotion was stronger: the fondness at seeing him so at peace in sleep, or the guilt that he was so exhausted he couldn't stay awake.

But the dominant one was definitely the blooming hope that would clench and unclench my stomach periodically with every step I took. My father. . . Alive. Healing. Willing to fight for us again.

I could feel that Mor was trying to hang back, and give me my privacy, but also lead me to where my father was as well. Soon enough though, I picked up his scent, like an errand thread on a drift of wind, and could find my own way there.

He was sitting on a chair in one of the war tents, exchanging wary looks with a few of the High Lords there. But I had no eyes for them, only for the man who'd raised me, who'd dragged me along behind him in his wave of destruction, who'd done nothing whilst I dug us - all of us - out of it. The man who'd come to save all of our asses when all seemed lost.

"Father."

And he was only looking at me too.

My chest was so tight I thought it might implode.

"Feyre." He said it questioningly, like he wasn't sure I was real. As if I might just be another faerie glamour, like the one he'd laboured under when he'd thought I was staying with a fictional Aunt Ripleigh. "Feyre."

That was when my face crumpled, and sobs shoved themselves up my throat. My eyes were wet as I took the final step forward and collapsed to my knees in front of him. "Papa," was the only thing I could choke out before I dropped my face into his lap and wept.

He stroked my hair awkwardly, like he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself. It was understandable. I hadn't cried in front of him in years.

I hadn't called him "Papa" in years, either. Not since the day when the creditors had come to our cottage and shattered his leg in payment for his lost debts.

But Death puts everything into perspective. And he'd fought for us. In the end, he'd fought for us.

"I won't be able to walk," he said quietly. I brought my head up to look him in the eye, my eyelids now swollen, cheeks now tearstained. "He could heal my upper body, but the nerves further down refused to reconnect. I can't move them."

I gave him a watery smile. "It's fine," I insisted, bringing a hand up to wipe away a tear. "You're alive. That's all I can ask for. You're alive." I took his hand and squeezed it. "You came to save us."

"You spent so long saving me, it seemed only fair that I return the favour-" he tried to joke, but I saw the weight of it in his drooped shoulders, the resignation in his sigh. "I could've lost you-"

"But you didn't-" I wasn't sure where he was going with this.

"Feyre," he tried again, slightly exasperated with himself. He ran a hand over my ear - and the carefully tapered point. Oh. He blanched. "What happened to you? What's been happening these months whilst I was away?"

"It's a long story-" I started to say, before realising his attention wasn't solely on me anymore.

I looked behind me, to see Elain and Nesta standing in the entrance gaping. They too, had tears in their eyes - even Nesta. Nesta, who'd hated our father for so many years. Who would've had us starve to death for that hatred.

"It's a long story," I said again, and they nodded with me. "One that we all need to tell together."

The High Lords seemed to sense that they were no longer welcome in the tent, and wisely made themselves scarce. My sisters and I told the story from the start to the finish, occasionally glancing at each other in silent conversation about how detailed our account would be, and how much we wanted to tell him. But most of it flowed out uncontested, even if the parts about the nightmares and Amarantha and the Cauldron were difficult to voice.

At some point during the narrative, Rhys had woken up and joined us, and he was there when I described our mating night (leaving out any details about what it contained) and my instatement as High Lady of the Night Court. My father's eyes lingered on the sapphire ring on my finger sadly, then glanced at the band on Rhys's own finger.

"I wish I'd been there to see you wed," he said wistfully. "Your mother had a family ring I'd managed to salvage away at some point, and I'd intended to give it to one of you when you were married."

"I'm only one of three," I tried to say breezily, but the words stuck in my throat. "And there may be a few more marriages in the decades to come." I cast a sly glance at Nesta as I spoke; she caught it and scowled. My father's brows hiked further up his forehead.

But I took his hand again and said quietly, "You weren't there because you were away busy doing things that would come to save our lives, Father. Please, whatever you do, don't you dare regret that."

There was sorrow in his eyes - sorrow, and a bit of awe, as well. "You've grown up so much," he whispered. "All of you."

I thought of the Ouroborous - of the wolf I'd seen there. Would the woman I'd been before have been able to face that terrible truth and live?

But before I could contemplate it further, my father's eyes moved to Rhysand. "And I'd like a word with you, sir, about my daughter."

I do hope he doesn't try to ban the mating bond. Nesta already tried that. Rhys commented into my mind.

I hid a smile. When, exactly, was this?

Which instance are you referring to?

It's happened multiple times?

Your sister is a stubborn creature.

I couldn't argue with that. So Rhys just dipped his head and said, "Of course."

It was almost comical, the image of the immortal High Lord of Night being lectured on how to treat his wife by a human he was a least ten times older than. It was so odd it almost didn't really fit into this world we lived in.

I wasn't entirely sure where my father himself would fit into this world, either. Whether he would stay with the mortals, or come with us to the Night Court, Whether another Wall would be erected that separated him from us forever, or if we could become the family I so craved. But I would try to work it out.

For my father's life, for the chance for us to be a proper family again, I would try to work it out.

It was the smallest price I had ever dreamed of paying.