Happy New Year! 2020... wow. Anyways...

Hello, friends! Disclaimer, I don't own these characters, yada yada yada...

The italics at the start represent Fenrys' dream (FYI). Okie here's Fenrys for ya.

Fenrys ran. Connal ran. Maeve pursued.

Panting. Shifting, using the ability Connal had gotten from the Stygian spider for them both. Looking back. Maeve was coming. Connal was shifting, back and forth, Fae and Beast. But Connal was falling. Fenrys was falling.

The world was burning.

Then, the Valg Queen's pale hand reaching, more a figment of fear than real life, and the world blackened; Fenrys had never seen such dark. His lungs convulsing, his entire being spinning into thin air, Fenrys stumbled as he landed several meters ahead of where he had been, with no sense of having moved. Stomach heaving, wanting to lay down and never get back up, Fenrys stumbled on, grateful of the small advantage it gave him over the brute's chasing him. But Connal… Connal had fallen. Connal was being torn apart by Maeve's beasts. Connal was dead, and so was he.

Fenrys bolted upright, breathing hard. Sighing, the warrior collapsed back onto the sweat-soaked sheets.

The nightmares came daily. Sometimes, Connal called him a traitor, a whore, a monster. Sometimes Maeve got him. Sometimes Maeve took Fenrys in his place. But always, they were running, and Maeve was chasing. It no longer bothered him that he could not sleep though the night; there was nothing to be done about it, unless he wanted to risk taking a sleeping tonic and leaving him helpless. Knowing that he would not be able to sleep for at least several hours, his mind still in the dream, Fenrys got up and prowled to the top of the deck. A cool night breeze brushed his neck; whether or not it was of Whitethorn's doing, Fenrys welcomed it. The midnight blue sky, a velvet curtain with diamond stars sprinkled across it, brought to mind Fenrys' brother, Connal. No, not Connal… someone else. Someone he had forgotten. Someone he would not allow himself to remember. Someone from Before.

Fenrys didn't know how long he stood at the rail, listening to the roar of the waves and staring at the sky, quelling every thought that would being back memories. Eventually, he became aware of a light still burning in Aelin's room. Knowing that the heir of fire was most likely making the most of what could be her last few days with Whitethorn, Fenrys ignored the light, until his Fae senses picked up on Lysandra's voice coming through the door. Curious, Fenrys stepped closer. He had barely moved in the direction of the door before it swung open. Aelin stood there, wearing nothing but a dressing gown. Behind her, Lysandra stood hunched over a desk. "Don't just stand there gaping, you great old hunk of muscle. In." Her voice was tired, something Fenrys knew she didn't usually allow. Wordless, Fenrys came in to the small room. The cot that had been intended for Aelin had been pushed to the side (she had chosen to stay with Rowan in his cot. As if anything else was even thinkable. Fenrys had to resist the urge to roll his eyes at the time at the look the two had exchanged) and the room was occupied with a large table heaped with maps and clearly discarded pieces of paper. In the one corner of the table that had been cleared of paper, Lysandra sat, writing what looked to be a letter in feminine, elegant script.

The words that then came out of Aelin's mouth were ones Fenrys had never heard said by her, not before and, he knew, not ever again.

"Tell me who I should write too."

"Write too?"

"Write too. For help."

So... yep. You'll see more of Fenrys and Aelin soon,

Toodles!