So I'm going to keep my intro short because I'm sure you're all a bit anxious to read this one ^^ It's a bit … different from what you might expect, so I hope you're going to like it :)

Anyway, thank you for reading and commenting, it means the world! xx

Her vision blurred, and she felt her entire body go still. This couldn't be happening. She had to be sleeping, her mind playing sick tricks on her in the middle of the night.

"Feyre," he repeated, his tone pleading and commanding all at once. His voice was like an icy arrow piercing through her heart, and she remembered the last time she'd heard it, yelling at her, and then crying, begging for her to stay, for her not not leave him. To her own amazement, she managed to get out words, not to him, but to someone else, anyone else that would answer.

"What is he doing here?"

It was Elain who answered: "Graysen's father invited him as a business partner. Feyre I learned about it tonight when he arrived, I wouldn't have allowed…"

"Feyre," Tamlin's advanced towards her, and she couldn't move, couldn't breathe or look away from his mesmerizing green eyes. "I need to talk to you, in private."

She shook her head, her vision blurring, but he was still approaching. Soon he was towering over her and he extended an arm. Gods, she wasn't ready for their skins to touch, for their bodies to be so close to one another. He was inches from her wrists now.

"Feyre, I need to…"

"Don't touch her." A large hand gripped his wrist before he could reach her. Rhysand's hand.

Rhys was boiling with rage. What her ex was doing here, he didn't know. And when he'd entered the hall and seen her standing in front of this tall man with long blonde hair, he'd wanted to let her handle it on her own. But she'd clearly entered a state of shock, and the man - Tamlin - had been nearly about to touch her when he'd moved. Like hell he was going to stand by and do nothing when Feyre looked so terrorized.

Now Rhys was holding his wrist and standing halfway between them. Tamlin slowly turned his eyes away from hers and looked at him with so much disdain that Rhys could have slapped him right then just to get rid of this expression.

"And who are you?"

"It's doesn't matter who I am. What matters is that Feyre clearly doesn't want you to touch her, so back off."

"You don't get to tell me what to do when I don't know you. This doesn't concern you."

It was Feyre who replied before he could, her voice hoarse and low, but still strong. "It does. He's my boyfriend."

Tamlin's entire face seemed to crumble at the word, but Rhys didn't feel any kind of smugness at that, he was only relieved to hear Feyre move away from him and towards her family.

"Elain, I want him gone, immediately."

Her mother answered: "Feyre don't be so unreasonable, he's a guest here as much as you are, we're not kicking anyone out. There are no ferries left to go to the mainland, anyway."

The tone her mother employed with her, as if she was a child having a tantrum… It angered him nearly more than seeing her ex here. Rhysand released Tamlin of his grip and moved closer to Feyre, but didn't take his eyes off him.

"I don't care that there are no boats. He can very well swim there for all I care. I won't spend another minute in the same house as him."

"You really need to grow up, young girl. You tell me you're an adult but you're not mature enough to handle being with your ex-boyfriend for even one evening?! He won't be sleeping anywhere else than in this house."

"You know what he did to me!" Feyre yelled, and from the corner of his eyes, Rhys saw the frown in Elain's face. She didn't know. "I told you what he did to me and you still don't care! And you know what? I don't care if you think I'm immature, but if he's not going to leave, I am."

"What are you going to do, sleep outside? It's an island, Feyre, don't be ridiculous."

Feyre stopped for a second, then "You know what, I'd rather sleep outside than share a roof with him." And with that, she stormed out of the hall.

Rhys didn't look at her mother, he only kept his eyes on Tamlin as he followed Feyre outside of the house. She was walking to the entrance of the property, almost running. Understanding that she indeed planned to sleep outside, he made a quick turn to the shelter where they'd seen the camping gear, grabbed a tent, a mat and a sleeping bag, and ran after her.

It was freezing outside, and Feyre walked without knowing where she was going. Feeling him so close to her had felt like the whole world was going dark, like the walls around them were closing in on her to crush her and make her disappear forever. Getting out of the house had been the only option, the safest one. And Rhys was behind her, following from a few feet away, probably wishing to leave her space. But she didn't want him away. She stopped walking and waited for him to catch up to her, then started walking again. She glanced sideways at him and saw he was wearing a few bags in his arms.

"What is all this?"

"It's some camping gear I took at the house."

"You took… seriously?" She almost forgot to feel gloomy for a second.

"I'm not going to let you freeze your ass on the ground, Feyre."

"... Thank you."

"You're welcome," he said with a soft smile. "Do you know where we're going, or are we just wandering about?"

"I'm wandering aimlessly. Sorry."

"No problem. Might I suggest a camping spot?"

"Sure."

"When we arrived, I saw a small bay over there," he said, pointing east, "it will be protected from the wind, and tomorrow morning we'll have the sun to warm us up."

Right. It was the beginning of December, and even though the weather was warmer down in Springfield, they would be cold.

"You can go back to the house if you want," she said. Please don't leave me, she thought.

"No way." They walked in silence for a moment, then "I think if I go back right now, I might punch your ex and yell at your mother. Him, I wouldn't mind, but I don't want your mother to hate me on our first meeting."

Feyre could sense the restrain in his voice. She didn't answer, she didn't think she had the strength to talk about what had happened earlier. After a half hour walk on the road, they reached the beach on the small bay he'd seen, and Rhys told her she could sit down while he built up the tent.

"I can help you."

"It's okay Darling, you're tired and cold, and I'd rather have it up quickly to start on the fire and warm you up. I promise I'll let you help the next time we go camping," he finished with a wink.

She nodded, but she couldn't seem to muster the energy to smile back at him, and he started with one of the bags. Soon, the small tent was up, with a thin mattress inside it. Rhys told her to sit in, draped the sleeping bag like a blanket around her, and went into the small forest to find enough wood for a fire.

All the while, Feyre felt like she was sleeping, and that nothing good could appear in this nightmare. She felt tired and empty, a cloud of terrible darkness enveloping her mind and body. Tamlin was here, on this island, so close to her that she could almost feel his green eyes on her, even on this beach. For most of the time since their breakup, she had hoped to never see him again. When she caught herself imagining a meeting with him though, she thought of herself as confident, sarcastic and witty. She would be spitting out clever remarks, put him in his place, make him admit that he'd been horrible to her, and finally, she would tell him about her new boyfriend. She would tell him how funny and gentle and amazing he was, how he was so much better for her and how she didn't regret leaving Tamlin. She imagined herself strong. Certainly not the sobbing mess she'd been. But at the completely unexpected sight of him here, a place where she'd felt safe and happy minutes before, she'd been taken aback and had been incapable of even moving away. She shivered at the memory of his body so close to hers, and shook her head. She had to think of something else.

Rhys came back, spent several minutes starting a fire close enough to the entry of the tent, and then hovered over it for even longer, getting it to start properly. He came to sit down behind her on the mattress, looped his arms around her, and she nestled against his chest. His head against hers, he said into her ear:

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

They didn't move, watching the fire burn in front of them, sparks flying up from it and burning away into the night sky, the stars bright and peaceful. Feyre looked at them, taking in the familiar constellations above their head. The sight helped her relax a nudge, as did the comfortable feeling of Rhys' strong body against hers. For a while, the crackling of the fire was the only companion to their breaths.

"Talk to me," she said, because she needed to hear his voice, to feel that she was not alone in the world.

"What do you want to talk about?"

She considered, then said: "Tell me an Illyrian story."

"A story?"

"Your favorite one."

He stayed silent for a while, and she thought he wasn't going to answer her. But then, "There is this legend told amongst the camps. It says that a long time ago, the Illyrians used to have wings."

"Actual wings?"

"Yes, according to the stories, the Illyrians were winged warriors, mighty and strong, capable of fighting for hours in the sky. They adored their wings and flew as much as they could, roaming through the skies at night, dancing with the stars."

"What kind of wings?"

"The versions differ, but generally they're described as membranous, sort of like bat wings."

"So they were like... real-life batmen?"

He chuckled. "Yeah I guess so."

"Cool. Tell me the rest."

"It says that long ago, at the beginning of our people, we used to walk the Earth like all humans, and that the Gods, who knew of Illyrian boldness, had made us that way to keep us from their lands. But one warrior, a woman called Emerie, wanted to see more of the world, and once she had explored every territory of the lands, she set out to the land of the Gods. She braved many dangers before reaching their threshold, and by the time she got to them, they were impressed by her strength of mind and body. So instead of punishing her for her arrogance, they gave her one last test: she had to go into a magic forest, stay alive and unarmed, and retrieve an object long lost to them. If she conquished this quest, they would gift her people the strength of the gods."

"This sounds like the Rite you told me about. She managed to retrieve it, didn't she?"

"The Rite is a recurring theme on Illyrian legends. And that's what the story says, yeah. So when Emerie came back to the realm of the Gods with the lost idol in hand, they granted her wings, so she could fly to them, and they said that every child born Illyrian would have wings, as long as they stayed a mighty and wise people. She came back to her camp flying, and she started teaching the younglings how to fly."

Silence fell, and Feyre pictured a woman looking a bit like Rhysand's mother, with big black wings spread on her back, teaching toddlers how to master their gift. She smiled as she imagined Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel flying around with tiny bat wings.

"So why don't you have wings now? How does the story end?"

"The endings aren't all the same."

"What's your favorite?"

"The one my mother told me when I was a kid. The one the women tell."

"Tell me."

"They say that the Gods considered the Illyrians worthy of their gift for centuries, and our people prospered thanks to it. But as time went by, the clans forgot where the wings came from, and were arrogant once more. They stopped respecting their Gods, and more importantly, they stopped respecting their women. They took up a habit that's called 'clipping' in the story: They were cutting a part of the women's wings to keep them from flying, impeding them from becoming warriors and keeping them on the ground. The legend says that the first day they clipped a woman in a camp, the first wingless baby was born in another."

Feyre was speechless at that. It was only a story, but she couldn't imagine how horrible it would have been to lose such a gift because you were born woman… But Rhys continued, and she could hear the smile on his voice when he started speaking again, his mouth close to her cheek:

"The story doesn't end here though."

"Oh?"

"No. It says that some day, if the Gods see the Illyrian people thrive again with wisdom and respect, they will earn their wings once more. So we have to keep fighting for the rights of our women, and rise enough to be worthy of the Gods' gift, and some day, our sons and daughters will roam the skies again."

She considered. "It's beautiful."

She didn't remember falling asleep, but when she woke up in the middle of the night, she was lying on the mattress, wrapped in a sleeping bag, Rhys asleep snuggled against her.