a.n.

hi, and thank you so much for reading! just a disclaimer: not all the chapters will be nineteen years later—some might be more, some might be less. i'm open to suggestions regarding the amount of time that has passed post-war. i am also open to suggestions regarding the prompt for each chapter. if you want to read about a certain aspect of any of the characters' lives, i'll be happy to write it.

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

don't forget to leave a review and let me know what you think!

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There was hardly anything more beautiful than Terrasen in the spring. The battering snows and biting winds annually yielded to lush green plains and colorful wildflowers, the most awe-inspiring of all the burning blossom that was the kingsflame.

It cropped up from time to time, one in a field here, one beside the ancient road there. Terrasen whispered of the flower, she knew, of the hundreds of fiery blooms that sprouted from the lush earth. Not only one, as had appeared for the previous ruler. For Orlon. No, now there were hundreds. Now... a true, lasting peace.

Lady Yrene Towers Westfall sat sidled up beside the carriage window, looking out into the passing world, eyeing the sun as it made its final pulls toward the horizon. It cast the carriage interior in a wash of gold and orange, the light as warm on her face as the hand clasped around hers. The rocking and swaying had become like a mother's song, or a father's soft tale just before bed. It lulled her, making her eyelids droop and her head weigh heavily on the body pressed against the plush seat beside her.

The last time she had seen Terrasen, it had been at this time of year. As she joined the celebration Orynth had thrown itself into, lasting for days and roaring on well into that final night. The grand commemoration of the queen who loved her kingdom so, whose heart burned in loving wildfire. Her birthday.

Terrasen's people had made into something of a holiday. Along with Yrene's. Much to her chagrin.

But the thought was enough to make her smile as the wild tangle of Oakwald continued to flit by.

She sensed his attention before he gave her a small squeeze of the hand. Turning, Yrene found her husband studying her, smiling faintly. He jerked his chin towards the seat opposite theirs, to a boy and girl dozing against each other, heads bobbing slightly with the carriage's motions, arms linked at the elbows.

Yes, Yrene believed there were few things more lovely than spring in Terrasen. But from the moment she first glimpsed him, first held her to her heart, first spied Chaol whispering sweet words of love and adoration to them both, she had no doubt that the sight of her children, of her pride and her undiluted joy, rivaled even the plush green fields, fresh from melted snow, and the crystal-clear streams, turquoise and sparkling and no longer frozen.

Chaol's expression remained amused as he again gestured to the boy—Terence, he was called. His jaw dangled open ever-so-slightly, but it was enough, Yrene realized as she laughed quietly, for a tiny trickle of drool to escape from the corner of his lips.

Lips that were hers. Same shape, same fullness to them. And if his eyes were to flutter open, they would reveal that smoldering gilded color, a shining pool of melted gold.

Oh, he's yours, alright, Yrene often heard, usually accompanied with a hearty chuckle or a bright grin. And she always answered with a grin of her own, for the words rang true. Terence was her son, through and through. Though his flaring temper and towering stature he had gotten somewhere else.

From the man at her side. Who now looked upon the girl.

The girl with Yrene's soft features, yet with Chaol's coloring. Younger than Terence by two years, Lyanna was a vision, ripe with youth at sixteen, and brimming with sweetness and with life. Her brown hair spilled down her back to her waist in heavy curls, a milk chocolate to complement the caramel tresses of her brother. And her eyes… even more magnificent, Yrene often marveled. For they glowed the warmest coppery shade. An alloy, a joining together of Yrene's molten gold and Chaol's gleaming bronze.

Yes, Yrene thought with a low sigh. The sight of her children would always be the loveliest.

The healers at the Torre had gone absolutely mad when Yrene had presented Terence and Lyanna to them during a visit to Antica. They had been perhaps a bit too young to board a rocking ship and sail an entire sea, with Terence just about to complete his second year and Lyanna a mere newborn. Yrene herself probably should not have been traveling, due to the havoc childbirth had wreaked upon her body. But she wanted Hafiza to see them. Wanted the Healer on High to hold them, and weep with joy, and clutch them to her chest, as Yrene had wished to do every minute of every day. And when Hafiza did just that, Yrene deemed any risk she had taken in visiting completely, utterly worth it.

She leaned over to gently wipe away the thin stream of drool on her son's chin, folding the handkerchief she kept in her pocket delicately. The boy beside Terence chuckled, patting his shoulder.

"Well, at least if they sleep now, they won't start nodding off at the welcoming dinner."

Yrene snorted. "Impossible. Aelin's court makes for the finest entertainment."

He grinned, and then turned back to the leather-bound book in his pale hands, scribbling in the margins with a thin lead pencil and furrowing his brow in concentration.

Unearthly beauty. That's what Castoran was. Unearthly beauty, with a face like piercing ice and a mind like sharp steel. His moon-white hair still held a bluish hue, even in the orange light of the ever-fading sun. Across the pages of his book, his eyes were like darting flashes of cool sapphire, noting every detail, taking in every kernel of information. A prince of ice, with traces of that cold magic roiling in his veins, and yet as outwardly kind as Silba herself.

The Crown Prince of Adarlan. The light of his father's life. And the unmoving glacier to his mother's unrelenting river current.

He was younger than Lyanna, just past his thirteenth birthday. And yet he harbored a fierce intelligence, beyond his years. So much so that Terrin had taken an immediate interest in him, and often whisked the boy away to his personal study at Westfall Manor whenever he visited. Not that Castoran seemed to mind. If anything, he often came out of that study grinning like mad, the gears of his mind grinding, his hands powdered with chalk. No doubt having scrawled countless mathematical conceptualizations and the like on Terrin's blackboard.

He was like Dorian in that way.

But Castoran, Yrene reminded herself, was also the son of Manon Blackbeak. And he could be just as ruthless, just as aloof. Just as fearsome. Just as deadly.

He wasn't usually one to spar. Yet she had seen him do so before, with Ava Galathynius, who was seemingly the only one who could coax a fight out of him. And whenever that fight came out...

Yrene shut out the thought. She loved Castoran. Adored him. As did Chaol, and their children.

No matter that he was half witch, or that he so thoroughly concealed that cold-blooded part of him. She loved him.

And she left it at that.

The sun dipped and dimmed, the horizon slowly swallowing it. Orynth was still ways away. Darkness crept over the sky, staining it orange. Then pink. Then a lovely indigo. Then the deepest blue. And with Castoran's grumble at the lack of light, which rendered him unable to read, Yrene let Chaol's warmth envelop her, let the carriage lull her, and fell into a light sleep.

Only to be roused what seemed like moments later by a smiling Lyanna. She shook Yrene's knee and sighed, placing a delicate hand on the carriage window and making a good show of looking outside with longing. Yrene knew that longing was only half-feigned. "Oh, sweet Orynth. I have missed you."

For it indeed, Yrene's eyes confirmed as she sat up and wiped at her face, was that grand city of wonder and beauty that greeted them.

There it was. A shining beacon in a night-blackened world. A glittering swath of fabric laid on the grass-carpeted earth.

Orynth.

Even after all the visits she'd payed it, after all these years, it still managed to steal the breath from her lungs. Possibly because its queen had only made it better since she'd begun her reign. Filled it with life and joy and light. Light from her fire. Light from her heart.

Lyanna grinned and shook a still-sleeping Terence's shoulder, telling him to "Wake up, wake up."

"Hm?" He sat up sharply, startled to consciousness by Lyanna's ministrations. He rubbed his face, blinking at Yrene with those golden eyes. Those lovely eyes. Lovelier than her own, she'd say, though they were very nearly the same.

"You were clearly tired," she said, giving him a little smirk. "Have you not been resting well, darling?"

She knew he hadn't been. Though not for any nightmare or nefarious thing. But for a red-haired girl with angelite eyes who worked in Rifthold's palace, whose silky singing voice and graceful dancing had her in high demand for grand parties, and who shared her son's fondness for story-telling and tale-weaving. Along with his bed.

Of course, she'd never stumbled upon the girl at Westfall Manor. But she'd heard enough of their midnight escapades from her and Chaol's bedroom to know: quite a few nights out of the week, neither of them got their fill of sleep. Though the girl certainly got her fill of something else.

Chaol laughed beside her, picking up on the silent jab well enough and arching a brow. "Trouble sleeping, son?"

Castoran grinned wickedly, his blindingly white teeth flashing in the dark, quick mind undoubtedly piecing it together. "Oh, poor Terence," he mocked, pushing out his lip in a pout. "Would you like me to concoct a sedative for you? You must be exhausted." Chaol laughed again.

"Shut up, all of you," her son said, shoving the prince's head, an irritated look on his face. With the ghost of a smile.

Castoran only shoved back, cackling as Lyanna began to snicker as well.

Yrene chuckled, savoring the moment, this precious moment as her family laughed together. Her beautiful, wonderful family. Not perfect, as no one's was. But wondrous enough that she leaned forward and kissed Terence's cheek before he could bat her away, kissed Lyanna's and Castoran's foreheads, and kissed Chaol's hand, entwining her fingers tightly with his and setting it on her lap.

"I wonder what sort of surprises Orynth has in store for us this time," she said.

For there was one every time they visited. Some new addition to the heart of the city. Like that school, that grand school where Orynth now offered excellent public education to its massive gaggle of children. Or perhaps some new breed of citizens. As if it could get stranger than Fae brought in from the other corner of the earth, or marvelous creatures summoned by an array of magic-wielders. And sometimes, some new family members, Yrene thought with no small amount of excitement.

It had first been Aedion and Lysandra, their new little additions sending Yrene's heart soaring. And then Elide—Elide—and Lorcan. She still smiled at that memory, when she had almost barreled the Lady of Perranth to the ground with her embrace, lips unable to stop their beaming. Then near-scolding Elide for not writing about it in her letters. And when Terence and Lyanna had met the twins, Gwen and Gaveon Ashryver, had met Kathryn-Marie Lochan... it was the most precious thing she had ever seen.

And then... the additions that had not been a surprise at all. Usually the reason for Yrene's visits, in fact.

Aelin.

Aelin, in her immortal Fae body, became pregnant.

It had taken years, yes. But Aelin had always been one to defy the odds. Had always roared at those who said she was incapable, that certain things were impossible. And when the message came to Westfall Manor, the message that said Aelin was nearing her final month of that first pregnancy, Yrene had been stunned. Stunned, and then filled with complete and utter elation.

So Yrene came to Orynth. To a city missing a puzzle piece, but had never quite realized it. And when Yrene again returned home, Orynth was complete. Complete with a squalling newborn more powerful than half the court named Ava Whitethorn Galathynius.

Chaol squeezed her hand. "Brace yourselves," he told their family. "It'll be ruckus. The royal children are a mad lot."

Yrene laughed. Ruckus indeed. Because after Ava, Rendyll came. And then Reavan. Then Amora, who was perhaps the sweetest and the only sane one, despite being the youngest.

For now, anyway. Yrene had come again, as she had for all of Aelin and Rowan's children. Because there was another yet to come. One more life to bring into Orynth. One more light into their world.

Lyanna huffed, rolling her eyes. "I quite enjoy their company, Father."

Chaol scoffed. "Only because you're half-mad, too," he said solemnly, eyeing her with mock disappointment. She only stuck out her tongue at him, linked her arm with Terence again, and stared out as the carriage began the climb over the hills before the plain of Theralis.

Yrene would have studied her more, were her eyes not drawn to the distant monuments that were now just visible in the heavy dark. Those ones that jutted out from the plain like lances, reaching toward the sky—the ones that she could never not look at. The ones that she knew Chaol also bowed his head toward, a silent show of respect. Of thanks and homage.

They stood in a massive circle, wreathed in small grey stones and undying flowers—magic undoubtedly keeping them alive and lush and exquisite. Twelve beautiful white statues. Each hewn into a sword, with a long arrow laid atop it, the two weapons tied at the hilts and fletchings by a thin ribbon. Each bearing two names: that of the witch and that of the wyvern. It had been one of those lovely surprises several years go. To see them erected with such precise detail and care when Aelin had first demanded she and Chaol visit, to see the gratitude the people of Orynth held for the coven who sacrificed themselves to save them.

Nearer and nearer they drew, the carriage making its hefty pulls over the hills and leveling out on the massive plain. Her children knew. Knew that their parents were in that glittering city when the witch-tower had aimed its burning destruction at it. Knew that they very well would have never existed were it not for the Thirteen.

So Lyanna's face grew serious as they made the stretch across the field. Terence only stared. Castoran gently folded his still-open book shut, blinking at the monuments. At the only remnants of his mother's fabled companions, who no doubt had been watching him from the Afterworld since the moment he was born.

Slowly, they lumbered towards that ring of white stone. Then overtook it. Then passed it. Yrene knew the countless guards who rode outside their carriage were also looking. Also marveling.

"Did either of you ever meet them?" Castoran asked, blue eyes turned to her and Chaol.

Chaol grunted softly. "I did, once. Though it was far from pleasant." His eyes flashed, his mouth setting into a slight frown. No doubt remembering that frantic day, when Manon had dug her iron nails into his throat. Remembering the way her twelve sentinels had sneered in response. Bygones, Yrene supposed.

Castoran hummed. "My father tells me they were wicked—in the best way. Says they would have laughed at first sight of me. If only because they'd never have imagined that I would come to exist."

Yrene gave him a smile, patting his knee. "A shock, you were. But I think they would have loved you, in their own way. Would have given you rides on their wyverns, perhaps."

"Or would have taught you how to slay your enemies, more like it." Chaol remarked, and she squeezed his fingers in silent reprimand.

Castoran only blew out a breath through his nose and looked again to the statues. "When we depart," he muttered, "I should like to visit that memorial. Learn their names."

"Hasn't your mother ever told you them?" Lyanna blurted. Yrene cut her a sharp look.

But Castoran merely shrugged. "She doesn't like to speak of them. Puts a hole in her, I think."

A hole. Yes, Yrene thought. She recalled meeting the witch, up on the makeshift aerie of Orynth's palace. When she had embraced Manon, whose hard gold eyes had been empty and hollow. Hollow without her pack of witches with whom to share their victory against darkness.

Yet Manon had since found a new light. Made her own light. Not one that replaced that of her Thirteen; Yrene supposed that absence would always remain. But one that Yrene knew filled her in a way that her sentinels possibly never would have been able to.

She smiled again at that light, still looking out towards the statues as the carriage furthered itself from them. "Then visit them we shall. But for now..." She looked to Chaol. Then to Terence and Lyanna. And then to the glimmering city growing closer and closer, its massive walls looming.

No—not looming.

Beckoning.

"For now we say hello to your Aunt Aelin."