All Things Wild and Beautiful

1. Fading Scars

The artwork above is not mine.

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    He saw it again. Connall's hand closing around the hilt of a knife. Maeve's cruel grin as she gave the command. There was nothing he could do. No way to keep his brother's hand from falling. No way to stop the blade that plunged into Connall's heart.

    He was trapped in his wolf, unable to scream, or cry, or even howl. Unable to release the pain that welled up inside him, sweeping through every inch of his being. His brother collapsed, the light fading from his eyes. It couldn't be true. It couldn't be real. Connall wasn't dead. It was just a trick.

    Connall's blood formed a dark crimson puddle on the stone floor. It was to that puddle Maeve ordered him. It was in that puddle he knelt as Maeve told him what she wanted. It was in that warm, sticky puddle that smelled of Connall, where he was forced to service the Valg Queen, while his true Queen watched helplessly, kneeling on a pile of broken glass.

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    Fenrys lurched awake, chest heaving with ragged breaths. That was the third time this week he'd dreamed of his twin's death. He couldn't seem to escape the dark memory, or any of the others for that matter. He raked his fingers through long blonde hair, drawing in measured breaths.

    Maeve is dead, he reminded himself. She is gone. She can never hurt me, Aelin, or anyone else ever again.

    Several months had gone by since the defeat of Erawan, Maeve, and the Valg forces. Slowly, the remaining scars of the war were beginning to fade. But some ran deeper than others. Some, Fenrys thought, might never truly fade. His fingers traced the two long scars that stretched from his brow to his jaw.

    He rolled out of bed and hastily tugged his clothes on. Fenrys drew back his hair, fastening it with a leather band. He sheathed his swords across his back and slid a dagger into place on his thigh. His boots were the last thing he grabbed.

    Fenrys stepped out onto the soft grass that surrounded his home. He leaned his head back, drawing in a deep breath of crisp mountain air. Stars glittered brightly overhead. He thought he recognized the Stag constellation that Aelin was so fond of.

    "The Lord of the North," she often said, "remains there through all seasons, so the people of Terrasen can always find their way home. So they can look up at the sky, no matter where they are, and know that Terrasen will forever be with them. As long as we can see the Stag, we are never truly lost. We are never truly alone."

    Fenrys didn't think he'd ever met anyone more dedicated to their home than Aelin and the people of Terrasen. But, the longer he was there, the more he understood why they were. Terrasen was a paradise for Fae and Humans alike. Fenrys felt more at home here than he'd ever felt in Doranelle. The land called to his heart in many different ways.

    It called to his Fae senses, boasting of the ancient magic running deep within the veins of the kingdom. It promised him shelter, warmth, and friendship. The land called to his wolf, his secondary form. The forests and mountains begged him to roam through them on velvety paws. The bright stars and full moon urged him to throw back his head and howl, and see how many would answer. There was a time when Connall might have.

    His heart twisted and Fenrys lowered his head. He dove into his well of magic, reaching for the power that let him cleave through the very fabric of the world. This power gave him the ability to transport himself from place to place, but only in short jumps. He grasped his magic and wind roared in his pointed ears. The world grew dark around him.