As she'd expected, Bella and Dan leapt at the chance to accompany her to Autumn. Though her cousin was far from fully healed, the aim of the mission was secrecy, not combat - with any luck, Fiona could get into the Forest House safely enough by herself, and escape with the other two quickly and quietly once she'd spoken to her father.

Father.

Fiona had been so wrapped up in actually getting Xander to agree to the mission, that she hadn't quite comprehended what she'd signed herself up for. Flying under the cover of night, with the faint silhouette of patchwork forests and fields beneath their feet, her insides began to twist at the prospect of the man she flew towards.

How would she stand before him, now that she knew? Could she call him uncle, and act as though nothing had changed - as though her feelings for him were confined to simple, two-dimensional hatred?

No. Eris had taught her to lie, but she wasn't that good. 

And what of the prophecy? Elain's face came swimming into view, followed by a gaunt conjuring of Eris as the Dead Red King, his crown slanted atop a gleaming white skull. Perhaps he was dead already - perhaps Aidan had got to him, or Keir had found the perfect way to cover his tracks. Fiona paled at the prospect of walking through the doors of the Forest House to find a set of beady black eyes and that sickle-shaped birthmark beneath the crown.

Calm. She had to stay calm and focused - the Autumn Court was a pack of wolves, trained to scent fear. Fiona had no choice but to bury her doubts as deep as they could go.

Though the task became all the more difficult when Bella began her descent, flying them low enough to scan the terrain. Pin pricks of light became roaring fires, smouldering woodland in little pockets through the territory, and here and there they could spot the ashen remains of buildings in the dark. 

Fiona felt the tension build among the trio. And her doubts only worsened when they eventually reached the Forest House to find it unguarded. No sentries marched the perimeter, nor were Beron's hounds anywhere to be seen.

"I have a truly terrible feeling about his." Riordan mumbled.

Steeling herself, Fiona pointed to a copse of trees a short distance from the entrance. "Can you get us down there?" she asked Bella. With a curt nod they were speeding for the ground, the eerie silence all-encompassing in the woodland, as though even the critters were hiding.

Once on the ground, Fiona fixed her companions with a firm look. "I'll go in alone," she announced, immediately dismissing Riordan with a flick of her hand when he began to protest. "That's a non-negotiable. Eris will never let enemy fae into his home, so our only shot is to make it look as though I've come by myself."

"I really don't like this, Fiona." Bella muttered, glancing at the distant lights of the Forest House through the canopy. 

"Neither do I," she admitted. "But I'll run at the first sign of trouble - I know all the escape routes, and I reckon I could guess the border of the winnow-ward to the millimetre," she joked, flashing them a weak smile.

Riordan and Bella exchanged a glance, clearly unconvinced.

"We'll be here." she nodded. "If you need a hand, make a racket." The Illyrian reached for her hand in the shadows, giving it a squeeze. "We'll come running."

Fiona attempted a grateful smile that ended up more like a grimace. With a deep breath, she turned away from the anxious faces of her friends, and set her sights on the Forest House, forcing her feet to tread the path toward to her childhood - back to her family, and the world she'd spent a lifetime running from.

~ ERIS POV ~

The woman walking across the marble tiles towards him was not the same girl who had left all those months ago.

Eris' last memory of his daughter was of a mousy-looking thing with brown hair and servant's rags. It had been a good glamour, an excellent one, even - but Fiona gave herself away with that look of determination that burned ever-bright in her hazel eyes. That, and the silver ruby necklace she'd been clutching in her hand.

Today, she came to a halt a respectful few metres in front of Eris. Her brow knotted, as though she was struggling to decide whether to bow to him or punch him. 

She compromised with a nod. "Eris."

The girl – the woman – before him now had no string of jewels, no apron or tray of drinks by her side. She wore scaled leather armour from head to toe, and strands of her hair were braided and tied in a fountain of auburn curls that tumbled over her back. Her shoulders were stiff but Eris didn't think he'd ever seen her eyes so clear, her chin so high. There was no glamour now, no pretense. And yet, although Fiona could spot a lie from a mile away, she was incapable of hiding anything from him. A hundred emotions flitted across those eyes at the speed of light; disgust, fury, hurt, and- was that - ?

Fuck.

Eris swallowed the lump in his throat. "You know, don't you."

Not a question - an observation. Surprise flickered to life on his daughter's face, brief as a spark cast from flint. She nodded again.

Fuck.

The well-practiced smile tasted bitter on his lips. "Was it your charming mother who told you?" he asked, trying not to sound as wretched as he felt. "How is the witch these days?"

"It wasn't her." Fiona loosed a sigh and flicked her wrist, summoning an oak chair from a pile of rubble in the corner of the room. It came flying over and slid smoothly beneath the young fae as she eased into it.

Eris' eyes widened.

Double fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

His throat felt as though it was encircled by an iron fist. But he managed a strained laugh.

"I suppose we have to talk about that too, don't we?" He gestured to the chair. Fiona nodded, though she looked tired, disinterested.

A moment of silence passed between them in which Eris summoned a chair for himself, the demonstration of magic feeling somewhat less impressive in his present company.

The silence in the old Oak Hall was deafening. Quiet seemed to echo around them even as a thousand questions screeched through Eris' head.

Where have you been? Who are you now? Were you there when –

He glanced down and registered the deep purple bruises around her knuckles. A note of fear trilled through him as he imagined his daughter in Velaris that day, surrounded by darkbringers and Illyrians and blood.

Another question rose above the chorus, louder than the others.

Are you ok?

Both father and daughter exhaled an exasperated sigh. Eris caught Fiona's eye and offered her a sheepish smile – an olive branch, of sorts. She refused it, looking away.

"I'm not here for a reunion, Eris. War is coming, and we need to know where you stand."

Eris' smile faded. "Who's we?" he asked, though he hardly needed a response. The Illyrian leathers and double blades strapped at her back were answer enough.

The intensity of Fiona's gaze was enough to knock the breath from him when she asked, "Did you help them? Did you send troops to Keir? Was Aidan acting on your behalf?"

That look. It was familiar, that look that squeezed his chest like a vice. It was her mother's. Eris knew she would see the truth in it when he answered, "No."

His daughter stared on, unblinking. "There were Autumn Court soldiers in Velaris, soldiers flying your sigil. You didn't send them?"

"I did not. Aidan staged something of an uprising." Eris gestured to the state of his home, to the cracked marble floor and the burn marks on the ancient oak they sat beside. "I don't know if you'd noticed, but we haven't exactly gone unscathed down here."

Fiona flexed her fingers as though resisting the urge to form a fist. "Trust me, it looks a lot worse up North."

Silence, again. Why could he never just talk to her? A small, nagging part of Eris was overjoyed that she knew, and wanted to get up and wrap her in his arms, keep her safe and laugh with her and be a real father. But perhaps it was too late for all that. And seeing her in front of him, donning that armour, her visit a matter of political necessity...it was hard not to reach for the old mask. Hard to know how to convince his daughter to trust him.

The truth seemed like a good place to start.

"Keir came to visit some time ago. Aidan beseeched me to support his claim to the Night Court." Eris explained, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

Embers sparked to life in Fiona's gaze. "You knew? You knew, and you did nothing?"

"What I knew was that Keir was making a bid to steal Rhysand's throne," Eris corrected her. "This might surprise you, Fiona, but that weasel has been trying to usurp Rhys for centuries with absolutely no success. So, you'll forgive me if I wasn't overly concerned when he came with another proposal. Him and Feyre are...were the most powerful High Lord and Lady in history." He narrowed his eyes. "And it is not my job to protect foreign lords from threats within their own court. Nor is it yours."

Eris watched her spine stiffen, a motion she tried to cover by crossing one leg over the other in what he supposed was an attempt at nonchalance. "What is or isn't my job is up to me."

"Is it?" He dropped the mask for a moment and raised an eyebrow. "You didn't spend your weeks here baking bread and reading books, Fiona." She had chosen to pay more attention to the dirt beneath her nails, but in that moment, the young fae looked up. 

"I think you know a lot more than you're letting on." Eris' long fingers threaded together and settled on his lap. "So why don't we speak plainly?"

That won a smile from her, albeit a rather twisted one. "Plainly," she huffed, casting her gaze around the hall. "It doesn't feel appropriate to speak plainly in this house."

Eris took the jab in silence, waiting her out. After a pause, she rolled her eyes.

"Alright, let's lay it out. We need your support against Keir. We need your troops to turn the tide in Velaris, and it's in your interest to join us."

"Now why's that?"

"A myriad of reasons. Because it's the right thing to do. Because Keir won't just stop at the Night Court." Fiona's twisted smile reappeared. "But the only one I think you'll care about is this - because Aidan stands with him. And I think you and I both know that it wouldn't take much for your brothers and their sons to jump ship and support his claim. And if that happens, well..." she sucked at her teeth, tapping a toe against the marble. "That doesn't look so good for you."

Eris wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or light her chair on fire. Gods, she was so much like her mother.

"Don't play the villain, Fiona." He replied. "It doesn't suit you."

His daughter's smile emptied. "Don't play the dad card, Eris. You haven't earned it."

Eris resisted the urge to wince.

Too much like her mother.

"In the interest of being frank," he began, glancing at his feet to hide the hurt. "I don't appreciate you siding yourself with the Night Court as though you don't have a higher duty here." He glanced pointedly at the silver blades peaking up over her shoulder. "I'm happy for you to play dress up all you like, but we both know what your little trips to the village turned up – what you found in my office, that is."

Fiona didn't react. She was getting better at that. "So it's true then?" she asked.

Eris nodded. "Cillian and Aidan are illegitimate. Demeter..." he trailed off for a moment, clearing his throat as he remembered the other witch in his life – the one he married. "She had many lovers. I was never one of them."

He leaned forward in his chair, watching the fae before him closely, watching his words land. "You are the only heir to the Autumn Court, Fiona. You always have been." 

He let the words ring in the hall, allowing them to sit within her for a moment, so that she could feel the weight he was placing on her shoulders. "You may not like me, you may resent our home and our family, and I won't begrudge you that. I've done nothing to convince you otherwise," Eris admitted. "But one of my 'sons' is exiled and the other is incompetent. And as you've so astutely observed, your uncles are gathering like wolves around our throne."

Fiona was sitting quietly, being careful not to wear her emotions so brazenly. But she'd began chewing on the inside corner of her lip, and Eris thought he saw her fingers twitch with apprehension. 

He shifted in his chair, the oak groaning beneath him. "Therefore, I have a proposal." He jerked his chin toward the giant oak doors at her back, to where he knew Lucien's boy and Nesta's girl were hiding a few hundred metres into the forest. "I'll give your friends my full support; troops, supplies and all that." He locked Fiona in his gaze. "But only on the condition that you accept your position as my heir, and return here to be legitimized."

She stopped chewing her lip. Her knee started to bounce nervously instead, as though the anxious energy was coursing through her body, desperate to escape. Fiona planted her feet firmly on the floor.

"You want me to be your heir?" she asked in a small voice.

Something in Eris cracked upon hearing that sound - so child-like, so hesitant. 

"Of course," he answered softly. "You're the only person in this House who isn't motivated solely by greed. I heard what you did for the people of the village, Fiona. You have greatness in you, you've proven that on your own." He spread his hands out, gesturing to her armour and posture. But she didn't seem convinced.

"The Autumn Court has never had a High Lady," Fiona stated. "No one would accept my claim - I'd spend my whole life looking over my shoulder."

"Then you'll be just like your father." Eris's smile was tinged with sadness. "The best lords live in fear, I think. Although," he chuckled. "I suppose that says a lot about my reign."

Fiona was quiet.

"You won't reconsider?"

He shook his head. "If you leave here for good, I swear I'll leave my legacy to Donovan."

At least that prompted a huff of dark laughter from the girl.

"But why commit now?" Fiona shifted on her chair, looking down. "It's not like you'll be going anytime soon."

Eris shrugged, trying not to let the sleepless nights and backstabbing brothers show in the hunch of his shoulders. "You never know. Rhys and Feyre would tell you - even fae don't live forever."

They were both silent after that, and Eris' mind was once again filled with questions, wondering if she'd seen it happen. Word had spread like wildfire around Prythian - of how Tamlin made a miraculous return from the dead. How he had raked his claws across Feyre's throat on the cliffs above Velaris, her blood spraying into the sea – finally and brutally ending their centuries-long love story. The scene burned itself onto his eyelids, and Eris had to blink away the image of Rhysand's agonized face, screaming into the remainder of his mateless life.

Fiona stood from her chair. "I'll think about it."

Her father nodded. "Of course."

He noted the way she walked, the litheness with which she moved. Someone had taught her to balance her weight, to wield those swords strapped to her back. Someone had shown her how to use her powers. Or maybe no one had. Maybe she'd taught herself – he'd never know. 

He'd missed so much.

Fiona paused at the door, one hand on the large brass knockers. "Aidan is ambitious and relentless," she said, her voice measured. "He will come after you."

Eris cocked his head. "He won't be the first."

Fiona hesitated. She seemed to be fighting over one lingering question, and for a minute Eris thought she might just winnow away. He waited patiently as she turned to watch him over her shoulder.

"I have hated every moment I've spent in this house." she mused, running a hand over the carved wooden door frame. "I hate almost everyone who lives here, and for a long time, I hated you. And now you're handing me the perfect shot at your title, your crown..." Fiona offered him a bemused smile. "What makes you think I won't come after you?"

Eris blinked. A second passed where she simply stood there smiling at him. And then a laugh bubbled up in his chest, catching him by surprise. It was a deep, belly-rumbling laugh, one that bent him over and echoed eerily through the hall. 

When father and daughter locked eyes again, Eris' were glassy.

"I'm not sure." He admitted, still chuckling. He spread his arms wide and shrugged. "I suppose for the same reason I want you as my heir; because you're absolutely nothing like me."

Fiona broke into a true, earnest grin. "Then it's a good thing you've been such a shit father," she laughed. "Because you'd be in serious trouble if I were."

In the space of a blink his daughter had disappeared in a haze, the ghost of her smile still etched in the open doorway. The High Lord was still chuckling when he stood to leave – and it was only then that he noticed the oak tree was ablaze.