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[itach-i]

@throneofglassmicrofics

Here’s an entry for Fracture 🥺

This was done super fast and I’m awful at word limits so please forgive me! Also it’s not March yet but I had the idea and thought I should write it now instead of waiting.

A little scene from the victory party at the end of KoA

***

Yrene shrieked as Dorian spun her around and pulled her back against him. The great room was raucous with music and laughter. Humans, fae, witches, from three continents, all celebrating victory. Chaol watched from where he sat with Nesryn and Sartaq, beaming at her joy.

Glancing up at Dorian, she frowned, noticing his distraction despite his perfect steps on the dance floor. His eyes were focused on something over her head and across the hall. She didn’t need to look to know that’s where Manon was seated.

“Why don’t you ask her to dance?”

Dorian pulled his gaze from the witch queen and gave her a polite smile. “I assume she doesn’t dance.” Again, he twirled her, and again his attention flew to Manon before she was back in his arms.

Yrene clicked her tongue in annoyance. “To assume makes an ASS out of U,” she said. “You’re smarter than that, aren’t you?”

Stumbling for the first time in their dance, Dorian gaped at her. “I believe I’m your King, Lady Westfall. Is your language appropriate?” A raised eyebrow was the only sign he was playing.

Yrene raised her chin. “I am practically your sister-in-law. And if you’re being an ass, I will tell you.”

His eyes flicked back to Manon and his shoulders seemed to slump in Yrene’s arms. “I don’t want to scare her away,” Dorian sighed, his face overcome with longing and fear.

Yrene felt it in him. The desire, the timidity, the worry. Her magic sensed it all. She’d sensed Manon’s bottomless grief and confusion when she’d hugged her the other day.

As the music ended, she hugged Dorian then said, “I’ll find out if she dances.” Tugging his arm, she placed him in front of Elide for the next song. Avoiding Chaol’s curious look, she made her way through the crowd.

***

“May I sit here?”

Manon hadn’t seen the healer approach. She hadn’t truly seen anything that night. Blinking, as if coming from underwater, she heard the music, saw the dancing and the food. Saw the healer wait politely for an answer.

Manon nodded, and the healer sat, her hands resting on her belly as she put her feet up on another empty chair.

“Do you dance?”

Her name was Yrene, Manon remembered, turning away to stare at the table in front of her. She’d eaten at Glennis’s urging, and now the food sat leaden in her stomach.

“I was taught to fight, not dance,” Manon finally answered. The healer was smiling, one foot tapping, seemingly enthralled by the celebration.

“I would say I’m sorry to hear that if it weren’t for how you and your witches saved Orynth.” Yrene was now staring at her, smile gone, foot still.

Manon huffed a breath. “Did Dorian put you up to this?” Her eyes had fallen on him throughout the night despite her best efforts not to watch him.

Yrene laughed. “Absolutely not. He’s an idiot.”Without intending to, Manon gaped at the healer. At the expression, Yrene added, “Chaol told me not to baby him even though he’s king. Besides, I just wanted to sit down somewhere quiet. You were at this table alone…” She waved her hand as if that was that.

Alone. Yes, Manon was always alone now, even in this hall of hundreds of people. Even with witches trailing her everywhere she went. They were the wrong witches though.

“I didn’t mean to…” Yrene said, her face exuding a kindness Manon had never seen before.

She’d felt it though. When they’d first met, Yrene had pulled her into a hug that had felt … wondrous. Calming. Like a weight had eased from her chest just a little.

“Will I ever feel whole again?” she asked Yrene, surprising herself with the hushed voice, the blunt honesty she’d never before allowed with anyone but Dorian.

Yrene sat up and smiled sadly, reaching for Manon’s hand. That warmth she’d felt in that hug returned, spreading through her.

“No,” the healer replied. “You won’t. I still feel a piece of myself missing where my mother resided. She can never be replaced. But my heart has grown around that missing part. I have Chaol, our baby, my work, my friends.” At that last, Yrene squeezed Manon’s hand.

“Grief is fickle and sneaky and it never goes away. Some days it will hide and you’ll laugh at a memory of them. Other days it will consume you and you won’t be able to leave your bed.”

Manon swallowed thickly, forcing herself not to sob, not to let the moisture in her eyes overflow. “I don’t know how to live without them.”

Was it her touch? Her warm honey eyes that looked at her with compassion but not pity? How was this healer pulling these feelings from her?

“I didn’t know either,” Yrene said, letting her own tears fall. “But I’m still here. With help from strangers who became friends.” A laugh escaped Yrene’s lips as she looked towards Aelin dancing with Rowan. Focusing on Manon again, she said, “I am a good listener. Whenever you need it.” Another squeeze. “Or I can just sit and hold your hand.”

The magic grew stronger and Manon felt lighter. It wouldn’t take away the pain or that image of white light that blasted her awake whenever she tried to sleep. It wouldn’t get rid of the nausea or the nerves. It wouldn’t fix the fractured heart that was somehow still beating in her chest.

But it felt good. And like she wasn’t alone.

Manon nodded, unable to speak the thank you she felt. And Yrene nodded in return.

They say in comfortable silence for a while as the festivities carried on.

“He’s not really an idiot,” Yrene said in Dorian’s direction.

He was dancing with Glennis now, both of them laughing at the pronounced height difference. The sight made Manon’s mouth twitch upwards. “I know.”

In

***

Hope you liked this! Check out my fic master list for more ☺️

[itach-i]

Aelin, Dorian and Chaol - Throne of Glass

Artist: @artoffrostandflame

[itach-i]

Lol Manorian is a joke. AND Dorian is still referring to Sorchia as “the woman he loves” in Kingdom of Ash. SJM clearly tried very hard to put Manorian together but she didn’t succeed because she didn’t even give them an actual relationship storyline beside an unnecessary amount of smut.

Sorry you feel that way, I disagree (big shocker there) lol

Indeed he does, context is important though. I know literary comprehension isn’t everyone’s forte, so I’ll make it simple for you :)

It’s when he’s tricking Maeve in Morath when she asks him why he would risk his other alliances and friendships. “The woman I love is dead, my Kingdomis in ruin, what do I have to lose?”

He’s planning this entire time to trick Maeve, thus why he put on the “courtier’s face”, why he is nonchalant about his relationship with Manon, and why he speaks of his friendship with Aelin as if it’s nothing and is willing to stand against her for his own personal gain. Which we know isn’t true.

In the beginning of KoA he talks of how beautiful Manon is and wonders when it won’t feel like a betrayal to think so, and he learns of that time when he talks to Kaltain and sees Manon when he thinks of his future and being happy.

He can still grieve and be hurting. A part of him will likely always love her, like a part of Aelin will always love Sam.

Starting to find love in another doesn’t negate what he once felt, and it’s pretty clear what he wants in the future when he “wants only one witch to be his queen”and thinks “You, only you.” When Manon asks him what he wants 🤷🏽‍♀️

(Also what unnecessary smut? They have 3 s*x scenes and 2 are almost completely fade to black 😂)

[itach-i]

“What if?” WIP

Because I don’t want peace, I WANT PROBLEMS.

Drawing Abraxos made my chest hurt

[itach-i]

You will find peace

[itach-i]

palette nart requests from twt

[itach-i]

Firsts

A manorian one shot that has all my usual tropes. I have a long standing head canon that Manon secretly watches Dorian a lot. She thinks it’s just out of curiosity since he’s a human. And that’s part of it, but there’s a bit more 😏. Also, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about all the first times they didn’t get in the books. So here are some, thrown into one fic.

Thanks to @mrstrafalgardshanks (for sparking some parts of this fic) and @itach-i (for her beta reading and constant manorian trashiness)! ❤️❤️

***

The heavy rain darkened the red of her cloak, turning it into a deep wine color. This was lucky, Manon thought. The cloak was the best way to hide her white braid and allow her the freedom to sneak in without being seen. A group of merchants sped by, heading for the castle entrance, and she jogged to catch up with them. The guard waved them in out of the weather, not looking twice as she pretended to be with them.

She’d never been in the castle. At least, not this part. She’d watched his balcony for hours that one night so long ago. Then she’d seen his bedroom. After it was destroyed by that Yellowlegs bitch. Manon grinned, remembering how Abraxos had disposed of the witch’s wyvern with one snap of his ironteeth. She’d never been able to feel remorse over that. Not when Dorian had been so close to his end.

They’d written, but this would be the first time seeing each other since the war. Manon had decided on a whim to come, and here she was. The sleepless nights had caught up so quickly. Meetings with her council passed without much input from their queen, and she’d begun to forget things. When Petrah offered to oversee the Wastes, to give Manon a break, she hadn’t argued. If nothing else, her kingdom deserved a queen who could remember the orders she’d given. A few days away might bring her back to herself.

Watching Rifthold’s people filter through the entrance hall into the throne room, she peered through her hood at the faces. The nobility and upper classes wore the usual pinched expressions of wealth and privilege, making her wonder how closely they’d allied themselves with Erawan to survive the war with their riches intact. The thought made her cheeks heat in rage.

The others, civilians wearing dingier clothing and awed looks at their surroundings, had suffered. These were the residents left homeless by the witches and valg king. Conscripted into Erawan’s monster army, set free by Southern Continent healers, and likely left with no memory of those months. If they were lucky. It struck her how difficult his job as king would be in the coming years.

As Manon skirted around the walls, she remembered Dorian’s most recent letter. He’d written about the nightmares he’d been having, images of pain and hell inflicted by his own hands. Images of those hands morphing into his father’s.

Perhaps that was why she hadn’t argued with Petrah. It made a good excuse to come here. To check on a friend.

A loud, vivacious laugh caught her ear and she saw Yrene across the crowd. Quickly, Manon pulled her hood a little tighter, hoping the material was still dark enough to blend in.

The line to speak to the King was long and enough people had come simply to watch that Manon was able to get into the throne room unseen. Taking a spot in the back corner, she resisted the urge to stand on something in order to actually see the throne.

She didn’t know why she was sneaking. It felt ridiculous. Childish.

But the thought of having planned a visit, or being received as the Witch Queen, with all the pomp and attention it required, made her skin itch. She’d considered waiting for him in his rooms and surprising him. But after sending Abraxos away to hunt at the city wall when they’d arrived, she’d heard about the Audience with the King happening that day. It would be boring, of course, watching Adarlanians petition Dorian for things or settle disputes. But her curiosity had been piqued. As a queen, she’d wondered how his court was run and thought this might be a good learning experience.

She hadn’t really thought it through though. It was impossible to hear and she could not get a clear view of him no matter how high she stood on her toes. There were simply too many people.

About to give up and go find a way into his rooms, Manon pushed through the people in front of her. Suddenly, and for just a moment, there was a break in the crowd.

Dorian was sitting at a table, Chaol next to him along with others. Advisors, she guessed. The throne sat empty behind him. A couple was speaking to him, gesturing wildly to a snarling merchant. Dorian wrote quickly while the others at the table listened.

When he finally looked up, she got her first sight of his face in months.

His black hair had grown, curling around his crown. But other than that, he looked the same - bronze skin, a quick smile, and sparkling blue eyes. Even from this distance, the sunlight caught his eyes.

But no, she realized, as something else sparkled too. He was different.

His crown.

She’d never seen him with it on.

It was a thick band of gold with three large stones, rubies, set along the front. Simple, but well crafted. There were designs incised along the band but she couldn’t make out the detail.

He looked like a king.

Her king.

The break filled in again and she was shuffled aside, back against the wall. Growling under her breath at the rudeness, she regretted being disguised and almost reached for a dagger.

As she turned to leave, that thought - her king - fluttered into her mind again. But she pushed it away and focused on the shove by the crowd, letting her annoyance take over as she left the castle.

…

Dorian closed his door and sagged against it, exhausted by the day and so many people. This was the fourth audience held in Rifthold since the war. After the first one, he’d called for a table and abandoned his throne, wanting to actually get something accomplished. He’d started the practice with the hopes of letting his people see him, speak to him. Trust him. And while that seemed to be happening, albeit very slowly, a part of him was regretting it.

It was the same part that longed for the adventures and romance that he read about in his novels. The part that wanted to be a normal man, anonymous and irresponsible.

But that part was small enough that he could tuck it away and forget about it.

Not the longing for romance though. Golden eyes, moon white hair, a fleeting smile given only to him. That was something Dorian refused to forget, even if it might not ever happen.

We’ll see.

Those two words spoken with that not-quite-there smile. Manon had looked at him, smiled at him, when she said them. The hope she’d sparked that day still filled him. Especially on nights like this when he was dead tired yet afraid to try and fall asleep.

Pulling himself away from the door, he strode through his outer rooms into the bedroom. Dorian glanced at his desk and thought about writing to her. But he’d just sent a letter last week. He should at least wait for a reply. With a laugh at himself, he thought he should try to maintain some semblance of control.

Grabbing a glass, he poured himself some wine and stared at the mess around his desk. Piles of books, papers, even some containers of soil that were given to him by a farmer at the last audience day. The man insisted his additions to the soil would improve crops across the kingdom. Dorian kicked at one, telling himself he needed to look into the claim.

After draining his wine, Dorian put the glass atop a stack of novels and reached for his crown.

“Leave it on.”

Dorian spun, his magic noticeably not flaring to defend him.

Manon sat on his bed, back against the headboard, her bare feet crossed, a book open in her lap.

As he stared at her, trying to decide if she was real or a figment of his imagination, she stood and walked toward him.

Her eyes, glowing in the light of the fire, caught on his crown. “It looks good on you,” she said.

Real. Her scent, her presence, her voice filled him.

“Hello witchling.”

Manon smiled then. A true smile. For him.

“Hello princeling.”

She reached for his jacket and pushed it off his shoulders. Dorian watched, using every bit of self control he had to let her undress him. It struck him that they’d never done this before. Every other time had been hurried, either to avoid the cold or to pretend there was nothing between them. Hell, they’d never even used a real bed.

So he let her slowly unbutton his shirt, let her remove her leathers, enjoying the show she made of it, his eyes drinking her in, her eyes never leaving his.

And when she led him to his bed, he kept his crown on.

…

The next morning, Dorian woke early to send two messages - one to Chaol canceling all his meetings that day, and one to the kitchens for enough food to last until tomorrow. Then he returned to bed, where Manon still slept.

Later, when they were enjoying a very late breakfast in in bed, he caught her smiling. “Is something funny?” he asked lightly.

Manon bit into a piece of bacon and looked around the room. He followed her gaze but saw nothing amusing.

“I’ve never spent a day lazing around in bed,” she finally replied. “Unless I was injured. I suppose with all your many lovers, this is nothing new for you.” She was teasing him, but he responded seriously.

“You’ve never done this? Never wanted to stay with someone after?” He saw the answer in her face, the way her smile faded. Pushing the tray of food away, he pulled her onto him, her legs straddling his waist. “Ask me who I will do this for now,” he demanded.

Manon said nothing, but the heavy rise and fall of her chest gave away her excitement.

Dorian kissed her, using his magic to pin her hands behind her back and yank her closer while his real hands tangled in her hair. Her teeth scraped over his lip and he moaned.

“Ask me.” His voice was rough and commanding as he freed her mouth to speak.

Barely a whisper, she said, “Who.”

He ran his thumb over her bottom lip, letting her squirm in his lap as his magic caressed other spots. When she groaned, a mix of pleasure and annoyance, he said, “Just you, witchling. No one else.”

…

Manon was so close to the edge, driven there by his lips and phantom touch and the sharp demand in his voice. But those words pulled her back. The promise, the declaration of … something … something they couldn’t say. Yet.

The thought of that yet made her soften in his arms. He felt it and dropped his forehead to rest on hers. “Just you, princeling.” She saw his smile, his relief.

That promise, that declaration in her words cracked a barrier inside her. Slowly, tentatively, she cupped his cheek and said, “Tell me about your nightmares.”

Dorian’s eyes flashed, either from her touch or the question. But instead of answering, he ran a knuckle under both of her eyes. “Will you tell me about yours?”

Manon nodded.

Then he kissed her, so softly and tenderly, it could have been her first kiss. It took her a moment to open her eyes and when she did, Dorian was smiling at her. She couldn’t help but return it, and soon they were laughing, at what, she didn’t know. But it felt good. Right.

They spent the rest of that day and night in and out of bed, never leaving his rooms.

Dorian taught her how to luxuriate in a hot bath, kept warm by his magic. Manon taught him how to properly sharpen the dagger Sorrel had given him a lifetime ago. He showed her the symbols on his crown, which was heavier than she’d expected.

They spoke of their nightmares, of how last night was the first time either had slept, truly slept, in forever. They shared their worries of ruling, each boosting the resolve of the other.

The next day, they had breakfast with Chaol and Yrene. Their baby stared at Manon, making her fidget in her chair despite Yrene’s reassurances that Josie was always like this with new people. Everyone watched, Chaol nervously and Dorian amused, as Yrene sat the babe in Manon’s lap.

Manon held her carefully, not wanting to drop her. Josie reached for Manon’s braid and tugged on it playfully. When she cooed, everyone laughed. That was when she realized she’d never held a baby before. She wondered how different her life, the world, everything, would be if Asterin’s witchling had lived.

Sensing the change in her mood, Dorian reached over and took Josie, distracting them all by bouncing her on his knee until she broke into a fit of giggles. Manon caught his eye and he winked at her.

A day later, Manon said goodbye to her new friends. And Dorian. It was harder to leave this time than it had been in Orynth. He walked with her to the city wall where she’d find Abraxos. They were both hooded and cloaked to avoid stares. And he held her hand - another first, and probably not the last - as he led her through streets and alleyways.

But she would return. And he would visit her. Soon. Because they’d both agreed, though not with words, that this time together had been important. They needed each other. And while she didn’t understand the full implications of that, yet, she knew it felt right. He felt right.

Her king, and his queen.

***

Thanks for reading!

Fanfic master list

And to the anon/s who sent a few requests a while back, thanks for your patience! I’ll try to get to those soon. 🤗

[itach-i]

Here is part two - Dorian’s pov - of this anon-requested manorian head canon. Thanks to @itach-i for beta reading and fangirling 🥰

Hope you like it!

***

Orynth was months ago, and yet to Dorian it sometimes felt like years. The sickening feel of the collar on his skin, the voice of his father commanding him to kill a guard, the voice of his father saving him from the wyrd keys. The dreams left him dizzy with confusion, left him wondering if he could repair the Havilliard name and the damage his father had wrought. On the dreamless nights, he woke feeling rested but hollow. A new sense of emptiness as if something was missing.

It wasn’t until he walked in on a quiet moment between Chaol and Yrene one day that he realized what that empty feeling might be. His friends were hugging, their baby son cuddled between them. And oddly, it made him think of her.

He’d thought of Manon often since they’d parted in Terrasen. More often than he’d admitted to anyone, including himself. Of course he worried about her after the loss of her coven. But Dorian had kept those thoughts fleeting and mostly businesslike - how a treaty might impact the witches, when the wyverns would be old enough to train.

The fact that her face, her scent, her eyes were the only things he imagined when pleasuring himself… that meant nothing. He was simply too overwhelmed with work and in need of release.

But seeing his friends, he knew. He missed her. Desperately. Whatever they had was not over. Not even close.

When his mother approached him one day about his upcoming birthday, Dorian snapped. She left his office in tears and it took two days for her to forgive him. He blamed his horrible behavior on a headache, unable to tell her the truth.

His last birthday he’d been a slave to a valg prince. A torturer and murderer. He tried to kill one of his best friends. Or so he’d been told. The knowledge made him sick and fed the self doubt that seemed to be growing by the day.

No, he did not think a birthday ball would raise the morale of the castle and city. No, the presence of many, beautiful, eligible ladies would not cheer him up.

But she had not listened. Planning was underway and he replied by burying himself in his work. Ignoring the seed of hope that maybe the Witch Queen would receive an invitation.

The night before the festivities, Dorian lay in his bed unable to sleep. Dark thoughts and half memories raced through his head whenever he closed his eyes. No matter how hard he tried, no matter the tonic Yrene had made, sleep was impossible. The only time his tense muscles relaxed was when his thoughts turned to her.

Once, he almost drifted off. Imagining…

Manon walked into the ballroom, her silken hair in a braided crown, a red cape trailing behind. He left the person he was talking to and made his way through the crowd toward her. Their eyes were locked. The music had stopped. And yet, the more people he pushed aside, the farther away she became. Her smile never faltered and her golden gaze stayed on him. But the crowd was pulling him away. The crowd, the people, his people were pulling him back, tearing at his crown, his ornate clothing, shouting that he was not their king, shouting that they deserved a better king, one who hadn’t abandoned them, one who wouldn’t torture them, one that-

Dorian shook violently awake, a scream in his throat and both hands clutching his neck.

When the music began, Dorian swallowed his shame and painted a smile on his face. No doubt the line of women wanting to dance with him was long. And full of all the same greedy-eyed courtiers, who, like his mother, noticed no difference in him from last year to this.

He held back the grimace that came with the thought, and once again wished for her. Her presence that calmed him, made him feel real, and true.

He’d been a fool these past months, trying to convince himself that they were some sort of ephemeral thing. Like a butterfly that lives for a season and vanishes. He wanted the butterfly. Not to cage, but to have it fly to him, and him to fly to her.

Dorian shook his head. What the hell was he thinking? Comparing Manon to a butterfly? He was a fool.

The dance ended and he bowed to the Lady from a holding he’d forgotten. And just then, something prickled over his skin. He turned, looked up, and there she was.

Manon, in a red dress unlike anything his poor imagination could conjure.

She glided down the stairway, every step graceful. Just like his dream, their gaze never broke. He almost stopped walking, expecting this to turn into the nightmare of last night. But the smile she wore now was different. Not as broad or bright. This smile was soft, almost shy. Beyond description. It made his heart thrum.

They both stopped when they were eye to eye and he liked this position. It felt right. His equal, his queen.

“Hello witchling.” That he could speak surprised him.

Manon took a breath and said, “Hello princeling.”

Before she faded away, he pulled her into his arms and into a dance. He moved them away from the crowd and everyone disappeared from his awareness. Everyone but her.

“This is the best birthday present I could have asked for,” he whispered in her ear.

Manon wrinkled her nose slightly. “Your birthday?”

That she was here without knowing made it feel like fate. She shivered at his touch and he struggled to stay focused. “I’m going to pretend you knew.”

A moment of dancing passed and Manon noticed the new crest adorning his jacket. When he directed her to the mosaic on the wall, she froze. He’d had it designed to honor their sacrifice, not knowing if or when Manon would ever see it. Hoping. He’d hoped she would. And now she had tears forming in her eyes.

“It’s nothing,” Dorian said. “Just a token of our appreciation for what they gave.”

“It’s not nothing,” she replied, swallowing the tears before they fell.

Now it was his turn to freeze. Manon rested her warm hand on his cheek. It was soft, unsteady. But real. The image of a butterfly landing in his hand flitted through his mind. He blinked it away and turned to kiss her palm.

Dorian took Manon’s hand and led her from the ballroom. Within minutes of back halls and hidden passageways they were in his room.

Alone.

Together. Finally.

As they embraced, he drew a finger under her eyes. She hadn’t been sleeping. Judging by the darkness of her normally pale skin, she hadn’t slept well in some time.

“I don’t want to sleep yet,” she said, knowing what he was about to suggest.

He could hear the music rising up through the balcony. “And I don’t want to take off this dress yet.” It was the truth. She was stunning.

So they danced in each other’s arms until Manon turned her face up to his and he kissed her.

They were awake together all night and fell asleep at dawn. He spent the day curled around her, not caring that they never left the bed.

She was here and that’s all that mattered.

[itach-i]

can you write a passage where Dorian came to the wastes and Manon is informed that twins were born in one of the families (for the first time since the witch kingdom was reborn)? 💙

Hi anon! This is going to be quick and I hope it’s what you were looking for!

Thanks to @itach-i for talking this through! Please excuse any typos or mistakes 🥰

***

Word of the twin’s birth spread like fire through the Witch Kingdom. Manon had insisted the mother-to-be stay in her keep and be attended by the best healers in order to maintain some semblance of privacy. But news could never be held for long. Especially when it was news of this magnitude.

There had been some witchlings born since the war, but to Crochans, the clan unaffected by Queen Rhiannon’s curse. The witch who now held two witchlings in her arms was a Blackbeak, the first Ironteeth witch to give birth on these lands for hundreds of years. That she’d bore twins was a secondary source of awe and celebration.

Manon had visited the witch only briefly, feeling uncomfortable when she’d been asked to bless the witchlings. As if she were the Three-Faced Goddess herself. She was merely the queen.

Merely, because she often caught herself feeling out of her element in ruling. She longed for the simplicity of battle, without the actual carnage that came with it. Day in and day out of city planning, crop reports, settling meaningless disputes between witches… she had no patience for it or for the balancing act of managing so many personalities.

“How do you do it?” she asked Dorian that evening. He was visiting under the pretense of establishing some sort of treaty between their kingdoms. But the treaty had been signed within twenty minutes of his arrival.

He laughed quietly, dipping his spoon into the steaming bowl of stew. “I delegate as much as I can. If I could delegate everything and spend my time lounging and drinking, I would.”

Now Manon laughed. “That sounds exactly like you.” Growing serious, she added, “I do delegate, but everything here is so new that even with Petrah and Bronwen to help, it all ends up back on my desk.”

“How are the witchlings?” he asked, apparently ready to change the subject.

“Fine at the last report. Both healthy. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Their arrival should help ease some of the tension. With the curse officially broken, witches can feel free to truly settle here. Perhaps, start families.”

Manon eyed him. “I guess so. Why are you so concerned?”

He shrugged. “It just eases the pressure for you.”

He went back to eating but Manon wasn’t convinced. Dorian had reacted strangely to the news of the births. She would have expected some mild happiness at the news of a stranger having twins, even with the curse looming over them. But he’d been truly excited. Almost as excited as he’d been when Yrene had given birth last year.

“What’s going on?” she asked, taking hold of his hand and forcing him to look at her.

Dorian took a breath, trying to calm his nerves.

“When I heard the witchlings survived, I couldn’t help but wonder if…” He trailed off, his face a portrait of hope, his eyes shining brightly.

“You wondered if I might want to try for an heir?” she finished for him.

He smiled, a silly looking grin, and brushed his hand through his hair. “I did.”

She hated when he did that. That grin and ruffled hair and blue eyes. It always made her heart stutter.

“Im only telling you this because we promised to never hide anything,” he explained. “If you aren’t ready, or, or…” he paused before pushing on, “or would rather choose a different father, I would understand.”

Manon smirked. “You’d understand if I wanted a witchling with some random human male and not you?”

He glared at her as her smile grew wicked with teasing.

“I would not understand but I would step aside for you to make your own choices,” Dorian said through gritted teeth.

Standing and moving around the table to sit in his lap, Manon pushed his curls back down so they were no longer sticking up and distracting her.

“Thank you, princeling,” she said, kissing his cheek. “My choice is you. I made it a long time ago and I’m sticking by it.” He laughed and squeezed her waist. “But I’m not ready for that yet.”

Squeezing her tighter, Dorian tucked his head under her hair and kissed her neck. “I’m not ready either, witchling. But it’s nice to know that when we are, we won’t have to worry about any curses.”

The kiss turned into more and their dinner was forgotten.

When Dorian left for Adarlan the next morning, their goodbye felt different. Weighty in a way she’d never sensed before. They’d made a promise to each other last night, one that hadn’t caused any fear or worry to bloom in her chest. Instead, she felt calm. Part of a team.

She wondered if this was what marriage felt like?

Dorian was already flying away when the thought popped into her head. Maybe when she visited him next month, she’d ask him.

💙💛💙💛💙💛

[itach-i]

Got any random manorian headcanons? I like how you write them!

Thank you! 🥰

Here’s a scene that’s been playing out in my head recently that doesn’t fit into any of my wips. I just typed it out on my phone without much editing so please forgive any errors.

I hope you like it! 💙💛💙💛

***

Orynth was months ago, and yet to Manon it sometimes felt like days. The ring of clashing swords, the smell of blood raining from the sky, the roar of dying wyverns. The blinding white light that consumed her coven. Some nights these sounds and images flooded her dreams, leaving her rigid and stiff upon waking. Other nights, she refused to give into the call of sleep, unwilling to relive the nightmares. She was running out of excuses for the odd mix of lethargy and nerves that left her mind foggy and appetite gone.

So when she’d overheard Petrah and Glennis discussing her condition one evening, heard them whispering about whether the King of Adarlan should be called to visit, Manon knew she had to do something.

After she reminded both witches who was Queen, and that they had no business sticking their noses into hers, she announced she’d be visiting Eyllwe. The kingdom had recently sent word that it was interested in negotiating a trade deal with the witches. Manon currently had nothing to offer, but the promise of their lands was great.

And if she could get away from the henpecking of her council, take Abraxos and fly, fly without stopping, maybe she could bring herself back to life. Rid herself of the nightmares and the constant tension in her body that ate up all her thoughts and energy. Maybe she could come back as her old self. Maybe…

When Abraxos leapt off the aerie and she felt the cold blast of air on her skin, Manon breathed more deeply than she had in weeks. She took her wyvern out everyday, but this felt different. Just the two of them, free and flying, with nothing ahead of them but open sky and the plains below.

The journey to Eyllwe was fast and trouble free. She hadn’t encountered another soul until she neared the outskirts of Banjali. She was welcomed with little pomp and shown to rooms in a tower far from where the royal family lived. Manon wasn’t insulted. Rather, she respected the fact they kept the royals protected. And as she’d arrived in dirty flying leathers with wind blown hair on a wyvern whining for meat, she was grateful to avoid an appearance in front of the entire court.

Her meetings were as no nonsense as the greeting and she found herself with a signed trade pact after only two days. Eyllwe would supply the witches with rice in exchange for wheat, once the witches’ crops produced enough to spare. The trip had been a whirlwind of new foods and new people. She’d been gifted a dress made of Eyllwe silk, and although she’d bowed to the King and Queen, then offered them a carved wooden box of healing herbs known only to the Crochans, she had no idea when or where she could possibly wear the slip of cloth. There was nothing to it, the deep wine red fabric ran like water through her fingers.

And now, as she flew on Abraxos, thinking over the details of the agreement she’d just made, she was slow to realize the sea that appeared out of the mist over her right shoulder. Manon twisted around in the saddle trying to orient herself. Land on the left, water on the right. They were headed north. Not northwest. Not back to the Witchlands.

But north to Rifthold.

Manon should have turned her godsdamned, smart ass wyvern around the second she’d noticed. But she hadn’t. She’d just… let him keep going. Closed her eyes and let the scent of the sea take over, the wind whipping them faster and faster north.

She still hadn’t had a full nights sleep despite her travels. But for a night or two, she’d gotten enough to take the edge off the nerves and exhaustion. With Rifthold’s glow growing brighter, she wondered if the nerves would return. They hadn’t seen each other since Orynth, had not exchanged any letters. And here she was, showing up unannounced, looking like a banshee. Not that the way she looked should matter.

Manon landed Abraxos just outside the city, not wanting to raise an alarm, by the guard or its residents. As she made her way through the dark streets, cloaked and hooded to avoid prying eyes, she saw a door open and steam pool out. Checking the sign, she decided to make a stop on her way to the castle.

She was surprised to find the gate into the keep open with people streaming inside. Guards flanked the entrance but there was little in the way of security. Manon simply walked through, still cloaked, with no questions asked. The idiocy of the guard made her blood boil. Their King had raw magic, but that was no excuse for lax protection.

When she got to an atrium that led into a ballroom, she made her way to the edge of the crowd. The space had a high ceiling that still showed signs of damage from when the witches had attacked. The thought made her hesitate. She looked down at the red dress she was wearing, touched the hair she’d pulled up after washing at the bath house. She shouldn’t be here. But then there was a break in the crowd and she saw him.

The ballroom was in the midst of reconstruction but that didn’t stop the King and his subjects from celebrating. Celebrating what, she had no idea. But she watched them from a half fallen in balcony that ringed the space. It was dark and empty up here, the perfect place for her to gather her courage.

And she would need it, she realized with a frown.

Dorian was dancing. With a woman.

He wore a sleek black suit coat that went to his knees. The only spot of color on him was a red shape embroidered on his lapel.

She, the one he danced with, wore a bright green dress that seemed to take up the entire floor. It was covered in bows and sashes that made Manon think of an over decorated cake she’d once seen in a bakery. The bodice was cut so low she wondered how the woman’s breasts weren’t popping out.

The music ended and another woman, this one older, took her place in Dorian’s arms. Manon found that her expression, now a scowl, didn’t lighten at the sight of this woman’s graying hair, or more modest dress. She found that with every dance partner she watched him hold, with every flirting courtesan throwing themselves at him, with every attractive eye, male and female, on Dorian…

She found herself getting angry.

Not at those people, but at herself.

Well, a little at them.

Dropping her cloak, she walked to the curved stairway that led to the dance floor. And just as she took the first step down the stairs to the ballroom floor, as if he’d knew she was there, Dorian turned and looked at her.

Manon held his gaze as she descended, as he made his way through the crowd towards her, a smile like she’d never seen blooming on his face.

He met her when she reached the next to last step. They were eye to eye and she felt her mouth curve in a smile to match his. She swore she saw his eyes glow brighter and his heartbeat race.

“Hello witchling,” he said, his voice a rough whisper.

Manon took a second to catch her breath and then said, “Hello princeling.”

Before they could say another word, he swept her into his arms and into a dance.

She’d never danced before. Sensing her trepidation, he pulled her to the edge, away from everyone else where they could talk and sway back and forth.

With a nod to her dress. Dorian leaned to her ear and said, “This is the best birthday present I could have asked for.”

Manon started. “Your birthday?”

He grinned, running his fingers up and down her bare back and making her shiver. “I’m going to pretend you knew.”

Her eyes caught on the figure embroidered on his collar. It was a red and gold wyvern. The Adarlan crest. She’d seen it a hundred times, but this one was different. Silver thread was woven into the wings. Running a finger across it, she looked up at him. He nodded towards the far wall where the crest was painted. The center wyvern, a larger version of his, was framed by twelve smaller beasts. Manon stopped swaying and stared.

“It’s nothing,” Dorian said. “Just a token of our appreciation for what they gave.”

“It’s not nothing,” she said, swallowing back the emotion that threatened to overtake her.

Unsure of herself, she slowly reached up and laid her palm on his cheek. He shifted his head and was kissing her palm. Taking her hand in his, he led her through a hidden doorway into a narrow hall. Silently, she followed him through passages until they were in his rooms.

Alone.

Dorian pulled her gently into his arms and ran a finger under each of her eyes. She hadn’t been able to scrub away the darkness beneath them.

“I don’t want to sleep yet,” she said, looking around him towards the bed.

“And I don’t want to take off this dress yet.” The music was faint but they could still hear it. So they began to sway again, his fingers sending sparks over her skin.

That morning, Manon fell asleep with Dorian’s arm draped over her hip. She slept all day, and so did he.

It was his birthday after all.

[itach-i]

How would you compared Dorian, Manon and Aelin in ruling their kingdoms and how do you think they will rise above challenges.

This is a great question!

Dorian - He’s the only one with actual experience (though short) and training so I think he will be good at it. Especially playing politics and charming people. He knows how to play the game. And after KoA he’s proven to himself that he wants to be a good king to his people. He’s dedicated to making up for the past atrocities of his father.

I think his biggest challenge is proving himself to his people. They’ve known him as a playboy prince and Adarlan was likely destroyed by Erawan in the war. So it’s going to take time for them to fully trust and support him. It’ll happen eventually, but he’ll need to be patient, which I think he can be.

Manon - She lacks Dorian’s political skill, but she’s been raised to lead. I think her strength will be in delegating. I don’t see her as a queen who will be good at dealing with tiny details. Shes more big picture in my opinion. Which is why I think she’d rely on a council to support the day to day work.

Having a council would help overcome her biggest challenge - uniting the clans. They came together to defeat Erawan, but there are centuries of bad blood that need to be addressed. Manon is someone they can rally around, but she’ll need to provide an outlet for their voices to he heard.

Aelin - After KoA she is clearly a beloved queen. She’s cunning and devoted to her people. But like Manon, she’s not great at politics. She is stubborn, has a temper, and doesn’t share her plans. Not a delegator. At all! Lol Overcoming those aspects of her personality and trusting others will be a struggle for her.

I think they all have hard work ahead rebuilding their kingdoms, Manon more so since it will basically be done from scratch. Aelin has the biggest challenge in terms of governing style I think. Manon and Dorian have had more formal training and I see them as being more patient and delegating. But, Dorian has the shadow of his father hanging over him, which will be hard for him to dispel.

Thanks anon! This was fun to think about!

[itach-i]

Uchiha Itachi - Naruto. Instagram

[itach-i]

I had the thrill of commissioning some manorian art from the incredibly talented @corlupus on instagram. She was a joy to work with and

I cannot stop staring at this art!

Fun fact number 1. The beads in Manon’s hair represent the eyes of some of the Thirteen. This is a head canon I’ve had forever. It’s a visible but subtle way of having them with her. Shown are the Demon Twins, Asterin, Sorrel, Vesta, and Ghislaine.

Fun fact number 2. The last painting is based on my Goodbye and Hello fic when Dorian and Manon dance for the first time amidst the Rukhin celebration at the Ferian Gap.

Please check out corlupus for even more wonderful art from lots of fandoms!

💙💛💙💛💙💛

(Reposts allowed with credit to @corlupus on instagram)

[itach-i]

@snsmonth22: please kiss me all night (4.10)

[itach-i]

[itach-i]

Sometimes your story isn’t even told the way it is the only truth is the truth you carry

[itach-i]

Me watching an interview with SJM waiting for a mention of manorian.