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[justreadertings]

Till Death Do Us Part 11

Author’s note: Yes. You heard me. I’m back from the dead. I am bringing this fic back stronger than ever before! I know this fic had so much love in the past and I am so excited to see what you all have to say about it! I think the formatting might look a bit differnet from now on, but think of it as a show that got a bigger budget and has nicer stuff now. I have SO MUCH of this story to share, so I am very excited to bring you the second part of it! Thank you to everyone who encouraged me to bring this back! This is FOR YOU!!!! I hope you enjoy it :) Ok rant over- Magee

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TW: cursing, mentions of violence, mentions of war, mentions of Lyria (sorry squad)

2169 Words

Till Death Do Us Part Chapter 11

Aelin’s laughter bounced off the walls, her hand tucked firmly into Rowan’s arm. The wedding went off without a hitch. It was strange. Not unwelcome… but definitely strange.

The room had been a sharp pain to her heart when the doors opened. As they had made their way down the golden carpet, she tried her best not to see the casket of her loved ones. The pillars had been as restored as they could be, emerald banners hanging with the other decorations. Rowan had squeezed her tightly to him as their country finally, after years, laid their eyes upon her.

Her heart had beat quickly, and it was only his presence beside her and the crown in front of her that kept her feet moving. Gasps and whispers flowed through the beautiful domed room, but she and Rowan got to the pillars. His voice boomed, silencing the rowdy crowd. She had ignored all their eyes, and only kept them on Rowan. They flowed through her coronation, their army an unmovable force beside them, and both she and Rowan had tears in their eyes as he finally placed the crown upon her head.

Then, they moved onto the ceremony and she tried not to bristle as her country moved to the edge of their seats. Rowan spoke more pretty words, her body still on high alert, and she had to focus on his shiny bandolier for most of it, lest she lose her nerve. For a moment, she mourned. When she’d been twelve, she told Rowan that one day they were going to get married out in the gardens and the little patio would be covered in wildflowers. She’d told him that only Maeve and her parents were allowed to be there. And her dog, once she was finally allowed to get one.

She never expected the big crowd, the huge decorations, the formal words. She’d always just wanted Rowan and a kiss.

But Aelin supposed she could ignore the castle, and imagine the patio when Rowan finally leaned down. The whole country seemed to hold their breath. Aelin glanced up at him, and there was something… different in Rowan’s green eyes. Something warm and happy.

So she smiled and curved her hand around his neck, and he grabbed her waist. It truly was like a fairytale, Rowan holding her firmly to him as their mouths pressed together. Really, that was all the country needed. But Rowan’s hands were still around her, and she could smell his pine and snow scent, and she did not wish it to end.

Their eyes met for a moment, and it felt like electricity passed between them. For the first time in a long time, she felt like she was just Aelin and he was just Rowan. Them, hiding under her bed, them up in a tree, them in front of their country. So she brushed her nose with him, teasing him a bit. His lips quirked to the side, and he brushed his nose against her’s back before he kissed her again, their mouths moving slowly, leisurely. The country faded, and as he lightly dipped her, her heart fluttered.

The crowd slowly came back into focus, Rowan’s face slightly flushed, just as she assumed her face was. Everyone was cheering, there were trumpets blaring, but she could only hear Rowan in her mind.

The crown suits you.

Hmmm, she thought back to him, you don’t look too bad either, Prince. A smile crossed her face. King, she corrected.

Rowan brought her hand to his lips. My Queen.

Her heart jumped. The evasions on her home, the loss of her parents, her rulers, the loss of her childhood, everything… it had been for this. For this perfect moment. No one could ever take this crown from her now. No one could ever belittle her or push her thoughts to the side. She was truly and forever the Almighty Queen of the United Throne of Terrasen. With a smile, she slipped her hand into the crook of Rowan’s arm, and he led her back out the way they came.

She was still bouncing on adrenaline, floating on the fact that no one had been hurt or threatened. Aelin’s brow furrowed as Rowan kept walking into the palace, but she didn’t question his silly smile.

Where are you taking me, Buzzard?

His eyes sparkled. She was starting to think he was high on emotions, too. Patience, Fireheart.

She pursed her lips to hide her smile. They were entering a wing of the castle that had to have been completely rebuilt after the final raid. Rowan led her to a room she’d never seen before, pushing open the double doors to reveal a windowed room over the gardens, pretty emerald curtains hanging. A simple couch sat before a fireplace. It was small. Cozy.

But it was not the room that caught her eye. Aelin’s feet halted. Her rushing heart, so exhilarated off of her crown and her kiss slowed down. She nearly tripped over herself. As Aelin came to a pause, two hands came up to her shoulders, squeezing. Her fingers came up to cover her mouth, and she leaned back into him a bit.

“Rowan-” she whispered.

Emotion rang true in his voice when he whispered back, “Congratulations, Fireheart.”

The grand piano was gorgeous, white and gold. Her heart beat wildly in her ears. Tears grew hot in her eyes. She made her way to it, almost scared to touch it, it was so perfect. Aelin’s fingers drifted lightly over the keys as they shook. Emotion rushed through her, and she couldn’t help but turn, staring into those beautiful green eyes.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered again, the moment so fragile she didn’t want it to break.

Where harsh calculation normally sat, it was replaced by relaxed fondness. Aelin reached out her hand, a bit hesitant, but Rowan took it, and pulled her into him. Just as he had when she’d first rushed out of that carriage, he held her close, a hand holding her head to his chest. She could smell his pine and snow scent, calming her senses.

How was he a brutal, careful warrior one moment, a calculated and emotionless king another, and then a soft, caring man the next? Her Rowan had survived their wars to be here, to gift his queen with pretty presents. To rule their country beside her.

“Evalin and Rhoe would have been so proud,” he told her.

Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I hope so.” In the quiet of the room, she confessed, “I wish they were here.”

Rowan spoke into her hair. “They were.”

Her face hurt from today, but she couldn’t help the smile that came to it as he said those pretty words. She didn’t know what to do with them, with him.

She didn’t know what to think when he hooked a thumb around her chin, and tilted it up to press a simple, chaste kiss to her lips. Much different than their kiss for their country, this more for closeness than anything. Their boundaries were blurry, and it messed with her mind. She pressed her forehead to his.

Aelin thought back to when she was a little girl, when Rowan used to hold her and press his head to hers and tell her that he would always keep her safe. If they were playing or fighting or tired, he would always protect her and look out for her. But they were grown ups. And he couldn’t protect her from everything. So she savored the peace for a moment more, breathing him in. Until finally, she asked in a hush whisper, “What are we going to do about Lyria?”

He pulled back, clearly upset at her intrusion. He had never been one to run away from a fight… but clearly he’d been wanting to avoid this conversation with her. Especially now. She tried not to regret ruining their perfect moment too much. She needed to know.

“I cannot hide my child from the world Aelin,” he told her, honestly, their soft voices the only sound in the room.

She shook her head. “I never asked you to.”

His eyes fluttered closed, hands curling. This string between them was growing taunt. Their first decision as Queen and King. “But to do that is to humiliate you, my queen. To think I do not value or respect you… I do not want to start our reign like that. For our country to see us divided.”

Aelin tried to think of something to say but… she was just as stuck as he was. Aelin began to understand, a bit, why he might’ve been avoiding her. She said, though, “but we are divided.”

His voice wavered. “Are we?”

Irritation spiked her voice. “Well, your fiance just watched us get married. So it’s a bit complicated.”

Rowan’s eyes unfocused over her shoulder, as if he was trying to think of a response, but couldn’t. Aelin did not want to ruin their night. Today was good, successful. So she only placed a hand on his cheek for a moment, then dropped it and went to leave. She got to the door before he spoke.

“I wasn’t going to marry her, you know.”

Aelin’s breathing hitched. She turned back at him with wide eyes. “What.”

Rowan’s face was… devastated. Confused. He sat down on the piano bench. “I wasn’t going to marry her.” His eyes found her’s, as if pleading with her to understand. “But you were gone, still. I didn’t know when you were coming home. If you were coming home. I just knew-” his voice halted a little. Her heart squeezed. “I knew that when you came home, I would break it off.”

She didn’t know if she was breathing.

“But then she told me. About the baby.” Aelin shut her eyes at the emotion in his voice, at the tears forming in her own eyes. “And I didn’t know what to do. I just knew that I had to do right by her, had to do right by this baby that I dragged into this mess. Had to do right by you. So I decided that I would step down, if that’s what you wanted. If you wanted to get married someday, and make him king, I would let you.”

Aelin grabbed her necklace, the space above her heart, as if she could hold it and stop it from bleeding so much.

Rowan pleaded with her, “So I proposed a few days later. And two hours after that I got word that your carriage was to arrive in three days' time. That’s the only warning I had.”

“Rowan,” she cried, voice breaking. They’d both lost so much. She was tired of life taking from them.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not to you. I was trying… I was going to remove myself from this. Let you have your crown and your kingdom. What you’ve always wanted.”

Aelin’s heart cracked. How could she tell him that her crown wasn’t the only thing she’s wanted since childhood?

He shook his head. “It’s not right, Aelin. I know that. I probably should have never been with her in the first place. I should have focused everything I had on Terrasen. But when I came back from Adarlan, I was… broken. Lost.” His eyes found her’s, as if pleading for her to understand. “I was so lonely, Aelin.”

She wiped her tears, furiously. “I know.”

“And I needed to get out of my head. I’m still so in my own head…” He rubbed his hands down his face. “I needed a distraction. It was never supposed to be this complicated.”

“I know.”

He peered up at her. “I’m sorry.”

Aelin tossed everything he’d admitted to her around in her head. Finally she said, “I know that too.”

They watched each other for a moment. He held such devastation in those green eyes. It broke her heart a little bit. The only sound in the room was her heels clicking on the tile. Aelin knelt down to him, took his face in her hands.

“You are a good king. And a kind man.” The small shake of his head, the disagreement peeled at her aching heart.

“No, you are good,” he argued.

“You don’t know what I am,” she whispered.

He only stared at her. Searched her. Saw into her soul. “It wasn’t supposed to be this way.” Marriage in only name, union under only the crown.

“But it is.”

“Can you live with that?” He asked her. She waited for him to ask her something else. It seemed like he wanted to. But she knew. He would always do what was right. What was good. The responsible choice.

At his silence she only responded with, “can you?”

Ever so slowly, he pressed a heavy kiss to her forehead. Her hands slid off his face to fall limp into her lap. The moment lasted an eternity, a lifetime.

“I can try,” he whispered.

-

-

Ok I hope that answers some of your questions. And brought some brand new ones. Hehehehe. Cannot wait to hear your thoughts on the fic!

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Same Time Thursday - Elia's Question

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Rowan Week day 4: Dad Rowan @rowaelinscourt

eeee i love this oneshot so much, i hope you guys love it too

Credit to @justreadertings for her amazing headcanons that led me to this moment 🥺

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15 years later

Elia was nearly shaking as she walked into the kitchen that evening, her hand clutching the paper tightly between her fingers. She didn’t know if she wanted to know, and yet she did. She needed to. 

Her parents had sat her down a few years ago to tell her about him, but it had been vague and just the barest of information. To be fair, she was only thirteen at that point, but it still didn’t hit at that urge to know more, to understand. 

Now she understood too much.

Nausea rose in her stomach as she saw her dad standing in the kitchen by the stove, beginning to prepare their dinner for the night. Her mom was still at the bookstore, and so were her two youngest siblings, Emmett and Emilia. Emerson and Eden were over at Uncle Lorcan’s and Aunt Elide’s with their cousins, and Eliott was sleeping over at a friend’s. 

So it was just her and her dad home. Her dad. He was still her dad.

“Hey dad?” Elia asked, her voice shaky. 

“Hey baby,” her dad said warmly, not hearing her tone nor her face. He was still facing the stove, making some sort of sauce on the stovetop. Rowan Whitethorn-Galathynius was the designated cook in the relationship, because it was common knowledge that Aelin Whitethorn-Galathynius could not cook to save her life. “How was ballet?”

Elia smiled weakly, walking slowly past the huge kitchen island to get closer to him. “It was good,” she fibbed. It’d been fine, they were working on their winter showcase and that was always fun, but her head had been so elsewhere that it had been a horrible rehearsal. 

Her dad turned to look at her then, his pale brows furrowed as he undoubtedly saw her emotions on her face. Then his gaze fell to what was in her hands and his face flattened into an expression of understanding.

“Where’d you find that?” He asked, not accusingly but lightly, like he was trying to keep the conversation comfortable. It was so him, so how he’d raised her her whole life that her eyes started watering. She sniffed to try and hide the tears, but she couldn’t, and her dad immediately turned to shut the stove off, crossing the space between them and enveloping her in a warm hug. 

Elia hadn’t meant to find the article. Maybe she had, she didn’t know. She’d been in her world history class, and they were doing a research project about big pop cultural moments in different countries in the past few decades. They’d spent the period today looking for sources and developing their research topics, and in a moment of morbid curiosity, Elia had typed his name in.

Arobynn Hamel

There’d been some basic biographical information at the top of the browser, but the link to this article had been right below. Feeling sicker and sicker, she’d read the whole thing, before shakingly asking her teacher to go to the library to print it out. 

Then she’d just stared at it until the bell rang, until she’d gone straight to dance and had to think about it for hours, until she could drive home, until now. 

“Everything’s okay,” her dad was murmuring to her, brushing her hair while she cried into his shirt. “It was a long time ago. He’s gone.” 

She wondered how often he had to say the same thing to her mom.

Elia pulled back slightly, wiping at her face and looking up at him. She was sixteen and nearly fully grown, but he still towered over her, well over six feet compared to her five feet and eight inches or so. 

She was her mom’s height, almost exactly. She had her mom’s nose, and her mom’s freckles, and her mom’s eyes. But not her mom’s hair.

“Can you tell me about him?” She asked quietly, wiping her eyes again, and her dad looked slightly surprised but nodded.

“Of course,” he said, gesturing for them to sit down at the island. Elia slid into one of the barstools, tucking her legs up under her. She’d changed into comfy clothes after getting home from rehearsal, and had taken out her tight bun, leaving her red hair hanging loosely over her shoulders. 

“What do you want to know?” Her dad asked, hooking his hands together on the kitchen counter. Their house was absurdly large, it had to be to fit six children and two full grown adults, but it always felt homey, and Elia had never appreciated that more than now.

“What was he like?” She asked, her voice trembling. Her dad loosed a heavy sigh.

“Well,” he said, “if I’m being honest, I only interacted with him once.” She was a little surprised by that, though she didn’t know why. She had no way of knowing all that had gone down in between her mom and dad meeting and his death, but she hadn’t expected that. 

“Once?” She asked, and he nodded. 

“He wasn’t exactly my biggest fan,” her dad said, smiling wryly, but Elia’s face just fell even more. He saw that and sighed again, reaching for her hand and squeezing it. “I think I need to back up a little bit.” 

“Maybe,” Elia said, smiling slightly, and her dad chuckled a little bit, shaking his head.

“When I first met your mom, I was a complete asshole,” he said, smiling fondly, and Elia couldn’t help but laugh. “She put me in my place pretty quickly, and then I got to meet you.” He looked at her then with so much love that her eyes started watering again. “But that was just the beginning.”

And so he began to weave the story of Rowan Whitethorn and Aelin Galathynius, and how they’d ended up here. How he’d gotten pulled into her troubles in a little bit of a whirlwind, but once he realized what was going on had done everything possible to help. 

How slowly, her mom began to open up to him, and how he began to fall for her, but how he’d fallen for Elia first. Elia had known about her dad’s own past, and the child he’d lost, but it hurt all over again to see the tears in his eyes as he’d mentioned it. No matter how long it’d been, she was sure the wound still ached.

She squeezed his hand back at that part of the story.

She had tears in her own eyes the further along he got, especially when he got to the car wreck that they’d been in together. Elia had no memories of it of course, she’d been so young, but she’d heard the story many times. At least - how her dad’s car seat had saved her life. Not necessarily how they’d gotten into a wreck, that was new.

“The only time I met Arobynn Hamel was at Mistward,” her dad said, and Elia blinked in surprise, recognizing the name of her favorite coffee shop. “You were just a little over a year old at this point,” he continued, his eyes shadowed by decades old fear. “Aelin used to leave you with Emrys, to babysit.” Elia loved Emrys. He was a lot older now, but just as warm as he’d been when she was a kid. “But after that exam, we got back to the cafe to pick you up. We were going to go on vacation, for Yulemas, but we were too late.” A pit formed in her stomach. “Arobynn was there already - holding you.” 

Her dad hesitated to say the last part, and she knew why. She couldn’t remember it, but she was sure it’d been traumatic for her parents to walk in and see that. For her mom especially, to see her daughter in the hands that had brutalized her again and again. 

“I was so scared,” her dad said quietly, shaking his head, his voice full of emotion. “And angry, that you’d been pulled in as a pawn in his sick games.” 

Elia felt nauseous. 

“I assume you read it in the article,” her dad continued, “that your mom was forced to go back with him, and take you.” He sighed heavily, and tears pricked her eyes again. “She’s the bravest person I’ve ever known, and I will forever admire her strength, but waking up that morning to you two gone was the worst day of my life.” 

“Why did she do it?” Elia whispered. She knew why, but she needed to hear it again. Her dad pressed a quick kiss to her hand. 

“Because he was going to take you away, and I think your mom would rather die herself than see that happen,” he said, and Elia nodded, absorbing the information. 

A minute passed in companionable silence. Until -

“Fourteen, dad,” she whispered, “she was fourteen.” 

“I know,” he replied, and she could hear the utter heartbreak in his voice and see it in his face too. “I know.” And Elia couldn’t stop herself from leaning in to hug him again, wrapping her arms tightly around him. He hugged her back immediately, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. 

“Why don’t you talk to her about this?” He asked after he pulled back. “If it’s bothering you.”

“I don’t want to…” she trailed off, feeling shy. Her face was probably red. But he guessed it, smiling slightly. 

“Upset her?” He asked, and she nodded, realizing how silly it was. “Sweetheart, your mom went back to a monster to protect you. I think she would actually really appreciate knowing you felt comfortable talking to her about it all.” 

“You’re right,” Elia said, nodding and tucking her hair behind her ear. But - “how is she? How does she handle it all?” 

Her dad sighed, running a hand through his hair briefly. Sometimes she forgot how young her parents were. All of her friends had parents well into their forties, well into middle age. Her dad was 37, and her mom was only 36.

“She has good days and bad days,” he said honestly, “about what you’d expect.” Elia nodded in agreement. She didn’t think you could get away from that unscathed. Even if she couldn’t even imagine it, nor did she really want to picture it happening to her mom. Her mom, the woman who’d given birth to her at the young age of twenty, who’d raised her as a single mom until Rowan came along, who’d been by her side day by day, year by year. 

She didn’t even want to think about it. She just wanted to go upstairs and cuddle with Fleetfoot, the dog her mom had gotten for her over a decade ago. Fleetfoot was getting pretty old, but she was still Elia’s favorite cuddle buddy. 

“Thanks for talking to me,” Elia said after a minute, not looking at her dad. She wiped her face and stood up off of the barstool, unable to process the emotions still swirling inside of her. She couldn’t process what was actually bothering her - what her place was in all of this. 

“Any time,” her dad said, standing up too and looking at her fondly. “I hope I answered what you were looking for.” Elia nodded vaguely again, turning to face the hallway, like she was going to leave. Until she blurted out -

“You’re my real dad, right?” 

There was a pause, slight tension hanging in the room as she fought the turmoil inside of her. The turmoil she felt every time she looked in the mirror and saw herself, saw the mixing of her mom’s and his features. The turmoil she felt as she wondered if she was a constant reminder to her mom of the pain she’d felt. If the horror that she’d been conceived in somehow meant that something about her was fundamentally … wrong.

He still wasn’t answering, so Elia started rambling, desperate to fill in the silence. “Like, I know you are and of course you are, you’ve always been there for me and you love me, but sometimes I look at Eliott, and I look at Emerson and Eden, and Emilia and Emmett and I wonder if I’m too different.” Her vision was blurry as she looked back at her dad, his face tender and sorrowful. “If something in me is broken and still connected to that man. If somehow… I’m not good enough to be part of this family.” 

“Hey,” her dad cut her off, stepping forward and resting his hands on her shoulders. “It does not matter whatsoever if you have red hair or silver hair or blonde hair,” he shook his head. “You’re always going to be my daughter.” The words were sincere and her throat became tight with emotion. “The day you first called me dad was one of the best days of my life. This family would not be the same without you,” he insisted. “Not at all, okay?” 

Elia sniffed and nodded, feeling the words wash over her. Her dad let the words sit for a moment before leaning in and kissing her forehead once. 

“I love you, firefly,” he said, using her old nickname. “Don’t ever feel like you can’t talk to us about this stuff alright? We’re here for you.” 

“I know,” she said quietly, “I love you, too.” Silence fell, and she stayed in it for a minute, before saying, “I think I will talk to mom about it,” sniffing and nodding at the words. Her dad smiled softly. 

“I’m glad,” he said, before reaching out and ruffling her hair, making her laugh. 

Just then, the sounds of the lock in the front door jiggling hit her ears and Elia turned, seeing the door open and her mom walk through. 

“I’m very sorry you left your toy,” she was saying to Emmett, who was clutching her leg as she was trying to walk and crying. “But I’ll be back tomorrow and I’ll grab it then. We’re not going back tonight.” 

“But mama-” Emmett started whining, and her mom just huffed, maneuvering awkwardly with the weight on her as she turned to shut the door behind them. At two years old, he was still a basket case.

Seven year old Emilia was skipping around them both, giggling about something or other, and the chaotic sight was so familiar it made Elia laugh, even with her puffy eyes. 

“Daddy!” Emilia suddenly shouted, racing over to where their dad had moved back to the stovetop, turning it on again. He let out an oof as Emilia collided with the back of his legs, and paused cooking again to bend down and pick her up, setting her on the counter next to him.

After seeing that, Emmett was immediately fine, and followed his older sister’s steps, running and jumping at their dad too. He just chuckled and bent down to pick him up, holding him with one arm as he went back to cooking. 

But not before shooting a wink at her. 

“Kids,” her mom huffed jokingly, kicking off her shoes in the hallway, taking off her tote bag and hanging it up on the rack where it hung every time she was home. “Hey sweetheart,” she said, when she noticed Elia standing nearby. “How was your day?” 

In almost the same exact amount of time as her dad, her mom noticed something was off, and her brows furrowed. Elia just walked up to her, giving her a big hug. Her mom was briefly surprised, but hugged her back, kissing her cheek warmly. 

Elia was nearly crying again as she pulled back, especially as her mom tucked a piece of her red hair behind her ear. She breathed in shakily before asking “Can we talk?”

----

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