#Rowan is their eight year old son

[phantom-wolf]

@hetalia-rarepairweek

Day 3: Apocalypse

Title: Starving off Her breadcrumbs

Ship: Arthur Kirkland x Elizabeth I // Arthur Kirkland x Elizabeth I x Alfred F. Jones

Cowritten with: @the-engdyssey

Summary: He vaguely heard Reg's introduction as he watched a young woman headbutt and break the windshield of a nearby car. In a desperate bid to escape, the occupant, a middle aged man, fumbled with the car door, spilling out onto the pavement. But not before the woman had latched onto him, her head turned sideways as she lunged once more, her mouth clamping down on the man's arm.

Then came the countdown.

Here comes a herd of zebras! One. With a ferocity she tore her head back, stripping the man of flesh and muscle as she did so. More akin to a bear ripping into the carcass of an elk than anything human.

Two. The female left him after she'd taken a few chunks out of his arm, her attention stolen by another passerby that had run too close. The man's arm was twitching uncontrollably, spasming from what Alfred had assumed was pain. He couldn't bring himself to look away. What the fuck?

Three. The Marine urged his family to move quicker as he noticed the body on the ground convulsing. Worse now. It wasn't just arm twitches anymore, his whole body was convulsing-

---

This work contains graphic depictions of violence. It also contains some swearing. Also thank you for joining us! We appreciate any and all support on this fic and the others! We hope you enjoy, and you do we have more content coming. In the meantime check out our pages! We have plenty more content for this ship as well as Arthur and Elizabeth.

[leiawritesstories]

babe, it's cold out there

written for @throneofglassmicrofics November prompts "bluster" & "chill" (and probably a few others lmao)

some cute fluff to take my mind off election day yippee!!

word count: 851

warnings: none!

enjoy!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aelin tugged the front door shut with a shiver, and it closed behind her with a thump that immediately raised a rapid patter of little footsteps from upstairs. Within two minutes, the kids had ambushed her, flinging their little arms around her legs and waist and clamoring over each other to tell Mama about their day.

"Your nose is pink, Mama!" Charlotte announced, pressing her finger to the tip of Aelin's nose as she snuggled into her mother's arms.

"It's awfully windy outside, honey," Aelin chuckled, kissing her six-year-old daughter's head.

Charlotte nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! Daddy had to rake the leaves out of the driveway before you got home!"

"We jumped in the piles!" Bran added, beaming. He was seven, and anything that allowed him to make a mess all over the yard was his favorite activity. "I jumped soooo much!"

"I bet you did, B." Aelin hugged her older son, who wrinkled his nose and squirmed away before she could plop a kiss on his head too.

Lana, the oldest at nine and a half, scoffed under her breath as Aelin let Charlotte down. "And you got leaves in your underwear too."

"Did not!" Bran shrieked, indignant.

"Did too!" Lana stuck her tongue out at him. "Dad said it looked like you peed your pants."

"Shut up, La-La!" Outraged, Bran lunged at his big sister, who dodged and hid behind her mother.

Aelin caught him before he could start throwing fists. "Bran, buddy, you know that's not gonna get you anywhere, and you probably don't want Lana to hit you back."

"She's being mean, Mama," he complained, folding his arms across his chest, turquoise eyes narrowed in indignation.

"Did you have fun jumping in the leaves?"

"Yeah."

"Then don't let what Lana says bother you, okay?"

He huffed a childish sigh, the anger seeping from his small body. "Okay." His eyes brightened. "I got Declan to jump with me!"

"Did you, now?" Laughter sparkled in Aelin's eyes.

Lana snickered. "Dec wanted to do a belly flop, and we watched him to make sure he didn't get hurt."

"Gave me a damn heart attack." Rowan's voice interrupted Aelin's moment with her kids, and she turned to find her husband leaning against the entryway wall with a twin on each hip and a half smirk on his face.

"Don't be dramatic, Dad," Lana sighed, so much like her mother that it made Aelin laugh. "We're very responsible."

"That's my girl." Aelin wrapped her oldest in a hug, affectionately ruffling her blonde curls.

Lana peered at Aelin's face. "Lottie is right, Mom. Your nose is pink."

Aelin unwound the scarf that was looped around her neck. "Well, I had to be outside, and like you all know, it's pretty windy." She knelt down and opened her arms, and both of the twins came sprinting over, burying her in a bundle of three-year-old limbs and excitement. "Hi, little loves. What did you do at preschool today?"

"I make painting, Mama!" Rielle squealed right into Aelin's ear.

Aelin blinked, hiding her wince, and guided her youngest back a step. "I'm sure it's beautiful, sweetheart, but do you remember how we don't yell in people's ears?"

Rielle nodded. "I get my picture!" She ran out into the kitchen, and Aelin shook her head with a laugh as she turned to Declan, the older of the twins by eight whole minutes. "I heard you and Bran jumped in a big leaf pile."

His little face lit up. "I jump in leaves, Mama!" He spread his arms wide and flopped into her lap. "See?"

"Did you have fun?"

"Yeah!" He beamed up at her before running back over to Rowan and demanding for Dada to pick him up.

Rowan chuckled and hoisted the little boy up into his arms. "How about we give Mama a little break, hmm? I'm sure she wants to warm her chilly self up." He shot her a wink.

She shrugged out of her jacket and flicked her scarf at him. "Babe, it's cold out there. It's perfect time for..." She paused, flashing her husband a smirk. "Hot cocoa."

"Yay!" all of the kids yelped, immediately bursting into pleas for the colored marshmallows and bickering over who got to have the Uncle Dorian mug. Dorian had prank-gifted Aelin and Rowan a mug that was 3-D printed in a cartoonish shape of his face, and for some inexplicable reason, her kids were obsessed with it.

"I'm beginning to feel outnumbered," Rowan said under his breath as he set Declan down and went over to Aelin, slipping his arms around her waist. "Who's going to tell the hooligans that they still have to eat all of their dinner even though they get hot cocoa before dinnertime?"

"Oh, I'm sure you can still put on your Stern Daddy face if you have to." She winked wickedly at him, muffling her giggle as his face went scarlet.

"You're a naughty, naughty woman," he mumbled, hiding his blush in her hair.

She just grinned and rose onto her tiptoes to kiss him. "You love it."

"Damn right, I do."

~~~

TAGS:

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@mariaofdoranelle

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

@renxzs

@anarchii

@fauna-flora11

@cynthiesjmxazrielslover

@mysterylilycheeta

[andrwminward]

Tagged by @dekarios 🧡🧡🧡

Book recommendation tag game

rules: recommend as many books as you like. please include genre and some basic information on it (either your words or a copy+paste synopsis). feel free to include cover art, a personal review, trigger warnings, and anything else! just don’t spoil the book!

Tagging: @deklo @bookishjules @kashisun & anyone else who wants to do it 🧡🧡🧡

All for the game by Nora Sakavic

Neil Josten is the newest addition to the Palmetto State University Exy team. He's short, he's fast, he's got a ton of potential — and he's the runaway son of the murderous crime lord known as The Butcher. Signing a contract with the PSU Foxes is the last thing a guy like Neil should do. The team is high profile and he doesn't need sports crews broadcasting pictures of his face around the nation. His lies will hold up only so long under this kind of scrutiny and the truth will get him killed. But Neil's not the only one with secrets on the team. One of Neil's new teammates is a friend from his old life, and Neil can't walk away from him a second time. Neil has survived the last eight years by running. Maybe he's finally found someone and something worth fighting for.

Warnings:

-violence

-violence (male to female)

-mild assault

-drug abuse

-drug misrepresentation

-alcohol abuse

-counselors/courts prescribing medication

-murder

-violence (guns, knives, fists, cigarette lighters, etc)

-sport violence

-casual violence

-familial death (referenced)

-gang violence

-torture (semi-heavily detailed)

-abuse

-abuse by a family member

-mentions of domestic abuse

-homophobia

-rape

-rape by a family member

-minor character death

-cutting

-suicide mentions

-mentions of sociopathy

-mentions of depression

-panic attacks

-knives being used

-character in a rehab/mental facility

-abuse in a rehab facility

-bribery of authority figures

-albeist language / homophobic slurs

-mention of animal cruelty

Angels before man by Rafael Nicolas

A Queer Retelling of Satan's Fall

In an eternal paradise, the most beautiful angel, Lucifer, struggles with shame, identity, and timidity, with little more than the desire to worship his creator.

It isn't until the strongest angel, Michael, comes into his life that Lucifer learns to love himself. Along the way, their friendship begins to bloom into something else. Maybe the first romance in the history of everything.

But this God is a jealous one, and maybe paradise is not paradise.

Warnings:

Blasphemy

Graphic violence

Graphic animal death

Sexual content

Self harm

Use of terms with incestuous connotations

Grooming

Mental instability

Off page sexual assault

On page sexual trauma

Abuse

Prince of sorrows (Rowan blood #1) by Kellen Graves

Without an academic endorsement to make him valuable to the high fey, Saffron will be sent back through the veil to the human world. The place he was traded from as a changeling-baby, and a place he is terrified of. And while getting an endorsement shouldn't be impossible, it's hindered by the fact his literacy is self-taught, using books stolen off of Morrígan Academy's campus of high fey students.

When mistaken identity leads to Saffron learning the true name of brooding, self-centered, high fey Prince Cylvan, what begins as a risk of losing his life (or his tongue) becomes an opportunity to earn the future he wants. In exchange for an endorsement, he and Cylvan form a geis where Saffron agrees to find a spell to strip power from Cylvan's true name. While Prince Cylvan doesn't know Saffron can barely read, Saffron is determined to meet his end of the deal in order to remain in Alfidel—or maybe just to remain by Cylvan's side, as affections grow stronger every night they spend alone in the library together.

But as other human servants soon fall victim to a beast known only as “the wolf”, Saffron realizes he has embroiled himself in a manipulative reach for power like he never anticipated—and even Prince Cylvan cannot be trusted. Between the wolf, uncovering forbidden magic, and his growing feelings for the prince, Saffron will have to decide which is most important to him—his endorsement, the lives of his friends, or the prince’s life and wellbeing.

Warnings

Physical abuse

Sexual content

Blood

Death

Sexual harassment

Confinement

Drug use

Classism

[librosamarillos]

passed down like folk songs

chapter 1: evergreen

Maegor Targaryen x OC

Also on Ao3

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Tags: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, angst, mature themes, targaryen incest, violence, Maegor is a red flag himself, characters are ooc probably, MINORS DNI

After terrorising @heartstalked’s inbox with my blurbs as 🍼anon, here’s a fic based on all the breeding kink asks, but we’re gonna suffer first I’m afraid. Is this proofread? Nope. Is this just taylor swift inspired fic? Of course it is.

Dragonstone was not what she was expecting. Nothing like what she was used to in Starfall, surrounded completely by the beautiful forest. It felt cold and strange, but she held onto her father’s hand and kept walking.

Rowan wasn’t entirely sure why she was there, she was only eight, and children weren’t normally asked to join their fathers at their work. Her father, Lord Duncan Evergreen, was a favourite among Queen Visenya’s council, and was summoned to Dragonstone often. As Rowan glanced up at him, he looked a bit nervous. She wasn’t sure if that made her feel any better.

The Queen was one she was anxious to meet. She’d never seen Visenya Targaryen up close, only hearing her father’s tales of her. And of course the rumours around the Reach, about this strange family, flooded her mind, most of them about the Queen herself. Of her sternness, her coldness in comparison to her sister wife, Queen Rhaenys, that she was a witch and fed people that displeased her to her terrifying dragon Vhagar. It made her shiver. Although her father told her to pay no mind, she couldn’t help it.

House Evergreen was a small, but very wealthy house in the Reach, providing the kingdom with wood, honey and berries. Lord Duncan was the second son, his brother Lucas inheriting their house’s seat in Starfall, in the mountains. In the last year, he had lost his beloved wife, the Lady Edith. The loss of his wife affected both him and his only daughter, Rowan, greatly. His brother had offered to have her stay with them while he worked for the Queen, but before he left, she told him to bring his daughter with him.

And there they were now, making their way to the gate of the castle that looked so strange and foreign to her. It appeared so cold and distant. A loud roar startled the little girl, who clung onto her father for dear life, as a giant dragon flew above them, wandering in the sea. The great beasts didn’t fill her with wonder, they terrified her.

“It’s alright, my sweet, Vhagar is only hunting. You’ll get used to it.” her father’s calm voice reassured her.

Rowan could only nod, as she discovered her voice could not leave her throat. How often had her father seen the dragon up close that he was so calm? From the book he brought her on Old Valyria, she knew Vhagar was the name of the god of war, and from the stories she heard, Vhagar truly lived up to the name, as did Queen Visenya, she was sure.

As they entered the castle, Rowan let go of her father’s hand to fix her hair from all the wind. She knew they’d be lead to the Queen herself, and she didn’t want to make a bad impression. Her father smiled.

“You look lovely, do not fret.” he chuckled, patting her head lightly.

The guards lead them, not to the throne room, as she assumed, but to a smaller room, one that possibly held meetings. There, in the center of the room, sat the Queen. The gown she wore was much simpler than the one Queen Rhaenys wore when Rowan saw her, but she liked it best. When she imagined a warrior queen, the image of Visenya certainly fulfilled what she pictured. She stood tall, her silver hair in an intricate braid, her purple eyes stern, studying her.

“Lord Evergreen, welcome back to Dragonstone.” her voice was formal and deep, her eyes shifting from her to her father.

“Thank you, your grace, it is always an honour to be here.” he said, giving a small bow.

The Queen made her way to them, making Rowan nervously squeeze her father’s hand, which he gave a reassuring squeeze back.

“If I may introduce my daughter, the Lady Rowan.” he smiled, looking at his child.

“Your grace.” Rowan said shyly, giving a curtsy, as the Queen looked at her.

“I hope you enjoy your stay here Lady Rowan. Your father has told me you enjoy reading; feel free to go to the library any time you wish.” Visenya gave the young girl a small smile, as her face lit up.

“Truly? Thank you, your grace, thank you!” Rowan smiled, now at ease.

Visenya watched the young girl from the window, as she walked around with her father. She remembered how hard his wife’s death hit him, she imagined how much worse it would’ve been for the girl. It felt wrong to invite him to her council for so many moons at a time and leaving his daughter behind. Duncan Evergreen grew to be her most trusted advisor. She could even call him a friend, had they not been so bound by formalities. And from what she saw, his daughter was a little miniature of him. They both had the same auburn curls, freckled faces, bright green eyes and friendly smiles. She was his pride and joy, Visenya could tell, from the way he talked about her. She seemed like a sweet girl.

There wasn’t much to do for a child in Dragonstone, she had to admit, but if all her father said was true, Rowan would spend most of her time devouring the books in the library. There were no other children on the island, other than her own son, Maegor, who had no interest in anything other children seemed to enjoy. By last year, he started to use a real blade in his training, Visenya thought proudly. He was going to be a great warrior, she knew it. The maesters didn’t find him to be the most pleasant child to be around, so perhaps it would do him some good to make a friend.

Visenya thought back to King’s Landing. That’s where she should be, that’s where her son should be growing up. Surrounded by his future subjects and his parents by his side. She sighed. She knew this was for the best. Maegor was strong, she knew he could handle what life threw at him, but she was still inclined to shield him from pain as much as she could. He didn’t have to go through what she’s lived through her whole life. She wasn’t entirely sure if it was him she was protecting or herself.

Perhaps both.

She felt like she was being watched. Rowan, admittedly, was quite lost, all of the hallways appearing the same to her. It was all the same cold stone walls in her eyes, she wasn’t sure how she’d find her way around for six whole moons. For a while, she couldn’t find anyone, not a maid, a servant, a maester, nobody. It was starting to freak her out, when she had the feeling somebody was there. She froze, unsure of what to say.

“Uh… hello?” her voice was barely above a whisper, her eyes wide.

She nearly jumped when she turned around to see a boy her age standing behind her. How had she now heard him? He eyed her suspiciously, as if he was sizing her up. She calmed herself and blinked in surprise. She knew the Queen had a son, and this was definitely him. He truly looked just like his father, but he had his mother’s eyes.

She had briefly met his half brother, Prince Aenys, back in King’s Landing. The two brothers could not be more different. Aenys was cheery, welcoming and smiled freely and brightly, whereas Maegor seemed reserved, serious, even a bit scary.

“What are you doing here?” he asked sternly.

“I- I got lost. All the hallways look the same to me.” she admitted, feeling incredibly embarrassed in that moment.

“I see.” he said, as if he hadn’t thought this through, an awkward silence falling between them.

He was taller than her, wearing his sparring clothes, she assumed. He had his hair cut short, just like the King did. She wondered why he was not raised with his brother in the capital. The city was booming, there was always something to do, somewhere to go, unlike here. But perhaps the Prince did not enjoy the city? Rowan awkwardly played with the fabric of her dress, unsure of what to say, but luckily, he broke the silence first.

“You’re Lord Duncan’s daughter.” he stated, as it was clear as day.

“And you’re Queen Visenya’s son.” she replied, earning a nod.

“Prince Maegor.” he introduced himself to her.

“Rowan. My prince.” she replied, with a small curtsy.

“Mother asked for you and your father to join everyone for dinner. You should get ready.” he stated, pausing for a moment, remembering that she was lost. “Follow me.”

Before she could answer, he grabbed her hand and started walking, dragging her along with him. After a silent five minutes, they were somehow outside of her chambers. He let go of her hand, and she looked up at him in awe.

“How did you know these were my chambers?” she asked, her eyes wide.

He almost let out a scoff.

“I live here. I know which chambers they prepare for the guests. A man has to pay attention to what goes on around him.” he said, as if she should’ve known this by heart.

“Oh.” was all she could say, before biting her lip. “Well, thank you for your help, my prince. I’ll go prepare for supper.” she said, giving him a small shy smile, before disappearing into her rooms.

Maegor stood there for a moment, eyes fixed on her door, before returning to his own chambers to prepare for dinner.

Rowan quickly freshened up, pulling her hair free of the braid it was in and braided only the top half, twisting it into a bun. After some adjustment, she was satisfied with her work. She put on her evening dress and sat on the edge of her bed, playing with her rings nervously. Had she made a fool of herself in front of the prince? She hoped not. She wasn’t doing anything wrong, but she still felt ashamed of being lost and needing help the first time she met the only other person her age on the island. If he hated her, it would be a grueling six moons.

She truly pondered why the Queen resided here in Dragonstone with her son. If all the stories her parents told her were true, then it was Visenya that did most of the hard work during the conquest, thus, should she not be in the capital reaping her rewards? King Aegon and Queen Rhaenys certainly seemed to do so, the Queen basking in the glory of her fawning singers and poets, enjoying lavish feasts in her name, the most expensive dresses and jewels. Did their sister not enjoy such a life, was that it? Then again, she was the one most feared out of the three.

Rowan truly could not grasp how Aegon wed his own sisters. It was truly a disgusting thing to think about, she couldn’t imagine marrying her cousins, let alone any brother if she had one. She didn’t dare say a word though. That seemed to be the silent understanding, at least in the Reach. Although unnatural and gross, if one valued their life, they held their tongue. But that didn’t stop whispers. Her father explained it was custom to do such things in Valyria, as they wanted to contain the ability to ride a dragon within their own family, but that didn’t stop her grimace.

She thought back to the King. He was a formal man, barely acknowledging her, only doing so when he extended his condolences about her mother’s death. Queen Rhaenys, however, seemed warm. Too warm. She had opened her arms, looking at her expectantly, her pale violet eyes urging her to come in her embrace, which is what Rowan, albeit very reluctantly, did. She offered her words of comfort, petting her curly hair, while her husband looked fondly at them. Although Rowan should feel honoured that a Queen was comforting her like this, she felt uneasy. Her warmth felt empty, just like her words. Rowan decided she didn’t like her very much. Something within her said so, and it felt like a warning. So she thanked her, with a polite smile and kind words.

The Prince Aenys, who was quite older than her, at ten and six, also extended his condolences. Rowan felt at ease, enjoying his presence much more than the King and Queen’s. She did think it was quite funny that his parents gave him the same name as his mother, save for one letter. What a strange family this was.

She was glad her father worked for Queen Visenya. Although scary, Rowan felt quite at ease with her. Perhaps it was the fact that she paid attention when her father had mentioned her interests to her, when she made the generous offer of free range to the library. Or the fact that she didn’t sense any false niceties. And of course, her father trusted her.

Much to Visenya’s surprise, the two children became fast friends. She wasn’t sure how, but in just a few moons, you could not find one without the other. She was glad to see her son smile freely around his newfound friend, and the girl also seemed more at ease than when she first arrived at the castle. Indeed, she found the air lighter with another child here, although she did love the quiet solitude Dragonstone offered her.

She had become quite fond of Rowan herself. Duncan’s daughter was a sweet child, ever the proper little lady. She was like a sponge with information, no doubt just like her father. Visenya had offered to teach her High Valyrian, since many of the books in the library were not in the common tongue. She thought she wouldn’t have the patience for it, but in yet another surprising turn of events, she found it calming, especially when she needed a break from her duties.

This was one of those days. She asked Rowan to sit in front of her vanity, handing her a book on gardening, since the subject was familiar to her, it would make it easier to remember. The young girl clumsily read out to her, while Visenya tried to braid her auburn curls, which appeared to be the most challenging of the two tasks. But Rowan didn’t complain, just smiled at her with encouragement, sometimes letting out a tiny giggle. Visenya couldn’t help but smile as well.

Maegor was her whole world, but she often wondered what it would be like to have a daughter, a little girl of her own. She saw a lot of her younger self in Rowan. She remembered how much she loved reading as a child, how she loved her time with Aegon at the citadel. But she found no time for it between training, battle, war and conquering kingdoms. It wasn’t the first love that was taken from her. She glanced at the little girl in front of her, her focused eyes in the mirror. She wondered what it would be like to have a daughter like her. She didn’t think herself capable of creating something so pure and sweet. Her Maegor was born a warrior, she saw the wild, raging fire in him reflecting her own and his father’s from the moment he had opened his eyes for the first time. In Rowan all she could see was the spark of a warm fireplace, calm, safe, warm.

“Did I say it wrong, your grace?” she asked.

“No, no, in fact you’ve improved since last time. Have you been practicing with Maegor?” Visenya offered her a small smile.

“Yes, he’s been kind enough to help me out.” she beamed, happy to spend more time with her son.

It did them both good to become friends. It lifted Rowan’s spirits from the loss of her mother, and brought Maegor out of his shell. The maesters even told her of the young Prince improving in all his subjects, now that he had Rowan join in. He seemed to relax around her.

After another failed braid, Visenya sighed in defeat and began to let the hair loose. Rowan had told her that her father would help her braid her hair when she needed help, so she thought she could show her some Valyrian style braids, which proved to be difficult on wild curls.

She felt Rowan’s eyes on her. The girl had this peaceful aura around her, and her gaze felt knowing. Like she could see right through a person. Normally, this would have Visenya on high alert, but something about her made her feel safe. Like she wanted someone to see her. To understand her. That’s what Rowan’s gaze felt like, a quiet understanding. That was the thing between women wasn’t it? The silent knowing look. Something Maegor would never know of as a man.

She snapped out of her thoughts.

“Are your bags ready for King’s Landing?” she asked, earning a nod.

“Yes, your grace!”

“You seem excited.” she pointed out.

“I am. I miss the capital quite a bit.” Rowan admitted.

“And you’re sure you don’t want to join Maegor and I on Vhagar? It would be much faster.” she chuckled at how quickly the girl’s smile dropped.

Rowan, unlike most children, was terrified of dragons and did not regard them with wonder and awe. She’d get used to them, surely, on Dragonstone especially. She’d scold Maegor for teasing her for it, as her fears were within reason. Children regarded the dragons with awe because they did not know the terror they could bring. Rowan, like the good pupil she was, did know.

“I only jest Rowan, do not worry.” she offered a sympathetic smile.

The sun was gentle on their faces as they sat on the field of grass, the warmth of spring finally here. It found Maegor laying down, with his eyes closed, his encounter with his father in the morning still weighing heavy on his mind. It found Rowan carefully making a flower crown, trying to find the right words to ease her friend’s obvious pain that he was trying to pass off like it was nothing. Like always.

“You’re doing it again.” he stated, without opening his eyes.

“Hm? What?” she asked, averting her attention from the flowers in her hands to Maegor’s face.

“Staring off, trying to find a solution to a problem you didn’t create.” he stated again, as if it was so obvious he didn’t even have to open his eyes.

Rowan sighed lightly. Maegor knew her too well, it seemed.

“It’s not like that. I just hate how he makes such a show of it all. You’re his son too.” she admitted, furrowing her brows at the thought.

“I know.” he sighed. “I wish he would remember that as well.”

A moment of silence passed before Maegor sat up, crossing his legs.

“It was humiliating. His hand asked if I were to still follow Aenys in succession when he had children, and he just avoided the question. In front of the whole council! And then kept going on and on about taking Aenys with him everywhere to prepare him for the throne. How much more obvious does he have to make it?” he vented, pulling on loose strands of grass.

Her heart broke hearing the hurt in his voice. She reached for his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“He’s an idiot not to see how capable you are. Everyone knows.” she said seriously while looking in his violet eyes.

“That’s treason, you know. Talking like that of your King?” his tone was serious, but a small smile was creeping on his lips.

“Weren’t you just making fun of me for sticking to the rules so much?” she asked teasingly, raising an eyebrow.

To that, Maegor let out a chuckle.

“I suppose so.”

Another moment of silence passed, something weighing heavy on Rowan’s mind.

“I don’t want you to be King.” she finally confessed, her eyes fixed on the flowers in her hands.

“What?” he asked, genuine surprise in his voice, as he dropped the strand of grass he was playing with.

“Kings never seem to be happy, not truly. Not the competent ones at least. And all I want is for you to be happy.” Rowan’s voice was soft as she spoke.

“And what if being King is what makes me happy?” he felt his heart flutter.

“Is that truly what would make you happy? Would it fill you with joy?” she asked, finally meeting his eyes, and for a moment, time felt like it stopped.

“Yes. I’d be the happiest on the throne, continuing my parents’ and my house’s legacy.” he said after a small pause, his voice serious once more.

Rowan nodded, her green eyes searching his for something. She then placed the flower crown carefully on his head. Had it been anyone else, he would’ve never accepted it, but it wasn’t anyone else. It was Rowan.

“If that’s what would make you happy, then I shall be your biggest advocate.” she said softly, with a smile. “I promise.”

He looked at her, wondering when he started feeling this way. Has it always been like this? Had her words and gentle smiles always made his heart beat this fast? He’d known her a year, and yet it felt like he’d known her forever. He felt his face get warm.

“…Thank you.”

taglist: @heartstalked @stupidocupido

[lya-dustin]

All is bliss

Chapter 53

Cw: grooming, murder, child abuse, fertility issues, magic, description of injuries, body horror, ableism

Gif by @daenerys-tarrgaryen

Taglist: @mercedesdecorazon @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @alexandria-millie @ewanmitchellcrumbs @darylandbethfanforever9

Rhaena ---despite Jeyne putting her foot down saying it was too dangerous--- was packed along with her stepbrother and their dragons and escorted to her father by the army Jeyne promised father and her half-sister, Nettles.

Why, she isn’t sure, but Nettles thinks it’s to show off their dragons and make the Greens shit themselves.

“I do not like him.” Her eight and ten year old half-sister made her displeasure known after Ser Corwyn, a man of eight and twenty, helps her onto her horse.

“But I do, Nettie.” The girl said playing with the red ribbon he gave her back in the Eyrie. He was handsome, and great at jousting, and if Nettles was into boys, she’d find it very attractive when he takes off his tunic when he spars.

Rhaena had scarcely turned five and ten ---two weeks ago--- when the lords and knights in Lady Jeyne’s court begin to fight for her attention. She supposed it was her turn since everyone’s getting betrothed.

Baela is betrothed to the heir of House Rowan who Lady Jeyne claims is part of a conspiracy to kill Aegon and make Aemma queen. Aegon was led to believe by his councilors he had truly become loyal to him, and the Usurper believed them.

Joanna Westerling has sent a raven to father offering herself or his choice of her four daughters in exchange for ridding her of the Red Kraken. Father had ---according to Nettles--- chosen the widow as her bravery had him rooting for her despite her allegiance.

Rhaena has plenty of offers, but the choice is up to father, unfortunately.

Kermit Tully offers himself as a groom for Rhaena, as does three- and ten-year-old Bloody Benjicot Blackwood, Jason Lannister, Lord Manderley’s heir, Lord Tarly and Ser Corwyn Corbray.

Rhaena would gladly choose Ser Corwyn if it were up to her. It wasn’t fair mama married papa out of love, she tells her sister when she says he is too old for her.

“Your mother was two and twenty, and he killed the Sealord’s annoying son for her. If Ser Corwyn cares for you an ounce of what Daemon cared for his two late wives, he will wait until you are of age and know your own mind, little sister.” Nettles points out and changed the topic. “Do you think Vhagar knows Morning is hers?”

“Yes, when Aemond was Aemma’s hostage Vhagar would let her curl up beside her, she even let us get on her saddle. Unless you try to command your parent’s dragon, they don’t harm you. When Baela trained Moondancer for fighting, Vhagar refused to hurt her. Caraxes has no such problem, but that is because Caraxes is a jerk.” Rhaena explained wondering why she’d ask that.

Morning was as large as a colt now; the freedom of the mountain helped her grow as if she were a wild dragon like Nettles’ Sheepstealer. She was not a fighter, she needed training for it, but if she were to be around and hurt, Vhagar would have no other choice than to rescue her hatchling.

“Why does father want me there?”

“Baela’s escaping Kingslanding as we speak, Daemon wants Vhagar out of the fight and the only way to do it is if her hatchlings lead her away from the battle.”

Prince Aenys suckles at Alys’ teat as if she hadn’t bound his life to hers. The babe would live as long as she did while he was still at her breast.

It served as insurance, and the only way the babe lives. Had he been handed off to an ordinary woman, the babe would have been blue by morning.

Alys had done this before. With Ida’s first boy, Simon’s eldest grandson and the housekeeper’s bastard girl. They all lived long and healthy lives, save for little Simon who she felt Daemon bring down Dark Sister on him.

Every dying child she nurses becomes tied to her.

She cannot give life, but she may nurture it. A small consolation for when your gods take away your chance to be an ordinary woman with an ordinary man and give birth to perfectly ordinary children.

Her husband had been killed by the same demon he sired on her; Larys’ horrible mama had been killed by the demon Alys gave birth to when she gave King Viserys her maidenhead.

She had prayed for a chance to get away from her stepmother who believed her to be the reason Larys was born the way he was.

The gods answered, just not the way she had hoped.

Her mother, a witch from Oldtown, had been proud, her father toyed with the valyrian steel link in his old chain as she tearfully explained her situation when three- and ten-year-old Harwin found her cradling Willam’s body in her bloody bed.

After that Alys honed her skills while father and Harwin helped erase any evidence of her …experiments out of love for her.

Her sisters remained blissfully unaware of it all, Larys loathed her for she knew his true nature, but Harwin adored her as all little brothers adore their big sisters.

As thanks for keeping her secrets, Alys kept the curse of Harren the Black at bay. The curse that plagued Harwin since Lady Beatrice Rowan gave birth to him on an unlucky day.

He had nightmares of fires, of being locked in his rooms and Larys laughing as he beats the door bloody until he burns alive.

Alys used all her arts to keep her brother alive, as long as she never left the castle it would not claim sweet Harwin who was so much more than just the Breakbones.

Then one night, Larys drugged her with sweetsleep and locked her in a cottage in the woods just outside the grounds to kill their father and brother.

Same brother Larys envied for being everything he wasn’t.

He wants her dead, now that he has lost everything for betting on the wrong horse. He killed his kin for a cursed castle, so she let it all fall on his frail shoulders.

Once he is dead, Ida’s sons with Lord Whent will inherit the title and lands that come with Harrenhal. Osbert Whent, a boy of four who would need a regent. Someone Ida knows would die and kill for him.

And that someone is his beloved auntie, Alys.

“The babe dies if I die.” She tells him as she continues to care for the baby prince.

“The babe is a bastard, he has as much value as you do, sweet sister.” Her brother said with a smile. “The little queen will have others. She doesn’t even love the babe, perhaps she may thank me for ridding her of it.”

“You do not know the rage of a mother, Larys. Even if she claims not to love her son, her blood will not let her rest until he is avenged.” The witch chided him for thinking all mothers were as cruel as his.

Lara Strong had made it loud and clear that she’d been disappointed in her son. She wanted a son better than Harwin who had always seemed uncannily perfect.

Larys, while loved by his father and siblings, loathed them for believing in the venom his mother raised him on. Hated them so much he became a kinslayer thinking he could fill that void in him with wealth and a title.

Nothing more terrible in this world than to live without ever knowing love.

“So you say, sweet sister, so you say.”

“The Silent Sisters’ said it was beyond their ability to embalm her, the most they could was wrap her as tightly as they could.” He murmured squeezing his eye shut as if trying to will the memory of it away.

Usually, he is the one holding her, and tonight Aemma returns the favor. She braids his hair, helps him remove his false eye and when he asks her to comfort him in the way he had assumed, she turns him down as she has not fully recovered from the birth.

“I’m sorry you had to see it.” Aemma whispered tucking him under her chin as he is fond of doing with her.

Alicent’s death had been so gruesome she was wrapped in linen drenched in fragrant oils like a Valyrian instead of having her body embalmed as it was typical for Andal funerals. The spikes had torn through too much, even now some pieces of her clothes were stuck under the worst ones she fell on.

Whether she took her own life or was murdered was an entirely different beast. The only one in the room was Alys who swore on the Seven-pointed star she was burping Aenys on the other side of the nursery when it happened.

Not that they believed her, but they can’t change Aenys’ wetnurse without risking the babe becoming ill or worse, dying.

Even if grandfather’s and Aemond’s theory that she used her dark arts to kill her mother were true, they would have to postpone any trial and execution after Aenys has been weaned.

That would mean Daemon must wait another year to avenge her mother as he vowed that day she died.

“What are you thinking?” he asks turning so he could rest his head on her breast. If you saw him like this, you wouldn’t believe he was the same haughty prick you see in public.

“The same woman who killed your mother and mine is the same who nurses our son. We’ll have to wait until he is weaned to kill her.” She answered and he quietly chuckled.

“Aren’t you afraid she’ll kill him?”

A good question. One her grandfather and Baela and Jena and even Aegon had asked her since Alicent’s murder.

“No, self-preservation trumps all, she knows the moment anyone gets a whiff ---real or imagined--- of her mistreating the Prince of Dragonstone she is dragon food. Why do you think all your brother’s supporters are flocking to me now that the end is nigh, dear husband?”

Most courtiers had turned Green to keep themselves alive and with all their wealth, now they switch their cloaks for black to do the same. While Aemma will spare them, she will still punish them for their treachery.

They didn’t learn anything from when Jaehaerys spared their forefathers, this time Aemma intends to make the lesson stick.

They must learn the world cannot have a second Otto Hightower.

[scotianostra]

On April 13th 1596 Walter Scott of Buccleuch freed notorious reiver William Armstrong of Kinmont in a daring raid on Carlisle Castle.

Perhaps the best known of the Border reivers (outlaw raiders or rustlers), William Armstrong of Kinmont’s first recorded raid was against the Milburns of Tyndale, in August 1583, when Armstrong was probably in his forties. In 1585 he accompanied the Earl of Angus`s campaign against the Earl of Arran and pillaged Stirling. Eight years later he was in Tynedale again with 1,000 men, carrying off over 2,000 beasts and £300 in spoils.

The events of 1596 and the rescue of ‘Kinmont’ Willie Armstrong represent a daring swashbuckling adventure. The fact that Kinmont led one of the most notorious bands of cut-throats ever to roam the Debatable Land seems to be irrelevant and in the tradition of the Border ballads we are to view him as a hero. His notoriety and activities were such that the Warden of the West Marsh’s deputy, Salkeld, captured Kinmont as he returned from a Truce Day at the Dayholm of Kershope. Kinmont was taken to Carlisle.

According to Border Law it should not have happened on a Truce Day and Walter Scott of Buccleuch who became known as The Bold Buccleuch, and was keeper of Liddesdale on whose land the arrest had been made, protested to the Warden, Lord Scrope. When Scrope refused to return Kinmont, Buccleuch became concerned that Scrope was anxious to hang Kinmont on the gallows at Harraby and so assembled a motley bunch of Elliots, Scotts, Armstrongs and Grahams to effect a rescue. Oral tradition has meant that the numbers vary from 40 to 200. The weather was atrocious which made crossing the River Eden very dangerous, but it did mean that the castle watch had taken shelter. Buccleuch left a group to cover the retreat and led the raiding party himself. Popular opinion has it that they must have had support from the inside because they entered the castle quickly. Thus with the aid of a sturdy Reiver, Red Rowan, Kinmont made his escape.

In 1600, Armstrong attacked the village of Scotby with 140 riders, burning and taking prisoners and cattle. In 1602 he rode his last foray, south of Carlisle. He was still alive two years later, and his four sons who had helped to get him out of Carlisle Castle are frequently named in the later Border raids. Legend supposes he died in his bed of old age, sometime between 1608 and 1611.

As is usual with these Border legends we look to the old sources of the story tellers before reading and writing was the norm, the old songs. Francis James Child was an American scholar and collector of Ballads, if you follow my posts you will no doubt have seen me posting “Child Ballads” at times, this story comes from Child Ballad 186. This ballad is more unusual than most of the songs I know from the Child Ballads as it is longer than most at 20 verse so I wont post it, you can look it up on YouTube as Child Ballad 168, but it’s over 9 minutes wrong in full!

[treesandwords]

Sons of the Summer King Excerpt: The Prologue

I submitted this for a writing contest and it didn't even make it to the long list, so I'll put it here instead. The fun begins under the cut vvv

The boy was wrapped in a white death-shroud when he was brought to the castle, cradled in the back of a cart.              Jamos Dalion bent low over the body, long fingers carefully uncovering the face, the green-stained hands. The face was not that of one of his own children, but some nameless other’s. A woodworker, a weaver. A farmer, a villager.   Sewn into the brown linen of his sleeve was a hill-rowan twig, and at his throat was a strand of dark green ivy. Neither had done him any good.            “Forgive me, my lord,” said the grubby man who had brought the body, “but you shouldn’t touch him. Not bare- handed.”  He drove the horse and cart, and following was a stream of curious and frightened villagers, not far from the castle gates. The sky was heavy with clouds, brown oak-leaves rattling on their twigs. The moors around cradled the hill and the castle in a dusk-grey sea.             “We did as we’re meant to,” said the cart-driver, twisting his own gloved hands. “He’d been good and protected, in the old ways proper. As they always are, when they hunt in there.”             “The old ways mean nothing. Not here. Not with this.” Not this time of year. Not when the hunt was more a shrike-like attack.             “M’lord, my family – we’re of the old blood, we know the right ways of things. We told the boy what to do, all the right things – “             “Yet still he died. As did others.”             It was not a question, but the villager quelled under his lord’s glance. “They did.”             A cold wind blew, hissing through the dying heather. A small crowd of children stood behind the lord, most with his red hair and unsmiling face, watching with solemn curiosity. One of the little boys, a lad of eight summers, stared intently at the rowan berries resting against the corpse’s limp hand. He had his own today, in his own sleeve, and on the coldest nights of winter his mother would smudge his cheeks with their juices. Even within the castle’s safe walls. Even if he never dared set foot in the place where the dead boy had gone.             Lord Jamos took the man quietly aside, out of earshot.  “There was no sign of – him?”             “No sign.”             There never was. “How many dead?”

            “Six. Seven, including the boy.”             It was quick, then. Often it took more time than this, for them to show signs – long enough that many thought they had escaped this boy’s fate. And on the barest occasion, perhaps once every ten hunts, one did.

The boy’s eyes were half open, veins in the lids green-tinged. A sickly greenish hue emerged beneath his skin all over, choking his blood. Mage-touched.

He was younger than Jamos’ eldest son. The eyes, where they were not eerily green, had been pale brown.             “Burn him in the village, along with the other dead,” the lord commanded. “Give them to the flames, and to the Holly King. They deserve an honourable crossing.”             “What of those not yet dead, my lord?”             “How close to death are they?”             A look exchanged. A knowing one. “Close, my lord. Very close.”             “Burn them too.”             The cart went away, the dead boy and his protections with it. The lord turned to his family, slowly. Their cheeks were thin. It had been a bad year, and with worse to come. For he  was not yet gone. The bringer of green-veined death, of childhood nightmares.             In that cold, whispering autumn night the funeral-pyres blazed down in the village, smoke crossing the moors like sea-fog. It swirled into the dales and hollows, brushed the hills with snakelike tendrils.

At the far edge of the moor it halted, at a wall of trees deep with shadow. The Wood. Before the trees lay wreaths of wildflowers, bare twigs twined together in the shapes of folk charms, crossed circles made of rowan wood. The smoke trailed around them, the wind leaving them feebly fluttering. In the darkness between the trees there was no sound, no movement. But the fearful eyes of the nearby village kept watch, as they watched the reeking bonfires all through the long night.

And the children of Dalion remembered; the sons and daughters who sat huddled at the castle windows high above and, too, watched. They never forgot the shadow of the Wood. They never forgot the green veins beneath pallid death-skin, creeping like a poison, like lightning, like summer vines.

Taglist: @kaatiba (ask to be added/removed)

[despondcnts]

𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝚄𝙱𝚃𝙻𝙴 𝚂𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳 𝙾𝙵 𝚆𝙸𝙽𝙳 𝙷𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙷𝚁𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚃𝚁𝙴𝙴𝚂, 𝙰 𝙳𝙾𝙶’𝚂 𝙼𝙾𝚄𝚃𝙷 𝙱𝙻𝙾𝙾𝙳𝙸𝙴𝙳 𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼 𝙱𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙾 𝙸𝚃𝚂 𝙿𝚁𝙴𝚈, 𝙽𝙾𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙻𝙶𝙸𝙰 𝙲𝚁𝙴𝙴𝙿𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙰𝚁𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙲𝙾𝚁𝙽𝙴𝚁 𝙰𝚃 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚈 𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙽.

𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴 :  rowan picard 𝙽𝙸𝙲𝙺𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴 :  ro , ro-boat ( baby sister ) 𝙰𝙶𝙴 : twenty-four 𝚂𝙴𝚇𝚄𝙰𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚈 : asexual 𝙶𝙴𝙽𝙳𝙴𝚁 & 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙽𝙾𝚄𝙽𝚂 : he/him & they/them 𝙾𝙲𝙲𝚄𝙿𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 : receptionist at the world’s dingiest motel,  super 8 𝚁𝙴𝚂𝙸𝙳𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴 : on the edge of town, just before a crossroads. one road leads further into mercer hollow ; while the other seemingly diverges away from civilization.   𝙰𝚂𝚃𝚁𝙾𝙻𝙾𝙶𝙸𝙲𝙰𝙻 𝚂𝙸𝙶𝙽𝚂 : pisces sun, virgo moon, aquarius rising

𝙿𝙰𝚂𝚃 

when rowan was born, he was graced with the world’s strongest set of lungs. as his mother would go on to tell him, he was a baby determined to ensure everyone around him knew of his presence by frequently wailing and screaming. he would eventually grow out of this but forever coined the nickname “little wolf”, gifted by his father,  after the old wise tale of the boy who cried wolf. if you asked just about anyone, they’d tell you just how beloved rowan was, which only makes what happened next all that more heartbreaking. 

eight years later, rowan’s father awoke to a day just like any other. he placed his boots on his sock covered feet, pulled his lunch from the fridge ( admiring the handwritten note by both his wife, and his son who assisted in the preparation ), and grabbed his keys from the ceramic bowl next to the front door. he left for work, but he would never return home. you see, richard picard worked in the mining field and though the risks always stared him straight in the face, he’d reassure his wife that he’d always make it home.little did he know, it would be a promise he wouldn’t be able to keep.

with a single mother working two jobs to meet their needs, it was true that rowan didn’t see his mother all that often. though young, he was riddled with the death of his father at every turn and in some ways, this made rowan grow up faster than other children his age. in addition, ro found the educational system to be far too straining on his otherwise overloaded mind. often did he find himself getting stuck in what he referred to as “a loop of thoughts”, distressing in nature and causing him to have extreme panic attacks. one of which got the school’s counselor involved and resulted in rowan being diagnosed and treated for ADHD and anxiety. nevertheless, he would eventually drop out at the ripe age of fifteen. 

around this time, molly had begun to see a new man, whom she’d go on to introduce to her son. rowan would be the first to tell you how much he resented the thought of john replacing the position of his father, but came to understand ( through the support of his mother and john alike ) that no one could ever replace him. thus, rowan leaned into the new living dynamic and eventually was thrilled to welcome his baby half-sister, aria, into the world just two years later.

𝙿𝚁𝙴𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃 

when rowan became an adult, his mother assisted him in renting out a trailer near the edge of town. though disheveled and falling apart at the seams, rowan spent a good amount of time fixing the place up and restoring it to its former glory. it’s his biggest pride and joy, and the perfect little home for him and his german short haired pointer, dottie. 

hope was on the horizon for rowan. only, not the type of hope that’s a shining light leading you out of a dark cave. no, not that hope, but instead hope mercer : mercer hollow’s most shining star, and news of her disappearance swirled around the town like an inescapable plague. worst of all, rumors came about that led to rowan being questioned by the police. what rumors, you may ask ? well, they weren’t entirely rumors, per se. anyone who attended high school alongside rowan and hope would tell you that rowan wasn’t all that fond of mecer hollow’s golden girl. some speculated this was why he dropped out, a feeble attempt to flee from her ; while others stated they’d patch up their differences and rowan was even invited to hope’s birthday party… but if that was the case, didn’t that mean he was at the site where hope was last seen ? only time will tell. 

𝚅𝙸𝚃𝙰𝙻 𝙵𝙰𝙲𝚃𝚂

though treated for a short time for his struggles with ADHD and anxiety, rowan has since fallen off the bandwagon. upon turning eighteen, affording the medication and treatment of these disorders was unrealistic to a high school dropout, stuck in a minimum wage job. so it’s often he suffers in silence, simultaneously feeling guilty for being otherwise “defective”, as he would put it. 

rowan is a music connoisseur. he loves nearly every genre, but leans more towards folk, rock, & classical. he’s also versed in playing the guitar *wriggles eyebrows* & harmonica. 

if he were to hit reset on his life, he would’ve chosen to stay in school and go on to seek out a profession in the culinary field. instead, he spends his free time foraging  nearby forests with his dog, dottie, who assists him in hunting. the ingredients he finds he uses to make his meals, and only once in a blue moon will head to the grocery store for items he otherwise can’t obtain himself. 

[matrotas-muse-hub]

Potential Muses - Part Two

Continued from here, same deal as before. I’ve listed eight more muses below the cut, muses which are not officially part of this blog but may end up on here at some point. If there’s any interest in knowing more about them or starting a thread, hmu!

Lionel / Guardian - Lionel was originally a tool - nothing but a shield for a faction called V’aarn Athil, a radical sect of psychics who fought the void’s encroachment on the material plane. After his base was wiped out, he lost his memory and was found by a farmer. When he instinctually used his psychic powers to heal the farmer during a prayer, the farmer mistakenly assumed Lionel had been blessed by the god of light, and had become a paladin. Lionel, not knowing any better, became a follower of the light god. He travels the world seeking to help others using psychic powers he believes to be divine.

Ren’dalar Eventide (art by filibusterfrog​) - A shadar-kai swiftblade who died trying to stop a mad wizard from completing an ascension ritual to transform himself into a dragon. The ritual went haywire, trapping the mad wizard - now a dragon - and Ren’dalar in an endless cycle of reincarnation. The two have been fighting and killing one another for thousands of years.

Rob Wylde - A human sellsword who spent many years as a bandit. After killing some adventurers in a brutal conflict alongside the remnants of his old band, Rob, the sole survivor, finished the adventurer’s contract in hopes to cash in on their quest. He was scouted by some other adventurers when he showed up at the guild and, with no bandit troupe to return to, he decided to try the life of a “legal” mercenary.

Sir Rowan Adelard - A knight by social class alone, Sir Rowan Adelard is a skilled warrior who uses feints and sleight of hand to get the upper hand in combat, a man with little aversion to “fighting dirty.” He is a staunch defender of the people, and some rumors say he even has ties to a rogueish syndicate. But that would be preposterous, seeing how he’s a knight and all!

Theran Stryker - Son of the famed hero Scout Stryker, Theran has always lived in his fathers’ shadow. He grew up on the road, never having a stable home and never knowing his mother who died giving birth to him. Forced to learn the ways of the warrior from a living legend of a father, Theran fell short, unable to match up to his dad. After failing a particularly important mission, his father decided Theran needs to travel alone, as he cannot accompany him forever. While his father saw this as a push towards independence, Theran saw it as a betrayal, as if he had been disowned.

Vaelin Goldenbrow - Vaelin is a high elf scholar who taught at a rather diverse school for people from all over the world. After his only daughter marries a human, Vaelin fears for her happiness as she is bound to far outlive him. Wanting his daughter’s marriage to be a long and happy one, Vaelin sets out on a journey to unlock the secrets of chronomancy - looking for a way to make his new son-in-law age much, much slower.

Vivian Song - Vivian, or Vi (pronounced “vee”) as some of her friends call her, is a narcoleptic noblewoman. Frail since birth, she is visited by a god in her dreams who promises her health in exchange for her worship. She accepts, finding herself slowly becoming more physically fit. Once she feels confident, Vivian steals some armor from her family’s storehouse and runs away, hoping to make good use of the divine magic she’s now acquired. She dreams of getting rich quick and retiring, sleeping all day in a comfy bed with servants to bring her food and tend to her needs.

Willow Belvari - Willow is a priestess, a holy woman known for having an interest in scholarly pursuits. What people don’t know is that she is in fact a void fanatic, obsessed with eldritch knowledge that would break the mind of a lesser mortal. She dreams of joining the horrors who lurk beyond the stars - not as a servant, but as an equal.

[rainstormies]

(3) beneath the woven canopy

title: light the way

fandom: a song of ice and fire

word count: 2.5k

synopsis: the fall of a king, and the rise of a queen. as the warmth of the reach meets the cold north, ice dances with fire

ALINA

"Alina." The stern voice of Septa Vera woke her up. They had been practising their needlework when Alina must have dozed off. She did not get much sleep last night. Her father's decision lay heavy on her mind. Her thoughts on the matter, however, were not important. If he had decided that she should go, then that was it. Were her parents really just going to put her on a boat and send her off to live with another family?

Of course, there would be no boat. No, the journey from Oldtown to Winterfell would be a long one. They would have to take the Roseroad to King's Landing, and then the Kingsroad all the way north to Winterfell. The journey from King's Landing to Winterfell would be a long and treacherous one, which by horseback would last more than a moon. And from Oldtown to King's Landing? Alina had only been once with her father. It had taken them twenty-five days to get there, and twenty-three back. Alina did not wish to go to the North. She loved The Reach. It was warm and beautiful, just like the people who lived here. Alina had heard the people in the North were a reflection of their weather, harsh and bitter.

Marriage was a topic that had crossed Alina's mind many times before. During the tournament her father had held for her 10th name day, Alina had met the sons of Mace Tyrell. Although she preferred Garlan, who was kind and strong, Alina had always thought she would end up marrying their eldest son Willas. Her brother would rule Oldtown after their father and her home would be in Highgarden as Lady Paramount of the Reach.

But that would not happen anymore. No, Alina's place was no longer in the South, no matter how much she wished it would be.

Her sister Samira was concentrating on her needlework, while their septa stood by watching. Alina could notice her slowly leaning further and further forward toward her work. It was a habit the younger sister had. She would become so focused on a task, she would forget all else. Their septa must have noticed it too, because she put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her back into the chair.

Alina had always thought Samira was an unusual name for a Hightower. Her mother had told them she had met a beautiful girl during her travels in Dorne whom she had named her youngest daughter after.

Alina remembers the day she was born. It was the fifteenth day of the fourth moon. When Alina found out it was a girl, she had begged her father to give her a name. She had chosen Arielle. The name was never used.

Looking at her younger sister, Alina knew what people meant when they said the two sisters could not be more unlike each other. While Alina was described as delicate and beautiful with hair the colour of spun gold, Samira bore the features of House Rowan. She has large dark eyes and long, dark hair that curls down her back. Where Alina is adventurous and brave, Samira is shy and reserved. Septa Vera claims it is because the girl is only nine years old, and will grow into her personality. Alina sometimes wonders if she is a Hightower at all, but she would never dare speak it into words.

As Alina’s gaze drifted to the corner of the room, her eyes found Lanna Rowan, her cousin and closest confidante. Lanna had been sent to Oldtown when she was just eight, her parents deciding that her younger brother Lyonel would inherit Goldengrove, leaving no place for her in her father’s court. Alina had a feeling Lanna’s father was hoping to marry her off to either the son of House Costayne or House Bulwer, two houses sworn to the Hightowers. In truth, Lanna had become more like a sister to Alina than a cousin. She was two years older, with the same dark Redwyne hair as her mother, but her eyes were bright green, a trait of House Rowan. Though she was technically here as Alina’s handmaiden, the two girls shared everything - secrets, dreams, and fears - and Lanna’s quiet strength had always grounded Alina. When the time came to travel to Winterfell, Lanna would accompany her north, as much a companion as a protector in the unfamiliar lands they would soon call home.

"Alina. Samira." The voice of Hightower's steward interrupted the peaceful ambiance of the room. Alina could tell their septa was about to scold the man for disturbing their work, but before she could, the man rushed out, "The Lord Baelor has requested his daughters' presence in the High Hall."

With a resigned glance at her sister, Alina rose from her seat, the needlework momentarily forgotten. Samira looked up at her sister, dark eyes mirroring the uncertainty that lingered in Alina's own.

The High Hall, with its towering arches and extravagant tapestries, felt colder than usual. The steward led the way, his steps echoing through the empty corridors. Alina stole a glance at their septa, whose expression mirrored her own concern. It was not usual for her father to request their presence like this.

Upon entering the hall, Alina and Samira found themselves facing their parents. Lord Baelor Hightower, resolute in his decision, stood beside Lady Rhonda, whose eyes mirrored sadness. Alina knew what this summoning was about, and the air in the room felt heavy with the weight of impending farewells.

“Alina, my dear,” Lord Baelor spoke with a measured tone. “It is time for our journey to Winterfell. Gerold shall accompany us on our journey as well. It is time he leaves this castle and gets to see more of the world.”

That surprised Alina. She thought it would just be her and father. “What about Samira? Can she come as well?”

Her father looked at her sternly, and she already knew what his answer would be. “Sweet Alina, your sister is very young, too young to be travelling such distances. And then we would have to bring Mother too. No, it’s best if it is just the three of us.”

Alina nodded, suppressing the swell of emotions that threatened to overcome her. They were really leaving. The reality of it all, of leaving the warmth of the Reach for the unknown territories of the North settled heavily on her shoulders. 

As preparations unfolded, Alina's bedchambers became a flurry of activity. Dresses were chosen and packed into trunks alongside essentials for the journey, and the air was filled with the scent of beeswax as candles were extinguished.

Amid the controlled chaos, Alina found herself standing by the window, gazing out at the sun-drenched landscape of Oldtown. The familiar sight of the Honeywine River winding through the city brought a pang of nostalgia. How drastically her world was about to change.

Their steward, Ormund Hunt, ever vigilant, approached. "My Lady, the horses are ready. It's time."

The journey through the Roseroad commenced, the Hightower banners waving in the breeze as they departed the ancestral home. Alina rode beside her father, the rhythmic sound of hooves on the cobbled road marking the passage of time.

The familiar landmarks of Oldtown gradually faded into the distance as the Roseroad unfolded before them. Alina could not help but steal glances at her father, searching for reassurance in his stoic expression.

He had suggested Alina travel by carriage, as is custom for women to do. But Alina had refused. She had been taught how to ride from a young age and enjoyed it much more than being locked in a box for hours on end.

Alina could not help but marvel at the sight of Hightower behind them, standing tall against the azure sky.

"Father," she spoke, "Hightower looks even more majestic from a distance. I will miss this as we venture further north."

Lord Baelor nodded, "Indeed, Alina. The Hightower has stood watch over Oldtown for generations. A beacon of strength and legacy. You know our words-"

"We light the way." Alina finished for him. She did know their words. Alina had not thought about them until now, as the tower stood like a beacon in the sky. The tower was built on Battle Isle by the First Men long ago, before the coming of the Andals. It serves as a lighthouse, the beacon on top guiding ships into port where the Honeywine river widens into the Whispering Sound.

Alina wished she could say goodbye one last time, to her mother and her dear sister, who is too young to understand how long it will truly be until they see each other again. She wished she could say goodbye to her grandfather, Lord Leyton Hightower, the current head of their house. He lives in a chamber at the highest point of the tower and has stayed there since before Alina was born. Alina has been to his chambers several times, yet has never seen him leave his room. Her grandfather would read her books of ancient magic when she was younger, Alina's favourites. He told her that their family had for generations practised alchemy and necromancy and that his daughter Malora, the Mad Maid, had prophesied that Alina would go on to possess great powers. Alina had not dared tell her mother about that, she knew how much her mother disliked Lord Layton and his superstitions.

As the days turned into nights, and the sun painted the skies in hues of pink and gold, the journey became a testament to the passage of time. The landscape shifted gradually - from the vineyards of Honeyholt to the fertile fields of the Mander. Alina found solace in the familiar sights, each landmark a marker of the days gone by.

The long journey allowed Alina to witness the ebb and flow of life in the Reach. She saw farmers toiling in the fields, their labour a testament to the bountiful harvest that graced the region. Villages dotted the landscape, their thatched roofs and bustling markets telling stories of everyday life in the sun-kissed realm.

The scent of blooming flowers and the song of nightingales accompanied them as they travelled. Alina found herself captivated by the beauty of the Reach, a warmth that nestled deep within her soul. Yet, beneath the surface, a quiet longing lingered - an anticipation of the unknown that lay ahead.

Their party pressed on, passing through Highgarden and later Bitterbridge, each milestone bringing them closer to King's Landing. Alina's thoughts oscillated between the comforting memories of Oldtown and the uncertainties that awaited her in the capital.

And then, finally, the city of kings sprawled before them - an intricate tapestry of red-tiled roofs and towering spires. The shadow of the Red Keep loomed over King's Landing, a symbol of power and politics that stood in stark contrast to the open fields of the Reach.

Upon entering the capital, Alina and her father were graciously received by the court of King Robert Baratheon and his wife, Queen Cersei. The castle, a labyrinth of grand corridors and opulent chambers, bore witness to the ebb and flow of political machinations.

As their party settled into the castle, Alina found herself captivated by the grandeur of the Red Keep. As her father exchanged pleasantries with the King and his council, Alina wandered through halls adorned with crimson and gold, colours that reminded her of House Lannisters. She knew the queen was a Lannister, the sister of the Kingslayer. She had seen him earlier, Jamie Lannister, in his golden armour. He looked more like the knights in the stories, and Alina thought he looked more like a king than Robert Baratheon ever would.

Alina's exploration led her to the throne room, where the legendary Iron Throne sat, a majestic and imposing sight. The swords that forged the seat seemed to whisper the tales of battles and conquest.

Alina could not resist the urge to approach the throne. She gingerly touched its cold, hard surface, her fingers tracing the intricate patterns. It was a tangible connection to the seat of power in the Seven Kingdoms, and for a moment, the weight of history pressed upon her.

As she stood there lost in contemplation, a voice interrupted her thoughts. "It's quite a sight, isn't it?"

Alina turned to find a young girl, not much younger than herself, with golden curls framing her face. The innocence in her eyes betrayed the harsh reality of the court.

"I'm Myrcella," the girl introduced herself, her smile genuine and welcoming.

Alina returned the smile. "Alina Hightower. It is a pleasure to meet you, Princess Myrcella."

Myrcella's eyes widened with excitement. "You're from the Reach, right? I have heard it is beautiful there. Do you have flowers everywhere, like they say?"

Alina chuckled, finding an immediate connection with the young princess. "Yes, the Reach is known for its gardens and blossoms. It is quite beautiful there."

Myrcella approached the older girl carefully. The soft pink gown she was wearing seemed to flow with every step, and it reminded her of the clouds she could see from Hightower during sunsets.

"My mother said you were going to Winterfell, to the Starks." Myrcella began. "Is it true you are to marry one of them?" Her voice was calm, yet Alina could tell the girl was excited for her.

"Yes. I am betrothed to Lord Eddard Stark's heir." Alina replied, it was the first time she had said it aloud.

"I have heard he's just like his father. And handsome too." The young girl added as she giggled.

As the day waned into night, and the Red Keep cast its shadow over the gardens, Alina and Myrcella found solace amidst the blooms. Under the moonlit sky, they strolled through the garden. The vibrant colours of the blossoms seemed to dance in the breeze. Alina could not help but be captivated by the fragrant blooms that surrounded her - roses, lilies, and daisies painted the scene in hues reminiscent of the Reach.

"These gardens are so pretty," Myrcella remarked, her emerald eyes alight with admiration. "It's almost like a paradise, isn't it?"

Alina, her gaze lingering on a bed of roses, nodded with a bittersweet smile. "Indeed, Princess Myrcella. The flowers remind me of home, of the gardens in the Reach. There's a warmth there that even the gardens of King's Landing can't quite replicate."

Myrcella's expression softened with understanding. "Home is a special place. I can't imagine what it's like to be far from it."

As Alina continued to share tales of the Reach, she could not help but feel a pang of longing. The vivid imagery of her home, and the aroma of blooming flowers carried by the wind, stirred emotions that transcended the physical distance between King's Landing and Oldtown.

"And your sister, Samira, you said?" Myrcella inquired, her eyes curious.

Alina's gaze turned wistful. "Yes, Samira. She's the youngest of us, and the gardens of Hightower were her playground. The way you marvel at these flowers, Myrcella, it reminds me so much of her."

Myrcella smiled warmly. "It sounds like you miss her dearly. I have a brother, Tommen, and I miss him when I'm away from home too."

As the two continued their conversation, the bond between them deepened. Myrcella's company offered a semblance of comfort in this unfamiliar setting. When they returned to the throne room, her father was waiting for her, and Alina knew it was time for them to leave.

[silverstonewolf]

Spirit time

Ch 1

The great escape

Once a pond a time, everyone was given magic by spirits, but one day, the highest family killed a spirit. Because their son died by absorbing two elements spirits, so magic was gone, but the spirits had to give it to some because it gets too much. But thanks to the kingdom that killed the spirit, they caught the kids and used it in war because they knew how to stop magic.

My name is Rocco, and I am master of wind magic, we had nice rooms, but they were cells that we were only let out for war. So I never met everyone else, but I knew their were six of us of each different element. One of us was unique, I had smart clothes, and when I ear foot sets to my cell, the princess cousin opened the cell door. "You will come with me," she said, holding a chain. "Do you have permission to do this?" I ask there was enough silence for me to get it that hadn't but still like to know who gave her the key. "Who cares you are going to come with me to show off your power to our enemies and Allies," said said put on the chain.

We went to the party, "say hello to the master of wind," she said loudly. A man came up to me and asked me to show off my powers, I made a table float behind him. "Wow, now let's see if you could stop an arrow mid fly," an Archer shoots at me, I stop the arrow. Everyone clapped "well we'll what is going on here, why have you taken him out of his cell thinking it was ok?" Said the princess (Carla),"I thought it would be a good idea to show off our power," said the cousin. She looked terrified, "take his back to his cell and cousin, I think we need a word to continue with the party," said Carla.

When we entered the build of cells, suddenly the gaurds gave me the keys and took off the chains. I realised that Celenia, the psychic magic user, was a wake. I unlocked the other four: Aiden, the user of fire (shot brown hair, eyes and was eight years old), Chione the lce user (ginger hair, green eyes and was ten years old) Rowan the earth user ( brown hair, green eyes, brown skin and was fifteen years ago) Draven the user thunder and lightning user ( blonde hair, blue eyes and was ten years old) as for me (grey hair, brown eyes and I was twelve years old)

We ran to where they were keeping Celenia to help get us out of here together. We found her in a well we pulled her up she was soaking wet I use the last key yo free her chains and ran off. Luckily, we got to abandon the house in between the border before Carla put up guards to every cross to the next county. One of us went down to the lake and found an unconscious man who was dressed like a samaria. She brought him home, and I dropped the deer I have brought for food, "Chione, why did you?" I ask,"his hurt," I tried to argue, but she kept repeating. So I gave up and brought him in, everyone else protested, but just like me, I gave in and healed him up three days later as I went to get water a bunch of knights turn up surrounding me. I was terrified, but just then, the Samurai come be held by Chione. "Stop these kids, save me," he told them they took us to a mirror in a tree "first I am sorry, how your kind is treated in this time, but this mirror can take you to a different time" said the samurai "why should we believe," said Rowan "you don't just try why would I lair when am this far from home". He had a point, so we went to the mirror, and we were shoved into a different time.

[leiawritesstories]

The Universal Rules of Mistletoe

a fun, hopefully cute, little fluffy fic based off this prompt from @rowaelinprompts "Our friends set us up under the mistletoe"

a gift for @sahana-draws!! happy @rowaelinscourt Rowaelin Secret Santa! it's been so much fun working on this little piece and I really hope you enjoy :))

Word count: 2,054

Warnings: none! (just clueless idiots in love)

Enjoy!

🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️🎄❄️

Fifteen Years Ago

Shiny patent-leather shoes tapping lightly against the hardwood stairs, Aelin hurried downstairs as fast as she could while in her poofy red tulle Christmas dress. Five steps up from the bottom, she stopped, peering across the wide hallway into the main floor of the Galathynius home, which was full of beautifully dressed adults. Her eight-year-old imagination latched onto the sight of her mom and dad with their hands linked, smiling and laughing as they talked with their friends.

She wanted everything they had when she grew up.

Slowly, a little nervously, she moved three more steps down, stopping again as the nervousness flared up in her stomach. This was the first year she had been allowed to come to the Christmas party, and even though her babysitter would be there with her, she wasn't sure if she could do it.

"Hey." Another voice--a boy's voice--interrupted her scattered thoughts. Rowan Whitethorn, the boy from next door whose parents were longtime friends with Aelin's parents, stood on the other side of the staircase railing, looking at her with solemn green eyes. "I like your dress."

"Thanks," she said, smoothing her small hands down the fluffy layers of the skirt. "Mom let me pick it out."

Rowan grabbed two of the stair rails, using them for support as he rose onto his tiptoes to stick his head over the top of the banister. "Are you gonna come to the party?"

"I dunno." She stood on the last step, one hand lingering on the banister. "There's only grown-ups there."

"I'm there too," he said. "Hey, do you wanna play party tag?" Party tag was a game they had invented two years ago, when they were six and seven, during one of the many events Aelin's parents had hosted. Because Rowan and Aelin were so young, they would show up at the event for a bit to be cooed over by all of their parents' rich friends, and then be swept off away from the event. They'd invented a quiet, no-running form of tag where whoever was "it" would have to sneak up on the other person and subtly tag them. Nobody could run, and there had to be at least two minutes between tags.

It was more fun when one of their friends was also at the party, but they made it work with just the two of them.

Aelin cracked a small smile. "Okay." She stood up and stepped off the last stair, and he walked around to stand with her. "Are we gonna go now?"

"Yeah, we--"

"Oh, Enna, look!" Evalin Ashryver Galathynius's voice floated in alongside a cloud of her expensive designer perfume. "Our little ones seem to have found the mistletoe!"

Alarmed, Aelin looked up, finding a small bunch of mistletoe tied with a crimson ribbon hanging from the chandelier above the staircase.

"You know what that means," Enna Whitethorn beamed, setting her champagne flute aside and whipping her phone out of her clutch. "Rowan, darling, do you want to give Aelin a kiss?"

Rowan's whole face turned bright pink. "Do I have to?"

"No," Aelin whispered, blushing just as bright. "It's just a stupid thing the grownups do when there's mistletoe."

"Of course you don't have to," Enna reassured her son. "But it would make such an adorable photo, right Eva?"

"Oh, it would be precious!" Evalin agreed. "Fireheart, will you at least pose there for a minute? Yes, just like that! So cute!" She snapped a few photos in rapid succession as Enna did the same. "Enna, could you get a few of just me and Aelin?"

Relieved, Rowan hurried to stand next to his mother as Evalin came over to Aelin. "You look beautiful, little Fireheart," she said warmly, tidying the big red bow in Aelin's blonde hair. Enna snapped a few photos, and Evalin took Aelin's small hand in hers. "Are you ready to come to the party?"

Eyes wide, Aelin nodded. "Do I have to stay for very long?"

"Just long enough to say hi to a few people." Evalin squeezed her daughter's hand. "I promise. Then you and Nehemia can go have your movie night, right?"

"Uh huh." Aelin straightened her spine, a move she'd seen her mother do endless times. "I'm ready." Quietly, Rowan fell into step next to her, his mother on his other side. And, with her mother on one side and her best friend on the other, Aelin felt a little better about going into the grown-up party.

~

Present

Aelin was halfway through curling her hair, lips held apart while her matte crimson lipstick dried, when a rapid-fire knock drummed against her bathroom door. Before she could respond, the door swung open and Elide Lochan, her second cousin and dear friend, barged into the bathroom.

"I'm not dressed!" Aelin yelped, scrambling to pull her satin robe closed while still holding the curling iron in her other hand.

Elide rolled her eyes. "I can tell, Ae. Don't worry, you still have an hour before anyone is supposed to get here."

"You could've said that before you ran in here like everyone had already showed up," Aelin grumbled. "But thanks, Ells."

"No problem." Elide grinned. "Nice lipstick. Gonna get it all over someone's face tonight?" She wiggled her eyebrows.

Aelin snorted. "Gods, no. I'm the host, not some teenager who can run around all night kissing the boy she has a crush on."

"You're also twenty-three and you work too hard." Elide snatched the curling iron from Aelin's hands and took over curling her hair. "You deserve to have a little fun at your own freaking Christmas party."

"Yeah, sure," Aelin said sarcastically. "Bring me a man to kiss under the mistletoe and we'll see about that."

Elide smirked. "You're on."

An hour later, Aelin headed down the stairs, the same staircase she'd walked down every day since she was a little girl, and paused at the bottom step to take a deep, preparatory breath. You can do this, Galathynius, she told herself silently. Everything was all set up--the dining room table with a charcuterie spread, the silver-and-blue themed Christmas tree in the foyer, the large, open living room adorned with soft twinkle lights and decorative snowflakes and soft music piping in through the speaker system her parents had installed years ago. It's going to be just fine.

The doorbell rang.

Collecting herself, Aelin stepped off the stairs and went to the front door, a gracious smile spreading across her face. Her smile brightened when she found her cousin Aedion and his fiancée, Lysandra, waiting on the front step.

"Merry Christmas, Ae!" Lys squealed, hurrying inside. "Let us in, it's freezing!"

Aelin laughed. "Hi, Lys. I missed you!"

"You wouldn't miss me if you weren't working all the time," Lys teased, hugging Aelin tightly. "That dress looks fantastic, oh my god."

"Thanks," Aelin whispered back. Her crimson silk dress--of course her lipstick matched her dress--had thin straps, an elegantly scooped neckline, and was fitted in the bodice before flaring into a spill of floor-length skirts.

Aedion wrapped his arms around her. "You're not this tall," he teased.

She rolled her eyes. "It's called stiletto heels, genius."

"Sounds dangerous." He winked.

"Only for you boys who don't want to feel short." She laughed. "Hi, Aeds. How's wedding planning going?"

"Do not get me started," he groaned. "I'm so stressed, and our wedding isn't until another seven months away."

"Hey, relax. Have some punch. Just think about Christmas for a while, not the wedding."

"I'll try." He flashed her a grin.

The doorbell rang again, and Aelin opened the door to find four six-foot-plus men crowding her front steps, acting like small children with their elbows everywhere even though they were all at least in their mid-twenties.

"You can't all fit through the door like that," she drawled, beaming.

Fenrys elbowed his way through the others and broke into the house first. "I win!" he crowed, sweeping Aelin into a hug that pulled her off her feet.

"Good grief, Fen, you haven't even had any drinks yet!" she laughed. "Congratulations on winning whatever it is you think you won."

"He thinks it's a competition to get into parties first," Connall, his twin, explained. He affectionately tugged Fen's man bun. "Put the host down, Fenny."

"Don't call me that, you little--" Fen put Aelin down and went after Con, who'd sauntered away into the living room.

"They're all children, I'm sorry." Rowan pulled off his heavy winter jacket and shook the film of snowflakes off his pale hair. "Merry Christmas, Aelin--oh my god." He stared at her for a good long minute, his eyes wide and his jaw slack.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," Lorcan drawled, nudging Rowan int he shoulder. He wrapped his own arm around Elide's shoulders; the two of them had been dating for just over a year and Aelin had never seen Elide so happy.

"Merry Christmas, Ro." Aelin restrained her giddy smile and did a little spin to show off her dress. "Thanks for--oh!" Rowan caught her, pulling her into a warm, pine-scented hug.

"You look stunning," he said softly. "I didn't know if I could say that in front of all the others, they'd never shut up about it, probably because they know how much I like you...uh, because we've known each other since..." He trailed off, blushing fiercely.

Shocked, Aelin looked up at him, her thoughts going a mile a minute. "You...me...what?" She shook her head. "I'm going insane. I need a minute--five minutes--I--" Abruptly, she hurried towards the stairs, only managing to get two steps up before Rowan's hand closed gently around her wrist.

"Hey." He stabilized her, his voice as grounding as it had been since they were little kids going to their parents' party for the first time. "I'm sorry, Ae, I didn't mean to scare you."

She turned around. "You didn't scare me, Rowan. You just...you said you like me?"

"I like you, Aelin." Warmth and a smidge of uncertainty flickered in his eyes. "But if you--"

"Stop that right now," she chided softly. "I thought I was always going to like you from the shadows, Ro. I've had a crush on you since we were kids."

It was his turn for stunned silence. "I should have said something years ago," he finally said, chuckling in disbelief. "I guess--"

"MISTLETOE!" Elide all but shrieked, completely shattering the mood. She--and everyone else, good grief--were suddenly piled into the walkway between the foyer and the living room, eagerly watching the couple on the stairs.

Aelin felt her face heat up, and she was on the verge of running upstairs to hide from everyone. Rowan was blushing again, even as he threw a glare that screamed "Traitor!" at Lorcan, who was smirking.

"Looks like you're together under the mistletoe, Ae," Elide repeated, beaming so wide Aelin almost thought her cheeks would split. "You know what that means!"

"That someone set us up?" Aelin asked, suddenly wondering how convenient it was that she and Rowan had had that moment together on the stairs.

Elide shrugged, her eyes bright. "There's universal rules of mistletoe, Aelin, and you're gonna have to follow them."

"We knew it!" Fenrys blurted, unable to control the secret. "Why else would we have gone into the living room as soon as we got here?"

"Fenrys!" came a collective groan.

"We shouldn't have told him," Lorcan half-mumbled, shaking his head but grinning. "Boyo has a bigger mouth than anyone I know."

"I know they're our friends," Aelin whispered to Rowan, grinning, "but I kind of want to kick them all out of my house right now." She looped her arms around his neck. "I want you all to myself."

"Me too, but we can hardly ignore the mistletoe rules." He gave her a secret, quietly joyful little smile. "Can I?"

"Please do." She tipped her head up and met his lips, his kiss soft and sweet and lingering. Completely perfect.

They only separated at the cheers and whoops of their friends, and they came into the party hand in hand, laughing, and hardly left each other's sides all night long, because sometimes, it took the quiet scheming of dear friends to get the couple who was quietly in love with each other to admit it.

~~~

TAGS:

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@backtobl4ck

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

[casspurrjoybell-27]

Our Hearts Collide - Chapter 34 - Part 1

*Warning - Adult Content*

Vince

Aspen wasn't kidding when he said he'd leave us notes for Rowan.

The stack of papers was like a manual, even though we were only babysitting him for two days but it was probably for the best, considering I hadn't a clue what a one-year-old could and couldn't eat.

His favorite toys, snacks, bedtime stories and many other schedule-related things were listed.

Bedtime was at eight but Sarah added a note that it was more like nine these days, depending on story-time.

Dinner was around six and breakfast was at seven.

It all seemed very structured but it was for the best and included plenty of time for playtime.

Aspen may be a bit of a helicopter parent in some ways but it was evident that he'd do anything for Rowan.

I guess I could see his reasoning for not bringing Rowan into his conversation with Arthur.

"One last thing," Aspen said as I set the stack of instructions back on the kitchen counter.

He tilted his head in the direction of the bedrooms.

"We've been trying to get him to sleep in his own bed but if he makes a fuss, just bring him to bed with you. He likes being between us or on either of our chests and if..."

"We're going to be late, babe," Sarah interrupted, returning with Rowan and a tote bag.

"Do you have everything?"

Aspen held up the small duffel bag before sparing both of us a glance.

"Sorry, just making sure."

She rolled her eyes.

Rowan kicked his legs in a silent plea to get down on the floor.

Once down, he dragged his teddy bear with him, clinging to Simon's leg like a magnet.

"It's only tonight, they've got it."

Simon nudged Aspen's side.

"You've left me alone with Cedar how many times? Rowan will be fine."

"Alright, alright. We're going."

He bent down to hug Rowan.

"Be good, okay?"

Rowan nodded silently, content with rubbing his cheek against Simon's leg as Sarah knelt to kiss Rowan's forehead.

"Love you."

Rowan held a palm to his lips and extended it with the cutest "muah" sound.

That must've been something new he picked up since I've seen him.

Simon melted at the sound, looking at me with a pout.

Aspen smiled at his son before looking back at us.

"See you two tomorrow."

"Have fun," I told him.

"You'll enjoy it there."

There was uncertainty on his face but he nodded.

"Maybe and don't forget..."

"No unsupervised cooking got it," I said, holding my hands up in surrender.

"Don't worry."

Sarah looked at us incredulously before waving and heading toward the front door.

Aspen ruffled Rowan's hair before following Sarah.

That left the three of us.

Surprisingly, Rowan didn't seem all that bothered that his parents had left, which was truly miraculous in my mind.

I assumed most kids would be upset about not having their parents around.

Rowan shifted his attention to me as Simon picked up the packet of instructions and notes.

"Un-un," Rowan tugged on my pants, holding up the teddy bear I had gifted him.

"I told you he never lets it out of his sight," Simon said.

I knelt, gripping the other hand of the teddy bear and watched, amused, as Rowan swung his arm as if the bear was on a swing.

"You excited to spend time with your uncles?" I asked.

He nodded, reaching his hands up.

Careful to hold onto his stuffed bear, I scooped him up into my arms and rested him on my hip.

"How about we help Un-Un with lunch first? You hungry?"

He nodded, resting his head against my shoulder.

"Nom nom."

"Alright, you heard the little man."

My eyes met Simon's, who looked up from the packet of papers, bewildered as when I read through them.

"He requires sustenance and so do I."

Simon gave us a playful grin before pursing his lips.

"What's the magic word?"

Rowan laughed and said in his cute tone...

"Peas."

"Close enough."

"Alright, let's see what your mom and dad left in the fridge," Simon said.

"Did you know Aspen even wrote out what size his food should be? Down to millimeters. I swear he wasn't like this before."

"Well, Rowan is his child, not kid brother, so maybe?"

Simon shrugged before pulling out a few containers.

"He raised Cedar since he was two but maybe it is because Rowan is his kid. He even printed out a step-by-step guide to the Heimlich maneuver for children. I'm seriously going to have to talk to him about this. I doubt Sarah would've put that in here."

Watching as Simon expertly diced the chicken and fruit into the Aspen-approved-sized pieces, I couldn't help but rest my head against his, amazed by his precision with knife skills.

He fed a couple of pieces to us as he plated Rowan's food and made more adult-appropriate-sized pieces of fruit and chicken for us.

Rowan kicked his little legs in excitement at the taste of the strawberries and banana slices, eager for more as we tried to get the highchair set up.

"I know I've asked this before but would you want children?" I said tentatively about halfway through our lunch.

"Of course, later down the line, not right this second or anytime soon."

Simon turned with an amused smile.

"What would you say?"

"Me?" I blinked, honestly not expecting the question to be directed back at me.

Like before, I never imagined what it would be like to raise a child, even believed it was a terrible idea but watching Rowan play and sit in the high chair with us for lunch or even show off his favorite toys to me left a warm feeling in my chest that I had never experienced before.

Maybe it was Rowan's innocence of not knowing what I had done in the past or his sense of compassion and how adorable he was.

Even Xavier's kids left a similar feeling, bringing out a side of me I had never thought possible.

Was it a protectiveness or a sense of longing for a childhood like theirs, unmarred from the stresses of what my family had gone through?

Either way that still didn't mean I necessarily wanted to raise a child of my own.

"I don't know," I managed to respond.

"I really don't."

"I don't know either," Simon said.

"But things may change where we decide later. We don't have to make up our minds right away. It's a big decision."

I nodded.

"I just thought I'd ask."

"I appreciate these kinds of questions."

Simon smiled reassuringly.

"They're important. If we're asking each other questions, I suppose there's another big one."

I tilted my head.

"What about?"

He smirked with a curious glint in his eyes.

It felt like an eternity waiting for his response.

"Would you mark me?" his words were gentle, followed by an even gentler...

"Eventually."

Far gentler than the first time he had brought up marking.

I remembered that moment as clear as day.

'Mark me.'

This time, it was formed as a question that warranted a choice.

Back then, it had been more of a plea rooted in fear and anxiety.

Then, it had been at a time that was neither the right timing nor in a place where we would have truly appreciated it.

The entire idea of it now did have an appeal.

Bearing each other's marks was more than just a statement piece to other wolves, it was a commitment to your mate, representing an unshakeable bond.

Of course, I wanted that.

Even when we had bared all our vulnerabilities that night together for the first time, my wolf's instincts wanted me to indulge in marking our mate and bear each other's mark in an intimate display of our union.

Yet, I still held reservations about allowing myself that one selfish action but it'd be a lie to say that I didn't want that.

Even if it was selfish or too soon, I wanted that.

So before I could talk myself out of it or combust in embarrassment for thinking about it too long, I muttered a faint...

'Yes,' under my breath, followed by an even fainter...

'I would'.

There was a pregnant pause where those words seemed to echo, not even Rowan had made a sound during that candid confession and then, Simon smiled in a way that made all those little nuanced fears and past inhibitions fall apart.

It was truly one of his many super-powers.

"I would too."

[x-ceirios-x]

aric ashfair

bio, character sheet

face claim images

Aric Ashfair is mentioned a handful of times before officially meeting him, as he is the only immediate family left for his children, Rowan and Jensen. His role in the Council has an informal title and job description but incredibly important responsibilities. He is the right-hand of Consul Malachi Dieudonné and was regularly sent to Institutes that were falling out of order to fix them. Among the Clave, he had a certain reputation, that is only reinforced by his commitment to the meetings at the Gard through the beginning of the book.  When the city was attacked, the adults fled the Gard to find their children and protect them to the best of their ability. By the time he, the Penhallows (his in-laws that he was living with in Idris), and the Lightwoods make it back to the house, everyone had left to fight off the demons, except for the two youngest: Max, who was dead on the floor, and Jensen, knocked unconscious not far away.  During the final battle of the Mortal War, he partnered with a miscellaneous warlock, one he only briefly knew the name of. Afterward, he was the one to arrange the election of both the new Inquisitor and the new Consul. Several people around him said he should take one of the two jobs since he had so much experience working with both people, but he offered the Consul position to his sister-in-law, Jia, instead as he knew she had a level head. And anyway, he had made a promise to an old friend that he would be there to support her in her grief, as well as his promise to his son to help him, too. 

-

Aric made the trip back from Idris in an attempt to help his son cope with losing his best friend and try to mend his relationship with his other child in the meantime. He quickly became Maryse’s right-hand and the person she went to for advice—whether it was dealing with her grief or the investigation into the demonic murders. He was assigned by the Clave, since he was leaving Idris, to assist Maryse in Clary Fairchild’s training, where he got to know the girl a little. What time he wasn’t working with her, he was most likely fighting with Rowan or curled up in the library drawing, where Maryse very regularly found him.  He doesn’t have much direct involvement with the plot, but does appear at the end when the Conclave appears at the Church of Talto, and finds time to talk to Rowan about all the questions they’d had recently regarding their mother. From this conversation, things begin to get better between the two—and they only get closer due to the effort to find Jensen, who disappeared that same night. 

falling even more in love with you, 2.3k

aric has spent most of his life alone and can’t fathom the idea that mollie cares about him like he does her. fortunately, mollie is a lot bolder than he is.

family reunion, 1.6k

the new york institute makes the trip to alicante, where rowan runs into family they haven’t seen since they were eight.

if i could find a way to see this straight, I’d run away, 2.8k

rowan finally puts together the pieces of magnus’s relationship with their family, thanks to a key detail from aric he’d been keeping from them.

run to the things they said could restore me, 3.2k

frustrated with the search for camille, magnus takes a break from the institute’s search for her and reconnects with members of the ashfair family he hasn’t seen in ages. he is finally able to face aric, who sheds some light on the full story of his wife’s death and the children’s move to new york.

restore life the way it should be, 11.4k

rowan finally has the chance to ask the questions they’d been asking for eight years, to aric, who is finally ready to answer them. while explaining, he reflects on moments in his life with the people that were the most important.

count your blessings before they're gone, 2.1k

the council decided that aric ashfair’s talents were best used in moscow, near wrangel island, where the words had recently broken rather than continuing the search for jensen and jace in new york, but rowan isn’t ready to let their father go.

chapter rewrites

city of glass, chapter 11: fire and sword city of glass, chapter 15: things fall apart

[severalforraelee]

5 Years: Prove It Short Story

Prompt: prove it follow up: max doing an interview each year for 5 years (think billie eilish vanity fair) as a time capsule for how his life is with rowan & y/n. think like rowan’s favourite word, current favorite memory, advice he’d give rowan

Written by raelee / Posted Sep 5

Word count: 1,856

Masterlist

Formula 1 Masterlist

Prove It Masterlist

Year One

Ever since Rowan was born, he became the center of attention in the paddock. Even Lewis was drawn to his rival’s baby. Because his mom worked for Ferrari and his dad drove for Red Bull, and he had uncles from several different teams who adored him, everyone quickly became invested and interested in the baby and his growth.

Of course, Red Bull wanted to capitalize on that.

The idea made Y/N nervous, but Max excited, eager to talk about his son any chance that he got.

“So, we’re just going to ask you some questions about your son and your experience as a father and you can answer them with as much or as little detail as you would like,” the social media coordinator directed as Max sat behind a table, the Red Bull factory as the backdrop behind him.

“Okay,” he nods.

“What is your son’s name?”

“Rowan,” Max beams at the thought of his son.

“How old is Rowan?”

“He is currently eight months old. He’s just starting to crawl, he’ll lay on the carpet on his elbows and knees and the best thing to get him to crawl is Y/N’s dog, Tala-””Max,” an assistant calls out, getting him back on track.

“Sorry,” he smiles sheepishly.

“No, that’s good, that leads us into the next question. What big milestones is he reaching?” The social media coordinator asks.

“Crawling, like I just said. He also likes to point, like whenever he’s in our garage and Charles walks past he points at Charles until Charles points back at him. I think it’s because he recognizes him, not because he likes him or anything. And Carlos did give him a teddy bear wearing a Ferrari suit and he hasn’t let that go since he gave it to him. That’s a tough one to have at home and see all of the time,” Max nods.

~

Year Two

The update on Rowan the previous year had done so well, fans, other drivers, and the media all cooing about Max’s obvious love towards his son. This made the Red Bull team want to interview him again.

He quickly agreed, shocking everyone as Max typically doesn’t like to do the same thing twice.

“I’m surprised that you agreed to do this again,” the social media coordinator admits, gasping in surprise as a small dirty-blonde haired boy runs past her.

Max gives a toothy grin, opening his arms wide from his seat at the table in front of the camera. Rowan throws himself into his dad, cuddling into his chest as Max wraps his arms around him.

“I’d do anything to talk about my favorite boy. And, he wanted to come with me to work today, so he can demonstrate all of what he can do himself,” he explains.

“Let’s get started then,” she moves behind the camera. “Why don’t you introduce your son.”

“So, this is my son, Rowan,” Max begins, poking the toddler’s side gently to get his attention. “Say hi, buddy.”

The shaggy-haired boy looks up from where he’s playing with Max’s fingers, giving the camera a toothy grin. “Hi!”

“He’s twenty months old right now and growing too fast,” Max adds.

“What big milestones is he reaching?” She questions.

“He can say simple sentences now, like,” Max pauses, pointing at the watch on his wrist. “What’s this, Rowan?”

“Daddy’s watch,” Rowan says.

“Y/N says that everytime he sees the Red Bull he says ‘daddy’s car,’” Max smiles with pride at how much his son is learning. “He’s also become very independent lately. He likes to give Tala, our dog, her dinner, he’ll pour the food right into her bowl. And Y/N, my fianceé and Rowan’s mother, will act as if she forgot her engagement ring in our room so Rowan will go and grab it for her. It’s so cute to see him march down the hall, the ring tight in his little fist.”

~

Year Three

“Where’s Rowan?” The social media coordinator asks as the cameraman begins to record for the third consecutive year of interviewing Max as a dad.

“He’s been clinging to Uncle Lando lately so he is currently watching him zoom around the track,” Max responds, clearly a bit disappointed that his son didn’t want to be in the interview with him.

“Do you want to introduce your son to the viewers?”

“Yeah, my son’s name is Rowan, he’s thirty two months old, so he turns three in four months. He’s already asking for a Thomas the Train themed party but I’ve been trying to convince him to do a Red Bull party,” the driver answers.

“Here’s a picture of you and Rowan at the interview last year,” she sets the photo on the table.

He picks it up, stroking the image of his little boy’s cheek with his thumb softly. “Wow, he’s grown a lot. It’s crazy to think that we’ll have another one joining us at this interview next year.”

“What?” The social media coordinator asks in surprise.

Max looks up from the photo, an ‘oh shit’ expression on his face. He clearly just revealed information that he was not supposed to share, but he knows now that he’s mentioned it, there’s no going back.

“My wife and I just recently found out that we’re expecting our second child,” he exclaims, figuring that if he’s sharing such a big secret, he might as well show his excitement.

“Congratulations!”

“Thank you. We’re due in February, she’s only three months pregnant but I’m sure the months will pass by fast as they did when she was pregnant with Rowan. We don’t know what we’re having but we’ll be happy either way,” he rambles on, revealing all of the information he currently has besides how shitty his wife has been feeling.

“Is Rowan excited to be a big brother?”

“He is. He’s always been very helpful, he’ll bring me my gloves in the garage and like I said last year, bringing my wife her ring. But ever since my wife became pregnant he’s become so helpful that it’s almost borderline protective, and my wife just rolls her eyes because she says that I act the same way,” he shrugs, the smile never leaving his face.

“Well we’ll be looking forward to meeting the newest Verstappen.”

~

Year Four

“You just sit on the chair right next to me,” Max instructs his oldest son, watching him carefully as he cradles his other son in his arms.

“They are both so adorable,” the same social media coordinator coos, looking between the two young boys.

“Thank you, luckily they take after their mother,” he laughs.

“Do you want to start by introducing your kids?”

“Introduce yourself, buddy,” Max nudges the boy wearing a T-shirt with his dad’s face on it.

“I’m Rowan,” the little boy exclaims, thrusting his arms forward. He then turns, gently touching his little brother’s face. “And this is Keagan.”

“How old are you, Rowan?”

“I’m four years old.”

“No, you’re three,” Max corrects.

Rowan gives him an unamused look at his correction, one that matches Y/N’s so closely that it freaks him out.

“He’s excited for his birthday,” Max explains.

“And how old is Keagan?”

“He’s six months old, he’s just a baby,” Rowan shrugs.

“What do you like to do right now, Rowan?”

“I like to play soccer,” he cheers.

“Football,” Max says, “He’s taking on Y/N’s Americanness by saying soccer instead of football. We’re trying to fix that- well, she’s not, I am.”

“And I like to play with my dinosaur toys,” the toddler continues like his father didn’t interrupt him, “My favorite is the ver- val- how do you say it, daddy?”

“Velociraptor. Crazy looking dinosaur but he loves them.”

“And I like to roll the ball to Keagan,” he cheers. “And he’ll roll it back to me now.”

“Well, he’ll roll the ball to Keagan and Keagan will get so excited that he’ll accidentally kick it back to Rowan. But the boys love it so much that we don’t really let Rowan know that,” Max says in a hushed voice to the camera as Rowan lovingly puts the pacifier back in Keagan’s mouth.

“What does Keagan like to do?” The social media coordinator asks.

“He loves to smile, he’s always smiling,” the Red Bull driver grins, “And he just learned how to roll from his back onto his stomach, he’s doing that all of the time now because we cheer for him everytime. He loves his pumpkin baby food, too, he can never get enough of it.”

“But it tastes gross,” Rowan wrinkles his nose.

Everyone laughs at his expression, wrapping up the interview as he gets distracted and runs out of the room to find his new favorite person, Valterri.

~

Year 5

“It’s nice to have you all back for the fifth year in a row,” the social media coordinator states as Max and his two sons get settled behind the table.

“Thanks for having us back again,” Max states.

“So, let’s get started. Rowan, do you want to say your name and age?”

“I’m Rowan, I’m four years old,” the little boy introduces himself, a gleam similar to Max’s in his eyes. He rests a hand on his brother’s shoulder, the younger one trying to wriggle out of his dad’s lap so that he can run around the room. “And this is my brother, Keagan. He’s one and a half.”

“What do you two like to do together?”

“We like to watch dad’s races, and we like to play cars with Uncle Charles and Uncle Carlos.”

“What did you do the other day?” Max urges his son.

“We painted with our fingers,” he smiles shyly.

“Can you show them your painting? You brought it with you.”

Rowan gets up, grabbing the piece of paper from a nearby Red Bull employee who was holding it, climbing back up on his chair. Max helps stabilize him as he shows his painting to the camera.

It has four stick figures. Two small boys, one a little bit bigger than the other one, clearly representing Rowan and Keagan. A bigger stick, representing Max. And then the final stick figure, a girl, with a bump where her stomach is supposed to be.

“Who’s in your drawing?” Max questions.

“This is me, this is Keagan,” he points to the stick figures. “And this is dad, and this is mom. And then this is the new baby.”

“Y/N and I are expecting our third child,” Max clarifies, the words quickly spilling out of his mouth once his son is done explaining.

“Congratulations,” the Red Bull crew congratulates him.

“Thank you, we don’t know the sex yet because she’s only two months pregnant, but Rowan really wanted to tell everyone. We’re due in March.”

“I’m getting a baby sister,” Rowan states.

“Yeah,” Keagan echoes, making everyone laugh.

“We don’t know that yet,” Max tells his son.

“But I want a baby sister,” Rowan whines.

“We’re in the ‘I want’ phase,” Max says to the camera. “Either way, we’ll be happy to have a healthy baby complete our family.”

[scotianostra]

On April 13th 1596 Walter Scott of Buccleuch freed notorious reiver William Armstrong of Kinmont in a daring raid on Carlisle Castle.

Perhaps the best known of the Border reivers (outlaw raiders or rustlers), William Armstrong of Kinmont’s first recorded raid was against the Milburns of Tyndale, in August 1583, when Armstrong was probably in his forties. In 1585 he accompanied the Earl of Angus`s campaign against the Earl of Arran and pillaged Stirling. Eight years later he was in Tynedale again with 1,000 men, carrying off over 2,000 beasts and £300 in spoils.

The events of 1596 and the rescue of ‘Kinmont’ Willie Armstrong represent a daring swashbuckling adventure. The fact that Kinmont led one of the most notorious bands of cut-throats ever to roam the Debatable Land seems to be irrelevant and in the tradition of the Border ballads we are to view him as a hero. His notoriety and activities were such that the Warden of the West Marsh’s deputy, Salkeld, captured Kinmont as he returned from a Truce Day at the Dayholm of Kershope. Kinmont was taken to Carlisle.

According to Border Law it should not have happened on a Truce Day and Walter Scott of Buccleuch who became known as The Bold Buccleuch, and was keeper of Liddesdale on whose land the arrest had been made, protested to the Warden, Lord Scrope. When Scrope refused to return Kinmont, Buccleuch became concerned that Scrope was anxious to hang Kinmont on the gallows at Harraby and so assembled a motley bunch of Elliots, Scotts, Armstrongs and Grahams to effect a rescue. Oral tradition has meant that the numbers vary from 40 to 200. The weather was atrocious which made crossing the River Eden very dangerous, but it did mean that the castle watch had taken shelter. Buccleuch left a group to cover the retreat and led the raiding party himself. Popular opinion has it that they must have had support from the inside because they entered the castle quickly. Thus with the aid of a sturdy Reiver, Red Rowan, Kinmont made his escape.

In 1600, Armstrong attacked the village of Scotby with 140 riders, burning and taking prisoners and cattle. In 1602 he rode his last foray, south of Carlisle. He was still alive two years later, and his four sons who had helped to get him out of Carlisle Castle are frequently named in the later Border raids. Legend supposes he died in his bed of old age, sometime between 1608 and 1611.

As is usual with these Border legends we look to the old sources of the story tellers before reading and writing was the norm, the old songs. Francis James Child was an American scholar and collector of Ballads, if you follow my posts you will no doubt have seen me posting “Child Ballads” at times, this story comes from Child Ballad 186. This ballad is more unusual than most of the songs I know from the Child Ballads as it is longer than most at 20 verse so I wont post it, you can look it up on YouTube as Child Ballad 168, but it’s over 9 minutes wrong in full!