#emrys vaughn | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cicada-bones · 4 years ago

Text

The Warrior and the Embers

Chapter 29: Fireheart

So apparently, I am on a roll, and this is yall's lucky weekend. Here ya go, another chapter. Just a warning, it made me cry, but that might be just because I’m an idiot. Enjoy!

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Days passed in the flurry of preparation, filled with long hours, hard work, meetings, decisions, disagreements, and anxiety.

Rowan had awakened the next morning and immediately sought out a courier, requesting that they deliver his letters with as much haste as could be possible. Three he sent to Doranelle, where last he heard Gavriel, Fenrys, and Connall were still posted.

The other two he had far less specific information to provide. Rowan knew that both Vaughn and Lorcan were somewhere to the southwest, each on their way back to the capital. Lorcan had left several weeks before, at the conclusion of the conflict with the Erriagti people, and he would likely be slowly making his way up through the south, following the rivers.

Rowan was even less sure about Vaughn. He had received word that the group of spying royals had relieved him of duty, approximately a week previous. But Rowan didn’t know exactly where Vaughn had been, nor how far he had to travel before he would return to more familiar lands – let alone the path the male would take.

Rowan knew that it was a waste of time and energy to worry, that he had done what he could, and they would either answer his call, or they wouldn’t. But still, in the back of his mind, he couldn’t keep his doubts at bay.

Instead, he tried to distract himself with work. Which proved fairly effective – he doubted that over the next few days anyone in the fortress would run out of things to do.

In addition to the normal activities of the fortress, and their other preparations for the coming battle, the armory needed to be inventoried, and replenished. Supplies needed to be gathered, weapons sharpened, and armor fitted. Food needed to be prepared in case of siege, and livestock needed to be gathered and sheltered.

Rowan did all that and more, organizing rotations and separating everyone in the fortress into groups to set traps in shifts throughout the day. More pits were dug, snares set, and traps laid.

Aelin took it upon herself to help train those in the fortress who were more unfamiliar with combat, leading a series of lessons in the mornings and afternoons.

She took them through motion after motion, carefully adjusting positions and providing sound advice. Her voice never faltered, her limbs moving with grace and power – never belying any fear or doubt.

She looked like a leader. Like a queen.

And it appeared in other places as well. A brush across a young female’s newly fitted armor, adjusting it to fit. A small, warm smile given to an older male, encouraging him to be stronger, surer in his movements. Rushing over to help an overwhelmed guard carry sacks of feed into a storage space. The surety in her voice when she made suggestions, adjustments to strategy, her eyes quick and her shoulders strong.

She spoke with authority, but without being condescending or demeaning. She made others listen, and she commanded respect, and she did so not because of her name and title, and not because of her magic, but because of her.

It was a power that Rowan hadn’t known she possessed, and one that he knew was only going to grow in strength as she came into her own.

Perhaps the gods had been planning more with the deaths of her family than just the takeover of one kingdom by another. Perhaps they were creating a champion. Her experiences, while horrific, would significantly aid her in her reign.

A queen that personally understood the evils of slavery? The cost of poverty? Who knew the thoughts and wishes of all, from the slums to the marketplace to the palace? Such a thing was invaluable.

Rowan only wished he would be there to see it.

Malakai and the other leaders began to treat her differently, with a hushed respect, and warmth in their eyes. Several of them, including Malakai and Emrys, had known that she was a princess before now, and they hadn’t let it change the way they treated her. But now, with grace and authority dressing her every movement, they began to see what she really was – who she could really be.

Rowan wondered if Aelin was starting to see it as well, was starting to realize that she was becoming the leader her parents had wanted her to be. Rowan certainly saw it, and so did the others. But he didn’t say anything to her, didn’t want to bring up anything that might damage this delicate thing that was just sprouting between them.

The pair of them worked each day, from dawn till midnight, until their muscles ached, and they were about to drop. Then they collapsed into bed together, where Rowan couldn’t help but lean his body as close to hers as he dared. Where they would often wake up entangled in each other’s arms.

Rowan didn’t know if Aelin touched him out of stress, or anxiety, or the simple desire to feel another’s skin. To remind herself that she was alive. He didn’t know if it was out of loneliness, or because she missed her lover from across the sea. He didn’t know if it was because she was starting to feel those same, tangled emotions that he was realizing were starting to grow in his chest.

They didn’t say anything about it. Only woke together each morning, with the white light of day passing into their small haven, and bringing the outside world along with it. Then arose in silence, and started the day’s work.

Rowan found he spent much of his time with Malakai, planning and organizing and delegating. And he also found that the old male was not only a very competent and shrewd commander, but that the two of them worked well together. As the days passed, he felt Malakai shift, slowly becoming more and more comfortable in Rowan’s presence. Felt the old male lose much of that halting, formal respect, and watched it grow into a more sincere, genuine trust.

By the end of the third day after he and Aelin had returned from their overnight trip, Rowan and Malakai found that they could speak openly and agreeably with each other. It was nice, despite everything, to have earned the old male’s trust, after all this time.

That afternoon, Rowan assembled the eight captains, along with Aelin and Malakai, around a table in the dining hall for a meeting.

“Bas’s scouting team reported that the creatures look like they’re readying to move in a few days,” he said, pointing to a map. “Are the first and second miles of traps almost done?” The captains gave their confirmation. “Good. Tomorrow, I want your men preparing the next few miles, too.”

Rowan led them through the meeting, carefully keeping track of all the arms and legs of their plan. He made sure to emanate a careful steadiness, made sure to use each of the demi-Fae’s names when he addressed them, and he was encouraged by the determination he sensed radiating from them, strong enough that it outweighed the anxiety.

Rowan knew exactly what fear did to people, knew that fear could turn a winning battle into a losing one. So, he did the only thing he could for them – mastered his fear until it was almost entirely gone; wrapped up in cold resolve and ruthlessness.

This time however, the fear was different.

Rowan hadn’t been afraid of dying since he had lost Lyria, hadn’t had anything in life that he had been afraid to lose. His fear before battle for the past two centuries had just been a body’s uncontrollable reaction to danger. A fear that barely registered underneath the walls of ice within him.

Now he feared for another. He feared for Aelin.

Throughout all his planning, all his worries and organization, Rowan had been thinking of ways to keep her safe. In the back of his mind, he swam through possibilities and ideas, the ordinary and the outlandish alike, trying to find a way to ensure that she would walk away from this conflict, unharmed.

The meeting ended, and the captains walked out wearily, going to fulfill the various tasks Rowan had assigned them. He turned to Aelin, wanting to tell her to leave, to flee, to escape before this doom found them. He knew he wouldn’t, knew she wouldn’t, but he couldn’t stop the wanting nonetheless.

Aelin only stared at him, not seeming to notice that everyone had left. She must be completely exhausted. “Get some sleep. You’re no use to me completely dazed.”

“Sorry.” She rubbed at her eyes, and Rowan just looked back at her, waiting, seeing the words on her face.

They had never struggled to communicate, never struggled to understand what the other meant, what they wanted. At least not after those first few shameful weeks. Working with her was effortless, and there was no judgment, no need to explain himself. It was even easier working with her than it was with Lorcan, or Gavriel.

Shame and regret flooded through him. He had wasted so much time. Time spent hating her, and brawling, and wallowing. And now he had so little left.

But she was still looking at him. Rowan frowned. “Just say it.”

Her words came slowly. “We can handle the mortal soldiers, but those creatures and Narrok…” She paused, examining a map on the table between them. “If we had Fae warriors – like your companion who came to receive his tattoo – or all five of your cadre, even, it could turn the tide.” Her tone was careful, hesitant. She traced the line of mountains that separated these lands from the immortal ones beyond. “But you have not sent for them. Why?”

Rowan hesitated, unsure. “You know why.”

“Would Maeve order you home out of spite for the demi-Fae?”

“For a few reasons, I think.”

“And this is the person you chose to serve.” Her voice was bitter, mocking.

Rowan’s response was level, controlled. “I knew what I was doing when I drank her blood to seal the oath.”

Aelin’s eyes darkened, her lips pursing together. Her scent filled with some strange, repulsive odor. Like spoiled meat. “Then let’s hope Wendlyn’s reinforcements get here quickly.”

She turned to leave, but Rowan gipped her wrist, halting her retreat. Unwilling to let their conversation end on such a note. “Don’t do that,” he said, searching for the right words. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“With that…disgust.” He found the name for that thing in her scent.

“I’m not – ”

Rowan just gave her a sharp look, cutting her off. She sighed. “This…all this, Rowan…” She waved a hand to the map, to the doors the demi-Fae had passed through, to the sounds of people readying their supplies and defenses in the courtyard. “For whatever it’s worth, all of this just proves that she doesn’t deserve you. I think you know that, too.”

Rowan’s brow furrowed, and he looked away before she could read his face. “That isn’t your concern.”

Her words were soft and sad. “I know. But I thought you should still hear it.”

When he didn’t respond, she slowly walked out of the dining hall, her light footsteps pounding in his eardrums.

Rowan leaned over the table, his shoulders hunched and his hands braced against the surface, still looking at the map of the lands surrounding Mistward. But he didn’t see it, not really.

He couldn’t tell her the truth – that he knew who Maeve was, that he had known for centuries, and that he had hidden that truth from himself as best he could. To endure.

He couldn’t tell her that if he allowed himself to want, if he allowed himself to let go of the icy wall he maintained over his heart, he would want to stay with her. To join her when she returned to Adarlan. To be by her side, guarding her back.

But he had no way to break his oath to Maeve, no way to turn back time and prevent himself from taking it, to force himself to wait, to hold out for something infinitely better.

For now he knew he truly regretted taking the oath. Regretted it with every fiber of his being. Knew that he would do anything to take it back, would suffer any torture, would endure any pain.

Just so he wouldn’t have to watch her leave him, and know that he would never see her again. She was his mirror, his equal, his only true friend – someone who understood him as well, better, than he did himself. Someone who saw all of the dark, broken parts of him, and did not look away.

And he was going to lose her.

The future was murky, no one knew how the coming conflicts were going to play out, but Rowan knew that someday, perhaps very soon, Aelin would have to face her enemies in the west, and either be destroyed, or take back her crown. Either outcome meant the same thing for him. She would be queen, or dead, and he would still be here, serving Maeve, until Erilea was consumed by the sun.

He would have to wait, to sit in Doranelle while Aelin fought against an entire nation, completely alone.

Rowan knew that he would fight against the oath with everything he had, would fight it until he took his last breath. But he knew it would be in vain.

···

The following day passed much the same as the three previous. Though as their preparations escalated, tensions in the fortress began to mount, edging towards a breaking point.

Aelin concluded her final sparring lesson of the day, and returned to their rooms to wash her face and bandage a burn on her forearm, while Rowan headed to the kitchens to check in on Emrys and Malakai, seeking answers to some trivial question.

But the second he entered the small space, the words crumbled on his lips, his request immediately forgotten.

Emrys was in his mate’s arms, tears silently streaming down his face while Malakai soothingly rubbed his back. Shock and grief permeated the room, and Rowan could feel the horror spreading through the fortress, as whatever news they had received began to disperse.

Something had gone terribly, horribly wrong.

Rowan’s limbs felt like lead as he slowly approached the distraught pair, a wave of panic spilling over all the walls he had created to contain it. His breaths were shallow in his chest.

At the sound of his approach, Malaki and Emrys broke apart and turned their heads towards him. Rowan soundlessly entreated them for answers, unable to speak for the roaring in his head, screaming for Aelin to be by his side, to know she was safe.

Malakai answered his unspoken question, “The slaves. The slaves in Calaculla and Endovier…have all been executed.”

His heart dropped like a stone, even as relief flooded through his body. The news wasn’t of their imminent demise, but of a disaster of a completely different kind.

Malakai was still speaking, giving Rowan the details – the hows and whys. Rowan heard him, but he wasn’t really listening. All his thoughts had turned to the girl, to the princess who had once been a slave. The woman who had sworn to Rowan that she would someday free all those poor, dead, slaves.

His limbs felt disconnected to his body.

A sea of guilt that was not his own stretched before him, and he saw the pain this would cause her. The agony and the remorse. Rowan wondered for a moment if the Adarlanian king hadn’t somehow known what he was doing, if he hadn’t done it on purpose. To make his enemy writhe.

And then Rowan heard footsteps on the stairs at his back, and tasted her fiery scent. He breathed, and steeled himself, turning to face her.

Aelin approached them, full of grim anticipation. Her scent was filled with barely-smothered fear but her face was a mask of cold determination.

As she beheld the scene before her – the grief in the room, the shock and horror Rowan knew was on his face – she paled even further, her eyes widening and her scent becoming thick with copper.

Rowan’s arms hung slack at his sides, his fingers clenching and unclenching. He could do this; he could get through this. He wouldn’t make this any worse for her.

Aelin almost seemed to take a step back, as if to try to avoid this, to evade the doom he held in wait for her.

Rowan took a step toward her – one step, and that was all it took before she began shaking her head, before she lifted her hands in front of her as if to push him away.

“Please,” she said, and her voice broke. “Please.”

Rowan kept approaching, knowing that he couldn’t avoid this, knowing that he had to keep it together, had to bear as much of this burden for her as he could.

He stopped within reach but did not touch her.

He swallowed once. Twice. “There was…there was an uprising at the Calaculla labor camp.” Another shallow breath. “After Princess Nehemia was assassinated, they say a slave girl killed her overseer and sparked an uprising. The slaves seized the camp.” Aelin’s eyes were blank, the gold frozen solid. “The King of Adarlan sent two legions to get the slaves under control. And they killed them all.”

“The slaves killed his legions?” The hope in her eyes nearly struck him to the ground. He breathed once, trying to calm himself, and grasped her hand as gently as he could.

She almost flinched at his touch.

“No. The soldiers killed every slave in Calaculla.” He could see the words twist in her, gutting her like a knife.

But she was still in denial. “There are thousands of people enslaved in Calaculla.”

Rowan nodded, the weight of that death settling on his shoulders like smothering blanket. But still – she didn’t know the whole truth, only half.

He opened and closed his mouth, trying to master himself, forcing himself to grit and bear it, to bear causing her this agony.

She breathed, “Endovier?” It was a fool’s plea.

Slowly, so slowly, Rowan shook his head. “Once he got word of the uprising in Eyllwe, the King of Adarlan sent two other legions north. None were spared in Endovier.”

Her eyes went dark, and she stared but did not see. Her knees began to buckle and he gripped her arms as if he could keep her from falling into the abyss.

Aelin’s face was utterly blank, wiped clean of every thought. She breathed in quick, panicked gasps. He could almost hear the wailing echoing behind her eyes. And his heart broke.

“Aelin,” he whispered, too softly for others to hear, letting all his emotion, all his tenderness and care, reveal itself in that short word.

But at the sound of it, at the sound of her name on his lips, Aelin tore off his grip and was running out the kitchen door. Running across the courtyard, her feet pounding over the cobblestones. Running through the wooden gate, and out of his sight.

Rowan’s arms were still held out, but she was gone.

Her name.

He had known what that name meant to her, a connection to her past, the identity she had lost, that had been taken from her. And he had said it anyways. He had reminded her of her guilt, the responsibility she felt to protect all who had been connected to the country she had been born to lead. Aelin, the name of the person who had been promised to the world to protect the defenseless.

Guilt coursed through him as he stood, making to follow her out of the fortress. But before he made it out of the kitchens, Malakai’s voice broke through his reverie.

“Wait! Prince!”

Rowan stopped and turned, taken aback by the urgency in the male’s tone. What could possibly still matter? What could still make any difference?

From the pain in Malakai’s eyes, something certainly could. And Rowan realized suddenly that the grief in the kitchens upon his arrival, the grief that he could feel flooding through the fortress in a desperate, panicked wave, was not due to the deaths of strangers across the sea.

No, something else had gone wrong. Something much closer to home.

Rowan barely had time to steel himself once again before Malakai spoke once more. “The courier also brought news from Wendlyn.”

He swallowed, his voice shaking slightly. “Their northern border has been attacked by three thousand men on Adarlanian ships. Most of their fleet must have been dispatched.” Malakai paused for breath, but Rowan knew what the male was going to say.

“Reinforcements aren’t coming.” The words were barely a whisper.

Malakai shook his head. “No. We are on our own.”

Rowan swallowed once, then nodded at the old male. “Then we will just have to make this the fight of our lives, won’t we commander.”

Something sparked in Malakai’s eyes. “Yes, we will, Prince. We will.”

They shared a moment of deep understanding. Of pain, and of leadership. And then Rowan turned and stepped out of the kitchens, transforming with a burst of light.

He soared above the courtyard and over the battlement wall, his eyes already straining into the dark woods beyond, searching for any sign –

But he needn’t look so far. She hadn’t left the fortress grounds, hadn’t even gone through the ward-gates.

Rowan felt his stomach drop, his eyes widening. But not in fear. In wonder.

A torrent of fire coursed out of Aelin, a blast that shook the trees and set the earth rumbling. A torrent cast straight at the ward-gates. And the magical barrier devoured her power whole, absorbing every last ember.

Rowan swooped down, shifting in midair as he moved to stand beside her. But he dared not get too close.

Aelin just stood there, burning more powerfully than he had ever seen, more powerfully than anyone he had ever seen, and she did not stop. She fed her rage, her grief and pain and anger, into the barrier stones and they lapped up every flicker, every spark.

She truly was the Heir of Fire, the Heir of Brannon. Rowan had known it, had felt the beast slumbering beneath her skin. But still, seeing and believing were different things.

Her power rose from within her, a behemoth from the deep.

Rowan looked at her, and he marveled.

Hours passed, and she worked herself into exhaustion. Her fires waned, the colors shifting from whites and blues down to deep reds and pale golds, until they flickered, and went out. Rowan sent a cool breeze her way, the only comfort he could think to give her.

The forest had gone silent, the birds and insects quieted by her fiery assault. But the barrier now seemed to hum with fresh power, the stones crackling and sparking with electricity.

Aelin turned to face him, and Rowan expected to see exhausted eyes and weary limbs. But instead, her face was bright with pain. Despite the intensity of her assault, yet more flames bloomed in her eyes, their golden core molten and ferocious.

Rowan could still feel the wildfire roaring beneath her skin, could still taste her flames in the air. Aelin’s well of magic had not run dry – her power still demanded to be let out.

Aelin just looked back at him, her shoulders sagging under all that weight, and Rowan breathed, preparing to add to her burden. “Word just arrived from Wendlyn. Reinforcements aren’t coming.”

“They didn’t come ten years ago.” Her voice was raw and cracked, though her words were calm. “Why should they bother helping now?”

Rowan’s eyes softened. “Aelin.”

She turned away, gazing into the darkening forest, too far gone to really hear him. Rowan knew she wouldn’t listen, knew it was useless. But still, he had to try. “You do not have to stay – we can go to Doranelle tonight, and you can retrieve your knowledge from Maeve. You have my blessing.”

She turned back to face him, her eyes hard. “Don’t insult me by asking me to leave. I am fighting. Nehemia would have stayed. My parents would have stayed.”

“They also had the luxury of knowing that their bloodline did not end with them.” His words were near-desperate. He couldn’t allow her to give in to this, to give in to the pain until she vanished under its weight. She couldn’t just submit to the fate she had been given. He needed her to fight – to survive, by any means necessary. Even by sacrificing the lives of their friends here. It was a burden he would bear.

She just gritted her teeth. “You have experience – you are needed here. You are the only person who can give the demi-Fae a chance of surviving; you are trusted and respected. So I am staying. Because you are needed, and because I will follow you to whatever end.”

A long moment passed as her words coursed through him. Burning, forging.

Rowan could feel something rising from deep within, and it enveloped him. When he emerged from its embrace, he knew he would be forever changed.

He did not look away.

“To whatever end?”

She nodded.

Rowan reached into his tunic and pulled out a dagger. Her dagger. He held it out, finally returning it to her. The metal gleamed in the faint moonlight, reflecting Aelin’s golden eyes back at him. She took the blade slowly, seeming to recognize the gesture for what it was. An acknowledgement.

Rowan looked into her eyes, into the very core of her. And she looked right back, piercing him through with her gaze.

And he said the only thing he knew, the one true thing. “Fireheart.”

···

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

44 notes · View notes

writersplanetarium · 5 years ago

Text

Facade: A Call for Revenge

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

Rowan pounded his hand hard on Aelin's door anger fueling him. He knew it was her. It couldn't be anyone else. She was grinning as she opened the door, already dressed for bed in a skimpy nightgown.

"Did you need something?"

"Besides your head on a spike?" He asked.

"I'm glad your wicked skin condition has cleared up," Aelin said, leaning against the doorway, "It looked bad."

"I went to the hospital," Rowan growled, "I thought there was an actual problem. I found the foundation. I know you switched it out. People think I'm dying."

"I know! You're trending on Twitter," Aelin said, making Rowan want to knock that smug smile right off her face.

"It's one thing to screw with me between us, it's another to do it on live fucking camera. I mean peel off foundation? Are you kidding me?"

"You scratched my car to all hell!"

"After you rammed into mine!"

"Mine was an accident!"

"We had a deal to keep our shit out of the public," Rowan snapped.

"We can write it off as a prank between friends, right buddy?"

"Watch your back," Rowan threatened, storming off.

"Kiss my ass!" She shouted after him. Rowan stomped his way back to his house, slamming the door behind him. He ran a hand through his long locks, huffing as he tried to calm down. Just then his phone buzzed, alerting him he was getting a call. He pulled his phone out, seeing Fenrys' contact.

"What?" Rowan asked brashly.

"I saw your little incident on Twitter," he said, completely ignoring Rowan’s tone, "Figured you could use a big out to forget about your condition."

"I'm not fucking sick and you know it," Rowan growled.

"I know, I know. Still. Let's have a boys' night. You could find a pretty girl to take your mind off things." Of course that was his first solution.

"I don't need a pretty girl, I need hard liquor. I'll meet you at the bar in twenty." Rowan knew refusing would just mean the party being brought to him.

"Sweet! The gang's gonna meet us there. If you're late I'm hunting you down." Rowan hung up and went to his bedroom to switch out his clothes to attempt to get the hospital smell off of him.

After changing he hopped in his car and headed down to the bar. He parked and headed inside to see the Cadre, as Aelin called them, already gathered at the bar, along with Aedion.

“Better watch out, we don’t want to catch what he’s got,” Lorcan said as soon as he saw Rowan, a smirk on his lips. Rowan flipped him the bird and ordered shots from the bartender, taking down all four in succession.

“Aelin managed to pull one over on you again?” Gavriel chuckled, taking a sip from his own drink. He was older than the others, but still fit in just as well.

“We were even,” Rowan said, “But now she’s gotta go and pull this shit.”

“You knew she’d have to retaliate. Aelin doesn’t know the meaning of the high road,” Aedion said.

“Like you have room to talk. You and her once fought for a month straight because you both refused to admit you were wrong,” Gavriel said before he turned to Lorcan, “The funny part was that Elide was actually the one who borrowed Aelin’s hairbrush to start the argument in the first place.”

“I’m not even a little surprised,” Lorcan chuckled, taking a drink from his beer.

“Is that what happens to you to make your hair look like such shit?” Fenrys quipped. Lorcan cast him a smug look.

“That’s not from the hairbrush, that’s from her hands.” Rowan rolled his eyes, ordering one more shot. Vaughn cheered.

“Rowan is getting hammered tonight!”

“It’s the only way to deal with having a loudspeaker for a neighbor,” Rowan said.

“If it’s any consolation, it’s a school night, so Aelin will be keeping it down at least until Evangeline’s up.”

“I need to get back at her,” Rowan said as the buzz started to set in, “I have to. It’s non-negotiable.”

“You two always have to get back at each other. Maybe the best thing for you to do is nothing at all,” Connall said.

“Yeah right. I think I’m going to egg her house,” Rowan said.

“Seriously? Egg her house? What are you? Twelve?” Lorcan asked.

“No no no no no,” Vaughn said, “You have to wait. Part of your guys’ problem is that you’re too quick to react. You don’t let the knowledge that the revenge is coming do half the work for you. Wait and think of something good.”

“I’ve already got something in mind,” Rowan said, “Slightly illegal, but something.”

“Slightly?” Gavriel laughed.

“Well, technically it’d involve breaking and entering,” Rowan said, “But I might actually be able to get her to let me in if I play my cards right.”

“How come even on boys’ night, all we end up talking about are the girls?” Connall asked.

“Because women are life’s greatest pleasure, my brother,” Fenrys said, patting him on the back, “Speaking of, I see one that would make rather nice company right over there.” Rowan followed Fenrys’ gaze and saw a woman with light brown skin and shoulder length dark hair. She was moderately tall and gave off a strong, silent air. But Rowan recognized her.

“That’s Nesryn,” he informed Fenrys, “And she’s got a boyfriend.” As if on cue, Sartaq stepped up to her side, placing an arm around her waist, whispering something into her ear that made her nod and follow him to the dartboard.

“How do you know her?” Aedion asked.

“I’ve seen her go over to Aelin’s when she has her parties,” Rowan huffed, “She’s also on the same show as Dorian and Chaol. I’ve seen a few episodes. It’s pretty good.”

“Not as good as ours though,” Fenrys said, raising his glass, “To the new season.” They all raised their drinks to that.

“Are you ready for it to air?” Gavriel asked Rowan, “You know the interviews are going to really start to pile up once the season finishes on air. And all anyone’s going to want to talk about is you and Aelin.”

“We keep our shit out of the news. Or at least we’re supposed to, but now she had to go and pull that stunt this morning…”

“That can totally be written off as a prank between friends,” Vaughn said.

“It still pisses me off,” Rowan said, “But I’ve got my ideas. This isn’t over.”

“What are you planning on doing with the truck?” Lorcan asked. After buying the old, beat-up truck off of Emrys, Rowan had used it to scratch up Aelin’s car and then just left it in his garage.

“I don’t know. I might try and fix it, just to have something to do. But I don’t know shit about cars,” Rowan said.

“Good thing it’s a truck then,” Fenrys joked.

“I’ll figure something out,” Rowan replied. He could always just scrap it, but looking at it brought back the fond memory of getting to scratch up Aelin’s car, so he wasn’t inclined to. And he had been planning on trying to learn how to fix up vehicles for a while in case of an emergency.

He hung out at the bar relatively late into the night before catching a cab home. The long, silent ride home gave his drunken mind time to think. He needed to get her back. And then his drunk brain had an idea. An awful, cruel idea that made him grin.

He pulled out his phone, setting up his plan. If she was going to disturb his life, he was going to disturb hers.

He went into his contacts, carefully working out his plan. He sent a text conversation to himself, deleting the doubled question to make it look like a conversation. Then he edited Aelin’s name and number into the top, to make it look like a friendly conversation between them.

You must think you’re so funny, huh?

Who? Me? What ever did I do?

I know you switched out the foundation, Aelin.

You have to admit I got you pretty good.

I can’t deny that, but the least you could do is tell everyone I’m not dying.

Yeah, yeah, you’re not dying or sick or whatever. Just PRANKED.

Rowan nodded in satisfaction at the conversation and screenshotted it, going to Twitter.

Confirmation that I am, indeed, not dying. Nice to have friends that keep you on your toes.

He smirked to himself as he posted it, her phone number visible at the top for his millions of followers to see

Tagged:

@captain-timetraveldreamer @tangledraysofsunshine @dayanna-hatter @faerie-queen-fireheart @rowaelinforeverworld @alifletcher2012 @shyvioletcat @runawayrowan

LMK if you want to be tagged!

#rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin ashryver galathynius #facade ch. 4 #actor au

140 notes · View notes

emberchii · 2 years ago

Text

my main ocs/the ocs who i think about the most/who are generally my favourites

#digital art #artists on tumblr #original characters #ocs #emberchii #tiny brain children #ember nyxian #connwaer the unseelie #null the fae #vera pasternak #ivan pasternak #rowan shimizu malcalester #asuka radcliff #emrys vaughn #arcanum #caine arboran #keaton allens

62 notes · View notes

sarah-bae-maas · 6 years ago

Note

KoA DESTROYED me. It had me swooning, sobbing, fretting, fist pumping, all the things. However, there were several “But what about..”s that had me scratching my head in the end. Soo things that left me feeling meh: I was hoping for one final moment with Sam so uh where the heck was that? What the heck happened to Mort? Where was the Celaena/Aelin/Nox reunion/introduction that I waited all book for? What happened to Maeve’s healer/owl? Did Emrys and Luca make it out alright in the end? D:

KoA destroyed me every single way and then put me back together again.

I think the two “what abouts” i agree with you the most is the Nox and healer thing. I thought Nox could have played a large role as someone who 1) clearly knew Lysandra wasn’t Aelin and 2) I WANTED THAT DAMN REUNION SCENE.

As for the healer, she had popped up so many times I wondered if she would be in it. I kept expecting her to pop up, like how I was waiting for Vaughn.

And I hadn’t thought of it since you mentioned it, but where the hell is Mort? I hope that poor door knocker is out there living its best life.

As for Sam/Luca etc, i was okay with them not being in it because it wouldn’t have really made sense for them to be? Just some thoughts.

#kingsom of ash spoilers

22 notes · View notes

transnames · 6 years ago

Note

Hello! I'm Emrys and I'm looking for a middle name (I can't believe I never even thought to look). I suppose I'm looking for a masculine or neutral name, maybe something Welsh (Emrys is a Welsh name) or definitely something a bit more uncommon.

Definitely! Here are some names that I think pair well with Emrys, that are more uncommon and either masculine or neutral.

It’s also fine to not have a middle name! I know several people who have no middle name and are fine with it, it is just a fun fact since middle names do not come up very often.

Adair

Adrien

Aled

Aneirin

Ari

August

Beck

Briar

Bryn

Carwyn

Cillian

Duncan

Fabian

Felix

Florian

Flynn

Forest

Gareth

Geraint

Gideon

Horatio

Ivor

Jasper

Jessie

Leander

Marlowe

Milo

Morgan

Noel

Orion

Owain

Percy

Phoenix

Quinn

Rain

Raphael

Rhodri

River

Soren

Taliesin

Vaughn

Wolf

Wynn

Please let me know if you need anything else!

#masculine #names #Welsh #ask #1billiontoasters #Emrys #uncommon

7 notes · View notes

rhetoricandlogic · 6 years ago

Link

tor.com has released a new book collecting short fiction. I know, it’s expensive and maybe too expensive but hear me out - this is the ToC:

“Six Months, Three Days” by Charlie Jane Anders

“Damage” by David D. Levine

“The Best We Can” by Carrie Vaughn

“The City Born Great” by N. K. Jemisin

“A Vector Alphabet of Interstellar Travel” by Yoon Ha Lee

“Waiting on a Bright Moon” by JY Yang

“Elephants and Corpses” by Kameron Hurley

“About Fairies” by Pat Murphy

“The Hanging Game” by Helen Marshall

“The Water That Falls on You from Nowhere” by John Chu

“A Cup of Salt Tears” by Isabel Yap

“The Litany of Earth” by Ruthanna Emrys

“Brimstone and Marmalade” by Aaron Corwin

“Reborn” by Ken Liu

“Please Undo This Hurt” by Seth Dickinson

“The Language of Knives” by Haralambi Markov

“The Shape of My Name” by Nino Cipri

“Eros, Philia, Agape” by Rachel Swirsky

“The Lady Astronaut of Mars” by Mary Robinette Kowal

“Last Son of Tomorrow” by Greg van Eekhout

“Ponies” by Kij Johnson

“La beauté sans vertu” by Genevieve Valentine

“A Fist of Permutations in Lightning and Wildflowers” by Alyssa Wong

“A Kiss With Teeth” by Max Gladstone

“The Last Banquet of Temporal Confections” by Tina Connolly

“The End of the End of Everything” by Dale Bailey

“Breaking Water” by Indrapramit Das

“Your Orisons May Be Recorded” by Laurie Penny

“The Tallest Doll in New York City” by Maria Dahvana Headley

“The Cage” by A.M. Dellamonica

“In the Sight of Akresa” by Ray Wood

“Terminal” by Lavie Tidhar

“The Witch of Duva” by Leigh Bardugo

“Daughter of Necessity” by Marie Brennan

“Among the Thorns” by Veronica Schanoes

“These Deathless Bones” by Cassandra Khaw

“Mrs. Sorensen and the Sasquatch” by Kelly Barnhill

“This World Is Full of Monsters” by Jeff VanderMeer

“The Devil in America” by Kai Ashante Wilson

“A Short History of the Twentieth Century, or, When You Wish Upon A Star” by Kathleen Ann Goonan

#bookrec

9 notes · View notes

facrytalcs-blog · 7 years ago

Text

( @xxomalley -- yavanna -- said, “the forest looks so friendly but it’s a lie. it’s all a lie.” )

“well, it is a magical forest,” emrys said, not looking up from her book. “there are plenty of weird things lurking in there.” including herself sometimes.

#( &&. yavanna lara )#( &&. emrys vaughn )#( &&. xxomalley )

6 notes · View notes

facrytalcs-blog · 7 years ago

Photo

mushi-and-junior:

period moodboards: Medieval Period (requested by @lyannawinterfell)

svmer is icumen in lhude sing cuccu groweþ sed and bloweþ med and springþ þe wde nu

#THE PRYDAIN AESTHETIC #( &&. emrys vaughn | isms )

7K notes · View notes

transnamesuggestions · 8 years ago

Note

do you know any masculine welsh names?

Sure thing!

Aeron, Andras/Andreas, Bowen, Bryn, Cai, Conway, Dewey, Dylan, Ellis, Emrys, Evan, Ewan, Gavin, Griff/Griffin/Griffith, Harri, Howell, Idris, Macsen/Maxen, Maddox or Madoc, Martyn, Morgan, Owen, Reece/Reese/Rhys, Steffan, Tegan, Tristan, and Vaughn

#masculine #masculine names #Anonymous #replies

5 notes · View notes

cicada-bones · 4 years ago

Text

The Warrior and the Embers

Chapter 24: Chocolate, Training, Warning, Crowns

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Aelin was growing increasingly irritated by being trapped in his rooms, snapping at him more readily with each passing minute. But even so, her protests were without much heat.

No matter how much it infuriated her, she understood why he wasn’t letting her roam free through the fortress, and she was in enough pain to accept his assistance. To be frank, Rowan wouldn’t be entirely surprised to find out that she secretly was enjoying the attention, beneath all of her exasperated assertions that she was able to take care of herself, thank-you-very-much.

Or maybe he just thought that because he wanted her to be.

The morning of their final day in paired confinement dawned cold and misty, as always. Rowan awoke before Aelin, and was already sitting at his worktable, looking out through the foggy window over the fortress grounds while a pot of ginger tea brewed on his desk.

He’d just started the slow process of sharpening his blades when Aelin began to stir. After a few moments of rustling blankets, she turned over and asked, “How many days has it been since Beltane, Rowan?”

“Today is the third.”

“Huh.” She sat up on the bed, her bones cracking as she stretched. “Today is my birthday. I’m nineteen.” Her voice was slow and gravelly, still filled with sleep. “Huh. Nineteen.”

Rowan turned to face her. “Happy Birthday.”

“Thanks.” A small smile.

Rowan poured a cup of tea and handed it over to her, saying, “I was waiting for you to wake up before I went and got breakfast.”

She nodded at him, already sipping at her tea, and he left.

It was later than usual, and the halls were decently empty – most demi-Fae having already started their day. He found Emrys pulling a tray of bread loaves from the oven, while Malakai stood nearby, hastily eating a bowl of steaming stew. Luca was already gone for the day, off on sentry duty.

Rowan nodded a greeting to the two males, and began collecting some food for their breakfasts. He paid more attention to what he chose this time however, passing over dishes that seemed more lackluster. He figured it might be nice for Aelin to have a better breakfast than usual.

As he was pulling a few slices of soft white bread onto the tray, alongside a bowl of fresh red summer berries, Malakai cut through his train of thought. “Prince Rowan, I was actually just about to go up to see you.”

Rowan looked up to see a shadow pass over Malakai’s face.

“Another body was found in the night, just received word this morning.” Malakai sighed, “That makes the sixth.”

Rowan’s jaw tightened.

“So far, it seems as though it’s following all of the usual patterns. Dumped near water, drained of all life, blood at the mouth and ears. But I suppose you’d like to confirm for yourself?”

Rowan just nodded, and Malakai described its exact location – to the northwest, closer to the southern hills than any other since the first body they had discovered. Rowan gathered up his tray of food, making to leave, but before he could, Malakai interrupted him.

“Did – did Head Healer Namonora speak to you about her findings?” he asked, only a small hesitation in his voice.

Rowan pursed his lips. “Yes.”

“And…what do you think of her views?”

Rowan sighed, his mouth twisting into a wry frown. “I don’t know. Did she tell you about Paynor?”

“Yes, and her suspicions that the creatures are one and the same. And…there’s all this talk of an impending invasion from Adarlan…that Wendlyn is on the verge of attack…”

Emrys spoke up from his place by the fire, “…Are the rumors true, Prince? Have you heard anything? Should we be worried?”

Rowan breathed deep and said, “I don’t know of anything that’s worth repeating. If Adarlan is moving to attack, I doubt Mistward – or any of the other demi-Fae strongholds, for that matter – will be affected without ample time to prepare beforehand. Adarlan may be readying to make its move, and if they break Wendlyn’s front lines, we must then be prepared. But it’s useless to worry beforehand.”

He turned back to face Malakai. “And as for Namonora’s speculations – while I can’t discount them, I’m not sure its worth our time to pay them much heed. There just isn’t enough evidence either way. No matter how infuriating, we must wait, until either the killings stop, the creature is apprehended and destroyed, or new evidence comes to light. There are no other options.”

The two males seemed almost taken aback by the speech, and they just nodded blankly at Rowan as he inclined his head and turned to leave, already preparing for his argument with the princess when she inevitably demanded that he take her with him to visit the body.

Rowan almost had to lock Aelin up in his rooms in order to leave without her following along after him.

Eventually she acquiesced, and teased him by saying that some time alone was enough of a birthday present that she would allow it. He just raised his eyebrows at her.

The body was exactly as Malakai said, a lifeless husk, carelessly dumped near a stream, blood at the mouth, nose, and ears. This time, Rowan burned the corpse on his own, the embers dull and lifeless compared to Aelin’s.

On his way back to the fortress, Rowan passed by the village from before, and decided to make a stop. They didn’t know anything of course, but at least they spoke to him, accepting the gold and silver that rattled in his pockets as enough of a reward for the chore of speaking to such a strange and powerful Fae.

Rowan even grabbed the box of chocolates Aelin liked from the confectionary on his way out, remembering how she had enjoyed them before.

When he handed them over to her an hour or so later, he claimed to be insulted that she considered his absence a proper birthday present. She laughed lightly, popping the chocolates into her mouth one after another, as if they were nuts, or sunflower seeds. Rowan had to hold in a shudder.

She tried to embrace him to show her thanks, but he shrugged her off, saying it was nothing. But that evening, while he was studying a message from Vaughn, she snuck up behind him and landed a soft kiss on his cheek. And he didn’t know why, but he let her.

Even so, he grimaced and snarled at the princess, rubbing at the scorching mark she had left on his face. Aelin only laughed and spun back onto the bed, content in her victory.

Rowan hid a grin.

···

The next day, Rowan led Aelin west, away from their usual trek up to the temple ruins and instead towards a convenient clearing he knew lay a mile or so away from the fortress.

Beltane had been a disaster, but still, she had mastered that part of her self-control, and was now ready to progress to the next step of her training. Rowan was almost excited. No more sitting, no more waiting. Aelin had been trained as a warrior, and now Rowan would be putting that to the test.

They stood across from each other, Aelin already sunk into a defensive position, a gleam in her eye. Rowan didn’t know how much she had already guessed about what was about to occur, but obviously she knew that she wasn’t going to be just lighting candles anymore.

“Your magic lacks shape,” Rowan said, “And because it has no shape, you have little control. As a form of attack, a fireball or wave of flame is useful, yes. But if you are engaging a skilled combatant – if you want to be able to use your power – then you have to learn to fight with it.”

Aelin groaned, but that gleam in her eye only brightened.

Rowan’s voice sharpened. “But you have one advantage that many magic-wielders do not: you already know how to fight with weapons.”

The corners of Aelin’s lips twitched. “First chocolates on my birthday, now an actual compliment?”

Rowan’s eyes narrowed. The more you talk, the more I’m going to make you pay in a moment.

Her smile widened. Apologies, master. I am yours to instruct.

Brat.

Rowan jerked his chin at her. “Your fire can take whatever form you wish – the only limit being your imagination. And considering your upbringing, should you go on the offensive – ”

“You want me to make a sword out of fire?”

“Arrows, daggers – you direct the power. Visualize it, and use it as you would a mortal weapon.”

She swallowed.

He smirked. Afraid to play with fire, Princess?

You won’t be happy if I singe your eyebrows off.

Try me. “When you trained as an assassin, what was the first thing you learned?”

“How to defend myself.”

Rowan hid a grin of satisfaction. “Good.”

···

Barely an hour had passed, and yet Aelin was acting as though she were ready to drop. Sweat coated her limbs, her breaths were ragged in her throat, and her eyes were slightly glazed.

Rowan sent another ice dagger towards her left arm, and it left a small graze of red behind before disappearing into the mossy foliage. Aelin snarled, more out of annoyance than pain.

He had thrown dagger after dagger her way, and yet she had not yet managed to conjure a shield even once. There were occasional flickers of flame, but they were always too far to the right or left, and far too insubstantial to do anything to his ice. And Rowan needed her to conjure a shield, not a wall, or a wave – a small, controlled shield. Strong enough to melt the daggers into nothing. Only then would he stop his assault.

But it didn’t seem to matter that dried blood streaked Aelin’s cheeks and arms, didn’t matter that fury was coursing through her blood. It was as it always was with Aelin – she wasn’t ever properly motivated by her own pain or anger or frustration. And her mental cage remained strong. Rowan held in a curse.

“Try harder,” he snarled.

“I am trying,” she snapped, rolling aside as he sent two gleaming ice daggers at her head.

Rowan growled. “You’re acting like you’re on the verge of a burnout.”

“Maybe I am.”

“If you believe for one moment that you’re close to a burnout after an hour of practicing – ”

“It happened that quickly on Beltane.”

“That was not the end of your power.” Rowan prepared the next blade, letting it hover in wait beside his head. “You fell into the lure of the magic and let it do what it wanted – let it consume you. Had you kept your head, you could have had those fires burning for weeks – months.”

Her face was cold. “No.”

His nostrils flared. “I knew it. You wanted your power to be insignificant – you were relieved when you thought that was all you had.”

Rowan flung the dagger towards her, then the next, and the next. All the while wondering how he could help her escape those iron bars, borne of fear and self-hatred.

In the beginning, he had thought his task would be to teach a coward to face her fears, but he couldn’t have been farther from the truth. Aelin was as far from a coward as anyone he had met. No, his task was to help this woman learn to accept her own identity. And he had absolutely no idea how to do that.

Perhaps Namonora was right, and she never would. The thought sent a wave of revulsion through him. No. He couldn’t bear it.

Rowan sent another dagger towards the princess, but this time instead of dodging, she raised her arm, eyes flaming with intensity.

But nothing appeared, and she cursed so loudly in pain and fury that the birds overhead stilled their twittering. Rowan grimaced.

“Stop hitting me! I get the point!” Aelin yelled, grasping her arm as blood welled beneath her tunic.

Rowan just hardened, and sent another dagger. And another. Aelin dodged efficiently, swooping and ducking, all while clutching her injured arm. She gritted her teeth, swearing viciously at him. Rowan sent another dagger, leaving a shallow scrape across her cheekbone.

Aelin hissed, her eyes bright.

And then something shifted. Aelin sighed, relaxing her stiff muscles and her power rallied, focusing from a haze of smoke and flame into malleable bright-white steel within her.

And when Rowan sent another dagger past her right side, it vanished with a hiss of steam. Striking right into the heart of a shield of deep red, a flame as compact as any armor.

Rowan smiled. “We’re done for today. Go eat something.”

Aelin slowly looked up from her right arm, her eyes wide with wonder and triumph. “No. Again.”

···

A few more days passed, and Aelin returned to her usual fiery, arrogant self. But Rowan didn’t kick her out of his rooms, or ask her to get that cot. He didn’t really even bother giving himself any excuses.

He woke up each morning with her scent on his tongue, and the golden wash of her hair before his eyes. And she didn’t seem to have any inclination to alter their arrangement, either. Though perhaps that was because she thought her only other option was to go back to the shithole she’d been forced to sleep in before.

Either way, the bed arrangements stood. And Rowan, against his better judgement, had no intention of changing them.

In the afternoons, he had Aelin making shields of various sizes and temperatures, some large enough to protect an entire regiment and a blazing sapphire blue, others as small as a thimble and a pale gold.

Yet even after days of practicing, her wildfire burned hot. No end in sight.

Rowan couldn’t help but wondering at the force contained within the female. Speculating about how it could be molded, and used in battle. Rowan knew power, had fought whole armies alongside his fellow blood-sworn. He was familiar with its reach, and its limitations.

But Aelin…she was an army unto herself. Or she would be.

Rowan almost understood Aelin’s fears, understood why she might limit herself. Such power was a burden. He could understand not wanting it. To be free of those obligations.

So she had become Celaena, not only out of necessity, but as an escape. From the royal trap she had been born into. Hadn’t Rowan done the very same? Become blood sworn to Maeve, to escape his own demons? To serve a new purpose?

And when he was younger, he had done all he could to make others comfortable in his presence, had gone out of his way to suppress his power. Constant social negotiation. And he had hated it, just as Aelin seemed to.

So no matter how much it frustrated him, her mental cage, Rowan understood it.

Even so, over the past few days, she had progressed quickly, almost too quickly. Her control was improving, as well as her speed and agility. She was quicker, her reactions more fluid and natural.

She could now conjure various blades and weapons, all compact and focused, and she could completely shield against his attacks over half the time. Yesterday, Aelin had even managed to hold multiple defenses fast against constant assault for nearly fifteen minutes, and she could encircle the entire clearing in her flames and hold them burning for over an hour without a break.

It was insanely quick progress, especially considering how slow it had been to start. So when he felt Aelin leave their rooms before dawn for the fourth morning in a row, Rowan followed her. Before, he had assumed that she was leaving early to help in the kitchens, but her scent lead down the stairs, through the courtyard and out over the grounds.

Rowan shifted, and flew out over the courtyard and the exterior wall of the fortress, thinking to check the nearby grounds for the princess. But he didn’t have to look any farther.

Aelin was standing on the other side of the wyrd-stone gate, fighting with herself.

Her flames had become gloriously varied, golds and reds and oranges, and with each kick of flames, each swipe of her arms, the power rushed forwards only to bounce back off the wards, forcing her to dodge and swoop and shield.

Her movements were sure, and strong. The dance of the assassin she had been.

Rowan shook his head. Her master had been a monster, but he had trained her thoroughly. Aelin seamlessly melded her training as a warrior with her new lessons in governing her power, and was turning herself into a powerful magic-user. A true heir of fire.

Rowan swooped down beside the sentries along the battlement wall, and shifted back into his Fae form. To their credit, they hardly jumped, though a tang of fear still washed over him, marking the air with copper.

Even after all these weeks, he was still feared by residents of the fortress. Rowan held in a frown of discomfort.

“How long has she been down there?”

“An hour, Prince,” one said, watching the flashing flames below.

“For how many mornings in a row?”

“This is the fourth, Prince,” the same sentry replied.

Rowan looked back down towards the princess, just as a dagger of flame flew from her hand and towards the invisible barrier, as if racing for the head of an opponent. A warrior on a battlefield.

“I’ve never seen anyone … fight like that,” the sentry said. It was a question, but Rowan didn’t bother to answer. It wasn’t their business, and he wasn’t entirely certain if his queen would be pleased with the demi-Fae learning to use their powers in such a way. Though he fully planned to tell Lorcan, if only to see whether they could use it in their training.

Aelin moved from throwing weapons to hand-to-hand combat: a punch of power, a sweeping kick of flame. She ducked and flipped and twisted, relentless, raging, and –

She swore with her usual color as the wall sent the punch of ruby flame back at her. She managed to shield, but still got knocked on her ass. Yet none of the sentries laughed.

Rowan didn’t know if it was because of his presence or because of her. He got his answer a heartbeat later, as he waited for her to shout or shriek or walk away. But the princess just slowly got to her feet, not bothering to brush off the dirt and leaves, and kept practicing.

After a few minutes, a messenger appeared bearing a letter for Rowan, and so he turned away from the fire-wielder and headed back for his rooms.

He opened it absentmindedly, still thinking of Aelin’s unexpected resourcefulness, but as he started reading all his thoughts drained away, and were replaced by a familiar, roiling irritation.

Fenrys was evidently still starving for attention, only this time, he came bearing news. Of an infuriating sort.

Rowan –

I hope everything’s alright with you, training going well, oh yes I’m doing absolutely fine thank you for asking, just loving it here trapped with my brother and a surprisingly moody Gavriel, really enjoying myself, glad to know you’re having fun with the princess – oh you’re not? You’re actually just the same old brooding bastard you’ve always been and are not in any way appreciating the many benefits of being hundreds of miles away from Doranelle, in close quarters with a beautiful young female who you happen to spend almost every waking minute with? Oh? Oh? Now I’m remembering why I don’t like you very much.

Anyways, glad that’s out of the way.

Remelle and co. are on their way to Mistward.

Yeah. You’re expected to play host. Maeve officially sent her, along with Essar and Benson (that absolute ass from that cotillion a few years ago? Remember?) to meet Vaughn and play diplomat somewhere to the southwest, but they are also going to pass through the fortress on their way and ‘check in.’ They should be arriving only barely behind this letter – they left Doranelle this morning.

Also, Remelle has made herself very…present, lately. Always about the castle, asking pointed questions. I don’t really know what to make of Maeve deciding to send her, maybe she just wants to get under your skin.

And I don’t know whether Maeve decided to inform her of your purpose at Mistward, but I doubt it. Aelin Galathynius is too charged a title to throw around with ease, and especially not in the presence of that particular lady. Remelle isn’t exactly known to keep things to herself.

But other than that, I don’t have anything concrete to report. Except for the suspicions, that I’m sure you share, about the selection of these particular individuals for this visit. My speculations, however, are somewhat worthless compared to yours. You are much more familiar with the people involved. Or at least one of them. Quite familiar.

One might even say…intimately familiar.

To be honest I just wish I could be there to see how this plays out.

Good luck, I guess –

Fenrys

Rowan took a breath through his teeth. Remelle.

She had been a mistake, a stupid one. And he had been paying for it for nearly a century now.

Rowan had never thought that he would be one to succumb to the failings of his own vanity, but oh, he had. Remelle had showered him with her relentless attention and spiky cynicism, and – he unwillingly admitted to himself – she had been a warm, attractive body in the right place at the right time.

He had ended the affair after a season or so, but she never seemed to give up. At every gathering, every opportunity, she would be at his elbows, or sending him carefully crafted looks from across the room.

Rowan usually avoided the female at all costs. And most of the time he was successful: with his position, he could avoid most social engagements, and technically, he outranked her. Which made things a bit easier. For him. For her, Rowan was sure that it just turned him into an enticing challenge, something to fill the endless time with.

And now she was on her way to Mistward, where he had no chance of avoiding her. Alongside Essar and Benson. A merry group of nobles, come to scout out the warrior among the demi-Fae.

Come to spy.

For that was what Fenrys had left unsaid. There was no other reasonable explanation. Why else would you send three noble Fae, one who could master any language or accent she heard, another who could become invisible, and a fire-wielder?

Maeve had sent them to spy, the only question was, what did she want them to discover? Was Mistward actually a diversion from their true objective, or was their visit here their actual purpose? Was Maeve getting impatient? Did she seek information about Aelin’s progress? Or was Rowan just being paranoid because of his desire to keep his relationship with the girl out of Maeve’s view?

Rowan didn’t know.

Either way, he still had to deal with them. And if the letter was correct, they should be arriving later that very day. Rowan failed to hide a groan of exasperation.

They would need rooms for the night. Mistward was full to the brim, a few demi-Fae would probably have to be kicked out for the night. And Rowan would have to prepare Emrys, the nobles would be expecting a formal meal.

Ungh. A formal dinner.

Rowan wasn’t sure how he would be able to face it. Not without it ending in bloodshed. Well, at least he might not have to face it alone. He could bring Aelin with him – whether they knew it or not, she certainly was high-ranked enough. And if he was right, and they were here to spy…then it would be all the easier to keep watch over her if she was at his side.

Rowan sighed, and turned to head towards the kitchens to speak with Emrys.

···

“What’s your favorite food?” Aelin was lounging on a boulder in a pillar of sunlight, soaking it up like a lizard or a snake. She chucked a nut in the air and caught it in her mouth.

He had decided to take it easy that afternoon, to give her a break, in order to work up to asking her to help him this evening.

Rowan frowned. “Whatever keeps me alive at the moment,” he said, forearms braced on his knees, looking out over the rippling valley below. Searching for the horses and guards that would mark the imminent arrival of the Fae royals.

She clicked her tongue. “Could you be any more of an animal?”

He slid a glance in her direction, lifting a brow and saying, You remember what my other form is, don’t you?

When she only scowled, he sighed. “There’s a street vendor in Doranelle who sells meat on a stick.”

“Meat on a stick.” Aelin fought a grin.

“And I suppose yours is some confection or useless bit of sugar.”

“Sweets aren’t useless. And yes. I’d crawl over hot coals for a piece of chocolate hazelnut cake right now.”

Rowan glared at her. “What good could that possibly be for keeping your body strong? With your magic, you’d burn through it and be hungry again within half an hour.”

She plopped herself up on her elbows. “Your priorities are obscenely out of order. Not all food is for survival and strength-building. You didn’t even try one of the chocolates from that town. I guarantee the moment you do every time I turn my back, you’ll be shoveling them down.”

Aelin seemed to be fighting a laugh, and Rowan was about to say that maybe she didn’t actually deserve an afternoon off, when she quickly asked, “Favorite color?”

Rowan only hesitated a moment before saying, “Green.”

“I’m surprised you actually know.”

Rowan narrowed his eyes at her, but the teasing glint in her eyes only brightened. “What’s yours?”

“For a while, I made myself believe it was blue. But – it’s always been red. You probably know why.”

Rowan made an afﬁrmative sound.

Aelin lay down and raised a hand above her, threading a line of ﬁre through her ﬁngers. She plaited it between her knuckles, then snaked it down her palm, until it curled around her wrist, twining and slithering along her skin.

“Good,” Rowan said. “Your control is improving.”

“Mmhmm.” She lifted her other hand, and rings of ﬂame encircled her ﬁngers. She set to work on carving the ﬂames, forging them into individual patterns. Jewelry for the princess of fire.

“Try it on me,” Rowan said. She turned her head and frowned at him. “Do it.”

Rowan felt a delicious heat waft down his neck and shoulders as flames began to appear atop his head, twirling and crackling with power. Aelin’s gaze was focused on the space just above him, a little crinkle appearing between her eyes as she focused on stream of magic.

She was making him a crown of flames, and even as she worked on refining the details, the jewelry on her fingers and wrists didn’t shift or flicker, still burning brightly despite the shift in her focus.

“Bold move,” Rowan said. “One that doesn’t have much space for error.”

“I’m surprised you’re not encasing your head in ice.”

“I trust you,” he said quietly, and she looked up sharply, meeting his gaze with questioning eyes.

“And now one for you,” he said, and Aelin’s expression shifted to one of delight as a crown of ice began to take shape in the space between them, delicate spikes rising high. Rowan lifted it between his fingers and placed it on her brow.

For a moment, they smiled at each other, the Prince of Ice and the Heir of Fire, but then Aelin’s face fell, her flames vanished, and her scent filled with grief. She stood and turned towards the ridge, her arms wrapping around herself.

For a moment, Rowan was confused. But then – understanding. He had made her a crown. A crown.

With a flicker of thought, Rowan melted the headpiece and it dissolved into mist on the mountain wind. Rowan sighed and began to approach her side. “We’re going to have visitors tonight,” he said.

“Should I be concerned?”

“I – I need your help.”

Aelin’s face brightened somewhat. “Ah. So that’s why you let me have an afternoon of peace.” He snarled, but she just lifted a brow. “Will I finally be meeting your mysterious friends?”

The words came stiffly. “No. They’re Fae nobility, passing through the area. They requested a place to stay for the night, and will arrive around sunset. Emrys is making them dinner, and I am expected to…entertain them.”

There was a heavy pause. “Oh. no. No.”

“They will not condescend to dine with the demi-Fae, and – ”

“I’m even less acceptable than a demi-Fae!”

“ – if I have to play host to them all evening, it will likely end in bloodshed.”

She blinked. “Not favorites of yours?”

“They’re typical nobility. Not trained warriors. They expect to be treated a certain way.”

“So? You’re in Maeve’s little cabal. And you’re a prince to boot. Don’t you outrank them?”

“Technically, but there are politics to consider. Especially when they’ll be reporting to Maeve.”

She groaned. “So what – I’m supposed to play hostess?”

Her face was about as miserable as his. “No. Just – help me deal with them.”

She pursed her lips, but thankfully, she seemed to be coming around. “And what am I going to get out of it?”

Rowan clenched his jaw, and he honestly considered saying that he wouldn’t kick her ass, but instead, he sighed and said, “I’ll ﬁnd you a chocolate hazelnut cake.”

“No.” Rowan raised his brows, and she threw a wicked smile at him. “You’ll just owe me. A favor that I can call in whenever I please.”

He sighed again, lifting his gaze skyward. If he lived through the next few hours, he would honestly be surprised. “Just look presentable at sundown.”

···

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

#tog #throne of glass #rowaelin #rowan pov #the warrior and the embers

38 notes · View notes