#fenrys angst

[shadowdaddies]

Reunited - Part II

Fenrys x Reader

Part I | Part III

Summary: after years of working as a spy in Adarlan, you are finally reunited with your cousin, Aelin, as you join the war to reclaim Terrasen and bring peace to Erilea. What you don't expect is to meet your mate in the middle of a war.

A/N: this story will have at least two more parts; this one is very angsty I’m sorry

Warnings: canon-typical violence, EOS spoilers

The door to the pub slammed behind Aedion with such a force that you flinched in your seat. 

“He will come around,” you murmured, reaching your hand across the table towards your father. You sighed softly at Gavriel’s dejected expression, taking his hand in your own as you mustered a weak smile. “I’ll talk to him,” you promised, knowing the sway you held with your brother.

Your father’s tawny eyes shone with something like pride as he squeezed your hand, his blonde hair swaying as he shook his head. “Aedion is right to feel the way that he does. I don’t expect him to come around easily. He is as stubborn as your mother,” Gavriel paused, a lump working in his throat as he studied you. “And you are as fiercely kind.”

You opened your mouth to say more, something to comfort him, when an alarm rang in the distance. Gavriel had drawn his dagger before you could blink, his body blocking yours protectively from the rest of the room. Another alarm sounded from the lookout tower, dreading realization crashing over you like the waves you looked to out the window. 

Jumping from your seat, you sprinted up the stairs to Rolfe’s office Aelin stood, her relaxed demeanor a stark contrast to Rolfe’s torrent of emotions. He regretfully reached a tattooed hand towards Aelin, the blonde gladly shaking it. “Thank you for your assistance, Lord Rolfe.”

The mischievous glint in your cousin’s eyes told you all that you needed to know, but Aelin wasted no time barking orders for everyone in the room to get to the ships and prepare for the Valg’s approach. 

Fenrys found you quickly, his arm wrapping protectively around your waist as you hurried towards the docks. Despite everything, the peace that filled you at his simple touch was undeniable. In the few days you had spent together, Fenrys had become an anchor in the storm of this impending war. 

“Are you okay?” he murmured, voice like a soft balm to your nerves as you took his hand from around your waist, weaving your fingers through his own. 

Your gaze flicked to his, the tenderness in his onyx eyes grounding you in the moment. “I’m alright,” you promised, squeezing his hand in reassurance. 

You reached the ship, Fenrys lifting you by the waist to help you over the ledge of the vessel, only for you to trip and stumble into his warm, toned chest. Your hearts pounded, synchronized even in the chaos as you made your way to the bow of the boat where Aelin and Rowan stood.

Salty air whipped around your face in breathtaking levels of wind, seawater splashing as Rowan’s wind propelled the ship unnaturally fast against the waves. Lysandra’s scales shone underneath the water, what would be a dazzling sight if not for the fear that had worked its way deep inside of you at the sight of the Valg fleet approaching. 

The next hour was a blur of fighting, canon fire, sea monsters, and every impossible thing you never believed could happen in this world. Nightmares followed the next several nights. The image of Aelin, burning out of control and falling into the sea, Fenrys’s hand ripping from your own as he dove after her.

~~~

That night, you awoke in a cold sweat, hands clawing at the edges of the mattress as you’d clung to the railing of the ship when you’d watched your mate dive out of sight. You had barely registered your surroundings - the peaceful inside of your cabin - when a familiar warm hand touched your shoulder. 

“Hey, it’s alright. I’m here,” Fenrys murmured in your ear, a silent sob breaking through you at his voice. “Can I hold you?” he asked, hand lightly rubbing your shoulder. 

You nodded, sniffling as you tugged Fenrys’s hand from your shoulder, wrapping it around your waist as you moved as close as possible to his warmth. “You scared me today,” you admitted, barely above a whisper. “I thought... I thought that this wonderful thing, this bond with an incredible male had come just in time for me to lose you. And I can’t. I can’t lose you, Fenrys. I’m sorry if it’s too soon for me to say that, but I don’t know how I’ve lived without you in my life.”

Blonde curls fell across your cheek as Fenrys leaned down, his lips warm as they pressed a lingering touch to your ear. “I understand completely. You have brought a light to my life that I did not think possible, and I would do anything to keep you safe and happy. That is why I dove after Aelin. She will keep you safe - I know that. And you are my priority now. You have given me new purpose.”

In all your years - even before those spent as a spy in Adarlan - you had never experienced such profound intimacy. Never connected, cared for someone as deeply as you did for your mate. It was frightening to consider, but his warm press against your body filled any cracks of doubt and worry, allowing you to sleep soundly in his arms. 

Each night passed the same way, Fenrys and you now sharing the same bed, simply holding each other. Your physical intimacy never went further than a kiss on the cheek, arms wrapped around one another’s waist, but the emotional connection was something you did not believe possible.

~~~

When Melisande’s fleet descended upon you, Fenrys kept you close to his side, the two of you working seamlessly as a team to defend your ships and allies from the Valg. Canon fire roared in your ears as you saw Lorcan’s dark form at the stern of the ship - his eyes set on the coast where he had left Elide. 

“Fenrys!” you called, desperate for your mate’s attention as Lorcan abandoned ship, the desperation with which he fought his way towards shore something you wouldn’t have understood until you met Fenrys. Your mate caught your gaze, his onyx eyes flaring wide as he tracked Lorcan’s movements.

“Elide is in danger. I need you to trust me - I will go help them, but I want you safe here on the ship,” Fenrys pleaded, hands cupping your cheeks as he blocked out the world to focus on you. 

“I can’t leave you again,” you admitted, hand coming up to hold his own. Silver lined your eyes as Fenrys’s forehead leaned against your own. “Please,” you whispered, voice broken as you held him close, as though you could stop him from leaving.

Your father’s hand clasped on Fenrys’s shoulder, drawing the two of you from your moment. “It’s now or never,” he spoke, voice firm yet warm as Gavriel nodded towards the dingy. “We will be able to hold off these forces, but we need to leave now if you want to help Lorcan and Elide.”

Without a second thought, you ran towards the dingy, hopping inside along your mate and father as the three of you rowed to shore. Stumbling through the sand, your legs ached from the strain of running towards the crowd of people further inland. And time stood still as you recognized the pale, black-haired female lashing out dark power at Aelin. 

Maeve’s eyes shone with wicked delight as people stood around, helpless while an exhausted Aelin crumpled before the fae queen. Your father rushed forward, leaving you behind with Fenrys as he pleaded Maeve to spare Aelin.

“Please,” Gavriel whispered, kneeling before Maeve. “Leave Aelin be. Take me instead. Take my life.” 

The scream that ripped from your throat was muffled by a large hand over your mouth, Lorcan’s intense gaze looking down upon you as he slowly shook his head. “Do not alert attention to yourself. She cannot know what you are to Fenrys,” he whispered. 

Every nerve in your body was on fire, panic coursing through your veins as you turned to see the male who swore to stay by your side, slowly inching further away. 

You were vaguely aware of your father, his own tears hitting the ground beneath him as he felt the pain of his blood bond being stripped away. Waves of horror knocked the breath from your lungs as Maeve called Aelin to bow, your cousin and Queen whipped before your eyes while no one took action.

Fenrys stood still, frozen under Maeve’s command as your mate could not afford to spare you a glance, leaving you at the mercy of Lorcan’s strong arm holding you back. “Do not make a scene, unless you want to make it worse for Fenrys,” he warned.

Salty tears streaked down your cheeks, your gaze locking with the tawny eyes of your father as he weakly managed his way over to you. Blinding anger coursed through you, confusion at how you could end up in this situation, surrounded by the most feared warriors, all of you forced into a position of waiting as your Queen was placed in an iron sarcophagus.

Fists clenched so hard your nails drew blood from your palms, disgusted with yourself as you allowed Aelin to be taken away so that your mate would be spared. And then the ground fell out from under you when Maeve ordered Fenrys to follow.

Your mate did not so much as spare you a look over his shoulder, but every muscle in his body seemed to strain as he fought against the order to walk away from you, from your father, your new family. 

You bit down hard, Lorcan hissing as your teeth sunk into his fingers, blood dripping from your lips as he released you. You charged after Fenrys, running with no plan other than willing to risk everything for the person who had become more than everything to you.

But once again, broad arms wrapped around your waist as your father held you in his arms. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry” Gavriel whispered, tears streaking down his face as you felt his calm, healing power wash over you, the world fading to black as you lost consciousness.

[treviso-nights]

one of my favorite things about dragon age romances is the varying Flavors™️ of emotional damage they feed you near the end of each game.

for instance, lucanis dellamorte is here to slay your enemies and burn down the world if it even looks at you the wrong way. "i thought i would never see you again," he quietly tells rook, and there is regret in every one of those words. "if i have to kill every blighted creature in thedas to keep you safe, i will. my heart beats for you," he promises.

meanwhile altar-boi cullen rutherford is a DISASTER who literally falls to his knees before a statue of his god. he is seeking SPIRITUAL ABSOLUTION from the divine bc the very idea of putting you into harm's way is unforgivable, and then he breaks his prayer to murmur, "when the time comes, you will be thrown into his path again. andraste preserve me, i must send you to him. whatever happens, you will come back. allow me this. to believe anything else would… i can't."

my god, the buffet. these men are absolutely pathetic. i would DIE for them.

[pillow-boi]

Who did you choose?

[kirkwallcowboy]

I am yours, as always.

[sigyn-foxyposts]

"Fjölskylda Loka: borð Hel"

🇬🇧: Loki's family: Hel's table.

I wanted to include as many symbolisms and characters possible into this piece. I'm certain you can tell who is who, such as Hel's servants and family members.

This honestly looked a lot better in my head, but here we are with the tragic angst!

[moonlitstoriess]

Oaths and Ashes-Lorcan x fem!reader (oneshot)

Summary: Bound by oaths to Maeve and haunted by the bond he fears, Lorcan clings to loyalty as a shield against his own heart. But when a mission goes awry, forcing him to choose between duty and his mate, the cracks in his resolve begin to show. In the shadows of betrayal and pain, will love rise from the ashes?

Warnings: Mentions of trauma, manipulation, physical injury, toxic loyalty, and themes of betrayal. Angst with no fluff and an uncertain end.

A/n: Got this random idea for a Lorcan fanfic and thought why not? Anyway you have been warned, enjoy 😘

See masterlist

The outpost was eerily quiet, save for the distant howl of the wind outside. The cold stone walls did little to keep the chill at bay, and the fire in the hearth burned low, its feeble warmth barely reaching the center of the room. She stood by the window, arms wrapped tightly around herself, watching the snow swirl and dance in the night.

Lorcan sat across the room, sharpening one of his blades with slow, deliberate movements. The metallic scrape echoed in the silence, grating and purposeful, as if he was daring her to speak first. He didn’t look at her.

“Another mission done,” she said, her voice low, breaking the stillness.

“Hm.” The sound was dismissive, his focus never wavering from the blade in his hands.

She turned, leaning against the windowsill, her arms dropping to her sides. “Is that all you have to say?”

His dark eyes flicked up briefly before returning to his task. “What else is there to say? We survived. That’s enough.”

The coldness in his tone cut deeper than she’d expected, and her jaw tightened. “You don’t think it’s worth talking about? The fact that it was another trap? That Maeve sent us into another gods-damned death mission?”

“You’re alive,” he said flatly. “That’s what matters.”

“Barely,” she snapped, taking a step toward him. “But I guess that doesn’t matter to you, does it? As long as we’re breathing, it’s fine. Just another day serving Maeve like the obedient dogs we are.”

His hand stilled, the blade catching the light as he set it down. When he looked up at her, his gaze was cold, calculating. “If you’re not cut out for this, maybe you shouldn’t have sworn the oath.”

The words landed like a blow, and she staggered back a step, her chest tightening. “You think I want this? You think I wanted to swear myself to her?”

“Did someone force you?” he asked, his voice sharp, mocking. “No? Then don’t complain about the choices you made.”

Her breath hitched, and she turned away, unable to look at him. The sting of his words mixed with the weight of her anger and exhaustion, threatening to choke her.

“I should’ve known,” she said quietly, her voice trembling. “You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

He stood abruptly, the scrape of the chair against the floor loud in the silence. “Don’t presume to know what I care about,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

“Then tell me,” she said, whirling to face him, her eyes blazing. “Tell me why you’re so gods-damned loyal to her. Why you follow her orders without question, even when you know it’s killing us. What is it, Lorcan? What keeps you chained to her like a dog?”

His jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” she shot back, stepping closer, her voice shaking with anger and something rawer. “Because I’m standing here, breaking myself for this—for you—and you won’t even look at me.”

He flinched at the accusation, but the mask of indifference remained firmly in place. “Don’t make this about me,” he said coldly. “You’re not here for me. You’re here because you swore the same oath I did.”

“And that’s all I am to you? Another oath? Another pawn in Maeve’s games?”

His silence was answer enough.

The room felt impossibly small, the air thick with unspoken words and frayed emotions. She took a shaky breath, forcing herself to speak even as her heart ached. “You can’t keep doing this, Lorcan. Pushing me away, shutting me out. It’s not going to make the bond disappear.”

His expression darkened, his lips pulling into a tight line. “The bond doesn’t matter,” he said harshly. “It doesn’t mean anything. Not to me.”

The words were a dagger to her chest, and she staggered back as if he’d physically struck her.

He saw the hurt flash across her face and immediately hated himself for it, but he didn’t take the words back. He couldn’t. Not when the truth was so much harder to face.

“Fine,” she said, her voice breaking. “If it doesn’t mean anything, then neither do I.”

Before he could respond, she turned and stormed out, the door slamming shut behind her.

Lorcan stood there, staring at the empty space she’d left behind, the weight of his words crashing down on him. He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms, but the pain was nothing compared to the ache spreading through his chest.

For the first time in centuries, he felt something dangerously close to regret.

But Lorcan was too stubborn to let go of his pride. She would understand at some point. That he is not meant to have a mate.

The bond, while recently discovered by the both of them, lay unacknowledged by either. Though he could see how much the female whom he has known for so long is trying to create something out of this.

But it would be useless. Lorcan knew it. He was not meant to have a mate. How could one ever have a mate after walking a lonely road for so long? Too much blood, too many sins on his hands.

Besides, he was too much of a monster to even know anything outside of pain, bloodshed, loss and anger. His shadows, his demons constantly consumed him and that was enough to draw him away from everyone. Including her.

—————

Y/n had loved him for as long as she could remember. Well, maybe not from the very start because the way they met wasn’t quite under the best conditions.

She was a rebel, part of a secret organization that went against those in power. She still remembers how one hundred and fifty years ago, she was captured by The Cadre and brought to Doranelle.

There, under Maeve’s orders she was questioned. Fenrys and Gavriel constantly tried going the diplomatic way and ease her into talking while Lorcan and Rowan would just vote to have her tortured.

Y/n smiled at the memory.

Though they all started at the wrong foot, eventually she grew closer with the males, even going as far as to prove her usefulness to Maeve and swearing a blood oath, a choice she has come to very much regret.

The boys see her as a part of them now. A younger sister and a very capable fighter with a unique power.

But Lorcan…..he has always been this way and not just towards her but to the others too. It just hurt a little more because she unfortunately grew to deeply care for him.

That is why, on one random day when both her and Lorcan found out about their bond was also the moment all her dreams with him came crashing down.

He said very hurtful things that day, how he would never accept it. How he will never even acknowledge it and neither should she.

Y/n tried, she really tried to get through to him but alas, everyone has a breaking point. And yesterday was the final straw for her.

How much longer is that prick going to choose Maeve over his mate? His fucking mate!!

How much longer is he going to follow every order of that poisonous queen and defend her in every argument?

It hurt….and she was tired. Tired of trying to get through to him. She has been doing that from the moment they met and now it was time to stop.

Y/n sighed as she cleared her mind, put on her stoic mask, straightened her shoulders and entered the sitting room of Doranelle’s Grand Stone Palace, designed specifically to fit the taste of her bitchy majesty, Queen Maeve.

Upon entrance however, she noticed that the queen is yet to arrive. Rowan, Fenrys and Gavriel were all scattered around the room, with the silver haired warrior standing next to the gigantic windows and watching the view over Doranelle and the latter two sitting on opposite armchairs.

Lorcan was nowhere to be seen but, she would not concern herself with the thoughts of him.

"Y/n! Finally you are here." Gavriel's voice brought her back as she looked to see all three of them looked straight at her.

Y/n offered a tight smile to Gavriel as she moved further into the room. Fenrys shot her a grin, his golden eyes sparkling with mischief. “Well, well, look who finally decided to grace us with her presence. Let me guess, Lorcan was brooding too much, and you needed a break?”

Y/n snorted, pulling off her gloves and tossing them onto a side table. “More like I was brooding, and he needed a break.”

Rowan turned from the window, his piercing gaze scanning her face. His sharp instincts probably caught the flicker of tension in her shoulders, but he said nothing. Instead, he inclined his head. “How was the mission?”

She shrugged, aiming for nonchalance. “Standard Maeve nonsense. Get in, retrieve the target, fight off a few surprises along the way. Nothing we haven’t done a hundred times before.”

“Yet you look like you’ve been through hell,” Fenrys said, leaning forward in his chair. “What happened out there?”

Y/n hesitated, feeling their eyes on her. She knew they cared, but she couldn’t bring herself to explain the emotional storm that had brewed between her and Lorcan. “The usual,” she said finally. “Maeve’s intelligence wasn’t exactly accurate. There was an ambush.”

Gavriel frowned. “An ambush? Were you injured?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” she said quickly. “We managed.”

“You managed?” Fenrys repeated, a skeptical brow arching. “Sounds like there’s more to that story.”

“There isn’t,” Y/n said firmly, brushing past him and sinking into one of the chairs. “It’s over now. That’s all that matters.”

The males exchanged glances, their concern evident, but they didn’t press further. Instead, Fenrys leaned back with a dramatic sigh. “Well, next time, try not to steal all the excitement. We’ve been stuck here dealing with Maeve’s mood swings. Honestly, I’d take an ambush over her any day.”

Y/n allowed herself a small chuckle. “Careful, Fenrys. She might hear you.”

“Let her,” Fenrys said with a smirk. “I live to irritate her.”

Rowan rolled his eyes. “You live to irritate everyone.”

“True,” Fenrys admitted, grinning. “But I do it so well.”

The light banter was a welcome distraction, and Y/n felt some of the tension in her chest ease. For a moment, it was almost enough to forget the weight of the bond, the mission, and Lorcan’s cold words. Almost.

The grand double doors swung open with a creak, and the room fell silent as Maeve swept in, her dark hair gleaming and her presence commanding as ever. Her sharp eyes scanned the room, lingering briefly on Y/n before flicking to the others.

“Good,” Maeve said, her voice like silk wrapped around steel. “You’re all here.”

Y/n straightened in her seat, instinctively falling into the poised composure Maeve demanded. But then her heart sank as another figure stepped into the room behind the queen.

Lorcan.

His towering presence was as dark and imposing as ever, but it was the way he stood at Maeve’s side, slightly behind her like a shadow, that made Y/n’s stomach churn. He looked as though he belonged there, loyal and unyielding, his gaze sweeping over the room without a flicker of acknowledgment in her direction.

Fenrys stiffened, his usual easygoing demeanor vanishing in an instant. Rowan’s jaw tightened, his expression unreadable. Gavriel was the only one who spoke, his voice calm but tense. “Maeve. Lorcan. What’s the occasion?”

Maeve’s smile was sharp, predatory. “A new directive,” she said, her gaze landing on Y/n. “But first, I’d like to hear about your little adventure.”

Y/n clenched her fists, forcing herself to meet Maeve’s piercing gaze. “The mission was completed successfully,” she said evenly. “We retrieved the artifact and neutralized the threats.”

Maeve’s smile didn’t falter, but her eyes glittered with something that made Y/n’s skin crawl. “Good. I expected no less.”

Lorcan said nothing, his face carved from stone, but his silence was louder than any words. It echoed in the room, in her chest, as Maeve began to speak of their next orders, her voice a cold melody weaving a new web of commands. Y/n barely heard her, her focus splintered by the man standing silently by the queen’s side, the mate who had once again chosen duty over her.

“And you,” Maeve said, her voice honeyed and venomous all at once. “I have a special task for you.”

Y/n’s spine straightened, her expression unreadable, her mask firmly in place. “Of course, my queen.”

Maeve tilted her head, a mockery of affection flickering in her eyes. “I’ve decided to send you on a mission of utmost importance. Alone.”

The room tensed. Fenrys shifted in his seat, his golden eyes flicking to Y/n with concern. Gavriel’s brows furrowed, his mouth opening as if to protest, but one glance from Maeve silenced him. Even Rowan, stoic as ever, allowed his jaw to tighten, his fingers flexing where they rested at his side.

She was never sent on a mission alone. It was always with one of the members because 1. Maeve, no matter how much she pretended, never trusted y/n and 2. The males would always manage to protest against her going alone, though it is not something she hasn't done before.

Y/n didn’t flinch. She didn’t allow even the faintest crack in her calm facade. “What would you have me do?”

Maeve’s smile widened, pleased with her composure. “There is a rebel camp in the northern cliffs. They’ve been meddling in my affairs, intercepting important supplies. I want you to dismantle them—destroy their operation entirely.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Rowan finally broke it, his voice carefully measured. “The northern cliffs are treacherous, especially this time of year.”

“Which is precisely why I’m entrusting this to her,” Maeve said smoothly, her gaze never leaving y/n. “She has proven herself capable time and time again. Haven’t you?”

Y/n inclined her head. “I’ll see it done.”

A flicker of something unreadable crossed Lorcan’s face, but he stayed silent, his broad shoulders stiff. Fenrys leaned forward, his hands gripping the armrests of his chair. “With all due respect, this is suicide. Send at least one of us with her.”

Maeve’s expression hardened, her voice cutting like a blade. “Did I ask for your opinion, Fenrys?”

He clenched his jaw, leaning back in his chair but shooting y/n a glance filled with unspoken worry. Gavriel tried next, his tone more diplomatic. “She is capable, yes, but even the most skilled warriors can be overwhelmed. Perhaps a small team would ensure success.”

Maeve’s gaze snapped to him, her smile razor-sharp. “Are you questioning my decision, lion?”

“No, my queen,” Gavriel said softly, bowing his head.

Maeve turned back to y/n, her tone almost sweet again. “I trust you will not fail me.”

“I won’t,” y/n said evenly, ignoring the tension radiating from every male in the room.

“Good,” Maeve said, stepping closer, her presence suffocating. “You leave at dawn.”

Without another word, Maeve swept out of the room, her dark gown trailing behind her like the shadow of death itself. And Lorcan behind her.

As the door closed, the room erupted.

But even through all the worries, all the scoldings, all the words said by the three males, her brothers, y/n's mind was only filled with the sense of betrayal.

He didn't even protest. Didn't even stand against Maeve. Didn't even offer to join y/n. His mate.

This has to be some cruel joke fate is playing on her.

----------

Y/n was alone, methodically packing her gear. Her hands worked quickly, though her mind was a maelstrom. She refused to dwell on the danger of the mission, on the implications of Maeve sending her alone. This was just another test, another way to prove she could survive whatever hell was thrown her way.

A knock sounded at her door. She didn’t bother turning, knowing who it was. “What do you want, Lorcan?”

The door opened without her invitation, and he stepped inside, shutting it firmly behind him. He didn’t speak at first, his dark eyes scanning her as if trying to decipher her thoughts. Finally, he said, “You shouldn’t go.”

She didn’t stop packing. “Not your decision to make.”

“It’s reckless,” he snapped, his voice low and sharp. “Maeve’s playing games, and you’re letting her.”

Y/n spun to face him, her eyes blazing. “Letting her? Did you not hear me back there? She gave me an order, Lorcan. What would you have me do, defy her?”

His silence was damning.

“Exactly,” she said bitterly, turning back to her pack. “You’d rather I die proving myself than risk questioning her.”

“That’s not fair,” he said, his voice softening, but she rounded on him.

“Fair?” she hissed, her voice shaking with anger. “What part of this is fair, Lorcan? The bond? This gods-damned oath? Maeve holding our lives in her hands? I don’t see you fighting for anything better.”

“I’m not the one running into death for her approval,” he shot back, his tone colder now, defensive.

“No,” she said quietly, the words cutting deeper because they were true. “You’re just the one standing by while she destroys us.”

He flinched as if struck, but she didn’t stop. “You chose her again, Lorcan. You always choose her.”

His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists. “She is my queen.”

“And I’m your mate!” she yelled, the words tumbling out before she could stop them, raw and exposed. “Or does that mean nothing to you?”

For a moment, he didn’t speak. His dark eyes burned with emotion, but when he finally spoke, his voice was icy. “It doesn’t change anything. And we are not mates."

She swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling over her like a physical blow. “You really are a coward, Lorcan.”

Before he could respond, she shoved past him, her pack slung over her shoulder, and walked out the door. She didn’t look back, even when she thought she heard him whisper her name.

When she reached the stables, she mounted her horse and rode into the night, the frigid wind biting at her skin. But the cold was nothing compared to the ache in her chest, the one that reminded her she was truly, irrevocably alone.

The northern cliffs were as treacherous as y/n had anticipated. The jagged terrain, biting winds, and freezing temperatures made every step a trial. Her days were spent navigating narrow paths carved into the mountainside, her sharp eyes scanning for signs of movement. At night, she set up meager camps, always alert for threats, her weapons and magic ready for use. Sleep came in fleeting moments, her instincts honed to the dangers lurking in the shadows.

It had been five days since she left the fortress. Five days of cold, isolation, and silence. She told herself that she didn’t mind the solitude—it was better than the suffocating weight of Lorcan’s words or the betrayal she’d felt when Maeve’s command echoed through the room.

Still, the mission felt… off. She’d found no sign of the rebel camp Maeve had described. The cliffside paths, though rugged, showed no indication of regular travel, and the forests below were eerily still. It was as if the cliffs themselves were abandoned, yet Maeve had insisted that rebels were causing disruption in the area.

“She sent me here for a reason,” y/n thought bitterly, though she wasn’t sure if it was to succeed or fail.

On the sixth day, y/n stumbled upon a narrow gorge that seemed to fit the description of a potential rebel hideout. The entrance was obscured by thick overgrowth, and the cliffs loomed high above, casting long shadows over the path. She hesitated, her instincts prickling. This was the first sign of anything remotely suspicious since she’d arrived.

Cautiously, she advanced, her sword unsheathed as her senses sharpened instinctively. The air was heavy, thick with the scent of damp earth and something metallic. Blood.

She moved swiftly, keeping to the edges of the path. It led to a clearing—a small encampment, or what was left of one. The ground was littered with debris, tents torn apart, supplies scattered as if a storm had swept through. But it wasn’t a storm. The claw marks gouged into the rock told her that something—or someone—had done this.

Kneeling, she examined a broken weapon—a sword, its blade snapped in half. Blood stained the hilt, fresh enough that it hadn’t dried entirely. Her pulse quickened. She was being watched.

The sound of a snapping twig behind her made her whirl, sword raised, ready to strike—but nothing was there.

Yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes boring into her from the shadows. She forced herself to stay calm, to think. If this was a rebel camp, they wouldn’t leave it undefended. If they were gone, where had they gone? And why did the destruction look staged?

Her heart sank as realization dawned. This wasn’t a rebel camp. This was a trap.

The first arrow whistled past her ear, embedding itself into the rock behind her. She ducked instinctively, rolling into a crouch as more arrows followed, peppering the ground where she’d stood. Her claws gleamed in the dim light as she shot forward, seeking cover behind a crumbled tent.

Voices echoed through the gorge—low, guttural commands that sent chills down her spine. She couldn’t see them yet, but they were closing in.

Y/n moved quickly, her breaths steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She darted from cover to cover, her sword slicing through any obstacle in her way. The first attacker emerged—a tall man clad in dark leathers, his face obscured by a hood. He lunged at her with a blade, but she sidestepped, her dark magic aimed right at his chest. He fell with a gurgled cry.

Another came from the right, and she barely dodged the strike aimed at her side. She spun, driving her small but sharp knife into his arm and kicking him backward. But for every one she took down, two more appeared.

Soon, she was surrounded.

Y/n fought like the rebel she was, every movement precise and lethal. She used the terrain to her advantage, leaping onto rocks and darting through narrow paths. 

But there were too many.

An arrow grazed her leg, the sharp pain momentarily throwing her off balance. A sword nicked her arm, blood staining her sleeve. Her breaths came heavier now, her strength waning.

One of the attackers—a burly man with a scar down his face—stepped forward, a cruel grin spreading across his features. “The Queen sends her regards,” he sneered, raising his blade.

Y/n’s heart sank. Maeve had sent her here to die.

The realization stole the last of her resolve. She faltered, just for a second, but it was enough.

The scarred man’s fist connected with her stomach, and she doubled over, the air knocked from her lungs. Before she could recover, another blow landed against her temple, sending her sprawling to the ground.

Her vision blurred, and the world tilted as she tried to push herself up. Hands grabbed her, wrenching her arms behind her back. She struggled, but she was too weak, too drained.

A final strike—a boot slamming into her ribs—left her gasping for air. The edges of her vision darkened, her body refusing to obey her commands.

As she was dragged to her knees, she heard the scarred man chuckle. “Tie her up. The Queen wants her alive—at least for now.”

Y/n’s head lolled to the side, her strength gone. The world around her faded into darkness, the sounds of her captors’ laughter echoing in her ears.

Her last thought before unconsciousness claimed her was bitter and raw.

She sent me here to die, and I have no one left to fight for.

---------

The first week of her absence, Lorcan told himself he was being irrational. She was skilled, ruthless even, and capable of handling herself. Maeve had sent her on this mission for a reason, and despite his misgivings, he trusted y/n to see it through. He buried his worry beneath grueling training sessions and the cold edge of duty, convincing himself that she would return victorious, her sharp wit ready to cut him down the moment he dared to question her ability.

By the second week, unease began to fester. There had been no word from her—no missives sent, no whispers of success or failure. Maeve brushed off his inquiries with a dismissive wave, her cold smile tightening when he pressed. “She’s completing her task, Lorcan. You wouldn’t dare doubt her, would you?”

The third week unraveled him. He had spent every waking moment pacing the grounds, his chest constricting with an unbearable weight. Nightmares plagued him when he did manage to sleep, visions of her broken body haunting his mind. He snapped at everyone—Gavriel, Fenrys, even Rowan—driving wedges into bonds already frayed by his aloofness.

Now, a full month had passed, and there was no room left for denial.

“She’s dead,” Fenrys growled, pacing the chamber like a caged wolf. “Or worse.” His golden eyes were wild, his usually jovial demeanor replaced with simmering fury. “We all know Maeve doesn’t send anyone on a mission like this without an ulterior motive.”

Gavriel sat at the table, his head bowed, his fists clenched. “We don’t know that,” he muttered, though his tone betrayed the hope he was struggling to hold onto.

Rowan leaned against the far wall, his sharp features carved with tension. “Have you noticed Maeve hasn’t mentioned her once since she left? Not a word about the mission or her progress. That’s deliberate.”

Lorcan stood apart from them, his back to the room, staring out the window at the moonlit forest. His jaw was clenched so tightly it ached, and his nails had bitten into his palms, drawing blood.

“She’s alive,” he said at last, his voice low and trembling with suppressed rage.

Fenrys stopped pacing, glaring at him. “You don’t know that. You have no idea what she’s endured out there—alone—while you stood by and let her go.”

The accusation struck like a blade, and Lorcan whirled around, his black eyes blazing. “You think I don’t know that?” he snarled. “You think I don’t feel it every second of every gods-damned day?”

The room fell silent, the air heavy with tension.

“What are you saying?” Gavriel asked, his voice cautious.

Lorcan’s hands trembled as he raked them through his hair, his composure shattering. “She’s my mate,” he admitted, the words spilling out like poison. “She’s my mate, and I let her go. I chose Maeve over her because I was too much of a coward to—” His voice broke, and he turned away, his shoulders heaving.

The silence that followed was deafening.

“You’re telling us this now?” Rowan’s voice was cold, laced with anger. “After she’s been missing for a month?”

“I thought she’d come back,” Lorcan said hoarsely. “I thought she’d be fine. She’s strong. She’s—” His voice cracked, and he slammed a fist against the wall. “I failed her. I failed her because I didn’t want to admit what she meant to me.”

Fenrys sneered, his rage barely contained. “And now she’s out there, suffering gods know what, because of you.”

Despite their anger, the Cadre couldn’t abandon her. She was one of their own—or at least, she had been before Maeve’s manipulations twisted their loyalties.

Rowan took charge, his strategic mind cutting through the chaos. “We’ll have to do this without Maeve finding out. If she even suspects we’re undermining her, she’ll punish us all.”

“And y/n,” Gavriel added grimly.

Lorcan barely heard them, his mind consumed with images of her—alone, wounded, dying. He couldn’t let himself think she might already be dead. If she was gone, the bond would have snapped, wouldn’t it? But it hadn’t. It was still there, faint but unbroken, like a fragile thread connecting him to her.

“We’ll start at the cliffs,” Rowan continued. “That’s where she was sent. If Maeve wanted her gone, she wouldn’t make it easy to find her body—or what’s left of it.”

Fenrys shot Lorcan a glare. “You’d better hope she’s alive, or I’ll make you wish you’d died with her.”

The journey to the cliffs was brutal, the terrain unforgiving. They traveled under the cover of night, avoiding Maeve’s spies and using every ounce of their combined skill to remain undetected.

They did not rest. Not even once. And even if they did, Lorcan knew that he would leave his brothers behind to find her. He would not rest until he found her. Hopefully, alive because if not....

Lorcan did not want to think about that and the hell he would raise if that were the case.

When they reached the cliffs, the sight that greeted them confirmed their worst fears. Blood stained the ground, long since dried, and the remnants of a camp lay scattered, eerily quiet.

“She was here,” Gavriel said, his voice tight with anguish.

Lorcan knelt, his fingers brushing the bloodied earth. It felt wrong—cold and empty, as if the life had been drained from the place. His chest tightened, and the bond tugged at him, faint but insistent.

“She’s close,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “She’s still alive.”

The Cadre exchanged wary glances, but they followed him deeper into the gorge, their weapons drawn.

They found her at dawn.

She was chained to a rock in a dark cavern, her body battered and broken. Her clothes were torn, her skin marred with bruises and cuts, and her breathing was shallow. Her once-bright eyes were closed, her face pale and gaunt.

Lorcan froze, his heart shattering at the sight.

“She’s alive,” Fenrys said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lorcan didn’t wait. He rushed to her side, his hands trembling as he broke the chains binding her. “y/n,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Please, wildling, wake up.”

Her eyelids fluttered, and for a moment, her gaze met his. There was no recognition in her eyes, only pain and exhaustion.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’ve got you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

As he cradled her broken body in his arms, the weight of his guilt crashed down on him. He had failed her in every way possible, but he wouldn’t fail her again.

“Let’s get her out of here,” Rowan said, his voice tight. “Before Maeve realizes what we’ve done.”

Lorcan nodded, his jaw set with determination. He would burn the world for her, tear it apart piece by piece if he had to.

And when Maeve found out, he would be ready.

Lorcan cradled y/n against his chest as they made their way out of the cavern, her body limp and fragile in his arms. Her shallow breathing was the only reassurance he had that she was still alive. His every instinct screamed at him to run, to put as much distance as possible between them and this gods-forsaken place, but he knew better. They weren’t safe yet.

The bond tugged at him, a faint but insistent reminder of her fragility. It was his lifeline now, urging him forward through the oppressive darkness of the cliffs.

Rowan took point, his sharp gaze scanning the shadows ahead. Gavriel brought up the rear, his sword drawn and his senses on high alert. Fenrys prowled beside Lorcan, his golden eyes flashing with barely-contained fury.

“She’s too quiet,” Fenrys muttered, his voice low and tense. “We need to move faster.”

“She’s breathing,” Lorcan snapped, though his voice wavered. “That’s all that matters right now.”

The moment they stepped out of the cavern into the pale light of dawn, the attack came.

A hail of arrows rained down from the cliffs above, forcing them to scatter. Lorcan twisted his body, shielding y/n with his own as he dove behind a jagged boulder.

“Move!” Rowan barked, his wind magic deflecting the arrows with a gust that sent them clattering harmlessly to the ground.

The enemy poured down the rocky slopes—Maeve’s minions, cloaked in shadow and armed to the teeth. Their feral grins gleamed in the dim light, their eyes alight with cruel intent.

“They know we have her!” Fenrys shouted, drawing his twin blades.

Gavriel let out a low growl, his lion-like strength cutting through the first wave of attackers. “We’ll have to fight our way out!”

Lorcan’s grip on y/n tightened as he pressed his back against the boulder, his mind racing. He couldn’t fight—not with her in his arms—but he also couldn’t let her go.

Rowan appeared at his side, his ice-blue eyes blazing. “Can you hold them off while I take her?”

“No,” Lorcan snapped. The thought of letting her out of his grasp was unbearable. “You clear the path. I’ll carry her.”

Rowan hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. “Stay close.”

Chaos erupted as the cadre launched themselves into the fray. Rowan’s wind and ice magic tore through the ranks of their attackers, sending bodies flying into the jagged rocks. Fenrys moved like a shadow, his blades flashing as he cut down anyone who got too close. Gavriel fought with brutal precision, his strikes swift and lethal.

But their enemies kept coming, waves of them spilling out of the cliffs like a swarm.

Lorcan’s every step was a battle. He ducked and weaved through the melee, his muscles burning from the effort of carrying y/n’s dead weight while avoiding strikes. His sword remained sheathed—his focus was entirely on her.

“Lorcan, behind you!” Fenrys shouted.

Lorcan twisted just in time to see a dagger aimed at his back. He snarled, releasing a pulse of his power that sent the attacker sprawling. The effort cost him, though—his legs trembled as he stumbled forward, the weight of y/n and his exhaustion dragging him down.

A group of Maeve’s soldiers broke through Rowan’s defenses, their eyes locked on Lorcan and y/n.

“Over my dead body,” Lorcan growled, shifting her weight slightly as he braced himself for the charge.

But before they could reach him, a silver blur streaked past—Fenrys. He leapt into the fray, his movements a deadly dance as he tore through the soldiers with savage efficiency.

“You’re slowing us down,” Fenrys barked as he dispatched the last of them.

“Shut up and fight,” Lorcan snarled back.

Rowan’s sharp whistle cut through the chaos. “Now! Move!”

The cadre regrouped, their enemies momentarily scattered. Rowan’s magic formed a protective barrier of ice and wind, giving them a few precious seconds to retreat.

“We’re not going to hold them off forever,” Gavriel warned as they sprinted toward the treeline.

“We just need to make it far enough to lose them,” Rowan said, though his tone was grim.

Lorcan’s chest burned with every breath, but he didn’t stop. Y/n’s head lolled against his shoulder, her face pale and bloodied. Hold on, he willed her silently. Just hold on.

As they reached the forest, Rowan dropped the barrier, and the group plunged into the shadows of the trees. The dense undergrowth slowed their pursuers, giving the cadre a chance to put some distance between them.

“We need to split up,” Rowan said. “Fenrys, take Gavriel and lead them away. Lorcan and I will take y/n and head for the rendezvous point.”

Fenrys opened his mouth to argue, but a single look from Rowan silenced him.

“Go,” Rowan ordered.

With a growl, Fenrys and Gavriel peeled off, drawing the enemy’s attention.

The silence that followed was deafening. Only the sound of Lorcan’s ragged breathing and the faint rustle of leaves broke the stillness as he and Rowan made their way deeper into the forest.

When they finally stopped, Lorcan sank to his knees, cradling y/n as though she might disappear if he let go.

“She’s alive,” Rowan said, though his voice was heavy with doubt. “But barely.”

Lorcan couldn’t respond. His hands trembled as he brushed a strand of blood-matted hair from her face. Guilt and rage warred within him, threatening to consume him whole.

“We’ll get her back,” Rowan said, his voice firm. “But you need to keep it together.”

Lorcan’s jaw tightened as he looked up at Rowan. “If she dies…” His voice broke, and he couldn’t finish the sentence.

“She won’t,” Rowan said, his eyes fierce. “Not if we have anything to say about it.”

Lorcan nodded, swallowing hard as he forced himself to his feet. He wouldn’t let her die. Not like this. Not when he had failed her so utterly.

And Maeve… Maeve would pay for this.

------

The first thing Y/N registered was the scent of wood smoke and herbs, mingling with the faint, earthy aroma of rain-soaked soil. The air was warm, almost stifling, and it felt heavier than it should have. Her body ached with a dull, persistent throb, as though she had been wrung out and left to dry.

She blinked against the dim light filtering through a small, cracked window, her vision swimming before settling on the modest, cramped interior of a hut. The walls were made of rough-hewn logs, the roof thatched, and a single table sat in the corner, cluttered with vials and bandages.

Where am I?

The thought was fleeting, overridden by a sudden awareness of weight—solid, grounding, and entirely foreign—pressing against her. She shifted slightly, hissing at the pull of her tender muscles, and turned her head to look down.

Her breath caught.

Lorcan.

His head was resting on her stomach, his dark hair falling in unruly strands over his face. His massive frame was hunched over, as though even in sleep, he couldn’t quite relax. One arm was draped over her waist, the other gripping the edge of the makeshift bed she lay on. His hold was tight, almost desperate, as if he feared she would vanish if he let go.

For a moment—a fleeting, fragile moment—something in her chest softened. He looked so unlike himself, so vulnerable and human, and it was a stark contrast to the cold, stoic warrior she knew.

But then it all came rushing back.

The mission. The ambush. The betrayal. His cruel words.

Her face hardened, and a sharp burst of anger surged through her. How dare he?

Without thinking, she raised her hand and swatted the back of his head.

Lorcan jolted awake instantly, his head snapping up as his body went rigid, his instincts kicking in. His hand reached for a weapon that wasn’t there, his eyes wild and dark, scanning for danger.

Then his gaze landed on her, and he froze.

“Y/N?” His voice was a hoarse whisper, raw with disbelief.

Her eyes, dull and tired, met his. “Surprised to see me alive?” she asked, her tone cutting but drained of its usual bite.

Relief flooded his features, followed quickly by a maelstrom of emotions she couldn’t decipher—shock, guilt, anger at himself, and something she wasn’t ready to name.

“You’re awake,” he murmured, as though saying it aloud would make it real.

“No thanks to you,” she muttered, shifting uncomfortably as she tried to sit up.

“Don’t,” he said quickly, his hands moving to steady her. “You’re not ready—”

“I’m fine,” she snapped, shrugging him off.

She wasn’t fine. Her body screamed in protest, and her head swam, but she forced herself upright, ignoring the way his hands hovered near her, ready to catch her if she faltered.

“Where are we?” she asked, her voice clipped.

Lorcan cleared his throat, straightening as he rubbed the back of his neck. “A healer’s hut. A friend of Fenrys’—a trusted one. It’s safe here, for now.”

“For now,” she repeated bitterly. Her gaze swept the room, noting its sparse furnishings and the faint smell of damp wood.

“You’ve been unconscious for two weeks,” Lorcan continued cautiously, as if afraid of her reaction. “We’ve been... waiting for you to wake up.”

“Two weeks,” she echoed, her tone flat. “And where are the others?”

“Rowan and Gavriel went back to ensure Maeve hasn’t caught on to our escape, or atleast somehow keep the situation stable.” he explained. “Fenrys stayed with us.”

“Of course, Fenrys did.” She exhaled sharply, leaning back against the headboard.

Lorcan flinched at her tone but didn’t argue. “I—”

“You what?” she interrupted, her eyes narrowing. “What could you possibly have to say, Lorcan?”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, she thought he might retreat behind his usual walls. But then he surprised her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low and rough. “For everything.”

She didn’t respond immediately. She didn’t have the energy to yell or argue, not anymore. She just looked at him, her expression unreadable.

“You said Maeve was your queen,” she said quietly, her voice devoid of emotion. “You said you’d always choose her over me. So why are you here, Lorcan?”

He flinched as if she’d struck him. “I was wrong,” he said, his voice breaking. “I was so gods-damned wrong. And I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness—hells, I don’t even deserve to be here. But I—” He hesitated, his hands curling into fists. “I couldn’t lose you. Not like that.”

Her laugh was hollow, devoid of humor. “Congratulations, Lorcan. You didn’t lose me. But what’s left of me isn’t much, so I hope you’re satisfied.”

Her words hit him like a blow, and the guilt in his eyes deepened. “Don’t say that,” he whispered.

“Why not?” she asked, her voice rising slightly. “It’s true. I’m tired, Lorcan. I’m tired of fighting, tired of trying, tired of—” She broke off, her hands trembling as she clenched the blanket.

Lorcan dropped to his knees beside the bed, his hands hovering near hers but not quite touching. “I know I hurt you,” he said, his voice trembling. “I know I failed you. And I’ll never forgive myself for that. But please, y/n... please don’t give up. Not now. Not when you’re here, alive.”

She looked away, her jaw tight, her expression unreadable.

“I’ll fix this,” he said desperately. “I don’t know how, but I’ll fix it. I’ll keep you safe. I swear it on my life.”

“Words,” she muttered, her tone laced with exhaustion. “They’re just words, Lorcan.”

He bowed his head, his shoulders sagging under the weight of her dismissal. But he didn’t leave. He stayed there, on his knees, as though the very act of being near her was penance.

And for a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence was heavy, oppressive, and filled with everything they couldn’t bring themselves to say.

Eventually, she lay back down, turning her face away from him. “I wish to be alone.”

He nodded, his throat working as he forced himself to his feet. “I’ll be right here,” he said softly, retreating to his chair.

She didn’t respond, and as her breathing evened out, Lorcan watched her, his heart breaking anew. He had been a fool, and now the woman who held his soul was a shadow of herself. Someone who just went through so much trauma while he sat aside and watched it happen.

His y/n was gone, the female in front of him was an empty shell.

And it was all his fault.

———————————————————————

[delilaeh]

breaking tumblr hiatus just to say i just finished playing all the dragon age games back to back without knowing anything about the series and it has changed my brain chemistry. solas and inquisitor lavellan made me feel a way i haven't felt about a couple since i was 17 years old . i am a new woman. i am HURT. trespasser made me go through the 5 stages of grief I can't believe people have been sitting on that ending for 10 years

[pinayelf-archive]

[throneofsapphics]

between the heavens and the embers

Fenyrs x f!Reader

Summary: Day 4, “She will die, thinking you never loved her.” With Fenrys

Warnings: terminal illness, discussions of death/death, angst 

kinktober masterlist

Of course Aelin had kept in contact with her, he thought bitterly. Or at least caught wind of what was happening through the city's gossip. After their split, he went through extensive efforts to avoid anywhere she frequented. Nowhere felt safe, and he’d begged Aelin to send him abroad again. 

Y/n, dying, the one he could never quite ‘get over’ as they’d all say. The rest of their court had passed years ago, and he found solace in her shortly after. Still, he left. Maybe it was fear, at the time he thought his own immortality would be a blessing - giving him plenty of time to move on or to find someone new.

“It’s .. it’s nothing about you.” 

“You told me forever,” tears streamed down her face and he hated himself for a moment, hated himself for giving her that kind of hope. 

“I shouldn’t have said that.” He replied tightly, forcing any emotion out of his voice - a neutral mask, perfected over the centuries, slid over his features. 

“Gods” She scoffed, fingers tugging at her hair. He gripped the fabric of his pants, fighting the urge to reach out and pull her hands away, to take them into his own. “Was all of this a lie? All of the times you told me you loved me?” 

He winced at the pure resentment in his voice, a crack appearing in his mask. Still, he was protecting her from the reality of growing old while he would stay young. “I spoke without thinking.” He was digging himself a greater hole, going past the point of return. 

“Leave.” Her voice was cold. “I don’t want to see you again.” He gave her a short nod and turned. He allowed himself to glance back once, but she’d already disappeared inside. 

-

Fenrys debated turning around at least twenty times during the walk to her house, on the outskirts of Orynth. Enough that he shifted and trotted through the trees lining the road - it would do no good to scare the living daylights out of anyone walking by. Things were simpler in his animal form, although the desire to flee was still there, it wasn’t quite as strong. She still lived in the same place as a decade ago. He steeled himself, trying to summon all of his courage as he made it. For Gods sake, he’s charged onto battlefields, fought enemies he was certain he’d lose against, faced the drudgery of foreign courts; this shouldn’t be this difficult. Finally, he arrived at her house. The yard was littered with people he recognized - her family, and he stopped outside the fence. Based on the wicked glares he was receiving, they recognized exactly who he was. 

He didn’t call out or ask, only waited to see what they would do. Even if he wanted to say something, he couldn’t be certain his voice wouldn’t break. A woman disappeared inside and he heard muttered voices, angry rebukes, and then the calm melody of hers - sounding the exact same as she did a decade ago, down to each inflection and pause.

The door swung open and he held his breath. She exited and ushered everyone else back inside, ignoring and shutting down their protests. Curious faces, young and old, peered through the curtains.

She walked with ease for someone dying of a terminal illness, and paused a foot away from him, on the other side of the fence. 

He stood outside of the fence waiting for her, on time for once. He’d promised to take her on a date and held a small bunch of her favorite wildflowers flowers in his hand, ones he’d picked on his way here. She bounded outside with a smile on her face, closing the door behind her. 

“You showed up,” she grinned and almost ran the rest of the way. 

“Did you doubt me?” He teased 

“Is there something you need?” The words were polite, but indifferent and a strained smile was pasted on her face. Mentally he ran through all of the different ways he’d tried to justify his actions fifty years ago. 

“I’m sorry.” 

She raised an eyebrow and rolled her eyes. “And?” 

-

She didn’t believe it until she saw the male standing there, on the other side of her fence, just like he had ten years ago. Y/n tried to tamper down the bitterness and resentment, to ‘let it go,’ as everyone told her she should’ve years ago. Still, he’d left with no idea she was pregnant, and any letters she tried to send him were never answered and likely never opened or delivered. There wasn’t a chance or a way to actually tell him, and she debated whether or not to tell him now. Somehow, he’d never caught wind of it and her kids stayed back far enough he couldn’t catch wind of their scents. 

“I regret … my actions.” 

She blinked once, trying to clear her vision and make sure this was real and not some figment of her imagination. 

“Thank you?” Her voice trailed up at the end, uncertain if that’s actually a proper reply or not. Gods, she’d been in several awkward situations over the years but this might top the rest of them. 

She chewed on her bottom lip, debating whether or not to make her confession. She’d raised two beautiful children, at least for the first decade of their lives. As a single mother … she was reluctant to let go of them. 

-

“There’s … people you should meet.” 

His heart dropped and he felt the urge to sprint - to run far away from here. He knew exactly what she meant. She took one glance at him, and turned. Probably testing to see if he would run again but … Fenrys forced himself to stay still, to keep in place while she made her way back to the house. 

She came out a minute later with two children, males and twins. One hand braced each of their shoulders. They couldn’t be older than ten, and he had no doubts they were his. For fucks sake he was a father. Even without scenting their heritage, their features gave it away. They looked just like him and … he swallowed the thought, even centuries later it was still fresh, the memories still too difficult to bring to the forefront of his mind. 

-

“I never spoke ill of you to them, and never let anyone else. If you were wondering. I never let anyone else, either.” He sat next to her on a bench, watching as the two sprinted around the large backyard, chasing each other with wooden swords. It faced the mountains, expanding into a beautiful view of the Staghorns. He could feel the breeze of the wind, and if he closed his eyes, he could smell the pine and snow. 

“You had every right to.” He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the two children, wincing as one hit the other on the back of the knees. He’d had no idea of what to say to them, how to even interact, but he supposed he’d have people to introduce them to. Gods if he had to ask Rowan for parenting advice, he’d never hear the end of it. 

They sat in silence, and he’d forgotten how nice it is to sit in her presence, how she'd always … steady, for lack of a better word. 

“The healer says they will settle,” y/n’s voice was hoarse now and in his peripheral he spotted her brushing a tear away. “I understand if it’s too much, but would you …” 

“I’ll look after them.” He promised, and without thinking he grasped one of her hands in his own. She didn’t pull away and he squeezed gently before letting go. Her hand fell flat against the wood of the bench, and her fingers flexed, digging in slightly before she returned it to her lap. She didn’t look at him, but a ghost of a smile crossed her face, gone before he could memorize it. The memories of her had grown hazy over the years, but now he wanted to take in every inch of her, commit it all to memory so years from now he could still remember her. Not necessarily out of love, but as a reminder. A reminder of how badly he’d messed up. He owed her that, owed himself that. 

-

“AELIN.” Fenrys roared, pounding on the Queen’s door. He’d returned several hours past sundown, the sky dark and lit only by the moon and several of the city’s inhabitants asleep in their beds. 

“What the fuck?” She cursed, and he heard both her and Rowan moving. He raised his hand to knock again, but the door swung open and a pissed off looking Queen and King consort stood in front of him. Still, if they knew about his kids … that anger would be nothing compared to his. 

“Did you know?” He said through gritted teeth. 

She crossed her arms, propping her wait on one hip. “I did, and I told you.” She said slowly, as if she was talking to a child - taunting him. 

“You never told me.” 

“I told you this morning!” 

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “The other thing.” 

“Just tell us what it is, Fenrys.” Rowan said, his voice low and eyes half-lidded with sleep. That’s a change from the Rowan from centuries ago. If he’d pounded on their door like that, he’d be greeted by a knife to his throat or poised to slip between his ribs. 

“I’m. A. Father.” 

Aelin’s mouth parted, Rowan blinked once, and relief flooded through him that he hadn’t known. 

“Come in,” Rowan stood aside, letting him slip inside the room.

-

Fenrys stood a foot behind his two children, Rowan on his right, Aelin on his left, and brushed a stray tear away as they lowered the casket.  

His mind drifted to what he found the other day. First, he was shocked when her family asked him to help clean things out, but he supposed he was a step or two further away from her, and maybe they assumed it would hurt him less. Regardless, he felt … honored they trusted him with a task like that. 

He fought back tears as he opened the drawers, lifting out the variety of letters crumpled into there and spotted a fresh piece of folded paper, a barely legible scrawl on the top, one word … his name. Apparently her handwriting had never improved over the years. With shaky hands, he unfolded it. 

Fenrys, 

You’re a good male and a good father. 

Take care of our boys. I trust you. 

He blinked back the tears, he’d spent the days since she passed swallowed in a cloud of grief and worry. First hand, he knew how incredible of a mother she was and how the twins loved her. Six months, he’d had six months to watch her and learn but it hadn’t felt like enough and he doubted it ever will. But, y/n having faith in him, even trusting him, made some of the doubts fade.

[echoes-sounds]

“I won’t wait for you” is the biggest lie he would ever utter. He would wait, and he is. Years of waiting, pleading and bargaining for a chance to see her again. Sometimes there are no deals to be struck, sometimes there is only the weight of loss and the hope that somehow some way she will find her way home to him.

[shadowdaddies]

Reunited - Part III

Fenrys x Reader

Part 1 | Part 2

Summary: After years of working as a spy in Adarlan, you are finally reunited with your cousin, Aelin, as you join the war to reclaim Terrasen and bring peace to Erilea. What you don't expect is to meet your mate in the middle of a war.

A/N: for those whom I told the next parts would be less angsty... that doesn't refer to this one I'm so sorry

Warnings: canon-typical violence, KOA spoilers

Your muscles were heavy from peaceful sleep, a satisfied smile gracing your lips as eyes fluttered open to see Aedion and Gavriel standing at the opposite side of the room from where you lay.

Forcing yourself to sit up, you looked around to find yourself in a tent, piles of blankets and furs draped over where you had been sleeping on the ground.

“She’ll be furious with you,” Aedion whispered, seemingly unaware that you had awoken. “But I thank you,” he ground out, the resistance clear in his tone as he looked to your father. 

Gavriel’s tawny eyes flicked to you, lined with sorrow as memories came rushing back. Your entire body heated with pure rage and fear, nails clawing into the covers of your makeshift bed as you tossed the covers away. 

“You,” you seethed, eyes wide and teeth bared as you stood to face Gavriel. It was Aedion who stepped between you, his eyes showing a vulnerability you had yet to see him reveal in front of your father. 

“I know you are upset. But for once,” he glanced pointedly at Gavriel, “he did the right thing. No good could have come from Maeve knowing that you are Fenrys’s mate.”

Hearing his name unleashed a wave of emotion, a lump catching in your throat as the bond screamed inside of you, longing for your other half. “He’s gone,” you whispered, voice breaking as painful, hopeless thoughts eddied in a whirlpool, threatening to drown you. “I may never truly know my mate, because of you,” you growled the last word, tone piercing Gavriel enough to make him flinch.

Aedion fully stepped in front of you, his hands cupping your cheeks, covering your father from your view. “Listen to me. Maeve would have used you to torture him. She would have used you to torture Aelin. Saving him was not an option when he is so close to Maeve. Their blood oath is too strong.”

Your eyes shuttered as the hopeless realization crashed over you like an ocean wave knocking you below the surface. You stepped back, willing your thoughts to calm enough to look at Gavriel’s face, his expression full of guilt and worry. “I swear to you, we will find him. We will free him, if it is the last thing that I do.” He spoke with such conviction, you felt your heart soften, suddenly feeling guilty for how you had spoken to Gavriel.

Before you could find the words to apologize, Gavriel continued. “That is why we are headed north. Aedion leaves for Orynth shortly, but we will be joining Rowan along with Lorcan and Elide. So long as you feel that bond in your chest, we can use it to find Fenrys and Aelin.”

You nodded, shifting into the familiar mindset of a spy as you had lived for so long. “When do we leave?” 

A soft, proud smile graced Aedion’s lips, your brother pulling you in for a hug as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “I leave now. I had just come to say goodbye,” he murmured. It was an all too familiar sentiment in your family - the sacrifice of leaving your loved ones in the name of duty. 

“Stay safe. I will see you soon,” you responded, not an encouragement, but an oath - one that you clung to, your chest tight as your brother disappeared out the tent. Gaze flicking to Gavriel, you raised your eyebrows in silent question.

“We leave as soon as Rowan returns from the neighboring town. He and Elide are there looking for information from the locals, and we will decide where to travel from there.” All you could manage was a nod, your emotions still roiling deep within underneath your calm facade. 

You packed in silence, Gavriel’s stare burning into your side as you avoided interaction. You had just finished packing and dismantling your tent when Rowan and Elide returned, their eyes lit with a similar wired determination as your own. 

Pine green eyes locked with yours, an unspoken understanding passing between you and Rowan - that the two of you would allow the world to burn to ash before you would allow it to take your mates.

“We’re leaving for Doranelle,” Rowan announced, brooking no room for questions before he helped load your and Elide’s bags onto horses. Giving Rowan a sharp nod, you followed suit, gathering necessities for the journey. 

The dying embers of the campfire the only trace of your existence in the forest, your group headed for Doranelle, Rowan letting out a cry as he shifted into hawk form, soaring above as you journeyed below. The day passed mostly in silence, tensions thick between you and your father, and Elide and Lorcan. 

At your request, Elide explained in brief detail why you were headed towards one of Maeve’s strongholds. She and Rowan had come across one of Maeve’s soldiers at an inn, but the shudder that passed through her when you asked for more told you all that you needed to know about how Rowan acquired that information, and you let the conversation drop.

The sun had long since set when fatigue weighed heavy on your bones, head aching from lack of food and rest. Gavriel sensed it, his too-knowing eyes scanning your sluggish movements, the limp that Elide was trying to hide. 

“We will stop here for the night,” he spoke, low voice not allowing any arguments, not that you could form any. You practically crashed into the ground where you stood at his words, Elide settling next to you as Lorcan gathered kindling. 

There remained little talk among the group. You couldn’t speak for others, but you knew that if you tried to speak, emotions would burst forth like water through a broken dam, the carefully maintained mask of strength you were wearing to be shattered into pieces. Gavriel, Lorcan, and Elide mumbled their good nights, while you and Rowan sat by the fire. 

The twisting, flickering flames held your attention in a captivating dance, the only distraction you could find from the constant agony you felt throughout your body, the unbearable weight of your mate’s pain echoing in each fiber of your soul.

You dared a glance at Rowan, his sharp eyes moving from the fire towards you. You supposed the fire meant something different to him - a reminder of his other half, the closest thing he had to her in this moment. It was a different kind of pain, but one that you could understand as the others did not.

“Do you feel her, too?” you managed, voice cracking through the strained whisper. Rowan’s brow dipped, confusion flickering across his features before understanding settled. 

“No,” he choked, and you worried that you had said the wrong thing. “No, I cannot feel her through the bond. I think whatever  But I know she is there, she is alive. That much I can feel.” A shaky breath escaped you, eyes lining with silver as you curled into your body, gaze focused back on the flames in front of you.

“Can you? Feel him?” Rowan pressed, voice soft as the night breeze. Your eyes squeezed shut, the only hope you had to keep those tears from falling, but one escaped, cold warm against your chilled skin as it traced your cheek.

“Yes,” you breathed, a sob building in your lungs as you gasped for air. “Yes, I feel everything. I feel his pain, I feel his loneliness, I-“

Words were stolen from your lungs as your chest seized, inexplicable pain, grief, bringing you to your knees. You were vaguely aware of Rowan’s presence, a warm hand on your back as sobs wracked your body. Wave after wave of grief and shame barreled into you, body shaking with the force of emotions being thrust upon you.

“Breathe,” Rowan murmured, his hand on your back a grounding comfort as the emotions faded, a distinct numbness filling your senses. Emptiness consumed your being, the only reminder that you were still alive the flames in front of you. 

Silver hair illuminated in the firelight, moving into your vision as Rowan kneeled in front of you. “Can you say... what happened?” he breathed, fear in his eyes as he dared the question.

“He’s not... he isn’t dead,” you managed, the knot in your chest loosening slightly as Rowan visibly relaxed. “Something terrible happened, Rowan. If what I felt was only a small part of what Fenrys is feeling...” Whatever hold you had on your own emotions was lost in that moment, tears falling freely as you cried.

Another hand landed on your shoulder, and you looked up through blurry eyes to see your father watching you, heartbreak written on his features. On instinct, you crashed into him, throwing your arms around Gavriel’s neck, breathing in his comforting scent. 

Conversations were happening in the background - Lorcan and Elide apparently also wakened by your cries - but you held onto your father, finding a small piece of solace in having him here.

Gavriel’s hand lifted, a canteen handed to him which he brought to your hands. “Here, drink this,” he murmured, tawny eyes observing carefully as your shaky hands gripped the vessel. Forcing small sips of water down your throat, breathing came easier, and you noticed Rowan, Lorcan, and Elide all standing nearby. 

“I’m not going to stay the night,” Rowan said, moving back towards where you sat. “If you want to rest, Gavriel will stay with you and Elide. But if you-“

“I’m going with you,” you interrupted. Rowan merely nodded, as thought your response was exactly what he expected. Lorcan was already moving, packing and loading supplies as Rowan’s power suffocated the fire.

You walked in line with Gavriel, leaves and sticks crunching under your boots as owls hooted against the still-darkened sky. “I can feel him, still,” you murmured, eyes downcast at your scuffed, muddied shoes. “I feel him, but it’s different than before. He’s... hollow. It’s like this numbness, and I can’t reach his end of the bond, so I don’t know if he can feel me.” 

Your eyes burned with tears you were too drained to shed when Gavriel grabbed your hand, turning you to stop and look up at him. “Do not give up. I know it hurts, I know what Maeve is capable of. But please, be better than me. Fight for Fenrys. He deserves that. You deserve that. And we will find him, and Aelin.”

Pushing up on your toes, you placed a kiss to your father’s cheek, your eyes never leaving his as you spoke. “You did the right thing. I have already mourned a childhood without you, but I’ve been allowed to know you now, and I am so thankful for a father as selfless as you, who was willing to sacrifice seeing his children grow to keep us safe. You didn’t give up, and I will not either.”

You both turned, heads snapping forward towards the road ahead as Gavriel cleared his throat, eyes shining with emotion as you continued the rest of your walk in silence.

By the time you arrived in Doranelle, your feet hurt like never before, entire body sore from long travels and lack of sleep. Your group hid in the trees just outside the main road through town. Elide turned to you, a fire in her eyes that lit one in your chest. 

“The males are too recognizable, so you will all stay out here and keep a low profile while I go into town. I’m going to see if anyone has information about Cairn’s location, because we know he’s with Aelin and Fenrys.”

You shook your head. “I’m coming with you. You’re not going alone into town, and it would be suspicious if you were by yourself.” You looked around, Lorcan giving you a grateful smile while Gavriel opened his mouth as if to argue. Before he could say anything, you took Elide’s hand and set off towards town.

Doranelle was bustling, people shopping and selling throughout the streets, men calling for your attention as the two of you walked at a brisk pace, eyes and ears open for any sign of danger.

Multiple groups of people shuffled in the same direction, your gaze following their movements towards a pub that appeared to be full of travelers and locals alike. “That’s where we should go,” you murmured to Elide, her dark eyes joining yours as she studied the tavern’s entrance.

Releasing your hand, Elide led the way into the building, instructing you to take a seat wherever you could find one as she took the lead. You found a small booth, thankful for the weight off your feet and even the rancid beer a barmaid slid your way.

It was pure entertainment, a respite from the hellish reality you had been living lately, as you watched Elide put on a show of the helpless maiden. Batting her long lashes, giving shy smiles, she wrung any information she could from the tavern’s patrons while you kept watch.

Everyone seemed taken by her story, the heartbroken lover of Maeve’s general, except for one female. She lounged at one of the tables, chestnut brown eyes watching Elide with a keen, quiet interest. And then Elide mentioned Cairn.

A hush fell over the room, the mood instantly sobering at the mention of the newest member of Maeve’s cadre. Expressions turned cold, even sour as people closed themselves off to Elide’s charm. They definitely knew something, and as you watched Elide excuse herself to the washroom, you caught the striking female with chestnut eyes from before stand up quickly, dark brown hair flowing around her as she turned and followed Elide down the hall.

You were quick behind her, dagger sheathed discreetly at your side. Using your blade, you wedged open the door to the washroom to find Elide wide-eyed, tension thick in the air as she and the female stared at each other. 

Your blade quickly found the female’s neck, your foot kicking the door shut behind you. “Who are you, and what do you know?” you questioned, voice lethally calm.

The female didn’t struggle, her demeanor relaxed as she spoke. “My name is Essar. I mean no harm - I simply wanted to warn your friend to stay away from Cairn. But it appears she is better protected than I believed.” 

Her voice remained calm as she dared to turn towards you, unbothered at how your blade dug further into her skin. “Why do you look for Cairn, truly?”

Your gaze hardened on Essar, assessing the trustworthiness of this new character. “That would depend. What is he to you?” you asked, releasing her so slightly from your hold.

A scoff escaped her lips, nearly a slight laugh as though your question was absurd. “He is nothing to me. And Maeve is less than nothing,” she ground out, venom lacing her tone. You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your lips at her spite. 

“We have business to attend to regarding Cairn,” you murmured, gaze flicking towards the door to check it was closed. 

A knowing gleam shone in Essar’s eyes. “You have Gavriel’s eyes,” she whispered, clearing her throat as she studied you and Elide. “Cairn is at the camp just north of town. He was seen there this morning.”

It was an effort to not let your surprise show, but somehow you knew that you could trust Essar. Hope sprang in your chest, as though the bond was confirming Fenrys was close. “Thank you,” you murmured, to Essar, hand reaching for the doorknob as you gestured for Elide to follow.

“Give them Hell,” Essar said, chin raised proudly. You gave her a final nod of thanks before slipping out the door. Elide could barely keep up with your pace as you raced through town, back to the edge of the woods where the males waited. Now that you knew where Fenrys was, nothing could hold you back from finding him.

You were both short of breath, struggling to explain all that Essar had shared with you at the tavern. “I believe her,” you said, looking to Rowan and Gavriel for validation. But it was Lorcan whose eyes grew soft as you spoke of the female you had met, the other males looking to Lorcan for only a brief moment before Rowan cleared his throat, drawing your attention back to him.

“We can trust her,” he said. “I’ll take to the skies. You follow my lead - we’ll walk around town to avoid running into Maeve’s soldiers for now.”

Heart pounding in your chest, you watched as Rowan launched into the air, your group quietly following the path of the hawk as it led you around the edge of town. Sounds of soldiers running drills, sparring, blacksmiths at work all filled your ears as rows and rows of tents came into view. 

Breath caught in your lungs, the twist of hope and fear electric as it shot through your body. A warm hand wrapped around yours, and you looked down as Gavriel gave it a comforting squeeze. “I am with you,” he whispered.

Words evaded you, but you managed to nod to your father - a silent acknowledgment: "I am with you, too."

Scanning the grounds of the camp, you searched for a way in. There were too many tents, too many places Fenrys and Aelin could be. But your thoughts were interrupted by the bloody cry of a hawk, and before your mind could catch up to your body, you found yourself running, sword drawn, towards the center of camp where Rowan flew.

Soldiers charged you, your adrenaline pumping as you cut them down one by one. Red flooded your gaze as you saw a shell of a female, weighed in familiar iron shackles as she stumbled out of a tent on thin legs. 

Blood pounded in your ears, the faint sound of Lorcan yelling at your side all that you could register as Aelin ran towards you. You couldn’t stop the flow of tears as you locked eyes with your cousin through the iron mask she wore, heart somehow shattered and whole at the sight of her, alive yet broken.

“Fenrys,” she choked. “Fenrys!” Aelin’s voice cried. She whipped around like a wild animal caught in a trap, yelling at Rowan and Lorcan, pleading for them to find your mate. 

You rose to chase after him, but Rowan’s pleading look settled that rage within you - he would find your mate while you protected his. And so you watched him run through the camp with Lorcan, a beautiful storm of chaos as the warriors partnered seamlessly in battle. 

The clanking of chains pulled you from your daze, Aelin scratching at her binds. “Take it off take it off take it OFF,” she screamed, voice hoarse as she chanted violently. Rowan appeared by her side, his hands working as they tried to find an opening on the mask. Rowan.

Your eyes went wild, an unexplainable ache carving itself into your chest as you stood, spinning clumsily while you searched for any sign of Fenrys. The sight of white fur on the ground, Gavriel leaning over the wolf who lay, covered in blood and barely breathing snapped something within you. 

As your father gave you a helpless look, the world cleaved in two, as though half of your soul was ripped from your chest. Collapsing to the ground, your hand wove in Fenrys’s fur as onyx eyes gazed at you, unblinking. 

There was no room in your heart for more tears at this point. Everything had been taken from you - so you lay there, watching the last hope you had for a future, for love, as he faded away.

You didn’t head the commotion behind you as Rowan managed to break the Wyrd marks locking Aelin’s chains, how she crawled weakly to Fenrys’s side across from you. The words, “live, Fenrys. Live,” echoed through your head, Aelin’s voice like a helpless prayer.

And then he blinked. Gold flecks shone in his eyes, chest rising slowly as your mate released a soft whine. Your heart burst with joy, love pouring from your end of the bond as you were finally able to reach Fenrys.

Your hand reached out to him just as he shifted into his human form, long blonde curls fallen across his beautiful face as he stared at you. “Is this real?” he rasped, and you nodded, a broken laugh escaping as you sat up, pulling Fenrys’s head into your lap as his hands found yours, holding onto them like a lifeline.

“He’s gone,” Fenrys whispered, his gaze distant. You felt it then - the hollow feeling, the numbness you had felt through the bond. “Connall,” he murmured, eyes finding yours as a tear rolled down his cheek, and you understood. Fenrys had lost a part of himself - Maeve had taken so much from your mate.

“I will kill her,” you vowed. 

Fenrys’s hand lifted to brush your cheek. “You were my hope. The only strength I found to keep going.” 

Taking his hand from your cheek, you pressed a kiss to his palm. Flames danced in your eyes. “For what she did to you, to Connall, to Aelin. She will burn.”

Author’s Note: I took a break from this series and don’t know if a part 4 will happen. Sorry to disappoint anyone, but there are no immediate plans for this series to continue.

tag list: @hellodarling1357 @sassyslytherinshai

[fiendsandfangs]

The 2024 Fiends & Fangs Fanwork Exchange blessed us with a trove of monster fanworks. Here's a fic we think you'll love. 💕

when is a monster not a monster (you love him)

by @hazelestelle ※ Ao3: Estelle

Dragon Age ※ Fenris/Male Hawke ※ (1,251 words) ※ Teen

Summary:

Hawke was left behind in the Fade, but he would do anything to come back to Fenris.

✨ Check out this work on Ao3! ✨

[allyjoe755]

These Small Hours

fenrys x reader

A/N: Chosen by polls. If you would like another poll-chosen story, like/reblog/comment below

Word Count: 513

Warnings: slight PTSD.

o-o-o

You woke up to screams.

Big, horrible, gasping shrieks in the middle of the night.

Your eyes snapped open as adrenaline filled your chest, quickly spreading to the rest of your body.

Oh, Gods, please, no—

Lying beside you, Fenrys’ eyes were screwed shut, his cheeks wet with tears, his body dampened by sweat. His fingers raked across the sheets of the bed, his chest heaving with large breaths.

In your chest, your heart tore ever so slightly.

You placed a hand on Fenrys’ shoulder, your thumb moving back and forth.

“Fenrys,” you began softly. “Fenrys, it’s alright.” 

You scooted closer to him, wrapping an arm around his torso.

“Fenrys, it’s just a dream. Fenrys.”

Even in his sleep, he shuffled to wrap an arm around you. It helped. His breathing was still quick and ragged, but slowly and surely, it was slowing. His cries were softer now. They would fade soon enough, you knew.

It helped to not wake him up during times like these. You had learned that the hard way, when you, not having experienced this before, had in a panic shaken him awake– causing his panic to grow, small injuries to occur, for him to lose substantial sleep for nearly a week.

You had apologized profusely for weeks after. Fenrys had only said that it was his fault the nightmares happened in the first place.

But it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t, and it had taken months to convince him of that. Even now, you were sure there were times when he still doubted. That was alright. You knew that it would take time.

Just like this. It had taken you so many times, so many sleepless nights, so many tears, to realize how to best support Fenrys when nights like these came.

So, for now, you just let your head rest on Fenrys’ chest. His cries had ended. You listened to his heartbeat slow back to an even, steady, calm rhythm. Your own body calmed down from its abrupt awakening as Fenrys breathed in and out, in and out.

Perhaps, in the morning, he would tell you what he had dreamt– the terrors that had visited him in the night. There were days he would, and days he wouldn’t. You didn’t push him.

He would heal in his own time. For now, you would walk alongside him through it.

In his sleep, Fenrys ran his hand down your arm until he found your hand. He squeezed it.

“I’m here,” you whispered back. You weren’t sure, if through his sleep, he heard you. In fact, you were quite positive that he couldn’t. Even still, you spoke the words– said them out loud, even if it was just to remind yourself that you weren’t going anywhere.

The man beside you was broken, and bruised, but it didn’t make him any less whole. It didn’t make him any less loved.

You pressed a kiss to the skin above Fenrys’ heart.

It didn’t make him any less capable of love.

“I’m here,” you repeated, before allowing yourself to fall back into sleep.

[leiawritesstories]

PART EIGHT: AUGUST

Word count: 6.2k

Warnings: oh god swearing, scheming, angst, implied/referenced smut, mentions of grief, short depiction of a funeral, more scheming, Maeve, and angst (xoxo, Frederick)

all the thanks to @house-of-galathynius & @mariaofdoranelle for being the best betas ever <3

enjoy ;) i'm so sorry

Masterlist

Read on AO3

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

Fenrys’s memorial was held on a brilliantly sunny, warm morning in early August. The sky was clear, pure cerulean, not a single wisp of cloud scuffling across its expanse, a mockingly cheerful backdrop for the somber group of people gathered in the cemetery. It was almost as if Fenrys Moonbeam, ever one to flash his blindingly bright grin in the wrong situations, had sent an especially bright day as a last vestige of himself. 

Standing rigid and stoic-faced in his full Terrasen Special Forces dress uniform, Rowan was flanked by Gavriel, also in full uniform, on his right and Aelin, in a simple black dress and heels, on his left. Her slender fingers were linked closely with his, her simple touch and her steady presence lending him the strength he desperately needed to hold himself together. For the moment, his theories were suspended, and they were just Rowan and Aelin, just two people mourning the loss of a dear friend. 

When he’d found out about Fen… Rowan barely had clear memories from that night, but he did remember one thing—Aelin. Her voice on the other end of his phone, holding him together. He’d raced to the Gal Inc lab complex after receiving a call from one of the lab’s security guards, and he’d stormed through that building, the room tilting and blurring the moment he stepped inside, caught a lungful of that sharp, scorching chemical scent, saw the ruined form on the ground, and known he was too late. 

His call to Aelin was one of pure desperation, and she was the only way he’d made it home. 

Gav lifted his chin slightly, and Rowan gently loosened his fingers from Aelin’s grasp and stepped up beside his commander. Beside the simple bronze urn. On Aelin’s other side, Aedion Ashryver linked his arm through hers, the cousins acting as each other’s support. 

“We thank Lieutenant Fenrys Alastair Moonbeam for his service, and we commend his soul to the Afterlife.” Gav pronounced the words solemnly, his voice only slightly wavering, and he and Rowan carefully, reverently, lifted the urn into its open mausoleum. Rowan held his salute until Gav had placed the headstone, then stepped back to Aelin’s side. 

The gentle squeeze of her hand spoke louder than any words. I am here. I am with you. 

As the small group of people began to disperse, Rowan lingered, taking a quiet moment to lay his gloved hand on the headstone and silently scream. Dammit, Moonbeam, it was never supposed to be you! 

“It’s already quieter,” Aelin murmured, coming to stand next to him. 

Rowan nodded, throat bobbing thickly. “I’ll never get used to it.” 

“I know.” She leant into his side, her unspoken sorrow recognizing his grief. “I love you, Rowan, you know.” 

“I love you too.” He slipped his arm around her waist, partially for comfort and partially for support as they walked away from the mausoleum, the bright summer sun beaming down upon the stone and tile. 

~

“Can I ask you something, love?” Rowan wasn’t even the smallest bit ashamed to admit he was laying on his girlfriend’s comfortable couch wearing sweats and an old t-shirt, his head in her lap, her fingers running soothingly through his cropped hair. 

“Anything.” Aelin brushed her touch down the slope of his cheekbone, thumb stroking his jaw. 

“How do…how did you know Fen?” 

She swallowed, her eyes going distant for a moment. “Gav introduced us; you know how my dear uncle likes to meddle in my love life.” She chuckled. “Fenrys was…the first TSF man that I felt like I could be myself with, you know? He wasn’t a stiff-backed soldier, and he wasn’t lecherous, just flirty.” 

“He was good at that,” Rowan agreed. 

“Granted, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen Fenrys—probably not since my company’s Christmas party, and Gav was busy parading men in front of me for most of that event.” A soft, sad smile curled the corners of her lips. “He could always make me laugh.” 

“Fen made everyone laugh.” Rowan sat up, moving so he could pull Aelin into his lap and wrap his arms around her. “Gav complained about it, but he was never going to stop it.” 

Aelin relaxed into Rowan’s embrace, the tension that normally lined her spine loosening, allowing her to sink into his warmth. She didn’t say anything else, but the soul-deep compassion he saw in her turquoise gaze burrowed into his heart, warming the coldness of grief. He kissed the top of her head gently, softly, and ran his open hands up and down her back. 

She didn’t know how much time passed there, in comfortable silence, before she spoke again. “Will you write him into your tattoos?” 

“Of course.” Rowan had told Aelin the story of his tattoos a few months ago, on a balmy spring evening when the two of them were sprawled in each other’s arms sans clothing. He gave her the stories behind the symbols, the meaning behind the ink he wore on his skin. In return, she told him about the dragon on her back, the piece a work of bold, fearless, unconquerable power, the image of a leader who was unafraid to spew fire if necessary. Her tattoo was a unique piece; she and her artist had worked on designing it for months before she got the tattoo done. 

“Good.” She traced the fluid script on his chest. “He…no one should die so young.” She knew her words hinted at something beyond the friendship she’d mentioned, but she also knew she couldn’t just brush off Rowan’s questions. She had known Fenrys, and she’d been close with him. Celaena had been close with him. 

She only hoped that Rowan wouldn’t discover Fenrys and Celaena’s ties for a long, long time. 

~

Connall Moonbeam stood opposite the Queen of the Night and willed his expression to remain unruffled despite the gaping hole in his heart. 

“Does it truly not concern you at all, ma’am, that my brother died?” He kept his question as neutral as possible, aiming his concern not at his brother, but at the coldhearted woman who’d sent Fenrys to his death. 

Maeve hummed noncommittally. “There are certain risks involved with infiltrating a highly secure, tightly guarded space, particularly when that space is owned by a criminal who is jealous of her silly little tech. Fenrys knew and accepted those risks.” 

Con gritted his teeth. “Certain risks? We had planned that he would be able to bypass all of the known traps, even the final one.” 

“Clearly, that final security measure was altered. Sardothien most likely anticipated that there would be attempts made to steal her inventions.” Maeve fixed her icy violet gaze onto Con. “As it stands, we know that there is a trap rigged within the storage compartment itself, so that will need to be disabled when we return to the labs to take what we came for.” 

“Do you think it will be a simple task?” You can’t kill her yet, he told himself. Not. Yet. 

She shrugged. “Perhaps. But perhaps not. Sardothien is young, but she is not inexperienced.” 

“Obviously.” Con put more sarcasm into that word than he’d intended. 

Maeve arched one dark brow. “Connall, do you require some time alone? To plan, perhaps?” Her question seemed polite, but ice underlaid it. 

“I believe I do, ma’am. Forgive me.” He dipped his head, and when she dismissed him, he left her office, quietly closing the door behind himself, and strode down the hallways to his small, simple, blessedly private room. He gave himself exactly five minutes to silently rage before he pulled his burner phone from his jacket pocket and dialed Celaena Sardothien. 

She picked up almost immediately. “Con?” 

“Boss.” He didn’t bother trying to mask the pain in his voice. “She’s going to stage another break-in at the labs. It’s barely been two weeks since my—since Fen—since my brother was buried.” Although his room was soundproof, he was careful to keep his words just vague enough for anyone who might be listening to assume he was speaking about Sardothien. Everyone knew the Boss was Maeve’s next target, so it made sense for her men to be discussing her schemes. 

“I know.” Celaena’s voice was uncharacteristically gentle, nothing like the Boss’s typical commanding tone. “What’s she changing?” 

“She thinks she can disarm the trap that…the bomb rigged in the storage compartment.” 

“First of all,” Celaena drawled, “it’s not a bomb. I’m not a goddamn brute. Secondly, what do you want to do to counteract her plans?” 

“Boss?” Con was confused. 

She sighed. “Con, you’re thinking of a way to stop Maeve, aren’t you?” 

“Never a day when I don’t think about driving my knife through her throat.” 

“Alright. So, what do you think you can do—reasonably and subtly, because Maeve isn’t going to be easy to assassinate. Trust me. I’ve been scheming about how to do that for years.” 

“Well, there’s always controlled doses of non-lethal poisons. You know, things that gradually weaken a victim but aren’t deadly. It’s the kind of thing that’s usually used when you’re trying to get the victim to a point where they’re easy to kill.” Con was half thinking out loud, but the plan took shape as he spoke. 

“Do you have access to that kind of poison?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good.” Celaena paused, and Con swore he could hear the Boss’s thoughts whirring. “Get her weak enough that you can easily tranquilize her and bring her to the river warehouse. I’ll let you do the honors there, if you want.” 

“Believe me,” Con all but growled, “there is nothing I want more. She sent my brother to die.” 

“Understood.” Papers rustled on Celaena’s end of the call. “Keep me posted, yeah?” 

“Of course.” Click. The call ended. 

Con took a deep, controlled breath, tucked his phone back in his pocket, and strolled out of his room, heading for the storage rooms. Maeve’s men were used to seeing him in that part of the building, since most of his work required supplies, so nobody batted an eye when he walked in. It only took a few minutes to find a bottle of the stuff he needed, and he plucked it off the shelf and tucked it into his sleeve. 

It would probably take at least another two months, but Maeve would fall. 

He owed that debt to his brother. 

~

Aelin snapped her laptop closed with a frustrated huff and ran her hands through her loose braid. Gods. Only halfway through August, and she felt like she was being run ragged. She had a seller up her ass for a shipment that was one day delayed, her PR team kept asking when she was going to give that interview she’d promised to the Orynth Morning Show, Orynth PD and the TSF kept wanting to talk to her, and as if work wasn’t enough, she had a Boss crisis to deal with. 

Because some asshole had gone and leaked Fenrys’s apartment to PD. 

There were two security cameras at the Boss’s apartment, one at the front and the other at the back window, and Aelin got notified anytime one of the cameras picked up some suspicious activity. She had checked the camera feed two days ago and found, for lack of a better term, a shitload of cops crawling around the building. They were there for Fen’s apartment, but…she was only one floor below. 

It was enough to make her already-bad insomnia worse. 

Breaking through Aelin’s drifting thoughts, Elide knocked three times on Aelin’s office door and stuck her head in. “Hey.” 

“Hey, Ells.” Aelin snapped herself back into work mode. “Is someone here?” 

“You could say that,” Elide grumbled. “Some TSF grouch says he’s supposed to meet with you.” 

Aelin raised a brow. “How about I come out to the main office and chat?” 

“Sure.” Elide walked with Aelin out to the more open main area, where there was indeed a grouchy, scowling, massively tall man wearing a TSF jacket slouched against Elide’s desk. 

He raised his dark brows into an expression of utter indifference. “Is this conversation going to happen in front of just anyone?” 

Elide’s dark eyes narrowed into a sharp glare. “I work for Aelin.” 

“You her cute little secretary?” Aelin could have sworn some kind of amusement crinkled the soldier’s face. 

“Chief Operations Officer, actually. Gal Inc. couldn’t run without me.” She spoke lightly, but Aelin sensed some inexplicable kind of…tension…between the two. 

“Mhmm. And I’m the god of the sun,” the soldier deadpanned. 

“You’re just another disposable soldier, Salvaterre,” Elide returned, almost viciously. Salvaterre. That would make him Rowan’s captain…Lorcan. 

Lorcan Salvaterre bristled. “I’m a ranking officer of the TSF.” 

“And if you die on duty, you’ll be just another plaque in the ground,” Elide said sweetly. “Isn’t that what you just said about your supposed TSF brother?” She fixed Lorcan with the stare she used when she was bending investors to her will. 

“Ummm…” To Aelin’s concealed shock, Lorcan actually blushed, stumbling for words, scratching the back of his neck. “In hindsight, that was callous of me.” 

“You could say that.” Dismissively, Elide turned back to her computer. “Oh, Aelin is here. You said something about a meeting?” 

Lorcan stood sharply up and, instinctively, saluted. “Salvaterre here.” 

“The consummate soldier.” Aelin smothered her laughter. “I wasn’t aware I had any kind of meeting scheduled with the TSF today, Captain.” 

“You can call me Lorcan,” he muttered. “And, uh, Whitethorn sent me.” 

“He didn’t tell me anything.” 

“My god—” Lorcan grumbled under his breath. “I can show you the text if you want, but he didn’t tell me shit either. Just ‘go ask if Galathynius knows anything about Fen’s apartment.’ Fuck if I know what he meant by that.” 

“You might want to remember that you’re in public,” Elide interjected, critiquing Lorcan’s uncensored language. 

He scoffed. “I’m a soldier, Li, like you so astutely observed. Soldiers cuss.” 

Salvaterre has a nickname for Elide?! Aelin forcibly tamped down her questions. “I’m afraid I have no idea what on earth my boyfriend meant, either. I’m sorry.” 

“I knew you were going to say that. Screw Whitethorn for making me do this.” Lorcan frowned, which seemed to be his usual expression. “Alright, if that’s it, I don’t need to be here.” He turned on his heel with a soldier’s precision and strode out of the office, trying to mask the brief, intense glance he threw at Elide as he left. Clearly, Rowan hadn’t told him how observant Aelin could be. 

When he was out of sight, Aelin braced her hands on Elide’s desk and stared at the petite brunette until she turned around, her face carefully blank. “So how long have you two been fucking?” 

Elide flushed bright pink. “Aelin!” She swatted the taller woman. “That’s none of your business.” 

“Not at work, maybe.” Aelin grinned, eagerly drumming her fingers on the desk. “You know I’m going to bother you until I get details, right?” 

“And you’ll get all the details you want when we go out on Friday.” Elide composed herself and flashed a smug little smirk at Aelin. “I’ll only tell you one thing.” 

“Gimme.” 

Elide’s smirk turned wicked. “Last Monday, I worked remotely because I couldn’t walk.” 

“Ells!” Aelin gasped, almost stunned speechless. “Actually, no. I can’t judge.” 

“You sure as hell can’t.” Elide winked as she turned back to her computer. “It’s always the broody, grumpy ones.” 

“Dear god.” Aelin laughed as she walked back to her office. Elide and Salvaterre—she definitely hadn’t seen that coming. 

But the more she thought about it…the more she dreaded what could happen. 

~

Rowan hated the industrial district. 

It didn’t have anything to do with class politics or some bullshit superiority complex, but more with the eerie feeling of being watched he had every time he was in that district. There was also the little fact that one of his recurrent nightmares featured a memory from a training mission gone horribly wrong in this district, but that wasn’t something he intended to address. Typically, when the TSF or Orynth PD had a call for an investigation site down in the industrial sprawl of southeast Orynth, he would dispatch a team and tell them to bring back their report, but he couldn’t push this scene onto anyone else. 

He had to go to Fen’s stakeout apartment in person. 

The creaky, probably mildewing door groaned as Rowan pulled it open and walked into the simple, shitty, one-bedroom apartment that Fenrys had lived in while he worked for Sardothien. There wasn’t much in the place—a dark green couch and a pair of mismatched side tables in the living room, an old, worn dining table with three chairs, some random dishes in the cupboards, a bed with plain gray sheets and an offensively bright pink comforter that was purely Fenrys’s style, a nightstand with two drawers. Rowan was hesitant to open those drawers, knowing too well what Fen always bragged he kept in his room, but to his relief, there wasn’t much in the nightstand. The only things he found were some newspapers, a few knives, one stray bullet casing, and two cheap burner cell phones. 

Two?

He shrugged, assuming Fen had bought another one for backup, pocketed both phones, and left the room. The kitchen, living room, and bathroom were already cleared out thanks to the team, and he tipped his head towards the bedroom, indicating that it was ready for cleanup. 

When the team left the apartment, Rowan had to let Luca be the one to lock the door. He couldn’t bear to see the emptiness, the blank space, the visible mark of absence. Fen’s phones felt like hundred-pound weights in his pocket as he climbed into his SUV and drove away, leaving the industrial district no more than a gritty smear in his rearview mirror. 

Back at his PD office, Rowan placed the cheap prepaid phones on his desk, turning each one over in his hands before he set them down and just stared, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do next. The investigator in him wanted to immediately search through the phones, the soldier in him wanted to just give the phones to Gav and be done with it, and the part of him that was Fen’s friend wanted to lock away all the evidence in a titanium box and bury the key. He dreaded what could happen, what would happen, when he eventually had to turn on the phone and hear Fen’s voicemail. 

As a TSF soldier, Rowan was no stranger to death. Grief, though—that one was new. 

His own phone buzzed, stealing his attention. He picked it up to find an incoming call from Lorcan Salvaterre. Groaning, he answered. 

“What.” 

“Am I supposed to thank you for sending me on some bullshit-ass trip?” Lorcan sounded at least mildly irritated. 

“Don’t see how a legitimate question was bullshit, but sure. You’re welcome.” 

“Fuck off,” Lorcan grumbled. “As for your answer, Galathynius doesn’t—”

“Her name is Aelin,” Rowan snapped. 

On the other end of the call, Lorcan snickered. “Aww, is pretty boy lieutenant a little sensitive about his girlfriend?” 

Rowan was about ten seconds away from punching his captain in the nose. “I don’t give a shit how superior you are to me, jackass, I’ll still kick your ass if you disrespect the woman I love.” 

“Well, turn me over and fuck me raw,” Lorcan drawled. “Whitethorn’s in love. We should check the temperature in hell.” 

“Fucking gods,” Rowan sighed, exasperated. “Yes. I’m in love. Tell me what you and Aelin talked about and then stop wasting my goddamn time.” 

“Fine, fine.” Lorcan snickered some more. “Aelin and I talked for about sixty seconds, fuck you very much for making me ask her that stupid fucking question. I asked if she knew anything about Fen’s apartment, she told me she didn’t fuckin’ know what I was talking about, and her body language and expression and everything else checked out for her telling the truth. So I apologized for you being a dick and making me bother her, and then I left.” 

Rowan grunted in frustration. “Yeah, I believe her too. There’s part of me that wants to keep pushing that suspicion, but I literally have nothing that proves any kind of link. She just mentioned that she sort of knew Fen, once, and I gotta cover my bases.” 

“Makes sense. You could’ve told me that before I had to haul ass over to Gal Inc and bullshit my way past half the staff just to see Aelin Galathynius for two minutes, though.” Lorcan was clearly disgruntled. 

“Where’d the fun be in that?” It was Rowan’s turn to snicker; he rarely got to push Lorcan’s buttons, and the few times he could give the man who was technically his superior a mundane task, he did it with glee. 

“Fucker,” Lorcan grunted. “I’ll kick your damn ass at the gym for that.” 

“And here I thought you had plans and couldn’t work out today. At least, not with me.” Rowan smirked. He had two hundred dollars riding on Lorcan’s “plans” being with a woman, though the tight-lipped asshole would never admit it outright. 

“Turns out my plans are late enough to make the gym. See you there, asshole.” Lorcan hung up. 

Rowan chuckled. There was really nothing like riling up an old friend to get his head off of things that he didn’t want to think about. Speaking of that…he reluctantly picked up one of Fen’s phones and pressed the side button, turning on the small screen. He knew the passcode, so he tapped it in and found the home screen fairly simple, with only a handful of basic apps. The list of contacts was brief and basic. 

Whitethorn. Him, as planned. 

Salvaterre. As a backup contact. 

Help Center. An auto-programmed number for the phone company. 

Boss. That was…surprisingly simple. Rowan’s finger twitched, but there was one more contact. 

Ma’am. That was…confusing. If Sardothien was Boss, why was she also Ma’am? Some kind of ploy to distract anyone who swiped the phone? Some nonexistent fake contact? 

His gut pointed towards the contact called Boss, since he knew from the few times he’d talked to Fen that Sardothien went by “Boss” among her circle of crooks. Hell, Fen had even called her “Boss,” no doubt to keep his cover intact. 

Before he could talk himself out of it, Rowan tapped Boss. The phone rang, five times, before there was a click and a male voice answered. 

“Who’s this?” 

“I need the Boss.” Rowan pitched his voice down to a rasp, his mind whirling in circles as he tried to identify why the fuck a man was answering for Sardothien and why the fuck his voice sounded familiar. 

Computer keys clacked faintly in the background. “Boss can’t talk right now.” 

“Why not?” 

“Boss can’t talk right now,” the man reiterated. “Keep trying.” He hung up. 

That last suggestion sounded distinctly like a threat, mildly voiced but wrapped in something sinister that promised, I will hunt you down and kill you. Rowan shuddered a bit just thinking about it. 

But why was there a man on the other end of that call? 

He sighed, shaking his head sharply. Because Sardothien is a goddamn crime boss, you fucking idiot. Of course she doesn’t answer her phone without security measures. That made sense, except for a few things. First, according to Fen’s info, Sardothien trusted him enough that she would have probably answered the call herself if she’d seen his name. Second, there was something oddly familiar about the other man’s voice, something Rowan couldn’t place. And that bothered the hell out of him. Third, he still hadn’t looked at the other phone. 

Something told him he might have better luck with the other burner. 

He turned on the second phone, which was a near-identical copy of the first, entered the passcode, and opened the contacts. This one was an exact replica of the first contact list, except for one thing. 

Con. 

Fen’s twin brother. 

Fen’s twin brother, who had last been seen over two years ago when he left for the Eastern Continent on what was supposed to be his last deployment with the Terrasen Navy SEAL team. Connall Moonbeam had been declared missing in action eight months after his deployment, and Rowan’s heart broke a little more just seeing Con’s name in Fen’s burner phone. It was a small but infinitely loud reminder of the man Fenrys had been—ever optimistic, always masking his darker emotions beneath a cloud of sunny laughter. 

Before he could drift farther into memories, Rowan pushed away from that contact and tapped on the one called Boss. Once again, the phone rang multiple times before the same man answered and the same conversation happened. Nothing more than Boss can’t talk right now before the guy hung up. 

Something was off. 

And Rowan would get to the damn bottom of it. 

~

“Boss.” The second Aelin picked up, Nox was talking. “He called.” 

“How many times?” As soon as she’d found out that Orynth PD and the TSF had gone through Fen’s apartment, Aelin had given Nox her Boss phone while she was at work. It was less risky for him to answer that phone than for her to accidentally pick up a TSF or PD call at a time when she couldn’t hide behind her Boss disguise. 

“Twice.” Nox was uncharacteristically quiet, no sounds of him working in the background. “Once from each number.” They both knew who he was. Rowan. 

Aelin took a controlled breath. “So he’s been to the apartment.” 

“Yeah, the cops came through on the 21st. I watched the footage.” 

“I wonder why it took them so long to get to the apartment,” Aelin mused, thinking aloud. “Normally, there would be cops crawling around within hours.” 

“I dunno. But Boss?” Nox sounded concerned. 

“Yeah?” 

He huffed a sigh. “I know you aren’t gonna like this, but please, please don’t answer any calls from Fen. I had your Boss phone earlier, so I answered both of them, but if and when Fen tries to call you again, don’t answer. It’s the cops, not him.” 

“I know.” Aelin closed her eyes. “I…thanks for taking those calls when they came, Owens.” 

“No problem, Boss.” Nox resumed typing on his keyboard. “Call me if he starts spamming you, yeah?” 

“Of course.” She hung up. 

If Fen calls, you can’t answer. 

It’s. Not. Him. 

The warning trickled through her blood like ice, cold and heavy. In her mind, Aelin knew that Fenrys couldn’t call her—she might see his name on her screen, but it would never again be Fenrys Moonbeam on the other side. In her heart, though, she still held a tiny spark of hope. There was always the slight chance that Connall could pick up one of the phones and call her. Yes, he had his own burner, but she knew how badly he wanted to collect Fen’s things, and he wasn’t afraid to get onto the wrong side of the law if it meant that he could bring his twin’s possessions home. 

As if her thoughts had summoned him, Connall called, his name lighting up her Boss phone. She answered, but she let him speak first. 

“It’s started.” As always, Con didn’t waste words. 

“What’s the timeline you’re anticipating?” Relieved that it was actually Connall—maybe it made her paranoid, but she was beginning to feel the investigation clamp down around Boss Sardothien—Aelin kicked herself into work mode. 

Con grunted. “Seven, eight weeks. Ideally six to seven weeks, but I don’t know if she’ll have built up any immunity as a protective measure.” 

“True.” Aelin drummed her fingers against the windowsill of her shitty Boss apartment. “I’d be surprised if she hadn’t, but then again, we can’t discount her massive fucking ego.” 

“Huh?” 

She’d forgotten that Connall didn’t know too much about Maeve’s past. “She was Hamel’s lover for years. You can’t do that without an ego the size of the goddamn sun.” 

“Well, shit.” Con hummed softly, probably scheming. “That explains why she pretty much just sits in her plush little seat all day, convinced that nobody can come and get her when she’s so far elevated above the rabble.” 

“Accurate description,” Aelin chuckled. “Right. I trust you, Con. Update me if anything significant happens, yeah?” 

“Sure, Boss. Will do.” Con hung up. 

Aelin sighed, tucking away the Boss phone. She turned back to the window and stared out over the Orynth skyline, murky as it was from the constant clouds of vapors that the warehouses and factories down in this district churned out. To tell the truth, she was counting down the days before she could stop having to live in this shitbox apartment, but she had to keep it for Celaena’s purposes. 

She’d give just about anything to move all of her shit out and erase Celaena’s presence from the crappy building, but there would be too many questions. Also, this place was conveniently close to the docks and the industrial sector of Orynth, both of which were key to her less-than-legal business. 

And nobody cared if she walked out of the building with a gun on her hip. 

Still…the ghosts that now clung to this building weighed down upon Aelin like a suit of iron, intangible but oppressively present. Now that the cops were done crawling all over the damn place, she felt safe enough to stay at the apartment occasionally, but she was triple-checking the locks and the security measures to make sure she didn’t have any unwanted guests. As much as she would enjoy shocking the fuck out of the cops and the TSF, she really didn’t care for the idea of being arrested, so she kept herself carefully cloaked behind her favorite armor: shadows and secrecy. 

Her phone buzzed, pulling her out of her thoughts. She plucked it from her pocket, glanced at the screen, and did a double take, staring. 

Moon Moon.

Fen’s contact lit up the screen. 

Aelin’s finger quivered, itching to accept the call, but she forced her better judgment to win out and stopped herself. The screen went dark, only to start buzzing again only a minute later. 

Interesting. 

Once again, she refused to answer, instead waiting until the screen went dark before slipping down the short hallway into the bedroom and grabbing her custom-made leather mask from the nightstand. She wore it out anytime she went on a mission as Boss, and the filter built into the material disguised her voice, twisting it into a throaty rasp. 

As she’d expected, Moon Moon’s incoming call lit up her screen yet another time. She let it ring until it was almost at its limit, then swiped left to answer. 

There was a tense, drawn-out beat of silence. 

Then, the voice on the other end shattered the quiet. “Boss?” 

Fuck. 

It was Rowan. 

Aelin forced her scrambling wits back into place. “You’re not Moon Moon,” she rasped, the filter twisting her voice into gravel. 

“He’s dead.” That was Investigator Rowan, cold and blunt. 

She could be just as cold-hearted. “I know.” 

Predictably, Rowan took the next logical step. “Who killed him?” 

Aelin let the pause drag out, weighing whether to outright tell Rowan the truth or to simply leave him in silence as would fit the personality of Celaena Sardothien. 

“Who. Killed. Him?” Rowan repeated the question, his voice tight and hard. 

“Maeve.” Aelin’s response was short, blunt, and devoid of feeling. 

She hung up and scrubbed the call from her burner phone. 

Took a screwdriver and a heavy-duty plastic bag out of the drawer, pried the back off the phone, scratched up its inner parts, threw it into the bag, and beat the handle of the screwdriver into it until it was a wrecked pile of plastic, glass, and tiny circuit splinters. 

Then she changed into her Sardothien suit, secured her mask and hood, laced up her boots, strapped her pack across her back, and slipped soundlessly out the window, locking it tightly behind her. In minutes, she was no more than another shadow fading into the summer night. 

~

The recording was all of thirty seconds long, but it was all that Rowan had to work with, and for some reason, there was a tiny voice in the back of his head telling him that this was it. This was the piece he’d been missing. This call would be the key he needed to unlock the mystery of the Shadow Assassin. 

Rowan shuffled through reports as he waited for the software to do its job. He was running a program that was commonly used in PD, a fairly straightforward piece of work that could reverse voice filters placed on calls. It had helped him and many others catch all sorts of criminals in the past, and he had no doubt that it would reveal the true voice of whoever the fuck he’d spoke to last night. Her voice was familiar, striking some kind of chord in his mind, and he’d been turning over the possibilities ever since he’d grabbed the recording of that call. 

I know. Her cold, cruel response to the news of Fen’s death was…not what Rowan had expected. Then again, he hadn’t been expecting the Boss to answer, either, and look where that had got him. But that tone, that raspy drawl…why did he know it? 

He ran a few other phrases through his mind, a trick he had learned would often trigger voice recognition in his memory. Boss, murder, I know, take care of it, don’t move—

“Don’t move.” Something clicked faintly, the first tumbler of a combination lock. Threats, then…where had he heard that voice give threats? 

Move, and your next breath will be in the afterlife. The words slammed back into him with icy, steel-sharp recognition. The threat that the Boss had murmured to him when she’d caught him at her warehouse, knives to his throat and his…well…

Rowan’s computer pinged, indicating that the program was finished. Although the results were probably useless, since he’d just made the connection between the voice on the phone and the voice of the Boss, Celane Sardothien, one and the same. He turned back to the reports, his mind somewhat more settled, and managed to get through a good portion of them before he needed a few minutes to clear his head. He tapped on the file from the voice-filter reversal program, thinking he’d get a simple confirmation of what he’d already pieced together. 

The voice that spilled from his speakers froze his blood solid. 

“You’re not Moon Moon.” And then, coldly, “I know.” And finally, after he’d asked who killed Fen—twice—her answer. “Maeve.” 

He knew that voice. 

Knew it as intimately as he knew his own hand in the shower. 

Knew the soft throatiness of the laugh that so often accompanied that voice. 

Knew the caress of that voice as well as the caress of its speaker’s hands. 

It was Aelin. 

The world around him abruptly went utterly silent.

Rowan had been right—this call was the missing piece he needed in order to lay out the scattered puzzle of Celaena Sardothien. And he had also been horribly, horribly wrong—the revealed voice was not the unfamiliar rasp of a stranger, but the intimately familiar song of a lover. 

Celaena Sardothien wasn’t in league with Aelin Ashryver Galathynius. She wasn’t blackmailing the CEO like Rowan had theorized. No—Celaena Sardothien was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius. She had the whole of Orynth, the whole of the goddamn world, duped into believing that the CEO and the criminal were two different people. Part of Rowan was awestruck by the sheer impossible intricacy of her scheming. The other part of him, the investigative part, the part of him that was focused only on capturing the Shadow Assassin, was completely and utterly shattered.

Aelin—Celaena—owned every jagged edge of his heart. And she had been murdering her way through Orynth while he fell in love with her. 

The breath escaped Rowan’s lungs in a fractured rush. Fuck, even his heartbeat and his breathing knew Aelin, knew the impossibly calming effect she had on his ragged nerves. Had she really stood by his side at Fen’s memorial, black-clad and teary-eyed, holding his hand and keeping him together? Had she really been mourning, or was it all a ruse? Had she duped him along with the rest of Orynth? 

Did her I-love-you’s mean anything, or were they part of her schemes as well?

Pieces dropped into place before Rowan’s eyes as he stared blankly into space, torn between the investigative desire to bury himself in the case and the sheer force of his heart cracking into a thousand porcelain shards at his feet. Aelin was Celaena; Aelin is Celaena. Which meant that not only was she behind a horrifically impressive string of murders, but also that there was a distinct possibility that her company and her lab were involved in her nefarious business. That would make sense, since the lab was the site of Fen’s death, and the cause had been some kind of booby trap. 

Abruptly, Rowan laughed, the sound harsh and caustic. After eight months, he had his concrete proof, everything he needed to bring the Shadow Assassin down. But knowing who she was…

In his ten years in the TSF, Rowan Whitethorn had never once doubted his ability to capture a criminal. All he needed was a name, a gun, and his wits. 

Aelin Ashryver Galathynius—Celaena Sardothien—had shattered his confidence. 

In every possible way. 

~~~

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[dragonagecompanions]

DA2 crew reacting to Hawke who stops caring? Maybe after the death of Leandra they just stop showing any kind of emotion? Not even rage or sadness it's as if they're made tranquil but without the need to be cut off from the fade instead, it's their emotions that are cut off. When they finally ask Hawke they simply shrug and respond with

"Why do I care? Everyone leaves me or they want something from me only to stab me in the back, why should I care anymore?"

Just, just pure angst heartbreak something that will hurt I BEG FOR THE HURT JUICE!

WELCOME TO THE JUICE BAR! HERE THERE BE ANGST!

Varric: He gets it. For most of the time, amongst the odd band of friends he has made in the City of Chains, Varric puts on a very convincing show as the devil may care rogue with the world at his fingers and no weight on his shoulders.

But on the nights when he is not walking through Darktown killing...well, anyone who crossed their path really, it was hard to maintain the mask. When the last drunken drunken warbler had left or past out or otherwise left the Hang Man silent in the wee hours even his tavern rooms couldn't keep the echoes at bay. Brother, father, mother, ancestral culture and society; all of it gone before he was even respectably middle age. He'd lost Orzammar before his first breathe, and no matter how in the Merchant Guild he climbed no surfacer would ever be anything less than a casteless outcast.

Normally that didn't bother him, but on the heaviest nights...He can't bring back everything Hawke lost, and isn't fool enough to try. But he can be a friend, a port in the storm. Once Hawke's mindset is known Kirkwall's resident story teller makes it his mission to be a constant bulwark for his friend. He has let them flounder for too long-- dwarves might not be great at swimming, but Varric will not let Hawke drown.

Bethany: It takes a long time for her own bitterness, at a life of endless hunger and exhaustion and nightmares of a Grey Warden that she would never have chosen for herself, to fade enough for her sibling's silence to truly register. Their mother's death had been a terrible blow, a severing of the last parental bond, but it had also heralded a silence from Kirkwall that...

Well, that she had come to take for granted. Varric still wrote like clockwork, his letters a comforting and humorous glance into the city that had been home so briefly, but after more than a year the remaining Hawke sibling looks up to realize she has had not a word in months. Her last letter was so bitter, penned in grief and anger and without thought for the child who actually had to see and bury Leandra, but now those caustic words eat at her own mind.

Distance has bled off the pain, and the missive that goes to the City of Chains is almost meek in comparison to her fiery words. But the letter she receives makes silence preferable-- she can feel her sibling's desolate apathy through the short penned lines, and for once she aches for the cramped paradise of Gamlen's hovel when their family was mostly whole.

They do not write again, and in her shame and sorrow she does not ask them to. A Grey Warden is meant to leave all their former life behind, and yet somehow her older sibling has managed to cut loose of those bonds-- and Bethany finds herself clinging to a life that she cannot save.

Anders: Justice roils, unsettled and uneasy at the terrible symmetry. There is no sunburst scar to mark the sundering of mind and fade, no judgement rendered to murder life and emotion, and yet tranquility would almost be preferable to the empty aching sorrow. Hawke had always been a vibrant soul, built for purpose and life and determined to make their way in the world no matter the cost. But this...

There had been a time when Anders had been that alone. The loss of friends, of family, of the chance to have a life of his own. Even the freedom of the circles had still left him chained to another institution, no matter how preferable the Grey Wardens might have been. Isolation was a like an unhealing wound, pulling at the body and soul until there was nothing left to fight it. A sepsis of the soul, where no surgeon's blade could cut it free.

There had been no true isolation since Justice had come to him; it feels like a betrayal to admit he missed it.

And oh Anders wants to comfort his friend, tries to be there and sets aside (as much as his fracturing mental state will allow) the conversation of mages rights for other conversation. Brings food and wine and tries to rekindle that spark that had always been in Hawke's soul.

But his plans for the Chantry -and the looming betrayal that must carve them apart once again- keeps a pall of guilt over those efforts. It seems crueler somehow -infinitely more so if they are in a romantic relationshiip-to build up only to destroy, and so knowing he cannot help one of his first true friends in the city is another burden to lay against the cost of mage freedom on the scales of Justice.

Isabela: At first she brushes it off as a bad day, nothing that a trip to the Hanged Man and the Blooming Rose can't clear right up. She's had a few of her own, after all, and knows the liberal application of lover and libation to be a perfect solution for gloomy moods. Friend or lover, she knows how to raise the spirits.

But when that doesn't work, when her efforts are shot down again and again in that same terrible, dry tone, something distant and awful howls in the back of her mind. As the captain of a ship she is good at watching for storms and reefs, for the dangerous shoals that can render a ship little more than kindling or the hurricanes that turn even the greatest ports into unsafe harbors. There are no maps to nagivate here, no sounding charts or sextant readings to guide her to calmer waters.

She has looked death and danger in the eye with laughter and a ready blade, but the dull and distant apathy in her friends eyes shakes her like no nautical challenge ever has. They tetter on the crest of a wave, and for all that she might scramble for control the trough might be too much for them to weather. Emotions have never been her strong suite, commitment not in her wheelhouse. Isabela is shallow and vain by her own admission, made for the life at sea and not meant to drop anchor forever.

But when she takes a heading, she takes it true. It will be work, work the captain is not at all sure she is capable of, but in all her long life Isabela has never abandoned a crew member gone overboard. And even if Hawke is determined to struggle against joy and life and recovery, she will not let them drown.

Aveline: It is so, so tempting to lay pain for pain. To compare the loss of home and husband and life against the inevitable (if untimely) loss of parent, the grief of lost siblings and broken friendships to the struggle of proving herself to the guard. Who are they cut themselves off from those who love them, when no one is untouched by loss?

But the simple and terrible truth is that pain is a terrible equalizer, and lays low all who come before it. Aveline has fought for her position as a guardsman, and then guard captain, and is proud of her duty. But she is also too well aware that the burdens laid at her desk are nothing like that of a Champion of a city, and that Kirkwall has for years asked far more of Hawke than it has given in return. Her friend has never waivered, never failed in their devotion to a city that never stops taking.

Her own rise in station comes of both her work and theirs, and with a pang Aveline is suddenly unsure if she has ever let Hawke know how deeply grateful she has been for their friendship-- from that first day in Ferelden onward.

It is not in her nature to look back and regret on mistakes that cannot be fixed, or dwell too much on old sorrows. With Donnell's help she can only move forward as a better friend, a better companion. To make sure Hawke knows without question that they are loved, and to guard them and their future as she does the city they will build it in.

Fenris: Everything he touches, it seems, must be laid low.

There is no question that his social skills lack a certain...polish, nor that on the whole Fenris and society are mostly estranged. He in content to live in his decaying mansion, to make a life devoid of company when not traipsing through Kirkwall with a ragtag bunch of friends. He does not seek out company often, is not comfortable with the idea of the vulnerability that friendship requires with more than a handful of people.

It does not occur to him until Hawke's empty and apathetic words that those actions and attitudes might hurt more than himself. Hawke has been a better friend and compatriot than Fenris ever dared to hope for, certainly better than he had the right to ask for, but his actions have not been equal to that friendship. He has let them suffer alone, or at least mostly unsupported, and that is...

It hurts like the Fog Warriors hurt, needless betrayal when something better might have been.

There is a cold blessing in the memories of a life enslaved being ripped away by the lyrium, even if the experiences after were hardly kindness itself. But Hawke must live with it all, the pain and betrayal and the crushing isolation that comes with duty. Fenris has chosen to be alone, at least, in his self imposed solitude.

Hawke has no one.

It is a bitter vintage of guilt, particularly for a romanced Fenris who has done more than most to cause such pain. But he has not come so far in life without being tenacious, and commitment to a goal is keen to success. If he must finally leave the mansion behind, to spend everyday with his friend until that sorrow is as distant as his life in Tevinter, than it is a sacrifice worth making.

He will bring the good wine--it stands up well to despair.

Carver: There is a sort of inherent loss of self, when you have a twin. For all that Bethany and he had been different people, it is at times unavoidable that you be lumped together by even your family. It is rarely malicious but often very annoying, and was in some ways the catalyst for how much he envied his older sibling's singular triumphs and failures. There was no one to share that spotlight with, and it burned at something deep within Carver's soul.

The bitter grief that came when Bethany was gone, gone and leaving him with no one to lock step with, did not lend itself to mending the hard feelings for his older sibling. While not so cruel as Leandra to lay blame at the eldest Hawke child for his sister's death, her absence creates a void that neither can ever truly fill.

Time heals some wounds, of course, but distance and duty can cauterize what has not yet healed. Leaving his life behind to take the oath of a Grey Warden is perhaps the most freeing thing he has ever done, and if it is easier than most to carve away his past life...he is well named for it. That is not to say that the news of his mothers death does not pain him, but his new brothers and sisters a balm in a way family has not been in the past.

It is cold comfort when Varric's letter, with the uncertain request to write to his sibling in an attempt to ease their pain, makes them uncomfortably aware that years have passed without correspondence. Somewhere between the Deep Roads and his duties the oldest Hawke sibling ceased to be a daily thought for him, and Carver is ashamed to realize that he was relieved when the letters stopped. He does write a few stilted lines, unsurprised to receive no reply, and tells himself he can do no more.

If his father's face haunts his dreams with imagined disappointment and grief for months after, let that be penance enough.

Merrill: If Clan Sabrae still lives she will find it difficult to relate, but if Keeper Marethari's actions have cost her so much more than Merrill is painfully aware of the pain of total isolation. Hawke does not even have the eluvian to compensate their struggles, and for a time the Dalish mage is unsure how to help.

So she simply listens. Even if it is apathetic silence, or quiet sorrow, or even howling rage, Merrill stays. Her friend has never abandoned her, not in all the time she has known Hawke. Their life has been a bitter one, with duty and grief and helpless loss too mich a companion. Nothing she can do will fix the past, but she can prove to them with the consistency and patience of her presence that they are not alone.

The introduction of baked goods to that listening and support is also, in her experience and delight, a helpful tool. Among the Dalish shared food is the foundation of family and community, and in time she will use it to bring hope back to her friend.

Creators, let her succeed.

-Mod Fereldone

[sulky-valkyrie]

fenris/anders/nate: post-da2, nate is sent by the warden to find anders, and finally finds fenders. bonus points for unrequited emotions and belligerent (temporarily) unresolved sexual tension between all three of them.

Happy Friday, Vee! For @dadrunkwriting and a sequel to this.

Velanna and Sigrun had helped them out of the city through the cunning tactic of covering Anders with a cloak big enough for the Arishok and just walking through the gates.  Velanna glared haughtily at anyone who tried to question them and snapped, “Warden business,” and, shockingly, it worked.  The Templars were in shambles at best, and the guard had their hands full trying to organize putting out all the fires in the city, so stopping two obvious foreigners, even with one of the Champion’s known associates, was the least of their worries.

They camped just inside a cave, and Anders woke Fenris when the light of dawn was barely peeking through the entrance.  “We should go.”

Fenris glanced at Velanna, sitting ramrod straight and frowning.  “Where?”

“Away.”  He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Just… away.”

“Aedan will –” Velanna started.

“No.”  Anders shook his head as the blue faded from his eyes.  “I – we appreciate it, but no.”

She shrugged sourly and watched them finish packing.  “He'll be pissed.”

“That's on him.”  Anders pulled his bag over his shoulder.  “Tell Sigrun I'm sorry.”

They set out.  Fenris kept a wary eye on the surroundings as they walked.  Whatever initiative Anders had displayed at camp faded away almost immediately once they were back on the road, and Anders seemed in a daze as soon as he'd picked a direction.  Whether it was because he was still surprised he’d lived through it, or because the loss of so many lives, however necessary, still pained him, Fenris couldn’t tell.  

A week passed, then two.  Every sundown, Fenris led him off the path as he hunted for a more secure spot to camp, and every dawn, Anders woke him with tea and hardtack, then they set off again.  If pressed, he’d make conversation, but otherwise, he simply walked, lost in thought, or regret, or both.  It was unnerving for Anders to be so quiet for so long, but he’d been a man of action and snap decisions most of his life; Fenris could shoulder that burden for the time being while he drifted.

It was sometime in the third week that the instincts of a life spent as a fugitive made the back of his neck tingle.  He suggested they take a short break, and, with a slight frown of confusion, Anders agreed.  As he stopped to pull out a waterskin, Fenris went down to the river's edge, then shimmied his way up a tree, careful not to rustle the branches.  Once he reached the top, he peered through the leaves, scanning the way behind them for anything out of the ordinary.

There.  A lone traveler.  Not particularly unordinary, really, unless one considered the way they moved.  Everything about their pace was purposeful, but cautious.  Fenris had seen it enough to know that this person was a hunter, and most likely hunting them.  He slid down the tree as quickly as he dared, then headed back to Anders.

"We're being followed."

"I know," Anders sighed.  "Wardens again.  Well, one Warden, at least."

Fenris pursed his lips in aggravation.  "How long have you known?"

“Two days.”

“Two days?” he asked in annoyance.  “When were you going to tell me?”

Anders shrugged dully.  

Fenris tried again.  Sigrun and Velanna hadn't meant them harm, but could the same be said if the rest?   “Should we wait?” 

“May as well; they’ll catch up regardless, and we’ll be less tired.”  Anders moved to the side of the path, waved a hand to cast a spell that reshaped the ground up into a large faintly chair-like lump, then sat down.  It had been a surprise the first time Fenris had seen him use Dalish magic, but now it was part of their new normal of trekking through the wilds of the Marches.  Merrill had always taken care of such things like leaching the water from the ground and smoothing it out or occasionally encouraging a tree to move a bit to the left.  She was better at it than Anders; he had yet to move a tree, and his dirt furniture was a bit lumpy, but it still made their campsites far more comfortable than they would be otherwise.  He pulled his sword off his back, settled in next to him, and wrapped an arm around his waist.    

The sun was low in the sky when a lone figure appeared through the patchy tree cover.  In the pink light of the sunset, the colors of his armor looked more red and purple than blue and grey, but he was unmistakably a Warden.  And one that Fenris had met before.  He squeezed Anders’ hand.  “It’s Nathaniel.”

“Shit.”  Anders’ voice was heavy.  “Of course it is.”

Fenris frowned.  Their last parting had been bittersweet, but amicable.  Hadn’t it?  “Did something happen?  Before he left last time?”  

He shook his head.  “Not a chance Vel or Siggy reported back that quickly.  So either Aedan knew I’d leave anyway or Nate’s deserted too.  Don’t know which is worse.  For him or us.”

“We shall have to find out.”

°°°☆☆☆°°°

Nathaniel joined them wordlessly a few hours later.  Anders seemed more at ease with him around, a fact that Fenris was both grateful for and irked by.  Was it because he was simply a fellow Warden?  He didn’t think so, but it was hard to gauge.  Anders had been too little like himself since Meredith’s call for Annulment to compare his response to Nathaniel compared to Sigrun and Velanna.

It didn’t make sense.  No matter how intense or torrid their affair before Anders had fled to Kirkwall, it had lasted less than a year.  Fenris had to know him better by now, had to be more adept at comforting and caring for him.  

But he’d never known just the man now, had he?  Anders had been possessed for years by the time they’d had a civil conversation.  What parts of Anders had he lost that only Nate knew of?  What hopes and dreams had been pushed aside by Justice?  For that matter, what parts of Justice had been scattered in the maelstrom of Anders’ fears?  Did Nathaniel know those as well?

The more Anders relaxed, the more Fenris couldn’t.  He watched them both, watched the way Nathaniel stared and opened his mouth to say something, then turned away, watched Anders’ eyes droop, either in guilt or relief.  Was he glad Nathaniel had nothing to say or preparing for the moment he would?  

Much like Fenris himself, Nathaniel chose his words carefully, and, if he wasn’t sure of the correct ones, often chose silence over imprecise conversation.  Any other time, Fenris would’ve been glad for it, but after days and days of Anders’ own unnatural quietude, of being trapped with little company but his own thoughts, he hated it.  

He missed his mage’s inane chatter.  He missed the regretful sighs into his hair as the sunlight filtered through broken windows of this mansion, waking them both and signaling a new day and new challenges.  He missed holding him.

Did Anders miss him at all?  He’d been ready to die for his cause, to lose everything to give mages everywhere anything.  Had he been so wrapped up in his martyrdom he’d already sacrificed their love before he’d even lit the fuse?  Was Fenris simply a burden to him now?  A loose end of string on a tapestry that he’d thought he’d burned?

Was that why he was so lost?  Was that why Nathaniel made him smile that soft shy smile that Fenris hadn’t seen in weeks?  

He picked up his sword and paced around the camp, ignoring their curious looks.  He had nowhere to escape to, but simply sitting there watching them have those unspoken Warden conversations hurt too much.  He’d lost him, and he’d accept defeat gracefully, if begrudgingly.

The moons crossed half the sky before Nate finally put his thoughts together.

“It shouldn’t have been you.”