#i had rowaelin on my mind can you tell

[gracie-rosee]

love when fictional men get all feral and protective over their wife, not because they can’t protect themselves but because they are simply not worth wasting their wife’s time. “You should be grateful it’s me because she is worse.” Yes.

[leiawritesstories]

Best Dream Ever

Rowaelin Month 2024, Day 3: Idiots in Love @rowaelinscourt

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: some swearing, alcohol, ridiculous amounts of fluff

Enjoy!!!

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

Why the hell is someone knocking on my door at eight p.m.? Aelin grumbled to herself as she reluctantly walked to her front door, wine glass in hand. It had been a heck of a work week, and she was a grown woman who was entitled to her post-work drink. She rose up onto her tiptoes to look through the glass panes near the top of the door and did a double take when she found her neighbor from down the street standing on her porch, looking for all the world like he was about to bolt. 

“Rowan?” She opened the door. “You alright?” 

He ducked into her house, pushed the door closed, and looked frantically out the window, chest heaving like he was afraid for his life. “I am now, I think.” 

She raised a brow. “Look, I know we’re neighbors and friends and all that, but seriously. What the hell?” 

He held up his hands. “I’m sorry, Ae, I really am. I texted you like fifteen times.” 

“Ah, shit.” She pulled her phone out of her back pocket and waved it in front of him. “Dead, I’m sorry. Ran out of battery on the way home from work and honestly haven’t wanted to charge it.” 

“Fair enough.” He walked beside her down the hallway to her living room and flopped down on the couch he liked, groaning in relief when his head hit the throw pillows. 

“Long week for you too?” 

He grumbled something incomprehensible and moved the pillow off of his face. “Have you ever had six adult men show up at your door armed with gods-only-know how much booze and zero warning and proceed to set up shop in your house?” 

“Can’t say I have,” she drawled. 

“Wouldn’t recommend.” He raked his hands through his messy, pale hair. “I made the mistake of telling the guys that I got that deal with the MLB team, and they apparently decided that this was their sign to come into town and crash my weekend. Seems like I ‘don’t celebrate right,’ whatever the fuck that means.” 

Aelin hid her smile behind her wine. “Which one of the twins said that?” 

“Fen, of fucking course,” Rowan said dryly. “Who else d’you think could convince all the guys to drop everything and converge on my house for a weekend? We’re not in college anymore, not like he understands that.” 

“I’m sure he’ll come around eventually,” Aelin offered. “For now, though, you know you always have a place here. Just…you don’t need to crash for the night, do you?” 

Pink tinged Rowan’s cheeks, and he slipped his backpack off of his shoulders. “Well, now that you mention it…” 

She laughed and stood up. “You know where the spare room is, Ro. Want a beer or something?” 

“Sounds fuckin’ amazing.” He went down the hall to drop off his bag in her spare room and returned a few minutes later in sweatpants and an old university t-shirt. Gratefully, he took the beer bottle from her hand and tipped half its contents down his throat. “Fuck, that’s good.” 

“It’s from the case of ‘good stuff’ you dumped in my garage three weeks ago,” Aelin said, pairing her words with a poke to his side. “Quit using me as your beer overflow, Whitethorn.” 

“Who else could I trust not to drink it?” he grinned, slinging one arm around her shoulders. “If I let one of the guys keep it at their place, it’d be gone in a day, never mind that it’s a small batch craft brew that needs at least thirty-two hours of chilling before you can really get the tasting notes.” 

“Snob,” she teased, turquoise eyes sparkling with laughter. 

He smirked. “It’s called good taste, Ae, and you—” 

A fist thudded rapidly against Aelin’s front door. 

She looked at Rowan, and he looked back at her, eyes wide. “Please don’t let them in,” he whispered, and he took off down the hall to hide in the spare room. 

“Men,” she sighed. She strolled down the hallway, peered out the window, and cracked open her door just a few inches. “What the hell do you want, Moon Moon?” 

Grinning broadly and probably tipsily, Fenrys tried to lean on her doorframe and stumbled sideways before regaining his balance. “Where’s Rowie?” 

Aelin fixed the blonde man with a flat, unimpressed look. “Ask me in normal-people words, Fenny boy.” 

Fenrys inhaled dramatically. “My dear darling Aelin, have you seen Rowan lately? We came to his place to celebrate him getting the MLB deal, but we’d barely been there for an hour before he said he needed to grab something from the store. Haven’t seen the guy since.” 

“Does this look like the store, Moon Moon?” she deadpanned. 

“Nobody thought he was actually going to the store!” Fen protested. He tried to push open her door, but she clicked her tongue and fixed him with a look that made him stop in his tracks. 

“Fen, you’re a good friend, but this is my first work-free weekend in months, and if I have to miss any more of 10 Things I Hate About You, I will eviscerate you with my work heels. Okay?” 

“Leaving!” he yelped. “Text us if you know where Rowan is, though, yeah?” 

“You’re the ones at his place, you can text him,” she returned. “Goodnight, Moon Moon. Don’t fall off any rooftops again.” 

“It was one time!” he yelled, but she’d already closed the door. 

Aelin went back down to her living room, plopped onto the couch, and grumbled something rather unpleasant about the amount of men who banged on her door at all hours of the day. “Coast is clear, Whitethorn,” she called. 

He came back into the living room a minute later. “Thanks for handling him, Ae.” 

“Anything for a little bit of peace, right?” His huff of a laugh tugged at a thread low in her stomach, but she ignored the odd sensation. “Let me know if you need anything that you can’t find. I’m gonna go upstairs and watch brain-rotting chick flicks until I fall asleep, but you’re more than free to watch one of those docuseries you have such a hard-on for.” 

“Aelin!” Rowan’s face reddened, and he choked out her name in a shocked, strangled cough. “Gods, why’d you have to say it like that?” 

“Because you’re too cute when you’re all flustered, buzzard,” she laughed. “G’night!” She headed upstairs to her bathroom, and after a very long shower and a solid half hour of carefully applying her skincare, she tugged one of her favorite nightgowns over her head and rolled into her bed. She could pick up the faint sounds of water running in the guest bathroom down the hall, and coupled with the soft whir of her ceiling fan, she was soon asleep. 

Only to pop awake not quite three hours later. 

Groaning, she rolled onto her other side and closed her eyes, taking deep steady breaths to try and encourage her restless mind to quiet down. As soon as she managed to quiet her roiling mind, though, her stomach rumbled. 

Traitor. 

Aelin flopped onto her stomach and ignored the growly rumble it emitted in protest, but the more she tried to fall back asleep, the more her body resisted. Finally, in defeat, she muttered a string of curses under her breath and rolled out of bed. She pushed her feet into her slippers, flicked on her bedside lamp, and crept out of her room and down the hall. She took the stairs slowly, because at least half of them creaked loud enough to wake the whole street if stepped on too firmly, but she eventually made it out to the kitchen. The glowing numbers on the oven clock flashed 1:55, taunting her with the ridiculous hour. 

Quietly, Aelin pulled open the pantry door, scanning the shelves quickly and finding nothing that sounded particularly good. She moved over to the fridge and glanced inside, huffing in irritation when she didn’t immediately think of anything quick to grab. After a few minutes, she gave up and opened the freezer, her fingers closing around the pint carton of ice cream tucked into the door shelf. She got a spoon from the drawer and sat down at one of the barstools at the high-top counter, not bothering with a bowl. 

She was only a few bites into the deliciously rich triple chocolate when heavier footsteps creaked on the stairs and a very sleepy, very mussed Rowan half-stumbled into the kitchen. 

His bleary gaze wandered around the kitchen, skipping over her once before snapping back to where she sat with her ice cream. The corners of his mouth tipped up, and he mumbled unintelligibly to himself. “Don’t fall over,” she heard him mumble, and he slid his hand along the countertop to guide his steps as he crossed the kitchen. Straight over to her. 

“Hey, you.” She couldn’t be entirely sure whether he was awake or sleepwalking, so she left her spoon in the carton of ice cream and stood up. “Having a good dream, Ro?” 

“’Bout to get even better.” His arms looped around her waist, and he dipped his head and kissed her. A soft hitched gasp broke from her lips, and she slid one hand up the back of his neck into his messy hair and angled his face so she could kiss him properly. It was a long, drawn-out moment before he pulled back, head tilted back to catch a gulping breath, and his eyes snapped back to hers, clear and aware. “Best dream ever.” 

She blinked slowly. “Ro, are you asleep?” 

“I gotta be.” He passed the pad of his thumb over her lips. “It’s the only time I get to kiss you like this, Ae.” 

“Rowan,” she breathed, heart skipping in her chest. “I…I’m awake.” 

His jaw went slack, and he impulsively grabbed her hand. “Pinch me.” 

“What?” 

“Pinch me, Ae. Gotta know if I’m still dreaming.” Obligingly, she pinched the skin at the crease of his elbow, and he let out a tiny, high-pitched squeak. “Fuck, that—am I awake?” 

“I’d imagine so.” Her eyes traveled slowly downwards, until they landed on their linked hands. “This wasn’t what I was expecting when I came down for midnight ice cream.” Uncertainty clouded his face, and she squeezed his hand. “It’s better.” 

Hope, bright and buoyant, broke free in his grin. “Really?” 

“Really.” She closed the distance between them, rolled up onto her tiptoes to meet his lips. “I think I’ve had this dream before, but it’s better in real life.” And she kissed him.

~~~

TAGS:

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@mariaofdoranelle

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

@renxzs

@anarchiii

@fauna-flora11

[separatist-apologist]

thoughts on tog couples? do you ship rowaelin?

I definitely have thoughts. I don't ship Rowaelin- I KIND of liked it in QoS (I think?), but then immediately back peddled in the next book. My issues are this, you can take them or leave them:

Aelin is 18 years old when Rowan finds her on that roof. She's burdened with saving her home and her friends and feels responsible for the death of a friend, so she's not doing well.

Additionally, Aelin's whole life from 8 years old onward is about survival first- sometimes I feel like people forget that Arobynn KNOWS who she is and weaponizes this knowledge against a little girl before playing with her like a toy.

She also watches what could happen to her through Lysandra, should Arobynn ever change his mind about her. She's either violent tool or she's a submissive toy- but at not point is she EVER a person.

By contrast, when Rowan meets Aelin, he is an old ass man. And I'm sorry, but I'm tired of SJM telling me that these fae warriors have immaculate self-control but then everything we see is the opposite. Rowan is angry he's been assigned to train Aelin- which she NEVER asked him for. That's on Maeve. Every issue Rowan has is with Maeve, but because he lacks the power to punish Maeve, he punishes Aelin instead.

Aelin wishes his people die- this is always the line where people are like, okay well I understand he's mad- but like, again she is a child in Rowan's aging terms, lashing out because he's been a fucking dick 24/7 since picking her up.

Rowan is practically baiting Aelin into suicide and needs someone outside of his group of comrades/training to tell him that he is going out of his way to harm her, and can he PLEASE stop?

I'm not even touching on the whole face punching thing.

My issue with Rowaelin is that Rowan never really views Aelin as a person until she proves herself useful to him in battle, which nearly kills her (because Aelin is self-sacrificial to a point), and he sees what her homeland did to her. Only then can he find empathy for her, only then does he shift the way he treats her. If Rowan had been kinder from the start, Aelin might have had a better command of her magic that prevented the burning up to begin with.

But he lets all his own prejudices and emotions get the better of him for too long, and I never quite got over how they started. I don't think he ever deserved her loyalty, and I get tired of stans saying they were both equally awful because like, Rowan has a duty to Aelin to help her. It's not her fault Lyra was killed, or that he's enslaved to Maeve, or even that he was assigned to train her when all she wanted was to ask for help from a powerful relative.

Also, in later books SJM seems to realize that the age gap might be weird for some readers and instead of just leaning into the trope, she has Rowan thinking about how he "forgets" Aelin is only 19 because she's so much more mature and I wish she hadn't done that. I think most fantasy readers accept this age gap trope, so she forces us, instead, to keep acknowledging it and it makes him read a little creepy.

[throneofsapphics]

crucify your lover

Rowaelin x f!Reader

Summary: A frown on your face, you trekked back up the castle, taking a different route. Their eyes would be on you, now that they know. Running is probably the smart thing to do. Run while you can, but … you’ve been running your entire life and you're sick of it. Not this time, you swear to yourself, you won’t run this time. 

Word Count: ~2.2k

Warnings: angst, mentions of death, kinda toxic relationships?

A/N: this has been poking at my brain and I had to get it out, not proofread

You’d give anything for them, and you have - for years and years. But, no matter what you do it never seems to be enough. There’s no way for you to compare to them, and they’ve never said it directly but you hear the whispers of others, the whispers of the court. 

Why her? 

There’s nothing special about her. 

If anyone would pay attention, if anyone bothered to ask, they’d realize you keep secrets for a reason. That some powers are better kept buried deep down where no one can touch them. If … if they knew what you could do, mate or not you couldn’t be certain of their reaction. 

Such little magic, what a pity. 

You seethed with each comment, but kept your emotions perfectly under control. Nobody needed to know, nobody would have to, but the cost of keeping secrets bled your soul. If you could get rid of it - purify yourself of it - you would. 

They had … accepted … you, mainly because the bond wouldn’t let them do anything else. Separating the three of you physically would cause pain. But, you kept those barriers up in your mind, kept yourself so damn far away they never guessed. Maybe it’s ridiculous of you to wish they would. Unconditional love, that’s what mates were supposed to be - according to all of the tales and legends you grew up on. Still, watching your people hunted in front of you would change anyone's view of magic. 

You never knew exactly what your magic was, not until you had a chance to scour the library of Orynth. 

Necromancy. 

The word was so ugly to you, but it fit best. All of the records said it was a magic from ancient witches, but you’re Fae, and it made no damn sense to you. Still, every month under the full moon, you made a trek into the forest. 

The guise was to have peace to connect with your family, and you always made sure you weren’t followed. Your mates respected you enough to let you do that. Instead, you let loose enough of your magic to keep yourself from exploding. You always wondered what it felt like to others, to you it was the whispers of the trees around you, a warm embrace circling you, the thoughts of the dead brought to life in fragments. You let the magic whirl around you, circling you and letting them tell you their secrets, their confessionals. Blessed by the God of Truth. Your mother said once, before her death. You still hadn’t decided if it was a blessing or a curse. 

-

Something was off with you, Rowan knew that. He’d tried to track you the first few times you left on the full moons, out to hell knows where, but you always slipped his trail. This time, you seemed distracted and something told him to follow, the wind whispered where to find you, where to perch. You didn’t notice a white-tailed hawk in a tree several feet away, and a shield of wind hit his scent. 

He watched as you sat down on the log, stretching your legs out in front of you, and gray whispers of … of magic flowed around you in circles. 

Beautiful, it was absolutely beautiful. Your eyes closed, palms resting face up, your head tilted back with the moonlight casting a clear vision of your face - how your eyelashes fluttered against your cheek, the lines of your jaw, your hair loose and flowing around your shoulders. 

His first emotion was fear - fear that you’d been coming out here every single month alone, and in a vulnerable state. Anyone could get to you like this, and he doesn’t know how your magic works - if it could defend you or if you knew how to use it. 

Second, came disbelief. How the hell had you hid your magic from them both for so long? Over a year. As far as he knew you were only able to shield yourself, albeit weakly - the typical traits of Fae. Then - why had you hidden your magic from them? As he watched, as he sensed the type of power flowing from you, he understood exactly why. Still, he was hurt that you couldn’t trust him or Aelin enough to tell them about it. He wondered if you’ve told anyone, if anyone living knows. Gods, Maeve had him hunt down magic-wielders like you in the past. The secrets of the dead were meant to stay dead. 

Rowan waited long enough to know you were safe, and headed back towards the castle before taking off. He needed to get to Aelin, to tell her as soon as possible. Even if she would bitch at him for interrupting her sleep. 

-

“You’re kidding. Tell me you’re kidding.” Aelin’s eyes were wide in shock. Rowan glared at her, crossing his arms. “How could she keep it from us, from you?” She couldn’t help the accusatory tone, her mate was known for sniffing out secrets after all. The fact that you’ve been able to keep this from them for so long is impressive and terrifying. 

“I don’t know.” He said through gritted teeth. Aelin felt the rollercoaster of emotions going through him - fear, anger, concern, and disbelief. It hadn’t had a chance to set in for her. 

“What do we do about it?” She sighed, collapsing back on the couch. “You won’t be able to keep it to yourself,” she raised one brow, but he didn’t deny it. 

“We have to tell her we know.” His lips pressed into a tight line. 

“How do you think she’ll react?” Aelin questioned. 

“If I was her,” he hedged, “I’d run as far as possible.” 

Aelin’s heart broke slightly, and his gaze softened. “Think about it,” he murmured, taking a seat next to her. “Magic wielders like her have been hunted for centuries.” 

“We wouldn’t do that,” Aelin snapped. 

“I know,” he soothed, running one hand down her thigh. 

“What do you think happened to her family?” The thought popped into Aelin’s head. She knew they were dead, and assumed they likely were killed with several other Fae when Adarlan invaded. 

Rowan stiffened next to her, and her gaze snapped to him. His eyes had gone slightly distant, as if he were putting something together. Is it … he said they’ve been hunted for centuries… could Maeve have sent him to do that?

“That’s a question to ask her,” his voice was rough and heavy with emotion. Aelin knew when to push and when to leave it, and for now this is something she would leave alone. For now. Mates are equals, she’s always been told, and if that’s true … that means you’ve been hiding an immense power for a long time. No wonder you disappear every full moon. That or risk yourself exploding. She wants to think she’d take the high and mighty road if she were you, if she had been in your situation, but she’s not certain. The thought makes her uneasy, more than she wants to admit. 

-

You could tell something was off as soon as you returned. Rowan and Aelin were different, they’d eyed you warily - although they hid their emotions well enough. Anyone who wasn’t bonded as closely to them would never notice the difference. 

By that evening, it filled you with enough dread that you did something risky and potentially stupid. Carefully watching your tail, double and triple checking for anyone following you, you made your way to the lowest levels of the castle.

A tiny bit of magic flowed from you, discreet enough nobody should notice the shift in the air, and just enough to focus communication - communicate with someone who could give you an answer. 

They know. The voice was familiar, but it wasn’t. Vaguely like Aedion, the General’s. 

What will they do? You focused on keeping the connection, nearly pleading with the soul or spirit for help. 

They won’t kill you. That was not comforting, at all. They will want to speak of it, the rest is up to you. 

You thanked them, probably him, for his time, and groaned. Not kill you, speak of it, and the rest is up to you. At least you’ve ruled out your death. A frown on your face, you trekked back up the castle, taking a different route. Their eyes would be on you, now that they know. Running is probably the smart thing to do. Run while you can, but … you’ve been running your entire life and you're sick of it. Not this time, you swear to yourself, you won’t run this time. 

-

“You know,” you said mildly over dinner, slicing unnecessary harshly through a potato, your knuckles white and clenched around the potential weapon. Rowan blinked in surprise, and Aelin’s eyebrows rose. They hadn’t expected you to say anything about it, then. “What is it, now that you know my dirty secret?” A slightly wicked grin crossed your face and you tilted your head, daring them to reply. 

For once, they both seemed speechless. You saw how they communicated with each other, slightly glazed eyes. Rude, but you wouldn’t comment on it for now. 

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Aelin finally asked. An absolutely pointless question based on the look on her face. 

“You know why.” You set the knife and fork down, wringing your hands together under the table to try and release some of the tension building in you. 

“You let everyone say horrible things about you.” She said quietly. 

That struck something deep inside you. They know about what others say, and considering the ones who say it still run their mouths and repeat the same rhetoric even a year later … your mother always told you silence is agreement. All of a sudden, you didn’t give a damn about your magic, about what might happen to you because of it, instead you felt a sense of betrayal. The people who should love you, who should protect you - act on the same instincts you did, let that happen. Crucified. A part of your soul died, withered away, and you kept a very tight lid on your magic. 

“You let them.” You responded, unable to keep the slight bit of venom from your voice. Neither of them bothered to reply to that, and your temper flared further. It was taking everything inside of you to keep your cool. 

“You lied about your magic.” Rowan countered instead. 

You scoffed, “of course I did - you know what happens to people like me.” 

This time, Aelin’s knuckles went white where they gripped the table. “Not here.” She said through gritted teeth, and you grimaced. 

“Not in Terrasen,” you acquiesced. Aelin’s grip loosened slightly. Rowan was still stiff as a board, his posture rigid and stoic, not an emotion or thought given away - he doesn’t want to say how he feels about the situation. That told you enough. You wanted to say it shouldn’t change anything, but it does, it changes absolutely every damn thing. 

Aelin threw her head back with a groan. “This is a mess.” 

A laugh bubbled up in your chest, and some of the tension in the room left, as if she’d snapped it with a sharp knife. 

“We’ll,” Rowan cleared his throat. “We’ll keep you safe, whatever it takes.” Your entire body froze, eyes widening. You’d deny it but small tears had pricked at the corner. The sight of those softened Rowan’s gaze, his body loosening slightly. “Did you think we wouldn’t?” He asked quietly. 

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly, “very few alive know.” 

Rowan immediately grilled you for the names of the people who do know, and you answered, albeit a bit reluctantly. The fierce look in his eyes set you on edge enough you probably would confess your deepest secrets to him if he asked. Aelin had pasted an amused look on her face, but you knew she was taking note of every name, of every word exchanged between the two of you. 

“How did you find out?” You asked the question that had been on your mind all night. 

Rowan, at least, had the decency to grimace - but didn’t look apologetic at all. “I followed you.” 

At least there wasn’t a snitch somewhere, only a nosy buzzard. “I’d do the same,” you grumbled, crossing your arms. Rowan’s mouth quirked up at the side. 

Maybe this could be the bridge, a way to start connecting the gap between you and them. That’s if you could figure out how to overcome the hurt dealt to you - how they hadn’t defended you, hadn’t said a word against some of the vultures linking in their courts. You could say you were making assumptions, but you were blessed by the God of truth - it was perfectly clear to you. 

A pessimistic part of your mind, the antagonist, rose to the front. Are you only worthy now that they know of your magic? Now that you can prove yourself as an equal? You clenched your fists together once, twice, three times, and released them. A conversation for another time, something to think through on another date. A day where you would give them a piece of your mind, once you were ready. 

[aelinschild]

Season Of Forgiveness

Main Masterlist

Happy Holidays everyone!! I'm a little (Very, sorry!!) late with this post, but this is my gift for the 2023 Rowaelin Secret Santa! Big thank you to @rowaelinscourt for organizing it!! This is dedicated to the lovely @shyvioletcat , I wish you a very merry holiday season, and hopefully you enjoy this absolute monstrosity. I actually do not know what took over me during writing this, but I'm just happy its done.

SYNOPSIS: Holidays are known to be the season of joy, but when that joy is no longer Aelin's, she is forced to find peace in the unknown. WORDCOUNT: 9k GENERAL WARNINGS: Very light one bed trope, mentions of sex, angsty for no reason, swearing, alcohol, arguments, choking and CPR, happy ending dont worry

(A/N: After writing this, I realize it has the same vibe of calling Die Hard a Christmas movie. Granted, I actually didn't finish the movie, but from what I watched, how the fuck is it a Christmas movie?? This is me telling you that this fic is probably like that lol)

Hour One

Fuck.

There was really no other way to put it. Fuck is such a versatile word, situationally. Aelin can recount the times she's moaned out breathy fucks, and the times she's roared them during moronic altercations. 

This type of fuck? Certainly not the cathartic type. 

This fuck is the sum of all past mistakes in her life, multiplied by her best friend's scheming mind, and then raised to the power of the irrational choice to return to her old university town. 

On the queen-sized bed were two plush towels. A robe. Face cloths and minimal toiletries. 

Oh, and a fucking red rose. 

In Lysandra’s plush apartment – a classic Victorian style, with ivy creeping up the brick fireplace, and stained glass windows at odd intervals – she was the owner of three bedrooms. 

And to Aelin's luck, there happened to be two couples staying here this evening. Which meant two of the three bedrooms were now occupied. Mathematically speaking, the two other individuals would each need their own room. 

It seems that math slipped Lysandra's mind when she organized her little yearly anniversary Yulemas Eve dinner. How…pleasant.

Chest rising and falling with barely contained frustration, Aelin didn't know whether to yell or cry. Her hand held her overnight bag so tight her knuckles were pressing at the whites. Nails digging into supple skin. 

It didn't take a genius to figure out what Lysandra had done. But it took a lot of willpower for Aelin to not storm out of the room and choke her friend for the transgression. And just past the blood rushing in her ears, she could hear the friendly greetings of her other friends as they crossed the threshold of Lys’ little home. Welcomed into the warmth of tradition. 

Oh, I'm going to kill you, Lysandra. 

Aedion and Lys would – obviously – take their master bedroom. Located around a corner and at the end of that hall. Far from where Aelin was. A feature she was grateful for, given Aedion and Lysandra's… healthy love life. And Lorcan and Elide would slip into the downstairs spare room. The one the couple had claimed during the first year of this tradition. 

Leaving Aelin, in this spare room with a queen-sized bed and the bloody rose, to bed with Rowan. 

Oh, how she loathed her life at this moment. What foul god had she angered to be punished this way. Maybe that same god would derail Rowan’s cab en route. Shucking it into a frozen lake, or something of the like. 

Gently brushing over the towels, Aelin traced the other memories this room held. 

The queen-sized bed hardly fit her and Rowan, that she knew from experience. His height alone ruined the tucked edges of their duvet, which always ended up on his side of the bed by morning. The pillows would have to be mushed together in the middle so that they would not fall off. And Rowan, he at night would roll around. Restless, even in the deepest hours. He would usually end up on top of Aelin, face along her breasts and hair tickling her chin. 

Her fingers moved from the towel to the rose. Plucking it up, she held it at eye level. Studying the contours of the flower, it was beautiful. But Aelin couldn't get past the fact that Lysandra had set this up. And put a godsdamned rose on the towels. 

Aelin might just take the couch. 

The front door opened and closed again, voices rose up from the entry through the open bedroom door. Aelin began unpacking mechanically. The drawers where she set her clothes were the same as she had for the last decade. The dent on the wall by the left corner was also the same. Seems like Aedion never got around to patching it. Aelin chuckles under her breath, the talking-to she and Rowan had received after denting the wall from a vigorous…activity, would never fail to not make her laugh. 

Once the unpacking was complete, only taking a few moments as Aelin wouldn't be staying longer than the night, she took a moment to sit on her side of the bed and breathe. 

This would be disastrous. And she had no way of getting out. Unless she jumped from the window to her left. 

A decade ago, Aelin and Rowan had met through their friends. Their family. Aedion had bridged the gap by dating her best friend, Lysandra. Their quickly evolving and fiery romance meant that there would no longer be Aelin-Elide-Lys days. Now, they included the Ashryver cousin. Lorcan and Rowan had been over Aedion’s lovesick puppy act and had forcibly inserted themselves into the group. As her cousin rarely left Lysandra's side anymore. 

This meant that Aelin and Elide were left to deal with two grumpy college guys. It was like babysitting rocks, who could probably show more emotion than the lot of them. But somehow, somewhere along the line, Elide fell for Lorcan. And when Aelin was forced to watch another friend fall in love, she turned to the only bastard left. 

But Aelin and Rowan had always been…different. Difficult entirely. It started as sex. Each of them too busy with their respective degrees to foster any more of a connection. 

It worked, and it worked well. 

For two years, Aelin was exclusive with Rowan Whitethorn without anyone knowing the depth of their friendship. To her girlfriends, he was the hot guy whom Aelin should really give a chance. To his boys, she was the girl who could obviously help blow off a little steam. 

Time stretched out, and steadiness had replaced the need for romantic connection. Post graduation, Rowan and her barely crossed paths anymore, unless the entire group got together. But there still existed an attachment built during years of intimacy – which Aelin never voiced, not wanting to ruin the entire affair by breaking the principle rule of their arrangement. And due to that principle, Rowan had also never expressed any interest above surface-level desire. 

She had been left in the dark of his feelings for her, just as she had left him in the dark of hers. They were two polar magnets, separated only by the fear of shattering the fragile closeness built from tentative familiarity. Neither were any good at subtly hinting at something. 

When the parallel lines of their lives crossed, ever-diligent Rowan proposed something rather different. Unpredictable.

He offered a relationship. 

Looking back, it was hilariously clinical. It wouldn't surprise her if he had stored papers in her bag with a list of what their relationship could entail. Numbered – or alphabetically ordered. Probably about who did what and when hand-holding was allowed. Such a stickler for the rules.

But Rowan had shocked Aelin that night. When she had said yes, fuck it let's give it a chance, and they had gone back to his apartment, there was a bouquet of fragrant red roses placed on the counter. A box of her favourite chocolates beside it. Things she had mentioned in passing, probably after a hook-up. Maybe during a romantic comedy that they would often watch together. Where she’d point out the little things men can do that show a deeper appreciation. 

They had cracked open a bottle of wine, and talked for hours under the stars and above the rushing traffic. And it was like peeling back a layer, revealing this steadfast and romantic man. The one who had refiled her glass more than once. Used his hand to cover sharp edges when she leaned around after a few too many drinks. Who had carried her to bed, gently unclasping her stiletto heels and massaging the tired soles of her feet. Who had carefully removed the maxi dress she wore, hanging it up to prevent creases. Then, with permission, undressed her further. 

That night hadn't been like before. Aelin wasn't sure she had ever felt that way. Not a blinding, stretching heat or an all-consuming pressure. No, rather a connection. When Rowan had caressed her like a piece of art, she felt revered. Holy. Her skin had tingled with the unfamiliar feeling of adoration. 

Breathless whispers and tight holds had conveyed words that were far too new to speak aloud. 

That night had been the beginning of a long-standing understanding. The two of them weren't open about their connection. Rather, it was a pleasant slice of life, cut out to fit the shape of two lovers who aimed to navigate the crossroads of their future. And for years they existed peacefully in the space they had made for each other. 

Until they couldn't anymore. 

The door creaked open, its hinges never oiled. Lysandra was allergic to a chemical in WD-40. 

A whoosh of breath came from the entrance, and Aelin’s spine felt the all too familiar tingle of the presence of the man she had loved. 

“Aelin,” came the voice, like gravel smoothed by arctic winds. There always existed some sort of unrest under Rowan’s skin. It could be heard in his voice, worn from use. Had she still been his, she would have made him a cup of tea. Extra honey. As he liked. 

Humming out a noise of acknowledgement, Aelin turned slightly. Cheeks starting to heat. “Hello, Rowan.” She said, breathlessly. 

She watched his throat work. He had gotten leaner since she last saw him. His eyes less bright. Cheeks sunken. His unachievable tan had faded. 

He was still the beautiful boy–man, she had always known. Pleasure and pain united, each moment in his presence stole some of her oxygen. She loved him. Loved. 

A shrill squeak this time, and a crafty brunette head popped into the doorway. “Ah! Okay! Guess, how many candies are in this jar!” Lysandra asked the both of them. Their moment shattering and instead opening up to accept another's presence. Lysandra was holding a large mason jar filled with red and white peppermint swirl candies. 

“Uh,” Rowan scratched the back of his neck. “Two hundred?” Lysandra just snorted and then turned to Aelin. 

Aelin studied the jar, fighting to not break out into goosebumps with the feeling of Rowan’s eyes on her. “One hundred…and… forty-three–no! Twenty!”

“Final answer?” Lysandra taunted. 

“Yes.”

“Wrong.” She cackled. Turning away and hightailing it down the hall, laughing like she was possessed. “Come downstairs, you losers!”

Hour Two

Aelin had left with no word to Rowan. She couldn't bear it. The wound still so fresh. Instead, she had sauntered by and shut the door gently on her way out. Missing the pleading look in his eyes as she walked away. 

“Ae!” Elide shouted at her approach. Aelin couldn't help but smile. As awful as the next eleven hours may be, Aelin was grateful she had her best friends by her side. Lysandra's still on thin ice. 

“El! Look at you!” Aelin grabbed a hold of her friend's hand, letting her do a little twirl. The sequined skirt she had on fanned out around her. Reflecting the lights in the room across the walls. “You like our own little mirrorball.”

Elide just let out a soft laugh. Grinning. “Gotta get the party started somehow.” She said. Stepping back she put her arms on Aelin's elbow, holding tight. She made a show of looking around the room, and upon it being clear, Elide looked her right in the eyes. “I'm sorry.” 

“For what,” Aelin asked, perplexed. 

She gave her a pointed look. “I tried to explain to Lys that she wasn't being fair. It's not fair. I offered to get a hotel room for me and Lorcan, but you know how Aedion is about traditions.” She rolled her eyes. “I realize that this isn't… you know. This was not on the healing plan–”

“Maybe, El, just being with my best friends could be healing. Maybe we switch the healing plan around for a little.” She said softly, speaking from a place of honesty. 

Elide’s eyes were misty, and Aelin had to look away. This was a hurt that was deeper than her. 

She took a breath, “Okay. But–no I'm serious. Don't look away. If you need anything, anything at all, I'm here. And we can have a little girl meeting with Lys after we put the boys to bed.” She gave a choked laugh. 

Aelin nodded. An understanding passing through them both. Everyone knew that tension would be high this evening. Aelin herself knew it would be brutal. Facing her ex at Lys’ annual Yulemas Eve Dinner, a tradition shrouded in love and comfort. But she was eternally grateful for Elide – and Lysandra, but maybe not currently. How she found such caring women would never fail to surprise her. 

Elide nodded back, smile and eyes watery. They both let out laughs. This solidarity was something Aelin needed more than she knew. 

“Okay, no more tears.” Aelin sniffed, disconnecting their hand-elbow position to wipe at her waterline. Elide laughed and did the same; laughing at the growing pains. Embracing and squeezing love into each other. 

Hour Three

They had all moved to the living room. It was three o'clock, and the festivities would run until midnight. 

This tradition of theirs started years ago, when Lysandra had been given this apartment by her uncle, conveniently on Yulemas Eve. As a group of broke college students, they had gotten together at noon at Lys’ new abode, flocking towards the offer of free food and drinks. But, they had spent the next twelve hours renovating, each of them finding different tasks every hour to keep the boredom away. At midnight, the promised food had been delivered and all of them had pigged out and slept on the worn carpet of the living room, full of holiday spirit. 

That tradition continued on, and it proved to be extremely helpful in the days when family ties were harder to save than simply forget. When the lonesomeness of the holidays overtook the youths, twelve hours at Lysandra and Aedion's home would never fail to rekindle that merriment. 

And so, for the past decade, everyone would arrive at noon, and each hour would be filled with something new; usually holiday-themed, but it was truly left to Aelin’s best friend’s imagination. 

So at hour three, the group found themselves in the living room, sipping on sparkling wine and snacking on appetizers. This would – apparently – be the hour of catching up. 

“... And so I told him, if he wanted a maid he could hire one. I mean, the man is rolling in money. What fucking scumbag hires someone, and then lets them play servant for the rest of the office, and then drops all his work on them? I mean, truly.” Elide was saying. Aelin was nodding along, enjoying the fresh gossip about her best friend's workplace. “But then he got all on his high horse, all you can't talk to me like that and I'm your superior, you know. Stupid bullshit.”

“So what did you do?” Lysandra asked, thoroughly enthralled by the story. Lorcan let out a hearty chuckle, his arm slung across Elide lovingly. 

“I fucking stole the glass plate from his microwave. Then took all the ink cartridges from his pens. And all the extra toilet paper in his washroom? Not there anymore!” Aelin snorted out her bubbly wine. Lysandra was racked with giggles, and Lorcan was trying not to laugh out loud. Aedion’s cackle joined the fray. And like she always would, Aelin picked up on Rowan's breathy laugh, it ignited flames through her veins. 

“Oh my gods, El. You absolute heathen,” Aedion got out through fits of laughter. Lysandra attempted deep breaths while wiping stray tears from the corners of her eyes. Aelin stared into her drink, suppressing giggles. 

“Well, it's not like he didn't deserve it,” Elide added, smiling smugly. Lorcan just kissed her temple. 

“Certainly not. Where’d you get those ideas though?” Leaning for a piece of cheese, Aelin asked. Grabbing a few pieces and rolling them around in her palm. Lysandra’s giggles were waving in and out, each time Aedion whispered something in her ear, they’d begin again. 

“My gigantic brain.” Elide snorted, pleased at her joke. 

“Nice, El.” Came from Rowan. 

“See, I thought you'd crucify me for that. Mister straight and narrow.” Oh.

Rowan didn't falter, “No, actually, if anything that gives me ideas.” He said. “Sometimes the corporate world can be a little too uptight.” He glanced at Aelin. 

Aedion laughed again. “Rich! That’s rich coming from you.” He taunted.

Rowan leaned into the jest. “Maybe I want to break free.”

“Uptight life not suiting you anymore, Boyo?” Came from Lorcan. 

“Maybe.” Rowan shrugged. “Maybe life is worth a little more than corporate deviances.” He pulled at the seams of his shirt. Fingers twirling the stem of his sparkling wine. 

Aelin didn't think anyone else had noticed the stall in the conversation. The way the bright energy slowed and sputtered. Pausing momentarily and applying enough pressure to Aelin’s soul that she felt winded. But everyone moved on, Rowan included. Laughing and sharing stories as they might. 

The conversation didn't end, and Aelin’s buried sorrow didn't dissipate. But she would keep breathing. Keep moving forward, exchanging banter all in the hopes of drawing out the sound of her heart breaking slowly. 

“By the way, Lys, how many candies were in the jar?”

“None. It was the paper decoration that it came with from the store.”

Hour Four

It was cocktail hour. 

This was Aelin’s favourite tradition. One she actually prepared for. And it consisted of each of them having to make a holiday-themed cocktail, completely customized. There could be no research during the competition – before was a grey area Aelin loved to exploit – and they each had ten minutes. 

The order would follow; Lorcan, Lysandra, Elide, Aedion, Rowan, Aelin. And so, a silver tray had been placed in the middle of the table, and six yellowy drinks in champagne flutes sat. The colour was truly horrifying. 

“So, explain.” Lysadra motioned to start. 

“Right,” Lorcan grabbed a flute, examining it carefully. Like he didn't even know what was in it himself. “So, this…drink–”

“Sound a little more enthusiastic babe, or I'll be really worried about what you made.” Elide interrupted. 

“I'm already worried,” Rowan whispered to Aedion, face set in a perplexed grimace. 

“Hush, you goons.” He waved at the other guys. They broke apart laughing. “In here there is…Gin, uh, some Limoncello and creme de Banane. And I call it the…uh, I don't know. Yellow shot?”

“...of death,” Aelin whispered to Lysandra. Who nodded solemnly. Elide looked disgusted at her fiance’s creation, but schooled it into a look of pride when he turned to her. The moment he looked away, she made a fake gagging motion to Aelin and Lysandra. 

“Sounds wonderful, my dear Lorcan. Now, my great sir, would you please bring me my beverage.” Aedion declared, hands aiming to move in a dignified manner. He looked like he was trying to swat away flies. 

“No.”

“It was worth a shot,” He sighed, reaching for a drink. 

Aelin grabbed a flute, “Limoncello and Gin, what the hell were you aiming for here Lorcan?” She delicately sniffed at the drink. Oh god.

Plopping himself nearly onto Elide, who let out a squeak, he just shrugged. Grabbing his flute, he threw it back in one fluid motion. Everyone paused, waiting for the reaction. He swallowed, looked around, and then quickly turned away to gag and cough. 

Laughter erupted. 

Once everyone had a glass, clinking them together in cheers, and shot it down like Lorcan. He watched from on the couch, eyes a little watery. There was a pause as everyone swished the drink around in their mouth, tasting the flavour. 

It was fucking godsawful. Aelin had never tasted anything so evil. The hint of banana flavour nearly had her spitting the drink back into the glass, and the way the Gin nearly curdled it was almost worse. Taking a deep breath through her nose, she tried to swallow. Forcing the atrocity that was Lorcan’s drink down. Catching Elide’s eye, as the woman got up and ran for the washroom. Lysandra was the only one who seemed unbothered. 

“Fuck!” Aedion shouted when he could speak again. “Holy gods man, I have never put anything worse into my mouth. Ever.” 

“And that's saying somethin',” Rowan choked out. Also beyond bothered by Lorcan’s monstrosity. 

“You evil, evil man,” Aelin added. A shudder racking her body.

-

The cocktail hour carried on. Lysandra had made a mojito with cinnamon rather than mint, and it was not nearly as bad as Lorcan’s. Elide had done a ‘Sunrise Suprise’, which was simply tequila and orange juice. The ability to make a good cocktail skipped both Elide and Lorcan. Aedion had wanted to send everyone to their death, combining four different whiskeys and a melted spoonful of ice cream. It hadn't been as bad as expected, but there were much better choices out there. Rowan had mixed pickle juice and vodka, to create a dill martini. Interestingly enough, that had been the most palatable drink of the night. 

When Aelin’s turn came around, she began to pull out the individual ingredients. Lining them up in the order in which she would mix. Her focus on the drinks made her unaware that another body was present in the kitchen. Until they spoke up. 

“You look well,” Rowan said from the opposite end of the room, his body leaning up against the cabinets. Jumping at the sudden sound of his voice, her head snapped up. There he was, cataloguing her every move, a familiar feeling; his eyes on her. 

Startled, she stared at him. And kept staring at him, not realizing she had been ogling him for a few moments. She took in the lines of his body, the way his dress pants hugged his legs. The black leather belt, cinching in his waist. The sweater – cashmere, most likely – was elegantly draped over his upper body. The hard planes of his stomach were slightly in sight as the soft material moulded to his form. Everything about Rowan meant something. And looking at him only brought back bitter-sweet memories. Her gaze snapped away when he gave a light noise of acknowledgement. 

Blushing and caught, Aelin turned back to the drinks, cracking open the bottle of vodka she had slipped mint candies in a few weeks ago. She planned to let the flavours permeate the liquor and add a nice flair to her drinks. She felt Rowan’s inquisitive eyes on her every move. 

“Thank you, Rowan.” Acknowledging him, she hoped he would just walk away. She wasn't strong enough to just stand here and allow him to be there. To feel the gaping divide between their beings. 

Silence. 

“I– Look, I need to talk to you Aelin,” He approached from the other side of the room, slipping around the counter where she was. “I know it’s not the best–”

“Rowan.” A firm command, all blushed drained. She could be strong. She could. She was back to looking at him again. Green eyes, full lips, strong jaw. The silver strands that ghosted his brow. Gods she hated how looking at him hurt her so deeply. His smile, and laughter, earlier had been the knife to the gut. His presence here now? A twisting. 

“No, Aelin. I'm serious.”

“I am too.” 

“Wait.” He breathed. Gentler this time. His hand stretched out, muscle memory. She knew it would land at the curve of her waist, how the weight of it would ground her. The warmth would slip under the fabric of her dress, warming her bones. 

He retracted it before it got close enough, burning the neuron pathway that made the movement instinctual. 

She steadied herself, leaning towards him slightly, but not enough to communicate any more interest in where this was going. “Not now, Rowan. Not now. You had your chance, let me be.” 

“What chance? The fucking run-in at a cafe? That was not a ‘chance’ Aelin.” He snapped. Letting his frustration run into his tone. She hated him when he was like this. Not frustrated, no she understood that. But…seeking. She knew what he wanted, and she knew it would break her down quicker than she could turn away. Her sanity rested on the finalization of this conversation. 

Smiling politely, in a way she knew brought more frustration, she turned away and began preparing the drink. 

“Not now,” She whispered. More to herself, a silent prayer of resistance. She heard more than saw Rowan turn to walk away, over the entire conversation entirely. He missed the tear that raced down her cheek, or the hitch in her breath when the door swung close. 

-

“Peppermint Cocktails!” Aelin announced, waltzing into the room with her usual charm, all emotions wiped. She avoided Rowan’s look like the plague. Offering a drink to each friend, she was pleased to hear that her concoction was the best of the night – an unsurprising win – and the group sat around talking still. The light buzz from all the alcohol had Aelin feeling looser. The unease from moments ago slipped away like sand between her fingers. 

“I saw Rowan walk into the kitchen,” Elide whispered into her ear. Everyone else had been looking at a picture on Lorcan's phone. 

“Mhm.” 

“Want to talk about it?” 

“No.”

Hour Five

Rowan likes the cold. 

He liked it in a way many others didn't. He liked the way it nipped at his body slowly in the beginning, a feeling that was urgently chased away by shivers. He liked it when it froze deeper. When it slowly crawled into the heat of his body, dousing it and cutting off feeling. He liked the stiffness. The slowed movement as the cold reached his core, seizing feeling. It isolated him in a way many things did not. 

Sitting on the front porch of Lysandra’s apartment, he embraced the cold. 

Everyone had just finished up with a game of cards, and Aedion had rushed out, forgetting some ingredients for dinner. He had excused himself, just need a moment, and walked all of three steps before stopping. Allowing his body to freeze, his cashmere sweater not saving much heat. 

As he lost feeling of some body parts, he embraced the thoughts rushing through his mind, all seemingly racing in circles around the fiery blonde. The one whose embers never burnt out, but now seemed to be slowly dying. The consistent crackle and warmth of her presence, all leaking away in a manner he knew he was responsible for. 

The cold he had embraced wholeheartedly was killing his fireheart. 

His thoughts spun like the twirling snowflakes as they fell to the ground. Circling gently, melting away. But all things seemed to lead him back to his bedroom. To the moment this morning, before he had slipped away into the cab to make it here tonight. His thoughts brought him to the second drawer in his nightstand, underneath a notepad and tissues. In an embroidered box, sat a diamond ring, inlaid into a gold band that had sweeping leaf designs along its curves. Two emeralds set into the inside, to rub against one's finger. 

All thoughts seemed to lead him back to Aelin

Hour Six, Hour Seven, Hour Eight

“Can you pass me the salt?” Lysandra called from Aelin's right. She was before the stove, stirring the gravy and watching the vegetables as they cooked in the pan. 

Handing her the salt, Aelin brushed by her to grab some butter from the fridge. Needing it for the bread that would be coming out of the oven soon, steaming hot. 

They worked in a comfortable silence, only waiting for Aedion to return with some forgotten ingredients. Lorcan, Elide, and Rowan were all in the living room, having not been drawn for cooking duty this year. A method that was quickly taken up once the group realized six people in the kitchen was less of a pleasant experience. Top many bossy chefs. 

Post-cocktail hour, tipsy cards had commenced. And the many, many, shots of straight liquor had reached Aelin by that time. She was feeling much better, her heart no longer aching and screaming at her mind to just look at the man across from her. Rather, she had enthusiastically played cards. Letting the feeling of her family around her and the laughter that kept escaping cocoon her. Unfortunately, that joy had meant that Lorcan had swept everyone off their asses, wiping the board clean and winning the one hundred and twenty dollars put into the pot. That had sobered her up pretty quickly, arguing that he had cheated. He had just smirked. 

Then when Aedion rushed out, Aelin caught sight of Rowan walking out the front door too. She had been standing at the other end of the hallway, out of his view. She had watched his expression fall as soon as he crossed the threshold. It was like night and day, the crinkle around his eyes and the brightness of his smile, wiped away. He just stepped out, closing the door softly behind him. 

She had waited a moment, arguing mentally if she should go after him, until Lysandra had called, telling Aelin she needed her help. 

She wasn't ready to face him alone.

“Aelin,” A soft hand was at Aelin's wrist, pausing her chopping of vegetables. She glanced up, shocked out of her reverie. Lysandra was staring at her, looking deeply into her, her brows pulled together in confusion. She must've been calling me for a minute. When it seemed Lysandra had the other woman’s attention, she added softly, “I couldn't not invite one of you.” 

Dropping the knife, “Lys.” Aelin pleaded, not wanting to have this conversation. It felt like the entire night had been her running in circles around her and Rowan. Her and Rowan. Rowan and I. “Seriously, I can't do more of this.” 

Lysandra paid no mind to Aelin’s plea, pushing forward. “Listen. I love you deeply, very very deeply. Sometimes I wonder why,” at that, Aelin cracked a mirthful smile. “But I see the way you two look at each other. And while I know it's not my business, I think this is something you two seriously need to talk out.” She said solemnly. 

This was the point she'd been dancing around for such a long time. 

Pushing the cutting board away from her, Aelin slumped into her arms, leaning against the counter. 

“Did I make a mistake? Breaking up with him?” Like a breath after being underwater, Aelin let it out, asking the question that had rattled in the back of her mind for months. Breathing in a little deeper when some new space opened up because of it. 

“I have my own opinions, but whether or not you made a mistake is up to you.” Lysandra was soothingly rubbing her back. 

“Some days it feels like the biggest fucking mistake I've ever made, Lys. Some days it hurts so much I can't even get out of bed.” 

She hummed, letting Aelin speak. 

“I just– it felt right at the time. But it doesn't feel right now. How is that fair? How could I have made a decision like that? What would have happened if I stayed?”

“You wouldn't have done well, Ae. We all saw what was happening.”

“But you can't know that.” She whispered out. 

“I can, and I did. Sometimes the strongest thing you can do is let go. And that's what you did, my love. Maybe something could have gotten better, but maybe not.” Lysandra took a deep breath. “I'm proud of you regardless, that's not an easy choice to make.”

“And it clearly wasn't the fucking right one.” 

Lysandra's hand stopped, she grabbed onto Aelin's shoulder, squeezing firmly. 

“You can say that all you want, Aelin, but ultimately it was the right choice for you at the time. You blossomed. But now? Maybe it's different. And maybe every time I see you two lovesick fools in the same room, I am simultaneously sick and overjoyed. I see his face when he looks at you Ae, like you hung the stars.”

“What's this? Therapy hour?” A loud voice broke apart their moment, jerking both women out of their moment. It was Aedion with the groceries. He was smiling widely, but it fell when he took in the expression of the other women. “Oh. Shit, sorry.”

Aelin just groaned. “And look at me now, ruining the festivities.” Watching Aedion's smile drop was just a reminder of the emotional burden she forgot to check at the door. Bringing that cloud of gloom inside. It was not fair to everyone else, they didn't deserve to bear witness to the sorrow leaking from her. 

“You're not ruining anything, Aelin. Aedion, stop being an idiot.” Lysandra amended. 

Aedion, clearly understanding the situation now, came over to drop the groceries on the counter and pull his cousin into a tight hug. “Lys is right. You have nothing to be sorry for. We all love you lots and want to see you happy, and if drinking shitty cocktails and spilling your gossip helps you feel better, I'll gladly do it alongside you.” He kissed her temple. 

Aelin wanted to break down. This was not how she expected to spend this evening. Granted, she has predicted being in the same vicinity as Rowan would test her. Bring those choked feelings up to the surface. It would hurt just as it had when they split, as there was truly no way to prepare for seeing him again after months of no contact. Months of isolation and heartache. Months without the half that made her whole. 

“Lys, baby, is the gravy supposed to bubble like that?”

“Shit!” Exclaiming, Lysandra rushed away from Aelin's side to check on her portion of dinner. Leaving Aelin, still bent over the counter, staring at the herbs she’d have to chop to sprinkle over the potatoes. 

She felt a gentle shoulder push against her side, and then her cousin was beside her, close enough she could feel the warmth radiating off his huge form. “Your parents would be so proud of you, Ae. No matter what. And I think you should do what you feel is best. Even if that's walking away. I love you, we love you.” Mumbling into her ears, lower than anyone else could hear. Aelin nodded, brushing the moisture away from her face. 

“I love you too, Aedion.”

-

“Cheers to this year!”

Glasses chimed as they clinked together, bubbly wine spilling over, onto the feast laid up on the table. Decadent smells wafted up, making Aelin's stomach rumble. She was ready to dig into the spread, and let the food smother the churning anxiety in her stomach. 

She was seated next to Elide, and Aedion on her other side. Everyone else was spread around the round table – Lysandra hated the idea of a square table. Not wanting any fighting over the head of it. 

Aelin had spoken to Lysandra and Aedion for a few minutes more, opening up a little about how she had been feeling. It took some pushing, given her displeasure at possibly ruining everyone's evening with her issues, but the couple had assured her that it wasn't possible. Highly doubtful of that. But it had been…cathartic, to really speak about how she had felt. How she was dealing with her wounded heart. It meant more than Aelin would realize at the moment, for the two of them to give her a little perspective. 

Then, once the timer for the roast had gone off, and the main part of dinner had been pulled out of the oven, it was dressed up in the herbs Aelin had finally finished chopping – after getting a few more hugs in from both Lys and Aedion. Lys and her had started dishing up the plates and Aedion set off to cut some of the roast. Lorcan and Rowan had joined to set the table. And Elide had popped some bottles of prosecco, pouring glasses for everyone. 

Seated now, in front of a plate of aromatic food, a balm for the soul, she felt the urge to voice her appreciation. “So,” she started, drawing attention from everyone, especially Rowan. “I- I wanted to say thank you. To all of you. I think… that because of the lives we live today, I really don't have the opportunity to look at all of you and say that. To be able to sit around with each of you means more than anything, and I can't imagine being anywhere else right now. It wouldn't feel right.” 

“Cheers to that,” Lorcan added, a slight smile aimed in Aelin’s direction. If that wasn't the definition of a Yulemas miracle, she didn't know what else could be.

Glancing around the table, the circle of the most important people in her life, her eyes stalled upon Rowan. She meant what she said, meant every piece of it. She loved all of them. Grumpy Lorcan, meddling Lysandra. But gods, she loved Rowan, and she lied to herself every day when he was no longer a warm presence next to her. His side of the bed uncharacteristically cold. The feeling of it cooling her. 

She hadn't noticed the change in the environment, her focus being locked on Rowan. Their eyes connected, as if reading each other's minds. A choked wheezing noise almost drew her away, but she couldn't. Not when she was swimming in him, not when–

SLAM

“Elide!” A shrill scream. Ripping Aelin away, she was met with a panicked Lysandra, and a horrified Lorcan. 

Elide was facedown on the table, and amid chaos, Aelin noticed her chest was not rising and falling as it should. Shouts ensued, voices yelling about get her up and call an ambulance. What had happened in the seconds Aelin wasn't present. How could this have happened that quickly? What was happening! 

“She can't breathe!”

“Start CPR. Now!”

“Has someone called an ambulance?” 

What is going on!

Lorcan had gently laid Elide on the floor. He had his finger down her throat. His face was panicked, but he was hiding it well, focusing on Elide. Chairs were shoved back, and Lysandra was rushing away, Aedion was on the phone, Rowan was getting on his knees by Elide. They were saying something to each other. Rowan pushed Lorcan away. Lorcan fought back before he realized what was happening. Rowan placed his hands by Elide’s middle, his fingers laced together. She looked so frail there, on the floor. 

Rowan started pushing down, one two three four. One two three four. Onetwothreefouronetwothreefour– What is happening!

Aelin was frozen. Frozen in fear, in disbelief, in shock. How. That's all that was going through her mind. How. It had been going so well, how could one moment lead to this? To Elide, down on the floor, not breathing as her fiance shouted panic commands at Rowan. Equally freaked out. To Aedion, shouting instructions from paramedics. Two minutes away! To Lysandra, distraught, not knowing what to do. To Aelin, standing as her best friend couldn't breathe. 

Lorcan leaned down, his ear by Elide's mouth. His hand on her neck, searching. Rowan paused, breathing heavily. 

Aelin thought she knew what it was to feel her heartbreak, to feel it shatter. But she had never felt it as it fell. Dropped straight out of her chest when Lorcan looked up, eyes wide as saucers, pupils fully dilated. As he looked at Rowan and a lone tear slipped from his eye, dropping down, down, down. Down to where Elide was not breathing. 

Hour …

Seated in the emergency ward of the local hospital, Aelin listened to a dull Lorcan list off what had happened. She had choked. She had something lodged in her throat for so long that she passed out. It got lodged deeper. She has two broken ribs. It's not your fault Rowan. You saved her life. She had an endoscopic surgery. To remove the food. She’ll need to stay for the night. Observation. 

Struck by disbelief, Aelin couldn't do anything more than trace the lines on the floor. Her hands shook, a later symptom of the shock that had paralyzed Aelin in the moment of action. As Elide was carried out to the ambulance –still not breathing – she had only stood there. Rooted to place. Snapping out of it only when Rowan said he was going to follow them to the hospital. Aelin hadn't even said anything, snapping out of her state and running to the door to grab her boots and jump into whatever car Rowan would be taking. 

Only she and Rowan were at the hospital, alongside Lorcan. Aedion had made the executive decision for Lys and him to stay back. Lys had been hysterical, shouting, but shaking just as Aelin was now. She hadn't thought of them once, only what might happen to Elide. To her lovely Elide. 

“But she’ll be okay?” Rowan whispered. Agony weaved into his question. He felt guilty, this Aelin knew. Even if he had saved a life, he felt guilty he had hurt someone. She could scream. 

Aelin didn't hear an answer, assuming that Lorcan had nodded when Rowan let out a great sigh. Cut short by the sob that burst out. Lorcan was there in an instant, wrapping his brother up in a tight hug. She palmed her thighs, squeezing so tightly. 

Eventually, Lorcan released Rowan. The both of them were slightly breathless. Eyes red and sad. Lorcan said he was going to check on Elide, and Rowan sat down next to her. For a few quiet moments, no words were exchanged. A too-real grief hung heavy in the air. They almost lost someone, and now here they were, waiting for Elide to be here again. Because she almost wasn't. She was so close to not being here anymore. 

Standing up abruptly, “I- I have to go.” Aelin walked off, not waiting for an answer from Rowan. She was walking quickly through the halls, adrenaline coursing through her so quickly she could barely breathe. And then her breath was coming too quickly. And then she was running, running for the exit. And in her haste, she didn't hear the other feet running after her. 

All she could hear was her breath. Elide’s lack of. 

She slammed through the front doors, flat-out sprinting now. She had no idea where to go, and it was snowing hard. The wind whipped at her dress-clad form – she hadn't grabbed her jacket. But she kept running. Tripping up on ice, pelted by the rising blizzard. She had no idea where she was, but the blood rushing in her ears, and her hyperventilating had her in a dizzying state. 

“AELIN!” A voice roared. She couldn't tell where the sound was coming from, completely surrounded by falling snow, as it blocked out the light. Spinning wildly, she could feel the tears as they rushed down her face, freezing on her cheeks. 

She was panting, barely in control, when Rowan came from her side, nearly slamming into her and knocking them both over. He was breathing heavily too. His hair was out of place and his eyes were wild. 

“What were you thinking!” He yelled, grabbing onto her. “You can't fucking run like that! Aelin! What the fuck!” His tone kept increasing. His chest rose and fell rapidly. Unlike Elide. No movement, no breaths. No breaths, no breath, not breathi- 

“Aelin! AELIN! Look at me!” 

Her eyes were wild, nails pressing into Rowan’s biceps as she held onto him for dear life. Where was she, where was she, wherewasshe…

A chilled hand grabbed her chin, pulling her – not roughly – to look into Rowan’s frantic gaze. Her breathing wasn't slowing, and Rowan’s gaze was unbreakable. He was whispering something, his lips moving. Aelin watched as they moved, shifting up, down. The corners of his mouth pinching. Another hand came up, and her face was now being cradled between Rowan’s large hands. And she saw his lips still moving, and then the crease in his brow, the worry dancing in his eyes. And then she was pressed against his warm chest. 

Her head was against his heart. The thump-thump a grounding. She felt her breathing start to ease, felt arms tighten around her. Felt as she leaned further into Rowan. The tears falling faster now, but her breaths slowing enough that her brain could finally catch up. To where she was. Where she was, here in Rowan’s arms. In Rowan’s ar–

“No!’ She shouted shoving away from him, breaking the cage that was his grasp. “No! No, no, no!” 

Rowan just let his arms drop, hanging by his sides. His expression was one of worry, and confusion. Frustration and dismay. “What?” He said. His voice carried through the snowstorm. 

“Dont– Dont do that!” Aelin sobbed out, hands going to her hair. Pulling at the roots and turning around aimlessly. 

“Do what.” His hands clenched. His worry wiped away, a vexed expression appearing instead. 

“Do that! Care for me! Stop!” She kept shouting, the snow thoroughly soaking her now. The chill seeping into her bones.

“Care for you? What?” He shouted back. “What the fuck do you mean Aelin!”

“I mean, don't come r-rushing after me! Don't fucking p-pretend you care!” 

“Pretend I care?!” He took a step forward, she took one back. An undecipherable look crossed his face, before it was set back into a frown. His shoulders lined with tension, and fists opening and closing around nothing. “Aelin, what do you mean?”

“You don't care. S-so don't c-come running after m-me like you do!” The chills were shaking her body now, and she wrapped her arms around herself as tightly as possible, trying to keep in body heat. The storm was getting worse. Rowan’s image was getting blurrier, maybe it was her tears, still flowing freely. Along with her nose. 

“What… Aelin– I,” His hand went to his hair, raking through the soaked strands before pulling. “I chased after you because you fucking ran away hyperventilating! Out of a hospital! Into a fucking blizzard! What do you think I’d do? Sit there like an idiot and let you freeze to death or get hit by a car?!” 

“It doesn-”

“Yes it does! Yes, it fucking does!”

“Why!” She screamed, shaking and watching as Rowan stepped forward. This time she didn't step back. 

“Aelin.” He said, this time it was more of a command, a telling. “Are you asking me why I’d come for you?”

She considered it for a second, then nodded. 

A moment passed before Rowan's face morphed into one of genuine pain. 

“Because I would always fucking follow you! And I would always make sure you are okay, no matter what.” He snapped. “And I'm sorry I can't turn my feelings off as easily as you, but watching you walk away, no matter what, it fucking kills me!” 

There was a pause as the words sunk in, as Rowan’s chest rose and fell with laboured breaths, as his eyes traced her face for any hint – of anything. 

“You what?” Aelin squeaked out. Not knowing if the question was swallowed up by the storm until Rowan took a tentative step forward. Then another, then they were just a few breaths apart. 

“I would always follow you, Aelin,” He whispered, face drawn in sorrow. Her cheeks hurt from the frozen tears, but they warmed at his confession. “Because… because I still love you. Still so, so much. Ae, it hurts.” 

“What,” She said, more to herself. But Rowan's face crumpled, and she felt the fall directly in her heart. 

“Aelin,” He whispered, reaching for her hand that was tucked under her exposed bicep. Slowly freezing. She let him grab the hand, warming it between his palms, and then pulling her forward to place it on his heart. “I have missed you every day, and I- I couldn't do anything about it, ‘cause I fucked it up in the first place. I made you have to leave. And so I watched you walk away. I let you,” He took a deep breath. “I never wanted that to happen. Ever. But I did, and… gods Aelin, I’ve never regretted something more in my life.”

She just looked up at him. Not really believing the words she was hearing, because how could this be possible? 

“Rowan…” Her lips were turning blue, and she could barely feel her legs. She was going to freeze out here, in the midst of a blizzard, as she heard her ex-boyfriend tell her how he messed up, how he missed her. 

A tear fell on his face, and she watched it trail down. “I love you, Fireheart. I still love you. I am in love with you.” He shook his head, his hair had froze. “I'm sorry.”

“Rowan, I t-thought you wanted m-me gone. I thought it w-wasnt working.” Her teeth were clacking together so hard, she could barely get the words out. That and the weird feeling erupting from inside her. 

“I never wanted you gone, Ae. I was just so… I didn't realize what I had– what we had.” 

“And now y-you do?” She mumbled, her feelings dancing on the edge of a knife. 

His pine-green eyes scanned her face so quickly, moving over every feature. As if he was re-memorizing them all. She watched his throat work.

“Ae… I don’t know how to– I,” He closed his eyes. 

Aelin took in her hand on his chest, the tear tracks along his beautiful face. The soaked sweater. Her frozen body, and she took a chance, stepping forward, pressing up. 

Rowan must have sensed a change, because his eyes snapped open, searching, before finding Aelin closer than she had been in months. 

“Rowan…” She breathed, “I love you so godsdamned much.” She slung her arms around his neck, and pressed a cold kiss onto his stunned lips. He didn't react for a second, and she almost darted away, before she was pulled back. 

Her lips crashed back into Rowan, into a fiery and all-consuming kiss that warmed her from head to toe. Rowan's hands moved all over, making purchase along her frozen body. Never settling, like he didn't realize she was real. 

There, in the middle of a raging blizzard, Aelin got back what she had been searching for. Her other half. The man who was only everything to her, all along, and forever. 

-

Once Rowan had realized that Aelin might actually contract hypothermia, he had rushed her back to the hospital, where she was treated for minor frostbite, and then released soon after. The pair had visited a sleeping Elide and tired Lorcan, before heading back to the house to update Lysandra and Aedion. Once they had gotten past them, Rowan had gone up to their room to run a bath for Aelin. 

Lysandra had told Aelin she could take Lorcan and Elide’s room – given that they wouldn't be home that night – and when she had objected, saying she preferred her room, Aedion and Lysandra had looked at each other questioningly. But they let her go without a fuss, Lysandra already planning to get this information out of the woman. 

Aelin had paid them no heed, moving lethargically upstairs, where she found Rowan sprinkling some of the petals from the rose into the bath. 

She had kissed him, and then gotten distracted kissing him, before timidly inviting him into the bath as well. He agreed, and the two of them spent a gentle moment together, not initiating anything further, but Aelin sunk into the feeling of Rowan, of having him back in her life, in her heart. 

When they had both pruned up, Rowan hopped out and brought the towels over, drying the both of them off. Running on the dregs of her earlier adrenaline rush, Aelin leaned heavily into Rowan as he got her ready for bed. The soft moment bringing her back to where she felt safe, where she knew she belonged. And when Rowan picked her up bridal style, gently laying her on her side of the bed, tucking her in and then crawling in behind her, she knew she was home. 

“I love you, Rowan.”

“I love you, Aelin.”

Hours Later

That morning, when they went as a group to visit Elide and Lorcan in the hospital, carrying some gingerbread cookies, flowers and a present for Elide, they found the couple asleep together in bed. Lorcan's large body curled protectively around Elide, his great arms placed with a delicateness reserved only for the woman he loved. They had tried to backtrack – let them sleep – only for Elide to snap at them. Telling them to get their asses back in the room because she wants to spend Yulemas morning with her family. 

Aelin could have cried happy tears, and she had. Rushing forward to hug Elide. Careful of her ribs, and the giant man behind her. She had cried into her arms. Mumbling incoherent words into the woman's skin. And soon she was joined by Lysandra, who was equally as teary. Lorcan had mumbled something about wanting to spend the morning with his fiance and had slipped off the bed with a groan, headed elsewhere. His spot was quickly replaced by the two other women. All of them snuggling up together. Rowan had snapped a quick photo. 

Aedion and Rowan pulled up chairs, and Rowan grabbed an extra for Lorcan when he returned. Chattering happily, Elide was in the center of her family. And even if she had been in pain, had almost died, she was forgetting about it instantly with their arrival. And she sat with them for the entire morning, basking in the love so freely available. 

And when it was time for them to leave, she didn't miss the way Rowan folded his arms around Aelin, and the beaming smile she reserved for him. The way their hands snaked together when they thought no one was looking. And the kiss Rowan dropped onto Aelin's brow as they walked off, away. Intertwined again.

Taglist: @backtobl4ck // @goddess-aelin

Thank you for reading!! Happy holidays to you all :))))

[writtenonreceipts]

Ao3 Link // Part One

HA! I can’t do anything right.  Let’s pretend it was always spring/summer that the story was happening in, not winter.  Like why did I say winter in pt 1?  I feel like I knew that weddings in the regency/Victorian era were most always in spring/summer…Anyways here’s part 2.

And in true written fashion—we’re gonna need at least one other part to finish us off.  I’m sorry.  Really.  I’m posting this one before Rowaelin Month kicks off and then I’ll try and have it finished up in October.

Warnings: bits of abusive parents, mild violence, steam. ~7k words

.*.*.*.*.*.

When Our Fingers Touch, I Find My Way Back Home

She was seventeen and still subject to the whims of her mother.  Two weeks after the chilly dip in the stream and Elain was confined to the house.  Because, really Elain how could you be so foolish as to do a thing like that?  And in front of the duke’s son, no less.

It was just as well, she supposed.  She caught a bit of a fever by the following day and needed all the rest and tea possible to get her on the mend.

Nesta at least wasn’t quite so clipped in her admonishments.

“I thought you knew to be more careful than to get thrown in the river,” Nesta commented blandly as she arranged a new tea service on the small table in Elain’s bed chamber.  For once, the eldest Archeron daughter didn’t sneer away from mundane tasks.

“It was a stream and I am fine,” Elain replied.  She didn’t look up from her cross-stitching as Nesta settled into pouring tea and preparing their cups.

She really hadn’t meant to fall but no one seemed to care beyond the fact that she, delicate Elain, had gotten soaked to the bone and was now ill.  Oh, Mother wouldn’t let her hear the end of this. 

“Are you?” Nesta asked.  She arched one of her perfectly shaped brows, her hair swept into an elegant coronet of braids.  Her coming out had been a smash and she’d already had many a suitor.  Yet…Elain could tell there was something weighing on her sister’s mind.  Just eighteen and Nesta seemed to carry a far too heavy load then most and Elain had no idea what it was.

“Yes.” Elain punctuated the word by casting aside her stitching and taking a cup of tea. “It’s merely a chill.  I shall be fine by the morrow.”

“You sound like a toad and look like a drunkard rolling in from the bar.”

“Nesta!”  Elain tried, and mostly failed, in hiding a smile.

Nesta merely rolled her eyes and sipped her own tea.  “Well, so long as you say you’re fine and don’t lie to me, I’ll believe you.”  She paused before continuing then nodded to Elain’s bed. “Why do you have a man’s coat lying about, sister?”

“Oh!” Elain nearly scalded her tongue.  She hurriedly set her cup down, and tried not to spit up hot tea. “It’s nothing!  Lord Lucien was kind enough to offer his jacket after resc—helping me.  I’ve yet to return it.”

“I can have Clare clean it up and send it over with an errand boy,” Nesta said.  She was already rising to the servant’s bell as though to do just that.

“No, no.”  Elain reached out and tugged at her sister’s sleeve before she got very far. “Don’t worry yourself.  It’s just a coat.  I’m sure the lordling has plenty more to use.”

Nesta eyed her with mild confusion.  But then she shrugged and plopped back in her seat.  “Fine.  Save’s me from having to do anything.”

Elain sat back and let her sister talk about the -ton and all the scheming of the other mama’s and daughters and how one way or anything she would have no part in it.  As Nesta continued on, Elain found her mind beginning to wander back to the simple green coat the rested on her bed and the strange little flutter it caused deep within her chest.

.*.*.

Evidently, her wedding was to be a grand affair, the talk of the entire -ton.  Once, Elain would have been elated.  Once she would have reveled in her mother’s praise and the expenses being rained down upon her.  Once she would have taken it all in great pride.  She was the daughter to make her parents happy and allow their grand dreams to come true.

But as she waded through fittings and talks of florals and guests and food—Elain was focused on something else entirely.

Lucien’s mouth.

It was strange really, to think about a man’s mouth such as she was.  There’d only been one other man she’d been interested in kissing and that had not ended well at all.  Since, she’d never been interested in kissing another. 

Lucien Vanserra threatened her resolve with only the briefest of interactions.  Him and his stupid smirk, his full lips, and that insufferable way he said her name.  Elain.  As though it were his duty to pronounce each individual syllable with the utmost care and precision.

If it wasn’t his mouth, it was his hands.

This probably was not what one friend thought about the other regularly.

She was not a very friend.

“Elain, darling, you must pay attention!”

Drat.

Elain looked up from her tea to find her mother and Lady Vanserra herself eyeing her.  Mother of course was very close to loosing her control and saying something unbecoming.  Lady Vanserra however had a genuine smile of conciliation.  She always did seem like a wonderous woman.

“I beg your pardon,” Elain murmured.  She straightened her posture and recrossed her ankles.  “There is just so much to think about right now.”

“It’s your wedding,” Lady Vanserra said.  She reached over and patted Elain’s knee. “Of course you’ve got plenty on your mind.  There’s so much to think about and worry over.”

Mother looked as though she’d swallowed a lemon, but she was a lady so she held her tongue.  A true miracle if Elain had ever seen one.

“Thank-you,” Elain said with sincerity.  She offered her future mother-in-law a small smile, even as her cheeks flushed with the embarrassment of being caught lost in her own thoughts.

“Yes, well,” Mother said tightly, “we still need a decision on your bouquet.  Now we know there won’t be sunflowers, but I thought—”

“What?” Elain blurted. “There needs to be sunflowers.”

Mother’s nose crinkled. “Oh, there so strange, Elain.  Truly, the daisies and orange blossom will do nicely.  They’re far more elegant.  I know Lady Doyle keeps a remarkable garden of her own.  I’m sure she would be more than willing to—”

“I would prefer sunflowers, mother.”  It was the first time that Elain could remember ever being so firm in speaking to her mother.  Truly, she never raised her voice or spoke out of turn.  Not even when she wanted to most.  And now that she was, Elain could feel a new wave of horror wash over her at the reality of what it meant.

Her mother’s silver eyes flashed in warning.  Her mouth thinned impossibly and Elain wondered if her teacup would shatter from how tightly it was held.

“Sunflowers,” Lady Vanserra said, voice soft as the folds of her gown, “are lovely.  Margot, let me and my house prepare the bridal bouquet and other florals, please.  You’ve already offered up so much.”

Elain didn’t think she was breathing.  Not with the way her entire body seemed to contract and retract and her heart beat an entirely new tempo.  She kept her eyes trained on her mother, chin firm mouth set.  When finally her mother looked away Elain felt only a bit of relief.  But wondered if she’d truly won any sort of battle.

“That would be delightful, Dierdre,” Mother said.  Her ire, for the time being, had gone and Elain managed a deep, calming breath.

.*.*.

Dawn rose bright and warm on the day of the wedding.  It was a good sign.  A welcome sign.  Many ladies faced woeful downpours during these early months of spring, many forced to postpone parties and honeymoons because the roads grew too muddy in some stretches between cities.  Not today.

Pale blue sky stretched for miles without even a whisper of cloud to interrupt it.  That combined with the thriving green laughs, full trees, and vibrant flower bushes of the Archeron gardens—it truly was a beautiful day for a wedding.

And yet, Elain’s stomach churned with anxiety.

She rose far before her lady’s maid came to collect her and was found seated before the bay windows that opened over the back gardens.  It was usually her favorite place to sit and reflect.  She could spend hours there as the morning passed in lazy fervor.

Never again.

The door of her room burst open without warning, nearly sending Elain to floor in a panic.  She should have known her mother would come and make such an entrance.

“Are you not up?  Elain, we don’t have long to prepare you for the wedding.”  Mother swept through the room with various maids flowing after carrying fabrics, cosmetics, and other such items.

They in fact had hours yet to prepare meant nothing to a mama when her daughter was set to marry the son of a duke.

“It’s still early—” Elain wanted her mother to see reason and just give her a moment longer to herself.  It was in vain and soon enough, Elain was thrust into a heated tub and was scrubbed down with salts and oils and pumice stones.  She would be radiant if it was the last thing Mother did.

After bathing, her hair was taken over by brushes and pins.  The curls could get rather unruly, even when wet.  It didn’t help that mother hated Elain’s hair as it was.  Thankfully Nuala took over on styling her hair while her mother focused on the dress.

Elain hadn’t had time to appreciate the gown during all the visits with the seamstress.  She’d been too nervous over her upcoming nuptials that she hadn’t paid attention to any of the details.  Which, she supposed, she should be upset over.  She’d thought about her wedding often as a girl and young woman.  She’d planned every detail in her own might, straight to the point of what design her shoes would be.  This was supposed to be a remarkable day.

But as she had lotions applied to her skin and powders pressed to her nose, Elain felt like a stranger in her own body.  None of this was the way she pictured it.

“Where are Nesta and Feyre?” Elain finally asked her mother.  Maybe with her sisters present, some of her trepidation would ease.

Her mother waved a hand dismissively.  “They don’t need to be here.”

“They are to stand with me, are they not?” Elain asked.  Maybe if Nesta were here Elain could glean some of her sister’s iron will and feel even a modicum of strength.

“Your sisters are hardly worthy examples of virtue, Elain,” Mother said.  She pulled Elain from the vanity and into the center of the room, stripping the dressing gown Elain’s shoulders without any warning. “Now come along, step into the dress, we need to ensure there aren’t any last-minute adjustments.”

Elain bit down hard on her tongue.  Maybe once she was married, she needn’t be around her mother so much.  She could send for her sisters as often as she liked.  She could have a house to herself and a strange sort of friendship with her husband and child—no children.  That wouldn’t be an option, would it?  Lucien wouldn’t be under pressure to bare an heir.  Not when he still had four remaining brothers.  Besides, they were just friends.

“Arms, Elain!”

Elain lifted her arms for her gown’s sleeves. 

Well, she could still have a fulfilling life, couldn’t she?  She didn’t need children.  Nesta may have a child and Feyre was still unwed.  And she could always have her other hobbies, Lucien seemed amendable in that regard.  She could bake, she could garden, she could host scores of her own parties.

“Elain, could you at least try to appear amiable?”

Wrenched from her thoughts, Elain lifted her chin and plastered a comfortable smile on her face.  She was dressed in a pale gown of lilac and lace, the sleeves long as they flowed to her wrists.  The waist line cinched in a daring way against her ribs and the corset was tight enough to create the illusion of a full bust.  Elain turned to the mirrors that had been brought in for this exact moment.

She did her best to keep her smile in place, but she just couldn’t make it reach her eyes.  Her hair was twisted up and out of the way pinned with gold and orange blossoms.  And while a lovely style, Elain wished her hair could have at least hung a little bit so she could feel a touch more like herself.  The gown itself was beautiful and complimented her pale skin and slim figure.  At least her mother insisted on keeping with the fashions.

And yet…and yet…Elain felt nothing like herself.

“You really must smile better then that, Elain.”  Mother tutted and continued to move about as she straightened none existent lines and plucked invisible bits of lint from the dress.

“Yes, ma’am.”  And she did smile then, that practiced one that mama always said made her pretty.

She smiled as her lady’s maid applied a final round of blush to her cheeks.  She smiled as her mother pinned a necklace of sapphires to her neck (hardly Elain’s first choice).  She even smiled as rose water splashed against her wrists and she was ushed from her room for what would certainly be the last time.

No matter how badly she wished it—time would not slow down.  Not even as Mother ushered her through the house and to the waiting.  Not even as Mother barely explained what would happen during the wedding night consummation.  Not even as the chapel came closer and closer.

Time was a thief, Elain supposed.  Plucking memories straight from your mind and burying them deeper until they were barely whisps behind your eyes. It was thief and she a mere victim.

By the time the carriage rolled to a stop just outside the chapel, Elain was in a fit of worry.  She was certain the rose water had worn off thanks to an unholy amount of sweat shimmering against her skin.  That would be blamed on the unnatural heat of the day.

As a footman helped her mother down from the carriage, Elain nearly slammed the door shut again and yelled from the driver to hurry on and get as far away from here as he could manage.

It was to no avail because her father, having arrived earlier with the guests, was already reaching in for her.  As if someone else were taking over her body, Elain accepted the outstretched hand and stepped into full daylight.

She would have thrown up, right there on the church steps, if her eyes hadn’t caught on the flowers.  Vibrant and colorful, the steps of the church were lined with intricate displays of flowers.  Foxglove and marigolds.  Pansies and dahlias.  Lilac and sunflowers.  The sunflowers.  Elain had to stop and stare at the incredible sight of them all.  Their bright yellow petals wove in and out of the various floral arrangements.  It was beautiful.

Elain very nearly burst into tears as the sight.  She was so caught up in it that she almost missed Nesta who had been waiting along the steps of the church as well.  In her arms she held a simple bouquet of sunflowers and greenery.

“Lady Vanserra insisted this be for you,” Nesta said.  Her mouth barely upturned into a knowing smile.

Elain accepted the flowers, not trusting herself to speak.

Nesta wore a simple gown of pale yellow with her hair in its usual twisting braids.  As always, she looked lovely and elegant, perfectly poised for what was about to come.  Elain had a feeling she was supposed to be waiting inside, but was immensely grateful her sister had disobeyed their mother for this.

“Mother, shall we walk together?” Nesta asked, with all the innocence of a viper. “Feyre is already at the front and the groom seems very eager to see his bride.”

There was no other choice then to follow through on the suggestion (that really wasn’t a suggestion at all).  Mother and Nesta climbed the chapel steps and through the waiting doors.

That, at least, was a relief.  Elain didn’t think she’d be able to walk down the aisle if her mother were at her side yammering the entire way.  Her mother had all her expectations lined up in a perfect little row for Elain to follow through on.  Her father, however, did not.  Oh, he had his own expectations but he kept those quiet and to himself.  It was far easier to ignore his judgements that way.

Elain only had time for a single, steadying breath before her father reached out for her arm and tucked it against his.

“You’re doing the right thing,” he said. “For all of us.”

How was she to respond to that?  Was it right to foist her down the aisle to a man she barely knew?  Was it right to ignore her own wishes because he had made mistakes?  Was it right to place this duty upon her shoulders and expect her to make things right in a world that looked down upon her sex with suck ilk and ire?

Elain sucked in a breath, the sweet aroma of the flowers calming her unease.  Lady Vanserra had outdone herself.  With the beautiful arrangements, the sheer amount of flowers, and the simple sunflowers that sang their bright joy on an otherwise bothersome day.

Everything would be fine, wouldn’t it?  The flowers had to be a good omen.

Father prodded her along the steps, up and up and up.

And the sun was shining.  Elain loved the sun.

The doors of the chapel were thrown open wide. 

And Lucien wasn’t terrible, was he?

Cedar oil mixed with incense cloyed through the chapel and Elain had to stop to draw in a full breath.  Even when her father very nearly dragged her along to the start of the aisle.  Her heart was beat heavily in her chest that Elain could feel her blood actually moving through her veins.  She could feel each of her pulse points practically on fire.  It didn’t help that her head pounded just as hard. 

There was no escape, was there?  No where to run.  No where to hide.

And while Elain was quite skilled at fading away and letting other dote upon her, skilled at ignoring a problem that was annoying and otherwise uninteresting, skilled at being nothing more than Elain—she did not, could not, let that define her now.

The soft chatter of voices came to a pause as Elain and her father approached the top of the aisle.  She couldn’t make out anything other than the thin strip of blue carpet that led all the way to the front where the priest waited—rather impatiently.  But she glazed right over that because beside the old man with his stiff cravat was Lucien.

Lucien stood tall and proud, his dark suit fitting him well.  His red hair was swept out of his face, leaving his high cheekbones and sharp eyes on display.  The sight nearly drew Elain to a stop.  His eyes were only for her as she began to walk down the aisle. 

Father set a quick pace down the aisle; far quicker then what Elain wanted.  If she tried to slow down herself, she was sure he’d drag her to the alter, appearances be damned.

So Elain did the only thing she could—she kept her eyes trained on Lucien.  She didn’t know what drew her to him.  He represented nearly everything she dreaded.  She’d thought so many times about what her future would hold and the shape it would take.  She’d always known she would marry, always known her life would lead to this point.

But when it was by the forceful hand of her father, when she didn’t have a say in who her life would be entrusted—everything inside her wanted to rebel.  Even though it had only been a scant month between the marriage announcement and the actual wedding (Mother would only keep up appearances where it mattered), Elain found that every thought she’d had for her future dried up like an un-watered garden in the summer months.

Lucien remained steady before her.

It was strange because she still felt a simmering rage towards Lucien for this entire mess.  And his stupid mouth.  But she couldn’t help and also remember the kindness he’d shown by offering to be her friend.  A small offer that allowed her a modicum of peace for this betrothment.  The warring emotions didn’t help calm her raging heart nor her flipping stomach.  In fact, they made it impossible to even walk in a straight line.

If it weren’t for the hard certainty in Lucien’s gaze or the firm set of his jaw, Elain may have tested her father’s grip.  As it was, she remained focused on Lucien’s calm nature.  He was holding himself together remarkably well.  Elain wondered if he were dreading this as much as she was.  He’d flirted and teased her enough while stuffed in that closet that she didn’t think she knew what the real him was like.  Would she ever know him?

Before she had time to even digest that thought, she was standing right before him.  Numb, Elain let her father pass her hand off to Lucien whose fingers interlaced almost perfectly with hers.  It was such an intimate touch that Elain felt heat creep up her skin, replacing the cold dread of just a moment before.

She looked up into Lucien’s eyes as he studied her.  It was just a moment, a singular moment that was just theirs.  Her father had retreated and the priest yet to speak.  And in that moment, everything else faded to nothing.

“What would you ask of me, as your friend?”

“To trust me, to talk to me.” 

His words from that night weeks ago echoed in her head and Elain let herself imagine that everything would work out in the end.  She gave his hand a single squeeze and then turned to the priest who waited impassively.

“Dearly beloved,” the priest said, voice raised as if he could reach the heavens.

Elain didn’t listen.  At least…she tried.  But the longer he spoke, the faster the blood in her ears pounded and lighter her head felt.  Truly, all she could focus on was the steady feel of Lucien’s hand in hers.  So big and warm she almost couldn’t understand it.  And there was the scrape of calluses that she finally realized couldn’t have been there because a duke’s son did not work with his hands.  His skin should have been smooth, soft, unblemished.  Yet here he was with a rough patch on his thumb that moves in slow circles on the back of her hand.

It was so distracting that Elain almost missed the prompt from the priest to accept her marriage vows.

“I do.” She could only speak in a mere whisper.  And truth be told, she was surprised anything came out to begin with.

As the priest reiterated the marriage vows to Lucien, Elain finally managed to raise her gaze to him.  He was already watching her, his russet eyes bright in the pale light that filtered through the tall stained-glass windows of the chapel.  She’d never known a pair of eyes could hold such care or tenderness, never known it to be directed to her.

“I do.” Lucien replied to words Elain had long stopped trying to listen to.

“Then with a kiss shall this marriage be sealed and your lives entwined till death.” The priest retreated only a step, proffering a faux taste of modesty.

Elain wondered briefly if she should have let herself think about Lucien’s lips just a little bit.  Especially considering he was moving toward her now, one hand already reaching out to cup her chin while the other moved from her hand to her elbow.

As Lucien dipped closer, Elain took a sharp breath.  He smelled of cinnamon and sunshine, intoxicating to her as she found she couldn’t take a normal breath to save her life.

“Breathe, Elain,” Lucien whispered just for her. “it’ll be over before you know it.”

She opened her mouth to argue with him.  It wasn’t a silly little kiss she was worried about.  Everything that came after was a different story.

She never got the chance to say anything as Lucien took the opportunity to kiss her.

It was utterly chaste and hardly scandalous, but Elain could feel it pierce against her very soul.  It was in the warmth of his mouth, the softness of his lips, the feel of his fingers brushing against her chin.  She’d never been kissed like that before.  All her dalliances with Graysen Nolan were wet and quick and more for his benefit than hers.  This was something else entirely and it set her heart fluttering with unmanageable energy.

Thankfully, Lucien was able to keep himself composed as he was able to pull himself away, all the while maintaining graceful composure.  He grinned down at her, as if knowing what all was going on through her head.

“See?  Not so bad.”

“You’re an ass,” she hissed, utterly forgetting they were in a chapel.

If possible, his stupid smile stretched even wider at her irreverence.  He tugged her hand to lead them down the aisle.  Elain had never been more grateful for the ridiculous superstition of the bride and groom not acknowledging their guests until outside of the church.  With any luck her mother would be so hard pressed to send them on their honeymoon (for the sole act of baby-making) that Elain wouldn’t have to see any of them again for at least a month.  Maybe two if she was lucky.

They passed through the tall oak doors and into the bright spring sunlight.  Elain had never felt happier to be outside and in the open air as she did in that moment.

“Never a good sign that your bride is desperate to get outside, eh?” a chipper, rather proud voice, spoke up from the behind them.  Elain nearly screamed, she hadn’t expected anyone to be so close behind them.  But she turned to find it only to be Jurian Renault, Lucien’s best man.  The man, one of the most decorated officers in England, grinned broadly as he dashed a hand through his thick brown hair.

“Jurian,” Lucien said, with a bit of resignation accompanied by an eye roll.  But Elain didn’t miss the way his mouth twitched in amusement. “And where is your better half?  I’d have liked her up there with me more than you.”

Hardly offended, Jurian merely sighed. “Alas, my darling counterpart is unwell this morning.  But she sends her congratulations and will be more than happy to offer the summer manor for your honeymoon, should you need the accommodations.”

If Lucien was as shocked as she was by the offer, he made no notice, only looked down at Elain with a raised brow.  He was deferring to her?

“It would be nice to get out of London,” she said slowly, hoping to sound more diplomatic that she was feeling.  She would run halfway across the world if it got her away from her mother for a time.

Lucien squeezed her hand in understanding.  He nodded once and looked back to his friend. “The quiet would do us both well.”

“You would find no better place,” Jurian assured her.  He glanced over his shoulder as the rest of the wedding party and guests finally emerged from the church. “I’ll send word to the house keeper to begin preparations for your arrival.”

It was all he had time to say before Elain was swept into a hug by Feyre (it was rather undignified a reaction and Mama made sure to make it known).  Elain wouldn’t let the moment be ruined, however.  She returned her sister’s embrace as tightly as she could.  They were soon joined by Nesta who, much to Elain’s surprise had tears in her eyes.  She couldn’t remember ever seeing her sister cry.

“If he ever hurts you, I’ll kill him,” Nesta said fiercely.  And Elain was inclined to believe her.

.*.*.*.

Much to Elain’s delight, Lucien managed to usher them on their honeymoon not long after that.  Jurian and Vassa’s summer manor was a day’s ride away, meaning they would need plenty of time to get their reasonably.  They would end up spending a night at an inn all the same, but Elain could have kissed Lucien all over again for getting them out of the city as quickly as he had.

Her sisters had seen to collecting and packing her things, most of which would be delivered to her new home with Lucien.  It would only be a small cottage near the duke’s home, but it would be well enough for Elain.  So long as it put distance between her own family.

But she wouldn’t worry about any of that for a blessed month. 

Even though the carriage, provided them by the duke and duchess, had just barely left the main roads of the city, Elain found herself plastered to the window watching the change in scenery.  The large buildings and homes bled away into sweeping hills and fields of grass.  The actual road was still in decent enough condition that the ride was smooth and even.  It afforded her the peace of a settled stomach as the world swept by.

“Have you never come this way?” Lucien asked from his seat across from her.

Elain settled back, straightening her skirts.  Here she was acting like an over eager child.  She needed to show grace, decorum. 

“Only once when I was a child,” she said, “my aunt lives out here, I believe we’ve passed her road.  But it’s been sometime since I’ve traveled.”

She couldn’t help the wistful tone in her voice.  She loved to travel.  At least, she expected she would.  Her limited exposure to the world had only sustained that to her.  Meeting new people, experiencing new customs, seeing the beauty of new lands—it all sounded magical and wonderful.

“Hmm,” was all Lucien said.  Though, he still watched her closely.

It was the first time they’d been alone together since the broom closet debacle and Elain wasn’t quite sure how to act.  He was her husband who was supposed to be her friend and not her husband.  Their relationship would take some time to sort out and Elain wasn’t quite sure how to broach the topic herself.  She wasn’t even sure how to talk to him at all.

“Don’t you enjoy travel?” she asked, because that’s what a good friend did.  A good friend was concerned and involved and knowledgeable of their person.  “I’ve heard you did quite a bit of it.”

Lucien stretched out of his side of the carriage, his long legs bumping against hers but he made no effort to change his posture.  He looked so utterly relaxed that Elain didn’t know what to make of it.  He’d always been so meticulously put together, so at ease with life around him.  Yet here he was now with a slightly rumpled appearance and casual.

“I have,” he agreed, “my father needed someone to represent our house and since I couldn’t serve in the military, that’s wear I fell in.” A wry smile flashed across his handsome face. “It was never to places I would have liked, unfortunately.”

There was hidden meaning in his words that Elain couldn’t quite decipher.  She’d been witness to these offhanded remarks before, silently questioned them.

“Well, then we will need to some travelling of our own,” Elain said.

“Will we?” Another raise of his brow.

Elain felt a rush of heat to her cheeks.  She’d misspoken, it seemed.  Or she just spoke of things she needn’t have.  Or been too presumptuous.

“Well we’re newlyweds,” she replied as if that was a good response.  “We’re afforded our liberties.  Besides, it’ll keep us away from prying eyes.”

She was thinking exclusively of her mother but really the entire -ton could be included in that.  As soon as they returned, she knew there would be a bid out for whether she was pregnant or not.  A thought that both terrified and upset her.

“What is it?” Lucien asked.

Elain snapped her eyes back to his face unaware her gaze had wandered.  Nor that her brow had furrowed so thoroughly.

“Pardon?” She straightened, sitting up straighter, clasping her hands, and smoothing any doubt or frustration from her expression.

Lucien leaned forward; elbows braced on his knees.  He regarded her with a mute expression. “You’re upset.”

“No, I’m not,” she said primly, smoothing her skirts again.

“Liar,” he said.

Elain gaped at him. “Excuse me?”

“You are outright lying to me, my lady,” he said, shaking his head morosely.  “Not even a day in to our marriage and my wife doesn’t trust me.”

My wife.

Elain nearly shivered at the words.  Which was a ridiculous reaction to have.  Heavens above.

“I don’t even know your middle name,” she replied, “how can I trust someone if I don’t know that, at least?”

His stoic façade splintered as he grinned.  She did like when he smiled like that.

“I don’t know yours.  So I believe we are at an impasse.”

He was taunting her. 

“Ah, but see, you’re the one who convinced me to take part in this arrangement, which means you owe me.”

Elain found herself leaning closer to him with each word.  She couldn’t necessarily help it, being drawn to him.  There was something about him that she couldn’t shake, an itch she couldn’t scratch.  Being close certainly helped.  But by this point she was impossibly close.  Close enough that she could see the outlines of his scars and the way the faded into his skin.  She could see the golden flecks of his eyes that melted into rich brown.

“I owe you?” he repeated.

“Yes.”

Lucien only shook his head, that infuriating smile remaining on his lips.

The rest of the carriage ride passed by slowly, not that Elain minded.  She loved watching the world pass by, loved seeing the way the terrain rolled together, loved the way the sky faded from blue to a hazy gold and flushed pinked.

It was only then that she remembered they would be stopping for the night at an inn.  Her heartbeat kicked up and she felt her body flood with heat and then an icy chill.  She knew what the wedding night was about and what to expect, but she and Lucien hadn’t discussed that.  They were friends.  Friends.

“It looks like we’re pulling into the inn now,” Lucien spoke up.  He paused a moment and then, as though reading her thoughts, continued to speak.  “I’m sure we can arrange for two rooms.”

Yes.  No.  Before Elain could think of a proper response the carriage rolled to a stop before the inn.  A footman hopped down from his perch almost instantly to open the door. 

Cool night air filtered inside the carriage, reminding Elain just how chill the season could still be.  She tugged her shawl tighter around her shoulders as Lucien exited.  He reached back with a proffered hand to help Elain in her decent.  She accepted, grasping his fingers in what would be the first time they’d touched since the wedding.  Lucien waited until he was sure she was grounded before release her hand and instructing the footman and driver of their duties for the evening. 

Just behind, another carriage approached, this one filled with their belongings and their respective servants. 

“I’ll make sure your room is ready and have dinner sent up,” Lucien told her.  He kept her hand tight in his grasp drawing her closer to his side.  She had to admit that she didn’t quite mind the protective nature.  Not right now at least.

“Thank-you,” Elain said.  She didn’t let him pull away either.  Not until they’d entered the inn and the keeper’s wife immediately swept Elain of with her.

Elain cast a single glance over her shoulder to find Lucien watch her as she departed.  She’d told herself that she wasn’t going to look back, told herself she didn’t need to.  But she did all the same, her breath catching at the soft look in his gaze.

She stomped down the feelings that rose in her chest, hard.  She did not need to feel things for him.  Especially not when they were still figuring out who they were to one another.  Married or not, friends or not, they still didn’t know each other.

The innkeeper’s wife led Elain and her lady’s maid upstairs to a room.  For once, Elain was grateful for her husband’s reputation and status as a duke’s son, it allowed a bit of an expedited process to get a room.

The room in question was a modest size, but not small by any means.  It boasted a spacious area with a large bed and fireplace already crackling happily.  A smaller doorway led to where a wash bin and the chamber pot were kept.  A footman dropped one of Elain’s trunks at the end of the bed before bowing out.  Immediately, her maid set to readying her night clothes.

“My lady,” Nuala said, voice chipper as it always way, “I can prepare a bath if you’d like before Lord Vanserra—”

“No,” Elain said quickly.  “It’s been a long day, just getting ready for bed is enough.”

She ignored the way her skin flushed and the sudden heat that washed over her.  She didn’t want to think at all about what her wedding night was supposed to be.  All she wanted was to get in her nightgown and go to bed and put this day behind her.

Nuala was just beginning to plait her hair for bed when there was a soft knock at the door.

Elain froze in her seat before the vanity.  Nuala gave her a significant look through the mirror, which she promptly ignored.  Instead, Elain tied off the braid herself and stood, running her hands down her nightdress.  It wasn’t scandalous by any means, a simple silk thing with lace hems.  She hadn’t even bothered to get anything nicer. 

“Enter,” Elain said.  At least her voice didn’t warble.  She tugged on her robe for good measure as she stood in the center of the room.  Nuala cleaned the vanity and tucked her dress away without a sound.

The door opened to Lucien.  He didn’t enter the room completely, only remained in the doorway.

“Lady Vanserra,” he said, telling her his own valet was with him as well. “It seems the inn is limited on rooms.”

It took a long stretch of silence before Elain grasped his meaning.

“Of course,” she said, “come in. I’ve finished my preparations.”

The door opened a bit wider and Lucien entered, his valet and a footman behind him.  The valet held a tray of food and the footman one of Lucien’s own trunk.  While the footman left immediately, the valet remained.  He held on to the tray, standing dutifully out of the way.

“Set the tray on the bed,” Elain instructed him.  “The washroom is available for Lord Vanserra to make his own preparations.  Nuala, you’re dismissed, go get some rest.”

Both servants obeyed with efficiency.  The valet extracting a few of Lucien’s items to take to the washroom. 

With perhaps five minutes to herself, Elain sat on the bed and grabbed a bowl of stew and roll that were waiting for her.  It was a simple meal; the stew had thick chunks of beef and potatoes, the roll light and buttery.  Her mother would have turned her nose to such a meal served in such a way, but Elain quite enjoyed it.

She wondered if she could finish and move the tray from the vanity and slip into bed to pretend she was asleep.  She barely ran through that checklist before the washroom door opened again.  Shame, she would have liked to avoid anymore awkward interactions that night.

Lucien dismissed his valet and when the door clicked shut, he released a long sigh.

“Tired?” Elain asked.  The question slipped out before she could stop it.  She didn’t know why it felt so strange asking him a question, so strange venturing into whatever this would be.

“It was a long day,” Lucien said, a wry smile twisting his lips.  He wore a loose linen night shirt and a pair of cotton trousers, nothing elaborate.  She didn’t know why she’d expect anything different.

“Well have a seat and eat something,” Elain told him. “You must be as hungry as I am.”

He paused a moment as if debating to himself what he wanted to do.  He came to some sort of conclusion before crossing to the opposite sit of the bed and taking a seat on the edge.  The bed sank beneath his weight.  When he took his own bowl of soup and roll, they fell into a companiable silence.

It did nothing to ease Elain’s anxiety.  Sure, when she was able to garden or bake and she could fall into a meditative state as she worked.  She liked having her thoughts to herself, liked being able to think about whatever she wanted.  But now, she felt a surge of energy building in the room.

“How are you feeling?” Lucien asked, his bowl half drained in a matter of minutes. 

“Fine,” Elain murmured, “just tired.”

She tore a piece of her roll, nibbling it.  There was still plenty of space between them, she on her side of the bed and he on his. 

“If this is making you uncomfortable—” he began.

“Lucien,” she cut him off and smiled softly. “It’s fine.  I’m fine.”

When he set his finished bowl down, Elain thought that would be the end of it.  That he would clear the dishes and set the tray out in the hall for a maid to collect.  Instead, he reached over and took her hand in his.  Just like at their wedding, when their fingers touched, she felt a spark and gooseflesh pebbled on her skin.

“Are you sure?” he pressed.

There was an earnestness in his eyes that had her heart squeezing.

“Of course,” she replied, doing her best to push against the rising heat in her cheeks.  She set her own bowl down and stuffed the remainder of her roll in her mouth before sweeping the tray up to take to the door herself.

She thought she’d managed to temper her emotions by the time she turned back around.  Only when she did, she found Lucien was looking at her with a small frown that clouded his features.  Elain wondered if she’d said something wrong or misspoke in some way.

“You,” he paused a moment, “I didn’t coerce you into something you did not want?”

“No, Lucien.” Her heart squeezed again, more painful this time as she thought on his words. “H-have I already been such a miserable friend you regret the offer?”

“No,” he said.  Again, he reached for her hand, this time pulling her closer until her knees bumped against the bed. “No regrets.”

She wondered, briefly, if he was lying to her.  Not that it would surprise her if he were.  They’d been friends barely a month, married less than a day—what reason did he have to trust her?

“If you would prefer, I can sleep on the floor,” he said, “let you have the bed.”

“Nonsense,” she said immediately, “you’re the son of a duke.  You’re not sleeping on the floor.  The bed is perfectly big enough for the both of us.”

Even if it would only be sleeping, she wouldn’t be alone in bed.  Not on her wedding night.

Lucien seemed reluctant to agree, but when Elain fixed him with a glare, he obliged and scooted to the other side of the bed.

With far more courage than she ever thought she could muster, Elain settled into bed beside him.

“We never did establish any rules, did we?” she asked, busying herself with flattening the wrinkles in the bedspread.

“Rules?” Lucien repeated.

“Of what—of how—” She bit her words off and stared forward into the fire at the opposite end of the room. “Of where we go from here.  I know there are expectations for us, for you.”

“I don’t care about anyone’s expectations,” he said, “we don’t have to define ourselves by anyone.  Least of all—”

He trailed off and Elain looked at him.

“Least of all?” she prodded.

“Nothing.”  Lucien turned down the oil lamp on his bedside table, casting the room into a cold darkness, save the low burning fire. “Let’s sleep, Elain.”

Elain wasn’t pleased with his non-answer.  She kept looking at him in the darkness willing him to say something else, willing herself to work up the courage to speak up herself.  But nothing came out.  Hunkering down in bed, Elain turned on her side and closed her eyes to a dreamless sleep.

[highqueenofelfhame]

rowaelin // 4.9k words // ciwyw masterlist // masterlist

It was golden light that roused Aelin from sleep, sneaking in through gaps in the curtains and blinds. It took her a moment to remember that it was Rowan’s bed she was curled up in, completely wrapped in his cool pine scent. She inhaled deeply, ducking her nose down into the plush duvet and savored it. Part of her wished he was laying beside her, the sunlight casting soft shadows over his face. With her eyes closed she could imagine it. 

It was better that he wasn’t. She knew that. There was hurt on both sides. Words had been said that cut them both in sensitive places, and the wedge between them was starting to feel like an ocean. Yet being here, in his bed, his house, were the first steps toward reconciliation. They just had to get through the hard conversations first. 

The best part about Rowan not being in bed with her was the smell of bacon, eggs, and something sweet creeping up the stairs and beneath the door. For what felt like the first time in her pregnancy, her mind and body were in agreement: she was hungry. Though she was hesitant to believe her head wouldn’t be in the toilet immediately following breakfast, she slipped out of bed and padded her way downstairs. 

“How did you sleep?” He asked her, eyes roving over her head to toe before he turned back to the pan on the stove. Aelin wondered if it was because she was still in the clothes he’d given her to sleep in, or if it was some instinct of his to make sure she was in one piece. She slid onto one of the chairs at the bar, folding her arms atop it, and laid her head down.

“Like the dead.” A sleepy yawn escaped her before she could finish her response. One of these days, she really needed to take to the internet to see when, exactly, she would stop feeling so wholly exhausted all the time. “Did you sleep okay?”

“I did,” he confessed, the muscles in his back rippling beneath the simple gray t-shirt he wore. “Better than I have all week, actually.” 

Rowan was careful as he deposited an egg onto a plate next to a few pieces of bacon and a cinnamon roll. Aelin thanked him when he handed her the plate and a glass of orange juice. It was freshly squeezed if the notes of orange zest throughout the kitchen were any indicator, but when she lifted it to take a sip, her stomach turned violently in protest. 

“It’s freshly squeezed. No additives or anything.” Two strings pulled the corners of her lips toward the floor. The confirmation that he spent gods knew how long juicing oranges until she had a full glass worth made her feel guilty for the way her body was reacting.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said as she put it back down on the bar, far enough away that her nose couldn’t smell it anymore. 

“It was nothing.” 

“No I mean…” She paused and took a deep breath, eyes closing at the nausea rising in the back of her throat. “Can you put that anywhere else please.”

“Shit. Fuck, Aelin, I’m so sorry.” Rowan was quick to swoop in and pour it directly down the kitchen sink, letting the water chase it down the drain. 

“You didn’t know. I didn’t either until I smelled it,” she admitted, finally opening her eyes and lifting her fork. 

The first bite of the cinnamon roll was heavenly. It was baked to perfection, the gooey texture nearly melting away on her tongue. It was exactly how she loved her cinnamon rolls, but couldn’t remember ever telling him that. Perhaps once in passing. The eggs were scrambled and in a neat pile of soft, pillowy clouds. None of it touched.

“Did your mom teach you to cook?”

“She did. I was hungry just about constantly growing up, especially after practice and games. It’s come in handy now that I follow such a strict meal plan.” Indeed, his plate didn’t have a cinnamon roll. Instead he had two pieces of toast, some bacon and sausage, and three eggs. When he slid into the seat beside her she noticed two bowls, one with oatmeal and the other full of fruit. 

“I was underfeeding you at my house,” she murmured, sitting back and resting her hands on her stomach. The baby, apparently, didn’t want her to enjoy breakfast. She took deep, steadying breaths to keep the food down even as a sheen of sweat started to coat her skin. 

“Are you sick a lot?” Concern swam in his gaze as looked her over head to toe, but she nodded her head.

“Lysandra made me go to the emergency room a few days after I found out, and—” Rowan’s head whipped around, eyes wide and full of concern. Aelin held up a hand for him to wait a moment and continued, “There are days I couldn’t keep water down. That’s what the blood test was from. They gave me some medication to help with the nausea.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Something like devastation flashed across his features, squeezing her heart like he’d squeezed those oranges. 

“Because I was still freaking out about being pregnant and how I was going to tell you, and I didn’t want you to find out because I was in the hospital over it. Imagine your reaction in an ER,  with nothing between us and strangers but—” Aelin was cut off by the all too familiar tell of her mouth watering, head becoming unclear and dizzy as she launched off the chair and sprinted to the bathroom. She barely made it to the toilet before dropping onto her knees and emptying the little contents of her stomach into the bowl. 

Rowan was there, like he’d seen the color of her face drain to stark white. His hand was a steady weight on her back, moving slowly up and down her spine while he gathered up her hair in his other hand. 

By the time she was through, her throat burned from the pure bile that clawed its way out of her body. Aelin’s ribs and stomach ached from the force of it all and Rowan had to help her back onto her feet, gripping her shaky hands and grounded her to earth. 

“Do you want to lay back down?” he asked her, using his fingers to comb her hair up onto the top of her head. Goosebumps erupted over her body when he tugged the hair tie off her wrist and secured the bun into place. 

Aelin shook her head and gestured toward the kitchen where their breakfast grew colder by the second and said, “I’m going to shower while you finish eating. And don’t object to it. I know you’re hungry. So eat.” 

His eyes were wary as he appraised her. They scanned every feature from head to toe like he was cataloging every single thing about her. Deeming her well enough to manage on her own, he led her out of the bathroom and toward the stairs. Even when she protested, he followed her up and gathered towels and the small bucket of necessities that had everything she would need: body wash, shampoo, conditioner, razors, shaving gel. The little box of tampons almost made her laugh. She wouldn’t  be needing those for a while. 

When he finally left her alone, she stared at the bin full of everything she might need for her stay. Aelin didn’t question if it was meant for any female visitors he might have. She didn’t have to. Everything in it was smaller sizes of everything she had in her shower at home. Like he had made a list so he knew what to get. 

It almost made her angry, how thoughtful it was. Simply because it made it virtually impossible to be upset with him. All of her anger toward him was gradually slipping through her fingers, just like the water she gathered in her cupped hands. 

~*~ 

By the time she was done showering and walked back downstairs, Rowan had finished eating and cleaned up the kitchen. It was near pristine. The dirty dishes had vanished from the stove top and sink and an empty trash bag was in the garbage bin. One of his tattooed fingers was just about to mist the room with air freshener to cover the lingering scent of cinnamon and bacon when she stopped him. 

“That’s overkill. I’m fine.” Her polished fingers toyed with the ends of her damp hair as he looked up at her. 

Rowan’s eyes swept over her, lingering on her still flat stomach. There was nothing to see, not yet, not for several weeks, but he looked and looked like he could see the baby through her t-shirt, her skin. When he finally looked at her face again he simply nodded and put the can back under the sink. 

“Come on,” Aelin said after several heartbeats of silence, her head nodding toward the living room while he pulled a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water from the fridge. Once it was in her hands she glanced at the living room again. “We should talk.” 

When she turned her back she heard him sigh deeply. It was strained, like he wasn’t at all looking forward to what was coming, like he dreaded it. Almost like he was scared. She wondered if his heart was racing and pounding like hers as she walked across the room and tucked herself in the corner of the sofa. A blanket is pulled over her legs with hands that have a small tremor. Aelin tucked them between her thighs to make it stop. 

“At the time,” she said slowly, turning the words over in her mind before speaking them out loud, “I didn’t understand why you asked me if it was for money. But now, knowing what you actually do for a living, I understand why you felt the need to ask.”

“That isn’t what it was.” The words were clipped, his jaw clenching as he paced in front of her. Aelin watched him until he finally sat down on the edge of the couch, fingers drumming against his knees to quell his nervous energy. Confusion rose to the surface in her mind.

“Okay. Explain it to me then.” 

“I— fuck. I don’t like talking about this.” The second part seemed to be said more toward himself than to her, so she waited patiently while he sifted through letters and syllables to make words. 

Rowan looked over at her and chewed on his cheek. More than once, his lips parted to try to sew together his words, but closed again. Like he didn’t know how, when, or where to begin. Aelin wasn’t sure either. They both had a lot to say, had apologies to make. There was so much, though, that it was hard for her to find the words, too. 

“I don’t like talking about it because I don’t… I don’t want you to think I’m making excuses about how I treated you. I’m not. But it’s the truth. Any single one of my friends, my family, they can back it up.” 

“Rowan. It’s okay. Just talk to me.” The fingers in her lap ached to reach for him, twitching against her bare legs beneath the blanket. She wove them together to stay put. 

“I had been sleeping with a woman for a while. Nothing serious, just casual when I had the time. She ended up getting pregnant about six months or so into it. I didn’t want the relationship to get serious. She… Lyria and I weren’t really well matched. We didn’t know each other. I found it hard to open up to her. More than that, I didn’t want to open up to her. But I was more than willing to step up where the baby was concerned.” He paused, tongue swiping over his teeth. Aelin’s heart was trying to escape her ribcage. She took a steadying breath, telling herself to listen and not draw conclusions before he finished. Still, she wondered. Did he have a kid already?

“Lyria was pushing for a relationship, to marry eventually. I was 23, still pretty early in my career, nowhere near ready for marriage.  Especially not with a woman I barely knew . Every time it was brought up I shut it down. Not to break her heart,” he added with a swift glance at Aelin. “I don’t think she was ever in love with me. But because it wouldn’t have been a fruitful marriage, we would have been miserable, and I truly didn’t see the point.” 

Aelin nodded in understanding, “You didn’t want to settle.”

“I didn’t want her to settle either. It wouldn’t have been fair for anyone, especially not the baby in a few years time. I didn’t want to raise a child in a loveless home. But all of that isn’t why I reacted so… fucking horribly.” 

“Okay.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but loud enough to encourage him to keep going. After another steadying breath, he did. 

“One night I very firmly shut it down again. I told her it wasn’t on the table. I want to make it clear that she had a good job, she had really good health insurance. But she started asking me for money. Of course I wanted to give the support she needed, so I gave. And gave. And gave. I couldn’t not give her the money. We weren’t close enough for me to know the extent of her income, and I had money I could afford to lose. Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t, but whenever I asked about it she would get cagey. Accuse me of accusing her. It was such a complicated web to unravel and the fighting was so tiring.”

Aelin was nothing more than a concrete statue, her limbs heavy at her sides. She was unable to move while he spoke, eyes focused on the frayed corner of the blanket in her lap. Every sentence was turned over in her mind carefully, knowing that the grief and frustration that marred his face and sharpened his words was absolutely true.

“One day she called me several times in a row. I didn’t answer because our flight got in really late and I was exhausted. There was no energy in my soul to argue with her about money, so I sent it to voicemail. Later she sent me a text that she miscarried and… I didn’t want the relationship with her but I was just getting used to the idea of being a dad. I have always wanted to have kids. The timing was off at the time, but I was excited about it. And then it was just… gone.”

“Rowan,” she started gently, desperate to offer him comfort of some sort. No words would be a balm to that wound, but she couldn’t bring herself to reach out and touch him. Instead of looking at her he held up a hand, silently asking her to wait. Gods, he wasn’t finished. How could it get worse?

“I found out a few weeks later through a mutual friend that she had miscarried nearly an entire month earlier. All through that month I was still sending her money for appointments, for nursery furniture, car seats…” Rowan shook his head, silver hair falling into his eyes. “We stopped talking after I told her I knew the truth. That she was using all the money I was giving her to fund her lifestyle, hardly any of it was going toward anything for the baby, and that she weaponized the miscarriage to hurt me. It was a massive fucking blow out, and we haven’t spoken since.” 

All the letters and words had evacuated her brain. The weight of his eyes trailing over her face made her finally meet his gaze. All the empathy she had in her heart was swimming in the ocean blue of her eyes that gleamed with unshed tears. In his, she saw that he knew the words she couldn’t find to speak out loud. 

“It makes me feel like a massive piece of shite, but sometimes I wonder if she was even pregnant at all or if the whole thing was just a way to get money from me.” His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose, green eyes fluttering shut as he took a moment to just breathe. Aelin wondered if he had ever voiced that confession out loud before. 

“I can understand why you reacted the way that you did.” The words swept out of her mouth on a heavy exhale, hands flexing in her lap.

“But?” 

“I don’t fault you for the reasons behind your actions, Rowan. But I also can’t just freely let go with what you said and how you said it. I wish that I could, but I felt like we…” Aelin trailed off, eyes shifting around the room on a scavenger hunt for words she had lost. 

“Like we had something more than what I reflected in my reaction,” he finished. A hand dragged through his hair and down the back of his neck before settling over the mouth that had put him in so much trouble in the last eight days. 

“I thought you trusted and respected me more.”

“I do, Aelin. I– fuck. I do. I am so sorry for what I said, how I said it, what I accused you of, that I hurt you. For all of it, I’m so fucking sorry.” Rowan’s hands flexed against his thighs like he was dying to touch her almost as much as she was dying to be touched by him. They curled into fists so tight she could see his thumb nails turning white from the pressure. 

“I know,” she assured him. “I know that, I just–” 

Her hands moved restlessly in front of her, trying to pull her thoughts into coherent sentences. Trying to fully express how deeply it had cut her for him to react that way was difficult. The empty space in his arms where she had fit so perfectly had started to feel like home. It was the safest she had ever felt and following this path of life had felt so entirely right. But then he opened his stupid, perfect mouth. Those words had been dripping with such a sharp edge there wasn’t a way it wouldn’t have hurt. 

“I think I just need some time. I think we need to slow down. This wasn’t supposed to become anything. You know? It was just meant to be fun, but–” She cut herself off with a shrug, her fingers falling onto her flat stomach. Somewhere in there, a baby that was equal parts of her and Rowan was swimming around.  Those feelings threatened to undo her if she allowed herself to feel them. Instead of letting them bubble over, she shoved a cork deep down into that bottle to avoid it just a little while longer.

Rowan’s inhale was sharp, a blade against its scabbard. A chilly silence filled the room, faint buzzing in her ears like she was on the snowboarding slopes in the Staghorns after a heavy snowfall. His fingers drummed against his thighs, eyes staring straight ahead when he finally nodded in understanding. 

A relationship hadn’t been on her radar. It was why the long-distance nature of it worked out so well. With time between each visit, she wasn’t able to throw herself into his heart no matter how much she may have wanted to. Nevermind that the last time she had dived head first into something it had ended with her broken and bleeding. That relationship left scars that were still tender, still itching as they healed. 

It didn’t matter how badly she was desperate to be curled up against him, feel his skin warm where they touched. How much she craved to taste his lips, to kiss the hollow of his throat and down his chest, to just feel his body splayed beneath her fingers. To know that things would be okay. There was so much more at play here than what she wanted. A little baby was caught in the crossfires, and she has to be sure that going forward their relationship was built on more than a whirlwind romance. 

Instead of reaching for his hand and continuing to let herself fall for him, she carefully constructed a wall around her heart and nodded in return. 

“About me lying to you about… everything,” she began, but was quickly cut off by Rowan shaking his head so rapidly it made her dizzy.

“There’s no need for you to explain that. I do not fault you for wanting to protect yourself, Aelin. I wish we had both been more honest with each other, but, no. You don’t need to explain or apologize. I understand. I did the same thing.” The tightness in her chest eased. For the first time since everything had come out, her ribs weren’t so tightly constricted when she took a steadying breath. They had both lied for similar reasons, and her secrets didn’t seem to change anything for him, at least. 

Rowan’s eyes seemed dark and distant, not at all what she was used to. But the conversation at hand was one of pain and hurt. It couldn’t be easy for him to lay this all at her feet, yet he had, and now they could move forward. He would give her the space she required and after that, they would figure things out. 

A kernel of hope nestled itself into her heart. Aelin just hoped she wouldn’t get hurt this time. 

~*~ 

White noise skittered along his skin, his nerves. The stifling sound of silence filled his ears like cotton as she finally stood and began to gather her things. The minutes ticked by like hours and Rowan hated every single drawn out second of it. He just wanted her to stay despite Aelin admitting that what they had between them wasn’t supposed to be anything. Those words were sure to echo between his ears during every hour he existed for the rest of his life.

Deep down in the trenches of his mind he was aware it was the best option for now. For them to pump the brakes, for him to make it up to her. Rowan understood why she needed time to process. He had assumed the worst of her when in reality, the truth of those pregnancy tests had shaken her to her core, just like they had him. 

Still, he couldn’t deny his excitement. While he had been wholly unprepared when Lyria was pregnant, he was ready this time. Ready in a way that only resulted in happiness buzzing through his bones when he imagined what the child would look like, what they would be like. And if he and Aelin could figure this out and work through the missteps…

Gods. He was going to be a dad. After she took the time she needed and he proved himself, they could be a family. A real family. It wasn’t going to be like last time because he was already tripping and stumbling over the edge of a cliff, his feelings rising as rapidly as the water. He was falling in love with her, and it terrified him. 

Rowan could wait. He would give her all the time she wanted, that she needed, and on the other side of it he would make sure that she was the happiest woman in the world. That their baby had the universe at their feet. Anything either of them wanted, he would ensure they had it. Nothing else mattered like this, not even football. 

A new determination had melded into his bones by the time Aelin came downstairs with her bag over one shoulder. He stood as she slipped on her shoes, then walked her out to her car. Apprehension was all over her face, evident in the way her fingers twisted together when she faced him after opening her door. 

“I’ll give back your clothes soon, I just felt gross putting the ones from yesterday back on.” Aelin gestured to the pair of boxers and t-shirt she wore. Rowan shook his head. 

“I’m not worried about that. Keep them if you wish.” A lock of hair blew into her face with the wind. Without thinking he caught it with his fingertips, grazing her cheekbone as he pushed it behind her ear. 

Aelin stiffened and took a single step back. The emotional distance was wider than the ocean when her head shook, brows meeting between her eyes that didn’t quite meet his. 

“Please don’t touch me like that,” she said quietly, but not weakly. Ice water had been dumped over his head despite the warmth in the air. His fingers clenched into a tight fist as they dropped to his side and he promptly shoved them into his pockets. Rowan took several steps back, jaw wired shut. Uncomfortable. Aelin looked uncomfortable at his touch, and he wanted to slam his fist into the concrete because of it. 

“I’ll text you soon,” she said, and he suddenly remembered  the question that had been floating around in the back of his mind for the last two days. Just as she was about to shut the door, he grabbed the top of it to keep it from closing. Aelin jolted a bit, her  eyebrows rising high as the clouds.

“How did you find out?” She looked at him for a second while she processed the question, and then laughed. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard.

“My best friend, Lysandra. I hadn’t sent her very many good pictures of your face yet, so she just googled ‘Rowan’ along with soccer and Doranelle hoping for a team photo or something.” Rowan laughed, too. Some of the tension eased from his shoulders as she smiled at him in their truce. 

He nodded after a moment, a small smile still on his face. He stepped back to let her drive away, standing in the mid-afternoon silence while her tires kicked up clouds of dust. It would be a long road to win her trust back, but he wouldn’t stop until he had earned it. 

~*~

The car ride back to Varese was spent choking back tears and forcing air into her lungs to ground her. As soon as she was back in her apartment, however, the dam broke. A tidal wave of emotion crashed down upon her head, and the front door was barely closed before her thumbs were punching buttons on her phone. By the time Lysandra picked up there were sobs violently shaking her entire body. 

Before pregnancy, this wouldn’t have been anything to cry over. She still would have called Lysandra, of course, but it wasn’t something that would wreck her like this. Truthfully, Aelin didn’t even know why she was crying, other than the fact that she just felt alone. No universe existed where Aelin Ashryver Galathynius was alone in anything, much less a pregnancy. But she had nowhere to go to seek comfort in Varese. Two weeks ago it would have been to Rowan, but that was off the table. Now she just had an empty apartment and her thoughts. 

Lysandra listened while she cried and tried to get a deep breath down. Aelin hadn’t been so upset in years and was positive that if she wasn’t pregnant, everything wouldn’t feel quite so out of control. As it was, there were no handholds to grab onto, no footholds to keep her from sliding down the cliff. While her emotions waxed and waned, Lysandra was there to listen to it all, to soothe her anxiety when she started to spiral out of control. 

Part of her wished Aedion knew about the pregnancy because she needed him right now. But Lysandra filled his shoes almost well enough for everything to dwindle to a simmering calm. 

Though she was set to fly out next week, Lys managed to find a lone ticket that would put her in Varese early the next morning. They talked while she packed, the blonde managing to calm down enough to go over everything that had been said between her and Rowan earlier that morning. 

“I want to forgive him,” she said quietly a few hours later, curled up in her kleenex-covered bed. 

“Why can’t you?” 

“I–” Her lips twisted into a knot as she frowned at the floor. “I just need to be sure. You know? I need to… I don’t know.”

“You need to know that if this is going to be an actual relationship and not a co-parenting situation, that he isn’t going to hurt you again,” Lysandra offered, somehow seeing directly into Aelin’s mind and knowing the inner workings better than she did herself. 

“Yeah,” she sniffed, those emotions threatening to spill over once again despite how much she had already cried. Even though a relationship was the last thing she wanted. “I just need to be sure.”

An hour later, Lysandra was ready for her 6:30 AM flight, and Aelin was more than ready to not feel quite so alone. 

When she pulled up to the airport to pick up her best friend in the early hours of the morning, the sun just beginning to crest over the mountaintops to the east, it wasn’t the dark-haired beauty she was expecting. In fact, she almost drove right past the man that shared her eyes and golden hair. The man that could be her twin. 

It was Aedion. 

@elentiyawhitethorn @autumnbabylon @fancysludgeshoelamp  @wordsafterhours @live-the-fangirl-life @the-hospitality-of-knives @tangledraysofsunshine @readandlisten @westofmoon @rowanaelinn  @morganofthewildfire @writtenonreceipts @feynightlight @emster1622-blog @scarblx @secondstartorightand @thefaetrove @loveyatopluto @actuallybarb @peppermint-fae @the-devils-own @scottmcgivemeacall @livingmylifeforme  @wordsafterhours @foreverfallingforthestars @llyncooljones @emily-gsh @loosesimplicity @emilyrose111294  @charlizeed @aelinchocolatelover @cretaceous-therapod @sayosdreams @fireheart-violet @the-regal-warrior @backtobl4ck @shyvioletcat @autumnbabylon @bellasbookboyfriends

[goddess-aelin]

Rowaelin Prompt: “what do you mean you’ve been flirting with me for [x] years?”

Thank you so much for the prompt! Here's a fun little neighbors to friends to lovers fic :)

Masterlist

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: none!

“Well, Rowan. It looks like this is the end,” Aelin said as she picked up another box of various items belonging to the man in question.

 “I’m moving across the hall, Fireheart, not across the country.” 

 “Yeah, but now that you’re moving across the hall, I can’t exactly call you my neighbor, can I? I blame Lorcan and Elide for this.” 

 In truth, Aelin had been in love with her neighbor for four years, which also happened to span the entire time that he lived next to her. She and Rowan had met when he moved in with Elide’s cursed boyfriend, who Aelin wanted to murder every time she talked to him and also happened to be her neighbor. But she dealt with Lorcan’s presence only so she could see Rowan more often, the silver haired man quickly weaseling his way into her heart. 

It was the dimples that appeared on his face when Aelin brought him half-burnt cookies on move-in day.

 It was the way he’d hold the elevator for her when she was running ten minutes late and was low on caffeine. 

It was the way he’d let her snuggle into his side during their friends’ movie nights, where she’d inevitably fall asleep and drool on his shirt. Yet despite the drool, he didn’t seem to mind. 

So yes, she was in love with her neighbor, her best friend, dare she say the man of her dreams. She was pretty sure he felt the same way.

So why was it so gods-damned hard to tell him that? 

Oh, right. It was because despite her flirting, silly cat-calling, and cheesy pick-up lines, Rowan had never acted upon any so-called feelings. After a year, Aelin chalked it up to nerves. Rowan wasn’t the most outgoing of men. So, she persisted. After two, then three, then four, Aelin didn’t know what else to do. She sure as hell wasn’t going to just blurt it out. Maybe she had it all wrong and he didn’t feel the same way. What if her confession ruined everything good they had? Aelin would rather have a small piece of him than none at all. 

And that was how she found herself moving all of Rowan’s belongings across the hallway, quietly stewing in her feelings. Elide decided that she was finally ready to move in with her brute of a boyfriend and Rowan happily offered to move out of the two-bedroom apartment he and Lorcan currently shared so the happy couple could have more space than the available one-bedroom across the hall. 

Aelin considered just telling Rowan how she felt so that instead of moving his things across the hall, he could simply move into her one-bedroom with her. But that was wishful thinking, so she kept her mouth shut. 

“Oh yes, the five steps it’ll take to get to my door is so much more difficult than the four it used to take.” With an exasperated eye roll, Rowan pulled her into his side and squeezed. “Now, I’m going to go see if I can get Lorcan to help me with my bed frame. Can you start setting up these books for me? You always were better at organizing that stuff anyway.”

With a nod, Aelin took the heavy box from his arms and made her way to the bookshelf in the corner of his room.

Aelin was so engrossed in the mystery that was Rowan’s reading material that she mistook the light footsteps she heard for Rowan’s. 

"Hey Rowan, why in Mala’s good name do you have Knitting for Dummies in your book pile?”

A twinkling laugh echoed through the room. “Not Rowan but I, too, would like to know why a burly man such as himself has a book on knitting.” Elide continued chuckling and Aelin smiled back at her friend. “Though I will say, it’s kind of hot.” 

Aelin sighed wistfully. “Tell me about it.” 

Elide took a casual stance at the doorway, leaning against the door frame with crossed arms. “Aelin just tell him. I’m like 99% sure that it won’t be as bad as your thinking.”

“So you’re saying there’s a 1% chance that it will be as bad as I’m thinking?”

Elide gave her a stern look. For such a small woman, Elide could be extremely scary when she wanted to be. “Look, all I’m saying is that the way that Rowan looks at you should be illegal, ok? I’ve never seen anyone who looks so soft yet so lustful at the same time. He wants you, Aelin. And I don’t think it’s just physically. I mean, do you remember last week when you fell asleep on him at movie night?”

“I did not…” 

“You did. And when you let out the loudest, most obnoxious snore, that boy had the gall to smile at you like you just hung the world.” 

Aelin let out a frustrated sigh. “Elide, I’ve been flirting with Rowan for four years. And I have nothing to show for it.”

“What do you mean you’ve been flirting with me for four years?” Rowan appeared behind Elide, looking as handsome as ever despite the shocked look on his face.

If Aelin could have wished for one thing her entire life, it would’ve been to crawl into a deep, dark hole where no one could find her. Especially Rowan.  

Elide’s eyes widened as she turned to face the man behind her. “I’m…I’m gonna just go.” 

Aelin closed her eyes and let out a huff of breath. Thanks, Elide. She kept her eyes closed but could hear Rowan’s footsteps entering the room, could hear the door shutting quietly. 

“Aelin,” he whispered. “Please open your eyes.” 

Aelin shook her head. She could hear him laughing softly. She felt a hand gently brush hers before it picked her own up with tender reverence. Another hand slid up her jaw, tilting her face upwards.

“Aelin.” She wasn’t sure if it was the soft tone of his voice or the fact he sounded slightly panicked, but Aelin decided to listen to him. 

Teal met green as she opened her eyes. 

“You’ve been flirting with me?”

She exhaled roughly. “Pretty much since the day we met.” 

Rowan gave her a sheepish look. “I had no idea.” Aelin just shrugged. “You are a very charismatic person so I just assumed…I don’t know. You’re like that with everyone.” 

“I definitely don’t tell Fenrys when his ass looks good in his khaki pants. Or give Lorcan bear hugs when I haven’t seen him for a day.” 

Rowan gave her a small chuckle. “That’s not a good example since you hate Lorcan.” Aelin rolled her eyes in reluctant agreement.   

“Maybe I hate Lorcan. But I’ve sort of been in love with you for a while.” 

Rowan at least had the decency to look shocked. “You love me?” 

Aelin took a sharp inhale of breath, not realizing what she was saying until it was too late to take it back. Before she could give him an answer or excuse, however, his other hand came up to cup her cheek, bringing her face closer to his. 

“That’s good to hear because I think I might be in love with you, too.”

The first brush of his lips was so gentle, so fleeting that she thought she might have dreamed it. 

She couldn’t help but tease him a bit but she also needed confirmation. “You might be in love with me?”

She could feel Rowan’s smile against her own. “No, I definitely am.” And with those words, he crashed his lips down onto hers, the fervor and intensity surprising a gasp out of her. She wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, each of them basking in the presence of the other and using every minute to make up for the four years that they could’ve been doing this. 

“You know, we could’ve saved a lot of time if you had confessed earlier. I wouldn’t have had to move all of my stuff into this apartment when I know that I’m just going to be spending all of my time at yours anyway.” 

“Mmmm. I think it was perfect this way. Just the way it was meant to be.” Aelin silently thanked the Gods for this moment. “Now about this book on knitting…”

tagging:

@cretaceous-therapod @morganofthewildfire @tomtenadia @live-the-fangirl-life @charlizeed @violet-mermaid7 @euphoric-melancholyy @kritical24 @rubyriveraqueen @dealfea @wellofnothing @ayaashryver @moonknight-spector @leiawritesstories @whoever-you-choose-to-love @holdthefrickup @heirofflowers @thecrispypotatochip @shanias-world @rowanaelinn @bruiseonthefaceofhumanity @hanging-from-a-cliff @fantacysoup @swankii-art-teacher @thegreyj @fromthelibraryofemilyj @westofmoon @lovely-dove-zee @books4eva04 @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @backtobl4ck @dreamer-133 @elentiyawhitethorn @writtenonreceipts @shyvioletcat @aelinchocolatelover @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @athena127

[mariaofdoranelle]

Where Do We Stand?

A oneshot inside the Look At Us Now AU

Written for Rowaelin Month day 6: Rowaelin

This happens around a year and a half before where the current story starts! I wrote it for this event so it can be read even if you don’t know the AU 🫶

Also I wrote half of this in bed on my phone because I’m having a labyrinthitis crisis please be nice to me and my fic with very little editing

Warnings: mild (?) smut, language, a destroyed house, a toddler (Maisie’s on FIRE)

Word count: 3,8k

In and out. In and out.

Sam’s face was scrunched up in concentration, holding Aelin’s hip as he rode her.

It was not the best sex she’d ever had, but it was some sex, which was better than nothing.

He was panting. “How do you like that, babe?”

“Oh… yes. So good,” Aelin praised. Her chest felt a little tight as she not lied, but emphasized her enthusiasm. Sam was trying, but sex with him was… well, it was vanilla.

He fucked her gently, choked her weirdly, had thin moans, and spanked her a little too softly. At least she came every time. Even if it wasn’t mind-blowing, it was still a win.

Sam stopped when Aelin’s phone started ringing.

She grabbed it from his nightstand with one swift motion and—

Rowan.

Sam ground his teeth together. “Are you going to take it?”

“It could be anything from a lost toy to a house fire,” she explained while swiping to answer the phone.

“Hey. Are you busy?”

She quickly glanced at Sam, phone tightly clutched to her ear. “Kinda.”

She could hear his sigh from the other side of the phone. “Lorcan’s busy, and Sellene’s out of town—”

“Spill, Rowan.”

When he hurriedly told her what happened, Aelin’s only reaction was to tell him she’d be there in a few and hang up the phone.

Sam didn’t protest, but he didn’t look happy either. Aelin winced when he pulled out. Gods, she didn’t even remember he was still inside her.

“Is she alright?”

“Not a house fire, thank Mala.”

“Are you sure you need to go?” He asked with a cautious, uncertain tone.

Aelin sighed. “She’s a toddler, Sam. I can be needed for a lot of things that aren’t life-threatening.”

He nodded. “I could go with you. Be an extra set of hands.”

She suppressed a grimace. “In the middle of a toddler crisis?”

“You told me it wasn’t an emergency.”

Aelin knew what he was tiptoeing around, and she didn’t have time for this conversation again. The one about taking the next step in their relationship and introducing him to Maisie.

Sam was a good guy. He was kind, and had a stable career as a heart doctor. Everyone at the hospital liked him—including pediatric patients.

Aelin didn’t know why she balked every time Sam asked to become official. 

It was the next step for them. And Aelin wanted to take it, but she wouldn’t do it until that weird feeling on her chest eased when she considered it. She wouldn’t introduce anyone into Maisie’s life until being completely certain of it.

“Are you coming back after?” He whispered on her ear, hands on her hips after they got dressed.

“I don’t know. Probably not,” Aelin said, and she meant it.

She gave him a quick kiss on the lips and hurried to Rowan’s place.

Earlier that day

It was a bit past 5 am when Rowan came to terms with the fact that Maisie would not fall asleep again.

His daughter’s last molar teeth were coming out, and he didn’t know if he felt more frustrated or relieved.

They were late, and Rowan didn’t know why. He searched online, talked about it with Aelin, took Maisie to the dentist, and the only answer we got was that he was supposed to wait.

Was it a vitamin thing? Lack of calcium? What would happen if she grew up without molar teeth? What if her teeth came out, but something was wrong with it? Couldn’t they check them with a X-ray? What if they wouldn’t come out until something else was fixed? Was this a sign of some bigger disease?

Rowan was almost losing his mind until Maisie’s gums got way too swollen to not be teething. He finally relaxed, getting this weight off his shoulders, until he remembered in the worst way the nightmare that teething was.

More specifically in her case, the irritability and sleepless nights that led to more irritability.

“I DON’T LIKE GIRLED CHEESE,” his daughter screamed at the top of her lungs, crying when he told her he’d make grilled cheese for breakfast.

Maisie loved grilled cheese.

Rowan returned the bread to its container and sighed.

“Cereal, then?”

“My tummy hurts.” She eyed him warily. “I need to go to the pool to feel better.”

Rowan forced the corners of his lips to not tug up. If Maisie sees him smile at this, she’d remember she has him wrapped around her little finger, and Rowan would lose his chance of bargaining with her.

“We can’t leave the house if you don’t eat breakfast, Mais.”

When his daughter’s lips started wobbling, Rowan knew he needed to think fast. He already had a headache from not sleeping, he’d do anything to avoid a tantrum now.

None of his offers worked, though. She trashed and screamed and cried, only stopping when he said he’d take her to the pool and buy her a popsicle there if she ate her breakfast.

After making Maisie’s grilled cheese and an unholy amount of coffee for himself, he called Lorcan.

“What,” his friend greeted, cheerful as ever.

“I’m taking Maisie to the pool. Wanna come with Charlie?”

Rowan and Lorcan weren’t the most talkative duo, but they hung out a lot because they were neighbors with kids around the same age. Well, they used to be friends before the kids too, but now it seemed like the only thing they talked about was potty training and tricks to minimize picky eating.

“Sorry man, we have a thing with Ellie’s parents. Next week?”

“Yeah, sure.”

He hung up the phone and made a mental note to pack more pool toys, since they were going alone this time.

“Daddy…”

Rowan turned to Maisie, rubbing his face to focus on her.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I do like girled cheese.”

“That’s great, Mais.” He put a smile on, but it came out faint. Even the muscles on his face were feeling heavy.

The pool was actually a great idea. His goal was to get his daughter worked up so she’d feel tired enough to sleep the whole night through. He had no idea why he didn’t think of that before.

Rowan got the table closest to the children’s pool and bought her promised popsicle. She was eating it next to him when she saw a man with low stature pass by them, holding a girl’s hand.

“OH NO!” Maisie boomed and pointed, voice ringing. “That little girl only has a tiny little daddy!”

Rowan’s eyes widened, his blood rushing into his cheeks. Gods, he had no words for his daughter sometimes.

The man hurried his steps, not giving them a chance to apologize.

“Maisie Whitethorn,” he chastised, tone low and firm. “You cannot call other people tiny, you hear me?”

He regretted the way he’d said it the moment her eyes watered and she started weeping.

Rowan sighed, running a hand through his hair. He placed Maisie on his lap and hang his head low while he soothed her. He was so fucking tired. He didn’t mean to make her cry. Again.

Rowan stayed at the table when Maisie decided it was time to jump into the pool. Sellene once told him Aelin’s great at introducing herself to people so their daughter could make quick friends to play with, and watching Maisie play alone in the pool sent a pang through his chest.

Rowan wasn’t very sociable or charismatic, and he never missed those things either, except when it came to his daughter. Truth was, he didn’t even know how to do that. Should he introduce himself to the kids? That would be creepy. Ask the parents if his daughter could play? Better than the first option, but it sounded awkward.

Maisie seemed happy with the water toys, though. He’d do the awkward thing if she starts to look bored.

The head that rested on his hand began to feel a little too heavy, as much as his eyes. He could feel his eyelids closing, slowly—

Rowan jerked upright. What the fuck? He shouldn’t blink an eye while his daughter was surrounded by strangers like this.

He got up, splashed a handful of water from the pool on his face, and tried to keep himself awake by reading a book about potty training he bought yesterday. The worst part had gone by, but Maisie still struggled—

“DADDY!” His daughter called him, grinning.

Rowan smiled back. It was good to see his daughter this happy after the morning they had.

“What, Mais?”

She giggled before shouting, “MY POO IS SWIMMING!”

Following the direction she pointed, indeed, there was a blob of poop floating around the pool.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

In the blink of an eye, Rowan grabbed the plastic bag that came with the book he bought, jumped at the children’s pool and seized his daughter’s poop.

He held the plastic bag with one hand and Maisie’s with another while he went away, but his daughter would not leave the pool without a fight. As if the horrified looks from everyone weren’t enough. God, had they never seen a toddler being gross before?

“We’re leaving, Mais.”

“But why?” She whined.

“Come on.” He tugged at her hand.

Maisie whimpered. “Is it because of my poo?”

“Yes,” he gritted out.

She cried harder.

And on the way home. And when they were arriving home and she calmed down, they went back to square one because of fucking bath time.

“Why do I need a bath?”

Rowan took a deep breath. “Why do you think you need a bath?”

“NO!” His toddler shouted. “I DON’T WANNA THINK!”

He crouched so he’d be around Maisie’s height. “You need to shower because you went to the pool. And pooped in it.”

“I didn’t want to leave the pool!” She argued, lips wobbling while the first tears started to shed.

Rowan loved his daughter. So, so much. He would not snap at Maisie. He would not snap at Maisie. He took a deep breath.

“I know, honey, but we had to.”

“YOU’RE MEAN!” His daughter yelled. “I was happy, and you made all my happy feelings go kaboom!”

After many, many attempts of him trying to reason with a three-year-old, Rowan managed to give his daughter a shower. Maisie did cry because she wanted her mother and screamed bloody murder when it was time to rinse her hair, but they made it out alive.

Bath time had been an issue lately. Aelin liked to make a fucking show while bathing Maisie, with singing and stories and practically performing a puppet show with her toys, and their daughter loved it. The only problem was when she expected Rowan to do the same. No matter how hard he tried, he’d never get the voices or the story—or anything, really—right.

Lunch was as bad as the rest of the day. She cried because the meatballs were too big. Then she cried because she couldn’t cut them herself. So Rowan cut them for her, and she cried more because she decided she wanted the meatballs whole, not cut.

Rowan really wanted to call Aelin and ask her if Maisie was this moody yesterday too, but stopped himself. He didn’t have the mental strength to deal with Aelin Galathynius now.

And you know what? Fuck limited screen time. After lunch, Rowan turned the TV on a low-stimulating show, set Maisie on her little play mat with all the closest toys he could find and decided he’d rest on the couch until he felt like himself again.

He would do whatever the hell Maisie wanted now. Happy toddler means happy dad, and that would be enough for the rest of the day.

This children’s show… it’s really soothing, isn’t it? Rowan could feel his eyes dropping, his limbs relaxing…

Nope. No lying on the couch for him. Bad, bad idea. He got into a seating position and rolled his shoulders back. What was up with him today? Rowan was a drill instructor. He not only knew how to live under the hardest situations, he taught people how to do that.

If he survived the military, he could survive a toddler.

~~

Rowan jolted awake with his daughter’s screams.

He jumped from the couch and followed the sound of her voice, barely registering that his living room was completely covered in paint—floors, furniture, everything.

He entered the kitchen, immediately slipped on the unusually slippery tiles, and busted his hip. It was definitely going to bruise, but his focus now was sliding on the floor until he could get to Maisie.

His daughter was crying because she tried to climb on a drawer as if she were a house cat. And it obviously fell down with her weight.

He sat on the floor, hushing the little girl and repeating over and over that it’s okay.

He didn’t know if he was soothing Maisie or himself.

It was like a tornado had stormed through his kitchen.

The floor was a mix of soap, flour and cereal. Maisie had opened every singled bottom cabinet he owned and thrown its contents on the floor. She drew a sketch all over her face, and looked so dirty it looked like she had gone through an idiotic Youtube prank. And there also was the drawer she just broke, of course.

Rowan breathed in.

He would not scream at his daughter.

Breathed out.

He shouldn’t have slept.

Breathed in.

It was his fault. She was just a toddler.

Breathed out.

He would not scream at his daughter.

He didn’t want to ask her for help, but he needed someone to keep Maisie on a fucking leash so he could finish cleaning this mess today. Aelin was needed, even if her reaction would be somewhere between her shouting at him and… her shouting at him.

Rowan slowly, very slowly dialed her, resigned to his fate even before the shock passed.

“Hey,” he said when she picked up. “Are you busy?”

˜˜

Rowan was greeted with a loud cackle when Aelin came in. She immediately picked Maisie up and smacked their daughter with a kiss, not caring that it’d mess her clothes.

He looked around his trashed living room and sighed. “Don’t worry, the kitchen’s worse.”

Aelin’s eyes widened. You are so fucked, she mouthed when their daughter couldn’t see. “And what happened to your face?”

His phone was out of his pocket in a second, and Rowan groaned when he saw the sketch that had become his nose and cheeks. Very close to the dot on the nose and black lines on the cheeks that Maisie had on.

“Tigers!” The little girl giggled, pointing between her face and Rowan’s.

Aelin was trying to look serious now, but she still bumped her kid’s little nose, or the black paint in it. “You did a big mess, you know that, Maisy Daisy? Are you going to help your dad clean that up?”

Maisie frowned.

“Well, we need to,” Aelin continued, already walking into his house with Maisie in her arms to give her a bath. “If we don’t help your dad clean the kitchen, how are we going to have dinner?” She talked to her daughter until the bathroom door was closed, and Rowan couldn’t hear it anymore.

He resumed his work, thanking Mala that Maisie used the washable paint on the living room’s wooden floor. The back porch’s water hose was long enough to reach a bit of the kitchen, which would help him too.

The damage was done, now he just had to scrub. In fact, now that Aelin could look after Maisie, he felt a lot calmer about the situation.

Aelin. The light mood she was in surprised him, and Rowan hoped he hadn’t crashed her plans, given the light-blue sundress—

Rowan stopped, his jaw suddenly tight. The only thing that brought him back was the realization the water coming in a higher speed because he was squeezing the hose too much, making a bit of a mess.

He went back to work, but not without shaking off the fact that he had a good idea where she was at. With whom, actually.

Rowan couldn’t even ask her because he wasn’t supposed to know shit. Their deal was that they only needed to tell before the other introduced their partner to Maisie. But Aelin told Elide, who told Lorcan, who told Rowan about a month ago about this new boy toy of hers.

Just be prepared, Lorcan told him. And Rowan did. He prepared himself for days.

He paced around his house, thinking of the right questions to ask when the time came, and the right way to ask them. Sellene helped him find the guy’s social media. He seemed okay, but would be good enough for Maisie? He doubted it.

Rowan just knew he’d be a shitty step parent.

He posts Live, Laugh, Love Facebook captions. With the wrong capitalization. Is that the kind of example she wants to set for Maisie?

And Rowan wouldn’t even mention that horrendous yellow filter on his pictures.

Those were just facts. As someone who’s Maisie’s parent and close to nothing to Aelin, his opinion was completely unbiased.

He wanted Aelin to be happy. She was his child’s mother, of course he wanted her to be happy.

But not with Cortland.

When the girls came to the kitchen, Aelin decided to reorganize the cabinets and wash the food containers Maisie threw on the floor. They gave the little girl a cloth to wipe a thing or another, but making her ‘clean her own mess’ was more like a moral lesson than anything else. They couldn’t expect much cleaning from a three-year-old.

“You didn’t give your mom a hard time during bath time, right, Mais?”

“We played sumbarine!” The little girl giggled like she hadn’t turned bath time into a nightmare earlier today. Hell, she was lucky she was cute.

Aelin snorted. “She was fine.” A pause. “Rowan, I need to talk to you about something.”

Now?

Aelin was going to tell him about Cortland now?

His blood turned to ice, and Rowan’s stomach was rioting against her next words. He ignored it and swallowed down whatever that was, burying it as deep as he could. “Go on.”

“Rowan…” she sighed. “You don’t need to wait until after the worst was happened to ask me to come, you know?”

“No, I don’t.” He frowned, confused. What was she talking about?

Turning to him from the sink, she wiped her hands on her dress and rest her hip against the counter. “Look, I know we have the whole 50/50 schedule figured out, but the timetables aren’t that rigid even in the military.”

Rowan opened his mouth to speak, but Aelin lifted her finger, letting him know she wasn’t done.

“You didn’t sleep a wink the whole night, and you didn’t think of asking me too look after my own daughter while you take a break? Seriously?” She took a deep breath, calming herself, and ran a hand through her hair. “I swear to God, Rowan, you’ll call me literally anytime, except when you actually need me.”

His posture slumped, but he didn’t stop scrubbing. He’d get defensive any other day, but Rowan felt so fucking tired. He didn’t have anything in him to have this conversation now, so he opted for changing the subject.

“Thanks for coming, by the way.”

Her posture relaxed, eyes slowly softening. “Yeah. I saved your—“

Aelin stopped herself before she could say an improper word in front of Maisie. But she did, indeed, save his sorry ass.

“You saved me,” he rephrased her thoughts in a proper way.

“You bet I did,” she quietly said around a small smile.

It took a long time to finish cleaning up, but sooner than he thought, thanks to Aelin. She spent half the time helping him, the other wrangling Maisie so she wouldn’t get in his way. It was exactly what he needed. Besides, something about having his house in perfect order was incredibly soothing. He was still exhausted, but scrubbing his kitchen clean with little to no disturbance helped him calm down.

Now the three of them were eating popcorn while watching a TV because it was the best they could do after this day.

Aelin tapped his shoulder from the other side of the couch.

After being awake the majority of last night, one morning at the pool, one trashed house and trying to interrupt a deep-cleaning session, Maisie Galathynius Whitethorn had finally fallen asleep.

The score was still four to one to teething, but at this exact moment, Rowan felt like he won.

Aelin picked Maisie up from the couch, but apparently her daughter’s sleep wasn’t that deep yet.

“No,” she protested. “More movies.”

Aelin chuckled and whispered, “We can’t watch another movie, Mais.”

Maisie’s head was falling to the side with drowsiness, but she was stubborn as ever. “Can I watch the same movie again?”

“No…” Aelin bumped the little girl’s nose. “But you’re a very smart cookie.”

Maisie frowned. “I’m not a cookie.”

She chuckled. “Sorry, kiddo.”

“Not a kiddo,” the little girl mumbled.

Aelin walked toward their daughter’s bedroom and Rowan sighed, relieved that she didn’t protest. This time.

“You’re not a cookie. You’re not a kiddo,” Aelin said on her way. “What are you, then?”

“I’m a Maisie.”

Rowan couldn’t see them, but he could still hear his daughter’s answer, spoken as softly as the kiss Aelin smacked on the little girl.

His whole body relaxed when he heard quiet footsteps coming back. It’s not like he didn’t want Maisie awake and here with them, he was just exhausted from the day. From the week, actually.

“Is she out?”

Aelin snorted. “Like the dead.” She looked around, not really knowing what do with herself and the weird silence that settled. “Don’t you wanna sleep some too? I can make myself scarce.”

Rowan’s body was, indeed, screaming for some rest. He didn’t know what happened when his mouth blurted the opposite thing.

”I was thinking about another movie.” He scratched the back of his head. “Preferably one that doesn’t involve ballerinas and talking animals.”

That seemed to perk Aelin’s interest up. “Like something with assassins?”

“Or spies.”

“Wars.”

“Blood.” He gave a pointed glance to the half-empty popcorn bowl. “And I can make more of these.”

“Good.” She grinned and sat back on the couch, turning the TV on. “I’ll find out what our options are.”

Aelin’s glaze darted back between Rowan and the bowl, silently telling him to rush with the popcorn.

God, how long did he stand there, staring at her?

That day kept getting weirder and weirder. Rowan didn’t want to complain more than he already did, though.

TAG LIST (let me know if you want in or out!)

@rowaelinscourt

@aelinchocolatelover

@autumnbabylon

@bookcide

@cookiemonsterwholovesbooks

@courtofjurdan

@dreamer-133

@elentiyawhitethorn

@elizarikaallen

@fangirlprincess09

@goddess-aelin

@gracie-rose

@leiawritesstories

@rowanaelinn

@superspiritfestival

@swankii-art-teacher

@s-uppertime

@thegreyj

@violet-mermaid7

@wishfulimaginings

[acourtofquestions]

You Are In Love

AKA my new favorite Rowaelin song

… think about it …

(I have because reading Empire of Storms & waiting for them to tell each other is driving me INSANE😅😂)

One look, dark room. — Meant just for you;

Mostly just them having their “mind-to-mind” reading the other too well conversations… during actual conversations.💕

What do you want me to tell you Fireheart? - "Tell me that we'll get through tomorrow. Tell me that we'll survive the war. Tell me-Tell me that even if I lead us all to ruin, we'll burn in hell together." "We're not going to hell," he said "But wherever we go, we'll go together.”

Time moved too fast, you play it back; buttons on a coat, light-hearted joke…

How they share their stories with each other, and recall those in all the months of missing each other.

The truth. The truth of her, undiluted and complete. And after all that they had been through, all that she still wanted to do ... So she steeled herself. "I have never told anyone this story. No one in the world knows it. But it's mine," she said, blinking past the burning in her eyes, "and it's time for me to tell it." Rowan leaned back on the rock, bracing his palms behind him. "Once upon a time," she said to him, to the world, to herself, "in a land long since burned to ash, there lived a young princess who loved her kingdom ... very much." And then she told him of the princess whose heart had burned with wildfire, of the mighty kingdom in the north, of its downfall and of the sacrifice of Lady Marion. It was a long story, and sometimes she grew quiet and cried--and during those times he leaned over to wipe away her tears. When she finished, Rowan merely passed her more of the tonic. She smiled at him, and he looked at her for a while before he smiled back, a different smile than all the others he'd given her before. They were quiet for some time, and she didn't know why she did it, but she held out a hand in front of her, palm facing the pool beneath. And slowly, wobbling, a droplet of water the size of a marble rose from the surface to her cupped palm. "No wonder your sense of self-preservation is so pathetic, if that's all the water you can conjure." But Rowan flicked her chin, and she knew he understood what it meant, to have summoned even a droplet to her hand. To feel her mother smiling at her from realms away. She grinned at Rowan through her tears, and sent the droplet splashing onto his face. Rowan tossed her into the pool. A moment later, laughing, he jumped in himself.

No proof, not much… but you saw enough.

From day one they knew each other better than anyone (as she’ll even say), “to have one person who knew the absolute truth about her--and didn't hate her for it.” While this quote is from a time when they were not saying it from love, they were saying it nonetheless, because it was present for so long this ‘understanding that says and sees more’ of theirs.

"How--how did you come back from that kind of loss?" "I didn't. For a long while I couldn't. I think I'm still... not back. I might never be." She nodded, lips pressed tight, and glanced toward the window. "But maybe," he said, quietly enough that she looked at him again. He didn't smile, but his eyes were inquisitive. "Maybe we could find the way back together." He would not apologize for today, or yesterday, or for any of it. And she would not ask him to, not now that she understood that in the weeks she had been looking at him it had been like gazing at a reflection. No wonder she had loathed him. "I think," she said, barely more than a whisper, "I would like that very much." He held out a hand. "Together, then."

Small talk, he drives; coffee at midnight. —

She was tired in her bones, but she rallied her energy one last time and told him of the years in Rifthold, of stealing Asterion horses and racing across the desert, of dancing until dawn with courtesans and thieves and all the beautiful, wicked creatures in the world. And then she told him about losing Sam, and of that first whipping in Endovier, when she'd spat blood in the Chief Overseer's face, and what she had seen and endured in the following year. She spoke of the day she had snapped and sprinted for her own death. Her heart grew heavy when at last she got to the evening when the Captain of the Royal Guard prowled into her life, and a tyrant's son had offered her a shot at freedom. She told him what she could about the competition and how she'd won it, until her words slurred and her eyelids drooped. There would be more time to tell him of what happened next--of the Wyrdkeys and Elena and Nehemia and how she had become so broken and useless.

The light reflects, the chain on your neck. —

Her powers cause pun intended light, and a multifaceted of the weights they are carrying; from Chaol’s ring, to missing Lyria, to her manacle scars… they both were carrying a lot from day one, too.

She wore her scars the way some women wear their finest jewelry.

He says, "Look up". And your shoulders brush…

He helped her see herself, reclaim her magic, & see the world.

Rowan stood with his queen in the rain, breathing in her scent, and let her steal his warmth for as long as she needed.

No proof, one touch… but you felt enough.

"From the moment he'd bitten her neck in Wendlyn, the moment he'd tasted her blood and loathed the beckoning wildfire that crackled in it, he'd been unable to get it out of his system."

Morning, his place;

The chapter of her moving in post magic burn-out.❤️‍🔥

It was the first warm bed she'd had in months. — She yawned, and Rowan rubbed his eyes, his other hand still in hers. But he didn't let go. — And when she awoke before dawn, warm and safe and rested, Rowan was still holding her hand, clasped to his chest. Something molten rushed through her, pouring over every crack and fracture still left gaping and open. Not to hurt or mar--but to weld. To forge.

Burnt toast, Sunday,

Her making that awful cake, & him eating every piece for her.

Things fell back into their usual rhythm in the two days that followed, though Rowan couldn't stop thinking about what Essar had said. Because he knew it was true, because ... because he wanted it to be true. Aelin said nothing about it, though he'd sometimes catch her frowning at him, as if trying to decipher some puzzle. He was poring over a report Vaughan had sent him when she walked into his room that night. The smell of chocolate and nuts hit him, and when he twisted in his seat, he discovered her carrying a small, misshapen cake, a sheepish smile on her face. "It took me hours to make this damn thing, so you'd better say it's good." She set it in front of him, along with a plate, fork, and knife. The blade she used to slice into the chocolate-frosted lump, cutting a large piece. It was layered with a lighter frosting— some sort of creamy-looking filling between the dark cake. "Chocolate hazelnut cake?" She plopped the piece on the plate for him and took his hand to press the fork into it. "You have no idea how hard it was to get the ingredients. Or to find some sort of recipe. I haven't even tasted it yet. Emrys looked like he was going to faint with horror." When Rowan just stared at the cake, she clicked her tongue. "This is the favor you owe me. Just try it." He gave her a long stare that usually sent men running, but she bit her lip and glanced at the cake. It was enough that he adjusted his grip on the fork, picked up a piece, and brought it to his mouth. While he chewed and swallowed, she was practically hopping from foot to foot and wringing her hands. So he let out a grunt of pleasure, took another bite, then another, until the entire piece was cleaned off his plate. Then he took another piece. And another. Until his stomach was protesting and all but a sliver was left on the platter. "I told you it was delicious," she preened, giving him a triumphant smile as he set down his fork. She ruffled his hair, but he caught her wrist, squeezing gently while he rose from his seat and brought his face dangerously close to hers. He knew every fleck of gold in those remarkable eyes— knew how her very blood tasted. And this near to her, their breath mingling ... "Now we're even," he said, and stalked out of the room. He was about three steps down the hall when Aelin's fork scraped against the platter, no doubt scooping up the sliver of cake he'd left. A moment after that, her curse barked off the stones of the fortress, followed by spitting and coughing. Despite himself, Rowan was smiling.

You keep his shirt. —

… stealing his t-shirts on repeat (cause it’s a mood)…

She must have been exhausted enough not to bother with anything other than that oversized shirt. His shirt, — It was enormous on her. It was so easy to forget how much smaller she was than him. How mortal. — Aelin slumbered beside him, her breathing deep and even, yet again wearing one of his shirts.

He keeps his word. —

They truly have no secrets, something she desperately needed, and they both learn/grow in.

"You trust nothing." She met his eyes. "I trust you."

And for once, you let go of your fears and your ghosts…

They do not forget to live, to lose themselves in the loves they lost… instead they take the time to fall in love, and grieve… he goes to Sam’s grave with her, & tells her of Lyria, he doesn’t let her face Arobynn or Rifthold alone… they might never be okay, but they focus on coming back together.

She studied the scarred, callused palm, then the tattooed face, full of a grim sort of hope. Someone who might--who did understand what it was like to be crippled at your very core, someone who was still climbing inch by inch out of that abyss. Perhaps they would never get out of it, perhaps they would never be whole again, but... "Together," she said, and took his outstretched hand. And somewhere far and deep inside her, an ember began to glow.

One step, not much… but it said enough.

Aelin took a step forward. One step, as if in a daze. She loosed a shuddering breath, and a small, whimpering noise came out of her--an And then she was sprinting down the alley, flying as though the winds themselves pushed at her heels. She flung herself on the male, crashing into him hard enough that anyone else might have gone rocking back into the stone wall. But the male grabbed her to him, his massive arms wrapping around her tightly and lifting her up. Nesryn made to approach, but Aedion stopped her with a hand on her arm. Aelin was laughing as she cried, and the male was just holding her, his hooded head buried in her neck. As if he were breathing her in. "Who is that?" Nesryn asked. Aedion smiled. "Rowan." She was shaking from head to toe, and couldn't stop crying, not as the full weight of missing Rowan crashed into her, the weight of these weeks alone. "How did you get here? How did yon find me?" Aelin withdrew far enough to study the harsh face shadowed by his hood, the tattoo peeking out along the side of it, and the grim line of his smile. He was here, he was here, he was here.

You kiss on sidewalks. —

The ✨Oakwald forest💖

"Just once," she said. "I want to kiss you just once." Every thought went out of his head. "That sounds like you're expecting not to do it again." The flicker of fear in her eyes told him enough--told him that her behavior at dinner might have been mostly bravado to keep Aedion calm. "I know the odds." "You and I have always relished damning the odds." She tried and failed to smile. He leaned in, sliding a hand around her waist, the lace and silk smooth against his fingers, her body warm and firm beneath it, and whispered in her ear, "Even when we're apart tomorrow, I'll be with you every step of the way. And every step after--wherever that may be." — His body went still--his entire world went still--at that whisper of a kiss, the answer to a question he'd asked for centuries.

You fight and you talk. —

May I present Heir of Fire?😂💁‍♀️

"We both are experts at clamming up, so let's make an agreement to talk right now like even-tempered, reasonable people." He didn't meet her gaze as he padded toward the bed and slumped down beside her, stretching out over the blankets. She didn't even reprimand him for getting the sheets wet--or mention that he could have taken half a minute to put on some clothes. "Looks like our days of fun are over," she said, propping her head with a fist and staring down at him. He gazed blankly at the ceiling. "Witches, dark lords, Fae Queens... If we make it through this alive, I'm going to take a nice, long vacation." His eyes were cold. "Don’t shut me out," she breathed. "Never," he murmured. "That's not--" He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "I failed you tonight." His words were a whisper in the darkness. "Rowan--" "He got close enough to kill you. If it had been another enemy, they might have." The bed rumbled as he took a shuddering sigh and lowered his hand from his eyes. The raw emotion there made her bite her lip. Never--never did he let her see those things. "I failed you. I swore to protect you, and I failed tonight." "Rowan, it's fine--" "It's not fine." His hand was warm as it clamped on her shoulder. She let him turn her onto her back, and found him half on top of her as he peered into her face. His body was a massive, solid force of nature above hers, but his eyes--the panic lingered. "I broke your trust. "You did no such thing. Rowan, you told him you wouldn't hand over the key." He sucked in a breath, his broad chest expanding. "I would have. Gods, Aelin--he had me, and he didn't even know it. He could have waited another minute and I would have told him, ring or no ring. Erawan, witches, the king, Maeve ... I would face all of them. But losing you..." He bowed his head, his breath warming her mouth as he closed his eyes. "I failed you tonight," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "I'm sorry." His pine-and-snow scent wrapped around her. She should move away, roll out of reach. Don't touch me like that. Yet there he was, his hand a brand on her bare shoulder, his body nearly covering hers. "You have nothing to be sorry for," she whispered. "I trust you, Rowan." He gave her a barely perceptible nod. — She blinked back the burning in her eyes as he reached between their bodies and took her hand, guiding it up to lay against his tattooed cheek. It was an effort to remember how to breathe, to focus on anything but that smooth, warm skin. He didn't tear his eyes away from hers as she grazed her thumb along his sharp cheekbone. Savoring each stroke, she caressed his face, that tattoo, never breaking his stare, even as it stripped her naked. I'm sorry, he still seemed to say. She kept her stare locked on his as she let go of his face and slowly, making sure he understood every step of the way, tilted her head back until her throat was arched and bared before him. "No one else," she whispered. "I would never allow anyone else at my throat." … "This changes things," she said, hardly able to get the words out. "Things have been changing for a while already. We'll deal with it."

One night he wakes, strange look on his face; pauses, then says "You're my best friend."

They are always the best of friends🥹

Rowan might have been her dearest friend, her carranam. — "You make me want to live, too, Aelin Galathynius," he said. "Not exist--but live." He cupped her cheek, and took a steadying breath--as if he'd thought about every word these past three days, over and over again. "I spent centuries wandering the world, from empires to kingdoms to wastelands, never settling, never stopping--not for one moment. I was always looking toward the horizon, always wondering what waited across the next ocean, over the next mountain. But I think ... I think that whole time, all those centuries, I was just looking for you." He brushed away a tear that escaped her then, and Aelin gazed at the Fae Prince who held her--at her friend, who had traveled through darkness and despair and ice and fire with her. — "You are my Fireheart."

… And you knew what it was; He is in love.

(They both knew it for a long time… if only they’d admit it 🤦‍♀️)

"I missed you"… I missed you with only ocean between us. But if it was death separating us... I would find you. I don't care how many rules it would break. Even if I had to get all three keys myself and open a gate, I would find you again. Always."

— And you understand now why they lost their minds and fought the wars —

Literally the books

Rowan laughed again—and Aelin thought she might never get sick of it, that laugh. That smile. When she looked back, Rowan was halfway to the camp, Evangeline's red-gold hair flashing as she bounded through the dripping trees, begging the prince for toast and eggs. Her family—and her kingdom. Two dreams long believed lost, she realized as the northern wind ruffled her hair. That she would do anything—ruin herself, sell herself—to protect.

…And why I've spent my whole life tryin' to put it into words. . .

They both were just looking for each other💙

All she had been able to think about, in spite of her kingdom, in spite of all she still had to do, was the fear in Rowan's eyes. And that it would be a shame if he never knew... if she never told him. . . "I claim you, Rowan Whitethorn. I don't care what you say and how much you protest. I claim you as my friend." — "To whatever end."

'Cause you can hear in the silence. . .

All those times he just grabs her hand beyond words to respond in

Rowan remained rooted to the center of the room as Aelin climbed into bed and blew out the candles. He stared at her through the darkness. She said softly, "You make me want to live, Rowan. Not survive; not exist. Live.” He didn't have the words. Not when what she said hit him harder and deeper than any kiss. So he climbed into bed and held her tightly all through the night.

You can feel it on the way home. . .

Them reuniting in Rifthold😭

"Welcome home, Aelin." A land of towering mountains--the Staghorns--spread before them, with valleys and rivers and hills; a land of untamed, wild beauty. Terrasen. And the smell--of pine and snow... How had she never realized that Rowan's scent was of Terrasen, of home? Rowan came close enough to graze her shoulder and murmured, "I feel as if I've been looking for this place my entire life." Indeed--with the wicked wind flowing fast and strong between the gray, jagged Staghorns in the distance, with the dense spread of Oakwald to their left, and the rivers and valleys sprawling toward those great northern mountains--it was paradise for a hawk. Paradise for her.

You can see it with the lights out. . .

Fireheart🥰

Aelin was awake--finally awake, and lifting her face to Rowan's. They were sitting on the bed, Aelin in Rowan's lap, the Fae warrior's arms locked around her as he looked at her the way she deserved to be looked at. And when they kissed, deeply, without hesitation--

… Even if this thing between them ... even if he knew it was not mere lust, or even just love. This thing between them, the force of it, could devour the world. And if they picked it, picked them, it might very well cause the end of it. It was why he had not uttered the words he'd meant to tell her for some time, even when every instinct was roaring for him to do it as they parted.

You are in love, true love. You are in love.

… Her throat ached with the effort of keeping the words in… She'd been in love with him for a while now. Longer than she wanted to admit.

[acourtofthought]

Hi! ships aside, in my opinion I think it's obvious that the next book is elain's because of the phrase in feysand's pov "let's focus on helping one sister before we start on the other". Nesta already got help, so it would make sense that now it's elain's turn.

What do you think?

Contains spoilers for the TOG series: I realize that people look at the fact that Az received a POV Chapter as proof his will be next, but...... I'm nearly positive a bonus chapter for Rowaelin was released after the book where they got together because SJM was worried that it would give too much away and she wanted to keep things a surprise for the readers. I feel the same thing would happen with Elain. Because the second we're in her head, we're going to know the real reason she's shying away from Lucien. We're going to know how she really feels about staying in the NC. We're going to know how she really feels about the fact that everyone sort of thinks she's sweet but not capable of much. I think it makes sense for us not to have an Elain POV before it's time for her book. In ACOFAS, Cassian was given a POV and Mor was given a POV. There are no strong hints that Mor is getting the next book so it seems like it's alright for SJM to give POV's to characters even if they aren't getting a book anytime soon. Which means she could have easily given both Az and Elain a POV and still only given one of them the next book. I think the fact that she didn't give one to Elain and instead gave one to Feysand which includes information about Elain supports the point I was making. No, Elain wasn't in SF much but, through other characters we're told she was Made for Spring. We're told she had always wanted to go to the continent. We're told she looks like the life has been sucked out of her in NC black. We're shown that she's finally standing up for herself. The rose that was cared specifically for Elain is mentioned multiple times by Nesta. And we're told (in the Feysand chapter) that once they help one sister they can help the next. We're told that if Elain had been wearing the gloves her Mate gave her, she would have never gotten hurt. It's interesting that Elain herself wasn't around all that much but the other characters can't seem to stop talking about her 😂 So to me, I think there is a lot suggesting that Elain could get the next book. Not to mention, since book 2 SJM has been telling us that the sisters have their own journey's to go on and that Elain had her HEA ripped away from her and she's already done research for Elain's book, information she told the readers in a special edition of ACOFAS which was years ago. In other interviews she mentioned how she knew who the first two of the spinoff series were about (with Nesta being the first) but was leaving the third open. It stands to reason that if she had done research for Elain's book that meant she knew she'd be getting a book. If she was unsure who the third book would be about than it why would she have done research for Elain? Otherwise she would have known who all three books would be about. Could she have changed her mind? Absolutely. But the way she's spoken is that the layout of the books hadn't changed all that much and the only difference is certain characters become more relevant (I'm guessing Eris for one). For someone that plans so far in advance I really would be surprised if she switched the order of the books. But....that's just my opinion based on the information I have available. I'm hoping one day soon I'll find that I managed to predict something right! 😂

[leiawritesstories]

A Memory of Your Love

Rowaelin Month, Day 19: Telling the kids about their tattoos

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: none, it's sappy melty fluffy goodness (i swear)

Enjoy!

@rowaelinscourt

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

“Mama.” The small voice was accompanied by a series of rapid knocks on Aelin’s partially-open office door. “Are you very busy, Mama? Da said you’d be busy.” 

Aelin set down her quill and turned away from her desk, finding her second child, her son, poking his head through the crack in her door. “No, my boy, I’m not busy.” She stood, digging one hand into the small of her back–gods, sitting down for too long was terrible for her spine–walked over, and opened the door. “Come in, Bran. What do you need?” 

Bran–Prince Brannon Whitethorn Galathynius–shuffled into the office, uncharacteristically quiet and shy. Normally, he was the most vivacious of the royal children, always with a laugh on his lips and a prank brewing in his mischievous mind. He got that from his mother. “I want to practice with the knives,” he said slowly, haltingly. 

Aelin nodded. “And do you need someone to go with you?”

Sheepishly, he nodded. “Yeah. Da said I can’t be there alone, not yet.” 

“Not yet,” she agreed. “When you’re a little more comfortable with the blade work, or maybe when you’re a little older, then you can go alone. Just not yet.” 

He frowned. “Why not? All the other boys my age go out into the yard by themselves.” 

“Ah, but they’re with each other, no?” 

“Uh…yeeeeees?” 

“That’s right, my son.” Aelin cracked a grin at her son’s slight flush. “You’re welcome to train with them, you know.” 

“Don’t want to,” he mumbled. “I’m not good enough.” 

“Now that’s just horseshit,” she scoffed. 

In her mind, Rowan flinched. Fireheart!

What? she snarked. You know he’s heard worse from those hulking brutes you call friends. “Bran, you are good enough. They aren’t going to make fun of you.” She ruffled his hair affectionately. “Yes, I’ll go practice with you.” She winked. “Anything to sneak away from the boring paperwork.”

That made him snicker. “Are you going to make Da do the paperwork, then?” 

“Maybe.” She led him out of her office and down towards the training yard. “It’s good for him to pretend like he has responsibilities every once in a while.” 

I heard that.

I know. She blew her grumpy buzzard an invisible kiss. 

Bran was at the door to the training yard. “Come on, Mama!”

“Just a minute,” she laughed. “I can’t train in this dress, it’s too frilly.” She ducked into a side room and changed into a loose, comfortable tunic and pants. “All right, I’m ready.”

“Come on!” Bran pushed open the door and bounded out into the training yard, running for the fenced-off area used for knifeplay. “I beat you, Mama!” 

“You did,” she laughed, catching up with him. “I must be getting old.” 

~

For a good hour, she sparred against her son, working with him on his form and his technique, especially taking a chunk of time to show him how to throw a knife. Bran had been wanting to learn that skill for a while, and she decided he was ready, no matter what his overprotective father and uncles thought. 

Bran drew a deep breath, locked his turquoise eyes on the target, exhaled, and released the knife. It sliced through the air and embedded itself in the ring just outside the bulls-eye. “I did it!” he screeched, jumping up and down in thrilled excitement. “I did it, Mama!” 

“You certainly did,” she praised. “I don’t think I could have done any better.” 

He beamed. “Dare you, Mama!” 

“Oh do you, now?” Challenge sparked in her bright eyes. “Stand back, B. I don’t want to hurt you.” She took her mark on the chalked line, inhaled, locked her eyes on her target, tipped her arm back, and launched her blade. Her tunic slipped, partially exposing her shoulder–perils of wearing her mate’s clothing rather than her own–but her knife flew straight down its intended path and buried itself right next to Bran’s knife with a thunk. “How’s that, Your Highness?” she teased. 

Bran sprinted over to check the target and came back with the biggest, brightest smile plastered all over his face. “Mine was closer!” 

“No!” Aelin exclaimed in contrived shock. “I really am losing my touch!” She grinned down at her son. “Congratulations, Bran, you’ve just out-thrown your queen.” 

His attention flicked from the target to his mother and back again, a question creasing his forehead. 

She knelt and met his eye level. “What is it, my son?” 

“Your tattoo,” he said, unexpectedly. “I know you have one, I just…it looks like wings. Why is it wings, Mama? Shouldn’t it be fire?” 

Aelin was quiet, thinking through how much to say. I can’t just brush him off.

No. We knew we would have to tell them eventually.

Right. Just…how much?

As much as you want. Rowan sent reassurance pulsing down the bond. We can talk to him and Lana later tonight, both of us.

I’d like that. With Rowan’s strength at her back, she took Bran’s hands. “Da did it for me.” 

His childish face lit up with interest and wonder. “When?” 

“Before…” She trailed off, her gaze going distant for a moment. “Before we settled. Before you and Lana were even thoughts in our minds.” She noticed his furrowed brow, and she squeezed his hands in comfort. “Da and I are going to tell you and your sister about it later tonight, because you’re old enough and you deserve to know more of our story. I’m not dismissing you, I promise; you just need to wait for a little longer, okay?” 

Slowly, he nodded. “Okay,” he replied. “Can I ask you one more thing?” 

“Of course.” 

“Did it hurt?” 

“Some,” she said, honestly. “But your father was with me, and that made it easier.” 

~

Rowan wore a sleeveless shirt to dinner that night, the soft gray linen exposing the defined grooves of his muscles and the full breadth of the script inked down his arm. Aelin chose a dress that dipped low in the back, low enough to display the wings unfurled across her shoulder blades. She frowned as she laced the silken material up the side–it was almost at the point where she couldn’t wear it in public, else it would reveal too much. Just to be sure, she turned to the side and checked her profile, relieved when her reflection showed that the skirt still billowed out high enough to conceal the swelling of her abdomen. 

Stunning. Her husband padded up behind her on near-silent feet, slid his powerful arms tenderly around her waist. His tattooed hand splayed over her stomach. “How much longer?” 

“Another few weeks before we tell the children.” She laid her hand over his. “At least a month before anyone else even suspects.” Lest we…lose them.

“Of course.” Rowan dipped his head and brushed a whisper of a kiss across her pulse point. I love you, he murmured into her soul. 

Aelin melted into him. As I love you. 

Lana and Bran were full of anticipation and eager chatter at dinner, both children more than willing to ramble on about their days. Bran seemed to be back to his usual mischievous self, busily flicking tiny crumbs and a pea or two at his sister when he thought nobody was watching. Lana returned the favor by gradually increasing the heat of her brother’s chair, silverware, and even clothes, making him squirm in mild discomfort and drop his fork with a yelp when he picked it up and it nearly burned him. 

Unsurprisingly, though, when dinner was over and they moved into the small, cozy, private living room reserved exclusively for the family, both Lana and Bran went quiet, settling down onto the small sofa and watching their parents expectantly. 

Aelin settled into her chair and spoke first. “So you want to know about our tattoos.” 

“Mhmm.” Lana nodded. “Well, I know about Father’s. Mostly.” 

“Do you?” Rowan wore a half-grin. 

“Uncle Lorcan told me it’s a record of your life and a memory of your love.” 

“Uncle Lorcan talks too damn much.” 

Aelin snickered. “Admit it, buzzard, that was a very lovely description.” 

Rowan grumbled. “Fine. Lorcan can be civil once in a while.” He nodded. “Yes, that’s the most basic description of my tattoos.” 

“You did them yourself, right?” Bran asked. 

“Mostly. Gavriel helped, a little.” 

Bran tilted his head. “And you did Mama’s?” 

“He did,” Aelin confirmed. “Both times.” 

“Both times?” Lana and Bran chorused, wearing twin expressions of disbelief. 

“Both times.” Aelin shared a long, laden look with Rowan. “This set–” she turned around and let her children see the full expanse of the ink scripted across her back–“was done just before we kicked the shit out of the Valg once and for all.” 

“Language,” Rowan sighed, teasingly. 

Aelin huffed a laugh. “Says you. Like your father’s, my tattoos are my story. All of it–who I once was, who I became, who I am now.” She whispered under her breath, and two of the symbols glowed blue for a few seconds. “Those are your names, my loves, in the Old Language.” 

“That’s us?” Lana breathed, both awe and tears clogging her words. 

“That’s you,” Aelin murmured. “Your idiot father also wrote a whole entire spell into my tattoo–didn’t even think to tell me, oh no–in yet another language.” 

“It was a protective measure!” Rowan protested. “And it worked, didn’t it?” 

“Oh, all right, it did.” She laced her fingers with his. “Your father is boring; all his tattoos are just Old Language.” 

“Can you read them?” Bran asked. 

“I can.” A yearning smile curved Rowan’s lips. “It’s been a very long time since I spoke the Old Language, but I can read it, yes.” 

“What’s this one?” Lana pointed to a sequence of characters on Rowan’s bicep. “It repeats a lot. There, and on your forearm, and on your neck, too.” The firstborn Whitethorn Galathynius always had been perceptive. 

“It says Fireheart,” Rowan murmured. 

A crooked little smile lit Lana’s face. “That’s…extremely sappy of you, Father. Aren’t you supposed to be the hardened old warrior?” 

Aelin burst into laughter. “Oh, my daughter,” she wheezed. “Never change, Lana love.” 

“I’m trying very hard to be unimpressed,” Rowan intoned, his lips twitching with the effort of holding back his merriment. 

Lana giggled. “We’re all thinking it.” 

Rowan laughed. “I suppose we all are.” 

Bran’s smaller hands touched the ink spiraling up his father’s arm. “When I grow up, I want tattoos too!” he declared. 

Aelin and Rowan shared a very long look. 

“Maybe you will have tattoos,” Aelin told her son, running her thumb over his knuckles. “If you do, know that you carry the weight of every name and event written into your skin.”

“Even the ones that hurt?” 

“Especially those ones.” Aelin gathered her children close. “It is the weight of the people we have loved and lost that guide us through life. They are always with us, even when they fade.”

[autumnshighlady]

🦋🎁

🦋 Which character is your favorite to write?

definitely Eris or Fëanor probably! They're very similar which helps haha they're just super fun to write and construct unique dialogue with, bc they're so unhinged haha

🎁 Have a piece of a WIP you want to share?

here's a brief snippet of the poly!rowaelin fic i've been dragging my feet on for months:

Rowan’s hand clenched tightly around your arm, warning you not to try anything funny as Aelin spoke charmingly with the male at the front desk. His grip was tight, fingers digging into your skin and likely causing bruises. You scowled at him, but heeded his warning. You had given up fighting an hour ago, exhaustion plaguing your body. Your clothes were completely soaked from torrential rain, making you shiver. To say it had been a long day had been an understatement. “I will do the talking,” Aelin had said to you coldly before entering the inn. “You just stand there, look pretty, and shut up. You try to speak, or escape, and I will burn you to ash. Got it?”

and from my elrond fic:

You let yourself feel everything – the guilt of neglecting your job, the pain in seeing your friends give up their attempts to see you, the hateful thoughts about yourself that clouded your mind telling you that you were deserving of nothing good, all of it. You clung onto Elrond as you cried, feeling so overwhelmed that you may implode. “I can’t… I can’t, I can’t,”  You managed to choke out between sobs. “It hurts so much, please make it stop, please make it stop, Ada.” Ada. You had never called Elrond ‘father’ before, always using his name or title. You did not want those around you to think you were getting special treatment, or to seem like you were expecting it. Before you could gather your wits and apologise, you felt him hold you tighter. “It’s ok,” He repeated. “You are safe. You are strong. You can overcome this, but not if it is burning up inside of you. Let it all out, little one.” You nodded into his chest, your relentless chants of I can’t fading out as you slowly regained control over your breathing. The raging sea that was storming inside of you calmed down to a simple rocky surface, the weight of everything lifting off of your chest slightly. You stayed there for a few minutes, letting Elrond hold you close as you calmed down.

[tomtenadia]

Milestones

Anonymous asked:

Aelin and Rowan are woken up by their toddler girl all excited telling how she "peed like a boy, like daddy"

@rowaelinprompts

I saw this and I started laughing so hard so I had to write something. It’s very short and I hope fun too.

757 words of hopefully decent rowaelin domestic fluff with their daughter.

----

MILESTONES

Rowan and Aelin had soon learned the true beauty of at least seven hours of sleep. Their daughter Maya was four and she was finally adapting to sleep throughout the night. Maya had always been a restless kids and they had spent a lot of sleepless nights. Now she was becoming a big girl and her visits to the big people bed had diminished. Her parents did not mind to have her in their bed, problem was, Maya never came alone. Depending on the night, she might take between one and three soft toy, making the bed crowded. Rowan did not mind. It had taken them so long to get their daughter that he would accept anything. She was his world together with his wife. Sleep was secondary. When the crowding got bad, he had started to pull Maya on his chest and his daughter loved to fall asleep on her father while his arms cradled her and Aelin tucked at his side. On occasion, Aelin would wrap her arm too, if she was awake enough to notice the position. That night though Maya had stayed in her bed and Rowan held his wife in his arms. He had briefly woken up and when he saw the time on his phone he cursed, pulled Aelin closer to him and tried hard to fall back in Morpheus’ arms. 

He almost managed the feat when he heard sounds coming from the bathroom. Maya had been potty trained for a very long time and knew that his daughter might get up and use the loo on her own. Nonetheless he kept his ears for any sounds that she might need help.

What he was not expecting was the sound of the pitter patter of her naked feet on the floor and the bedroom door to flung open.

“Dada, mama!” She ran and clumsily tried to climb on the bed and Rowan pulled her up.

In that instant Aelin groaned and woke up and sat beside her husband “What is it?”

“Why is the little tornado in bed with us?”

“Mama I peed like a boy. Like daddy.”

A huge toothless grin spread on her face and her green eyes shone in the faint light of the room.

“What do you mean you peed like daddy?”

“Up.”she lifted her arms in the air for emphasis. 

Rowan looked at Aelin and then both started to move. He grabbed his daughter and only then he noticed a faint smell of urine on her pyjama. 

Aelin was already in the bathroom and was laughing when he reached her.

Maya’s green potty lay beside the big toilet and around it a big puddle of pee.

Maya giggled “peed like dada. I am a big boy.”

Aelin was laughing hard. Maya had seen her cousin Aidan learning to pee like a boy once they were at Lys’ place. She had asked all of the uncomfortable question and Aelin had tried to explain her daughter about the different plumbing between girls and boys. She had then explained that her dad did it that way too.

“Yes you did, my love,” Aelin lifted her daughter in her arms “and you made a mess.” She then turned to her husband “next thing you might want to teach her to lower the toilet seat when she is done.”

Aelin went to her room and grabbed some clean clothes for the little girl while Rowan was cleaning up the mess “she just needs to get better at target practice,” he added with almost pride in his voice.

“Rowan, you boys have an appendix that should help stay on target and still miss…”

Her husband laughed hard while he stashed the mop away “Hey at least I remember to lower the seat.”

Aelin kissed him while she was changing Maya “Yes, you are a trained male. Took me a while…” then she smacked a kiss on Maya’s cheek “didn’t we Maya? We trained dada.”

“I peed up!” She exclaimed happily and they both realised that for their daughter had been a fun little adventure.

“That you did, you are a grown up girl and maybe we can start use the big potty? Like mum and dad?”

The little girl smiled happily, feeling important all of a sudden.

Rowan took her in his arms “Come, tomorrow you can tell grampa that you peed like him.”

They walked back to their room and carried Maya with them, placing the girl in-between. She was asleep very quickly and in the darkness of the night Rowan and Aelin kept giggling.

“Our little weirdo…”

TAGS:

@rowaelinismyotp @swankii-art-teacher @whimsicallyreading @elentiyawhitethorn @aelin-bitch-queen @bruiseonthefaceofhumanity  @mis-lil-red @thegreyj @sailorsassley @leiawritesstories @clairec79 @morganofthewildfire @sv0430 @heartless--aromantic @autumnbabylon @rowanaelinn @backtobl4ck @susumaus98  @gracie-rosee @mybloodrunsblue @tanvee1231 @avenrebekah @whoever-you-choose-to-love  @theywillnotsingforme @universallytreepost @black-daisy-water @goddess-aelin @whispers-in-the-darkest-heart

[throneofsapphics]

plsss write more rowaelin x reader!! literally anything i’m obsessed with your writing <333 would love some hurt/comfort

nothing

Rowaelin x f!Reader

Summary: "A gilded cage is still a cage, the nasty part of my mind echoed, but I let the thought drift away and disappear - melting into them instead. For now, it was easier to give into the comfort. I can let the harder parts come later."

Warnings: angst, emotional hurt, comfort

Word Count: ~1.5k

A/N: ahh thank you so much for the request I loved writing it, this took a more emotional hurt turn but if you had something different in mind please let me know!

“You’d be nothing without us.” 

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. The words echoed in my head like a horrible melody. I saw her parted lips and wide eyes. Regret. It’s too late, the words left her lips. There’s no taking back something like that. Even if there was, my pride wouldn’t let her. It doesn’t matter whether she’s right or wrong. What’s done is done. Over. 

“Thank you for telling me how you really feel,” I said, with an edge to my voice and narrowed eyes. A tone I’ve never taken with her before, and I can tell it shocks her - good. I wanted something to hurt, to hurt the way she’s hurt me. Still, tears threatened to prick the corner of my eyes, to give away how vulnerable I felt, how five words tore me open. Never let them see you cry, my mother’s words echoed in my ears as I turned away. 

There’s that part of me that wants her to call after, to say my name, to run to me, but she doesn’t. I can’t tell if that makes it better or worse. 

My feet traveled the well worn path, out the side gate, down the cobblestone streets, all the way to my small apartment and I started packing, throwing things into piles before realizing I don’t have any boxes. That I don’t have most of my things - there all there. The one place I won’t go back to, that I refuse to go back to. 

Maybe she’s right, maybe I am nothing without them, but that doesn’t mean I can’t become something. My life revolved around them for the last year. Is it freedom? I don’t know. I don’t want to know now. No tears, I tell myself, and repeat it in my head until the words don’t make sense anymore, until they cease to exist. 

-

A few hours later, after I’d found some boxes and started packing things away, Rowan showed up. He didn’t bother knocking, just let himself in. “This is it then. You’re running.” The last person I want to see shows up on my doorstep. “Don’t ignore me.” He said after an uncomfortable silence. 

“Is the great Rowan Whitethorn begging?” My back stays turned to him, I can’t look at him - if I do I might give in. I might let those tears I’ve been barely holding back fall. 

“Is that what you want?” The coldness in his voice made me want to cry. I never heard it used towards me. 

“What did she tell you?” I asked instead. 

“That you’re running away.” 

I finally turned, looking at the clock, anywhere but at him. His scent still flooded the room, pine and snow. His presence even more. No matter where he went, he took up space. Almost overwhelmingly. “So she missed the ‘You’d be nothing without us,’ part then.” 

Silence, I didn’t need Fae senses to feel his anger bubbling beneath his skin. “Look at me so I know you’re not lying.” My eyes snapped to his on instinct. Gods, that’s the worst thing I could’ve done. I can’t tell who his anger is directed to. His head tilted every so slightly, like he could see right through me into every dark thought, every bit of anger and resentment. “What did you say to her?” Oh so that’s what he wanted to know. To flip the story on me, to make me the villain. 

“Does it matter?” I snapped. 

“Yes.” The simple answer pissed me off even more. I snorted and rolled my eyes, knowing my indifference would be louder than any words I could’ve said. I turned my back again and re-stacked dishes I had already sorted and organized. Soft, nearly silent footsteps sounded across the room before a hand squeezed my shoulder, fingertips squeezing just enough to know he expected an answer. 

Expectations. A year of living by what they want, of chasing their dreams for me. Like always with him, the words flooded out. “I told her I wanted to expand my business, to start more crafts, go to more markets, to travel further out. She asked why, why I needed to and why Orynth wasn’t enough.” I press my elbows against the cold tile, cradling my forehead in my hands. His hand didn't leave, but his thumb rubbed gentle circles into my shoulder. “When she asked why I said I was tired of living in your shadows and I think it came out wrong. I meant it, but not in a harsh way.” I felt his body stiffen but the gentle movements did not stop. “People only buy from me because of you, because I’m connected to you.” My elbows dig harsher into the cold tile, hard enough I know there will be red marks on them. I sensed he’s about to say something and whirled back around, swatting his hand away. 

“That’s not true.” The smallest movement in his temple, almost imperceptible if I didn’t know better. He lied. 

“Don’t lie to me.” I snarled, and his eyes narrowed. 

“What’s my tell?” He tried to deflect. 

“Say what you’re really thinking.” I gritted my teeth. His jaw clenched slightly. 

“People… enjoy the novelty of buying from someone connected to the crown. That doesn’t make your work any less impressive.” At least he didn’t lie again. The Crown. Not the Queen and King, the Crown. I pressed my lips together in a tight line, is it possible to separate the two of them? 

“I want to be something.” I tried to explain as my pitch rose and I waved my hands, quickly approaching hysterics. Everything seemed to be getting to me, all of the thoughts I’ve been suppressing crashed down on me. He grabs them, holding them gently. The rough calluses brush against my skin. He takes a few deep breaths, and I copied him, my body reacted without conscious thought. 

“You are something. You’re everything to us.” 

“That’s not what I mean.” I huffed, but at least he’s trying. At least he said something. 

“You can be something here. You don’t need to leave Orynth to do it.” 

My eyes shuttered closed. He didn’t understand, he couldn’t. This was all foreign to him. Rowan was a legend before he became King, before he met Aelin. 

“I can stay here.” I started, and sensed a bit of tension leaving him - too bad I'm about to undo all of that, “but travel to other places - where nobody will know my face or who I am.” 

“It’s not safe.” 

I groaned. I knew that would be his answer, it always came back to my safety. To their peace of mind.

-

As soon as I saw her, and the broken look on her face at the boxes, the floodgate broke and the tears came loose. Along with the sobs that wrecked my body. She crossed the room in seconds, arms circling around me and I held onto her like a lifeline - like she’s the one thing anchoring me to this reality. She came, she came after me. Not from Rowan urging her, not from someone telling her to - she came on her own. For me. Swallowed her pride. 

“I didn’t mean it.” Her face buried into my shoulder, “not like that.” Her words still echoed in my mind, nothing, nothing, nothing, but I shoved them away for now. Not now, not when she’s being vulnerable - apologizing for once. 

“I love you,” she whispered into my shoulder and I froze. She’s never said the words before, she’s shown it - but never said them. Was this a ploy to keep me here, to try and sweeten the blow with words that don’t mean anything to her? But Aelin wasn’t like that, she might scheme and plan, but she wouldn’t lie about this. At least I didn’t think she would. “You don’t need to say it back, I just need you to know.” The truth, I decided - it has to be the truth. If it isn’t, I’d trick myself into believing it. 

I felt Rowan’s warm body pressed behind me, caging me between their arms. A gilded cage is still a cage, the nasty part of my mind echoed, but I let the thought drift away and disappear - melting into them instead. For now, it was easier to give into the comfort. I can let the harder parts come later. Aelin guided me over to the couch, letting me curl into her side as she whispered sweet nothings into my ear, her hand stroking my hair in the way that made me melt as Rowan started unpacking the boxes. Before I knew it I was back in the castle with them. Back in our rooms. Rooms with my touch, with my books, with the potted plant I barely keep alive and the soft blanket I brought from my home village. 

There would be more arguments, more protests and compromises - but we would figure it out. We always do.

[justreadertings]

Till Death Do Us Part Chapter 8

Author’s note: Ok, I know it’s been a hot second, but this one is pretty long, and I was actually planning for it to be longer, but decided to just split it up into two chapters, so chapter 9 is well in the works! Very excited, as always, for you to read this, and for the constant anger I spread throughout our community. Truly hope to get you attached to these characters as I put them through... fun times. Ok, enough of my rambles, and enjoy! (If you was to be added to the taglist, as always just ask and you can be a part of a secret community where I give you chocolates and forehead kisses)- much love, Magee

masterlist

TW: cursing, mentions of violence, mentions of war, and ofc Rowaelin angst

3100 Words

Till Death Do Us Part Chapter 8

Aelin had been stabbed before. This was kind of like that. 

She tossed and turned in her bed for hours. There were a hundred reasons she could not sleep. 

Her nightgown was too concealing, and she was sweating through her comforter. Her windows were too big and the moonlight was lighting up her entire bedroom. Not ten steps from her bed was the place where she’d been nearly killed. The first time. The guard outside her bedroom door reminded her of the man who did said near fatal attack. Her best friend was now her husband. A husband that was going to father a child of another woman. She was getting married and crowned in a week. And the worst, and final reason: she could not stop seeing his face. 

Her maids had promised her that they not only changed the sheets, but they’d put in a new mattress entirely. They had redone her carpets, cleaned off any bit of furniture that might have her blood stained on it. His blood stained on it. And yet. And yet- the last time she was in this bed… Aelin bolted up, throwing the covers off. 

Sweat pricked her skin, but she slipped on her silk robe anyway, feeling too vulnerable in just her nightgown. She knew she was exhausted- this might’ve been the third longest day in her entire life. 

Her room watched her with old eyes, memories pressing on her. She tried to remember the comfort she used to feel when Rowan would nap next to her, telling her he would keep the monsters away. But it just made her dizzy when she remembered that he was probably curled around the mother of his child right now. She was feeling sick again. 

She perched herself on her long window sill, hand pressed against the glass. Aelin longed for the safety of her mountain home, even as it was cold and lonely. At least she could kill someone there if they pissed her off. She couldn’t exactly kill Lyria.

Especially now. Gods, she wished her mother were here. But no, she didn’t. Because it was her own mother who had put her in this predicament. 

Aelin didn’t know what to do with herself. Her solace, up in those woods, was that she was doing everything in the name of her fallen guardians. That Rhoe, Evalin, and Maeve were watching her and guiding her through the torrents of life, and she was making them proud. But now, a day in, and she felt no shift, her belief system shattered. Her power had not been returned to her as she thought. She thought she would waltz in, and with her swaggering smirk she would piss off all the old men who’d taken her parent’s place, would slip her father’s crown, and would be named Queen of Terrasen. 

But she was only Princess by name, was only the girl who’d been gone for years, who half the country wanted dead. There was still a civil war on the horizon, still a hundred or a thousand men who wanted her off the throne and in a grave somewhere. There was still Arobynn Hamel and his rotten men. Half of his men, she supposed, were still corpses in a barn somewhere in the Staghorns. But he hadn’t been there. She did not have her revenge, did not have her crown, did not have her parents, did not have her respect, did not have her Rowan.

And you never will, her mind reminded her. Not when he had his pretty fiancee and that pretty baby.

She glanced down to see her fingers had pressed into her palms and had cut through them. Well, fuck. She’d have to wear gloves tomorrow. And to do that, she’d have to either request them or put the damn things on herself, which of course required going into her closet. 

And that closet… so much had happened there. It hurt to even think about. And yet, she was supposed to be the almighty savior of Terrasen. Perhaps it was this marriage that would save her country, and her being queen would be nothing more than a shallow attempt at salvation. Her heart ached.

But even her weary heart could not stop her keen senses, and as if she smelled it, she knew that something was wrong. As Rowan had said a lifetime ago, her castle was too quiet. She did not let anxiety overtake her, and instead, pulled the dagger hidden on the side of her bed, twirling it in her palms. She slipped the one under her pillow in the waistband of her undergarments. Aelin had been hurt too many times in this room to be blindsided again.

Just like that, she heard her door to her rooms open. She crept by her bedroom door, straining to hear what was on the other side. Someone was stalking close to her. Celeana palmed her dagger.

“Your Highness?”

Her mind was too untrusting to know if she could exhale or not, the sight of her brown-haired guard confusing her. Celeana knew. Aelin knew, too.

“What.” She demanded, not caring as his eyes swept to the weapon palmed in her hand. Let him know. 

“There’s been a break in.”

Damn her, damn every man in this goddamn country for making fear pit in her stomach. She’d literally been hunted for the past seven years, those bastards following her around her forests… but this castle did something to her, did something to the twelve year old girl still hiding in that closet. Still holding Rowan as he bled out in that closet, still being attacked in that closet, still being kis-

“Your Majesty?”

Her eyes cut up. She traced the expression on his face, his strong willed jaw, the urgency in his eyes. She wondered if he heard what he just said, too. But they had other things to worry about. 

“The tunnels,” he told her. She debated if it was a good thing that he knew the secrets of her home. But she nodded, driving her into her bathing chambers, pushing on the fake wall, Chaol on her heels. Lit by the candle he handed her, they crept along the stairs. She just moved, moved, moved. Driven by memories, by all the times her father would scoop her up in the middle of the night, holding her and her mother close as they, too, made for the basement.

“Turn here,” he told her.

“I remember,” she snapped at him. Only a moment later he caught her before she ran into a black wall, missing the next turn. Aelin hastily shook off his touch. They traveled quickly and in silence after that.

Until footsteps crept along their ears. Celeana stopped, and palmed her dagger. Chaol grabbed the sword at his side. They turned in unison, and for a moment, she forgot he was an Adarlan man as he pointed to the strange alcove next to them. She nodded, and they both hid with their backs against the wall, peering ever so slightly each moment. In silence, they read each other’s orders, and she covered her candle light with her hand at his instruction. He seemed to understand that she would not go lightly. Seemed to understand the importance of two warriors in these tunnels rather than one.

Adrenaline pushed her, and she remembered it all. If she was going to live, if she was going to one day rule, she had to keep herself alive. Up in the mountains, when she was alone short of visits from Elide and Marion- and him- she would repeat it. I am not afraid, a phantom voice said to her.

She closed her creunulan eyes and remembered his voice, even as she so rarely conjured up his face, Say it. Say: I am Celeana Sardothian and I am not afraid.

I am not afraid. 

Chaol pointed down the hall, pointed to her as the hurried footsteps grew. He pointed to his sword, then to the hall behind them. She knew he was waiting for a response, but she would not promise to refuse a fight. Not to the men who entered her halls. They would pay.

Her guards eyes were careful and calculated, but they turned furious when she swung her arm out right as the steps were close enough, and decked a man in the face. 

“Aelin!”

She couldn’t hear the disapproving voice. She’d heard a disapproving man’s voice in her ear her entire life. They could all piss off. She swung her leg out in an instant, and the tall man tripped. Celeana fought mean and she fought dirty.

They were calling a name, her other name, but she wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. She was a wild animal, fury born again. They’d threatened her home, her life. Her family. They’d taken from her a million times. Her hands were numb, and she realized a moment too late she was being pulled off of the man. Was screaming for them to let her go. She didn’t stop until the smell of home drowned her senses, her back flush, suddenly, with Rowan’s front. 

“Stop, Fireheart. Stop.” He risked a hand covering her mouth. 

Finally, she calmed, if only a little, snapping out of her rage. It was then, with great dread, as she came to, that she realized it was Rowan’s own guard she’d pummeled. Her knuckle was bruised and bleeding, and the side of his face was worse. Rowan’s arms were heavy around her, his thundering heart steadying her wild one. Her pants blew across his strong arm, strung as it was around her. 

Chaol was helping the man up, something she couldn’t quite place in his eyes. 

“We have to go,” Rowan whispered in her ear.

Celenana or Aelin or whoever the hell she was nodded. Her breath was heavy in her ears. And though her mind was far away, she had it in her to recognize the armor on Rowan’s body, and wonder what it was doing there.

They were moving again, much faster than before. Her outburst surely wasn’t appreciated by either guard. Then again, fools, both of them, if they thought protecting her and Rowan would be easy when half of the country wanted them dead, East and West respectively.

They made it to their safe room, windowless and dark. Chaol made quick work of lighting the candles on the walls, and Rowan had pulled Aelin into a chair. While the adrenaline rushed out of her, sleep crept up, just as it always did. After she hunted, she would spend maybe days sleeping up in her cabin. 

Her eyes swept up, a tad bit of guilt clawing up as she finally looked at Rowan’s guard. The man was… pretty. Normally the men in her country were not pretty. But this man, with his tan skin, also a mystery to her, his dark eyes, and blonde hair was, for lack of a better word, pretty. If he were more burly, he’d remind her of her cousin. Her cousin, who she didn’t even have room in her mind to think about. 

But Rowan’s guard did not seem angry at her. From the look in his eyes, it seemed as if he found it humorous. Her eyes narrowed, especially as he stalked over to where her and Rowan were sitting. She did not realize his hand was still on her knee until his guard’s eyes became glued to both her knee, and then Rowan’s eyes. Rowan removed his hand.

“Fenrys Moonbeam,” the guard introduced himself. Aelin watched him nurse his bruised jaw. She was about to introduce herself when he said, “Don’t worry, love. I know you. You’re our future queen.”

A soft smile played on her lips. She liked him already. She found herself eager to meet his swagger with a bit of her own, despite the tiredness. “And don’t you forget it.”

He saluted her as she watched Chaol pace the door. “How could I?” Fenrys mused, clapping Rowan’s shoulder. “Out there in Adarlan, I’d never hear the end of you.” He winked at her, even as something dreadful curled in her stomach. “Not that I’d want to.”

The world became silent. Aelin turned, almost robotically, to look at Rowan. He better not have gotten that scar where she was starting to think he got that scar. “Rowan,” she whispered. 

His eyes were set, murderous, on Fenrys. 

“Did you fight in Adarlan?” Her voice was steel.

Fenrys’ eyes widened. “But I’m guessing you didn’t know that,” he said, confirming her fears. 

That’s why he was so strong. That’s why he was so haunted. That’s why he was more protective than ever. He was in fucking Adarlan during the war, and no one told her. Her fingers curled again.

“You could have died.”

Rowan glared something aggressive to Fenrys before turning to her. “They hurt you.” Her heart clenched. “They needed to pay.”

“Not with your life, Rowan!” 

“Hey!” Both her and Rowan turned to where Chaol snapped at them. “Keep it down.”

Her mother used to say it was dangerous should both she and Rowan be angry, and if looks could kill, her guard would be surely dead where he stood. 

Aelin glared at Rowan, and his expression was granite, unflinching. “I did what I had to do.”

“Then you’re a rutting idiot.”

He didn’t even respond to her. He only turned, eyes distant. 

Panic filled her chest at the thought of him there, deep in the bellies of their wars. She had cried countless times at the Terssen lives sacrificed at the brutal hands of Adarlan. At the soldiers her court kept sending out into Adarlan forces. But imagining Rowan there made it so much worse. 

They were quiet for a long, long while until she asked, “when?” 

Fenrys and Chaol were on either side of the door, nearly relaxed, simply waiting. They both eyed their princess and King. Rowan sat next to her as they had rallied with their thoughts, but he still felt so far. 

“When what?” He asked, lowly.

“When did you go off to Adarlan?”

Those piercing green eyes of his seemed to be off somewhere else, and she was starting to recognize it. It was the same look he’d had when she’d first gotten back. She had seen it in the library, his eyes seeing something else instead of their home. Aelin knew she probably had a similar look in her own eyes most days. 

“When did you learn to fight like that?” Was all he asked, still looking down at his muddy, boot-cladded feet. 

Aelin’s voice was low in her throat. “I asked you first.”

He huffed something close to a laugh. It hit her again that they were well and truly adults. That he was her husband. Gods. She pushed it away. 

“A year.” She stared at his harsh profile. “After you left.”

Her heart rose to her throat. Devastation pierced her, again. She wondered if she had any more of it left. Perhaps she’d have her maids call for more, since she had to be running out at this point. 

“You were fifteen?”

His face was angry, haunted. “You were twelve.”

She was glad for the guards pretending as if they were not listening. Because she did not want them to see her weakness. At how labored her breath was, rough in her own ears. 

“Twelve when he-” Rowan’s voice caught, and her eyes fluttered closed.

“I know,” she whispered. “But that is not enough a reason to risk your life.” He only shook his head, and the dismissal had anger rising again. “What if something had happened to me up there? We would have no king, no queen.”

“You deserved revenge.”

Her hands gripped the edges of the chair. “Then let me get it.”

His voice was steady. “That wasn’t exactly an option six years ago.” Rowan’s eyes darkened. “And I wasn’t going to wait that long.”

“Terrasen needed a king!”

“And it has one.” 

Aelin seethed. “Our country needed you. That’s all I asked, ever, of you. To save this country. Before me, before the castle, before the court. I needed you here.”

Rowan shook his head. “You have no idea what it was like. What this country was like after…” His breathing was just as harsh as her’s. “They needed to think they had someone who cared.”

“Did you?” Aelin shot back. 

Rowan’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?” 

“Was it about revenge, or was it about saving face of the monarchy?”

“Those things are not mutually exclusive, Aelin.”

She was so caught up in thoughts, so full of emotion, gods damn her, that she could hardly think straight. Could hardly think of a response. So Aelin let herself be honest, here, with Rowan. Let him know how devastated by this news she was.

“You were too young to fight like that. I did not ask that of you, and I certainly would not want it.”

Rowan shook his head. “I did it for a lot of reasons, Aelin. And I know twelve year old you would not understand. But I hope this version of you can.”

“You shouldn’t have done it in my name,” she pressed.

Rowan’s hand found her knee again. She saw the strain in his eyes, the same one that had been there that morning she had woken up after the first raid. “Someone had to.”

Aelin opened her mouth, to say what, she wasn’t quite sure yet, when the door began to open. Chaol and Fenrys stood in position, and Rowan stalked in front of her as they both stood. His hand braced her stomach, and she remembered with a flush and ill timing that she was only in her nightgown. 

The door turned, and her dagger slipped into her hand, unconsciously. Celeana? She heard his voice, up in the mountains. Do you really want to learn how to kill?

Yes. 

That was her answer. Now, and then, that was her answer.

She had found him, a long time ago, when she had been hunting. A man with curly, amber hair who’d had a perfect aim and deadly focus. She’d watched him for days after that, watching him catch every mammal meant to be her dinner. She’d finally introduced herself the day he killed a man in Adarlan colors, muttering something foul under his breath about that cursed country.

Teach me how to kill like you do, she’d told him. And thus began a series of bloodshed and heartbreak that fueled every one of her senses as the knob on the safe room door turned, and her candle flickered out. 

Ok, like I said, your questions will be answered soon! Much love, and thank you for reading! Hope this one wasn’t tooooo painful

Taglist: 

@leiawritesstories​

@tomtenadia​

@fireheart-violet​

@backtobl4ck​

@morganofthewildfire​

@rowaelinismyotp​

@aelinchocolatelover​

@thegreyj​

@foughtconquered​

@swankii-art-teacher​

@booklover242​

@stardelia​

@numbers-colors-fashion​

@bookcide​