#i swallow a lot but fenris being white?

[iamnotyourgodsherald]

I will never forgive Dark Horse and Bioware for white washing Fenris in the comics.

[hamsterboos]

Ain't My Fault

As of yesterday I'm four teeth down but not in a lot of pain so I might try to get a few of the others I've planned out for Rowaelin Month! As always, big thank you to the team for hosting this and I hope people like this quick little drabble (I say as this is almost 2k words long) based off of Zara Larsson's Ain't My Fault. Please let me know if you would like to be tagged in my TOG fics! I did tag for my Hating Game AU but I don't want to assume lol

Word Count: 1683 Read on AO3 Rowaelin Month Master list

Day 1 of Rowaelin Month Prompt: Song Fic

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

It was criminal, honestly, how good looking this man was. It simply did not make sense that a silver haired man with tattoos could look this fine , and yet, here he was. He had walked into the club with his two friends and claimed three seats at the bar while Aelin had watched the entire thing from her spot at a table in the corner. It certainly didn’t help her case that he was wearing a simple v-neck white shirt under a leather jacket that had been rolled up, showcasing the swirling black tattoos on his left forearm. 

Aelin bit down on her bottom lip before letting go of it slowly as she watched the current bane of her existence laugh before taking a shot of tequila. She watched with bated breath as his Adam's apple worked as he swallowed before he wiped at his lips with a swipe of his thumb. 

“If you stare any harder at him, you’re going to make him burst into flame,” Lysandra laughed, nudging Aelin with an elbow, and Aelin jerked her gaze away from the man that had captured her attention for the past fifteen minutes. 

“Shut up,” she responded, half-heartedly glaring. “It’s not my fault that he’s fucking handsome.” 

Elide leaned her elbows on the table before resting her chin on her folded hands. “Honestly, I don’t know why you two haven’t just banged, yet. Lorcan keeps complaining about the sexual tension that remains after you two talk.”

“I’m not going to be the first one to crack, Elide. Rowan needs to come to me ,” Aelin insisted, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I can’t seem desperate.”

“Will you consider it if I say that we’re desperate for you two, instead?” Lysandra groaned around a sip of her daiquiri. Elide snorted as she picked up her phone, presumably to text Lorcan to tell him where the girls were sitting. The original plan had been to enjoy a nice girl’s night out with just the three of them, but then it somehow turned into a plan to try to get Aelin and Rowan together by the end of the night. She didn’t know why but there was something magnetic between the two ever since they had met each other after Lorcan, Rowan’s friend, had started dating Elide. Her eyes were always drawn to him, and it only got worse as time went on and she realized how much she liked being around him. 

Elide texted Lorcan and told him to invite Fenrys and Rowan, and sure enough, the man was whipped for his girlfriend and did exactly as she said. 

It might also be because he was also sick of the push and pull between her and Rowan, but she’d rather believe that Lorcan had feelings . 

“No, I won’t,” she responded, but it felt like she might as well make the move since Rowan was taking forever. That wasn’t something she was willing to admit, though.

“You’re the absolute worst . I can’t even live vicariously through you!”

“I didn’t think you had the need to,” Aelin mentioned, raising an eyebrow. “I was under the impression that you and Aedion were doing perfectly fine.”

Lysandra shrugged, waving her hand around in a dismissive motion. “You’re the one that insists that we can’t talk about the sex in detail, so I need you to do that for all of us.”

“He’s my cousin, woman. Besides, why can’t Elide be enough?”

“Because I have boundaries,” Elide laughed as she looked up from her phone. “And,” she continued, her voice getting down to a whisper as a smirk played on her lips, “we maybe women in happily committed relationship, but we still want to know what it’s like to have sex with Rowan. Like, have you seen the man?”

Aelin’s jaw dropped as she let out a shocked laugh. “I’m going to tell Lorcan you said that. I’m sure he’ll be happy to hear that.”

“Tell me what?” a voice asked from Aelin’s right, and the girls turned to find Lorcan, Fenrys, and Rowan standing in front of their table. Rowan’s eyes were already on her, glancing over her body, or at least what he could see of her top half. The gleam in her eyes made her glad for the time she had spent getting ready. Plus, it was helpful to know that trying to leave the club with him tonight would be a lot easier than she expected. 

“That I absolutely love you,” Elide covered before Aelin could even open her mouth to respond, and it was clear from Lorcan’s eye roll that he didn’t believe her, but he didn’t bother questioning her, anyway. The three sat down on the table, and the kick from Lysandra from under the table — along with the glare that made her green eyes look even brighter than normal — led to Aelin making one of the more questionable choices in her recent memory, but honestly, it wasn’t her fault. She couldn’t be blamed for how close Rowan was to her and how badly her shin ached from the stiletto. 

While Lysandra and Elide had distracted Lorcan and Fenrys thoroughly with an argument over something with diet soda that Aelin didn’t care about, she leaned an elbow on the table and rested her head on her hand, leaning her body towards Rowan.

“So, what’s your name, handsome? Better yet, what’s your sign so I know we’re compatible?”

Rowan’s face lit up with a laugh before the bright smile turned into a smirk that made Aelin want to jump into an ice bath with how her body was beginning to burn. It was as though she were the flame that could only be soothed by his ice.

“I didn’t think we had the time to go through those questions,” he commented, running a hand through his hair, and Aelin wanted it to be her hands that ran through his hair. 

And played with it and tugged on it and —

“I mean, considering the way you seemed to be staring at me earlier,” he finished. Rowan’s bright green eyes held the promise of what could happen later tonight, and the fact that he was well aware of her attention on him made Aelin much bolder.

Aelin scoffed but trailed her index finger down the length of his forearm and hand before resting it on his thigh. “And? Do you want me to ‘accidentally’ trip and fall into your lap to make things easier on you?”

“It certainly wouldn’t hurt.”

“How about you take the charge for once? The staring wasn’t a one-way thing, after all,” Aelin pointed out, raising an eyebrow. Rowan looked down at her dress again before looking at her, his pine-green eyes pinning hers. 

“If you two are going to just eye-fuck one another, can you please not do it in front of us,” Fenrys begged out of the corner of her eye, and Aelin jerked her hand from Rowan’s thigh. She refused to let her cheeks burn out of embarrassment, and the only saving grace was that she was drinking so her cheeks were already slightly flushed and pink. Rowan also momentarily looked startled by the comment until he rolled his eyes and told Fenrys off.

“How about I just make myself scarce around you, Fenrys,” she retorted before glancing over at Rowan and seeing him opening something on his phone that made Aelin suppress a smile.

She was about to continue her conversation with Rowan when she caught Elide’s — and by default, Lysandra’s as well — eyes, blatantly telling her to get her ass up and on the dance floor to get Rowan away and out of the club, preferably with her.

Aelin rolled her eyes at her best friends, but she sighed as she relented. She was really out here doing all the work, but then again, she’d seen what Rowan had been doing on his phone earlier, so it’d be all worth it.

She stood up and straightened out her gold sleeveless wrap dress, making sure that she wasn’t accidentally flashing the wrong people, and made her way into the throng of dancing people. Aelin didn’t have to wonder if Rowan would follow her to the middle of the crowd because she knew for a fact that he would, and she wasn’t going to be responsible for what happened between the two.

So, really, it wasn’t her fault that she spent so long on her makeup and hair for tonight after she heard Rowan was coming to the club, making sure her lips were painted the perfect red and her hair was in soft curls down her back. 

It wasn’t her fault that she had coincidentally picked a gold dress after overhearing him express that gold was his favorite color on girls.

And it certainly wasn’t her fault that she instinctively knew he was coming when she recognized the scent of his fresh snow cologne as he approached. A smile graced her face as she felt his large, warm hands slowly trail around the side of her waist towards the center of her stomach where they flexed once, a test to see if she would pull away from her.

Aelin leaned into his body, pressing her back into Rowan’s, and she felt his chest rumble as he laughed. 

“Is someone eager?” he whispered into her ear.

Aelin smiled. “You say that as though I didn’t see you order that Uber before I came out here to dance.”

“Is that a crime to want a drive home after drinking?” he asked as Aelin dragged one of hands away from her waist and down towards the hem of her short dress. His fingertips snuck underneath the hem for a brief moment before they trailed back up her body. 

“It’s not,” she responded, turning in his arms and snaking them around his neck. “But it could be if the address wasn’t yours, and was, oh I don’t know, mine?”

Rowan smiled at that and bent down to softly brush his lips against hers. “And who’s fault is that, you temptress?”

“Certainly not mine.”

[whimsicallyreading]

Dark Roast, No Sugar

“Do you feel the same when I'm away from you? Do you know the line that I'd walk for you? We could turn around and we could give it up But we'll take what comes-” Imagine Dragons

CW- Blood, mentions of weight loss

Masterlist

Chapter Ten~

"Rowan, Fenrys, are you alright?" Maeve's black bob sweeps side to side as she rushes towards the three of them. She reaches up to place a hand against Fenry's ash-smeared cheek, but he shies away. Glancing down, the captain caught sight of Aelin, and her eyes nearly bulged from her head.

"Dear, are you okay?" She extended a hand to Aelin, who gladly accepted the help, eyeing her midsection worriedly.

It would be a lie to say she was feeling fantastic after having a whole-ass detective pancaked her into the ground, but Aelin was more concerned about the state of Rowan's back.

The dark stains were growing, and he didn't even seem to notice.

Bloody scraps of flesh, gouged eyes, burnt skin.

"Rowan needs a medic," Aelin pulls away from Maeve, and Fenrys' swearing could be heard across the parking lot when he spies his partner's back.

Aelin and Fenrys grab either side of the jacket to help him maneuver out of the sleeves, but Rowan grabs his collar and tugs it back down. "I'm fine." He hisses, but the tightening of his jaw betrays the pain he's feeling. "She's pregnant, and I just tackled her like a rutting linebacker. Check Aelin first."

"I'm not the one bleeding," Aelin glares at the medics, daring them to cross her. "There's glass everywhere and probably enough in your back fragments in your back to open a china shop. If you don't let someone get them out, they will need to be surgically removed later."

"Yeah, bro-" Fenrys says, eyeing his friend worriedly. "Please just stay down until someone can take a look at you."

"No," Rowan snaps at Fenrys. "She gets looked at first."

"She looks fine," Fenrys argues, and Aelin blocks him from standing.

"Rowan," she presses on his shoulder. "I am fine. Sit your ass down."

Rowan stands up, wincing as he does. "Do you want to have a miscarriage?"  

Aelin's eyes burn. "I'm going to assume that's the pain talking, and you aren't enough of an ass to actually say that. I would be in a lot more pain if that were the case. Now shut your insensitive mouth and listen to someone for once in your damned life."

"Get looked at first, and I will let someone check me." She and Rowan are nose-to-nose, and Aelin is seconds away from losing her mind. Why couldn't he listen to reason? There shouldn't even be an argument over who needed more attention. He was bleeding.

"Aelin, listen to me, please." Rowan's voice cracks, and so does his face. His hands are white-knuckled at his side. The white hair that he rigorously tames back hangs over his eyes, but she can see the dampness building there.

There are tears in his eyes.

Understanding hits Aelin harder than an anvil.

She recalls the story he told his wife's death. Lyria hadn't died alone. Rowan's child was lost to him along with his wife. He wasn't there when it happened, and there was nothing he possibly could have done to save them.

Aelin knew the taste of being unable to rescue a loved one well.

The feeling of him colliding with her back as they crashed to the asphalt was still vivid in Aelin's mind. Hitting the ground hadn't been comfortable, but eating a face full of a car bomb would have sucked a lot worse. Rowan put his body between her and possible mutilation, but the fear he may have hurt her in the process was prominent.

Rowan couldn't bear the weight of another lost child on his shoulders. He was a man trying to right the tragedies of his past, and damned if that didn't strike a chord in Aelin's own soul.

"Do you want me to get on my knees and beg you?" His tone was a fragile, quiet thing that broke her resolve into pieces. Aelin swallows thickly.

"Fine, but you walk with me. As soon as they clear me, your ass is on a gurney." Aelin sniffles.

Damn hormones.

"Fine," Rowan agrees with a twisting grimace. "They are just going to slap a bandage on me, though. It's a waste of time."

Aelin notices how he stiffens as he tries to straighten his back. Despite his bravado, she knows there is no way Rowan is walking away without a few stitches.

Fenrys is dragged away by Maeve to discuss the car bomb while Rowan and Aelin hobble over to the ambulance with the concerned paramedics.

Their worried hands flutter over her. Fingers on her pulse. Lights in her eyes. Hands poke and prod her belly. She winces as they strike a sore spot on her ribs.

Rowan sits on the back of the ambulance beside her. A man in a medical uniform cuts the back of his suit jacket to expose the wounded flesh.

By the god's ashes, Aelin purses her lips at the sight of his back. The burns weren't deep, but he had a few lacerations that were jagged and weeping blood. A shimmer catches the lights, and Aelin can see a piece of jagged glass poking from the skin, and her gut sinks.

Rowan looks at her as if he can tell what she's thinking. I'm fine. Keep your eyes to yourself.

I can look where I want, Bastard. Aelin glares at him.

Neither of them pays attention to the looks the medics are exchanging behind them.

~~~

This is so stupid.

Aelin wants to bang her head on the inside of the ambulance. Neither her nor Rowan were in critical danger, but the medics determined they should both be transferred to the hospital for good measure.

Rowan going made sense to her. He needs stitches, some more sophisticated tools to remove the glass, and possibly antibiotics.

According to the paramedic who practically dragged Aelin into the ambulance, her blood pressure was deeply concerning. Yrene was already waiting there for Aelin so she could do a more thorough examination. It felt so excessive. She just survived an explosion- of course her heart was going to be going a little faster than average.

They dismissed her complaints, so now Aelin was squished next to a shirtless Rowan who looked even less happy.

They don't say much, which is fine with her. Aelin can feel the adrenalin fleeing her veins. Tiredness washes across her shoulders more forcefully with every bump in the road.

Rowan fidgets constantly. Unlike her, his senses must still be prickling from the danger. The pain from his exposed back was probably keeping him alert while the rocking of the vehicle lulled her to sleep.

Another minute passes, and Aelin's head nods against Rowan's shoulder accidentally.

"Hey, don't go to sleep now. We are almost to the hospital." Rowan jostles his shoulder to wake her.

Aelin hums a non-answer. Her eyelids felt taped together. She doubted the paramedics would mind if she rested her eyes for just a moment. Sleep was creeping upon her, its velvet-soft fingers caressing her cheek and easing her into its embrace. Rowan could rouse her when they arrive at the hospital.

"Aelin?" A strong hand pushes her shoulder, but she's far enough gone that her head rolls off of Rowan and dips against her chest. Thankfully he doesn't let go, or her body would tilt right off the bench.

"Hey, something's wrong," Rowan says.

Aelin tries to lift her head and see what he's talking about, but her neck feels like jelly. Whatever it was would have to wait.

She is vaguely aware of a figure sliding onto their knees in front of her. "Miss? Can you hear me?" A finger lifts an eyelid for her, but her vision is blurry. Everything looks and sounds like she's underwater. A bright light is shined in her eye, and suddenly she's horizontal.

Hands are under her head and legs as they lift her body onto a hard, flat surface. The cab of the ambulance fills with noise and movement. They wrap something tight around her bicep, and it squeezes uncomfortably.

"Her blood pressure is plummeting."

A foil blanket is draped over her body. It's not soft. How did they know she was cold?

Warm fingers wrap around her hand.

They aren't soft either.

There are two heavy thumps. "David, turn on the sirens."

Something slides over her mouth. It forces air up her nose and into her mouth. Aelin frowns. She was breathing just fine. Why wouldn't they just let her rest?"

"Did I do this to her?" A low voice cracks.

She can feel the ambulance speed up, and the wail of sirens sends a jolt through her. The hand in Aelin's brings some peace. It reminds her of when Sam would grab her hand under the table during meetings or meals. Out of sight of Arobynn's prying eyes, he would declare his love with soft touches that melted her should. Words could be faked, but loving hands can't lie.

"I swear I didn't mean to hurt her. Rutting hell, please tell me? Did I do this to her?"

There's a flutter in Aelin's heart. Not the heart that forces blood through her veins, but the one that lay in her abdomen. It feels like she swallowed butterflies. It's so soft against her. If Aelin didn't feel so numb, she would smile ear to ear. She'd been waiting for so long to feel those feet.

Something warm and wet falls against her wrist. "I'm so sorry."

Sam squeezes her hand tighter, and Aelin wants to console him so bad. He wasn't to blame. Sam shouldn't be sorry for anything.

Finally, that sweet bringer of rest reaches her, and Aelin yields herself into its arms gladly.

~~~

It feels like only a few minutes pass before her eyes open again—Aelin bolts into a sitting position when cold hands press against her exposed torso. Expletives fall from her lips, and she grabs the offending limb by reflex.

"It's good to see you up, Aelin." Yrene towers blinding smile, and brassy eyes look down at her. "I'm thrilled to see you awake, but if you could please let go of me, I would be appreciative."

Aelin releases her wrist, "I'm so sorry."

"No need for apologies. I would be startled as well." Yrene probes her stomach a little more gently, "I'm just checking up on baby. You took a pretty hard fall from what I hear."

"Is it okay?" Aelin frowns. Now that Rowan wasn't bleeding in front of her denying himself medical care, she could consider the ramifications of being slammed to the ground. She had hit the asphalt pretty harshly. Right on her front. Why hadn't she taken the time to be more concerned over this? Weren't motherly instincts supposed to take over when your child was in harm's way?

"I don't see anything to be immediately concerned over." Yrene lifts Aelin's arm and exposes her bandaged palm. "It looks like you fell hands first, which released most of the impact. If I were worried, I would have done the ultrasound while you slept, but I figured it could wait until you were awake to watch."

A sigh of relief escapes Aelin. "What happened?"

Yrene tugs down her shirt and picks up a chart. "You are anemic with low blood pressure. That's not abnormal for pregnancy, but you need to be eating more. We should see a more significant weight gain at this point than what you are at right now. Not eating can be a symptom of stress," Yrene's look is pointed. "Have you been stressed?"

Aelin mentally laughs. Stressed is an understatement. "A little."

"The paramedics that brought you here described the situation, what they didn't know your friend fille me in on. It sounds like the incident may have created a spike in adrenalin which elevates blood pressure." Yrene describes the medical in's and out's first in doctor's speech and then again in plain English. "After the adrenalin faded, your body couldn't regulate itself due to the anemia and caused your BP to lower too rapidly."

"The baby is alright, though?" Aelin leaned back into the hospital bed.

"Yes. We will do an ultrasound just to be sure." Yrene frowns a little, her expression that of a disappointed mother. "You've missed a few appointments. I know we discussed the concern around your condition. The baby is okay for now, but you are still a high-risk patient with your family history."

"I know," Aelin rubs her forehead to ease the tension there. "I've been watching my caffeine and trying to relax more-"

"Working for the police isn't relaxing," Yrene deadpans, catching Aelin off guard. "We will be going over this more, but now that you are awake, that nice man has been pacing the halls for an hour. Would you like to see him and put him out of his misery?"

Nice man? Yrene can see Aelin's confusion and laughs good-naturedly. "The detective that came in with you? He's been asking about you relentlessly. He tried to come see you, but we couldn't let him in since he's not immediate family." She waves an eyebrow at Aelin with a conspiratory look. "He's rather nice to look at."

Rowan wanted to see her? Of his own free will? Her memories of the ambulance ride were hazy at best, but she remembers his gruff silence. His actions of the day seemed so contrary to the way he's been treating her. First, he saves her life. Now he wants to visit her hospital room?

"I guess you can let him in, has someone called Lysandra?" Aelin asks, recalling that she should have gotten notified as her emergency contact.

"She's on her way. I'll go let Detective Muscles know you are awake," Yrene winks and can't control her bubbling laughter at Aelin's scowl.

When the door shuts behind the good doctor, Aelin slumps her head back against the pillows. She still feels tired even after sleeping for supposed hours. Closing her eyes, she's intent on resting just until Yrene fetches Rowan. That is- until she feels a flutter.

Aelin's eyes shoot open. Her hands smooth over the front of her shirt, but she feels nothing but her puffy stomach. For a heartbreaking second, Aelin wonders if she imagined the sensation.

Then it happens again.

It's barely a tickle against her ribs. Unnoticeable from the outside. A sign of life only she has the privilege of witnessing. After waiting for so long, the moment is surreal to Aelin, and a rare grin splits her face.

The door creaks, heavy shoes scuffle across the floor, and Aelin immediately knows who it is without looking up. "I'm surprised you came to see me."

Rowan hesitates at the door, reluctant to disturb her. Aelin is also a bit upset her private moment was interrupted, she looked up to say as much, but the words catch in her throat.

The detective looked terrible.

His suit and tie were gone. The medics scrapped those before he even got into the ambulance. So instead, he now wore a loosely fitted Orynth Blood Drive shirt. Bandages peeked out from the collar and sleeves, covering his tattoos in some places. Aelin hoped for his sake that the blast hadn't ruined any of the designs. Rowan may not be her favorite person, but she could appreciate good art.

The color of his face was off. It was grey as if he'd tried to wipe the dust and soot away but only managed to smear the dirt around. Rowan's neat hair was disheveled, probably for the first time in his life, and red-rimmed his eyes.

"Aelin," his voice cracks on the second syllable. "You look like shit."

"You don't look great either, Detective Muscles." The flush that rises to his cheeks lets Aelin know Yrene hadn't been shy about throwing the nickname around.

He clears his throat, "Are you okay?"

"Perfectly fine," Aelin assures. Sitting up, she leans towards a pitcher of water sitting beside her bed, but Rowan is suddenly there pouring her a cup himself.

"I find that hard to believe after the eventful ambulance ride." He hands her the cup with a napkin wrapped around the side. "What happened?"

"Nothing serious, my blood pressure was stooping a bit low, and adrenalin brought it up and down again too quickly." Aelin offers him a bare-bones explanation. She wasn't going to give Rowan a chance to question her value to the case, especially now that she has a vested interest in finding out who tried to blow her up. "Has Aedion been released?"

He looks skeptical but accepts her answer. "I'm glad you are okay. Did-" Rowan runs a worried hand through his birds' nest of hair. "Is the baby okay?"

"Nothing seems to be wrong. Yrene is giving me an ultrasound just in case. What about Aedion-" Aelin hopes that the car bomb hadn't delayed his release. "Have they let him go? Did he have a ride home?"

Rowan lifts his phone, "I'll text Fenrys and ask."

Aelin releases a relieved breath. Once Aedion was walking as a free man again, the world would begin to correct itself. She needed her cousin. The Bane needed him. All Aedion has ever done is defend his family, and he didn't deserve to be kept in some tiny cell like a common criminal. Aelin would happily pay the price of his freedom again and again.

Yrene knocks on the door and pokes her head in, "I'm here with the machine. Are we good to come in?"

"Yeah," Rowan opens the door for them. "I'll get out of your way."

"No-" Aelin says before she can catch the word.

Rowan looks perplexed, "What do you mean, no?"

Aelin points to the chair beside the bed. "You might as well stay. We have a lot to discuss afterward."

He didn't have a reply as Yrene toted in the machine with another nurse. "This is long overdue, so doing the scans may take a bit longer than average. First, we have to take some measurements and make sure she or he is growing at a healthy rate."

Yrene runs through a list of questions. Any morning sickness? How many times a day is she eating. What does her sleep schedule look like? Aelin answers each question as the good doctor gets to work. Yrene applies an icy gel to her stomach with a wand, making Aelin flinch from the chill.

Rowan remains sitting at her side through the prep and exam, keeping his gaze averted to the wall, a light flush to his cheeks.

"You know you can look, right?" Aelin feels a wicked king of glee as that blush darkens.

"I'm just trying to respect your privacy," Rowan grumbles, still not looking.

Aelin laughs outright, and even Yrene has a smile tugging at her lips. "My privacy? You mean my exposed stomach?" Aelin smiles wickedly. "I'll have you know, detective, I've worn more risque nightgowns into stores for snacks."

His head turns, and his eyes are comically wide. "Nightgowns?" Rowan cringes at the word as if he hadn't meant to say it out loud.

"Yes. Tiny, colorful ones." Aelin reveled in the surprise on his face. "Who knew you'd be so curious about my negligees, detective?"

Red. Rowan's face is crimson. "I-I'm not-"

Unfortunately, despite her obvious enjoyment Yrene comes to Rowan's rescue. "Alright, Aelin. Here they are."

A blurry grey blop appears on the screen, but unlike the previous ultrasound where Yrene had to point out the different parts of the baby, she could see a clear, human outline.

She could see the skull, a couple of flailing limbs- it even appeared to be sucking a thumb.

"Look at that nose," Yrene gushes, moving the wand to get a clearer look at the face. "Dare I say, that's your nose. I have a feeling this kid is going to look a lot like you."

Aelin wasn't prepared for the rush of emotion those words evoked. Tears burned the corners of her eyes, and for a moment, she forgot the fear- forgot how hard it was to get to this point. Out of Adarlan. Off the streets. Even with all of the chaos still in her life, this is what it had all been for.

Her child.

Rowan is looking at the screen with rapt fascination. "It's big."

Yrene hums her agreement. "It's about the size of an avocado right now. Of course, the screen makes it look larger. At this point in gestation, they have eyebrows, lashes, and they can even see and hear."

"Wow," Aelin says in a small voice, stupified by the tiny squirming thing.

"Wow," Rowan agrees. It's oddly reassuring to Aelin that he's as blown away as her.

"Would you like to know the sex?" Yrene drags the wand up her stomach. "If they cooperate, I may be able to tell today."

"Yes," Aelin says without hesitation. She has no desire to wait. There was already enough uncertainty in their lives. Another surprise, even one like this, which changes nothing, doesn't sound enjoyable.

It's quiet for a moment as Yrene searches, then, a smile. "It's a girl."

A girl.

Aelin wishes her mother was there. Ashryver's and Galathynius's both tended to have mainly boys. Her father and mother had both been shocked when they'd had a daughter instead of a son. Uncle Orlon even cried happy tears at the sight of his new niece.

Now, there was another.

"Is she okay?" Rowan's voice breaks her trance.

"As far as I can tell, she's doing perfectly fine. There are no distressing signs. If anything, she's a little more active than I expected."

"That's all her father," Aelin whispers. "He could never stay still."

Yrene takes her measurements and checks the heartbeat. Everything on the baby's end is perfectly normal, and Aelin's health remains the only concerning part. Next, the doctor hands her a list of highly suggested foods for her to start eating on top of the absolutely do not eat list she'd been given months ago at her initial visit.

"I mean it, Aelin. I want to see you in two weeks. You can't be skipping appointments anymore. Both of you are in good health for now, but that could easily change." Yrene lectures as she wipes the goop off of Aelin.

"I'll make sure she has time between helping at the station," Rowan stands from his chair at last. "We keep our consultants in good health."

"I'm glad to hear it," Yrene pats Aelin's arm as if they aren't both openly conspiring in front of her. "I will see you in two weeks."

They make their farewells, Aelin is still feeling a bit dizzy, but Yrene said that was to be expected. She has her stamp of approval to go home, and Lysandra should be by any minute to pick her up.

"Have you heard from Fenrys, are there any updates on my cousin?" Aelin asks between a yawn. She's tired. The involuntary catnap she took in the ambulance was not enough to fully recharge her batteries. Exhaustion weighed down on her enough that she even accepts the steadying arm Rowan offers as they descend the staircase.

"Not yet. Fen is probably held up at the station. I can call him once you and Lysandra get settled at the house."

"What? Aelin stops walking. "What do you mean?"

"We aren't sure if the bomb was intended for you, me, Fen, or all of us. But, until we know who planted it, your safety is compromised- especially if it's Arobynn's doing."

"So what? You are moving Lysandra and me in because it's easier to kill us all in one place?" Aelin scoffs, even as she clutches his arm tighter for balance.

"No. The Stag is nice, but it's been broken into once before, and your loft isn't precisely a fortress-"

"If you think that, then you haven't seen inside my closet."

Rowan raises an eyebrow. "Careful what you say. If you admit to having more illegal firearms, I can authorize a search warrant."

"Please, you wouldn't even be able to get past my panty drawer without swooning, Whitethorn," maybe she was trying to scandelize him a little.

Rowan who had thrown himself between her and a bomb, who gave people more shit than she did, coudln't look directly at her exposed midriff without floundering. It was so, human of him. Now that Aelin knew he was capable of more than cold apathy, she was gunning to see that flush again.

"You keep guns next to your lingerie?" It's not the answer she expected, but Aelin smiles like a cheshire cat.

"I like to keep all of my weapons together," she drawls out.

Rowan doesn't dignify that with a response. "The twins and I also dole out a pretty penny for a high-end security system. Does your loft have that?"

"No."

"Then it's settled. You and Lysandra will crash with us until the coast is clear."

Aelin sighs. "I'm not happy about this. The loft may not be a secured military base, but it's my home."

"I know," Rowan empathizes. "This is just temporary. I promise it won't be like last time."

"This is one of the first conversations we've had that hasn't ended in a disaster and you are already asking me to move in with you." Aelin sighs. "Fine, I guess. Is someone coming to give us a lift?" There is no way between her sore body and dizzy head she can walk all the way to Rowan's. Her feet ached just at the thought.

"I think Connal is coming to get us, if Lysandra is already on her way then he we can all head to the house together," Rowan scans their premiter and tugs Aelin over to a bench near a bus stop. "Does Lys have a car?"

"No. This is a good spot to wait for her," they both sit gingerly on the seat. The quiet between them isn't awkward for once, they are equally exhausted and stressed.

A bus arrives, but Lys doesn't come out. An elderly woman stares at them down angrily when hobbles down into the port and neither her or Rowan offer to yield their seat. Aelin glares right back, until the woman is forced to look away.

Connal doesn't keep them waiting long, to her joy. He pulls up in a vintage, blue ride. Similar to the one Fenrys lost, but with even less of a back seat. Aelin itches to call shot gun, but one look at Rowan's bandages and she knows it would be cruel to make him squeeze into the back seat.

Before they can get into the car, Connal is already rolling down the window, a grave look on his face. "Ro, I know you've had a shit day but Fen just called."

"Is he okay?" Rowan asks, genuine concern etched on his face. Fenrys was okay the last time they'd seen him. When Connal locks eyes with her, Aelin's gut sinks. This isn't about Fen at all.

"Aedion is gone."

Okay, I’m super happy with how some parts of this turned out and annoyed with others. In good news, I am back in business and hopefully updates will be regular once again. Thank you all for being so patient with me. I hope you enjoyed it, I am going to sleep finally. XD I will wake up in the morning and clean up the last of the major grammatical errors I assuredly missed.

Tag list- Let me know if you would like to be added or removed. :D ( names in bold won’t tag)

@thisismylibrary 

@highladywhitethrone 

@bee55 

@royalsqueeze

 @rowaelin-cressworth

@booknerdproblems

@sjmships

@ladyfireheart-and-buzzard

@wordsxstars

@rowaelinismyotp

@courtofjurdan

@emmiesbook

@killian-me-slowly

@miserablesmusings

@aelinchocolatelover

@booksbqueen

@flamingveritas

@tomtenadia

@fromthelibraryofemilyj

@loudphantomdragon

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato

@superspiritfestival

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@nish487

@vasudharaghavan

@maybekindasortaace

@mariamuses

@frosted-crackers

@foughtconquered

@live-the-fangirl-life

@ghostlyrose2

@endlessdaydream

@imchaotic-dontmindme

@highladyof-erilea

@vanzetanze

@story-scribbler​

@morganofthewildfire

@gracie-rosee​

@danibutterr​

@wordsxstars​

@cursebreaker29​

@pastasiren

@rowansfirebringer​

[enby-hawke]

I put a tldr at the end.

I love dragon age. My favourite being origins. But when I played it for the first time, I noticed that the way elves were represented bore a near 1 to 1 comparison with how Asians are treated. And yet there is only one asian presenting character in the whole trilogy, Josephine. And since then, I've noticed more and more in other fantasy works including the most mainstream of all, the hobbit movies (where the fighting styles had asian influence). Once I saw a white male writer commenting on the "resemblance" and asking for better ways to incorporate asian culture into elven, so it's not exactly a tough comparison to see.

But when I talk to others about this, I am often met with dismissals, exasperation, or the most annoying, it's a made up world and races. Even from people who view themselves as "progressive" or "woke".

tldr I often see asian experiences and culture mimicked in elven, and feel like I can't talk as freely about it. So I like the idea of a server where people with similar/same experiences can just talk without feeling dismissed.

I totally understand where you're coming from but I would argue that Dorian and maybe Fenris could be headcanoned as south asian.

I find for me it's very hard to separate the city elves from diaspora mestizos worshiping a God that didn't originally belong to us and has been used as a way to colonize and erase parts of our history. The Catholic church fucked up many cultures so I understand a lot of those affected by that colonization can see the parallels clearly where the writers seem to only have a surface understanding.

Because dragon age took so many parallels from so many different parts of history it's difficult to say that one race belongs to one culture. See what white people don't understand is that these narratives don't make sense without the real life oppression of things like white imperialism. They remove these incidents from their context and deracialize it so it's easier to play in and swallow. But because the writers themselves don't come from that background, and their experiences weren't shaped by racism and imperialism, that they can just easily say "it's all made up and it's all fantasy." Because the fantasy is easier than the real world implications of the actual themes they're writing.

[snelbz]

Shot to the Heart {Rowaelin AU Fluff}

Tag Team with @tacmc aka the BDavis to myPSawyer.

Once a month, everyone took a night to spend time together, outside of a bar, and just have fun. Oftentimes, that meant a game night at someone’s house, a nice dinner or ice skating, in the winter. But sometimes, they liked to get out and do more fun things. They’d been zip lining, kayaking, played putt putt, you name it. There were times where things got a little competitive between them all, especially when they decided to compete between the sexes.

They were still banned from the Strike & Spare from the last boys and girls night.

So when it was Elide and Lorcan’s turn to choose, they decided to do something a little more conducive to their violent behavior.

“Where exactly are we going?” Aelin asked as she climbed into Rowan’s truck.

He glanced at his watch. “No clue, Lorcan just said to meet at Rita’s at eight.”

“That’s dangerous,” Aelin muttered, but her grin told him that she approved.

He pulled onto the road and began their drive, only the radio playing in the background. He kept trying not to stare, even though she looked beautiful and he wanted to tell her as much. They’d been best friends for years, always teasing that fine line between best friends and so much more.

Their friends constantly teased them about it, as they all began to settle down one by one.

You already spend as much time together as a couple does.

They’d always had reasons not to though. In high school, there was Sam and Lyria, though the four of them were always together. Makes sense that they ended up together, after they both went away to Fennharrow for college. Rowan and Aelin couldn’t be happier for them. The break ups had been amicable and they were going to Fennharrow together for their wedding next Spring.

In college, Aelin had met Chaol and Rowan had Remelle. Chaol was a permanent figure for a while, but Remelle was more of a time to time thing. They’d both been single for a while, but nothing had ever happened. There were many glances and accidental brushes between them, more so when the two of them had a movie night.

Then, the next time they saw one another, they pretended like nothing had happened.

Rowan didn’t mind it, though. He preferred to have Aelin as a best friend then not have her at all. Even if he did make a move one day, he didn’t know how she would take it.

When Rowan pulled into Rita’s, the others were already there, on the patio, drinks on their hands. Aelin was out before he was, hurrying over to throw her arms around Lysandra and Elide. Rowan watched her before grabbing his wallet, his phone, and his keys and joining them there.

Lorcan was watching him suspiciously.

He sat next to him, motioning to their regular server for his regular drink. He looked over and found Lorcan still looking at him.

“What?” He asked.

Lorcan raises his beer to his lips. “This a date?”

Rowan rolled his eyes. “No, I offered to drive her because it was on the way and she can’t hold her liquor.”

The two looked up and found the trio of girls tossing back a shot of amber liquid.

Lorcan took his drink, setting the bottle on the table top and crossing his ankle over his knee. “It’s reasonable, as far as your excuses go. Both are valid and make sense.”

Two dark bottles appeared in front of them and their server slipped away like she’d never been there.

“It’s not an excuse,” Rowan muttered, taking a sip from his glass. “It’s a fact.”

“Whatever you say,” Lorcan mumbled, but it was blatantly obvious that he thought Rowan was full of shit. “But when you two get married, Elide has called Maid of Honor.”

It took everything in Rowan’s power not to roll his eyes. “Don’t you two have anything better to talk about when you’re alone?”

“We’ve been together for five years,” Lorcan said, as if it was an appropriate answer. “So...no. We talk about bills, who’s going to do the dishes, and when the hell the two of you are going to fuck.”

Rowan choked on his drink.

“I never thought I’d have to ask this, but please don’t discuss my sex life with your fiancée.”

“Excuse you?”

Rowan and Lorcan looked up and found Elide and Aelin standing at the end of the table.

Rowan stammered but Lorcan laughed quietly.

“Okay,” Aelin said, awkwardly, “Is everyone here?”

Elide sat down next to Lorcan and said, “Fenrys, Asterin, and Manon are meeting us at the...place. Dorian is already there.”

“So, that’s a yes?” Aelin laughed.

“That’s a yes,” Elide confirmed, snuggling up close to Lorcan’s massive frame. “So, let’s get tipsy and go get banned from yet another family-friendly establishment.”

Lorcan snorted and raised his glass.

Rowan raised his glass to Aelin’s and met it with a clink.

“Our friends are ridiculous,” Aelin said, underneath her breath.

“Sometimes I wonder why I keep coming back,” Rowan replied, before chugging half his glass and setting it down on the table. When he met her humored gaze, he was reminded exactly why he kept coming back.

They finished their drinks and Rowan and Aelin packed themselves back up into Rowan’s truck so that they could follow Lorcan and Elide to the surprise location. Aedion and Lysandra stayed to order food and would join them shortly.

“So what conversation did I walk in on back there?” Aelin asked once they were on the way.

Rowan cleared his throat and said, “What conversation?”

Without even looking, he knew she had an eyebrow raised. “Really, Rowan. The conversation about your sex life.”

“Just Lorcan being an asshole,” he said, trying to wave her off the conversation.

Aelin was looking at him, and he was trying so hard not to look back

“I have no sex life,” Rowan blurted, after her silence had gone on a few seconds too long. “Not that I’ve never had sex, or don’t have opportunities to...Gods. Nevermind.”

Aelin was laughing quietly. “Holy shit, you’re flustered.”

“No, I’m not,” he said, gripping the wheel a little bit tighter. “I’m just...very personal.”

“Even with me?” She asked, humored.

Especially with you, he thought. Instead, he said, “Yes.”

Her grin only widened. “When’s the last time you got laid, Ro?”

His cheeks were on fire. His ears were on fire. The back of his neck was on fire. Everything was on fire. He cleared his throat again. “That’s none of your business.”

“Just tell me if it was recent or not,” she turned in her seatbelt to face him.

“No,” he laughed. “I’m not telling you that.”

Aelin said, “Why not, we tell each other everything. I’ll tell you.”

“Please, please don’t,” he blurted.

She lifted a brow, then began to nod, slowly, recognition showing in her eyes. Rowan suddenly felt like an idiot, but then Aelin said, quietly, “It’s been a long ass time, if that makes you feel any better.”

“I don’t- it doesn’t-.” His words broke off as he sighed, and Aelin laughed quietly. “You go get some if you wanna get some… I just…don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all.”

“How very kind of you,” Aelin crooned, but he was sure he ruined it all now, was certain she knew that he was full of bullshit.

“As your best friend, that’s my job,” Rowan said, trying to make himself sound convincing.

As he pulled up to a red light, she leaned over and patted his cheek. “And you’ve done a wonderful job.”

Unable to stop himself, he turned and pressed his lips to her palm, locking eyes with her. It was the ballsiest thing he’d ever done and he felt hot and cold all over as he waited for her to react. She swallowed hard, tongue peeking out to wet her bottom lip and-.

A horn honked behind them, as the light had been green for longer than two seconds, and Rowan turned his head forward as quickly as Aelin withdrew her arm back to her own side of the cab. He hit the gas and they took off, and Aelin flipped the bird behind them.

“Ace,” he laughed, “you can’t do that. He had every right to honk at me.”

She crossed her arms and sat up a little higher. “Yeah, well he didn’t have to lay on his horn like an asshole. A simple beep beep would have sufficed. Stupid, impatient fucker.”

The truck got quiet for a second and then they both dissolved into laughter, the tension from the moment before fading into near obscurity.

Two minutes later they followed Lorcan’s car into the parking lot of a laser tag facility, and Rowan swore under his breath.

Aelin laughed. “What? You don’t like laser tag?”

“The last time I played laser tag, I was twelve and ate too much shitty pizza,” he muttered, parking and turning off the engine. “Let’s just say they had to stop the game, turn the lights on, and call for the janitor to come in with a mop.”

“Aw,” Aelin said, her grin suggesting that she felt no pity. “Well, it’s a decade later, and you’ve had no shitty pizza. So, get out and let me kick your ass.”

Before Rowan could reply, she was out of the truck and closing the door behind her.

He groaned and laughed quietly as he had a feeling he was in for a hell of a night.

He got out of the truck and slipped his hands in his pockets as he walked over to where everyone was grouping up.

“I want to be up front and say that I feel like the girls cheated,” Rowan said to Lorcan as he leaned against the rail next to him.

“And why is that?” Elide asked, outrage written across her face.

“Because every single one of you are wearing black.” Lorcan tossed a pointed glance at his fiancée.

Elide held up her hands. “I said nothing.”

Manon’s man-eating grin said otherwise.

Rowan looked down at his light gray t-shirt. At least it wouldn’t glow when they got inside, unlike Dorian’s pure white v-neck.

“If Aedion and Lys don’t get here soon, we’re starting without them,” Manon announced, already growing impatient.

“Agreed,” Lorcan said.

They waited thirty more seconds before the impatience grew unbearable, then their group of eight was walking in.

Girls vs. boys.

Rowan was unprepared. He needed another drink.

Thankfully, it seemed Lorcan was in agreement because the first place he went was to the snack bar and ordered two pitchers of beer. Rowan reached for one of the glasses but Lorcan pulled them back.

“Nope, these are part of the game.”

Rowan raised an eyebrow as Elide began to explain the rules.

For the most part, it was the regular run of the laser tag - hit your opponents’ targets with your point-and-shoot laser pointer and get the most points for your team. There was one caveat though.

“Both pitchers have to be empty by the end of the round,” Lorcan announced. “If your team doesn’t finish your pitcher, you automatically lose.”

“It doesn’t have to be drunk equally. If Aelin doesn’t feel like drinking,” Lorcan mumbled Like that would ever happen, and Aelin glared at him, “she doesn’t have to drink. Just as long as its empty at the end.”

They all voiced their agreement, put on their vests and gathered their guns, then they were tossed into the room.

Rowan was met with darkness and neon, glowing lights as he hurried into a tower. It was his go to. Get to the highest point, and see everyone. Then he paused, as he noticed a lock of his hair falling down in front of his face.

He had silver hair, in a room full of blacklights.

He was instantly a target.

After cursing his hair, he was on the move. He spotted Manon from the other side of the room, took aim, and hit her target.

She yelled a curse at him before he was moving, once more.

He headed for the predetermined boys base, and filled a cup with beer. It seemed he was the first to do so, but Fenrys soon jogged up, muttering about how it was unfair for a marksman like Manon to even be playing this game. His chest target was lit up red and he had a good ten seconds left before he could get back in the game. He saw Rowan and said, “That your first?”

He nodded and began drinking. “Drink two every time we stop?”

Fen nodded. “Quickest way to kill it.”

They both took a minute to chug before Rowan asked, “Seen Aelin?”

Fenrys shook his head. “She’s got a good spot, I’m sure. She has the mind for these things. Strategic.”

Rowan agreed. She was that.

After setting his plastic cup down, Rowan was back on the move.

He crept around a few different corners before he caught sight of her golden ponytail. He followed her, slowly, fully aware that he didn’t have the same graceful, quiet movements that she did. He knew there was straightaway up ahead and if he could stay back long enough, he could get a clean shot on her as she fled to the other side.

He crept along the final corner, pausing to peek behind him-.

He felt a hand on his chest and looked back to find Aelin gazing up at him. He didn’t even fumble for his gun as she pushed slightly and he backed up a few steps. His back hit the wall with a quiet thump and Aelin said, quietly, “Would you like to do what you did in the truck one more time?”

He hesitated, unsure if he was understanding her correctly. She took his bewildered look as acceptance, though, because her smile softened as she leaned up on her toes and pulled his face closer to hers with her hand on the back of his head.

Their lips met softly in the middle, once, twice, slowly, gently.

She tasted bitterly sweet, her peach chapstick mixed with the tequila shots she had earlier and the beer she was downing now. Rowan wanted the moment to last forever, but it was soon broken as Aelin leaned back, her eyes bright.

He smiled and leaned down, wanting to capture her lips against his one more time, closing his eyes.

There was a loud buzzing and then his best began to vibrate. His eyes shot open and Aelin was running away, a devilish glint in her eyes.

He blinked, watching her run away.

She had shot him.

She had kissed him.

Then she had shot him.

He stood, completely frozen, utterly dumbfounded.

Lorcan came around the corner, saw that he’d been shot, and shook his head. “You suck at this, Whitethorn.”

Rowan couldn’t even remember how to form words for a sarcastic reply. Instead, he just turned and walked back toward the pitcher of beer, where he downed two more glasses before deciding to hunt Aelin down as the alcohol warmed his body.

He knew the girls couldn’t be as close to finishing as they were, especially seeing Dorian heading back to their base with maybe one full cup and a half left in their pitcher. Rowan successfully snuck around to where the girls had named their base and found a perfect wall to crouch behind and lie in wait. The pitcher was directly in his line of sight, and it was still over half full.

Elide ran right past his hiding place without noticing him and he knew he could get a free shot out of it, but he’d give away his position. So he waited and he bided his time.

Rowan had just begun scoping out the alley behind his when a flash of white to his left distracted him. Manon ran by putting the pitcher directly to her lips and drinking. His eyebrows raised as she took down a sizable amount of their beer at once, but Aelin appeared beside her. They spoke animatedly and Aelin laughed as Manon ran back down the middle lane, hunting for another victim.

Holding his breath, he threw the empty plastic cup he’d been holding down the empty alley beside him.

Aelin heard it immediately, turning and staring in his direction. He was obscured by the half wall and as soon as she crept by, her gun aimed down the alley, he reached out and wrapped his hand around her wrist, pinning it - and her gun - to the wall.

Her eyes were bright with excitement and he couldn’t stop his gaze from dipping down and watching intently as she bit her bottom lip.

He didn’t know why his voice had dropped so low, why it sounded like he’d been gargling nails, but he leaned down by her ear and breathed, “Was that just so you could distract me?”

He was almost worried for her reply, but then she asked, “Is this just so you can distract me?”

He glanced down, not even realizing he’d been using his body to press her into the wall, hadn’t realized how close their faces had gotten.

He shook his head, slowly, the tip of his nose brushing hers ever so lightly.

Aelin sucked in a breath as she whispered, “Good.”

He kissed her then, much harder than she had kissed him. He slowly dropped her arms that were pinned to the wall, only so he could drop his gun and cup her face. Those delicate, steady arms of hers wrapped around his waist and she held his body close up against hers.

Aelin brushed her tongue along the seam of Rowan’s lips, asking permission, not just taking as she’d done before. But there was nothing he wouldn’t do for this woman, nothing he wouldn’t give to her if it was in his power. He opened for her and let his tongue brush against hers softly. She groaned quietly.

Rowan pulled back, catching his breath, and rested his forehead against hers. He took the moment to gaze at her in the darkness. She was the most beautiful damn thing he’d ever seen.

She breathed, “I’ve wanted to do that for a really, really long time.”

“Me too,” he whispered, laughing quietly. He brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear as he kissed her, once again, damning the game and forgetting about their friends.

For a moment, it was just the two of them, and that was all he cared about.

[oohnoniall]

Hawk & Sparrow [Rowan Whitethorn x OC] - Chapter 2

WARNINGS; Fantasy violence, cursing, Mirima doesn’t have self-control and that leads to her burning out a Lot, Rowan avoiding his feelings, Mirima having no idea about her feelings, there’s a lot of feelings being avoided, power dynamics in the relationship.

Prologue.

Chapter 1 

        A crooked smile stretched on his lips. She could see his sharp canine teeth, see the feral look in his eyes as he peered down at her. There was a bite of cold steel against the tender flesh of her neck. She could feel it digging into her pulse point. The coppery tang of blood in the air.

        "I was right," his voice was a whisper. "You weren't good enough. You've never been good enough."

        "Rowan," she hated the pleading tone in her voice. Hated the way her eyes burned with tears that she refused to shed.

        His forest green eyes peered into hers, a look of malice and something else. She hated it, hated to know that Rowan was looking at her with anything other than his normal cool indifference. This wasn't her Rowan. Not the man who had pushed her and pushed her but a monster that she didn't know.

        "Goodbye Mirima."

        There was a hot stinging sensation at her throat, his hands on her shoulders like when she was burning out. He shoved her and she fell. Over and over, falling down into the darkest abyss. One that she couldn't see the bottom of.

        It was then that she realized what else had been in Rowan's eyes when she had pleaded with him. When he had killed her.

        Joy.

        Mirima shot up from her bed, gasping for breath as her left hand went to her throat. Nothing. No blood. She wasn't falling off the edge of something. She was still alive. Still in Doranelle, waiting for her one and only opportunity. 

        The nightmares had been happening more often. She hadn't spoken to Rowan about them. Hadn't wanted to bother him with how useless they were. He would have been too concerned or acted like they were another reason to keep her out of the cadre. He wouldn't have been kind or understanding. Hardass Whitethorn would have been annoyed. Yet, for some reason, the knowledge had calmed her. She didn't feel as though she had to say anything about her problems.

        His training was harsh enough that she often forgot whatever was bothering her besides what muscle hurt the worst. 

        How was she going to deal with any of it while he was away? She had never had to train with someone else. Never had to think about how someone's training might differ from Rowan's.

        She had met Fenyrs in passing but that didn't mean she knew him. She thought he was funny and much kinder than Rowan, which wasn't saying much, but she doubted his training would be anything like what she was used to. There was a high chance that he wouldn't know how ... Prone she was to overdoing things. What if Rowan had left that key information out?

        Mirima tried not to focus on her anxieties as she readied herself for the day. Her hands were shaking as she brushed out the white blonde of her hair. Her eyes focused on the scar on her left arm as she slid her tunic on, counting each breath as she stared at it. One of the ways Rowan had tried to teach her control. One of the ways that had only worked to calm her mind and not her magic. 

        She would end up dying by her magic. It would drown her, it would take her under and never release her from its grasp. She didn't mind that. If she was going to die she wanted it to be from her lack of control rather than an enemies' sword. If only so she knew she wasn't a completely hopeless fighter.

        She swallowed once, letting it take all of her worries into the pit of her stomach. Another technique of Rowan's that had never actually done more than making her feel stupid. She sometimes wondered if all his techniques were just ways to make her look like a fool.

        Mirima slipped a few knives into her belt before making her way out of her bedroom. Her head held high, a haughty smirk on her lips. Everyone in Mistward was used to seeing her as the cocky would-be-warrior. There had never been a reason to let anyone see her differently.

        The morning sun had yet to rise over the hills. The clearing that was normally used for her training was flooded with the grey light of early dawn. Before the world changed and turned into something beautiful, something better. The grass was dewy and wet, the world looked as though it had been reborn that morning.

        Mirima loved being out there before anyone else. She loved it when she could breathe in the fresh air and not worry about it being polluted by other people yet. Everything felt fresh, clear. She could clear her mind for once. Let go of everything that bothered her. She didn't worry about not being part of the cadre when she was focused on how beautiful the morning looked, how she wanted nothing more than to just be present.

        She took one of the knives from her belt, flipping it once in her hand. It was a perfect weight. She could balance it on the tip of her fingers. Rowan had given it to her years ago, on a birthday. One that he'd actually remembered. 

        The blade itself was made of steel and was almost as long as her forearm, just lacking an inch and a half. The hilt was the most stunning feature. Gold and onyx entwined to create small flowers with tiny rubies making up the center of each. Rowan had said nothing when he gave it to her but she liked to think that it had just reminded him of her in some way. Wishful thinking but Mirima didn't care.

        She had to be making some impression on Rowan. 

        She gripped the knife, her hold mimicking the one Rowan had been trying to drill into her head for years. He often grew frustrated with the way she would go back to what felt natural, showing her just how wrong she was with a sharp tap on her wrist. At that point, she was certain that she was fucking it up if only to see the annoyance in his eyes. She liked that look on him. When he regretted ever giving Mirima a chance when he debated throwing her in a lake because of her mouth.

        It was better than when he was fully angry with her.

        Her body moved in the fluid motions that Rowan had taught her. Her eyes closing, her knife another part of her arm, her breaths even, the world right for once in her life. Her thoughts were no longer cluttered, just going through Rowan's instructions in her mind had been enough to calm her. She'd never tell him so. He would have been proud of himself or annoyed with her.

        Up. Down. Guard your left. Right. Dodge. Roll. Again.

        She heard his voice in her head almost as though he was standing right beside her. She relished the feeling, the sensation of knowing that she was doing something right. Something that she would do every single day of her life when she was in the cadre. She would have to thank him one day.

        It just wouldn't be any time soon.

        A low whistle brought her back to reality. She did not know how long he had been watching but she knew he had seen enough. Mirima straightened her spine, a smug look painted on her face as she turned on her heel. 

        Fenrys was more handsome than Rowan had ever dreamed of being. His hair was pulled up, with two strands falling pleasantly into his face. His skin was dark and he was slight of build, but the muscles on his arms were well-defined and she could imagine them in the middle of a killing field. While Rowan's face was covered with his tattoo, Fenrys' was mostly clear, his eyes sparkled with mischief and he looked as though he was part of an inside joke with himself. 

        Mirima hated how much she wanted to impress him. Hated how fun he seemed to be with just that one look.

        "I don't see why I'm here," he stated as he peeled himself off of the tree he had been leaning against. "Rowan's got you training on your own already."

        A slight blush crossed Mirima's cheeks at this. "Actually, he doesn't know how early I start my day. I didn't think he'd like knowing just how much I tend to ... overexert myself."

        "Trust me, Rowan already knows everything that you do," Fenrys stated as he stepped towards her. His eyes trailed from the top of her head to her feet. He was scrutinizing everything that had ever made Mirima. She tried not to think if he was impressed by what he saw or if he was certain that she was useless. A waste of his and Rowan's time. She often feared that they would all see her as a fraud. As someone who would never be welcomed into their ranks. "Rowan's told us all about you. How quick you are to anger, how you refuse to listen to him and go home. He said you've had more burnouts than anyone he's ever met before.

        "I know that he thinks you're reckless and that you don't have any sense of self-preservation," Fenrys walked around her, his eyes never once leaving her, as he spoke. There was a tension in him that she didn't expect. "I'm sure that he's found every single weakness of yours and used it against you at this point. Am I correct?"

        She bristled at the accusation, her spine straighter than what should have been possible. "He has. Multiple times, in very different ways."

        Something sparked in his eyes, something that she had seen once before. When she had looked in her mother's eyes before she had left to deal with the raiders all those years before. It was a mixture of pride and determination. Mirima had never been sure what it meant. She still wasn't.

        "Good," Fenrys stopped circling her. "That tells me you don't scare easily. If you can handle quality time with Whitethorn, you're bound to be something. Perhaps not a fit for the cadre, but something we need."

        Need. That one word brought forth a strong feeling of hope in her breast. She had never been told that she was needed before. Not for anything that mattered. Doranelle would need her. Maeve would need her. Hellas, even Rowan would need her if what Fenrys said was true. She was going to be exactly what they needed, who they would look up to. Mirima would be the hero that would be in all the stories. She'd show everyone just what a woman could do. 

        There had been warrior queens and lost princesses but there had never been someone that other girls could look up to. All her life, Mirima had heard tales of men gaining glory and victory. They saved damsels, fought wars in the name of what was true and just. Queen Maeve had always celebrated those men while ignoring the women who could do the exact same. She knew that she could be just as good as any of those men. She could rise up from the bottom and show just who a girl could be.

        It was the only thing she'd ever wanted.

        "However," Fenrys brought her back down to the world with just one word. "We do need to work on your control. Burning out in the middle of a battle will do you no good. We can't have our sister dying on her first outing."

        He grinned at her. Not the feral dangerous grin that she had come to associate with Rowan. It was kind, bright even. Something that made her feel as though she were at home. She wondered what Rowan would say if she told him that she preferred Fenrys' smile. It was perhaps better to keep that conversation in her head.

        "How do we do that?" 

        "Stand in the middle of the clearing," Fenrys instructed her, heading back to his tree. He sat down at the base of it, still and unblinking as though he were just another part of the forest that surrounded them. "I don't want you to do anything. Just stand there and listen. Take in every wingbeat of every insect, every beat of your heart. I want you to try and focus on your heartbeats while you're doing this. Slow, steady. You should be able to make yourself still."

        Mirima looked at him for a moment. What in the hell did any of that mean? It sounded like nonsense. Focusing her heartbeats? Slowing them down? How was any of that supposed to help her with her control issues?

        While she did question the whole thing, she knew better than to question her trainer. If he told Rowan, she was certain to have a punishment of some sort. Probably laps. Rowan knew how she hated them. She took a deep breath through her nose, disregarding her thoughts of Rowan Whitethorn and the laps he could potentially make her run.

        Her eyes fluttered to a close. Every part of her body felt as though this was wrong. She shouldn't have just been standing there. She could have been working on her swordplay. She could have been working on the footwork that she was supposed to be learning. Listening for the bees that were fat with the pollen from the summer flowers was not something she had wanted to do. Why should she care about any of this? She was a warrior, not a farmer.

        "Don't think negatively," his voice seemed to float through the air to her. "I can feel it from here. Just relax your mind and do as I've told you."

        Mirima did not answer him, knowing it was not what he wanted. She focused on the sound of the wind in the trees. The way the leaves gently rustled together, the branches making a soft creaking noise that she normally wouldn't have noticed. She could hear the sea. So far away, yet always calling to her. The waves crashing along the shoreline. Pebbles scratching against each other when the water moved them. Sand turning to mush, the cry of a seabird. Mirima craved being there, craved feeling the water on her bare feet. Not a day went by that she didn't crave the ocean.

        Her fingers twitched, her knife falling to the ground beside her. The water rushing in her ears and making it hard to hear the insects busying lazily by her head or the trees swaying gently in the breeze. Her heartbeat followed the motion of the waves. She could feel it slowing to match the lazy tide of the early morning. It was not an uncomfortable feeling but one that she welcomed.

        She had often felt as though her home was the sea. The ocean breathed life into her. She had been blessed with the gift of water and yet, she still didn't know how to control it. Perhaps it was because one could not control water. The sea did not like to be tamed. Just as Mirima hated for anyone to try and control her. It had been so hard to learn to listen to Rowan. To learn to do as she was told. She still hadn't learned that lesson.

        A voice spoke softly from somewhere. Her name, softly as though it was poetry. Rowan's face flashed briefly in her mind before being drowned out by another crashing wave.

        Her fingers twitched once more. Something cold crept through the leather of her boots, touching her toes. 

        None of it mattered though. All that mattered was the way the sea was calling to her. The currents dancing for her and her alone. She wanted to be in the middle of it all. She could control the ocean. She could feel it in her bones. She ached to use the power that was deep inside of her. It was as though she could not breathe unless she was in the water, as if her lungs craved water instead of oxygen.

        "Mirima," that voice again. Persistent this time. Repeating her name again and again. "Mirima." 

        "Rowan," she breathed out as a hand grasped her arm. It was not tight enough to be Rowan. It was loose, as though they were afraid of touching her. 

        "Mirima, come out of it." The voice didn't match Rowan's. Didn't match the person she had put all of her trust in.

        It was too much effort to open her eyes, to break her connection to the sea. But she did it. 

        Fenrys stood in front of her, his hands on her arms and his face more amused than concerned. Her feet were freezing, the breeze smelled differently. The sky had begun to lighten, pink marking the sky in the place of the grey that had filled the valley just a few minutes before. Had it only been minutes? She felt as though she had been there for days.

        Slowly, she glanced down to see what was causing her feet to be so cold. Water had seeped up from the ground, a few inches covering the ground that surrounded her. Mirima had no clue how she had done it without thinking. She had no idea what she had done. 

        Maybe Fenrys was right about something. Maybe his techniques just worked better than Rowan's.

        "Well, you weren't supposed to do that," he said, one of his brows quirked upwards. "But I can't say I'm surprised. Maybe next time Rowan makes you do something stupid, you'll be able to channel it."

        Mirima rolled her eyes, her arms crossing in front of her chest. "Rowan's training isn't stupid."

        "You're making shields of water, aren't you?"

        "Yes. But that's integral to keeping control!" Mirima protested. Fenrys only shook his head.

        "We don't use our abilities as shields. Well, Lorcan does on occasion but Lorcan's also the worst," he stated as he led her away from the drenched grounds. "Rowan's trying to prepare you for something but I doubt it's the cadre. He has your interests in mind, don't think otherwise." She watched as he grabbed a low-hanging tree branch and hauled himself up. "But that doesn't mean he's going to actually help you get what you want. No one should strive to be one of us."

        "What is with the two of you?" Mirima demanded as she hoisted herself to sit on the branch beside him. "It's like neither of you can deal with the idea that a woman can be just as good as you."

        "This has nothing to do with your gender. You've got more fight inside of you than most soldiers I know," Fenrys stated as he looked at her. His expression was too full of pity for her to stand. "You could do so much better than all of this."

        "No, I can't," Mirima stared out at the clearing, watching as the water drained away slowly. "My gender has everything to do with this. When they see me, they see a woman who should be at home. Having children and mending socks. They don't see a warrior. They don't see me."

        He looked at her then, looked at her as though she was something other than a woman sitting beside him on a tree branch. It was an uncomfortable feeling. Mirima had never felt exposed before. Rowan certainly had never looked at her as though she were anything. Fenrys was making her quite anxious, scared that he would run back to the others and tell them all about the woman who assumed she was good enough to be welcomed into their ranks. She doubted any of them would find it within them to want her after her show.

        "I should go," she cleared her throat as she moved to drop down from the tree. Mirima landed on the balls of her feet, the squelching sound revealing that the ground had turned to mud. "Kitchen duties."

        Mirima did not wait to be released from her training. She turned on her heel and headed back to the fort. She spent the entire walk thinking over everything that Fenrys had seen, everything that he had heard. She was mortified. Speaking like that in front of Rowan was one thing. But Fenrys? That was another. She knew better than to speak her mind around her superiors. She knew better than to leave before her training was over. Yet she had done both. She'd never live this down. She'd just proven that she would never be the type of person they welcomed into their ranks. Fenrys had said they didn't want her.

        What was the point of continuing to fight? What was the point of trying to be someone she wasn't? Would Rowan even notice if she was gone when he came back? She doubted it. He'd probably use her absence as an excuse to return home.

        As the would-be-warrior walked away from him, Fenrys watched her closely. Even with the sting of humiliation, she never let her shoulders droop. Her hand remained on the hilt of her blade. Her head was held high, no one would ever be able to tell that she was spending her day questioning herself and her choices.

        "I see you."

[nalgenewhore]

Too Late To Turn Back Now - Ten

masterlist - ao3 - last chapter - next chapter 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

an: don’t be mad ok

+*+*+*+*+*+*

The enamel mug burned her hands but Elide didn’t notice it as she blew on the surface and carefully sipped her tea.

Two hands planted on the island on either side of her and she was caged in, a warm body pressed against her back. “Wow, drinking tea? How the mighty have fallen,” murmured a familiar voice, soft lips finding the sensitive skin beneath her jaw.

Elide breathed in shakily, her teeth catching on her bottom lip as Lorcan continued down the column of her throat, nipping at her skin until he noticed the blank pages and pen in front of her. “What’s that for?”

She put her mug down and spun on her stool, folding her legs up underneath her. “It’s nothing.” The smile she offered him soothed him of his worries and Lorcan returned it, gripping her chin between his thumb and forefinger as he kissed her.

Elide returned it, sitting up straighter as she looped an arm around his waist, pulling him closer. His laugh was raspy against her lips and she kissed him harder, greedy to feel the sound on her lips so that she could carry it with her forevermore.

Her throat ached with tears and she forced herself to pull away, flicking her eyes over his shoulder to the back window, where she saw Fenrys and Vaughan imitating them. “It seems as though we have an audience,” she whispered, her voice hitching.

If Lorcan noticed the change in her voice, he didn’t say anything as he turned around and rolled his eyes. He sighed as he turned back to her, “I guess I gotta go and get ready.” For their wedding.

Elide smiled a fake smile and she knew Lorcan could tell something was wrong but she didn’t let him say a word before her lips were pressing against his. She told him her silent goodbye through her kiss, asking the gods to take care of him after she was gone. “Go.”

“Are you alright?”

She swallowed thickly, nodding, “I’m fine. I’m good. I’ll see you up there.”

“Promise?”

The lie felt slick and oily on her tongue.

“Promise.”

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Nehemia’s hands were gentle in her hair as she pulled Elide’s hair back into a simple chignon that rested at the nape of her neck. Her dark brown eyes didn’t miss anything as Elide fidgeted, twisting her mother’s ring around her finger over and over until the skin beneath it was red.

Aneha and Sadirah were flitting around the room, meaningless chatter flowing from their mouths. In the mirror, Elide made eye contact with Odette and quickly looked away, a slight frown on her brows. 

The entire Salvaterre family were too perceptive for their own good. Odette’s eyes missed nothing but she stayed silent, smiling reassuringly at Elide. Nehemia patted Elide’s hair, “All done.” 

Elide smiled, a real smile, and stood up, turning her head to see the style in the mirror. “It’s gorgeous, Nehemia. Thank you.” 

“Of course,” she said, hugging Elide tightly, “I wish you a lifetime of happiness with him. You’re good for him.” 

Her smile faltered for a split second and she discreetly patted her eyes dry, careful not to mess up Aelin’s hard work. “You’re going to make me sob like a wee babe.” 

Aelin breezed by, “Now, now, none of that, young lady! Go get dressed, we have a wedding to start!” 

Elide chuckled and slipped out of the room, walking down the hallway. She passed by a room, its door cracked open. Low voices rumbled out of it and she peeked inside, seeing Lorcan and his groomsmen getting ready. 

Her eyes slid to Lorcan, his head tipped back as he laughed, the sound full and warm. He spoke in a melodic tongue with Vaughan as Rowan sulked and muttered that they shouldn’t be allowed to have a secret language. That only made them laugh louder. 

His eyes were bright as he smiled, standing still as Connall - the only organized one of the lot - gently tugged on the cuffs of his white shirt, making them so that they stuck out a bit from his navy suit. The colour contrast of the dark blue against his burnished-copper skin was beautiful, making his complexion glow even brighter than usual. 

Squaring her shoulders, Elide breathed out and walked away, only more sure of her decision after seeing him. She had tucked the letters, all but one, behind a painting and as she paused by it, she glanced around to ensure that no one was there as she lifted the frame and grabbed them. 

There was one for Aelin, one for Nehemia, and one for Odette. The twins both got one and Elide had written another for the boys. They had finally warmed up to her and treated her as one of them. 

As for Lorcan’s… Elide knew she was stalling. She hadn’t written it yet and was dreading it. 

The room seemed frozen as she walked in, able to see them in every feature of it. The duvet still rumpled from that morning because neither cared enough to make it, throw pillows strewn about the room from when they had thrown them at each other, her laughter and screams when he caught her and tickled her mercilessly still heavy in the air. 

Those memories hung around her as she sat down and put pen to paper, not finding it in herself to stop the tears that dripped onto the paper and smudged the ink. 

Crying silently, she folded it and put it in an envelope addressed to him. Elide kissed the paper once, hoping he would be able to feel it. 

As she changed, switching a silk dressing gown for leggings and a snug-fitting tank top, she hesitated, Lorcan’s hoodie catching her eye. Because she couldn’t help herself, Elide grabbed it and pulled it over her head. 

All she thought about as she packed her bags were the words she wanted to so desperately to say to him, but the ones she never would. 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Everything was ready.

The dress was draped across the foot of the bed, the blue jade necklace back in its velvet box. Elide had her enveloped letters in hand, one for each person she had lied to.

The others, she put down easily, placing them tenderly, but Lorcan’s… she fingered the paper, a trembling finger tracing over the ink that read his name. He would never forgive her for this and Elide wasn’t sure she would ever forgive herself.

With a shaking breath, she kissed the letter once more and put it down, gently patting dry the teardrop that had landed on the envelope.

Squaring her shoulders, Elide grabbed her bags and took one last look around the room before she slipped off into the sunny afternoon.

She half-thought it would be more difficult to sneak down to the water taxi she’d called, but nobody even noticed.

The man was friendly enough, his attempts at small-talk valiant as he loaded her bags into the vessel. Elide’s responses were clipped and short, not inviting any further discussion until he dropped it.

She didn’t dare look back at the property as the boat carried her further and further away, knowing that if she gave in to the screaming in her head, a voice that begged her to turn around for one last look, she would never be able to go through with it.

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

“El?” Lorcan knocked on the door to their room, not knowing why he felt the need to seek her out and make sure she was ok but still not being able to shake the feeling. Their interaction that morning had had him feeling unsettled as he got ready and the first chance he got to sneak out of the room, he took.

After checking in with Aelin, who had told him Elide had gone to their room to get ready by herself, Lorcan had speed-walked across the house.

There was no answer from inside the room and he opened the door slowly, taking one step in before his heart cracked.

The wedding dress draped across the bed, the velvet jewellery box, and the stack of letters, it couldn’t be.

“Elide?” he asked again, searching through the entire room, hoping that maybe, what he knew had happened was a lie.

But she wasn’t there and all he had left was the stack of letters, all addressed to various people in her perfect penmanship. Lorcan flipped through them, his breath hitching at the one addressed to him.

In a daze, he sat on the floor, his back against the bed and ripped open the envelope, his hands shaking as he pulled out the paper, tearstained and ink smudged.

His eyes raced over the neat lines of script, reading too fast and making the words a jumbled mess of letters he wasn’t sure were in the common tongue. With a steadying breath,his eyes burning with the threat of tears, he read it again – slowly.

Lorcan,

I have to go. I’m sorry,  but I’m a coward and I’m selfish and I can’t break your family’s heart like that. You deserve a real love, one with someone who is good like you because you deserve happiness and you won’t get that with me. This was a business deal and it’s over.

Be happy.

Elide

Lorcan wasn’t sure how long he’d stayed there, not sure if his heart were even beating, on the floor. Memories of them surrounded him and he somehow got up to walk out to the balcony, eyes on the ocean.

The blue waves were empty except for one boat and he watched as his heart was carried away in the clutches of that infuriating woman.

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

Elide had been gone for a while and Aelin set out to find her, intercepting Rowan in the hallway. She smiled and strolled up to him, “Well, hello there, stranger.”

His face was tight and he didn’t even bother to fake amusement at her antics like he normally did when distressed. Aelin paused him with a hand on his bicep, “What is it?”

“We can’t find Lorcan.”

Laughing, she grabbed his hand, “He’s with Elide!”

“And you know that how?”

Aelin rolled her eyes and pulled him down to the soon-to-be-wed couple’s room. “It’s obvious. Where else would they be?”

Rowan just shook his head and followed his girlfriend across the house until they reached the room. With a wink thrown over her shoulder, Aelin said, “Let’s go see what the happy couple is up to!”

“I think I’ll just wait out here,” he said, grimacing as he leaned against the wall.

She cackled and knocked once before slipping inside, closing the door behind her. “Hello-“ Aelin cut herself off when she saw the wedding dress and letters. “Wha… Lorcan?” He didn’t acknowledge her from where he sat on the balcony, his head hung low.

Quickly, Aelin hurried out to his side and dropped onto the seat beside him. “What happened?”

“She’s gone,” he whispered, his voice broken. “There’s a letter inside for you, but I’m guessing she already told you.”

“Yeah,” she murmured, resting her cheek on his shoulder. “She told me.”

“She fucking ruined my life and left me with a fucking letter? Tells me to be happy?” he said, his voice raised. “I hate her. For two fucking years, I worked my ass off for her and then she does this shit and doesn’t have the decency to say it to my face. I hate her.”

“No, you don’t.”

He stood up abruptly and began pacing back and forth, crumpling Elide’s letter in his hand. “But none of that matters, you wanna know why?”

“Lor-“

“We had a deal, Aelin! We had a gods-damned deal. She promised to me that I would see her up on that fucking altar.” He seemed to sort of collapse on the couch next to her, leaning on his best friend, his voice ragged, “She promised, G.”

“I know she did, hon.” Aelin paused, rubbing his back gently, “Are you just going to let her go?”

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

“You did what?”

Lorcan was trying to placate his sisters, who were angrier than he’d ever seen either of them. Even Sadirah, his sweet and gentle baby sister, was shooting daggers at him, her hands fisted at her sides as the light in her eyes promised him a slow slow death. “I-“

“You are the stupidest person I know! Why would you do this? On our birthday? Our BIRTHDAY!”

He didn’t have any words and spread his hands, “I’m sorry?”

Aneha scowled at him, her eyes flashing and she opened her mouth to say something when Odette cut in, holding up a hand. The siblings all fell silent as she walked up to her eldest, cupping his face gently. She spoke in their language to him, “You are a very stupid man.” She paused and kissed his brow, whispering a prayer before, “Go get her.”

Lorcan grinned and kissed her cheek, hugging his sisters before running out and freezing as he was accosted by Vaughan, Fenrys, Connall, and Rowan. “Boys-“

Vaughan held up his hand, those eyes Lorcan saw every time he looked in the mirror rippling with cold ire and fury. Lorcan swallowed hard, knowing he’d broken their most basic rule – no lying. But then, his cousin – his brother, really – smiled and they all did. “Go get her, man. Good luck.”

He grinned and hugged them all, rolling his eyes as they yelled at him for wasting time before he sprinted down to the jetty, jumping in the speedboat and gunning the engine.

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

Elide had been sitting in the little airport lounge for half an hour and with every ticking second, she grew closer to fleeing back to Lorcan, her heart aching. “All passengers boarding flight 587 to Mistward, please proceed to the boarding gate.”

She sighed shakily and stood up, gathering her things and making her way to the line. Every step closer to the gate had her heart fracturing and she was holding back tears when the boarding agent asked for her boarding pass.

Elide nodded and rifled through her purse. She found it and held it up, attempting to smile when someone called her name. “Elide!” 

Looking over her shoulder, her eyes filled with tears as she saw Lorcan run through the doors, wearing his suit and his glasses.

She loved his glasses. 

There was something sure in his face and she shook her head as he weaved through the crowd to her. “Don’t go.”

She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

Lorcan took one step closer and she pressed her hand into his chest, stopping him. “Don’t go,” he repeated, his heart slamming a thunderous tattoo beneath her hand. “Can I just talk to you for a second? Please?” 

Elide gave in immediately and let him pull her to the side. Lorcan just said one word: “Stay.” 

“I can’t,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

“Yes, you can, you can.” He held her hand to his chest, his eyes soft and open. “Elide.”

Elide just shook her head again, “I have to get on the plane. Lorcan, I have to go.”

“I love you,” he said. Simple, just three little words.

She cried, tears sliding down her cheeks. “I have to go home. It’s time.”

“Princess,” Lorcan said, leaning down and leaning his forehead against hers. “I love you. Let me be with you.”

“You don’t want to be with me,” she whispered, tilting her chin up and kissing his cheek. “Not forever.”

“Yes, I do. Stay,” he said, desperation bleeding through his words. “Stay with me, Elide Lochan.”

“No, I can’t marry you, Lorcan.”

“Then don’t marry me. Just stay. We’ll figure it out together, princess. Say you’ll stay with me.” 

“No.”

“Well… yes.”

“No!”

“Say yes.”

“No, Lorcan,” Elide’s voice broke and more tears slipped down her face. “It’s not like that.”

“I thought it changed. You told me you wanted to stay-“ Lorcan cut himself off, his eyes welling. “I thought you loved me too.”

Elide furrowed her brow, closing her eyes and saying those damning words, “It was just a business deal. Everything Benson said was true.”

Lorcan held her hand tighter, silently begging her to open her eyes, “Tell me you don’t love me then. If you say that, I’ll let you go.”

Finally, she opened her eyes and stepped away from him, handing the agent her pass, “I can’t do this right now. I’m sorry.” Without another word or glance his way, Elide Lochan strode through the gate and walked out of his life. Forever.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

an: it’s honestly fine don’t even worry 

@mythicaitt @tinywolfofeyllwe @schmlip-scribble @the-regal-warrior @westofmoon @empire-of-wildfire @rhysands-highlady @city-of-fae @shyvioletcat @alifletcher2012 @tangledraysofsunshine @ttakeitbacknoww @tswaney17 @ourbooksuniverse @flora-and-fae @thesirenwashere e @queenofxhearts @maastrash @mynewdreamwasyou @cursebreaker29 @superspiritfestival @yikesitsmaddie @flowerspringsea @queen-of-glass @sleeping-and-books s @b00kworm @bat-wing-rhys @poisonous00 @empress-ofbloodshed @feyrethedarklady @gorl-power @keshavomit @ifinallygavein @rosegoldannie @pilesoffriles @julemmaes @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @januarystears​

[lesetoilesfous]

if you're still taking prompts, fenders b8 + b2 from the nsfw prompt list pls :3 (preferably anders giving fenris a full-body massage, with lots of fluff that maybe turns into smut?)

Helloooo! Thank you for a lovely prompt, I hope this is something like what you wanted!!

(If you want me to write you a dragon age ficlet, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting​

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Fenders

Characters: Fenris, Anders

Tags: established relationship, self-esteem issues, past abuse, justice is here in theory but Anders has put a sock on the door of their combined consciousness, so he doesn’t make an appearance, angst and fluff, ended up being way more angst than I intended, apologies!

“This is ridiculous, mage.” Fenris does not seem capable of keeping the smile from his voice, and he blushes as he says it, dark cheeks tickled red in the candlelight as he lies back on the bed. Anders takes a self-indulgent moment to ogle him, openly, as the muscles of his abdomen flex and he falls with the same perfect control that he brings to everything he does onto his back on the blankets. Fenris’ flush deepens, and he hits him gently with a pillow. “You are ridiculous. No one is as beautiful as you pretend to find me.”

Which brought them to the topic at hand. Anders catches the pillow and gently tugs it out of Fenris’ grip, tossing it onto the ground, careful to avoid the candles he’s set up around the bed. The sweet smell of sandalwood and jasmine is warm in the air around them, and the light is gold and flickering as it paints the wooden walls of their bedroom. Outside, in the forest, the trees sigh like the ocean, shivering in the wind. Anders gets up onto the mattress, kneeling at the end of the bed on the thick, white woven wool blanket, running one hand up the strong, sculpted line of Fenris’ leg. “Still don’t believe me, then?”

Fenris looks away from him, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth that he tries to hide as his hair splays against the pillow behind his head like starlight. He stares up at the rough, dark wooden rafters. “I believe that you find me attractive. I do not believe anyone is as attractive as you say I am. And if such a person did exist, that person would not be me.”

Anders hums, and presses a very soft kiss to a small scar on Fenris’ knee. Tal Vashoth, if he remembered correctly. A stray arrow that would have felled an ordinary warrior. Fenris had fought on anyway. He hadn’t even made a sound when Anders removed the thing. Just squeezed his hand, and thanked him roughly when it was done.

Anders shuffles back down the bed, all but prostrating himself to press a soft kiss to the top of Fenris’ foot and the lines of lyrium there. Fenris’ breath shudders out of him, and Anders moves between his legs, waiting until Fenris lifts himself up onto his elbows to look down at him. 

“I beg to disagree.” Anders kisses Fenris’ left ankle, then, gently stroking his calf before moving to kiss his right. Then he sits up and picks up the small, brown glass bottle of oil he’d left beside their bed. In the eaves, pigeons coo low and soft as they settle for the evening.

“Must you make everything such a production?” Fenris’ fingers trail softly along the lyrium on his chest as he asks the question, and he doesn’t look at Anders, cheeks and chest dark with his blush. 

“I must.” Anders answers, with a grin, rubbing the smoky, spiced oil between his palms until it’s warm. Gently, he  picks up Fenris’ foot, pressing a firm kiss to the heel of it, and the ball, before sucking lightly on each of his toes. Anders bends to kiss Fenris’ ankle again as he begins to gently, firmly massage his foot. Fenris sighs, and Anders grins down at him from where he’s kneeling at the end of the bed.

“You are the most impossibly beautiful person I’ve ever met. And considering that I’m including the Hero of Ferelden, King Theirin, Zevran Arainai, Isabela, Varric Tethras and Marian Hawke in that assessment, you should be very flattered.” 

On his back, painted gold by the candlelight, Fenris laughs and presses his hands against his face. “I am flattered, mage. I am also - ah,” Anders grins, and gently rubs the same circle he’d massaged before on the back of Fenris’ calf. Fenris’ chest heaves, his hands falling from his face to curl into the white cotton sheets further up the bed, squeezing them tightly. After a moment, he finishes, breathless, “Skeptical.”

Anders hums, thoughtfully, and presses a series of kisses to the curve of Fenris calf, ducking to press a long kiss to the soft skin at the back of his knee, before returning to the small silver line of the arrow scar. As he moves to give the same treatment to Fenris other leg, pouring a little more oil onto his hands, he asks conversationally, “Do you think I’m lying to you?”

Fenris frowns, though the expression eases as Anders’ presses a long kiss to his toe. “N-no. I think. You are telling me what I want to hear.”

Anders huffs, and Fenris pulls his foot back for a moment, laughing light and high as a child. Anders’ heart stutters, and he stops, catching Fenris’ foot firmly between his hands. “Wait. Are you ticklish?” Fenris tries to glare at him, but there’s still a smile lingering around the corner of his lips.

“No.”

Anders’ grin widens, and he squeezes Fenris foot gently. “You are. Well. We’ll have to return to that later.” He waggles his eyebrows, and Fenris snorts, grinning as he turns his head away from him and Anders begins to massage his other foot. “Seriously though,” Anders murmurs, kissing up the line of Fenris’ calf, brushing his nose against the thick coarse hair on his leg, “You’re gorgeous. And before you say it, it’s not the lyrium.” He kisses Fenris’ knee, and begins to massage his calf, gently bending his leg. “It’s like….A sculptor couldn’t make you this perfect. Your skin is so,” Anders bends to nuzzle at Fenris’ calf and kiss him again, “so soft, and warm, and you smell like….I don’t have words for it. Like lyrium but also like, dust and sweat and leather.”

“Most of those are not good things.” Fenris murmurs and Anders shakes his head, moving up the bed to kneel between Fenris’ legs. Far off in the woods, a distant wolf howls at the moon. 

“No, but they are when it’s you. And  even if it wasn’t, trust me, I’ve never had a lover who smells this good.” Anders runs his hand up Fenris’ thigh, and presses a firm kiss into the soft give of it. “You’re just. You’re beautiful. You’re gorgeous. You’re perfect. I feel like I’m dreaming, every time I kiss you.”

Anders sets down the oil and dips to lower himself over Fenris’ hips, kissing along the v of muscle that leads up to his side. Tentatively, Fenris’ hand falls to stroke his hair, and Anders sighs and tilts his head into his touch. “If I shut my eyes and try to imagine the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, all I see is you. You’re like...music.”

“Music.” Fenris repeats, flatly, and Anders’ face burns, but he presses a long kiss to the wide, ragged pink skin of a burn on Fenris’ side before he sits up to meet his eyes.

“Yes, music.” Anders runs his hand up over the planes of Fenris’ belly, splaying his fingers against his chest, and pressing gently into the soft tissue of his breast. His fingertips trail through soft, dark hair, and his thumbs run over Fenris dark, soft nipples. Fenris breath catches, and Anders grins and bends to kiss one nipple, tenderly catching it between his teeth before kissing it again and doing the same to the other. Fenris’ hand tightens and relaxes in his hair as he does it, and Anders moves to press a line of kisses down from Fenris’ sternum to his belly button. Fenris’ legs fall loose and relaxed either side of him against the bed, and the air is rich and faintly hazy with candle-smoke and oil.

Anders sits up, and catches Fenris’ hand when it falls from his head. Gently, he kisses the heel of his palm, and the inside of his wrist, and each of his fingers, before pouring a little more oil into his hand and beginning to massage Fenris’ palm. Fenris sighs, and lets his head fall back against the pillow, eyes fluttering shut. Anders speaks softly as his hand slips up Fenris’ arm, gently massaging the muscle of his forearm and bicep. “You’re like music. Every line of you falls into every other. It’s like you’re...a symphony. You’re all balance, and harmony. Every part of you is meant to be what it is, shaped the way that it is. Looking at you feels like listening to the most beautiful song you’ve ever heard.” Anders ducks, and presses a kiss to the inside of Fenris’ elbow, feeling the massage oil stick to his lips before he brushes up to the warm, generous curve of Fenris’ bicep. He shuts his eyes, and presses his nose against the firm warmth of Fenris’ arm. “A song so beautiful it makes you want to weep.”

Fenris is quiet, then. Far off, there’s the high call of some strange Rivaini bird Anders doesn’t recognise. Night has fallen truly now, and the shadows between the candles are long and deep. Anders presses a kiss to Fenris’ shoulder before moving to his other arm. Fenris’ thumb gently strokes his hand and Anders pauses, looking down at his lover. The light of a candle glitters gold against the tears on Fenris’ cheeks. Anders stops, pressing Fenris’ hand between his.

“Love? Are you alright?”

Fenris shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut and heaving a great breath into his chest before letting it go in a noisy rush. Anders moves, brushing his hair out of his eyes and waiting for an answer. Fenris’ hand squeezes his, tightly, and Anders watches in distress as more tears run down Fenris’ cheeks. 

After a moment, Fenris blinks away the tears and looks up at Anders. His eyelashes are damp and dark and long around the summer green of his eyes. “It’s fine, amatus. It is only -” Fenris stops, and swallows, and his hand tightens around Anders’ as he looks away from him. Fenris breathes again, and Anders waits and watches him, anxiously. After a moment he speaks, roughly. “I cannot remember anyone ever saying such a thing to me and meaning it, before.” Fenris frowns, and Anders runs his thumb over the back of his hand. “People have wanted me, certainly. Used me. Spoken in great detail about the ways in which I was ‘made’ to be used.” 

Fenris’ expression twists, and Anders sits back on the bed, giving him space as he sits up. Fenris bends his legs and rests his arms against them, still holding Anders’ hand. Around their house, the wind rushes through the night and runs howling into the trees. Fenris breathes, and sobs, pressing his face into his arm for a moment before he turns to Anders and offers him a small smile, cheeks wet with tears. “But no one has ever said it as if I were a person. As if they loved me. As if they thought I could be loved.” Fenris’ voice breaks.

Anders swallows down his own heartache, and squeezes his lover’s hand, raising their joined hands and his other in a gesture of surrender. “You caught me. Guilty as charged.” Anders stops, then, and feels something heavy and painful pressing up against his lungs with the force of everything he feels when he speaks. “I can’t imagine a world in which you couldn’t be loved, Fenris. I don’t think it exists.”

Fenris starts to smile, then, and it breaks into another sob, and Anders gives in at last to the urge to pull him into his arms and hold him, tightly, cupping the back of his head as he cries. Gently, Anders presses a kiss to the corner of Fenris’ temple, lips tickled by the soft strands of his hair. “I love you, Fenris. Please believe that.” Anders laughs a little, even as he feels his own tears spill over and begin to fall down his cheeks. “I love you so much it hurts. I can’t do anything else.”

Fenris pulls back, then, and presses a kiss to Anders cheek, before giving another to his lips and pressing their foreheads together. “I know, amatus. I love you, too.”

The candles around them flicker in light and shadow against the walls, painting them red and yellow as if the wood is burning. Far off, a distant wolf calls into the night.

After a moment, another answers it.

[stitchcasual]

A Running Date

Live on AO3 or click through the cut for the full thing

a real fluffy Fenhawke fic with a wedding meetcute because We Deserve It

"Who's the hot guy with tattoos?"

Marian and Isabela share a look, high five, then Isabela extends a hand toward her new wife.

"Pay up, darling."

Marian grumbles and slaps a bill too crushed and crumpled for Garrett to make out the denomination into Isabela's hand. The look on her face says it wasn't small, however. The two of them are sitting on a slightly raised piece of flooring at the back end of the social hall Marian and Garrett's mother has rented for Marian's wedding reception. They're receiving visitors there, a whole line of people waiting to convey their best wishes to the happy couple on their happy day. Garlands and flowers decorate nearly every piece of available space, and despite the fervor with which Marian had opposed having a high society reception like their mother wanted, she and Isabela are holding court up here like they're royalty.

"You bet on whether or not I'd ask about him?" Garrett asks, unsure whether he should be offended or not.

Marian grins at him. "Of course not, dear brother. I would never do that to my favorite twin. We bet on how long it would take you to ask."

Isabela cackles. Garrett is definitely offended, but he supposes he does have a history of doing this. It's not his fault his sister attracts hot, queer people, though, so he can't be blamed for it.

"Anyway, that's Fenris."

"That's Fenris?"

Fenris and Marian work together, and she's told a few stories about him over the years when she and Garrett get together for drinks. According to her, Fenris is hilarious and intelligent, if a little grumpy and standoffish, and her favorite coworker. Garrett takes another look over at Fenris, standing against a wall with a nearly empty wine glass. Where Garrett is tall and broad, Fenris is average height and narrow; where Garrett is pale skinned and dark haired, Fenris has light brown skin and white hair. He's utterly gorgeous, which is the conclusion Garrett came to after an hour of trying not to stare at him rocking the hell out of that tuxedo during the ceremony. Fenris stood in Isabela's eclectic mix of bridespeople while Garrett performed his duties as his twin sister's best man and thankfully didn't stumble over too much in the course of what he was expected to say.

"Yep. And he is incredibly out of your league, but because you're my brother and I love you so much, take this when you go talk to him." Marian pulls a bottle of wine from behind her chair and somehow manages to hand it over to Garrett despite the scuffle with Isabela that ensues when she sees which bottle it is.

"That's cheating, kitten," Isabela pouts. "We'll have to amend our bet."

Garrett hightails it away from the dias after kissing his sister on the cheek, not wanting to hear exactly what it is she and her troublemaker of a wife bet on this time. He does hear Carver say, "What's his problem?” and then, "Ow!" when Bethany slaps his arm as they step up next to offer their congratulations.

This is still the drinks and hors d'oeuvres hour of the reception, which means everyone's milling around and stretching their legs after the long ceremony and before the long dinner to come. Garrett snags a bottle opener from Bodahn in the kitchen, promising to return it later, and attempts to make as casual a beeline for Fenris as he can. He doesn't want to come on too aggressive, even if he's been hoping for a chance to talk to him since yesterday at the rehearsal dinner.

En route, he's waylaid by Anders and Nathaniel, his exes who had, rather amicably after a year of them all dating each other, decided they'd prefer to be a couple rather than a thruple. That had suited Garrett, eventually, once he'd realized that maybe he wasn't actually ready to date so soon after his father's death. He'd stayed friends with Anders and Nathaniel, though, and has tried dropping more than a few hints over the last few years that the two of them should get married too, but so far they haven't. As long as they're happy, though. Anders and Isabela know each other from some shadowy past encounter, or so Garrett has always liked to believe, and Nathaniel, aside from being from old money himself and thus invited on his own merits thanks to Leandra’s system, goes wherever Anders does.

They let him go when he, after several minutes of polite conversation, explodes quietly that he's trying to go hit on someone thank you very much and if they'd be so kind as to let him get on with that. Or, rather, Nathaniel lets him go and covers Anders's mouth with one hand when Anders tries to say more than, "Him?? Why would you want to—"

Garrett approaches Fenris slowly, within eyeshot (sneaking up behind someone seems like it might make for a bad first impression), and grips and regrips the wine bottle, hoping desperately that it doesn't fall out of his hands, as suddenly sweaty as they seem to be. The murmur of voices around him is simultaneously too loud and too soft, and he doesn't know how to pitch his voice so it carries to Fenris without deafening him. He settles for a wave with his free hand when Fenris's eyes lock onto him during their sweep around the room. Fenris nods in return, brushing soft looking white hair out of his eyes.

Okay so the wave was a mistake. Bad first greeting. Garrett raises his other hand, the one holding the wine bottle, and tries again, adding the smile Marian has told him is dick-worthy. He's pretty sure she means that well. Fenris raises an eyebrow, considers, and gestures to the wall beside him with his wine glass. Garrett takes the hint: he opens the bottle immediately after settling next to Fenris and pours a generous amount into the glass.

And then he realizes he forgot to bring himself a glass too.

"Sorry, uh…Bran," he says, reading the table setting as he purloins the wine glass from the seat closest to him.

He chooses to believe that the look on Fenris’s face is amusement, and raises his newly obtained and filled wine glass in a toast. Fenris taps his glass gently against Garrett’s and sips. His beautiful, holy shit so beautiful, green eyes widen a second later, and he pins Garrett with a searching gaze.

“Where did you get this?” Fenris asks, and his voice is so low and rough and unexpected that Garrett short-circuits. In all her stories, Marian hadn’t mentioned anything about a voice Garrett would be one hundred percent okay with doing absolutely filthy things with. That the voice is attached to someone as handsome as Fenris is a perk.

“Why? Is it good?” he asks, finally drinking himself. “Oh, holy shit, yes, it is.” He takes another sip, expending a considerable amount of willpower to keep from gulping it down. This wine is fantastic.  

“Well,” he says, raising the bottle and peering at the label, “apparently this is the kind of shit rich people give as presents at weddings.”

“I didn’t get one,” Fenris sniffs, and Garrett laughs.

“I didn’t get one either, but the bride…uh, bride number one? Or would she be number two? I think Marian proposed so would that make her number one? Anyway, one of the brides is my twin sister and she let me have it.”

“Your sister must love you a lot to part with a bottle of Aggregio.”

“How did you—”

“I have a discerning palate.”

Fenris closes his eyes as he drinks again, savoring the wine. Garrett tries not to stare, he really, really does, but the way Fenris’s throat works when he swallows and the little sound he makes are entirely too difficult to ignore.

“I’ll have to thank my sister, I guess. You know, eventually. When she’s not swarmed by mobs of fancy-dressed fans.” Garrett loosens his tie, tugging back and forth with a finger until he can undo the top button of his dress shirt as well. His mother will rake him over the coals for this, but right now the comfort and extra air are necessary; the wine and proximity to such an attractive person are attempting to do him in.

“So, you are Marian’s brother.”

The question is less of a question and more of a statement coming from Fenris, and Garrett’s stomach swirls nauseatingly with the wine.

“Technically yes, though Carver’s also her brother, technically. If we’re being specific.”

Fenris rumbles with laughter. Garrett’s pretty sure if he’d been standing any closer to Fenris he would have been able to feel the vibrations of that sound.

“Please tell me she hasn’t been spreading embarrassing stories about me to everyone at work.” He would cover his face with a hand but both are occupied, and so he just hangs his head and only chances looks at Fenris out of the corner of his eyes.

“Horribly scandalous stories, I’m afraid.”

Garrett groans and closes his eyes.

“I have heard about your fifth birthday party three times.”

“Oh, sweet Maker, strike me down now,” Garrett mutters, and now he does gulp at his wine.

“I admit, I find it fascinating that anyone could eat an entire cake without anyone noticing until he throws it all up later onto the rest of the ferris wheel riders.”

“Death would be a mercy I do not deserve, yet humbly beg of you.”

That rumbling laugh again, and Garrett risks an actual glance at Fenris. He’s smiling, the skin around his eyes crinkling in true mirth. It doesn’t sound like Fenris is mean-spirited in his teasing, just amused at the situation. Which Garrett can sometimes laugh at himself, if he’s being honest.

“I am honestly impressed that you managed to get nearly everyone else on the ride.”

And, here’s the unbelievable thing, Fenris really does sound impressed. Not disgusted. Just honestly impressed at a five-year-old Garrett’s ability to projectile vomit cake at an amusement park. That’s a first.

“It’s not my fault they built that ferris wheel with latticed roofs on the cars. They should have known better.”

Fenris barks a laugh. “That is poor design.”

“That’s what I’m saying! It’s also not my fault that mom thought I couldn’t climb up onto that counter; I’d been climbing weird shit since I was born.”

“Do you still?”

That’s a personal question. They’ve taken the turn from funny anecdote into actual conversation, and Garrett borrows courage from the wine, topping off his glass and Fenris’s, before answering. This is going leagues better than he thought it might after talking with Marian and Isabela, and though he’ll credit the wine for the initial breakthrough, the rest is just…happening.

“A little, here and there. I was big into free running for a while until, uh, some stuff happened, and I just never got quite back into it. That and I broke my ankle. Hard to run on one of those.”

‘Some stuff happened’ is Garrett’s usual way of brushing past saying ‘my father’s death really fucked me up’ so people don’t ask too many invasive questions, but Fenris is nodding like he understands. Marian was working with Fenris when their dad died, so it would stand to reason that he might know about it and make the assumption.

“Do you run anymore?”

“Now and then. I need to sign up for a race or something, hard to get motivated otherwise.”

“I understand. Would you… I do not know how far you live from Marian, but she and I are neighbors, sort of. If you wanted a running partner, that is.”

Garrett does not choke on his wine, but it’s a near thing. He’d thought, make some conversation, drink some wine, sit at the same table for dinner, and then call it a night and maybe ask Marian about Fenris after a couple weeks and see if she could arrange a party or something so they could run into each other ‘accidentally’ and then he would gather up his courage and ask Fenris on something that could be called a date if one squinted sideways at it. Things are going so well he almost doesn’t trust them. He refuses to look over at Marian and Isabela, just in case.

“Yeah! Yeah, that’d be great. There’s that little park near her place. I could meet you there? When do you run?”

Between the two of them as they keep conversing, they polish off the bottle of Aggregio before the hour ends and Marian and Isabela are escorted from receiving their guests to their table at the front of the hall for dinner. Garrett and Fenris sit on opposite sides of the table from each other, not able to continue talking, but they sneak a few glances. Garrett sees Isabela pass Marian a folded bill after they catch Garrett and Fenris in one of their looks, and Marian toasts in Garrett’s direction after that. He laughs, happy to see his sister so happy with Isabela (and glad that their first round of betting as a married couple ended in a draw, with one win each). Even his mother readjusting his shirt and tie before the speeches can’t dampen his good mood.

It’s just a running date, but Garrett has a feeling it’s the start to something wonderful.

[ladyideal]

This Is Us Part 5

Pairing: Legolas x OC!Reader

Word Count: 3003

Warnings: Nudity (but it ain’t sexy times.)

Summary: When the One Ring was found, it becomes a journey across Middle Earth to destroy it. Watch as the Fellowship is formed, and crossed the continent, where loyalty will be tested, and love will blossom at the most unexpected places.

A/n: A lot of dialogue, so bear with me here. Just want to get the group closer to one another. :)

Chapter 4 ~ Masterlist ~ Chapter 6

The Fellowship climbed a winding way among the great trees. They ascended the path until night fell. In the blue glow of a moonlit night, the Fellowship climbed a twisting stair about the trunk of a tree, past glimmering lights of silver and blue.

Far above, the silhouetted shapes of the shadowy tree-branches loomed over the group. Passing numerous platforms, the company came to a stop before a great palace in the trees, lit with silvery lights. A curving walkway laid before, leading up a low stair to an archway.

They gathered before the arch as Haldir stepped to a side. A glowing couple, hand in hand, descended down the stairs to meet the Fellowship. The Fellowship, other than you, the two Rangers and elves, stared in awe. Aragorn touched his head once in greeting.

The light dimmed, and before the Fellowship the Lord and Lady, Galadriel and Celeborn, halt. The Lady's eyes focused on Frodo first then to you, but Celeborn was the first that spoke.

"The Enemy knows you have entered here. What hope you had in secrecy is now gone. Eight there are here, yet nine there were, set out from Rivendell. Tell me, where is Gandalf?" Celeborn asked. "For I much desire to speak with him. I can no longer see him from afar."

As he spoke, Galadriel's eyes flickered to Alena's, who looked up.

"Gandalf the Grey did not pass the borders of this land. He has fallen into shadow," The Lady of Light answered her husband's question, which Alena nodded slightly. 

Celeborn turned to Galadriel in surprise. 

"He was taken by both Shadow and Flame: a Balrog of Morgoth. For we went needlessly into the net of Moria," Legolas shook his head sadly. 

"Needless were none of the deeds of Gandalf in life. We do not yet know his whole purpose," Galadriel continued, focusing on Gimli when the dwarf sadly bowed his head. "Do not let the great emptiness of Khazad-dûm fill your heart, Gimli, son of Glóin. For the world has grown full of peril. And in all lands, love is now mingled with grief."

You looked away from the pair to study the trees around you. Anything to forget about Gandalf's death. You weren't the only one, as out of the corner of your eye, you watched as Boromir turned his pained face to the Lady, blinking and swallowing hard. 

The Lady stared back. 

After a moment, Boromir broke the gaze, weeping to the side.

"What now becomes of this Fellowship? Without Gandalf, hope is lost." The Lord of Lothlorien turned to his wife. 

""The quest stands upon the edge of a knife. Stray but a little and it will fail to the ruin of all." Galadriel smiled softly, now turning back to you. 

"Yet hope remains while the company is true."

As if by a mysterious force, you looked back up at her. 

"Do not let your hearts be troubled. Go now and rest for you are weary with sorrow and much toil. Tonight you will sleep in peace."

With that, the Fellowship accepted the offer wearily. The nights in Moria were long and uncertain. All the while, the maiar's death was fresh, and weighed heavily on everyone's mind. You lagged behind as Alena and Haldir took up the front, leading towards a temporary shelter.

"Y/N, Keeper of the Winds and the Stars, child of the Highest Valars," Galadriel whispered in your mind, casting her eyes sideways at you. "Welcome to Arda and to Lothlorien."

Once the Followship spread their bedrolls and made camp, Alena and Haldir excused themselves, taking a worn, but lighted path.

"Haldir," Alena breathed, stopping once out of earshot of the group.

"Meleth nin," The Haldir spoke, turning to the she half elf. "Manen an gar- mín vedui govannen." (My love, how long have we last met?)

"Avo ‘osto," She presses her forehead against his. "Gerich veleth nín." (Don't worry, you have my love.)

The marchwarden gently reached for the chain around her neck, drawing out the engagement ring. "Le annon veleth nín, híril nín." (And I give my love to you, my lady.)

For the the first time since meeting at the borders, the two embraced, lending the other with much needed love and warmth. It was awhile before Haldir stepped back.

"Nostad lín sui orch," He wrinkled his nose. "Cin baur a fós." (Your smell is like an Orc, take a bath.)

The beginnings of a small, relaxed smile appeared on Alena's face. She was home. "Tul-na nin. (Come with me.)

"Happilui." (Happily.)

Lounging in the tub of pleasantly hot water with hints of lavender within, Alena relaxed, soaking in the luxuries of being at home. Perhaps she could convince Haldir for a shoulder massage.

As the water cooled, she reluctantly stepped out and into a warm, cloud like, white robe. Pulling the plug, she suddenly padded out into the room, and found the marchwarden sitting on the edge of the bed, shrugging on a fresh new set of clothes.

"Meleth nin," He spoke first, watching his fiancee dig around the closet for a set of tunics. "Padad-na nin?" (My love, take a walk with me?)

"Mas anirach baded?" Alena asked, fixing her clothes and twirling in front of the wall length mirror. "Manen ceri- im thír?" (Where do you want to go? How do I look?)

Haldir watched fixated on the elleth, transfixed by the beauty in front. And yet, she was his. How in middle Earth did that happen.

"Ve vana ve i elena ro," He cleared his throat a few times, unable to get the lump out. (As beautiful as the stars above.)

The breathtaking smile he received in response, stole his breath away once more. Alena turned to him. "Tolo, hîr nín." (Come, my lord.)

Leafs of stained gold wafted down from the towering trees, adorning the gravel path with specks of gold. Jewel like color flowers sprouted from both sides, gifting the world with their unique shapes and petals. As the voices of other elves faded behind, the sounds of the forest resurfaced as animals chattered to one another, and colorful birds of paradise flew overhead singing their songs for all to hear. 

Ahead, sounds of lapping water could be heard. A layer of mist descended from above, settling into wisps, curling eagerly around the pair. Beams of moonlight shown through the canopy, as stars danced and twinkled across the night sky.

"Meleth nin," Haldir spoke in the silence once they've stopped at the end of the bridge, overlooking the lake. "It has been too long, and I'm afraid it'll be much longer till we next meet again."

Alena gently placed a hand on one of the marchwarden's stiff shoulders, and looked over at the still water. A white crescent moon reflected on the lake, dotted with plenty wavering sizes of stars, and one lone grey cloud shrouded parts of the splendor.

"Then let's make the best of the time that we have here," She responded. "Gandalf has fallen to the shadows. We will rest here, grief over him, and leave when we are ready, but not a moment too soon."

Haldir hummed in agreement, relishing in the presence of the she half elf. He was fortunate, he realized, that despite all the harrowing events that happened, they were both still alive and well. 

He reached out to gently nuzzle her cheek with a finger. "Gweston, Alena, iel -o Fenris, ana i valaina. Uare i cor na- lala tare, yare i forces -o mordor lende, emme indóme vest." (I swear, Alena, daughter of Fenris, to the Valars. When the ring is gone, when the forces of Mordor are conquered, we will wed here.)

"Gandalf na- lelya-. Man ceri- mín gar-?" Alena answered. (Gandalf is gone. What do have left?)

"I elena, i ithil, i anor, mín mellons. Ir ennas na- galad, ennas na- estel," The marchwarden pointed up at the night sky. "Mín gar- ammen." (The stars, the moon, the sun. When there is light, there is hope. We have us.)

The half elf stood close to him, standing against his lean chest. "I missed you, Haldir." She murmured.

"As I have missed you, Alena," He whispered, leaning down to gently press his lips to hers. 

It was a quick kiss, but the gesture spoke volumes. A small group of various races coming together, to fight against the whole world. Even though the odds were stacked against them, the world must be fought for.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" He mumbled against her lips, peering hopefully at the elleth.

"I must stay with the Fellowship, meleth. Their hearts are heavy with grief still. Another night when times aren't so hard."

Haldir held her in his arms, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. "I understand."

The pair stayed in the embrace, observing the peaceful night for as long as they could. 

Back in the makeshift camp, you sat cross legged on your bed roll, staring down at frayed parts of the tunic. Songs from the elves of Lorien could be heard in the distance.

"A Olórin i yaresse

Mentaner i Numeherui

Tírien i Rómenóri"

(Olórin who once was

Sent by the Lords of the West

To guard the Lands of the East)

"Melme nóren sina

núra ala

Eäro"

(Our love for this land

Is deeper than the deeps

Of the sea)

"What are they singing about?" Pippin spoke from the other side.

"A lament for Gandalf," You answered quietly, looking away from the sounds.

"What do they say about him?" Merry picked up. 

This time you didn't answer. Instead, Legolas spoke as he watched you. "I have not the heart to tell you. For me the grief is still too near."

To your left, Aragorn continued sharpening his sword as Gimli snored beside him. Legolas stood up, surprising you as he offered a hand.

"Come with me, Y/N. I want to show you a place," He smiled. 

You looked around at the camp, hesitating when Aragorn swatted Gimli repeatedly for snoring loudly, and eventually moving away to Boromir. 

"Okay," You agreed, grabbing his hand to pull yourself up to your feet. "Be back soon, Aragorn."

A grunt from your right was all the affirmation you heard.

"Maiaron i Oiosaila,

Manan elye etevanne

Nórie i malanelye?"

(Wisest of all Maiar,

What drove you to leave

That which you loved?)

"Ilfirin nairelma

ullume nucuvalme.

Nauva i nauva."

(Yet we will cast all away

Rather that submit.

What should be shall be.)

"I bet they don't mention his fireworks. There should be a verse about them." Sam stood up. "The finest rocket ever seen. They burst in stars of blue and green. Or after thunder, silver showers came falling like a rain of flowers."

"Perhaps you can write one for him, Sam," You smiled wryly at the hobbit. "I bet Gandalf would have loved one coming from you."

The hobbit shook his head at your suggestion. ""Oh, that doesn't do him justice by a long road."

"Just a try."

"Ú-reniathach

i amar galen

I reniad lín ne môr, nuithannen."

(No more will you wander

The green fields of this earth

Your journey has ended in darkness.)

""Take some rest. These borders are well protected." Aragorn spoke as he sat beside the captain.

"I will find no rest here. I heard her voice inside my head. She spoke of my father and the fall of Gondor. She said to me, 'Even now, there is hope left.' But I cannot see it. It is long since we had any hope." Boromir retorted with a single shake of his head. "My father is a noble man, but his rule is failing. And now our- our people lose faith. He looks to me to make things right and I-I would do it. I would see the glory of Gondor restored."

There was silence between the two.

"Have you ever seen it Aragorn? The White Tower of Ecthelion, glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver. Its banners caught high in the morning breeze. Have you ever been called home by the clear ringing of silver trumpets?" The captain asked, turning to the Ranger.

"I have seen the White City, long ago," The Ranger unclasped his green cloak.

One day, our paths will lead us there. And the tower guard shall take up the call, "The Lords of Gondor have returned!"

Aragorn smiled slightly at his words, then looked away.

"Where are we going, Legolas?" You asked, after a moment of following the elf.

"A spot I found, not long ago," He spoke, pointing at the lump of dirt. "The hill right there. I can teach you how to make flower crowns."

"Flower crowns?" You repeated in disbelief, giggling at the end.

"Yes, mellon, flower crowns," Legolas grinned at you.

"That's hardly a hill, Legolas," You rolled your eyes at him, but grinned back at him. 

In front, a field of flowers waved gently back and forth with the wind. The breeze softly whispered through each strand of your hair, curling around your fingers, and affectionately caressed your cheek.

"It's a beautiful night," You spoke, sitting down when Legolas made a spot for you.

"As are you," The elf returned. 

Immediately, heat rushed to your cheeks and you turned away from him.

"Let me teach you, Y/N," He grasped a flower stem. "Watch carefully."

It was rhythmic, even soothing as you copied his technique intently. At times where the crown was loose in some places, he would reach over, brush his hands over yours, and teach you how to fold one stem over another to tighten the circle.

For a moment, you forgot all your worries, your pain, your suffering, and your grief of Gandal. Being with Legolas was like a balm to your injuries, gently coaxing you, and believing in you as you worked on the crown. At times, you glanced sideways at his knowing, nimble hands. 

It was an arrangement of oranges, reds, and yellows. To be frank, the flower crown was one of the beautiful pieces you had ever laid eyes upon. Although you were older than Legolas, you were glad he shared this piece of knowledge with you.

An art form.

"Long days ahead," He spoke, gazing in determination at the flower crown in his hands. "No Gandalf, no one to lead the Fellowship."

"My mother told me that even when the two trees at home were cut down, there were still hope," You continued tying the stems together. "That even during the darkest nights, hope can still be found. It's not easy to see it, but it's there."

The elf was silent, as he paused his work to turn to you. "Do you think so?"

"I know so, Legolas," You placed your finished crown. "There, the flower elf prince of Greenwood."

"What do you think, mellon?" Legolas stood up, grinning happily at you as he adjusted the crown.

"It suits you," You chuckled, watching as he reached down to pick more flowers. "Why don't we make one for everyone? No i brestanneth anírach tírad vi amar." (Be the change you want to see in the world.)

He stilled at your words, straightening back up, flowers forgotten. "Ú-chenion." (I don't understand.)

"Caro naid dithin na veleth veleg," You stood up, taking his hand in yours. "Mín ma ceri- hi go-." (Do small things with great love. We will do this together.)

He stepped dangerously towards you, crowding into your space. You breath hitched as he stared down at your lips, memorizing every inch of it. "Go-, híril nín?" (Together, my lady?)

"Y/N, Legolas," A voice spoke out from the treeline. 

You quickly shoved the prince away from you, desperate to create distance between you and him. Legolas turned red at the thought of being caught together, and you turned towards the newcomer.

Galadriel emerged from the path, keenly observing you and the prince. 

"Lady Galadriel," You greeted quietly, sitting back down on the patch of ground from earlier. The elf nodded once in respect, and sat down beside you again. This time your knees touched, and you tried your best to ignore it.

"Y/N," She greeted, a smile gracing her face. "What brings the child of Valar here?"

"The same reason why Gandalf was sent," You responded. "Why all of us still fight."

"Morgoth's forces number by the thousands. Sauron does not know you are here, but I fear he will soon. You can not fight him."

"Until Dagor dagorath comes, the fight against my uncle will never cease."

"Dagor dagorath?" Legolas wondered.

You leveled your gaze at him. "The end of all times, when my father and his herald will lead the army of Arda and Ainurs against him. Then finally bring peace like it once was."

There was silence.

"Man gonoded eraid derithach?" Galadriel stepped closer. (How long will you stay here?)

"Tenna sauron na- lala tare," You answered with the smallest of smiles. (Until Sauron is no more)

"Ir ma cin treneri- hain?" Legolas turned to you, watching as your smile dropped. (When will you tell them?)

You turned back towards the direction where the makeshift camp was. "Er aur." (One day.)

As the stars lights flickered above you, you sighed. Being here was one thing, but another to not intervene. All you could do was to give advice. 

"I'll stay with you, mele-," He stumbled over his words. "Melon nin."

Galadriel smiled as the prince cleared his throat, in a futile attempt to cover his mistake. You studied the ground, until a hand took yours and you looked back up to find Galadriel standing close to you.

"Gwend sui lotheg i edlothia an-uir," She whispered within your mind. "Mel na an-uir." (Friendship is like a flower that blooms forever. Love is forever.)

You glanced over at Legolas, who met your shy gaze, but quickly broke it apart. 

"Aranel -o i valar," She continued. "Enyal- sina." (Princess of the Valar, remember this.)

"Cin na mel." (You are loved.)

Reads Everything: @asraime @mournthewicked

Tolkien: @aspiring-ginger

[pikapeppa]

Fenris/f!Hawke and the Inquisition: Lyrium

Chapter 30 of Lovers In A Dangerous Time (i.e. Fenris the Inquisitor) is up on AO3! Featuring some academic musings, and conversations with Cassandra and Cullen.

Read here on AO3; ~6600 words.

**************************

Hawke made a face as she and Fenris made their way upstairs from the undercroft. “Well, that was… complicated. And, uh, weird.” She let out a weak little laugh. 

He grunted. He still wasn’t sure how he and Hawke had gotten sucked into such an intense discussion with Dagna about lyrium and the Fade. All he’d intended was to ask if she’d made any progress on figuring out how Samson was resistant to the maddening effects of red lyrium. But before he’d even had a chance to ask about Samson, Dagna was launching into an unnervingly enthusiastic explanation of her studies with the scrapings of Fade that she’d obtained from his armour after their return from Adamant Fortress. And as always seemed to be the case with anything involving the Fade, Dagna’s explanation was convoluted, confusing, and littered with more questions than answers.

Hawke’s voice broke through Fenris’s roiling thoughts as they made their way through the Great Hall. “You know, I feel rather foolish that I never thought about how dwarves and Tranquil might be linked. But as soon as Dagna said it, it just… there are odd parallels, don’t you think?” She looked at Fenris with wide eyes. “Neither of them can access the Fade. They’re both the only ones who can handle lyrium safely without suffering the ill-effects.”

“But dwarves are not entirely immune to lyrium. They are resistant, at most,” he pointed out. “If they were immune, Bartrand would not have been driven mad–”

“–by the red lyrium idol,” Hawke finished. “That’s true. I wonder…” She wrinkled her nose in thought. “Do you suppose Tranquil are affected by red lyrium? Not that we should find out,” she said hastily as Fenris frowned. “But I mean… if the Tranquil weren’t affected by it… what would that mean?”

Her expression was quizzical, but Fenris could only shrug. He was the last person who could provide any answers about this. Truth be told, Dagna’s talk had unnerved him more than he wanted Hawke to know.   

She was still talking about the Tranquil. “They can’t be totally unaffected by lyrium, though,” she was saying. “Anders said the Templars use a lyrium brand to make that horrible mark on a Tranquil’s forehead. So the lyrium is used to cut someone’s connection to the Fade. But… but mages use lyrium to enhance our abilities to pull from the Fade.” She lowered her voice as they made their way through the rotunda and out toward the battlements that led to Cullen’s office. “But then there are the Templars, who use lyrium to power their abilities to cancel magic.” She frowned and ruffled her hair as they walked along the battlements. “How the fuck does that make sense?”

“I don’t know,” Fenris said quietly.

Hawke frowned and continued to tug thoughtfully at a lock of her hair. “I’m just… it’s… it’s so perplexing,” she said. “We use lyrium to enhance our magic, but Templars use it to cut off our magic. Templars also use lyrium to power their abilities to cancel magic.  But that ability that Carver used to stall the activity of the rift at Adamant seemed weirdly like...” 

She trailed off, and Fenris swallowed hard. His stomach was suddenly roiling. He could see only too clearly the implication that Hawke was heading toward, and he didn’t want to hear it.

She slowed down and took Fenris’s hand. “Hang on. Fenris,” she said slowly. “What if – do you suppose – do you think Templar powers might actually be a type of ma–”

“Hawke, I don’t know,” he snapped. 

Her eyebrows rose, and she released his hand. “Sorry. I’ll just talk about with Solas and Dorian, then.”

He sighed. “No. No, I…”  He gently squeezed her arm. “That is not what I want. I want to understand this. It is just… difficult to think about.” He stared resentfully at the stark white lines that stained hands. “Lyrium features greatly in my suffering and my salvation. To realize now how little I understand of it…” He shook his head. “The irony is jarring. It… all of it is jarring.”

Hawke stepped closer to him. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I was thoughtless. I didn’t think about your tattoos and your… uh, the powers they… the powers,” she finished lamely. 

He offered her a feeble half-smile. For a moment they simply stood on the battlements with the cold mountain wind licking their faces, and Fenris continued to think about his own tattoos with growing discomfiture. 

Ever since that terrible conversation with Solas so many weeks ago, Fenris had refused to think too hard about his erstwhile magical powers that were now trapped within the lyrium scars on his skin. But he couldn’t ignore the connection any longer in the face of what Dagna had said. Magic came from the Fade, and lyrium was tied to the Fade, and the lyrium in his skin had both stripped him of his magic while preserving it for his use… 

Hawke was right. It was perplexing. Fenris ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Hawke, I think… I would like to speak to your mages in the tower.”

She stared at him, then a slow smile lifted her cheeks. “Really?”

“Not about this,” he said quickly, with a dismissive gesture at his own body. “But about lyrium in general and its… uses. It seems careless that so many factions are reliant on it when we understand so little of its origins.” He frowned and gently pulled Hawke’s hand, and they continued on their route to Cullen’s office. “There are tomes about the use of lyrium as a supplement. Treatises about its ill effects on the Templar mind. But I have yet to see any documentation explaining what lyrium actually is.” 

“You should definitely ask in our tower then,” Hawke said eagerly. She happily swung his hand as they strolled along the battlements. “But why do you want to come to the tower specifically? Why not ask Solas or Dorian?”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “You realize that we don’t have any mage friends who belonged to a Circle? Who actually enjoyed being part of the Circle, I should say.”

Hawke scoffed and squeezed his hand. “Speak for yourself. I’m friends with everyone.”

“I am serious,” Fenris said. “All of your friends are apostates. Or Dorian.”

 Hawke shot him a chiding look. “They’re your friends too. Including Dorian.”

“You know what I mean,” Fenris insisted. “I would like to get a Circle mage’s perspective on this. They are more familiar with the Tranquil and with Templars, after all. They might be able to tell me more about… all of this.”

Hawke quirked her lips sadly. “They’re not as familiar with the Tranquil as you’d think. Most Circle mages are scared of the Tranquil, remember? They’re like a cautionary tale for a lot of us.” 

Fenris hummed a soft acknowledgement. She had a point about that. Fenris knew that Hawke herself both pitied the Tranquil and was unnerved by them, much as she tried to hide it. She was very friendly and jocular with the Tranquil who worked at Skyhold – moreso than her usual self – and in Fenris’s eyes, this only highlighted the extent to which she was uncomfortable around them. 

Hawke thoughtfully tapped her lips. “You could talk to Minaeve about them.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “Minaeve? The creature specialist from Haven?”

“That’s the one,” Hawke said. “She likes the Tranquil. Looked after a bunch of them after her Circle fell. You could ask her sometime.”

Fenris nodded slowly, then looked at Hawke. “Will you come with me to speak with her?”

She smiled at him. “Of course I will. I’ll make you snacks for your visit too, just like I promised.”

He huffed in amusement and knocked on Cullen’s door. “The Rivaini nuts, remember. That is the only snack I will accept.” 

Hawke chuckled and playfully bumped his arm. They waited for a few seconds, but when Cullen didn’t reply, Fenris knocked a second time. 

To Fenris’s surprise, a scout opened the door. “Your Worship,” he said with a bow.

“It is just Fenris,” he said absently. He frowned slightly at the scout. “Is Cullen not here?”

“No, Your Wor– Fenris,” the scout said. “He’s speaking with the Lady Seeker, I believe.” 

Fenris nodded his thanks, and the scout retreated into Cullen’s office. Hawke looked up at Fenris. “Listen, I’m going to head to the tower and see if Minaeve can chat with us later today.”

“All right,” Fenris said. “I will speak with Cullen about Samson. I will find you later.”

She nodded, then planted a quick kiss on his lips before strolling away toward the mage’s tower. Fenris, on the other hand, trudged back the way they’d come and headed for Cassandra’s preferred training grounds instead. 

Neither Cassandra nor Cullen were outside, so Fenris made his way to the annex and pushed open the door. Cassandra and Cullen were standing by the hearth, and to Fenris’s surprise, they both looked angry. 

From what Fenris could tell, Cassandra seemed to be in the middle of berating Cullen about something. She folded her arms and lifted her chin. “You asked for my opinion, and I’ve given it,” she said. “Why would you expect it to change?”

“I expect you to keep your word,” Cullen snapped. He was pacing restlessly in front of the fire. “It’s relentless! I can’t–”

“You give yourself too little credit,” Cassandra interrupted.

Cullen glared at her. “If I am unable to fulfil what vows I kept, then nothing good has come of this! Would you rather save face than admit–” He glanced toward the door, and his face fell in dismay. “Fenris! How long were you – er…”

“My apologies,” Fenris said cautiously. “Do you require privacy…?” He darted a glance from Cullen’s stricken face to Cassandra’s stubborn one. 

Cullen swallowed hard, then gave Fenris a half-bow. “Forgive me,” he said. He strode past Fenris and out the door.

Cassandra made a disgusted noise. “And people say I’m stubborn. This is ridiculous.”

Fenris turned to her with raised eyebrows. “It appears I’ve come at a bad time.”

“No, in fact. I am glad you witnessed this,” she said. “I understand that he told you he’s no longer taking lyrium.”

“That’s right,” Fenris said. “An admirable path, but a difficult one, it seems.” In light of Fenris’s conversation with Dagna, Cullen’s decision to forgo lyrium was probably wiser than even Cullen realized. 

“Precisely,” Cassandra said. “But he is having difficulty with his decision today.” She sighed. “For a few days at least, if I am being frank.” 

Fenris frowned. “The withdrawal symptoms are getting worse? I thought he was handling them well.”

She pursed her lips. “He was. But recent events…” She trailed off and shook her head. “He has asked that I recommend a replacement for him. I refused. It’s not necessary,” she said firmly. “Besides, it would destroy him. He’s come so far.”

Fenris stared at her. “A replacement? That seems extreme. I have not seen him make any decisions that would entail his resignation.”

“I quite agree,” Cassandra said. “His only lapse in judgment has been in asking me to replace him at all.” She gazed pensively at the fire. “Mages have always made their suffering known, but Templars never have. They are bound to the Order mind and soul, with someone always holding their lyrium leash. Cullen has a chance to break that leash, to prove to himself and anyone who would follow suit that it’s possible.” She looked at Fenris. “He can do this. I knew that when we met in Kirkwall.”

“I agree with you,” Fenris said. “He has made it this far. There is no reason he cannot continue.”

“Perhaps you could convince him of that,” Cassandra said. 

“Me?” Fenris raised his eyebrows. “Why me? He told me he trusted your judgment on the matter.”

She huffed. “He was not interested in my judgment today. You, however…” Cassandra folded her arms and gave Fenris an appraising – and a decidedly approving – look. “He admires you. Looks up to you. He will listen to you if you speak to him.”  

Fenris tugged uncomfortably at his ear. “There is nothing to admire,” he muttered. “But if you think it will help…” 

Cassandra frowned. “Do not discount the value of your leadership, Fenris,” she said sternly. “Your decisions have brought us victories over Corypheus. The Maker has smiled on your actions time and time again. Your humility is admirable, but you must know that it is your actions and your determination that have brought us this far.”

He twisted his lips, then made his way toward the door. “I will speak with Cullen. Thank you.”

“Oh – Fenris, a moment, if you can spare it,” she said hurriedly. 

Fenris turned back to face her. To his surprise, she looked nervous.

He tilted his head. “Is something wrong?”

“I hope not, but I suspect that I am unfortunately wrong,” she said. “With your permission, I was hoping to make a small journey to–”

“Val Royeaux?” he said. 

She raised her eyebrows. “Val–? No. No, I was going to say to Caer Oswin. Leliana discovered that that is where Lord Seeker Lucius and the missing Seekers have gone. It was my hope to investigate. To find out what they have been doing there while this war has been waging on.” She frowned slightly. “Why did you think I wanted to go to Val Royeaux?”

He shrugged. “I thought you were hoping to attend the Chantry cleric meeting regarding the election of the new Divine.’

Cassandra’s confused expression melted into resignation. “Ah. You, too?”

He raised an eyebrow as he sidled back into the room. “I take it I am not the first person to ask you about this. My apologies if it is a sore topic.”

She smiled faintly and shook her head. “It is… not a sore topic, exactly. It is an important one, in fact. I do not resent Mother Giselle for her urgency. But the clerics simply speak my name for now, nothing more. For now, restoring order and stopping Corypheus remain our priority.”

He leaned against a nearby table and folded his arms. “Are you certain? I admit, I am somewhat surprised you aren’t more invested in the election of the next Divine.” 

She raised her eyebrows. “Am I not the same woman who declared the Inquisition against the Chantry’s wishes?”

Fenris bowed his head. “Fair enough.” Her commitment to the Inquisition was the reason he’d sent that random Chantry mother away a few days ago, after all. 

Cassandra’s expression softened, and she leaned against the table beside him. “In all my years as a Seeker, I did what I was told. My faith demanded it,” she said. “But now, my faith demands something else: that I see through better eyes.”

Fenris gazed at her curiously. “If you were to become the Divine… you have a vision for the Chantry, I presume?”

She was quiet for a moment. When she looked at him once more, her expression was slightly sad. “You know Varric is Andrastian, yes?”

Fenris nodded. “Yes. But I regret to admit I only just learned this recently.” He grimaced ruefully.  “I should have known it long ago. We have been friends for years.”

Cassandra wilted. “Unfortunately, that only highlights my point. Varric…” She shook her head. “He blasphemes with every second breath, but deep down, he believes. His heart is virtuous. But he would never step foot in a Chantry.” She lifted her sad gaze to Fenris’s face as well. “I have been thinking of what you said before. That there is little room in the Chantry’s eyes for elves, or anyone except for humans. That is not right. It is not what Andraste would have wanted. The Chantry should be the first place that the virtuous turn, no matter their race.” She pushed away from the table to stand in front of the fire again. “It needs to change. Perhaps I must be the one to change it.”

Fenris eyed her seriously. “Cassandra, if there is anyone who could change the Chantry for the better, it would be you.”

She smiled at him, but he wasn’t quite finished. “Do you want to be the next Divine?” he asked.

Her smile faded into a slight frown. “Why should what I want matter?” 

He raised his eyebrows slightly in surprise, twisted his lips in acknowledgement. This was Cassandra, after all. She and Fenris had similar views in many ways, but Fenris could openly admit that she was much more oriented to the greater good than he.

Sure enough, her words reflected his thoughts. “The Chantry needs to survive. To do that, it must change. I have never believed in asking another to do what you were unwilling to do yourself, so I look upon this as an opportunity,” she explained. “When Corypheus is defeated and my role with the Inquisition is done, I owe it to myself and all of Thedas to seek the Sunburst Throne.” She tilted her head. “You can understand this, I think. You did not want to be the Inquisitor, but you did not shirk this mantle.” 

The question was implicit in her words. Fenris gave a wry shrug. “You ascribe purer motivations to my actions than they deserve,” he said. “I saw no other choice but to become the Inquisitor. Hawke was safe from Chantry prosecution under the Inquisition. I was kept safe under the Inquisition. Solas promised to study the mark and remove it if he could find a way.” He gestured feebly with his marred left hand. “We stayed with the Inquisition for the protection it provided, just like any other villager in Haven.” 

“That is why you stayed, yes,” Cassandra said. “But it is not why you became the Inquisitor. Those reasons alone are not enough to explain the assistance you have provided to those in need. The hope you have inspired among our people.” She lifted her chin confidently. “You may have remained with the Inquisition to protect yourself and Hawke. But you became our Inquisitor to protect everyone.” 

Fenris looked away from her toward the fire. Cassandra always seemed to see more goodness in his actions than they truly warranted. If he could transfer the mark to someone else and leave this job behind with Hawke and Toby at his side, he would do so in a heartbeat. 

But if Cassandra wanted to draw strength from his haphazard actions, he didn’t want to discourage her. 

He sighed quietly, then nodded to her. “Thank you, Cassandra. Your faith is... You honour me.”

She smiled and nodded in return. “It is my honour, Inquisitor.”

He scoffed quietly at her use of his title, and her smile broadened briefly before growing serious once more. “As I was saying: I was hoping to investigate the situation at Caer Oswin, if I may. I do not believe it will require more than a week; ten days at most.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “You don’t want our assistance? Hawke and I can accompany you if you wish.”

“No, it is not necessary,” she said quickly. “You have more pressing issues to address. But if I may borrow some of our companions, I would be grateful.” 

“Of course,” Fenris said easily. “I wish you luck in your investigations, then.”

Cassandra smiled. “Thank you. Maker watch your steps, as well.”

Fenris headed straight for Cullen’s office. While he crossed the courtyard, he thought about Cassandra and the Chantry and the distant, nebulous, shining possibility of what might come after Corypheus was defeated and the war was won. 

Generally speaking, he supported the idea of the Chantry regaining order again, especially under Cassandra’s guidance. The Circles may have dissolved, but like Cassandra, Fenris still believed in the principles of the Circle of Magi: places where mages could learn to control their magic under the supervision of the Templars. But Fenris also had to admit to being impressed at how well the Inquisition’s free mages had been governing themselves under the threefold guidance of Fiona, Solas and Hawke.

That speaks more highly of Hawke and the others’ guidance than it does of the mages they govern, however, Fenris thought. But that itself raised an entire new set of issues. Should a group’s value be entirely represented by its leader? If the Inquisition was represented by Fenris himself – someone who did not truly want to lead the group at all – did that speak ill or well of the Inquisition as a whole?

He shook off the philosophical thoughts he turned onto the parapet that led to Cullen’s office. What’s done was done; Fenris was the Inquisitor, and it wouldn’t serve any purpose to worry about his role when there were practical matters to be dealt with, such as how to weaken Corypheus’s second-in-command. 

He drew close to Cullen’s office and heard voices within. With some surprise, he recognized one of the voices as Hawke’s. 

“It’s okay, Cullen. Stop apologizing,” she said. “I’m actually thankful your aim wasn’t better.”

“You shouldn’t joke about this,” Cullen said in a harsh tone. “I could have injured you, I–”

He broke off with a grunt of pain, and Fenris heard a sudden crunch of broken glass. With mounting alarm, he shoved open the door to Cullen’s office. 

Cullen was leaning against the desk, and his face was twisted in obvious pain. Hawke was hovering beside him looking worried. Scattered across the floor was the detritus of a broken box and a shattered lyrium philter.

“What happened here?” Fenris demanded. He carefully stepped around the glass to approach Cullen’s desk and darted a look at Hawke. “Should we fetch a healer?”

“No,” Cullen snapped. He ran a trembling hand through his hair. “No. What I need is for Cassandra to replace me.”

His voice and his face were tight with strain. Hawke wrinkled her nose in confusion. “Replace you? Why? As though anyone could fill your ridiculously handsome shoes.”

Kaffas, Fenris thought. Hawke didn’t know Cullen had stopped taking lyrium. Fenris hadn’t told her; it wasn’t his decision to share, after all.

Cullen roughly shook his head. “Please, Hawke, this is no laughing matter–” He broke off with another grunt and leaned more heavily on the desk.

Hawke briskly chivvied him toward his chair. “Sit down, will you? Maker’s balls, you’re making me nervous.” 

He feebly brushed her off and lifted his gaze to Fenris’s face. “Forgive me,” he rasped. “I never meant for this to interfere.”

Hawke’s expression was growing increasingly confused, but Fenris couldn’t explain; it wasn’t his place. “It is not interfering. You have never fallen lax in your duties,” he told Cullen.

“I am falling lax as we speak!” Cullen barked. “You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t – there are more important matters that you need – I didn’t want you to see me shaming myself like this.”

Hawke planted her hands on her hips. “What the fuck are you talking about? If you’re not feeling well, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Even commanders get the flu sometimes.”

 Fenris flicked his glance back to Cullen. The commander was staring pleadingly at him, and after a tense moment, Cullen nodded once, then lowered his head. 

Fenris turned to Hawke. “He stopped taking lyrium some time ago. That is what he’s going through.”

Her face went blank for a moment, then twisted with sympathy. “Cullen, you’re just going through withdrawal. It’s normal. It’s not your fault,” she said gently.  “Besides, if you can’t be sick in front of your friends, where can you be sick?”

Cullen grunted in denial and shook his head, and Fenris shrugged internally; clearly the sympathetic route wasn’t working, so he would try something else.

He folded his arms. “What brought this on? You were doing well without the lyrium, or so I thought,” he said. “I had thought you would ask Cassandra for assistance if things grew difficult, not that you would give up your post.”

That got Cullen’s attention. He looked up in alarm. “I am not trying to – you don’t understand. That is not my intent.” He bowed his head once more, and Fenris and Hawke waited tensely while Cullen breathed hard.

He inhaled deeply, then lifted his face and looked Hawke in the eye. “I never told you what happened to Ferelden’s Circle,” he said harshly. “It was taken over by abominations. The Templars, my friends, were slaughtered. I was tortured. They tried to break my mind and I…” He pressed his lips together and swallowed hard. “How can you be the same person after that? Still, I wanted to serve, so they… they sent me to Kirkwall.”

Hawke wilted and covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh. Oh, fuck. Cullen…”

“I trusted the Knight-Commander,” he said. “I trusted Meredith to keep us and the city safe. And for what?” He glared at Hawke. “You were there. Both of you,” he said with a glance at Fenris. “You saw what happened. Meredith’s fear of mages ended in madness. Innocent people died in the streets.” He gazed pleadingly at her. “Can’t you see why I want nothing to do with that life?”

“Of course,” Hawke said immediately. She stepped closer and squeezed his arm. “I think it’s really big of you to have left the Templars. So why–?”

“I thought this would be better,” he interrupted. “I thought that if I stopped the lyrium, I would regain some control of my life. But these… thoughts won’t leave me!” He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck and began pacing nervously behind the desk. “How many lives depend on our success? I swore myself to this course! I will not give less to the Inquisition than I did to the Chantry!”

His voice was steadily rising in volume and tension. Hawke darted an anxious look at Fenris, but Fenris was feeling rather apprehensive as well. It wasn’t unusual for Cullen to be tense or to raise his voice, but Fenris had never seen him this openly upset before. 

“Cullen, the past is gone,” Fenris said firmly. “You are moving past it, as we all are.” He waved to himself and Hawke. “You are committed to the Inquisition. No one is questioning that. What more do you think–”

Cullen looked at Hawke. “Your brother gave everything to the Inquisition,” he said. “He continued to take lyrium, and he served the Inquisition with his life.”

Hawke froze. 

Fenris frowned. “Cullen,” he said warningly, but Cullen took a step closer to Hawke. 

“Don’t you see?” he said. His face was tense with distress. “Carver’s sacrifice – what he did in the Fade to hold that Nightmare creature back: that was thanks to the lyrium. Carver took lyrium, and he fulfilled his duty. He gave everything for the Inquisition.” His heaved in a desperate breath. “I should not give anything less than what Carver gave. I should be taking it!” He suddenly slammed a fist on his desk, making Hawke jump in alarm. “I should be taking it.”

A tear ran down Hawke’s cheek. Fenris shifted over to her side and opened his mouth to speak, but he didn’t get the chance.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” she said to Cullen.

The commander looked up in alarm at the hardness in her voice, and Fenris looked at her worriedly; tears were welling in her eyes, but her face was hard with anger. 

“Don’t you dare use Carver’s death as an excuse to go back to taking lyrium. You’re better than that,” she said.  

Cullen recoiled. “I am not – it is not an excuse!”

“You sure about that?” she retorted. “Because that’s what it sounds like to me. It was Carver’s choice to keep taking lyrium, and it was his choice to stay in the fucking Fade. He took lyrium because he wanted to be a Templar. He sacrificed himself for the Inquisition because that’s what he wanted. It’s what he wanted, Cullen.”

Cullen shook his head and started to turn away, but Hawke stepped forward and grabbed his arm. “Do you want to take lyrium? Is that what you want?”

“No,” Cullen said loudly. “But…” He swallowed hard and waved roughly at his head. “These memories have always haunted me. If they become worse, if – if I cannot endure this…”

Hawke scoffed. “Don’t be fucking stupid. You endured torture at the hands of abominations when you were barely more than a child. You endured bloody Meredith for almost a decade. You can endure this.”

 He exhaled shakily. For a long, tense moment, they all stood in silence while Cullen collected himself. 

Finally he drew a deep, steady breath. “All right. All right, I… I will proceed without the lyrium.” 

Hawke released his arm and patted his shoulder encouragingly. “Good boy,” she said. “Now, maybe we should sweep up all this lovely sparkly glass–”

“Hawke,” Cullen said suddenly. He swallowed hard as she turned to face him once more. “I have been meaning to say… I am terribly sorry for Carver’s loss. For your every loss. I did not tell you so when we were in Kirkwall, I – the differences between us… But your mother and Bethany–”

“Shut the fuck up,” she interrupted. 

He stopped talking and raised his eyebrows, and Fenris watched her warily; she was glaring fiercely at Cullen. A moment later, she strode toward Cullen and hugged him hard around the neck. 

Cullen’s jaw was clenched as he returned her hug, and Fenris’s shoulders relaxed as he watched their embrace. A long, quiet moment later, Hawke pulled away with a shaky laugh.

“If I knew this was going to turn into a sobfest, I’ve had brought some brandy,” she said. She playfully chucked Cullen’s stubbled cheek. “Warn me next time before you get all soppy on me, all right?”

He gave a small laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. “I will try.” 

She smiled and affably punched his arm, then finally turned to Fenris. Her eyes were red and puffy, and Fenris tenderly stroked her cheek with his knuckles. “Are you all right?” he murmured.

She laughed. “Aside from being an inch away from dehydration from all the fucking crying? I’m wonderful.” She quickly kissed his cheek, then sauntered toward the door. “I’ll see you later,” she said, and she sauntered away.

The Commander, meanwhile, was crouching on the floor and picking up the bigger pieces of wood and glass, and he looked up as Fenris turned to face him. “I apologize, Fenris. It was not my intention to upset her,” he said. 

Fenris shook his head and crouched down to help. “On the contrary. Thank you for your condolences. That was kind of you.”

Cullen shook his head. “It was the least I could do. She… she jokes, but she means well.”

“Yes, she does,” Fenris said quietly. He and Cullen tidied the worst of the mess, and Fenris watched pensively as Cullen carried the broken bits of glass and wood over to the trash bin beside his desk.

“What are the worst symptoms?” Fenris asked. 

Cullen shot him an apprehensive look, but Fenris waited quietly until the commander’s shoulders slumped slightly. “It’s, um, nightmares. They… the lyrium quieted them. Without it, they… they are persistent.”

“You have tried meditation?” Fenris said.

“Yes,” Cullen said. “Unfortunately, it is not effective every night.”

Fenris nodded slowly. His first thought was to suggest Cole’s help, but he stayed his tongue. Cullen had never grown comfortable around Cole, so he was unlikely to accept Cole’s particular brand of assistance even at the best of times. Given the spirit boy’s recent anxiety, now could not be described as the best of times.

Before Fenris could find another suggestion, however, Cullen dismissively waved a hand. “Please, Fenris, don’t concern yourself. You have matters to attend. You must have had a proper reason for coming to see me.”

Fenris ignored his diversion. “You should ask for help,” he said.

Cullen pursed his lips obstinately but didn’t speak, so Fenris went on. “After my… when these tattoos were given to me, I had no choice but to endure the pain alone. You do not need to endure it alone. It is a needless sacrifice.”

Cullen sighed and hung his head. Fenris folded his arms and shrugged. “Hawke and I are often awake late into the night. If a midnight game of chess would help to calm your mind, you can call on us. Or on Dorian, perhaps,” he added innocently. “He mentioned wanting a rematch with you as of late.”

Cullen looked up, then smirked. “Now you are purposely taunting me.”

“Perhaps,” Fenris said with a smirk of his own. “Is it working?”

Cullen chuckled. “More than I care to admit.” His smirk softened into a smile. “Thank you, Fenris. I appreciate it, truly.” He straightened up and rested his fingers on his desk. “In the meantime, was there something you needed?”

An hour or so later, Fenris left Cullen’s office. He wanted to speak to Hawke and make sure she was all right, but he wasn’t sure where she would have gone after leaving him and Cullen to talk. 

He headed in the direction of the mage tower, but he spotted her before he could reach the tower: she was leaning against the battlements accompanied by Toby and Cole. Toby was sitting obediently at her side, and Cole was sitting precariously on the edge battlements as was his custom. 

Cole seemed relaxed for once; his hands were resting peacefully in his lap, and his expression was pleasantly vacant. He was talking to Hawke as Fenris approached. 

“It whispers, waiting, keeping him company. Where it starts and he ends, she doesn’t know, but she loves him all the same.” He blinked benignly before looking out into garden below. “She never thought she would be good at this. He grew on her, in her, grows over her: taller and wiser and more ineffable every day. But he’ll always be her little man.”

“Uh-huh,” Hawke said slowly. She gave Fenris a surreptitious wink as he approached. “That’s… very illuminating, Cole. Thank you.”

Cole tilted his head. “Why? I didn’t do anything. Not yet. But I will,” he assured her. 

She smiled and bumped Cole’s arm with her shoulder. “Thanks, Cole. I’m looking forward to a good night’s sleep, honestly.”

Cole nodded again. “I will help,” he said simply. Then he disappeared. 

Toby cocked his head quizzically. Hawke scratched behind his ears. “Come on, boy, you should be used to it by now.”

Fenris settled his elbows on the battlements beside her. “You asked Cole to take your dreams?” he asked quietly. 

She nodded and leaned into his arm. “At least so I can sleep normally, you know? I just want to feel something normal. I’m so sick of all the boo-hoo-poor-Rynne and being so sad all the time.”

“I know,” he said softly. He idly ran his fingers along her spine, and for a while they simply watched the residents of Skyhold milling around the garden. 

While they watched the puttering in the garden, Fenris thought about Hawke and her grief. She was seeming more her normal self, but then there would be conversations like the one she’d had with Cullen, and it was hard seeing her in so much pain. 

He nibbled the inside of his cheek, then finally asked her a question he’d been wondering since they’d left Adamant Fortress. “Hawke, when… when your mother died. How did you… Did you feel this way then as well?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said, as though it was obvious. “That was worse, even. Her death was such a…” She swallowed hard, then gave him a crooked smile. “It was just… we were so fucking close to stopping it, you know? But I didn’t get to her in time, and – well, you remember.” She ran a hand through her hair, then casually waved her hand. “Thank fuck for that whole Arishok business blowing up when it did, right? It was almost a relief to have such a marvelously epic distraction, to be honest.”

Fenris squeezed her arm. The guilt was like a weight in his belly, and all of a sudden, he couldn’t stop it from rushing out of his mouth. 

“Hawke,” he blurted. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there after Leandra’s passing. After that first night, that is. I… it was selfish of me to keep a distance when you needed me–”

She groaned, then clasped Fenris’s face in her hands. “Your turn now to shut the fuck up. I’m so sick of apologies. I just want to start feeling normal again.” She kissed him firmly on the lips, then released his face and elbowed him. “What did Cullen say about Samson? More importantly, when are we going off on the next adventure?”

Fenris tenderly studied her smiling face, but with less worry than before. Hawke might be sick of crying, but at least she was finally talking about Carver’s death with Fenris, and with others as well. There had been no more terrifying mentions of sacrificing herself for Fenris’s sake, and her good humour seemed more genuine than compensatory. 

Slowly but surely, Hawke was healing from this loss, and Fenris was unequivocally relieved. 

To that end, though, he understood her desire for a new distraction: something to keep her mind busy to avoid sinking into the morass of sadness that the thoughts of her family inevitably caused.

“We can leave as early as tomorrow,” he said. “We’ll be going to Emprise du Lion. Leliana’s scouts have found major Red Templar activity there. Cullen believes investigating will help us undermine Samson’s plans.”

“Perfect,” Hawke said with relish. “And what’s the weather like in Emprise du Lion?”

“Frigid,” he said bluntly. “The river supplying the settlement there flash-froze with no explanation.”

She stared at him, then burst out laughing. “Well, never let it be said that you never take me anywhere nice.”

Fenris smirked and draped his arm around her shoulders. “Unfortunate that the Red Templars don’t seem to settle anywhere with a decent beach.”

“It really is,” Hawke said cheerfully. “Ah well, I’m sure we’ll find ourselves some enemies soon that enjoy good weather. A little fighting to the death, a little topless sunbathing…” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Maybe a little topless fighting to the death to shake things up…”

He huffed in amusement. “You’re an idiot,” he informed her.

She giggled and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Only for you, Fenris. Only for you.”

He gave her a chiding half-smile, then kissed her lightly on the lips. Tomorrow, they would set out on their next journey. Hawke would return to feeling more like herself, and they would resume their normal activities.

As normal as anything ever was with the Inquisition, that is.

[pitterpatterpot]

Lion’s Pride: Chapter Eighteen

“Aedion…” Evangeline bites her lip, leaning forward to peek at the office door, “how do we get Aelin to play?”

Smirking, the Wolf of the North glances back at his partner in crime. “Simple, dear lady. What’s one thing Aelin never says no to?”

“There’s a lot, Aedion.”

“True. But I was thinking along the lines of a challenge.” 

Evangeline slowly smirks, her flower crown slipping down slightly. “How do we get her interested?”

“Roman’s playing. I’m going to assume that’s enough of an incentive,” Aedion whispers back. “So is everyone else. She’s the last we need to convert.”

“We need to hurry,” Evangeline glances towards the window. “Gavriel and Lysandra are holding down the fort but Fenrys is quick at making snowballs and Elide is ruthless.”

“She is, that dark little angel,” Aedion narrows his eyes. “Alright. We just need to walk in there, and convince her to join us.”

Nodding, Evangeline stands with him and they walk around the corner to knock on Aelin’s door. Once receiving an answer they swing open the door and step inside.

Both are met with a face full of snow.

Evangeline shrieks, Aedion copying the sound before grasping his bearings and swearing colourfully.

Aelin raises her brow, a single ball of snow still in her hand as she sits behind her desk. “As if I don’t know when my whole damn court is having a snowball fight.”

The queen does, however, have enough sense to flee the room as the two chase after her. Aelin bursts through the doors, sprinting across the snow the best she can to join Rowan and Fenrys behind a walk of snow. Vaughan, Elide and Lorcan sit behind another. Evangeline and Aedion join Lysandra and Gavriel behind their own snow fort, the two of them shooting the clumps of ice towards Aelin as she runs.

“You have more people!” Fenrys snaps over the wall once Aelin dives behind him.

“Evangeline is tiny! She only counts as half a person!” Aedion shouts back, then splutters around another mouthful of snow. “Evangeline!”

“I’m perfectly averaged sized!” The young girl smirks, already accepting another clump of snow from Gavriel, who outrightly laughs at his son’s misfortune.

Yet stops as Aedion tackles him to the ground, shoving snow down the back of his shirt. In a tumble they sprawl out from behind the make-shift fort, wrestling to see who may end up on top. Gavriel pushes Aedion down, only for his son to be surprisingly quick in knocking Gavriel off his balance with a tug to a foot or hand. The blur of gold against the white snow comes to a stop once control is gained. 

“Aedion!” Gavriel both at once barks and laughs, wrestling his son down in the snow. “Give up!”

“Never!”

“Mutiny!” Evangeline declares, pointing at the two. “We’re outnumbered now!

“We didn’t need them!” Lysandra grins, handing her another snowball just as Aedion manages to squirm from under Gavriel’s grasp. 

“Off!” Gavriel chokes through his laughter, pushing Aedion to the side.

Cackling, Aedion allows him to do so, rolling across the snow. “I needed revenge.”

“Evangeline hit you!” Gavriel kneels and looks down at the still sprawled-out Aedion in bemusement. “Why me?”

“But you laughed!” Aedion grins up at him, hands by his head and expression entirely open with joy. “Don’t pretend you didn’t hand her that snowball.”

Instead of replying, the Lion picks up a handful of snow and drops on Aedion’s face. Spluttering, Aedion sits up, watching as his father dives behind the wall of ice with Lysandra and Elide. 

Leaving Aedion exposed on the other side.

Each team stares at him, everyone slowly raising an arm to prepare their onslaught. 

“Well,” Aelin drawls, Fenrys handing her another ball. “Now that your little father-son moment is over, I suppose we can get back to it.”

Eyes widening, Aedion glances at everyone ringed around him. “Wait-“

No one can hear his next words as he’s buried under all the snow. 

~~~

“T-Told you it w-would be fun,” Aedion can’t keep his teeth from chattering as the troops into the warm sitting room with Lysandra.

“I have literally never seen you cold,” the shifter blinks at him, watching Aedion pick the armchair closes to both the fire and Gavriel. “And you’ve changed clothes. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Ashryver eyes cut towards Rowan, who sits on another couch with Aelin. “F-Fine. I just c-could have sworn some ice was c-colder than the rest.”

The king simply smiles and looks away. Rolling his own eyes, Aedion makes no comment on how the chill surrounding him is suspiciously leaving faster than it should be. Kings and cold magic is inevitably a bad mix within a snow war. Aelin herself glances over at Aedion and Gavriel as they murmur to each other, Gavriel making himself a cup of tea and indicating to Aedion whether he wants his own. The smile that adorns Aedion’s face while he shakes his head is a true one.

“That was fun,” Elide beams, next to Lorcan on the second couch.

Lysandra delicately sits by Evangeline next to the fire, the younger girl leaning back against Fenrys’s large wolf form. Vaughan and Gavriel take up the remaining two armchairs.  

“It was,” Aelin spreads out across the couch, feet in Rowan’s lap. “A much-needed break.”

“I had no idea you squawked like a hen when hit with snow, cousin,” Aedion grins. “It was quite amusing.” 

“And you’re a father’s boy,” Aelin retorts simply, settling back as Gavriel chokes on his tea and Aedion glares with a flush. “Be careful with the hen comments, or the cub ones may pop back up.” 

“Aelin,” Gavriel winces with a grimace. “Please.” 

“Aelin?” Vaughan repeats, lips quirking up. “Not ‘Your Majesty’? You have been spending too much time with Aedion.” 

The words cause a light flinch to shoot through Elide, Lorcan, Aelin and Gavriel. Too close, too close to the words they heard sweetly murmured on the beach. Too close to that of the magnificently dark queen that stripped their lives apart. Aedion sends his father a questioning glance, yet Gavriel simply smiles reassuringly in return. Aelin notices that Lion’s change of face and makes no comment. 

“Well,” Lysandra looks at them all, her hands tangled in Evangeline’s hair, “anyone else want a braid?”

“No, thank you,” Aelin sighs, tipping her head back over the arm of the couch, “I like having it loose occasionally. Wait until Rowan’s grows back; you can braid his then.”

Smirking, Rowan pinches her calf. “Keep making quips and it may stay short forever.”

“Oh gods,” Aedion murmurs, turning away from the two. “They’re staring at each other again.”

Gavriel takes another sip of his tea. “I have to say I enjoy the snow. It was always warm in Wendlyn.” 

“Did you ever go to the capital?” Aedion asks innocently, tilting his head.

Gavriel starts at the question. “Of course. The last time was…”

The Lion trails off, turning away to swallow another mouthful of tea. But it’s too late. The trap has been sprung.

“When you met my mother,” Aedion finishes for him, eyes alight, “and she punched you.”

Everyone sits up straighter at that, curious questions and demands of answers being flung out. Gavriel settles back in his seat and sighs, casting his eyes towards the roof as if seeking divine aid. 

“You never told us about that,” Vaughan mentions, Fenrys whining in agreement.

The Lion looks away. “It was a long time ago…” 

“Story, now,” Aelin smiles.

Sighing, Gavriel settles back and prepares himself to tell the tale.

~~~

The heat, as always, was only a small bother. Gavriel had little to do besides walk through the crowded streets of the city at nighttime, swerving to avoid the occasional person. A fae such as him really should be attracting more attention, yet the beauty of the side streets is that they are easy to slip through. Thanks to the festival the main streets are busy, markets being strung along to display numerous treats and goods. 

By all concerns it should be a simple night. It should be easy for Gavriel to make his way to the castle. To deliver a message from Meave concerning the new Demi-fae legislations. 

Yet a cloaked figure barreling last him, checking him in the shoulder, makes the situation a little less simple.

Instincts kick in and Gavriel grabs the cloaked figure's hand. The hood falls back, and a face surrounded by a mane of golden hair whips around to glare at him, magnificent eyes fierce and wild as the human woman’s lips curl back into a snarl. Such a ferocious expression for a human. 

Stunned, Gavriel has little of a reaction to give when a fist is colliding with his chin.

Swearing, the Lion releases the woman’s hand and she sprints off. The punch had solid power behind it, containing the strong form of someone who knows how to hit.

But it doesn’t knock Gavriel off his feet. It doesn’t stop him from chasing after the stranger. Turning a few corners Gavriel halts, looking at the woman standing next to a stall. Yet her hair is longer and a male stands beside her, the both of them laughing. 

“Get down, you fool!”

Blinking, Gavriel looks to the side and sees the woman kneeling behind a crate. Unceremoniously, she grabs him and yanks him down.

~~~

“So you were whipped before you even knew her name, huh?” Fenrys muses, back in fae form next to Evangeline.

“Well if the story is just going to keep being interrupted then-“ Gavriel makes to stand.

“No!” Aelin and Aedion both cry, darting forward as if to strap him down. 

Blinking, Gavriel sinks back down. “Alright, then.” 

~~~

“You punched me,” Gavriel can only say it blankly, his anger strangely unable to rise when the woman’s attention isn’t even on him.

Once again, those eyes dart to him, still as hard as gems. “You grabbed me.”

“Because you ran into me?”

Then those gems turn molten, softening for a bare moment. “I’m sorry, my reflex was unnecessary and I shouldn’t have done it. Now, if you don’t mind, I have to keep an eye on my cousin.”

She starts creeping down the alleyway, eyes on her target, and Gavriel can only stare after her in shock. He’s a giant fae warrior that she punched in the face, and yet he’s been dismissed like a child. The woman had apprehension around her, yes, but the way she held herself…

Wild. Untameable. Someone who would never bow for any other reason than she wanted to. Their difference in species, in status, would most likely mean nothing to her. 

“Is the female that looks like you your cousin?”

Gods, he should stop. He should stop becoming distracted and focus on his actual task at hand, not stalking an innocent woman simply because she has gained his attention.

Yet to his surprise, she throws a smirk over her shoulder.

“You’re very perspective,” she nods. “She and her future husband snuck out to spend a night in the town, so I thought I would at least follow to make sure they stay safe.”

“Right,” Gavriel nods, yet his brows furrow. “Are they in danger?”

If they are, if there could be an attack of any kind, he should be prepared to defend the crowd and whoever may be targeted. 

“I’d think the future king and queen of Terrasen would always attract attention from unwanted desirables,” the woman squints her eyes to follow the two in question. “I, however, am simply the landless and thrown-less cousin. I have much less pressure to keep up public image than Evalin and Glaston do.” 

Evalin. Glaston. The young man is most likely Rhoe, crown prince of Terrasen. And the woman in front of him-

“Oh, I know who you are, Gavriel,” her eyes flick back to him, drawing him in. “We were told we’d have a visitor. If you could keep our fun to yourself, I’d greatly appreciate that. Those two deserve time together without the pressure of our families, and my cousin’s happiness comes first to me.” 

She’s young. Younger than Gavriel thought she was. Much younger. The youth in her is apparent, her very being glowing with an unbreakable beauty, yet the way this young woman holds herself, the way she moves and dictates her speech-

Young in the body. Not in soul or mind. That much is evident.

“Your cousin and her betrothed,” Gavriel clears his throat, “would be much safer if I accompanied you in guarding them.”

Never mind the fact that he is truly captivated by the female in front of him. Such a fierceness held behind such a beautiful figure. Such an untameable, brutal soul. 

And she looks back at Gavriel, a delighted smile across her own face. “I was just about to ask.”

~~~

Everyone stares, even Evangeline’s brows furrowed.

“So you stalked a young woman you were sexually attracted to-“

“No!” Gavriel cuts Aelin off, scowling. “Gods, no. It was more of an attraction to her spirit. She was apologetic for hitting me because it was wrong to do, not to try to save herself or face. It was one of the things I loved most about her; she lied, she kept secrets, yet would never apologise to those who did not deserve it. Did not treat people as more or as less because of their social standing.”

At one point Lysandra's hand moved to sit on the arm of Aedion’s chair, and she links their hands together. He strokes his thumb over the back of her palm, glad for the comfort. 

“So she was watching my mother and father,” Aelin murmurs, looking down into her drink. “Everyone said they were close.”

“Sisters,” Gavriel shakes his head. “She loved your mother fiercely.”

“Continue, Gavriel,” Rowan prompts gently, tone leaving room for denial.

Yet the Lion continues.

~~~

“You could have brought an actual guard,” Gavriel follows the woman. “Aren’t your own parents worried?”

To his surprise, she snorts as she kneels, peeking around the corner of the building. “This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve left the castle unannounced.”

“No?” he ducks down with her. 

“No. I prefer to be outside.”

And he can see it, in the way she knows her streets and ducks and dives between the people. He understands the small scars flecking her hands, and how she nods to fishermen when they pass the docks.

This is not some member of the monarch that prefers to sit in her tower forming documents. No, like many of the other royals from the Ashryver line this is someone who prefers to work with her citizens, to talk to the people instead of reading the reports. Both jobs just as crucial as the other, yet there is something satisfying in knowing that there is a young princess who is comfortable enough to walk amongst her people. 

“Still, they must hold some level of concern,” Gavriel knows he is speaking to a woman, not a girl, but for a princess to spend so much time so often unguarded in any way-

“My mother does nothing but gloat about being the descendant of a goddess,” she murmurs flippantly. “And my father is too immersed in the status he gained when marrying her. They would both much rather I play the part they set out for me than make my own decisions. As long as I keep myself pretty in public events they scarcely care.”

He can’t help but swallow, regretting his words. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s heard of parents too absorbed in their social status and image to consider the individuality of their children. 

“I’m sorry.”

She turns to him with a look so nothing but pure, innocent confusion. “Why?”

He answers with the truth. “Because of what you just said.”

And, to his surprise, she leans in closer with a smile and bright eyes. “I don’t need you to pity me. I need you to follow me.”

Once again, he swallows and follows quickly as she follows the couple. It surprises him, how many people she nods to as they go. How many of them offer her small smiles and bits of food. It surprises him even more how she passes it all to him, only stealing an occasional bite for herself.

When he first refused, she simply smiles and tells him that she isn’t as hungry as he is.

He didn’t even realise he was starving until she passed him the baked bread slathered in some kind of garlic and butter that the locals cook on their window sills. 

“You should try the fish,” she peers at her cousin as Evalin grabs the said food from a stall. “It’s magnificent. Grilled perfectly.”

He can make no complaints as she swerves her way towards the stall, smiling brightly at the man as he immediately hands her two fish skewered in the sticks, skinned and grilled with an aromatic blend of spices.

“Do you need to pay him?” Gavriel considers the coins in his own pocket, one hand already reaching for them.

Yet her fingers brushing his wrist stops him. “I helped haul in the net this fish came from. I help handle trading regulations and work with them, and I get free fish. It’s more than enough compensation.”

A woman. That’s who he’s looking at. Someone who knows her country, knows her people, and has no fear when it comes to standing beside them. 

“Thank you,” Gavriel murmurs, “for the food.”

Another bright smile. “You’re welcome. Thank you for the extra protection.”

Gavriel simply nods his head. It’s a weak excuse; the young woman obviously knows how to defend herself, the very way she walks discloses that information. It shows the knowledge she has over her body and complete control over the movements it makes. 

Yet it’s an excuse he’ll gladly allow.

Perhaps it is selfish, the way he’s captivated by her when he doesn’t even know her name. Perhaps it is unfair that most only know the names of her cousins, future rulers to countries, instead of this living star in front of him.

Perhaps it is wrong that he places a hand on the small of her back, leans forward, and asks quietly for her name.

~~~

“I followed her back to the castle,” Gavriel continues, voice soft, “and we watched Evalin bid goodnight to Rhoe. I must admit that I was hesitant to leave. I was captivated by her in a way I had not been captivated in centuries. A part of me knew it would be wrong to ask for her time when I myself am hundreds of years older. Even if we seemed compatible in a small way a part of my mind said our difference in age made it immoral.”

“See?” Aelin nudges Rowan. “He has some concern about being a cradle snatcher.” 

“I think Aedion is proof that he eventually didn’t,” Rowan replies dryly, ignoring Aedion’s choke. 

“But?” Lysandra urges Gavriel.

“But she demanded that I come to see her the next night,” a smile splays across Gavriel’s face, his eyes still flickering with pain but also joy. “I met her at the secluded beach near the castle. We saw each other often after that. I celebrated her eighteenth birthday with her, had a year in her company. My attention was called for elsewhere but it was simple to steal a little bit of time. She was worth it all… And then she asked me to leave. One day she met me where I was staying. She had spent the night, sat up the next morning, and asked me to leave.”

“And you did,” Aedion confirms quietly.

Gavriel closes his eyes. “She said that she could no longer continue a relationship with me. At once I wanted to argue, to beg, but she seemed so desperate and torn that the only thing I could do was respect her choices. I never once doubted your mother, Aedion. She was a woman of such conviction that I could only believe her when she said it was for the best.”

Silence stretches through the room. As if realising the mood he has created, Gavriel opens his eyes once more and gives a small, secretive smile.

“Then twenty-four years later I found out she had gifted me with a hellion.”

Everyone stops and stares.

Then Aedion tips his head back and laughs. 

It doesn’t take much for everyone else to burst into cackles, following suit. The rest of the evening dies down, family members trickling slowly out of the room to retire for the night. Even Rowan and Lysandra leave at a point, giving Aelin and Aedion space to themselves.

“Have you told Gavriel about the male that’s visiting?”

Aedion’s eyes cut to Aelin. “No. It doesn’t matter.”

Stretching out across the couch, Aelin eyes Aedion. “You know, after everything you’ve already told him Gavriel will be fine.”

“It’s already fine, Aelin,” Aedion shrugs. “I haven’t faced that male in years, and after this visit, I doubt I’ll have to again in a while. Besides, nothing really happened.”

Eyes alight, Aelin growls. “I remember when we were children. I remember the things that bastard would say.”

“Just words.”

“You’ve tackled people over less.”

“Why are you so concerned about this?” Aedion allows some tension to creep into his voice. “Why are you always so insistent that I tell Gavriel everything?”

“Because he’s your father,” Aelin’s voice lowers.

“You’ve made that clear,” Aedion resists gritting his own teeth. “I don’t need to go to him for every little thing.”

“Yes, you do.”

“But I don’t!” 

“You have a father!” Aelin snarls, standing suddenly. “You have a father and you’ve spent months denying him and pushing him away and even now, when you two roll in the damn snow together, you still seem to take it for granted that you have him here!”

Lips clamping shut, they both stare at one another. At once they both sink back down into their seats. 

“I don’t take it for granted,” Aedion swallows, looking down at his own scarred hands. “I still have too many nightmares about when he walked through the gates. Do… Does it seem like I take him for granted?”

Giving an empty laugh, Aelin slinks back in her own seat. “Much less now than it did at the start. In the beginning, I was ready to turn him away and out of Terrasen if you gave the word.”

“Shit,” Aedion rubs at his face. “I did hate him, but not after the gates…”

“I know,” Aelin all at once seems tired. “I could tell. I think Gavriel could as well.”

“Rhoe should be here.”

Aelin’s silence is enough of a confirmation. Aedion stands and sits by her side. They rest against each other, looking into the fire.

“I wish he was here,” Aelin’s voice remains hoarse. 

“So do I,” Aedion closes his eyes. “I’m sorry if I’ve appeared ungrateful.”

He can feel Aelin’s head rest against his shoulder. “For you and Gavriel it’s different. I just can’t help but be envious occasionally.”

Breathing in deeply, Aedion releases it in a long sigh. Neither knows what to say, simply sitting together inter-shared warmth.

“I’m not going to tell Gavriel,” Aedion breaks the silence, “because it doesn’t matter. And I know I’ve said that before, but compared to everything we’ve done and who I am now that male truly holds no significance.”

Aelin huffs against his side. “Fine. But I’m burning him if anything happens.”

“Well, of course, that’s not in question.”

“Prick.”

“Fire-breathing-bitch-queen.”

The fire is long dead by the time they leave the room.

~~~

 “Vaughan,” Aedion eyes the male, “why are you following me?”

The dark-haired male gives a simple shrug. “I’m here to greet my friend.”

Friend. Vaughan is greeting a friend the same time Aedion is greeting an old fae male that used to aid in his training in the castle. And they are both meeting this person by the outdoor training rings. 

By the gods, let it be a coincidence.

“He’s a fae that was trapped in his animal form; I met him up in the mountains.”

Gods be damned.

“Perfect,” Aedion mutters. “Perhaps you’d like to greet him, then?”

Vaughan sends him a questioning look. “He’s one of your old trainers. I know that Gavriel, in fact, was looking forward to meeting him. I’m sure he and the others are keeping an eye out.”

Perfect. Just as perfect as the figure strolling towards them. A gleaming smile, warm blue eyes, short hair that’s peppered thanks to age. A man the same height as Aedion, who holds a calm and gentle tone and throws smiles as easily as words.

Aedion has to resist tackling him. It would do nothing but make him owe Aelin ten gold coins if he jumps before the three-day mark is up.

“Aedion,” the man smiles.

And, with as much force as he can muster, Aedion smiles back.

~~~

Nevis seems to have no trouble with fitting in with the rest of the court. Vaughan, for once, shows immense joy at having a friend present (he laughed. He laughed without prompt. The court was shocked). Frustratingly enough, Nevis himself easily falls into patterns with everybody. He easily describes the old tales of Terrasen, shows humility in front of the new king and queen, and sits with Gavriel to discuss Aedion’s training as a child.

The last point, Aedion is not so pleased about.

“Angriest little thing you’ve ever seen,” Nevis chuckles, shaking his head. “You could make him clean out the stables for weeks and nothing would change.”

“I cannot lie and say that temper doesn’t run in either side of the family,” Gavriel sends a soft smile to both Aedion and Aelin, the two of them easily smiling back. 

“Gods, and he was stubborn!” Nevis continues, laughing. “We had to try to break him in like a horse almost every lesson!”

Aedion’s eyes flick away at that statement, and Aelin purses her lips. Rowan notices the change in his mate and at once wishes for Lysandra’s presence. If anything was occurring with Aedion and Aelin then the two of them together would most likely be able to lend aid. But the conversations flow on smoothly, and damn it all, by the end of it Aedion himself begins to question whether Nevis is a changed male. It is possible, after all, for people to change. Should anyone recognise that, it is the people of the Terrasen court. 

Perhaps he’s jumped to conclusions. Nevis may be completely different, and if he is then they should be rejoicing at having an old court member back.

~~~

It’s the annoying, itchy little remarks that plague his skin like bug bites. They cause it to crawl and sting, squirming under the surface to the point where they nearly get a rise from Aedion.

“Boyo always had trouble with the spear.”

“I remember when Rhoe had to pull him off Ren-“

“I’m telling you now, Gavriel, you should be thankful you missed hearing the language this boy would use-“

The incessant little comments that would be flung. All with a good-natured smile and laugh, occasionally a clap to Aedion’s shoulder.

Aggravating, but hardly fatal. None of them near as scathing as the comments that were made when Aedion was a child. So he brushes them off, much the same way Vaughan brushes them off. It shouldn’t be as bothersome as it is to see the male, one of his father’s closest companions, approve every little comment Nevis makes about Aedion. 

He’ll never admit it’s hurtful. He and Vaughan weren’t the closest, not like Aedion and Rowan or Fenrys and Aelin, but he is a member of the court and someone similar as an uncle to Aedion nevertheless. At one point the idea of him defending Aedion seemed ridiculous; it’s hard to pinpoint when it became almost an expectation. 

But Aedion can ignore it. Within the next week, he passes off every comment, made both in public and private, and keeps from growling at Vaughan whenever he mentions Nevis in a bright light. Distractions work, for the most part, directing the violent intent elsewhere. 

~~~

Sweat trickles down Aedion’s back, Rowan relentlessly moving forward with the dulled training sword. In the rings to his left and right the other cadre members, all minus Gavriel, work on an assortment of different weapons. Aedion against Rowan, Fenrys against Lorcan, and Vaughan standing a little ways away with Nevis as they chat.

So maybe every member isn’t training, but the very fact that they assumed Aedion would be joining him, that it was less of an invitation and more of a reminder, sparks a rare kind of joy in the demi-fae. It’s made even more joyous by the fact the only reason Gavriel is late is because he is aiding Evangeline in finding a lost book. The relationship between the two is one to smile at.

“You need to work on guarding your left flank,” Rowan comments as he pulls away. “You’re lazy with that.”

Aedion can only nod, gulping down mouthfuls of air himself. It is satisfying, however, to see a single bead of sweat roll down Rowan’s neck. To know that he caused some kind of strain on the ancient fae, no matter how small. 

“Vaughn!” Rowan calls out, grabbing the males attention. “Come here and train! Aedion, spar or stand with Nevis, your choice.”

Oh, the king knows something is between those two. He made it clear that Nevis would be joining, and hasn’t pushed Aedion to attend functions with the male once. It causes the demi-fae to narrow his eyes. If Aelin would tell anyone of their childhoods, it would be Rowan, yet it is unlikely that he would react in such a protective way.

Unless he knows something is wrong, but not to what extent.

Gods forbid if Gavriel gained a sense of a problem. They’d be sitting on couches and trying to talk again. 

“You’ve improved tremendously,” Nevis murmurs once Aedion comes to stand by him. “Rhoe would be proud, Aedion.”

“Thank you,” Aedion keeps his eyes focused on the movements of the fae in front of them.

“I see you still haven’t mastered the art of looking at people when they’re speaking to you, eh, boy?” Nevis’s voice holds an amused tinge to it. “Ah, never mind any of that now. You know, we all had an inkling your father had to be some kind of strong fae.”

“Really?” Aedion glances at him, interest slightly piqued. 

“Of course, you were a prize in the ring,” Nevis clicks his tongue. “And if you’ve got a good runt that means you must have a good stud, especially when the bitch is a bit poor-“

Flesh slams against his mouth, pushing the words back in, and Aedion has no trouble dropping onto the snow-covered ground to continue to slam Nevis with hits. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he registers the other yelling and running towards them. Yet the state he’s in, the pure fury he’s consumed by, allows little room for any of that to pass through. When Vaughan tackles into his side, pushing Aedion off Nevis and into the snow, he shows no resistance.

“Gods, boy!” Nevis spits blood onto the snow, turning to glare. “Just as much of an animal as you were as a child!”

They should come, the retorts, but once again Aedion is simply an angry child standing in the training rings, ignoring the snickers of the older children as he’s berated for his behaviour. 

“I would have thought you’d learn to control your damn temper!”

Being chastised for being too volatile.

“But still like a beast!”

For being too rough when he was simply playing or excited.

“If you’re a half-breed than fine, but if you don’t even have a speck of magic then learn to keep your fists back!”

Standing there, taking in all the words, knowing that the fae children who had magic and clear bloodlines were laughing behind their hands at him. 

“Over ten gods damned years and still no one’s been able to whip a lesson into you!”

So he lies there, pinned under Vaughan, unable to do much but stare up at the male spitting words back down at him. He’s young again, young and angry but unable to move and scream and roar because the human skin made of lies he wears is too tight but still unbreakable. And Vaughan most likely keeps him pinned because he knows of Aedion’s rage. Because there’s no point in letting a half-breed tear into his friend. 

Yet Vaughan has stiffened.

Lorcan’s eyes have darkened.

Fenrys’s lips are curled back in a snarl.

And Rowan stares at Nevis with his harsh green eyes.

“What the hell did you just say to my son?”

And Gavriel, standing by the doorway, looks out at all of them with a calm expression. Aedion doesn’t look up, heat already entering his face at the situation. Bested by his own anger, unable to control himself and show a speck of restraint. And here’s Gavriel, who at the most will send Nevis away with a roar, reducing Aedion once again as a cub who stands behind the Lion.

Yet it is Vaughan who immediately rises off Aedion and takes a step closer to Nevis. “He said that Aedion is a beast and an animal.”

Aedion can hear Nevis’s heartbeat pick up. 

“Don’t,” Lorcan’s joins in, voice deathly quiet, “forget half-breed.”

And again, it speeds. he can smell the apprehension leaking off of the man, and something warm flushes in his chest at the way the fae predators begin circling him. Something sadistically happy at the way Nevis nearly seems to shake. 

They can all hear him swallow. “My temper bested me. The words I said were far, far out of line. I apologise.”

The last part is directed at Aedion as he slowly stands. Brushing the wet clumps of snow from him, Aedion flicks his eyes up to look at Nevis. Again, that soft, regretful look is back on his face as Nevis presses the flat of his hands against his thighs, unable to look Aedion in the eye.

“I was wondering, Nevis,” Fenrys shows his teeth in a way that is not a smile, leaning in close to the male, “were you one of the males who tried to whip a lesson into Aedion? I’m a little stuck on your wording.” 

“There have,” Lorcan grumbles deeply, “been a few choices of phrase that seem strange.”

“Yes,” Rowan refuses to remove his gaze from the male, “There have been. You quite enjoy calling Aedion a boy, and commenting on his abilities, don’t you Nevis?”

“I was one of his trainers,” Nevis croaks. “It’s to be expected that I still-“

“Still feel the need to disrespect someone of higher rank?” Lorcan growls, teeth showing. 

Aedion can only blink at the way everyone has crowded around the man, all except for Gavriel, who has come to stand by Aedion. Nevis himself has shrunk, becoming a smaller shell of the male he once was when Aedion was a child. A small scar on his right calf draws Aedion’s attention, remembering the bite of leather against his skin. 

But Nevis is small. 

So small. 

And Aedion is larger than the mountains they stand in. 

“Escort Nevis out,” Aedion reins his voice back into that of the Wolf of the North. 

Something in the male's face goes slack. “Aedion-“

“Come back when you learn how to respect your generals.”

Then that vicious bite is back. “Rhoe would be ashamed-“

To everyone and yet no one’s surprise, it is Gavriel’s fist that slams into Nevis’s mouth. The male falls back, cold, and it takes no signal for Lorcan help Gavriel in dragging him away. Left alone with Fenrys, Vaughan and Rowan, Aedion can only try to keep track of what has just occurred. 

Vaughan. Vaughan who is wincing and unable to look Aedion in the eye. Vaughan who laughed at the comments Nevis made until the male finally stepped over the line. 

“He,” Rowan states, “is a bastard.”

“Aelin told you?” Aedion sighs.

“About the comments he continuously made when you were a child?” The king snorts. “Of course.”

And there’s the concern in Fenrys’s eyes. “Comments?”

Aedion can only shrug. “In Terrasen fae were more known for their magic. To be a mix-breed bastard who apparently had no gifts put you at the bottom of the social ladder to many fae like Nevis.”

Lips pulling back, Fenrys’s eyes follow Nevis as he’s dragged away. It’s no secret that the wolf is protective of the queen, that protection slowly extending to Aedion over time with how dear he is to both Aelin and Gavriel.

”Fenrys struggled to contain himself the entire time Nevis was here,” Rowan frowns in the direction of the dragged male. “He’s been uncomfortable around him for days. What Nevis has been doing is a disgrace.”

Aedion nods slowly. “To insult Gavriel isn’t something you can allow.”

Vaughan, Rowan and Fenrys all pause, giving each other quick looks in confusion.

“Aedion,” Fenrys tilts his head, “we cannot allow you to be insulted in such a way.”

And the Wolf of the North blinks. Then blinks again. It is him, his honour, they are defending. Such a thing from Gavriel and Rowan is to be expected, but the rest of the cadre members? Apparently, the forming bonds weren’t imagined.

Vaughan hesitates, then clears his throat. “I’m sorry, that I allowed Nevis to get away with so much. That I did not defend you until you felt a need to defend yourself.”

“It’s fine,” Aedion shakes his head. “I explained nothing to you. You couldn’t have known.” 

Still, the small pang of pain is there. Vaughan laughed, truly laughed, at some of the remarks Nevis made. How well does Aedion know the male? How well does Vaughan truly respect Aedion?

“Gavriel and Lorcan have most likely dropped him outside the palace grounds now,” Rowan observes. “We’re done for the day. May as well join the others for dinner.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Aedion smirks.

~~~

“What comments were made when you were a child?” Gavriel pulls up a chair beside Aedion, the question the first thing from his mouth.

Groaning, Aedion lowers a leg of lamb. “Can’t we just have dinner?”

“Aedion-“

“About me being a ‘mix-breed’ and lacking in magical abilities,” Aedion huffs. “Here, in Terrasen, the fae were more magically inclined and less... wild. I wasn’t very liked for preferring physical ability over magical.”

“And Nevis?” Gavriel makes no attempt to hide his displeasure at the males name.

“Constant passive aggressive comments and no filter when reprimanding me,” Aedion tears and chews another piece of meat. “I was told multiple times that my species and status of birth were major flaws.”

Gavriel’s hand slowly curls on the top of the table, yet the male stays calm. “Right. He will not be allowed back in the palace.”

Aedion sends his father an exasperated look. “Did you hand out a drawing of him to all the guards or something?”

Gavriel leans back and crosses his arm, seemingly pleased. “No, but Aelin has already ordered a good portion of guards to keep an eye out for him.”

Aedion glances down the long table to his cousin, who catches his gaze and wiggles her fingers back at him, a pleased smirk plastered across her face.

“Of course she did,” Aedion snorts, shaking his head to hide his own pleasure at the fact.

“The others have been livid,” Gavriel sighs, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. “All through the week Rowan, Fenrys and Lorcan have been snapping about Nevis. They’re greatly pleased that he’s gone. Vaughan too, even if he was blind to Nevis’s comments before he stepped over the line.”

“They have been?” Aedion cocks his head to the side. 

Looking at his son in surprise, Gavriel nods. “Of course. You didn’t appear angered so we all swallowed down our words, but as soon as you made it obvious that you disliked him they were all practically grinning.”

“Were you?” Aedion grins himself.

Gavriel shifts and scratches at his neck. “I may have been slightly pleased by his disposal.”

“Of course you were,” and, damn it, the smile has taken over now. “Vaughan will most likely miss the presence of his friend.”

“Actually, Gavriel sits up, “Nevis tried to get back in an hour ago. Came knocking on the door. Vaughan threw him out and locked it.”

It’s an effort not to look at the male in question further down the table. “He did?”

“He’s outraged,” Gavriel nods towards the placate male who is picking at his beans. “Look at him. He’s enraged. I’ve never seen him like this.”

Vaughan must not be a very expressive male if scowling at his kidney beans is a sign of rage. 

“Wow,” Aedion deadpans.

Gavriel, not catching the tone, nods. “I know. He’s beside himself at what has occurred. He’s tried to apologise three times now.”

That catches Aedion’s attention. “He has?”

“Of course,” Gavriel nods. “He’s ashamed.”

Maybe it’s Gavriel’s influence that causes Aedion to stand, or maybe it’s the fact that they’ve survived so much that things such as this seem trivial. Whatever it is, it spurs Aedion onwards to take a seat beside Vaughan. The male looks at him in surprise.

“Aedion,” Vaughan nods.

“I don’t know you very well and you don’t know me very well,” Aedion cuts to the point. “We don’t need to pretend to be companions that have known each other for years. But we are a part of the same court, the same family, and one day will be able to say that we are close companions. I fully intend to continue to pursue that, so stop acting like an idiot and just try to stop befriending fucked up bastards. Deal?”

“I can’t believe you’re Gavriel’s son,” Vaughan shakes his head, but there’s a small smile there.

“That makes two of us,” Aedion stands, ignoring Gavriel’s smile behind him. “I’m joining you all for training tomorrow.”

Vaughan frowns. “Were you planning not to?”

Again, that warmth in his chest flares as Aedion smirks. “No, I was. Just making my presence clear.”

Vaughan nods as if he understands every meaning behind the words, every unsaid message. Perhaps he did, with the way a soft smirk graces his lips once more. 

One problem solved. The next; what the fuck Aedion’s supposed to do about Father’s Day. 

_____

So sorry this chapter took so long! I’m also sorry I wasn’t able to fill in all requests, those that were missed out on will appear in the next chapter! As always I hope you guys enjoyed, don’t be affria dto leave comments, requests or questions!

@ourbooksuniverse @pinkseraphblades @tuberoseandjasmine

[witchling13]

The time has come!

I am posting Chapter 1 of Her Cadre below.

You can also find it on Ao3 here or search for my name live_manon. 

I split it into three chapters because I’m forcing myself to stop editing it and just live and let live. Chapter 1 is primarily build-up because I got a little carried away with the storyline, but I think it makes the whole fic more enjoyable in the long run. Chapter 2 (and chapter 3 if I finish it) are exclusively sex and it gets very lemon. I will be posting those soon. Guys, when I typed the whole thing out on Word it’s over 36 pages long....and chapter 1 is the smallest part! *fans face

xo

------------------------

Fenrys chuckled as he entered the main bed chamber of the suite and spied the largest bed he’d ever seen lining the back wall. The ridiculous amount of fanciful throw pillows and fluffy duvet cover had been removed and placed neatly on the adjacent decorative chairs.

As promised, there was ale and fairy wine with plates of fruits, meats, and cheeses on the three large ottomans in front of the oversized fireplace. A roaring fire crackled in the grate.

He examined the bed again. It was wide enough to sleep six grown men across.

If Rowan and Aelin had a similar one in their chambers, why the hell did they ever leave? In this weather, he’d bury himself in the mounds of covers and sleep or read all day— preferably not alone…with breaks for other pleasurable activities.

So this was the Stag Suite.

It was one of those palace secret compartments very few knew existed and even fewer knew how to access. Designed as a getaway chamber primarily for the King and Queen of Terrasan, the suite was at the top of the West Tower and outfitted with an excess of luxury comforts.

Rowan stood on the balcony overlooking the forest. There was eleven feet of snow on the ground not including the two feet of fresh powder that had fallen overnight. A big storm had moved in nearly two weeks ago, the remnants of which still feathering the countryside in a constant blanket of white. All of their latest attempts at regular travel and communication had proved futile.

Fenrys slid a hand along the soft white sheets of the bed. He was tired of playing chess and easily besting the Queen’s guard in competitive wrestling matches. And wandering around the castle in his wolf form. Although Aelin or Evangeline came to accompany him often. The little girl had taken a liking to exploring the castle while riding atop his wolf’s back.

The quiet feet of a female escort reached his side, inquiring if Fenrys wanted to begin with a massage. She smiled and he eyed her appreciatively. Her long gauzy tunic did little to hide her shapely figure and intricate undergarments underneath.

She was pretty. Very pretty.

Fenrys hauled his wool-lined tunic over his shoulders. The chamber was warm and he was tired and his limbs a bit frozen from scouting the countryside. He and Rowan had shifted and left the castle grounds during a brief respite of snowfall to check on nearby towns and villages.

He stretched his neck sideways. Infinite points of approval for Aelin’s idea of relaxation ”preparation.”

Of course, the few women in attendance had volunteered and would be paid well beyond what they charged for their services. Ever since they had returned from their latest visit to the Kaghan’s court on the Southern Continent, Aelin had discreetly removed the ban on escort services in Orynth. It was a trial, of sorts, to allow those who chose the profession willingly to make money under consensual circumstances but included strictly enforced laws on safety and fair treatment. The law also banned brothels or pleasure houses in hopes they wouldn’t pop up in the rebuilding city.

Fenrys wouldn’t be able to stomach it otherwise.

He shoved the thoughts away, declining the linen breeches she offered him, opting to lounge naked on a chair in front of the fire to sip on some ale and thaw himself.

Rowan returned to observing the sunset over the treeline, a cup of wine in one hand. He drank to ease his brooding.

The truth was, the whole inner court had become intimate—friends. Or at least, that’s what they told themselves.

Several years had passed since the war against Maeve and Erawan and Aelin’s blood-sworn cadre including Lysandra and Elide had become a devoted family. The demands on the inner court for decision making and coveted attention from nobility kept them consistently convening together in Orynth.

But the winters in Terrasen were long and hard. During bad weather, such as this godsforsaken blizzard, they were often confined to the castle grounds.

The result being they spent a lot of time together. It was easy to go a little stir crazy, the Fae in particular. But the pranks made that bearable.

Rowan tried to suppress his smile as he remembered last Mid-Winter’s Eve when Fenrys and Aedion had somehow dressed a piss drunk Lorcan in a tutu and tights and dumped his incoherent ass in a pile of hay in the royal stables.

He inhaled. But this.

This was a whole new level of “intimate.”

Why couldn’t it have stayed a simple game of strip poker.

He sighed in slight amusement remembering just how well that had played out last night. Drunken words, naked bodies, and playful touches. The males had become experts at dancing around the feelings and desires that pushed the boundaries of devotion to their queen.

 Rowan looked towards the chamber entry way. Aelin had arrived, Lorcan, Elide, and Manon in tow. Followed by two lovely escorts in long sheer tunics and a servant bearing a small trunk, a few books, and a mysteriously sealed black box.

Rowan kissed her on the forehead, “how long are you planning to be here?”

“I thought I’d come prepared. You males may be comfortable walking around naked whenever it suits you, but I prefer my silky adornments to appease my inner goddess,” she batted her eyelashes, “don’t worry, I didn’t bring the gold one.”

He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

Truth was, he didn’t care what she wore. Nothing made him happier than Aelin’s pleasure after all she had sacrificed.

He drew her into his side and bent to murmur in her ear, “presumptuous of you to think you’ll have a chance to dress up at all…or that you get to decide when to put your clothes back on.”

It was like a weight dropped straight to her mound. A thrill of desire wound tight in her core from the anticipation that had been building since their group “discussion.” They’d come to an arrangement with a few stipulations and she’d be damned if she didn’t allow them to pleasure her and take their fill until the satisfaction drowned them all.

Manon had come from the Wastes for a trade agreement meeting over a week ago when the snow storm hit. She and Abraxos had the misfortune of being cooped up, drunk under the table, and even serenaded from this lot over their stay.

Fortunately, for Aelin, Manon’s “evolving friendship” with Elide had been enticing enough to prompt the witch to accompany her beloved friend tonight.

They’d all observed the two women’s suppressed attraction to each other over the past few years, even Lorcan, and wondered when on earth either one of them would get a clue and make a move. Not that Manon and Elide would want their other respective relationships to be affected long-term, it seemed. They just enjoyed each other’s company, and Lorcan thought there was little reason for them to hold back when they happened to be visiting and spending some quality time together.

Whatever made Elide happy made Lorcan very happy. There was no issue, only pleasure.

Elide was surprised with herself at how eager she was to come here with them both. She’d teased Lorcan as they shared breath amongst their pillows the night before, “I know you hold back with me sometimes so don’t think I won’t thoroughly enjoy seeing you come undone.” She meant his tendency to be dominant and make love to her until she was incoherent didn’t afford her as many opportunities to see him in such a state.

Aelin asked the servant to diffuse some jasmine and lavender oils in all the suite’s rooms for relaxation as she, procured a large piece of cheese and shoved it into her mouth.

Rowan chuckled as her cheeks bulged with the large bite.

“I didfnt havfe lunch.”

“Why not, my love?”

She swallowed. “I was too busy concocting lies about my inner court’s absence from meetings tonight to remember.”

Rowan drew her close and laid broad hands on her shoulders, kneading away some of the tension.

She sighed in contentment, continuing to stuff her mouth with food. Fenrys glanced up at her from the chair.

“I see you’re quite comfortable already.”

“My balls are quite toasty now, thanks for asking.” He smiled and reached up, undoubtedly asking for a chunk of cheese. She swatted his hand away.

“There’s a full platter right in front of your lazy ass.”

He chuckled and she reached a hand to run her fingers through his short hair.

“And what did I do to earn this petting?”

“Simply being my favorite Moonbeam.”

He smiled again, “I’m your only Moonbeam,” and winked up at her, “but I thank you, my Queen, lover of such fine things—like myself.”

Rowan hid his amusement.  

“Unbutton me?”

She half turned to the male behind her, placing a hand on his chest before angling her head so he could claim a soft kiss.

“With pleasure.”

She let her gown slip to the floor in a heap and kissed him again in thanks before striding away to the bed, claiming a large piece of fruit on her way.

Fenrys watched her intently. Prancing around in her lacy undergarments in front of them all like it was the easiest thing in the world. He’d seen her naked many times before, but the more he watched her happiness grow as Queen, the less the horrific memories plagued him. Aelin was whole and healing now and being in her court had redeemed his own sense of comfort. Of home.

His mind drifted while he watched her stretch her torso and lean arms over her head. There were still parts of her he hadn’t seen. Her soft blond hair had concealed them at the time. The opening in her mound…the delicate lay of her folds that probably peaked out from the slit. He wondered if they were just a deeper shade of pink than the peaks of her breasts. His cock began to harden.

A hand interrupted his thoughts and he welcomed the escort’s skilled ministrations to his neck and shoulders. With a gentle tug, he pulled her into his lap and a smile lit her eyes as she used deft thumbs to press along his neck muscles.

The sun had set fully now. The relaxing smells of lavender and jasmine, fragrant in the air, were accompanied by something else. Something that hinted at spice and stirred up desire.

Lorcan hadn’t even bothered with a hello before stripping bare and lying face down on the bed. His head was in Elide’s lap and she toyed with his jet black hair and points of his ears as a pretty escort rubbed hands along his oil soaked back.

Except for the crackle of the large fire, it was quiet, but the air was charged with anticipation and the scents of their arousal.

Aelin stopped at the side of the bed and dragged a lazy finger up the back of Lorcan’s massive hamstring until it halted below his ass. He growled low. “Lorcan dear, in our rush to get here, you didn’t say hello.”

He waited a moment. On his own time then.

“Hello.” He ground out into Elide’s trousers.

Aelin’s finger hovered, drawing small circles on his war-toned muscle.

“It’s nice to see you too grumpy face.”

Despite the tumultuous nature of their relationship, Lorcan had softened to Aelin while being in her court, and she to him. She imagined he was like that teenage older brother she’d never had as a child. Except he wasn’t. He was dark and menacing with a bravado and sultry eyes that mesmerized even her.  

“You keep drawing circles like that and I’ll bite that finger off. And it will never grow back.”

It was Elide who suppressed a chuckle.

Aelin scowled. “I haven’t seen you for days and your literal first voluntary words to me are a threat to maim my royal hand.”

His hurumph was muffled, but he turned his head to look up at her as she moved to hover over his shoulder, “royal hand, royal pain in my ass,” he sighed. Then roamed her body with his eyes, narrowing on her undergarments.

“Those look expensive.” She saw the glint of desire in his expression and heard the unspoken words. Better take them off before we get to them first.

Her skin prickled under the intensity of his attention. She squeezed his hand and brushed his shoulder as she leaned in to kiss Elide lightly on her cheeks. The girl smiled amused and returned the gesture.

“Care to join me in the birchin, Manon?”

Manon sat observing behind them, both arms splayed across the back of chair.

“What’s a birchin?”

“The small chamber in the bathing room heated by a stove with hot rocks. It’ll make you sweat your worries away.” She wiggled her eyebrows and Manon stared at her confused.

Aelin shrugged. “I read about it in a book and it sounded exotic, so I had it installed.”

She had indeed, been reading her new favorite series A Court of Thorns and Roses and several scenes conjured up delightful images of her cadre all piled in a birchin sweating their asses off. She had yet to convince them to try it out, but the few occasions she’d used it herself after training sessions had been extremely relaxing.

Manon sighed and rose, arching her back in a stretch. “What can it hurt. Better than sitting here stewing in all your scents.”

Rowan had taken a big chair by the fire next to Fenrys and stripped except for the linen pants offered by an escort. He closed his eyes as the shapely brunette rolled up his pants to the knee and worked his tight calves and shins. Her hands were firm, but skilled and her long hair hung loose, tantalizing his skin as she worked.

Passing them on the way to the bathing room, Aelin halted. She inspected the beauty in Fenrys lap, the gentle eyed woman winding her fingers through his hair and grinning wide at his flirtatious whispers, no doubt, promising and skillful. Aelin was surprised at the possessive twinge that hit her heart.

He was fine. He was in good hands. Even if she felt she had every right to be just as protective of the male as he was her.

She squeezed Rowan’s shoulder, sliding her hand down his chest until it drifted lower on his bare abdomen and the tips of her fingers slid under his loose waistband. She leaned down and kissed his neck.

“Be good. I’ll be done soon.” She inclined her head towards the bathing room.

He growled and the fingers of his hand reaching around the back of her thigh dug into her soft skin.

“Soon is quite a promise considering your bathing habits.”

There was need in his grip.

“Pushy, pushy,” she smirked into his lips as she kissed him one more time. “This one,” Aelin pointed at Rowan as she rose and spoke to the escort, “is all talk. If you want him to be quiet, tickle the back of his knees.”

“Aelin--,” he growled again.

“Or lick up the lines of his war-honed abs. Whatever seems best to you.” She waived a hand in the air dismissively, scampering out of the way as he reached for her. His eyes followed her into the bathing room, hips swaying, until she was out of sight and Manon followed, unceremoniously stripping as she walked.

————

 A half hour later, Aelin emerged, hair towel dried from the quick dip in the bath they’d taken to wash off the sweat from the birchin. Manon had donned a plush white robe, but Aelin had simply wrapped a short towel around her torso.

She strode to the oversized chase lounge where Rowan’s strong, sinewy body lay face down in the pillows, dozing after surrendering to a fully body massage.

Aelin climbed up his back and kissed his tan face. “Enjoy your nap?” As he stirred, she moved to sit on his backside so she could sweep her hands from his shoulder blades down the groove of his spine.

“You smell good,” he mumbled.

“Thank you. I used your soap because I forgot we ran out of mine last time we were here.”

Rowan grunted. With no hesitation, he shifted, toppling her into the blankets and rolling so he hovered over her face on his forearms. His lips were an inch from hers and the weight of his abdomen and legs pressed fully into her body. The heat radiating from his skin and breath made her heart pound.

“Use it always.”

He kissed her deeply and she opened for him, melting into the pillows as his tongue tasted her own.

Aelin’s hand clutched his back as the other drifted into his hair. He slid a hand down her curves until he found her thigh and pulled it to the side so he could settle between her legs.

She sucked in a breath.

He was naked and his cock was fully erect brushing against her towel. With one shift, he could push up the edge of the flimsy fabric and slide into her welcoming heat.

But he had something else in mind; something they needed to prepare for later.

And it was time to play.

--------

@theilliumbluebell10 @highladyofherondale @running-with-thieves @lestrangelady20 @fantasylover1996

[justanartsysideblog]

While You Were Sleeping

A Chantilly fic based loosely on the 90s movie While You Were Sleeping, because it’s a family favorite that I rewatched today and I couldn’t get the idea out of my head.

Felasel, Selene, and Darevas belong to @selenelavellan. This version of Dirthamen belongs to @feynites.Miriel (mention) belongs to @scurvgirl.

There is an elf who comes to the station every day.

Cirimeni looks forward to it every morning—7:30am, like clockwork—to catch a sight of him. He’s tall, and broad-shouldered, and smartly dressed, and he never looks up when he swipes his train pass at her booth.

He’s never spoken to her, never looked her way, as blissfully unaware of her existence as any passing stranger on the streets of Denerim. But to Cirimeni, well, he’s become a bright moment to each and every day. 

Sometimes she daydreams about being someone who could pull him away from the files he’s always reading. Maybe they’re married and he’s come to pick her up for a date at a fancy restaurant, the kind of restaurant someone so smartly dressed must go to, where an item off the menu would cost as much as her rent.

It’s a nice daydream.

One day she’ll greet him, she tells herself. Tomorrow I’ll wave at him. But every tomorrow ends the same.

Today I’ll do it, she thinks. Tomorrow is Wintersend, all I have to do is smile and wish him a happy holiday. She has a small sign at her desk that says it, she can tap the glass to get his attention and point to it and smile and maybe...maybe he’ll smile back. Maybe he won’t, but at least she’ll have the chance to make peace with it.

But when he walks up to her booth and swipes his pass she simply lets him through and watches as he walks through the crowd toward his platform. He’s come and gone before she can barely blink, leaving behind the soft scent of his cologne.

Tomorrow, she tells herself with a soft sigh. Tomorrow. Except tomorrow will be Wintersend, and she’s asked for the day off. She’s worked every holiday so far, but she owes it to her parents to be with them on their favorite day of the year. And there’s no way someone as handsome and successful-looking as her mystery man doesn’t have someone to spend the day with.

The sound of shouts and a flurry of movement pulls her from her brooding, and she glances toward where a crowd has gathered along the edge of the platform.

“Someone’s fallen onto the tracks!”

Her heart drops, and she finds herself scanning faces, color draining from her own when she doesn’t see him.

She doesn’t see him.

She isn’t supposed to leave her booth but she pushes through the crowd, muscling her way past onlookers as she goes. People move back, afraid to suffer the same fate, and she nearly stumbles at the end.

There he is, lying unconscious on the rail. She can’t tell from here, but it looks like he’s bleeding.

Cirimeni looks around for help, but no one is moving aside from a few onlookers pulling out their phones. Cirimeni swallows, before she shuffles toward the edge of the platform and lowers herself onto the tracks, hurrying forward, heart hammering in her chest.

His eyes are closed and he’s unresponsive as she gently shakes him, afraid to move him too much in case he’s injured. As she checks him over her fingers touch something warm and wet in his hair. Blood. Cirimeni gestures back at the crowd, trying to motion for help, just as a train horn blares.

A train is coming, she can see it coming around the turn. She shakes him a little harder but he doesn’t respond. Please wake up! Please, the train isn’t going to stop! She looks up as the train sounds another warning, barreling toward them.

No time to think, she hooks her hands under his arms and pulls, dragging him back toward the shoulder of the platform and the small space between the tracks. She stumbles and nearly falls, righting herself at the last moment and with one final tug as several people on the platform scream.

The roar of the train is deafening as it rattles past, she can feel it in her bones as she clutches the man to her and closes her eyes, bracing herself for an impact. When her ears finally stop ringing, the voice of her co-worker rises above the the din calling her a thousand different kinds of idiot and she can’t help but agree. There are protocols for this and she’d ignored every single one like an utter fool. At least someone had called for an ambulance, and her coworker informs her they’ve called in the problem and stopped anymore trains from entering this side of the station.

Cirimeni stares down at the handsome face of the elf she’s saved and can’t help but smile to herself.

Worth it.

She finds herself riding in the ambulance with him, as the EMTs pepper her with questions and check his vitals. She tries to sign to them that she doesn’t know his name or his medical history, and one of the paramedics catches on and apologizes and finds the mystery man’s wallet in his coat pocket.

“Felasel Evanuris,” he calls to his coworker. Cirimeni looks back down at him. Felasel. She has a name to put to his face now. It’s an old name, with roots in Arlathan elvhen; she may have been unable to finish her degree at university, but she hasn’t forgotten all of her classes.

“Are you family?”

Cirimeni blinks, taken aback at the question, before shaking her head. She reaches into her own coat to pull out the notepad she keeps with her to explain, only to find that hand otherwise preoccupied. Sometime during the chaotic ride she’d grabbed Felasel’s hand in her own—or he had reached for hers, though she figures the latter is less likely.

The paramedic glances down at their hands and nods, before his expression softens a bit. “From what I can see the head injury isn’t that serious. Head wounds tend to bleed a lot, so they look worse than they are.”

Cirimeni swallows and nods. Good, that’s good. There had definitely been a lot of blood when the paramedics had arrived. She’d tried to staunch the bleeding with her coat which had left her looking quite a mess. The scarf Miriel had given her as a nameday present doesn’t look like it can be salvaged.

When the ambulance pulls up to the hospital, she finds herself pulled along with the paramedics as nurses and a doctor for the emergency room begin asking questions and moving him further down the hall. Finally they wheel Felasel through a door and one of the nurses stops her. “Only family beyond this point, serah.”

“It’s alright,” the paramedic chimes in from behind her. “She’s his fiance.”

---

It all moves so quickly, after that. Cirimeni finds herself ushered into a waiting room as the doctor’s look Felasel over.

Fiance.

She needs to find someone to clean the situation up, but there’s no one nearby and the nurse at the information desk seems overwhelmed by phone calls. Cirimeni supposes there are lots of emergencies during holidays.

So Cirimeni keeps herself as busy as possible. She has her purse, at least. She’d had the wherewithal to grab it before getting into the ambulance. She messages her coworker who tells her everything is fine and not to worry about the rest of her shift. She thinks of messaging her friends, but doesn’t know what to say. 

Miriel is with her family and clan in Antiva, and likely won’t have service. Lathrandi is with their boyfriend and wouldn’t want to be disturbed. She texts Fenris asking if he’ll feed Amity, but can’t bring herself to say anything else. Not until she’s had more time to process it. Besides, in a few hours it will just be a funny story to tell over a glass of wine. No need to worry anyone just yet.

A nurse finds her an hour later and shows her to Felasel’s room. A doctor explains the situation to her; he’s in a coma, and they aren’t certain when he’ll awaken. He’s stable, but they can’t give her a timeline for when he might wake up. The doctor is very gentle when he breaks the news, and tells her that the hospital has already contacted his family through his emergency medical contacts, and not to worry.

That’s a relief, at least. His family will be there soon, and then everything will be alright.

I’ll clear this all up in the morning, she decides as she settles down into the chair next to his bed. No one should be alone on Wintersend.

As she takes his hand, she swears he gives her fingers a gentle squeeze.

---

Cirimeni is jolted awake by the sound of a chorus of voices.

“—where is he?”

“ —Selene, they say he is stable—”

“Mom he’s in here!”

She manages to sit up from where she’s slumped over the bed just as the door to the room opens and three people rush inside, followed by the nurse; two men and one woman, all elves. The family resemblance is instantly recognizable, the most stunning being the sight of a man who is obviously Felasel’s twin.

The woman barely notices her as she rushes toward the bedside. Her hands glow softly with magic as she places it on his forehead, expression torn.

“Serah Evanuris, please, using magic is prohibited unless by the staff,” The nurse warns.

“I’m just checking,” She answers curtly, not taking her eyes off Felasel’s face. From this close, Cirimeni can see the vivid green of her eyes reflected on the nearby monitor. This must be Felasel’s mother, Cirimeni decides, noticing the white hair that matches the streak in Felasel’s own locks.

Cirimeni glances from the woman to the two men still standing near the doorway. The elder man—Felasel’s father?—continues talking with the nurse in a low voice. It is the younger man, the twin, who notices her first. A thoughtful frown covers his face, “Who are you?”

Cirimeni reaches for her notecards when the nurse smiles, “Didn’t you know? She’s his fiance. She’s the one that saved him from the train.”

[darling-cas]

The Lonely: Chapter 1

Summary: High school sucks. Being a teenager is tough. But that’s expected, isn’t it? Teens only care about parties drinking, and sex, right? If only it was that easy. Welcome to High school, a living hell. Where everyone is actually lonely as fuck. No matter where they stand on the social ladder. Edied by: @ilikebigbooks-and-icannotlie

Warning: This fic deals with sensitive material.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter || Masterlist

——————–

She stood where the land met the water - where the living met the haunted. The sand was soft, wet, a comfort between her toes. The water was cold, brutal, an ugly awakening to not forget - never forget.

She welcomed the water. Welcomed the waves as they lapped against the shore, against her feet, against her legs. It was a reminder of how cruel the world truly was. It kept her aware of the pain, telling her it would never go away.

There was nothing she could do to make it go away.

She took in a breath, deep and long. She allowed the cold fresh air, the smell of salt water, to fill her up. To grip her heart, her soul. To chill her bones and bury itself in her skin.

Tilting her head back, her hair fell over her shoulders as her gaze got lost in the grey sky.

It was the only colour she saw those days. Her whole world had been tainted, painted in hues of grey and black and white. The colour and life of her world, gone. Sucked down the drain, spinning round and round and round until it had vanished.

But like everything else, she welcomed it. She opened her arms to the shadows, as if they were an old friend. She didn’t fight it, didn’t want to, for what was the point?

The water washing over her toes grew colder, harsher. Yet, her gaze stayed on the sky, looking but not seeing. She couldn’t move, or didn’t want to, it didn’t matter either way.

The water inched higher and higher, climbing at a tedious pace past her toes. But she stood there, simply breathing in the air around her once more, eyes closed.

She felt the water’s savage hand wrap its claws around her ankles. She lost herself in the feeling, the sensation. She did nothing to stop it, to halt its movements, and she relished in the relief that washed over her as the grip tightened. As it pulled her under the water. The cold completely took over and she was going down and down and down...

- Colourless.

--------------------

Aelin couldn’t suppress her yawn as she navigated through the hallway. It was her own fault really. There was no one to blame but herself. She was the one up until the early hours of the morning working on a new blog post. When she finally did get to sleep, she had to force her ass out of bed not four hours later to get up for school.

Somehow, she did it. She’d managed to get up, do her hair and make-up, and put together a coordinated outfit. She managed to race downstairs, and bid Uncle Gavriel goodbye, before jumping into Aedion’s truck and heading off to school. She did it. Somehow.

Another yawn escaped and Aelin was already counting down the minutes until she could go home and nap. Never mind the fact that she had a full day of classes ahead of her.

It was going to be a long ass day.

She continued to walk through the crowds of students - Aedion had long ago left her to go meet up with the boys - before finally coming to a stop against the lockers, just as she let out another yawn.

“Why good morning, sunshine.” Lysandra’s smile was blinding, eyes travelling from the brown boots on Aelin’s feet up to her tired face. “You look like crap. But at least your outfit is cute.”

“One, fuck off,” Aelin retorted, leaning against the cool metal of the lockers with crossed arms. “Two, my outfits are always cute.”

A chuckle and a mumbled “whatever” was Lysandra’s only response as she took the last of her books out of her locker. She glanced in the mirror taped to the inside, fixing her hair over her shoulder before slamming the locker shut.

“So, there’s a party this weekend.” Lysandra spun towards Aelin, adjusting her bag on her shoulder as she smiled.

“And?” Aelin raised an eyebrow. “There’s a party basically every weekend.”

Lysandra’s own gaze narrowed, clearly annoyed with Aelin’s lack of enthusiasm. But she couldn't help it. She was so damn tired. Plus, her last blog post took a lot out of her mentally. It was good, her best yet, but it had drained her.

Before Lysandra could so much as open her mouth, however, a pair of arms suddenly wrapped themselves around Aelin’s waist, squeezing her tight.

“Sam!” Aelin exclaimed, squirming in his arms to try and get away, though her voice did lack the bite and annoyance she was going for. “Fuck off and let me go!”

A deep chuckle sounded behind her as Sam’s arms unwrapped themselves from her waist.

“Hello to you too.” Sam stepped around Aelin, hands shoved into his jean pockets, deep brown eyes sparkling with amusement. “Beautiful morning, isn’t it ladies?”

Aelin’s glare was deadly. Sam threw his hands up in surrender as Lysandra chuckled.

“Careful Sam. She’s in a biting mood this morning.”

“I think I can take her.” Sam’s gaze flicked from Lysandra back to Aelin, a smirk on his lips.

“I hate you both,” Aelin mumbled, a yawn escaping her once more.

“What were you doing last night?” Sam asked, amusement fading slightly as concern took over. “Did you stay up all night working on that English paper?”

Aelin nodded slowly, guilt gripping her bones for the little white lie. But just as fast as it was there, it was gone again.

Her blog was her safe haven, her comfort. There was a reason she kept it a secret. She didn’t want them to know - didn’t want them to see the words she longed to say but couldn’t.

“You push yourself too hard sometimes,” Sam spoke softly, concern now completely coating his features.

Aelin couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “I can take care of myself, thank you.”

Turquoise-gold eyes clashed with deep brown ones. Aelin held Sam’s gaze, not daring to break first. He was always looking out for her, always there when she needed him, and she was grateful. But she didn’t need a babysitter.

“So,” Lysandra cleared her throat, drawing Aelin’s attention away from Sam. Though she could still feel his gaze on her. “Party this weekend. We going?”

Sam huffed, finally looking away from Aelin to raise an eyebrow at Lysandra. “Is that even a question?”

“Where is this party?” Aelin asked, hoisting her bag farther up her shoulder

“Fenrys and Connall’s,” Lysandra explained as the warning bell for class rang. “Their parents are out of town for the weekend.”

“It’s gonna be wild, then,” Aelin said with a wicked smile. “I’m down.”

Sam nodded in agreement. “Me too.”

“Great!” Lysandra smiled, clapping her hands together. “I was already talking to Nehemia about it and she said she’ll come too and be the DD.”

“Of course you did.” Sam let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head slightly before stepping back. “I have to head to Bio now. We’ll talk about this more at lunch?”

“Sounds good,” Lysandra nodded, clearly satisfied that they gave her the okay for the party. Not that it should have been a surprise, they always went to parties.

Sam’s eyes turned back to Aelin, burning into her soul. She felt naked before him when he looked at her like that. The intensity of his gaze awakened something in her, in the pit of her stomach. She could feel the bond between them, the bond of their friendship, start to blur. Just like it always did when his stare was so fierce. Like there was nothing else that mattered in the world but her.

It exhilarated and horrified her to no end.

“See you later?” It came out as a question. But what a silly question for him to ask. They had been side by side since they were five. Of course he would see her later.

Even still, Aelin nodded her head and spoke in a cool voice, “See you later.”

Something flashed behind Sam’s eyes, something so quick and barely there that Aelin couldn’t read it. He simply looked between both girls once more before heading off down the hall, a sea of people swallowing him whole.

Aelin and Lysandra started making their way towards class not moments later. The whole time, Lysandra was rambling on about the party or some drama happening within the school lately. But Aelin couldn’t bring herself to truly listen to any of it. She was too tired and cursing herself for not getting more than about five hours of sleep the past few nights.

“A.” Lysandra’s hand on Aelin’s arm pulled her from her thoughts. Aelin hadn’t even realized that they had reached class and were settling into their seats.

She cut her gaze to Lysandra, who was watching her with narrowed brows.

“I’m going to ask you if you’re okay and please don’t throw a pencil at my eye,” she said. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Aelin pulled her books out of her bag with an eye roll before looking back at Lysandra. “You and Sam worry too much sometimes.”

“Yeah, because we love you,” Lysandra pointed out plainly.

“Of course you do.” Aelin’s smile turned deadly as she flipped her long blonde hair over her shoulder. “Everyone loves me.”

“You’re obnoxious.”

“And yet, you love me.”

“I take it back, I actually hate you.”

Aelin allowed her own laugh to leave her lips. She blew a kiss in Lysandra’s direction, causing the brunette to give her the finger just as their calculus teacher walked into the room.

Everyone quickly died down as class started up. But not even a few minutes into the boring lecture, the hairs on the back of Aelin’s neck stood up. She could feel a set of eyes on her, burning through her.

She looked over her shoulder, glancing at the hooded figure in the back corner.

Glancing back at Rowan Whitethorn.

She didn’t know what she had ever done to Rowan to make him hate her so much. He had moved to Rifthold a few years back and before she had even spoken to him, he had already come to the conclusion that she was a waste of his time. Not that she minded. He was a thorn in her side just as much as she was to him.

In class, he was doing what he always did. He was staring at her with an icy look of complete hatred. His black hood was up, hiding his short white hair and casting his face in shadow. But Aelin could still see his eyes. They were green, intense, and caused a fire to course through her veins. Caused anger to pool in the pit of her stomach.

He irritated her beyond belief.

Just to push his buttons even more than she, apparently, already was, Aelin sent a sickly sweet smile his way. She cocked an eyebrow, allowing her gaze to linger on him a moment longer before flipping her hair over her shoulder and turning back to the front of the class. Not before seeing his knuckle-white fist snap his pencil in half.

Satisfaction flooded through her as she smiled to herself. Lysandra gave her a look of confusion, but she ignored it.

Infuriating Rowan Whitethorn didn’t help the tiredness to seep out of her bones, but damn, it did make her feel a bit better.

--------------------

“Rowan, can you stay behind for a moment, please?”

Rowan paused, a beat passing by as students piled out of the classroom around him. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he counted to three.

He turned around just as the last few students were leaving. He saw Aelin Galathynius out of the corner of his eye, her gaze on him, a look mixed with hatred and the slightest bit of curiosity. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with her, so he kept his gaze forward, marching towards Mr. Allsbrook’s desk.

He stood there for a moment, neither of them speaking until the classroom door closed and there were no more students in the room. Only then did Rowan pull his hood back.

“Yes?” He asked politely, cool and to the point.

Mr. Allsbrook gazed up at him, hands folded neatly on the desk in front of him. There was a moment were neither moved or spoke. Then Mr. Allsbrook reached into his desk drawer, pulling out some papers.

Without a word, he handed it to Rowan, who took it with narrowed brows. It was only when he looked down, saw his name and a big red F, that he realized it was his paper on Julius Caesar

“You’re answering the questions and have interesting arguments,” Mr. Allsbrook explained, as Rowan just kept his gaze on the F glaring back at him, “but you’re not putting any thought into the work. You do the bare minimum, just enough to get by. I let you get away with it last year by giving you D’s, hoping you would put in the work, but I’m not doing it this year.”

Rowan gripped the paper so tight he was sure he was going to rip it in two, but he still said nothing.

“I know you’re better than that, Rowan,” Mr. Allsbrook continued, nodding towards the paper. “I saw your transcript from Doranelle, you got the brains, but you don’t put in the effort. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Yes. Yes he did. He understood very well what Mr. Allsbrook was telling him. Part of him couldn’t get past the fact he actually got an F, while the other part just didn’t care.

Mr. Allsbrook sighed once it was clear that Rowan wasn’t going to say anything before pulling a pad of paper towards him, scribbling away.

“I want you to meet with one of the tutors here at school a few times a week.”

“What?” Rowan’s head finally snapped up. “I don’t need a tutor.”

“Clearly you do,” Mr. Allsbrook said, hard and cold as he meets Rowan’s gaze. “Rowan. If you do not pass this class, you can’t graduate. And I’m sure you don’t want that, do you?”

“No, sir,” Rowan bit out.

Being stuck in that hellhole for another year was the last thing he wanted.

Mr. Allsbrook nodded. He finished writing on the pad of paper before ripping off the slip and handing it to Rowan.

“Stop by the tutor room before the end of the week to get situated. And I will be checking in to make sure you do,” Mr. Allsbrook said, eyes intense and unyielding.

Rowan gave a curt nod, snatching the paper, and turning on his heel to head out of the room without another word.

He stuffed the slip into his pocket without glancing at it, marching through the empty halls and out into the quad. Students filled the space, lounging on the grass or sitting at tables, enjoying lunch outside before it got too cold.

Rowan didn’t even bother to stop by the cafeteria and grab something to eat as he made his way towards the table farthest away from everyone.

He threw his bag on the table and sat down, resting his head in his hands and gripping his hair to the point where it was painful.

He hated that place, hated school and everything that came with it. More so in the past few years, since the move. Since...

He hadn’t always been like that. He had enjoyed school at one point. He had been good at it, had friends, did sports and participated in activities. But that was before every last ounce of joy had been sucked out of his life. That was before he gave up caring.

Since moving from Doranelle to Rifthold, he did the bare minimum to get by. But it seemed like even that had backfired in his face.

D’s last year he had been fine with - it was still a pass. But another F… that was the second one in English so far. If he kept it up, there would be no bouncing back, and he’d be stuck in hell for another long year.

Loud laughter booming throughout the quad caused him to glance up. Rowan couldn’t stop the annoyance that washed over him as he saw Aelin Galathynius sitting at a table not far from his own. She was surrounded by all her friends - Lysandra, Sam, Nehemia. But Rowan only kept his gaze on her. Because he simply couldn’t look away. The hatred was too strong.

He couldn’t fucking stand her.

From his first day at Rifthold High, he had wanted nothing to do with Aelin. They had never even had an actual conversation before. Not one that didn’t evolve sarcastic remarks and heated debates anyways.

Everything about her bugged him. The way she prowled down the hallways. The smirk always plastered on her face. The hair flip she did to get what she wants. The cocked eyebrow she gave him when their gazes locked.

She was nothing more than an annoying, spoiled brat. And Rowan couldn’t fucking stand her.

“You’re staring.”

“Jesus Christ!” Rowan nearly jumped out of his skin as he looked over his shoulder.

Standing behind him was Fenrys. Muscular arms crossed over his chest, long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail and a smirk gracing his lips as he looked down at Rowan.

In return, Rowan raised his eyebrow. “Can I help you?”

If possible, Fenrys’ smile seemed to grow wider. “Just wanted to make you aware you were starting to drool while you were gazing upon Ms Galathynius.”

“Piss off.” Rowan snapped, bad mood getting the better of him.

He and Fenrys talked every now and then. Normally it was just a passing comment in the halls or in the Physics class they shared. Nothing that deemed them friends in Rowan’s eyes. Mainly because Rowan didn’t have friends.

Fenrys on the other hand, seemed to have a different idea.

“Someone's in a mood today,” he chuckled, sitting down next to Rowan, who didn't reply. Instead, Rowan opted for ignoring him, hoping he’d go away. To get his point across, he reached into his bag and pulled out his Physics book, pretending to do some work.

Fenrys wasn’t buying it.

“So this is what you do during lunch? More school work.” Fenrys clicked his tongue, shaking your head. “You should join me and the boys instead. Throwing a football back and forth during lunch is more fun than learning about objects in motion.”

“Not my type of scene anymore,” Rowan mumbled, tone cool and distinct as he kept his gaze on his book.

“Anymore?”

Fuck.

Rowan froze, realizing his slip of the tongue. He didn’t want to tell Fenrys he used to play on his high school team. He didn’t want anyone to know anything about his past. He didn’t want to open up, to become friends, with anyone.

“You use to play?”

Rowan took a deep breath in through his nose, yet he still kept his gaze down. “Yes.”

He didn’t need to look up to know there was a shit-eating grin on Fenrys’ face.

“Dude, you should have totally tried out of the team early this year!” He exclaimed. “Better yet, you should hang with me and the guys someday. We usually get together on weekends and have a game of either tackle or flag football.”

Rowan huffed. “I’ll pass.”

He could feel Fenrys’ gaze on him, could feel the protest starting to build. Hell, he could physical see it in his eyes when Rowan did finally meet his gaze. But just seconds later, before Fenrys could speak, his name was being called from across the quad.

“Fenrys man, come on!”

Rowan didn’t bother to look and see who it was. Clearly, it was one of “the boys” - he didn’t care enough to identify which one it was. He simply turned back to his book without a word.

Fenrys at least realized he was clearly dismissed. After a moment, he stood up and jogged towards his group of friends without a word.

When he was finally gone, Rowan ran a hand through his hair.

He could not do this for another year. The friendly smiles, the chit-chat, the work, the people, everything, it was all fake. So fake. And if he had to do it for another year, he would lose his damn mind more than he already had.

Risking a glance over his shoulder, Rowan looked towards Fenrys. He was standing, smiling, laughing, all with some of his teammates from the football team.

Rowan couldn’t help but wondered if Fenrys was telling them about his new discovery. He probably was. And before any of them could turn his way, Rowan looked back down at the table in front of him.

He just wanted to make it through school so he could fucking leave. He didn’t want to make friends, to be part of a crowd or a team. He just wanted to leave.

You can’t leave if you fail English.

Rowan cursed the voice in his head, even if it was right.

If he continued the way he was going, if he didn’t listen to and obey Mr. Allsbrook, he was going to be stuck here for another year. There would be no way he could leave.

If dealing with a tutor a few nights was his only ticket out of here, he’d have to stick it up and take it.

With a sigh, Rowan reached into his pocket and pulled out the crumpled up slip. He smoothed it out, looking down at the name of his tutor.

He didn’t know if he wanted to curse to the Gods or start digging his grave now at the name that stared back at him. The looping black ink stark against the white paper. The letters piercing through him as he read the name over and over again. 

The name of the one person who held his fate in their hands.

Aelin Galathynius.

[sannasketches]

A Sunday Smile - Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Author’s note: While writing this chapter turned out a lot longer than I thought, so I decided to split it into two parts. Bad news: this one is a little slow. Good news: you can expect chapter 3 tomorrow!

Summary: It’s time for Elide and Fenrys to go on their first date, but is Fenrys really as gallant as he appears to be? 

Word count: 1.8 k

Tagging @eternally-reading (thanks again Maria!) @urbisie @empress-ofbloodshed @saltierthanbottomofapretzelbag @writergash @verifiefangirl

Let met know if you want to be tagged! Also as this is my first time writing a fic it would mean the world to me if you could give me some feedback in the comments!

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‘Lin, are you sure about this?’

I looked into the mirror nervously, smoothing out a crinkle on my skirt. My date was tonight… and Aelin definitely wanted me to get laid… and I was in way over my head. 

I let Aelin dress me, and she chose a forest green velvet wrap dress that was cut way lower than I was comfortable with.

‘You look so good Eli!’ Aelin squealed ‘now let me do your hair!’

I sighed and sat down at my vanity. There was no point in fighting her when she got like this, stubborn demon of a girl. I handed her my hairbrush and studied my reflection again. I had to admit, the dress was growing on me. The color worked really well with my pale skin and dark hair, and why shouldn’t I show off a little? I couldn’t even remember the last time I went on a date. Aelin called me a nun, but I was just being careful. I had to do what was right for my family, I couldn’t just run off with any boy I fancied. I had responsibilities, people expected me to be their anchor, I was the dependable one. 

I wished I had Aelin’s confidence, she had lots of obligations too but somehow managed to go out with her friends and have an enviable love life too. Maybe she didn’t sleep...

‘Earth to Elide’ Aelin suddenly whispered into my ear. 

I startled, I hadn’t realized I had sunk that deep into my own thoughts again. With a last few tugs she finished the final braid in my hair. 

‘Thanks Lin’ I said as I gave her hand a squeeze ‘I love it’. 

Fussing over my date was as much therapeutic for Aelin as it was nerve wrecking for me. We’d spent yesterday in bed, talking about anything but Rowan. I knew she was still hurting but would never show it until she was ready to talk about it. Aelin had left around noon to train with Aedion and I had gone back to studying my father’s ledgers. 

She came over a couple hours ago, dress in hand, even more excited for my date than I was. 

‘I think you’re ready Eli’ Aelin mused, sliding a shiny hairpin in my hair. 

I stood and twirled for her, getting my hair stuck in my bracelet as I spun. ‘Do you think he’ll like it Lin?’ I asked her looking through the curtain of my hair as I tried to untangle myself. 

‘You’re kidding right?! Fenrys is gonna drool all over you!’ Aelin exclaimed as she held out a pair of black pumps. I walked towards the door and slipped on some comfortable black flats, because despite all Aelin’s prepping and pushing there was no way I was going to a concert in heels. 

I’d fall flat on my face before Fenrys would even have time to say hello.

------------

I would meet Fenrys at the concert venue, because I was not going to tell my parents I was going out with someone. As far as they were concerned, I was going with Aelin. 

I stepped out of the carriage I rented and spotted my date straight away. He was sitting on a ledge looking out over the crowd that was gathering in front of the entrance. I stood for a moment, gathering my nerves. Fenrys spotted me and gave me an appreciative look over before he hopped down and stalked over to me. 

I studied him as he walked towards me, he had put his hair in a high bun and wore a gray tunic that matched his eyes. He had no right, no right at all to be that beautiful. 

‘Hello again princess’ Fenrys took my hand and kissed it, then enveloped me in a tight hug. ‘You look absolutely stunning.’ He looked down at me, his dark eyes glittering and I felt my stomach flutter.

‘You clean up nice yourself’ I smiled up at him and couldn’t stop the words coming out of my mouth ‘I like your bun’. 

Fenrys’ smile turned predatory. ‘You haven’t even seen my buns princess’. I turned red as a beetroot. He didn’t give me time to formulate a comeback, took my hand and started to guide us towards the stage.

-------------

‘How did you find out about this place?’ I asked him after we found a place in front of the stage and I took in my surroundings. We stood in what I could only describe as an inner city garden. Overgrown walls surrounded the stage, the leaves had turned yellow and orange in the last couple of weeks as the days grew colder. Small pathways surrounded by flower perks led to a stretch of grass where the audience gathered. Someone had hung fairy lights along the walls. It looked magical. 

‘Hmm?’ Fenrys seemed distracted ‘Oh, I know them, I used to play in a band with their singer.’ 

‘You play?’ I asked him. 

‘ Yeah I do!’ He wiggled his fingers at me suggestively ‘how do you think these became so limber?’ 

‘Nonstop sword play and archery practice?’ I offered.

Fenrys looked at me aghast ‘You hurt my pride. These hands are made for three things’ he stuck up his fingers as he counted ‘loving women, playing music and beating Lorcan at cards.’ 

‘I thought you worked in security?’ 

Fenrys rubbed his neck ‘Well yeah, but I wish I could quit and pursue my music.’ 

So he was a dreamer, I looked into his eyes as the crowd around us started screaming and the lights dimmed.

The band walked onstage and I pulled my gaze from Fenrys’. We were pushed forward by the crowd and Fenrys positioned himself behind me so I wouldn’t get squashed. As the performers found their places I felt the anticipation of the crowd grow. I could barely see the stage, but as they started playing I felt the music wash over me.

They were good, I closed my eyes and focused on the melody. Behind me Fenrys did the same. He was pushed flush against me and our bodies touched as we bobbed to the beat. I felt Fenrys’ breath again my neck and shivered in pleasure. As the band kept on playing the tension between us rose, he put his hands on my hips as he whispered in my ear ‘They’re good right?’ 

I nodded and twisted my head to look up at him. Heat flashed through his eyes and before I could respond he leaned down and kissed me. 

It was a searing kiss, all teeth and tongue, but it felt so good. I tried to imprint every single detail from the moment in my memory: the crisp autumn scented air around us, the feel of Fenrys’ stubble against my cheek and the way he looked at me, the girl standing beside us screaming the lyrics to the song ‘I've got to get this feeling off my chest, The doctor says all I need is pills and rest’.

I broke contact, mindful of the crowd around us, but Fenrys made a disgruntled sound and pulled me closer. ‘I’ve wanted to do that since I saw you talking to Lorcan’ he breathed before he kissed me again.

The rest of the concert passed in a blur. We kissed some more, and danced, and then kissed again. I felt light as a feather, leaving all thoughts about my responsibilities and family behind, if only for a little while. After the band walked offstage Fenrys led me to small parlor where they sold refreshments. I excused myself and walked to the restrooms. 

I took the moment alone to gather my wits. I felt flushed, and looked it too. My hair was mussed, cheeks red and lips swollen. I cleaned up as best I could.

When I came back Fenrys had found us a place at one of the small white tables, drinks and finger food in front of him. ‘You already ordered?’ I asked him.

‘I was famished, I couldn’t wait.’ Fenrys gave me a toothy grin that give his words a deeper meaning. I sat down and took a sip of my drink. And had to swallow a cough. He had ordered a whiskey cocktail, didn’t he remember I hated whiskey? I quickly took one of the little bites in front of me to wash away the taste of the bitter liquor. I went in for another bite, but Fenrys mistook my move and captured my hand in his 

‘I’m having the best time princess. I’ve never heard them play this tight before. The solo in that last song was insane!’ He sat back and finished his drink in one big swallow.

‘Hey Fenrys!’ 

Two of the musicians from the band walked up to our table. ‘Hey man, you came!’ Both men gave him a high five, then sat down on the remaining two seats. ‘And you brought a hot date!’ one of the men exclaimed. 

Fenrys looked at me apologetically, then answered ‘Of course dude, wouldn’t miss it. Tight set!’ He pointed to me ‘This is Elide’ he turned to me again and asked softly ‘You don’t mind right? I haven’t seen them in ages.’ 

‘Of course not!’ I smiled at the two men ‘It’s nice to meet you. I loved the concert!’

The three were soon lost in a deep discussion about finger positions and the best way to take care of instruments. I tried to stay focused on the coversation, but quickly lost interest. I fished the fruit from my drink, then started on the finger food. 

After a while the two musicians excused themselves and Fenrys turned to me again. ‘Sorry about that princess.’ He looked at the half empty plates on the table and laughed. ‘At least you liked the food! Do you want to get out of here?’

We left the parlor and Fenrys took my hand. We walked for a while, Fenrys explained how he met the band, and how they had practiced together before he left for Doranelle. As we neared my house he stopped me. ‘I’m rambling right? I’m truly sorry Elide, I just get so passionate about music. How can I make it up to you?’

I thought for a while. Despite the interruption our date had been great. I had enjoyed myself, and it felt good to let go for a while. It also felt good to have a man show this much interest in me. ‘You told me so much about your music, but I haven’t even heard you play. Would you play for me next time?’

His eyes lit up ‘So there’ll be a next time? I have to work, but how about next weekend? We can meet at my place!’ He kissed me enthusiastically before saying goodbye. ‘I’ll see you next Saturday!’