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theladyofdeath · 4 years

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In the Bleak Midwinter {5}

A Throne of Glass Period AU: 1920s.

Summary: 2 years after Arobynn Hammel is killed by Rowan Whitethorn, Maeve has returned from Eyllwe with a vengeance. Meanwhile, Rowan is getting married, Lorcan is a father, and Lysandra is finally ready to give her heart away. There’s been peace in The Cadre’s Orynth for 2 years, but peace never lasts.

A/N: Some chapters only have room for one viewpoint. You know...emotionally.

All characters belong to SJM. I am no more than a fan with a plot.

**Warning: mature content - language, alcohol use, drug use, sex, murders and shit.

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The Cadre - 1920s AU {TOG}

In the Bleak Midwinter {The Cadre, Part 2}

Lorcan and Elide walked into the grand hall, where tables were spread about covered in golden tablecloths, candles, and expensive dinnerware. Wine glasses were at the head of every plate, and Lorcan found himself wondering what they would be drinking as Elide waved to Aelin across the room. He wasn’t a fan of wine, anything sweet made him angry just thinking about attempting to digest the shit.

Good thing he had a flask in his pocket.

It was good to always be prepared.

Rowan and Aelin managed to break away from the elderly couple they had been chatting with to meet Lorcan and Elide in the middle of the room. Aelin complimented Elide’s gown while Elide brushed her fingers lovingly over the pricey boa around Aelin’s neck – which, Lorcan took as a hint for his next gift.

“Who was that?” Lorcan muttered.

“Some rich couple planning to donate an ass-ton of money to something or another,” Rowan mumbled back.

Aelin rolled her eyes. “He works under close proximity with the Prime Minister, I’d be kissing his ass if I were you.”

Rowan snorted and whispered something into his wife’s ear that made her blush.

Elide gagged. “We’re in public, don’t be whispering naughty nothings into her ear.”

“Naughty nothings?” Lorcan repeated.

Elide elbowed him in the ribs before turning her attention to the stage as the big band began to play.

“I hate this music,” Lorcan mumbled. “It’s ridiculous. It’s loud.”

“Try not to sound like a grumpy old man for one night,” Elide crooned, a big grin plastered on her lips.

“Impossible, it comes naturally,” Lorcan protested, but he pulled her closer to his side, kissing her cheek.

Elide turned to him and he was already uneasy at the glint in her eye. She was about to ask something that he would want to say no to but would not, because she was the one asking it.

“Do you wanna dance?”

Lorcan sighed, and she laughed at his hesitation, but was already pulling him into the space in the middle of all the tables that had been cleared for those to dance. Without another protest, Lorcan was pulling Elide into his arms and spinning her around.

Yes, he hated the music.

Yes, he hated dancing.

But gods, he loved Elide Lochan Salvaterre.

And nothing compared to her smile, to the light in her eyes, to the utter joy she got from dancing with her husband.

He spun her around and caught her a second later, his hand resuming its position on her waist as his lips caught hers.

“Careful,” she warned, when he pulled back. “People around here will start thinking you’re soft and you have a reputation to uphold.”

“As long as they know I’m only soft for you,” he replied, his hand tightening around hers.

Elide’s eyes softened as the song ended and they began their walk to their table, where Gavriel, Fenrys, and Connall were already sitting. On the way to the table, they passed a waiter carrying a tray and Lorcan grabbed Elide a glass of champagne, which she humbly accepted.

“Lorcan!”

His name rang out, but he couldn’t tell the direction it came from. He looked to his left, where Rowan was pulling a gun out of his jacket, and Lorcan’s heart stopped as a shot rang out, into the grand hall.

Rowan’s shot rang out a second later, and Lorcan’s eyes followed that bullet as it met the chest of a man in a black fedora that stood in the doorway, his gun pointed at Lorcan.

The man fell down.

Another shot rang out.

His accomplice fell to the ground, as well.

Lorcan’s arm around Elide suddenly felt heavier, and time seemed to go slower as he looked to his wife, as the champagne glass fell from her white-gloved hand and shattered against the tile.

Chaos began, those who were attending the gala suddenly in a panic as they grabbed their loved ones and ran, their screams echoing in the large room. The band had abruptly stopped, those who had been on the stage gone, disappeared into the fleeing crowd.

But Lorcan didn’t pay mind to any of them, because his wife had gone still. Her eyes were wide, staring at him as his eyes fell down to where her other hand laid against her ribs, her white glove coated in crimson.

Lorcan wasn’t processing it.

Couldn’t process it.

Didn’t understand what was happening, not in the slightest. He heard nothing, everything had faded, all of it becoming background noise to the ringing in his ears. He was unsure why Elide was looking at him with pure panic, didn’t know why she was falling against him, didn’t know why her glove was ruined, covered in blood.

Her blood.

It was Elide’s blood.

She was bleeding.

Lorcan’s name was being screamed again, Elide’s name was being screamed, but Lorcan was falling to the floor, Elide in his arms, Elide gripping his sleeve, Elide whispering his name, her voice breaking.

Then it hit him.

It all hit him.

His heart began to race.

His palms grew sweaty, his forehead clammy, his cheeks wet as silent tears flowed down his cheeks.

She had gotten shot.

The man that had entered the room, those men, they were Maeve’s men, the one had pointed his gun at Lorcan…

And had hit Elide.

In the ribs.

Elide had been shot in the ribs.

He met her gaze, a soft sob shaking his body as he held her in his arms, sitting on the cold tile, his boots beneath him.

“No,” he breathed, and palmed her cheek, turning her face to meet his gaze, fully. “No, no, no, no, no, no.”

He was panicking.

He was having a panic attack.

Chaos surrounded him, two men were murdered, by Rowan, in the doorway, two of Maeve’s men, two men who had come to kill them, two men who had Elide’s blood on their hands.

Elide.

He whispered her name, and she opened her mouth but nothing came out. A single tear fell from her dark eyes, she found his hand and wrapped her fingers around his, both coated in blood. Lorcan didn’t even remember touching the wound, didn’t even remember any of it.

Time stood still.

Time was blurry.

Time was meaningless.

Everything was meaningless if Elide wasn’t there.

She was fading.

He could see it in her eyes, could see the sorrow, could see the beauty, the light, fading away.

“Elide,” he sobbed, and he wasn’t sure if he whispered it or screamed it, wasn’t sure who was at his back with a hand on his shoulder, wasn’t sure who was crying behind Elide, wasn’t sure of anything, anything at all.

“Gods no, gods no, gods, fuck.” He heard his voice, heard the endless string of words, knew that it was his voice, but it sounded so far away, sounded so desperate.

Elide took a deep, shuttering breath, then her lips formed one word.

Lucy.

Lucy, their baby, Lucy, their child, Lucy, whose mother was lying, bleeding out, on tile of white marble.

“Lucy,” Lorcan repeated, and his tears were flowing from his cheeks onto her skin.

Elide nodded, subtly, slowly. “Lorcan.” His name, hardly audible from her pale lips.

He nodded, gripping her hand so tightly that he feared he would leave a bruise on her delicate, pale skin.

Elide’s eyes closed as she whispered, “I love you both.”

“No!” Lorcan screamed, and this time he knew he screamed, this time he felt the word tear into his body, into his soul. That one word, that single fucking word, ripped him apart and sent him into an endless void of panic and fear. “Open your eyes, El, open your fucking eyes!”

She did, she met his gaze, once more, eyes full of sadness and regret, then the sadness faded and complete adoration had her tearing up.

“Lor,” she breathed, those eyes going hazy, distant.

Lorcan’s voice broke when he answered, as calmly as he could muster, “I’m here.”

She was looking up at the ceiling, those beautiful eyes unfocused, as a small, serene smile captured her lips.

The land in Lorcan’s went limp.

And Elide Lochan Salvaterre went still.

But Lorcan continued to hold her, close to his body as his loud, piercing wail flooded the room. He held his wife’s head to his chest and hoped through some rare kind of miracle that the heart beating wildly, rioting, inside of his chest would somehow pour into hers and ignite it once more.

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

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#tacmc ITBMW #elorcan #rowaelin #lyseadion #period au #1920s au #PB au

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modernbookfae · 7 years

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12 for lysaedion!? :))

First Time Headcanon:

- Aedion never pressures Lysandra to take their relationship to the next level.

- Lysandra is the one who makes the first move.

- After Aedion gets back from training with the soldiers Lysandra is waiting for him in his room.

- It starts off slow. She removes his weapons and gears with lithe fingers that trail across Aedion’s body.

- It doesn’t take Aedion long to follow her lead by undoing the laces of her dress and removing the fabric until she is bare before him.

- By the time Aedion is free of his own garments he is gritting his teeth to restrain himself from pushing Lysandra onto the sheets.

- He settles for picking her up and carrying her to the bed.

- Aedion maps Lysandra’s body with his hand. Worshipping her as she should have been years ago.

- He’ll make sure she understands how clearly he loves her. And he’ll spend the whole day and night doing so.

- Lysandra is in shock at how Aedion paces himself. She’s never experienced anything so tender and it almost brings a tear to her eye.

- Her fingers run through Aedion’s blonde hair that hangs loose around his shoulders.

- Aedion turns his head and places kisses onto her hand.

- “You’re so beautiful Lysandra,” Aedion murmurs against her wrist. “And I’m not just talking about your body - though you would look gorgeous no matter what form you chose. But your soul is blinding in beauty Lysandra. It’s so bright- brighter than the flames of Brannon Galathynius.”

- Lysandra can’t help the tears that well in her eyes at Aedion’s words.

- Nor can she help it when her fingers tangle in his hair and pull him down into a fierce kiss.

- Lysandra’s legs wrap around his waist and they are completely lost in the passion of each other’s touch.

- Growls fill the air as they both kiss, lick and bite.

- Aedion loves the way Lysandra claws at his back as he sinks deeper and deeper into her.

- His thrusts are slow at first until Lysandra is demanding he go faster. All it takes for one bite on the neck from her teeth and Aedion loses control.

- He obliges the lady by giving her swift and sure strokes that cause him to accidentally rip the sheets from pulling them so hard as he moves in such a quick pace.

- When they both reach the peak of pleasure they moan each other’s names. The sounds fill the room along with their panting as Aedion falls into a heap beside Lysandra.

- He watches her closely for any signs of distress, but all he can see his her smile and green eyes filled with happiness as she rolls on top of him.

- “That was...” Lysandra searches for a word to describe just how wonderful the experience was. “Wow.”

- Aedion merely chuckles and tucks Lysandra’s hair behind her ear as she blushes slightly.

- But Lysandra wiggles on top of Aedion. Immediately Aedion chokes up and Lysandra can feel him getting hard underneath her again.

- “Can you handle another round General?”

- Aedion’s smirk is the only answer she needs before Lysandra wipes it off his face with another kiss.

#lysaedion #lysandra and aedion #aedion and lysandra #tog #throne of glass #lyseadion headcanon #tog headcanon #rowaelin #manorian #elorcan

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