#rowaelin au

[leiawritesstories]

PART ELEVEN: NOVEMBER

Word count: 10.1k

Warnings: Oof, this one's a doozy. Swearing, prison, police presence, shitloads of scheming, graphic violence, minor character d3@th, and angst

enjoy ;)

Masterlist

Read on AO3

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

Endovier Prison, as it turned out, really wasn’t all that awful of a place to live. 

To be fair, the food quality was subpar and the communal bathrooms reminded Aelin of being in the college dorms again, but all told, it wasn’t a terrible place, except for the silence. She had been placed in solitary confinement based on her “history of conspiring with others to evade containment,” but she was allowed to take her meals in the common dining room and have her recreation time along with the other inmates. She was always monitored by at least one guard, and for the most part, her guards were stolid, silent presences in her periphery. 

And then there was Remelle. 

Technically an officer of the Orynth Police Department, Remelle was assigned to Aelin’s prison guard rotation three days per week as an additional security measure. Orynth PD had requested to assign a police officer to her guard rotation to ensure that she wasn’t trying anything suspicious, and the guards at Endovier had agreed after some deliberation. Apparently, Remelle had volunteered to be the PD guard so fast the job wasn’t even available to anyone else. 

She had first shown up in the guard rotation about five days into Aelin’s sentence, and jealousy practically oozed from her pores. It had taken Aelin only half an hour to figure out that Remelle had a completely unrequited crush on Rowan, and it took her only a little bit longer to casually mention his name within Remelle’s hearing. The sneer on the cop’s face and the steam that could have poured out of her ears confirmed what Aelin already hypothesized—Remelle was viciously jealous of Aelin and Rowan’s relationship, no matter that it was over. 

Which made her the perfect linchpin to Aelin’s escape plan. 

Two weeks into November, her first month at Endovier, Aelin had demonstrated nothing but good behavior, and she was allowed to have supervised computer time each day. Part of that was necessary, since she was still working with Elide to finalize the transition of power in her company, and Aelin had shown no resistance to having one of her guards watching her while she worked for her allotted hour of computer time. She was so cooperative, in fact, that her guards had become complacent after a week of supervising her and begun to just sit outside the door to the computer room, glancing in every few minutes to make sure she was still there. 

As soon as the guards were out of the room, Aelin began adding an extra task to the handful of things she was wrapping up as her company transitioned into Elide’s capable hands. During her computer time, she casually started to peruse the computer’s data logs and trace its network paths, and she eventually discovered that all the prison’s computers ran on a central network, even the secured ones that only the guards and other staff used. 

Including the security staff. 

A few clever digs into the system’s backbrain got her into the logs for the security system itself, cameras and all, and she had slowly begun to map out where the relevant cameras were located and what mechanisms she could possibly trigger to get them on a temporary loop. 

She couldn’t risk working too quickly, though, so she only did a little bit more each day, slowly working her way into familiarity with the prison’s computer network. Interestingly, she had also found the log that tracked all the visits to the prison, and she noticed that she had two visitors waiting to see her. The yellow flag by her name was a warning—she was not yet cleared for visitors—but given her good behavior, she was fairly certain that it wouldn’t be long before she could have visitors. 

Endovier Prison wasn’t going to know what hit it when they allowed Aelin Galathynius to have visitors. 

~

In the weeks she had been there, Aelin had managed to make some acquaintances with other inmates during communal mealtimes or rec time. The most interesting one was a woman about ten years older than she was who had been in Endovier for six years, a timeline that she tracked by marking the days on her cell wall with charcoal. Her name was Petrah, and she had been a licensed cosmetologist with no intent or interest in the criminal life until she discovered that her ex-husband was involved with a major drug smuggling operation. When she confronted him, he denied it and threatened to forcibly silence her if she told anyone else about it. 

So she murdered him. 

Petrah had been found guilty of manslaughter but had successfully managed to prove that it was in self-defense, and her sentence was only ten years. She was up for parole the next year, and she was constantly asking Aelin questions about Orynth to prepare herself for a potential return to the city. Aelin was happy to answer her questions; she had even said she would provide a reference if Petrah ever wanted to look for work at Galathynius, Inc. Elide would be renaming the company, but the leadership team had yet to decide on a new name. Grateful, Petrah had thanked Aelin but said she didn’t think she would pursue that kind of employment. 

The two of them had a casual friendship, little more than the shared bond of fellow inmates in a high-security prison, but Aelin trusted Petrah enough to ask her a favor. In the middle of November, Aelin was moved from solitary confinement to a cell block in a different sector, and while she was still alone in her cell, she had neighbors along the hallway. One of them was Petrah. 

“Morning, Sardothien. How does the slop look today?” Petrah’s raspy voice greeted Aelin as she set down her tray on the long metal cafeteria table. 

With a scoff, Aelin pushed her spoon around the grayish mass that was supposedly oatmeal. “No better than yesterday,” she drawled. “Seems like the supplies are getting a little thin.” 

Petrah chuckled. “It happens every few weeks. What it usually means is that the delivery comes at the end of the week, and they’ve got to get rid of as much stuff as possible.” 

“Fair enough.” Aelin managed to force down about half her portion, chasing it with multiple cups of bitter drip coffee. “Hey, do you still have any of your stuff from the salon?” 

“Yeah, I brought a box when they sent me here.” Petrah raised a brow. “Why?” 

Aelin shrugged, aware that the guards were probably watching and listening to her. “I feel like a little bit of a change. Got any bleach?” 

“Hmm.” Petrah tipped her head sideways, thinking. “I might.” 

When rec time rolled around that day, Aelin went over to the small, sparsely stocked library, and she was slowly browsing through the handful of books that looked interesting when Petrah tapped her on the shoulder. “I’ve got bleach.” 

“Perfect.” Aelin left the books alone and went down to the bathrooms with the stylist. “I was thinking I wanted to go platinum, or as close to that as you could get.” 

The older woman nodded, a sly grin tugging at her lips. “Ever bleached your hair before?” 

“I’ve had highlights, but not for years.” 

“Okay.” Petrah lined up a few bottles on the shelf under the small mirror in front of one of the sinks. “Damn, this brings back college.” 

“Tell me about it,” Aelin chuckled. “Looks just like the dorm bathrooms.” 

“Yeah.” Petrah tugged Aelin’s hair out of the braid she usually kept it in and glanced quickly towards the door. The bathrooms were about the only part of Endovier that didn’t have security cameras, and Aelin was half convinced there were hidden microphones somewhere. “We’re safe here,” Petrah said softly, keeping her tone low. “So tell me, Shadow Assassin. Is there any other reason you had this desire for a change?” 

Aelin met the stylist’s eyes in the mirror. 

And smirked. 

~

It had been twenty-five minutes since her visit began, and Elide was still sneaking astonished glances at Aelin’s hair. Aelin smothered her laughter and kept her face neutral as she chatted aimlessly with her dear friend. She’d finally been cleared for visitors two days ago, and Elide was the first one to arrive, bringing a stack of paperwork with her. Despite the no-touching and no-exchanges rule, she’d strolled right into the visitors’ room and plopped the stack of paper right down in front of Aelin. 

“No passing, ma’am,” the guard on duty interrupted, his eyes darting awkwardly between the current CEO of Galathynius, Inc. and the Shadow Assassin. 

Elide’s polite smile could have cut glass. “Would you like to sort through this paperwork yourself, Officer…” She glanced at his name tag. “Officer Owen?”

The man gulped nervously, stepped forward, and picked up the stack of papers. He flipped through it and set it back down. “A-all clear.” 

“Good.” Elide sat across from Aelin and handed a pen to the guard, who managed to give it to Aelin without dropping it. “These need your signatures, Aelin. It’s backlog from before the transfer.” 

“Couldn’t be bothered to use digital paperwork, I guess.” Aelin picked up the pen and started working through the paperwork, scratching her signature onto the blank lines. Elide updated her on the company business as she worked, and it was only a few minutes before the guard’s eyes began to glaze over and he retreated to the opposite corner of the room. Aelin stifled a chuckle. 

Nox Owen put on the second-best performance she’d seen in an undercover agent. Only Ren Allsbrook had been better. 

As Elide stole another glance at Aelin’s new, icy-toned hair, she caught the blonde’s gaze and sighed, shaking her head. “Didn’t take long for the boredom to kick in, did it?” 

Aelin shrugged. “When I got moved out of solitary, I found out that one of the nearby inmates is a cosmetologist. She’s nice. I felt like having a little fun.” 

Elide laughed softly. “I suppose you have to find those moments when you can, given that you’re never seeing the outside of this place.” 

“I see a few yards of the walls once a day,” Aelin joked. “Don’t worry about me, Ells. I’m okay.” 

“Really?” 

A shrug. “It’s not my apartment by any means, but it’s not awful.” 

“Hmm.” Elide pulled the finished stack of paperwork back over to her side of the table. “Officer?” 

At the sound of his title, Nox jerked and came to stand a few feet away from Elide. “Yes?” 

Elide turned a warm, charming smile onto the man. “Officer, is it possible for inmates here to receive care packages from outside?” 

“Well, I, um…” Nox cleared his throat, perfectly acting as a nervous wreck of a new prison guard. “All incoming mail must be thoroughly inspected by prison security.” 

“So that’s a yes?” 

“Yes, ma’am. You can put the inmate’s name and the prison’s address, and as long as the package passes inspection, the inmate will receive it.” 

“Wonderful!” Elide beamed. “I’d just like to make sure Aelin gets some real food, since she’s said that the food quality here isn’t all that great.” 

“If you could include extra for my cell-block neighbors, that would be great,” Aelin added. 

Elide nodded crisply. “Of course.” She made eye contact with Aelin, and the pair exchanged the slightest nod. “Is there anything specific you’d want besides food?” 

“Hmm…probably toothpaste and maybe some tampons. The ones in the communal bathrooms fall apart too fast. Oh!” Aelin grinned. “And if you happen to throw a few pieces of hazelnut dark chocolate in there, I’d be a happy woman.” 

“You and your chocolate,” Elide laughed. “Okay.” 

“Um, visit time is up, ma’am,” Nox interrupted, voice quavering. 

“I know.” Elide tucked the paperwork into her folder. “Would you be so kind as to show me the way out, Officer Owen?” She gave Aelin one last glance before she walked out the door, following Nox Owen in his prison guard’s disguise back out of Endovier. 

Another guard came into the visitors’ room. “Computer time, Galathynius,” he said curtly. Aelin followed him out and down the hallways to the computer room, mentally memorizing her steps. Although she could probably just follow another guard when she eventually made her break, it would go better if she didn’t. Besides, the cover she planned to use knew her way around Endovier. 

Or at least she should, after several weeks of being Aelin’s personal police guard. 

“You have thirty minutes.” The guard opened the door, checked the room, and sat down in the chair right outside the computer room. Not very talkative, this one. 

Aelin sat down at the computer and went to her email, where she answered some of the queries that still came to her and redirected others back to Elide. The camera in this room faced the chair, not the screen, and she kept her face and posture casual and neutral as she opened up another window and navigated herself easily into the prison’s computer system. Since everything was centralized, it had been laughably easy to clear her file’s hold, making it appear that the superintendent had cleared Prisoner Galathynius for visitors. The central system also made it much easier to track and locate the camera system, and in just over four weeks, Aelin had managed to map out the locations of every security camera in Endovier. 

The next step was figuring out how to run a certain sector of the cameras on a loop. She’d started with the one directly opposite her cell a week ago. A few typed commands, and that camera had blinked and gone dark for a few seconds, then rebooted. Aelin tried a few different methods, and eventually, she discovered how to make that camera replay a previously recorded segment of footage. She then moved on and started trying to sync up more cameras, a task that had proved more challenging. 

But after two weeks of work, she finally had it down. 

A handful of commands and a couple of passwords swiped from a database—really, this whole centralized system was just such a peach—and all twenty cameras in the sector Aelin had targeted were running a section of footage from a week ago. 

Beautiful. 

Aelin set the cameras back on their normal track, cleared all evidence of her meddling, and was closing out of her email when the guard opened the door again. 

“Time’s up.” He walked over and watched as she calmly exited the computer. 

She followed him back to her cell, and once his footsteps had receded, she sat down on her bed and picked up a journal from the shelf built into the wall. She knew the guards probably searched her books every once in a while, so she was careful to keep every piece of her plans in a code that only she knew. The words were ostensibly normal, set up as an ordinary journal entry, and the cute little drawings in the margins and on some of the pages were also apparently mindless scribbles. 

In Aelin’s eyes, the words and the sketches turned into her plan to get out of Endovier and finish Maeve Bitchface once and for all. 

And if she died in the process, then so fucking be it.

~

Nox Owens was having the time of his fucking life. 

When Elide had contacted him in the middle of Aelin’s trial, he’d been expecting another ordinary request for a tech job, which was his usual role. But she had surprised him—of course she had. If he knew anything about the Boss, it was that she always had another plan up that infinite sleeve of hers. Instead of a tech job, she wanted him to get into Endovier. As a guard. 

That was always Ren’s job. 

Nox had plenty of spy training and experience, but his primary strength was his tech savvy, and once Ren had joined the Boss’s team, he’d been content to take the tech jobs and leave the infiltrations to the most wanted spy in the world. But Ren was dead, and the Boss wanted Nox to work as her inside man. And it had been a hell of a long time since he’d had the chance to practice this skill set. 

It had been almost laughably easy to slip into Endovier’s database and add himself to the prison guard register, which rotated frequently enough that another new name didn’t catch any second glances. He barely even bothered to change his name, and his prison guard nameplate read “Nick Owen,” a bland, forgettable name to go with his bland, forgettable face. Just for fun, he swiped Ren’s fingerprints from the Boss’s archive and imprinted them onto the SecondSkin he applied to his hands—if he was ever printed, the staff would have such a fun time scratching their heads at the fact that this guard’s prints apparently matched those of a former inmate, one who was supposed to be dead. 

About a week after she visited, Elide Lochan sent a plain cardboard box by courier to Endovier Prison. As he passed by the shipping room on his rotation, Nox heard the gruff bark of the mail supervisor. 

“Owen! C’mere!” 

He strolled over, stopped a few paces away, and fiddled with the cuffs of his sleeves. “Yes?” 

“Quit twitching,” grumbled the crotchety old man who’d been the mail supervisor at Endovier for twenty years and counting. “Damn newbies.” 

“S-sorry, sir,” Nox mumbled, masking his snicker with a wobbly voice. 

“Just stop shaking, newbie.” The man pulled a box across the table and tugged the small, flat white envelope off the top of the box. He tore it open, and Nox swore he saw an avaricious smile flicker across the supervisor’s face at the sight of the cash inside the envelope. “Here. This one’s for Sardothien.” 

Nox cleared his throat. “Aren’t we supposed to inspect every package that comes for an inmate?” 

The supervisor chuckled dryly. “I see someone memorized the handbook.” Carelessly, he took a box knife out of his pocket, slit through the tape, and gave a cursory sweep of his hand through the contents of the box, then slapped a stamp on top of the cardboard. “How’s that for inspection, Owen?” 

“I…uh…” Nox pretended to be lost for words. 

“Good lad.” The supervisor tucked a stack of cash into the inside pocket of his vest and passed Nox fifty dollars. “This is called an inspection fee.” 

“Really?” 

“Of course not!” A rattling cackle scraped out of the mail supervisor’s throat. “It’s called good business for me and some goddamn tampons for Prisoner Sardothien. Now quit shaking and take that box to Sardothien’s cell.” 

“Yes, sir!” Nox picked up the box, slapped a bit of tape on top to hold it together, and left the mailroom as fast as possible. He wove through the corridors, flashing his badge when necessary, and came to Aelin’s cell. The snide blonde policewoman was leaning on the wall beside the cell door, a sneer on her face like usual. She glanced sideways at Nox as he approached. 

“What do you want?” 

“Delivery for the inmate,” he said coolly, showing the cop the box. The red stamp indicating that it had passed inspection glared against the beige cardboard. 

The cop sniffed haughtily. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t contain any contraband.” 

“Whatever.” Nox set the box on the floor and folded his arms. He’d learned very quickly that the easiest way to deal with the snippy blonde cop was to go along with whatever her snide, bitchy voice said. 

“You could at least hold it,” she huffed. 

He shrugged. “It’s stable, and you can make sure anything you flag doesn’t get passed to the inmate.” 

She curled her lip, but knelt down, tore the tape off, and started sifting through the contents of the box. A plastic bag full of tampons was pushed aside, and she sorted a whole pile of electrolyte drink packets into stacks and shook the empty plastic water bottle. She went through the handful of food items too, exhaling in disgust when she didn’t find anything suspicious enough to confiscate. “Fine. The inmate can have the box.” 

“About time,” Aelin drawled from inside her cell, where she was sitting on her bed, watching the cop tear through the box. “Thank you for your excellent supervision, Remy.” 

“Don’t call me that,” the cop snapped, her icy-blue eyes narrowed into little slits. Once again, Nox was struck by how similar she looked to Aelin—with the exception of the eyes and the sneer. She unlocked the cell door, and Nox slid the box into the room. 

“So kind of you, Remy darling.” Aelin’s snicker floated over the sound of the cop slamming the cell door shut in frustration. She flicked through the box aimlessly, then took out an energy bar and tossed it through the bars of her cell. “Here, Rems, have a little something sweet to counteract all that bitterness.” 

Nox turned and strode away down the corridor before he could erupt into laughter at the shade of enraged purple that Remy the Cop’s face turned. 

He knew goddamn well what was in that box, and it wasn’t just the food and period products that seemed to be in there. While there was ordinary food and ordinary tampons, there was also some quantity of Aelin’s SecondSkin, the very same substance that was currently covering Nox’s hands. He didn’t know exactly how much Elide and Nehemia had folded up and tucked into the decoy drink packets, but if Aelin was going to use it to get herself out of Endovier, he could only imagine that it was a lot. 

And he could only imagine the look on her face when she strolled out in plain sight. 

~

Four weeks, two days, and seven hours after she became an inmate of Endovier Prison, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius received the package that would get her out. 

Elide and Nehemia had done everything exactly as they had all planned. Carefully measured and prepped sections of SecondSkin were tucked into a number of the electrolyte drink packets, and a set of ice-blue contact lenses hid in another packet. Elide had even tucked a tiny scrap of a note into one of the packets, and Aelin chuckled at her familiar, comfortingly blunt writing. She confirmed that everything was in place for whenever Aelin decided to make her move. 

Which meant that Maeve Bitchface had taken the bait. 

Aelin smothered a smirk. She’d never really doubted that Maeve would fall for her trap, not when that woman’s ego was so laughably easy to predict. Aelin knew Maeve was gloating over her arrest and imprisonment, and that meant she’d grown too comfortable in her power. A short note from Connall had been tucked into an earlier letter from Elide, and in code, he confirmed that he’d run the course of poisoning the Bitch Queen of the Night, and she was visibly weakened and frantically throwing money at anyone she thought could help her condition. 

The second she got through Endovier’s gates, Aelin would be heading straight for Maeve Bitchface’s cute little compound. Well, not straight—she knew the most convoluted path to get there, and she’d take it to keep any potential pursuit off her trail. She and that bitch had a score to settle. 

Shaking those thoughts away, Aelin carefully sorted the normal drink packets from the SecondSkin ones. All the orange-flavored ones were SecondSkin, both because it was the most common flavor and because Aelin loathed artificial orange flavoring almost as much as she loathed Maeve. She tucked the orange ones into the plastic basket where she kept her shower things, hiding them beneath her bar of soap and her washcloths. 

A couple of days later, in the shower, Aelin turned the water on extra hot, creating a cloud of steam in the shower room. Behind the plastic curtains, she tore into the packets, unfolded the SecondSkin, and began the tedious process of laying the film atop her skin. Somewhere around half an hour in, a guard rapped on the door and grunted something about not taking too much time. 

Aelin ignored him, of course. 

It took a good forty-five minutes to get every piece of SecondSkin laid onto her skin, and she wrapped a towel around her hair and put on a clean set of inmate scrubs. Only a few more days in this rancid orange, she promised herself. Only a few more days. 

“About damn time,” the guard grumbled when she emerged from the shower room. 

She shrugged. “I’m a woman. We take long showers every once in a while.” 

“Whatever.” He led her back to her cell, and she lounged on her bed, content for a while. She picked up her journal and wrote aimlessly on one of the last pages, her pencil moving almost without any conscious effort. Her shower had been a night one, and it wasn’t long before the corridor lights dimmed and she tucked her journal back onto its shelf. She fell asleep dreaming of the smell of fresh pine air in her lungs and the sweet taste of freedom. 

And she dreamed snippets of strong, tattooed muscles flexing and shifting above her skin, fragments of tortured moans breaking the thick, hot air. Shattered emerald eyes stole a glance at her, and in an instant, the dream crumbled, giving way to cold concrete and steel. 

Fuck. 

~

Aelin pushed the scraps of her dreams away as she went about her day, letting nothing show. When the usual guard came to escort her to the computer room, she walked in calmly, sat herself down, and let her fingers fly over the keyboard. She was into the system and navigating to the cameras almost before her brain caught up with her actions, and she forced herself to stop and breathe deeply before she went on, lest she make a wrong move and trigger some kind of alert. 

Now or never, Galathynius. She entered the sequence of keystrokes that gave her command over her sector’s cameras, and in a matter of minutes, that entire section was playing a loop from two days ago. 

That loop was the last time Remelle was on Aelin’s guard rotation. 

Like clockwork, the platinum-blonde cop joined the guard as Aelin was returning from computer time, a sneer on her face. “No snide comments today, inmate?” 

“It’s too early for that,” Aelin returned sweetly. As they rounded the corner into her corridor, she nodded a fraction at the guard. Obediently, Nox started to walk faster, and as if on cue, Remelle stopped and scowled. 

“There’s no need to rush, guard.” 

Nox shrugged. “I’m not rushing.” 

“You are.” 

“Didn’t seem like I was.” 

She huffed in irritation. “Just go back to your rotation. I can handle the inmate from here.” 

“Fine.” Nox peeled away and headed back down the corridor, off to his usual path. 

Remelle curled her acrylic-tipped fingers around Aelin’s arm. “Just you and me now, inmate.” 

Aelin fixed a dry, blank stare on the cop. “Is that supposed to be threatening, Remy? Because you should know that you sound childish at best.” 

“Shut it,” she snapped. “Get moving.” 

“Hard to do that with such a…significant weight clinging onto me.” Aelin knew it was a low blow to comment on another woman’s size, but Remelle fucking had it coming. 

The cop gasped, then her face burned scarlet. “You little bitch,” she hissed. She threw Aelin’s cell door open with a rattling clang, following her into the small room. 

Perfect. 

As Remelle wound up to slap her across the face, Aelin slipped a tiny syringe out of her pocket, ducked the cop’s wild swing, and grabbed her ponytail, holding her head still as she stuck the needle into the nape of her neck. Her hairline would conceal any puncture marks. Remelle’s eyes went wide, and she flailed without success—the sedative worked rapidly, and Aelin had asked Nehemia for enough to knock the woman out for a good twenty-four hours. 

When Remelle sank to the floor, unconscious, Aelin swiftly stripped her of her clothes, then removed her own prison scrubs and did a quick clothing swap. Before she put the undershirt onto Remelle, she very carefully applied the SecondSkin patches to her fingertips. The synthetic nearly disappeared into her skin, and Aelin chuckled as she put the pinch-faced cop into her prison clothes. 

“Enjoy your stay,” she crooned, tidily switching the cuff from her wrist to Remelle’s. She stepped in front of the mirror, applied the pale blue contacts to her eyes, and then slipped the turquoise ones into Remelle’s eyes. “And thank you,” she added as she settled Remelle into the bed, tucked the blankets up around her, grabbed her journal, and left the cell. 

She’d memorized Remelle’s schedule, so it was natural for her to adopt the cop’s sneer and customarily pinched expression as she sauntered down the corridors. A brief stop at the staff computer room allowed her to transition the cameras from their loop back to their normal settings, and she went back to her corridor and stood the rest of her Celaena Duty before the next guard came to relieve her. 

“Any changes?” the guard asked. 

Aelin curled her lip. “Why would there be?” she snipped in a flawless imitation of Remelle’s nasal whine. She’d had weeks to perfect that inflection. 

He held up his hands. “Standard question, as usual.” 

“Well, if it’s so standard, just stop asking.” Aelin turned on her heel and walked snootily down the corridors. She passed rows of cells, ascended a couple of floors, and went down more hallways, carefully following Remelle’s usual path, which Nox (and her studies of the security camera footage) had graciously provided. 

In the guards’ break room, she picked up Remelle’s uniform jacket and backpack, into which Nox had tucked a plastic bag containing a change of clothes. She swiped her badge at the door and went out to the checkpoint, where all she had to do was sneer at the fidgety young man on duty as he double-checked her badge before he let her through. Jingling the keys on her belt, she walked over to the parked police sedan, unlocked it, dumped her bag on the passenger seat, and got in. 

And she drove out of Endovier’s gates in an Orynth PD vehicle. 

Fuck, she liked irony. 

Aelin drove to a gas station on the western outskirts of Orynth, parked just out of range of the single camera by the gas pumps, and got out of the car. She quickly stripped for the second time in a few hours, changed into the formfitting dark clothes that Nox had left for her, tidily folded Remelle’s uniform and left it and everything else in a neat stack on the passenger seat of the sedan, clicked the manual lock switch, and tossed the keys into the car before she closed the door. 

Let Orynth PD figure that one out. 

She knew the gas station was rarely open—hell, she often had a couple of her guys use this place for distributions—so she ducked around the side of the building, swiftly crossed the street, and disappeared into the tightly clustered tangle of buildings that lined this side of Orynth. As the afternoon faded into evening, Aelin let her muscle memory take over, winding a circuitous, rambling path through half of Orynth, doubling and tripling back to tangle up her trail. She worked her way around the outer districts, a grin curling the corners of her lips as the familiar steel and brick walls of the industrial district rose up around her. 

About half a mile away from her favorite riverside warehouse, an old apartment building had been taped off and designated for destruction. Aelin had the Boss’s men plant those signs months ago, planning to use the building as a contingency. She slipped in through a ground-floor window, shook the dust off of her shoes, and latched the window shut before she went down the hallway into the darkened building. 

To her pleasant surprise, the reinforced walls around the kitchen were even sturdier than before, and she flipped on the soft light as she walked in. With a long, muffled groan, she sat down at one of the high stools, relieved to get off her feet after so much walking. 

“Good to see you again, Boss.” The voice nearly made Aelin jump out of her skin. 

“Fuck!” She pressed a hand against her thundering heart as she turned around to meet Elide’s sly grin. “Scared the hell out of me, Ells.” 

Elide snickered. “The bold Officer Remelle would never be so terrified.” 

Aelin rolled her eyes. “The bold Officer Remelle wasted most of her boldness trying to get into my—into some man’s pants.” 

“I’m almost surprised,” Elide continued, tactfully ignoring Aelin’s slip of speech. “If you were still in the uniform, I’d probably think you were actually Remy.” 

“Don’t call me that!” Aelin sniped in her Remelle voice. Elide bent over, howling, and Aelin’s laughter joined in. “Hey, when you give a girl enough time with nothing else to do…” 

“Nice work.” Elide discreetly wiped the corners of her eyes. “Right. Here’s your phone.” She passed Aelin a nondescript burner phone. “Con’s number is already there.” 

“Perfect.” Aelin tucked the phone into a side pocket of her pants. “Where’s the best place for me at the moment?” 

“Right now?” Elide bubbled her lips. “Probably here, honestly. Stay the night—the place is secure and should have everything you need. I’ll update you tomorrow—actually, it’ll probably be Con. He’s better at going around unnoticed than I am.” 

“Side effects of being a high-profile CEO,” Aelin joked. “Speaking of—have you and the team figured out a new name yet?” One of the clauses in the transfer of ownership was renaming the company, since there was a high chance that people wouldn’t want to be associated with a company named after an infamous criminal. 

“We have some options, but nothing is set.” Elide tapped her phone, pulling up a page on her notes app. “Staghorn Development is currently the top choice, though.” 

“I like that.” Aelin mulled over the name. “If my opinion has any weight—which it probably doesn’t—I’m a fan of Staghorn.” 

Elide’s lips quirked upwards. “Good to know.” She slipped her phone back into her jacket. “I have to get home, but Ae?” 

“Yeah?” 

The petite woman grinned. “It’s so good to see you safe.” 

Impulsively, Aelin hugged Elide. “Thank you,” she murmured. “For everything.” 

“Least I could do.” Elide squeezed Aelin’s hands. “I’ll see you soon.” She left, and Aelin waited for the muffled click of the doors locking before she headed further down the hallway, towards the bedroom and bathroom. 

After a long, hot shower that made her feel both clean and more human, Aelin changed into fresh undergarments and the same clothes she’d been wearing. The nondescript, cheap cotton-blend clothes could have come from anywhere, which made them perfect for sneaking around in. She’d taken out the pale blue contacts and tossed them in the trash before her shower, but she kept the protective film of SecondSkin on her hands. 

Better to mask her fingerprints than to get caught too early. 

She flipped on the bedside lamp in the plainly furnished bedroom and gratefully crawled into bed, near tears at the feeling of a proper mattress beneath her body for the first time in over a month. Unable to fall asleep without some kind of light—she’d grown accustomed to the hallway lights in Endovier—she left the lamp on and drifted off, letting her body shut down as the adrenaline high finally wore off. 

When she woke up, watery grey sunlight had broken through the clouds of the late-November sky, and she rolled over and just stared out of the window, soaking in the morning light for the first time in weeks. Eventually, she rolled out of bed, brushed her teeth, redid her braid, and made herself a coffee in the kitchen. She sipped it carelessly as she fiddled with her phone, waiting for Con to text. 

And when he did, she couldn’t control the smirk that spread across her face. 

~

For about the trillionth time in the last year, Rowan was royally fucking pissed, and Aelin was the reason for it. 

“What the fuck do you mean?” he snarled, hands clenched into fists atop his desk. The cold wood was still unfamiliar under his fingers, so different from the steel tables of the police building. 

“Watch it, Lieutenant,” Gavriel warned from the doorway. 

Rowan pulled in a deep breath and shoved it out in a harsh exhale. “Where is she?” 

“Downstairs, in a temporary holding cell until we can verify that it’s actually her.” 

“I’m going to talk to her.” He was halfway out the door when Gav’s iron hand clamped around his upper arm. “What?” 

“I don’t think that’s the best idea, Whitethorn,” Gav said, coolly. 

Scarlet anger crept up the edges of Rowan’s vision. “Why not, sir?” 

“You have a personal history with this woman—technically, with both of these women, since you worked with PD for almost a year. I’d hate for that to compromise anything.” 

“I understand, sir, but—” 

“But nothing,” Gav interrupted, cutting him off. “No.” 

Rather than tearing free from his commander’s grasp, Rowan deflated, his posture going slack. “I only want a few minutes, sir. I…” He cleared his throat, not expecting this tangle of emotion. “I need to know.” 

After a long, tense moment, Gav sighed. “Fine. I’ll give you five minutes. When the timer goes off, you get the hell out of there or I swear to all that’s holy I’ll slap you right back into basic training.” 

“Yes, sir.” Rowan snapped off a salute at his commander and strode down the hallways, his pace increasing with every step he took. He took an elevator down several floors, flashed his badge at the pair of TSF guards stationed outside the double doors that blocked off the temporary holding quarters that took up half the floor of the TSF building’s basement, and pulled the doors open. Inside, he took a deep breath, dredging up every scrap of resolve he could summon, and walked down another few yards. 

He stopped in front of the first holding cell, clasped his hands behind his back, and turned an impassive gaze onto the platinum-blonde woman seated on the bench inside the cell. The instant she saw him, she shot up to her feet, folded her arms across her chest, reared her head back, and sneered at him, her pale lips curling back, rage filling her icy blue eyes. 

“Hello, Remelle,” Rowan said quietly. 

“Fuck you,” Remelle snapped. 

Rowan raised a brow. “If this is some kind of plot to escape Endovier, I’m afraid you’ve failed.” 

She practically growled at him. “I’ve told every stupid asshole in this place and I’ll tell you too: I am not Aelin!” 

“That’s not what your fingerprints say,” he replied. 

She laughed caustically and, to his surprise, pinched her skin between the tips of her acrylic nails and yanked, and the skin at the tip of her finger peeled away. “Because that bitch put her fingerprints on me, asshole.”

“Prove it.” Rowan leaned against the wall opposite the holding cell and waited for Remelle to yank the synthetic off of her fingertips. She shoved the synthetic through the slot in the door, and he tucked it into a plastic bag to give to the forensics team. 

“Get me out of here,” she snapped again. 

Rowan had only vaguely wondered whether Remelle was actually Aelin in disguise, and he was unsurprised to find that it wasn’t. “That’s not for me to do,” he tossed over his shoulder as his timer rang. The guard from outside the holding area poked his head in and gestured, and Rowan turned on his heel and left, letting Remelle’s enraged whining fade away. 

“I’m taking this to forensics,” he told Gav, who was waiting outside the holding area. 

Gav nodded. “Did you get your answers?” 

“I’ve seen enough,” was all that Rowan said. “Should be fine to let her go, if only to get rid of the goddamn whining.” 

“You’re certain?” 

“Yes. Sir,” he added, tacking on Gav’s title at the last second. 

Gav raised a brow but otherwise didn’t react to Rowan’s near instance of insubordination. “I’ll let her get back to PD, then. Wait for me in my office, Whitethorn.” 

Not trusting himself to reply verbally, Rowan dipped his head tersely, saluted, and headed upstairs, where he dropped off the bag at the forensics lab and walked back to Gav’s office. He only waited for around ten minutes before the commander came into the office, sighed heavily, and sat back down at his desk. 

“That woman is a piece of fucking work,” Gav grumbled, mostly to himself. 

Rowan didn’t suppress his snort. “Couldn’t agree more, sir.” 

“If she’s always like that…” He scoffed quietly. “I can’t say I blame my niece for choosing that woman as a decoy.” 

“I don’t think that was the whole reason, sir,” Rowan said. He’d been thinking over the situation as he waited, and while his thoughts were still clouded with rage—and a hefty dose of lust, if he was being honest, because clever, scheming Aelin had a way of working him up—he’d formed a somewhat solid hypothesis. “Besides her, uh, cattier tendencies, Remelle also looks remarkably physically similar to Sardothien, a fact that I’m sure she knew.” 

“You know that’s not Aelin’s real name, Whitethorn.” Gav made a statement, not a question. 

It was real enough to convict her. “I…it’s easier this way, sir.” Rowan swallowed the lump in his throat and kept talking. “I suspect she began planning this as soon as she found out that Remelle was the police officer on duty. However, I’m perplexed at the footage, since it shows no apparent signs of tampering and everything looks perfectly normal.” A crease dug between his furrowed brows. “I’m having Luca at PD look at the footage, since he was the one to figure out Sardothien’s loop when she broke into PD headquarters in the summer.” 

Gav chuckled. “Back up, Whitethorn. She broke into Orynth PD?” 

“Yes, sir.” Rowan stifled his irritation. “Somehow, she managed to put the entire security camera system on a closed loop—except for my personal camera. We still have no knowledge what exactly she did while there, but since nothing was visibly disturbed, it was probably just recon.” 

“Interesting.” Gav tapped his chin, thinking. “Do you have any idea where she is now?” 

“I…no, sir.” Rowan reluctantly answered. “She could be anywhere.” His phone buzzed, and he glanced down at the screen. And a fresh wave of scarlet washed across his vision. “Goddammit!” Composing himself, he showed Gav the messages from Luca. “Apologies for the outburst, sir. Luca just confirmed that there was in fact a rather sophisticated loop run on Endovier’s security cameras for several hours.” 

“All of the cameras?” 

“No, sir. Only the sector of cameras by Sardothien’s cell.” 

“What does the footage show when the loop ends?” 

Rowan sent Luca a text, and it was only a few minutes before the younger cop replied. “That’s the confusing part, sir. When the loop ends, the cameras show Sardothien asleep in her cell—which is to be expected for around ten p.m.—and Remelle changing duty as normal. We checked the rest of the cameras as well, tracking Remelle’s path, and it’s completely ordinary. And then, the next day, Sardothien wakes up and starts screaming at the guards to get her out.” 

“And she turns out to be Remelle,” Gav finished. 

“Correct, sir.” 

Gav pressed his lips into a flat line. “Is there anywhere else that we could look for intel?” 

Rowan sighed heavily. “I don’t know yet, sir. We might be able to ask PD to search the area around Endovier for any signs, but—” Before he could finish his thought, both his and Gav’s phones pinged at once. His eyes rapidly scanned the alert. 

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Gav stood up and pocketed his phone. “Looks like I’ll be heading down to PD headquarters after all.” 

“Sir, I—”

“No.” 

Rowan blinked. “Sir?” 

“No,” Gav repeated, the command clear as day. 

“Sir, with all due respect, I have the most information on Celaena Sardothien, and as the TSF agent from the case, I believe I should know about this new development.” 

“You already have your answer, Lieutenant Whitethorn.” Gav drilled a steely stare into Rowan’s forehead. “It’s in the best interest of both you and this case that you leave the case behind. Any further attempts to participate will be considered violation of a direct order, and you will be punished accordingly, Whitethorn. Clear?” 

Rowan locked his jaw. “Yes, sir.” 

“Good.” As Gav left his office, he tucked a folded piece of scrap paper into Rowan’s clenched fist, sparing him a hint of a nod as he strode down the hallway. Reining in his fury, Rowan stormed back down to his much smaller office, threw the door shut, and unfolded the note. 

Unless I tell you otherwise—Stay. Fucking. Put.

He’d be fucking damned if he did. 

~

There’s a cop in my backseat. 

Nox navigated the meandering turns of the industrial district with ease, focusing more of his attention on the serpentine tangle of streets rather than on the trussed-up, unconscious cop occupying the back seat of his nondescript car. Officer Remelle had been almost laughably easy to kidnap, since she was so overcome with rage at her recent run-in first with Aelin and then with the Terrasen Special Forces. Nox had lingered outside a chain coffee shop a couple of miles away from TSF headquarters, waiting, and the moment Remelle had stopped for her usual beverage, he struck. He knew the TSF and the police were probably scurrying around the coffee shop like a bunch of idiots by now, and he couldn’t help but snicker at the thought. 

Mostly hidden by the cold, foggy darkness and the smoggy smear that hung over the industrial district, Nox parked his car about half a mile away from the overgrown path that led down to the Boss’s riverside warehouse, climbed out, and hoisted the still-unconscious Remelle over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. He backtracked down the side alleys, doubling and tripling back on his steps to confuse anyone that might try to track him, and eventually pushed through the curtain of brittle branches and headed down to the warehouse. 

“Nice work, Owens.” The soft, crackly voice sounded abruptly in his ear, and he almost dropped Remelle onto the half-frozen ground. 

“Fuck’s sake, Boss!” 

The Boss snickered. From her perch somewhere outside the warehouse, she was watching her set of concealed cameras as the final pieces of her grand plan fell into place. “Upper mezzanine. And be quick—Her Royal Bitchiness should be here in an hour or so.” 

“Sure thing.” Nox crossed the final stretch of pavement and entered the warehouse’s dim gloom. 

“Oh, and Owens?” 

“Yeah?” 

“There’s a chance that PD might be on scene by the end of the night.” 

“Good to know, Boss.” He glanced over his shoulder, a little unsettled by the fact that she could see him but he couldn’t see her. “You know where the car is.” 

“Indeed.” A sinister note crept into her voice. 

Nox went up to the mezzanine, where he set Remelle down, untied her, and set her up so she was faced out over the warehouse, head turned away from the south door. To stabilize her, he cuffed her hands to the metal railings and hooked a short grappling cable from the wall to the crossed straps of her weapons harness. As he slipped down the stairs, he heard the distinct rattle of another door being opened, and his hand flew to the knife tucked into his waistband. 

The west door creaked open, and a man dressed in nondescript gray fatigues and some kind of military vest ducked inside, his dark hair and clothing blending him into the shadows almost seamlessly. But Nox was friends with the shadows too, and he slipped up behind the man and had a knife to his throat in seconds. 

“Who the fuck are you?” he hissed. 

Faster than he thought possible, the man slipped his hold, whirling and grabbing his knife hand and immobilizing it above his head. “Who the fuck are you?” he retorted. 

Nox jabbed the man in the ribs and slithered free. “Call me Nox.” 

“The other man paused. “You’re the Boss’s spy.” 

Caught off guard, Nox lowered his knife halfway. “And…?” 

“I’m Con,” the dark-haired man said. 

“Con,” Nox repeated. A smirk crawled across his face. “Is that short for Convict?” 

Con snorted. “Why would I tell you?” 

“Because of my pretty face and winning personality?” 

“I’ve seen better.” Con’s onyx gaze traveled slowly down Nox’s face, half-obscured in the warehouse’s gloom. 

“Oh, I hardly believe that.” Nox winked, slowly, watching a faint blush creep over Con’s cheekbones. Hell. He was a pretty one. 

“Boys,” Celaena’s drawl crackled through each of their earpieces. “I hate to interrupt your little meet-cute, but I’m tracking a royal bitch onto the property.” 

“Heard.” Nox and Con spoke at the same time. 

Con was the first to break their stare. “I’m in place,” he answered Celaena. 

“Leaving,” Nox said hurriedly, and he ducked out the west door with a last glance at the pretty man in the warehouse. “Boss, who the hell is he?” 

She chuckled. “A former Navy SEAL and my inside operative at Maeve’s compound.” 

“Damn.” Nox whistled. “Man of many talents.” The line went silent, and he swiftly scaled the ladder rungs built into the steel wall of the warehouse and crouched on the rooftop. Some of the roof’s panels were pushed open, allowing room for a crane to reach inside and hoist pallets in or out for distribution. It also gave him a clear sight line into the warehouse.

Which was perfect, because he’d eventually need to throw the little glass vial in his pocket into the pallet sitting in the middle of the warehouse floor. 

Shifting himself into as comfortable a crouch as possible, Nox fixed his eyes onto the warehouse floor. And waited. 

~

Clad in an old, faded set of black fatigues, with knives tucked into his sleeves and boots, a pair of handguns on his hips, and Kevlar strapped to his chest, back, and upper thighs, Rowan trailed Maeve Ond through the industrial district of Orynth. He kept about half a block between himself and the woman known as the Queen of the Night, but she was so singularly focused that he doubted she would even notice she was being tracked. He’d picked up her trail thanks to an anonymous, untraceable number that had somehow contacted him with nothing more than a location pin. 

Whoever had sent it had placed a tracking device on Maeve. 

He’d barely taken a few seconds to marvel at the skill and sheer audacity of that feat before he was on the move, a lethal shadow prowling through the cold late-November night. She stalked down the maze of streets and alleys with deadly precision, despite the occasional tremors that rattled through her body. He observed those shakes with analytical curiosity, noting that the supposed Queen of the Night wasn’t invincible after all. Those were the tremors of someone whose body had been exposed to long-term poison. 

Maeve shoved through a brittle curtain of overgrown vegetation, and Rowan followed at a short distance. Past that patch of cover stood a solitary, steel-sided warehouse on the edge of the river. The skeleton of a crane loomed beside it, barely visible through the foggy night. She stormed up to the building, rounded the corner, and fired a single bullet through the keypad beside the south door. The latch released, and she yanked the door open with a snarl. 

“You can’t hide forever,” she called in a hoarse voice. It probably would have been more sinister if her throat hadn’t been ravaged by coughing. 

Who the fuck is she talking to? Rowan wondered as he crept up to the edge of the building. 

As if she could read his damn mind, she answered in the form of another snarled question. 

“Show your worthless self, Moonbeam!” 

Rowan froze in his tracks, ice shooting through his veins. Moonbeam? At the distinct sound of more than one gun cocking, he whipped his attention back to Maeve. Although her body visibly shook with tremors, she gripped her gun fiercely. 

“Still disobeying me, Connall? I’m disappointed.” Connall. The name clanged through Rowan with the force of a train. Connall Moonbeam was alive.

This…could change everything. 

As if she were on the set of a crime drama, Maeve continued monologuing. “I should have known you’d turn and sell your secrets to the highest bidder, Connall. I’m only irritated that after everything I gave you, you’d let Celaena Sardothien’s dirty money control your loyalty.” 

Once again, Rowan felt like he’d been hit by a train. Connall Moonbeam was not only alive, but he was working undercover for Sardothien. Which meant he’d probably been feeding Fenrys information for gods only knew how long. 

Which meant Fenrys had known his brother was alive. 

That explained the contact labeled Con in Fen’s phone. 

“I’m tired of your tricks, Connall.” Maeve’s frigid voice coiled through the warehouse as she tugged on a nearby cord, pouring a pool of yellow light over the area where she stood. Rowan immediately flattened himself against the wall behind a heap of boxes, melting himself into the cover of the shadows but keeping a clear view of Maeve as she paced across the floor. 

A blur of movement peeled away from the west wall, and Maeve whipped around to find a distinctly male figure ducking behind another stack of crates. She curled her lip and glanced that way. 

And did a visible double take. 

Her sneer melted into a twisted expression of blinding fury as she fixed her hollow violet gaze onto the black-clad female figure who stood poised on the mezzanine. “I suppose you made yourself useful one last time, Connall,” she crooned, raising her gun and cocking it. “Say goodbye, Celaena Sardothien.” 

Sardothien?

The ice in Rowan’s veins solidified into iron, weighing his body down as he lifted his gaze up to the mezzanine and traced the undeniably familiar figure who stood there, her head turned away, scanning the wrong side of the warehouse as the Queen of the Night curled her finger around the trigger. 

And fired. 

No!

White-hot horror blazed through Rowan’s body, and he forgot who and where and what he was as he pulled his gun and aimed and emptied an entire chamber into the back of Maeve’s skull and watched as her body arched backwards, blood bursting out of her throat and forehead and chest, and collapsed to the cold hard cement in a blur of gore and gunfire. The roar of gunshots abruptly cut off into thundering silence, and Rowan forced his eyes to move from the crumpled corpse of the Queen of the Night upwards, climbing the steel wall to the mezzanine. 

The woman lay slumped over the railing, crimson soaking steadily into her platinum hair. 

Rowan’s gun clattered to the floor, its dull thud echoing in his ears with the force of an anvil crashing into stone. Numbness swept over him, and he barely recognized that he was moving as his TSF survival instincts took over, directing his limbs to lift Maeve’s prone form and haul her outside to get her back to the investigative team for analysis and confirmation of death. He turned to go back, but a strong set of hands clamped down on his shoulders. 

“Don’t.” Lower and rougher than Fenrys’s voice, Connall Moonbeam’s baritone jolted an old, familiar strand of Rowan’s memory. 

He made a weak push against Con’s hardened grip. “She…Celaena…” 

“You can’t go back in there,” Con repeated. “It’s not safe.” 

“Fuck that!” In a burst of adrenaline, Rowan managed to break halfway free. Before he could sprint back into the warehouse, Connall spun him around and slapped the knife out of his hand. 

“You can’t, Whitethorn!” For the first time in a decade, Rowan came face to face with the second of the Moonbeam twins, whom he hadn’t seen in the flesh since he went off to Navy SEAL training. 

“Why the fuck not?” Rowan growled, feeling his burst of energy give way to hollowness again. 

Too many emotions to count rippled across Con’s eyes. “All I can tell you is not to trust what you think you saw.” Before Rowan could formulate a response, Con pinched the nerve at the joint of Rowan’s neck and shoulder, and he felt himself go weak. In a rapid blur, Con slung him over his shoulder, sprinted to the cover of dense but winter-bare vegetation surrounding the far side of the lot, and hurled him into the frigid dirt, covering Rowan’s immobile body with his own. 

And both of them watched as the warehouse exploded in a searingly white burst of flame. 

“N…no,” Rowan croaked, feeling sensation begin to return to his fingers. “No!” From deep in his chest, a single name tore brokenly out of his throat. “FIREHEART!”

Gaze flicking between Rowan’s tears and the blazing ruin of a warehouse, Con put the pieces together as he stood up. “She wasn’t actually there, Whitethorn,” he said softly. 

Rowan’s shattered gaze locked onto him. “What?” 

“That wasn’t Aelin,” he repeated. 

But before Rowan could say anything else—before Con could reveal anything else—a birdcall sounded in Con's earpiece, and he turned sharply on his heel and jogged into the dense overgrowth, leaving Rowan prostrate on the ground behind him. He broke through the brush and jogged up the alley, sparing a single glance over his shoulder at the blaze he left behind. At the top of the alley, an electrical van idled, with Nox Owens at the wheel. 

“Hop in, pretty boy,” Nox said with a sly little grin. Con shook his head with a dry huff and swung himself up into the van, and Nox drove off. 

A panel behind the seats swung open, and Aelin Ashryver Galathynius stuck her very much alive head into the cab. “Where is he?” 

“North end of the lot, halfway into the tree cover.” 

“Good. Nox, slow down.” Aelin withdrew, and a moment later, Con heard the back door unlatch and thud closed shortly after. He glanced into the rearview mirror as the van sped back up, watching Aelin tuck and roll and jog back in the direction of the warehouse, her figure rapidly disappearing into the night.

~

Through a fog of devastation and confusion and a thousand other roiling emotions, Rowan finished loading Maeve’s body into the back of an Orynth PD van. He’d pinged Luca as soon as he arrived at the warehouse, alerting the cops of his location, and the police squad—with Gavriel in tow—had arrived on scene as the oddly controlled blaze faded into smoking embers. 

Gav’s face was stone, but his eyes flicked from Rowan to the ruins of the warehouse and back and rapidly made the right connections. His posture softened. “Get in the vehicle, Whitethorn.” 

“I…” Rowan couldn’t form words. “He said it wasn’t her.” 

“Who said what now?” 

Rowan gulped. “It…Connall. I saw Con.” 

Shock flared Gav’s eyes wide, but he shut that expression down. “And he said…”

“He said it wasn’t Aelin,” Rowan croaked. 

Gav loosed a long, tight exhale. “I think we should go for tonight, Rowan.” 

“Please,” Rowan breathed. “I only want a moment.” 

“Alright.” To Rowan’s surprise, Gav ran a hand through his hair and walked away. “Get yourself home safe, Rowan.” He climbed into the leading PD vehicle and waved them forwards. 

As the taillights of the PD van faded away, Rowan turned his stare back onto the smoking heap of rubble where Aelin’s river warehouse had stood. His heart fought his eyes at the sight, torn between wanting to cling to Con’s words and wanting to believe what he saw. An icy breeze curled up from the river and bit through his clothes, and he finally took a step towards his waiting truck. Dry leaves crackled behind him, and he drew in a sharp breath and started to turn around. 

Only to be met with the kiss of steel at his throat and his groin. 

“This feels somewhat familiar, Lieutenant. Have we met?” 

Shell-shocked and hardly trusting his own state of consciousness, Rowan tried to maneuver, but a simple twitch of the blades stopped him cold. 

“Oh no you don’t, Lieutenant. It’s best for both of us if you don’t get a visual.” With that, the blade at his throat dropped and was rapidly replaced with the sharp pinprick of a needle. Heaviness spread through his limbs, and the last thing Rowan saw as his vision went black was a half-dazed glimpse of the turquoise eyes that haunted his dreams.

His Fireheart…was alive?

~~~

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[goddess-aelin]

Feels Like Home

For @backtobl4ck for the Rowaelin Yulemas celebration/ Secret Santa. For the second year in a row, I once again had the pleasure to write something for Maria! I was so excited when I found out I had you because we both loveeeee fluff and friends to lovers. So I hope you love this little gift and have a very happy Yulemas :) @rowaelinscourt

Masterlist

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: none!

Her hands were everywhere. Her lips touched his softly as she breathily moaned at his ministrations between her thighs. Silky blonde locks brushed his face as he made his way down the side of her neck. He never tasted anything so sweet, so right. “Rowan. Rowan. Rowan.” Her voice got louder and louder as he laid her back on the cushions of his couch, muscles straining to reign in all the things he wanted to do to her. He had to do this right. Move slowly. This thing between them was as precious as the sun’s warmth. “Rowan. Ro.” Her voice changed cadence, suddenly closer and louder. “Ro!” 

A stinging sensation against his cheek woke him. Like lighting, he shot up, catching the arm of the person who slapped him. Once he registered where he was and what was happening, the first thing he noticed were the depthless blue and gold eyes of his best friend. His best friend. Aelin. Who he was in the middle of having a sex dream about.

Rowan could feel his face flush as he became more aware of his surroundings. He silently thanked the Gods that he chose to cover himself with a blanket for this particular nap. Otherwise, it would’ve been painfully obvious just exactly what he had been dreaming about. 

“Must’ve been some dream, huh? Since you didn’t wake up the first twenty times I called your name.” Aelin raised an eyebrow. “Sorry for the slap, though. I just didn’t know how else to wake you up.” Aelin gave him a devious smile. 

Rowan rubbed at the still stinging area on his left cheek. The good thing was that the slap hid any blush that might’ve remained on his face. “Sure you are, Fireheart.” She pouted slightly, giving him her best “but I’m innocent” look. “Wait, how did you even get in here?”

“You gave me a key, remember?”

“Yeah, for emergencies. Not to barge into my house at…” He checked his phone. “4:35pm on a Thursday afternoon.”

“This is an emergency, Ro.” 

He raised an eyebrow and silently commanded, explain.

“Well ok…you see, I have this cousin. His name is Galan. Well he’s sort of my cousin but he’s also not. Not in the sense that Aedion is my cousin. But he’s still sort of close family, ya know? And I got the invite a few weeks back and I hoped that I could find a date but I haven’t yet and I just really think that maybe it would be a fun time and there’s going to be good food-”

“Hold on. What the fuck are you talking about?” Rowan couldn’t keep the humor and huff of laughter out of his voice. Aelin tended to ramble when she was nervous. So obviously this was something she was nervous about. He gently took her hand. “Start again and take a deep breath this time.”

For once, she listened to him. After inhaling and exhaling deeply, she tried again. “My cousin, Galan. He’s getting married and I have a plus one. I can’t go alone because my mother will have a fit and that will make her and my aunts scheme like hell to set me up with one of the groomsmen. But I 100% do not want that. I know Galan’s friends and they’re all dumbasses. I love my cousin, but his groomsmen all make really stupid, idiotic decisions. So no, thank you. So I guess my question is, will you go with me? As my plus one?” 

Rowan took a moment to process the information. What are the odds that he would have a sex dream about his best friend right before she asked him to be her plus one to a wedding? He was treading dangerous territory and he wasn’t sure what to make of it.

He must’ve taken too long to answer because Aelin hastily said, “As friends, of course. And you’d get free food, booze, and a night of dancing. You get to dress up, which I know you hate but it’ll be fun! Plus, you’ll get to have the most beautiful, amazing, graceful date on your arm.” 

That shocked him out of his stupor. Rowan let out a cackle. “Modest, aren’t you?” 

“Modesty is my middle name.” 

Rowan hummed in mock agreement. “Yeah, I’ll go with you. It’ll be fun. A night away, drinking, eating great food, and getting to watch the bridal party get increasingly drunk as the night goes on? I’m in.” 

Aelin beamed but quickly bit her lip. He knew her too well to know that it wasn’t just a nervous tick. There was something else. Rowan narrowed his eyes.

“It’s also like five hours away in Varese so we need to rent a hotel for the night.” She looked apprehensive, as if this new information was going to make him change his mind and say no. 

“O..kay? We’ve been on vacations together before, Fireheart. What’s different this time?” 

She blew out a breath. “I don’t know. I just know you don’t like being the center of attention and I know that my mom and my aunts are going to be all over you like vultures. So I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting into before saying yes.”

Rowan shrugged. “How bad can it be?”

- - - - -

Bad. The answer to his question from a few weeks ago was just that: it could be bad.  The date of the wedding crept up steadily, he and Aelin hammering out the details of their stay in Varese. Aelin, of course, insisted on coordinating colors for their outfits, which is how he found himself standing at the base of the stairs in the grand ballroom attached to their hotel in a black tux and emerald green bowtie, talking with Aedion while waiting for the two ladies to make their grand entrance. Aelin insisted on the emerald green to match his eyes. He really didn’t care either way, he just hoped he was able to reign in his budding feelings when he saw Aelin in what just so happened to be his favorite color. And that if he somehow did accidentally let some of his feelings show, that it wouldn’t make it awkward for when they got back to their hotel room.

Oh right, that. The other predicament he was in. 

Once he and Aelin arrived at the hotel that morning, they were surprised to find that not only did their room only have one bed, it also had one of the most romantic views of Varese, overlooking the river that flowed through the center of the city and its beautiful architecture. Aelin was quick to insist that she had nothing to do with this and that she ordered a double room. At the time, the wedding was only a few hours away and Aelin shoved him out of their room towards Aedion and Lysandra’s across the hall, stating that she needed to get ready and she couldn’t have his broody self in the room while she was doing so. So he and Lysandra had switched places, Aelin assuring him that they’d remedy the bed situation later. 

He and Aedion took a whopping total of ten minutes to get ready in comparison to Aelin and Lysandra’s two hours. Rowan’s foot started tapping of its own accord as the time ticked closer to the ceremony. If Aelin didn’t hurry her ass up- albeit her very, very nice ass- they were going to be late. 

He was cut off from his thoughts by the two sets of clacking heels on the marbled floor coming from the top of the stairs. It took one look at the thigh slit of Aelin’s dress for his mouth to dry up. Another glance at the way it hugged her hips for his body to go wholly still. And one final glance to her beautiful, glowing face for him to black out completely. 

He must’ve actually blacked out since, in what felt like a single moment, Aelin was standing right in front of him. Her emerald green dress matched his bowtie perfectly, of course, the gold accent of her minimal jewelry complimenting her eyes. She didn’t need baubles and gems to make her sparkle. She, just as she was now, was an ethereal being, glowing from an internal, unseen star. 

Rowan tried so hard; so, so, incredibly hard to will his mind to say something, anything. And yet, words escaped him. How could he ever put into words how beautiful she was, how much she meant to him? As saliva started making its way into the dry desert that was his mouth, all he could manage was a “Holy shit.”

Aelin’s laugh was like twinkling bells in his ear. “Back at ya, Buzzard. You look…very handsome.”

Was it just his imagination or did she sound…breathless? He couldn’t help but become aware of every place her eyes drifted to, like they were emitting invisible fire and burning him everywhere. His hand subconsciously came up to rub at the back of his hair, trying to smooth out anything that was out of place. “You’re being sarcastic, aren’t you?” He managed a small smirk. Or, he hoped he did.

Aelin’s eyes continued their unhurried perusal, mouth parting slightly and hand coming up to grab his own to stop him from messing up his hair even more. “No,” she breathed, “For once in my life, I’m not. I Promise.” Rowan could see her swallow hard.

Rowan had to take a deep gulp of air, otherwise he was sure he was going to pass out. Somewhere, deep inside of him, some air of confidence kicked in and gracefully allowed him to offer his arm for Aelin to take. Gently, she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, both of them silently making their way to the doors where the ceremony would be held. As they neared the room, Rowan purposefully slowed them down, falling behind Aedion and Lysandra. “Fireheart,” he whispered. “You look…you look stunning. It’s what I wanted to say earlier but I couldn’t find the words.”

Rowan could have sworn a blush overtook her face. But she beamed up at him, giving him a sweet, shy smile. 

“Thank you.” He could feel more than see her sharp intake of breath. A breath to recenter and refocus. “Well, shall we, Buzzard?” Rowan nodded and steered them once again to the doors.  

An hour later, the ceremony was over and Rowan’s stomach was rumbling. Loudly. Seated next to Aelin, he knew she could hear it and she continued to sneak glances and little smirks at him. The hunger he could deal with. The sly glances from Aelin? Not so much. She had been driving him insane since she floated down those stairs and it was slowly but surely causing him to lose his cool. That would be if he ever had it in the first place.

And as the night went on, the torture only continued. Throughout dinner, her arm would brush his as she turned to talk to Lysandra next to her, her leg would tap against his own when she told a joke, and she would find any excuse to touch him as often as she could. In normal circumstances, he wouldn’t mind. But they were here as friends. And these touches were making him want much, much more than that. 

The only time he felt like he could breathe was when Aelin got up to dance with Lysandra to an upbeat pop song, leaving Rowan and Aedion sitting alone at their table to chat. Rowan had a few drinks already but he was nowhere near drunk. A nice buzz was flowing through him but he was still very much so in control of his actions.

At least, that’s what he thought until Aedion cleared his throat. Rowan broke his stare from Aelin’s sensuous dancing. Did she even know what she looked like to him? How much she was torturing him just by being herself? He wasn’t sure if she was aware. But Aedion sure as hell was. 

The blonde man gave him a knowing look and raised an eyebrow. Rowan just rolled his eyes and allowed his gaze to maneuver back to Aelin. He caught the moment when she threw her head back and laughed, the sound making his bones feel like they were both on fire and also a pile of mush. It was a feeling that he was unaccustomed to, having only felt anything of the sort with his high school girlfriend. But if that feeling was a good one, this one made him feel like he was flying. Made him feel a need so deep that he wasn’t sure he would ever recover. He needed every inch of her. Not only her body, but her soul, her smiles, her laughter, her tears. He wanted everything.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. 

Beside him, Aedion chuckled. “You’re only now just realizing it?”

Rowan could do nothing but stare at the table, knowing that if he looked at Aedion, his secretly harbored feelings would be completely out in the open for the other man to see. And if he looked up at Aelin, the same outcome. So yeah, he was fucked. 

“I know you’re having a complete crisis over being in love with her but I’m glad you finally figured it out. Took you long enough.” 

That made Rowan look toward the man sitting next to him, brows furrowed. 

“Yeah, we’ve all known this for ages. I feel like it was obvious to anyone with eyes, to be completely honest. Some of us even have a bet on how long it’ll take for you two to finally admit that you’re in love with each other.” 

  Rowan made to open his mouth with a denial but Aedion held up a hand. “Nope, dude. Save the bullshit. I know just by looking at you that you’re so far gone for her, it’s unreal. And I know that Aelin has never been as happy as when she’s with you. She never laughed this freely until she met you.” Aedion let out a small huff of breath. “You have my blessing.” 

Rowan just repeated his earlier statement. “Fuck.” 

Their conversation was interrupted by a breathless Aelin sitting in the seat to Aedion’s right, where she promptly picked up the half-full glass of wine and chugged it. 

“So what are you boys gossiping about over here that has poor Whitethorn all red in the face?”

Internally, Rowan was panicking. Aedion opened his mouth to say something that Rowan was sure to be snarky but before he could, Rowan blurted out, “birds!” 

The corners of Aelin’s mouth quirked up slightly. “Birds…?” Rowan could tell that she didn’t fully believe him but luckily, Aelin was already half drunk. He hoped she would just let it go. 

The first mistake Rowan made was making eye contact with her. She always had an uncanny ability to read him like an open book, despite most people not understanding him. As she narrowed her eyes, the part of their souls that has always been intertwined translated for him, as if to say, I don’t believe you and think you’re full of shit, Buzzard.

So Rowan sent his own thoughts back, I don’t know what you’re talking about, Fireheart. 

The second mistake was continuing to hold her gaze. Not because he gave anything away to her but rather because it prompted the man sitting in between them to throw his hands in the air and exclaim, “Oh no. Oh helllll no. This isn’t happening right in front of me.” Aedion quickly shoved his chair away from the table and got up to leave. Before walking away completely, he turned around and pointed right at the two of them. “I’m tired of this bullshit. You guys need to get it together and just fucking make out already. Gods.” And with his piece said, Aedion stalked away, directly to the bar where he knocked back a shot immediately. 

Rowan turned back to Aelin, whose eyes were wide and brows furrowed. 

“Umm, what just happened?”

The only thing Rowan could do was shrug. He sure as hell wasn’t going to lie to her but he wasn’t sure that he could outright confess his feelings, either. He was saved from deciding by the transition to a slower song, one he knew Aelin liked. As he looked back over at her, her eyes had drifted closed and her shoulders were swaying slightly, moving along to the lilting melody of the song. 

Rowan shoved his chair away from the table, extending his hand toward her. Blue eyes met his own and held his gaze with an intensity that could’ve set him on fire. “Dance with me, Fireheart.”

Aelin managed a small smile and took his hand, following him to the dance floor where Lysandra and Aedion and her parents were already coupled up and swaying back and forth. He gently guided her hand to rest at his shoulder, laying his own on her waist, and cradling her other to his chest. 

Looking down at her, he felt like he could do this forever. Her bright teal eyes were hazed with alcohol and something else, as if she felt content, safe. Slowly, she tilted her head so it rested on his chest. Of their own accord, Rowan’s lips gently placed a kiss to her hair, inhaling her sweet lemon verbena and lavender scent. Aelin always smelled so good. So…comforting. Like home.

Through the haze of their otherworldly bubble, Aelin murmured something. 

“Hmm?” he asked.

Pulling her head back, she answered him, “I said ‘are you going to tell me what that was back there at the table? With Aedion?”

He tensed, Aelin tensing along with him. “It was nothing, Aelin.”

She raised an eyebrow in protest. He knew she was disappointed. She could tell he was lying through his teeth. “It obviously wasn’t nothing. Just tell me. Did my mom say something? She and my aunts have been watching us all night like hawks.”

“Really, Fireheart...I…It’s nothing. Everything’s good.” He gave her a tight smile, hoping she would let it go and they could go back into their bubble. But, of course, this was Aelin. She tensed even further, pulling her hand off of his shoulder and making to pull away from him completely. But before she could walk away from him, he grabbed her hand and as gently as he could, pulled her back toward him. She was caught off guard, Rowan could easily tell that much. 

He slowly began to sway them back and forth again. Not caring about the eyes on them, he murmured “I’m not good at this.”

Aelin’s brows furrowed together. “At what?”

Rowan’s shoulders shrugged up and down of their own accord. “This. Talking about…about my feelings.”

Aelin’s head tilted in that way of hers that told him she was thinking. “And what about your feelings are you having a hard time with?”

“I’m not having a hard time with my feelings, I just…I can’t–” Rowan sighed. “For fuck’s sake.” It was at that moment, when Aelin was looking up at him with her eyes that could see everything, her beautiful mind that could work out any problem, that he grabbed her face. “Aelin–I love you. I’m in love with you.” Rowan felt as if his heart was going to beat out of his chest, his breathing so ragged as he waited in anticipation for what she would say back. But the answer didn’t come after a few seconds. And then it didn’t come after a few more. Aelin just stood there, wide-eyed and mouth opening and closing as if she couldn’t find the words, either. And bit-by-bit, Rowan was beginning to give up hope. 

   Slowly, he loosened his grip on her face, meaning to step back and give her space. But before he could pull away completely, Aelin threw her arms around his neck, dragging his head down forcefully and attaching her lips to his own. If he was being honest, it was probably the least romantic kiss he’d ever experienced but it didn’t matter one bit because it was Aelin. 

The kiss was over before it started and Aelin pulled back slightly. Just enough to murmur, “I love you, too, Buzzard.” 

He couldn’t help the smile that overtook his face. Properly this time, he held her face between his hands and brought her mouth back to his. This kiss was entirely different from the first. Gone was the urgency and desperation and in its place was genuine love and devotion. Would he ever get enough of this? He could’ve died in her kiss a happy man right at that moment. But he hoped that he would get many more chances to experience Aelin in all her glory.

Cheers and clapping broke them out of their reverie, startling them both back into reality. Rowan assumed it was cheering for Galan and his wife but as Rowan’s gaze roamed over the crowd, they all seemed to be watching…him. Aelin’s mother was at the head of her sisters, all five of the Ashryver sisters looking toward him and Aelin. All with smirks on their face. He could’ve sworn he heard a few swoony sighs as he and Aelin made their way back to their seats, faces aflame. 

Once seated, Aelin leaned in close, putting her hand dangerously high on his thigh. “Well, I’d say it’s not such a bad thing that our room only has one bed, wouldn’t you Buzzard?” 

Rowan narrowed his eyes. “Did you plan this, Fireheart?” 

Aelin shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Who could ever know.” Rowan pinched her side, making her giggle. “I will say, though, that my wheels might have started turning the moment I walked in on you having a nice little smutty dream about me.”

Rowan gaped. “Wh-what?!”

Aelin shot him an answering smirk. “Oh yeah, did you think I didn’t know? You were literally moaning my name in your sleep. How else was I supposed to take that? Unless there’s another Aelin in your life, which, if that’s the case, excuse me, I’ll let you two be alone.” She feigned getting up from the table but he pulled her right back down, bringing her face close to his. 

“And so what if I was, Fireheart?” He murmured in her ear. He both saw and felt the shiver that made its way down her body. 

“Then, Buzzard, I’d say its a very good thing that our room has a king bed.” While his blood heated at her promise, he couldn’t help but think that this was the start of something amazing. Something that felt like home.

Tagging:

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

[aelinschild]

Season Of Forgiveness

Main Masterlist

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

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

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

Hour One

Fuck.

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

This type of fuck? Certainly not the cathartic type. 

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

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

Oh, and a fucking red rose. 

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, I'm going to kill you, Lysandra. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aelin might just take the couch. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

It worked, and it worked well. 

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

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

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

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

He offered a relationship. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until they couldn't anymore. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Final answer?” Lysandra taunted. 

“Yes.”

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

Hour Two

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

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

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

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

“For what,” Aelin asked, perplexed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hour Three

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nice, El.” Came from Rowan. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hour Four

It was cocktail hour. 

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

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

“So, explain.” Lysadra motioned to start. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

Laughter erupted. 

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence. 

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

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

“No, Aelin. I'm serious.”

“I am too.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

“Mhm.” 

“Want to talk about it?” 

“No.”

Hour Five

Rowan likes the cold. 

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

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

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

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

The cold he had embraced wholeheartedly was killing his fireheart. 

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

All thoughts seemed to lead him back to Aelin

Hour Six, Hour Seven, Hour Eight

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

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

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

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

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

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

She wasn't ready to face him alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She hummed, letting Aelin speak. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you too, Aedion.”

-

“Cheers to this year!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SLAM

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

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

“She can't breathe!”

“Start CPR. Now!”

“Has someone called an ambulance?” 

What is going on!

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

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

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

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

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

Hour …

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aelin! AELIN! Look at me!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It doesn-”

“Yes it does! Yes, it fucking does!”

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

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

She considered it for a second, then nodded. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you, Rowan.”

“I love you, Aelin.”

Hours Later

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

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

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

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

Taglist: @backtobl4ck // @goddess-aelin

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

[highqueenofelfhame]

playlist // book cover

one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven

[live-the-fangirl-life]

Timeless [Immortals]

Aelin Galathynius x Rowan Whitethorn

The world is large and time may be endless, but it's all an exciting adventure with the right person beside you. Inspired in part by Timeless by Taylor Swift, Immortals by Fall Out Boy, and by my own historical research fixations. Also a tiny bit of Istanbul by They Might be Giants

A/N: I will say I wanted to flesh this out a bit more and had a whole plan on how to, but I started a new job recently and I haven't had the energy to keep writing during my free time, so I edited what I had and have it here for you to enjoy. I also wanted to write for a bunch of Rowaelin month days but I think this is all I have in me for now.

Finally, I just have a fair warning: I got really into slang words in this. i had way too much fun with them, so hopefully its understandable lol

Masterlist | Rowaelin Month | Read on Ao3

6494 words

Written for Rowaelin Month 2023 - Day 1: SongFic

*******

Morning light peeked through the curtains fluttering around the open window of their living room. She could faintly hear the sounds of the neighborhood filtering through – cars cruising by, a riding lawnmower cutting clean lines into the grass, a couple of kids out riding their bicycles, and the steadily growing music of an ice cream truck. 

“Rowan, have you seen the…” Aelin trailed off as she realized her husband wasn’t in the room with her anymore.

He chose to go by his given name nowadays, reminding her again of their youth and all the best parts about learning how to grow up before the reality of time set in.

She was sitting cross-legged on the plush rug, combing through a box of mementos she’d found tucked away between stacks of old books.

She must’ve been more distracted by them than she had thought because when she looked at the clock, nearly two hours had gone by and Rowan, who had been sitting in the armchair across from her, wasn’t there anymore. She did have a vague memory of a kiss being pressed to her forehead and hearing his muffled voice but she’d been too distracted.

Aelin gathered the things she’d been picking out and put all the photographs, letters, and trinkets back in their box, before getting up and carefully carrying it with her as she went looking for Rowan.

It didn’t take long. The man was out on their back porch, sitting on the wooden swing and using one leg to slowly rock himself back and forth. He wasn’t looking at her but she saw the smile on his face as she approached. He always knew she was there; he could always sense her. Aelin walked towards him and grinned against his mouth when she ducked down to kiss him, before unceremoniously dropping down onto the swing beside him. His rocking didn’t falter a second.

“Is that what’s taken your attention today?” He asked, nodding at the large, well-loved box she placed on the floor in front of them.

“Have you looked through this recently?” She let his question float away and started pulling out some of the forgotten treasures they’d accumulated.

Shrugging, Rowan leaned forward to get a better look and fondly bumped his shoulder against hers.

“Don’t think so,” he rubbed at the stubble shadowing his face as he thought about it. “Probably not since we moved in.”

Aelin hummed in answer and quickly picked through the papers. “I forgot we had all of this stuff.” She paused, thinking, and dove back into the box, this time with purpose. “Do you know where the portraits are?”

A light breeze blew a strand of blonde hair into her face and Rowan reached out to tuck it behind her ear.

“Which portraits?”

“You know,” she waved irreverently, “the ones done by…what’s his name?”

“Oh of course,” he amended seriously. “Those portraits.”

Huffing a laugh, Aelin fell back against the swing and swatted his shoulder as he chuckled. “You know who I’m talking about,” she insisted.

Truth be told, they’d had so many pictures taken and portraits painted that he didn’t know where to start with his guessing. His wife could be referring to anything.

“Leo?”

“No,” she shook her head.

“Johannes?”

“No, that’s not it.”

“Vincent?”

“Ugh,” she groaned, rubbing her hand down her face, “this is going to bug me all day.” A second later she popped back up and turned towards him with wide eyes, “Oh! You know what I really wish we still had?” she asked.

He wished they could have saved all their keepsakes, but that would’ve been impossible. “Not a clue.”

“Those busts we had back in Ἀθῆναι,” She said, her eyes growing distant as she fell back into a memory from their younger years.

He hummed, knowingly. “Those were nice. But I doubt they’re in Athens anymore.”

“No, I know that.” She said sitting back and leaning into him, getting closer as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I think the last time I saw them was in Constantinople.”

“Istanbul,” Rowan corrected.

“What?” she turned her face to see him from where she’d tucked herself into his side.

“It’s Istanbul.” He said again.

She blinked and then rolled her eyes as she understood what he was saying. “Well, it was Constantinople.”

“And now,” he poked her, earning himself a startled laugh, “It’s Istanbul.”

“Whatever,” Aelin snorted. “I still miss those statues.”

Rowan kicked one leg out and began rocking them again, careful not to overturn the box. “You know where they are,” he reminded her, “we could always go see them.”

She scrunched her nose up. “Yeah, but I don’t like paying an entry fee to see myself.”

The breeze picked up and the pair enjoyed a few minutes of quiet, broken only by the faint creaking of the swing and the birds and insects outside. She absentmindedly took his other hand in hers and couldn’t help but think back –

Back to when they were young and naïve and had no idea what sort of life they would have ahead of them.

Back to their beginning.

The land of their childhoods was rich, and their life a simple one. Most everyone around them were farmers or fishermen, soldiers or tradesmen. There were scholars, artists, and builders.

Aelin learned stories of gods and heroes and gave tribute to Athena, the patron goddess of her home. She learned how to weave from her mother, and waited for the day she was set to marry the son from a family her father wanted ties with.

Rowan worked and studied and then became a soldier, fighting in bloody battles across the city-states before he returned to wed.

The two had always known they would be married. Their families arranged it long before either Aelin or Rowan were old enough to offer their thoughts. But they were happy. It was well.

For a while, their life was as ordinary as any others in their Polis.

It wasn’t until the two of them had watched their families grow old that they realized their own lives were different. Unchanging. Everlasting.

They learned how to adapt.

The armor Rowan wore became stronger; the language of the orders being shouted changed; Democracy, philosophy, and art flourished. Wars raged. The land they lived on changed names and changed again.

Sometimes years passed when Aelin and Rowan were apart, separated for one reason or another. Other times, decades went by without notice, time losing the meaning it once had. But they always gravitated back to each other.

They met as Aelin Galathynius and Rowan Whitethorn.

They reunited as Aeliana Galanis and Romulus Whitheia.

As Eleyn Galliano and Rowland Whitton.

As Astrid and Warin.

As Alana and Royce.

There were some names they liked better than others.

They saw empires rise and fall. A world they once called home became ancient.

And as the world became more complicated – as royalty and religion shaped the nations, conquering and separating territories, as battles waged and revolutions erupted, as explorers flung themselves to the far reaches of the earth – Aelin and Rowan found their lives drifting apart from one another until they only had their memories and a knowing sense that someday they would find each other again.

"Whiskey. Neat." He drawled, dropping his dusty hat onto the bar top. The wood was scratched up from too many glasses missing their mark. And sticky, too. Not that he'd say so. He was a smart enough man not to complain to the lady behind the bar. Even it meant swallowing back a grimace at the thought of putting that hat back on his head. "Ma'am."

The woman was already halfway finished pouring the bottle. She had known it was him before he’d opened his mouth; but she smiled when his voice hit her, having recognized the sound of him walking ‘cross those old floorboards and taking a seat at his usual stool – the one right in front of her.

She’d had lifetimes to recognize him.

Still turned away, she shelved the dark bottle of booze back where it belonged.

For a moment, it reminded him of the day he found her here. 

He’d been up in Oregon near the California border, following a late wave of gold seekers when he caught whispers of a town a few days south of him, where a woman was holding down a claim to the saloon. A real Calamity Jane if there ever was one.

He knew she was somewhere out here, that she’d ventured west at the call of adventure. Hell, he’d braved across the frontier too, slowly working his way from ranch to ranch and crossing lands that didn’t exist on the maps he’d once held.

But knowing there was a chance of finding her again, and actually hitting pay dirt were two very different things. He had ridden into town knowing not to get his hopes up, but when he stepped into that saloon, heavenly shaded and cool from the high-noon sun, he knew it was her.

She’d been standing behind the bar with her hair woven into a loose braid tossed over one shoulder. Her well-worn clothes somehow suited her just as well as laced-up gowns, pirate’s trousers, or peploi of their youth. Her skirts were long but didn’t look heavy and she had pushed the sleeves of her blouse up to combat the heat. Around her waist, she wore a holster which didn’t surprise him one bit and he supposed running a saloon warranted the pistol that she’d slotted in there.

He was walking towards the bar before he knew what he was doing, and when she lifted her arm to count the bottles she’d lined up on the shelves, he caught sight of the small scar on her forearm. If he still had any doubts, seeing that blew them all to the wind. He could recall with deafening detail the day she’d gotten that scar, the spatha blade that gave it to her, and the Roman general he’d killed for it.

Her back was still turned towards him when he slowly sat down on the stool across from her.

“Aelin.”

In an instant, she went completely and utterly still.

She would know his voice anywhere. Know him anywhere. And even if she hadn’t, there was only one person who would ever call her by that name.

Lifetimes worth of memories flashed behind her eyes as her heart began pounding a thunderous beat. She felt like all the wind had been knocked from her, yet also it was the first time she could breathe in years. She wasn’t sure how that was possible. But then, she’d long since given up deciding what was possible and impossible when it came to him.

And her mind was putting in the licks like a six-shooter horse; like she was electrified.

Carefully setting the bottle in her hand back down on the countertop, slowly, so slowly, she turned to face him.

As they locked eyes a million different emotions flew across her face and he was sure as a gun his was looking the same.

She smiled, wide and bright, and her eyes lined themselves with silver.

“Linny,” she breathed, her first word to him in over half a century. “It’s Linn, actually, but everyone ‘round here calls me Linny.”

Her voice was dipped in that sweet, honeyed drawl they’d been surrounded by. And he laughed, feeling like the years just melted away because she did too. The kind of laugh that said more than words ever could.

A few men at a nearby table looked over to see what all the fuss was about, but it was a joke that only the two of them knew the punchline to.

And then, having been reminded that they had eyes on them, she was reaching across the old wood bar holding out her hand. “Linny,” she said again, still beaming at him, “Linny Gale. It’s a pleasure to meet you…” she trailed off with a knowing smirk.

He remembered every instance in which she had looked at him with those same twinkling eyes, and by the growing elation of her face, so could she. He cleared his throat and took her hand in his, smiling even broader when his roughened skin met hers. “Roe Wyatt.” Her smile softened into something special. “At your service, ma’am.”

Roe hadn’t known what came next for him, but what he did know was that she was here – staying. So, he stayed, too.

As she set the glass of whiskey in front of him, that day from almost a decade prior faded away and she brought him back with the small curve of her lips as she greeted him, “Sheriff.”

At least here, in this dusty town on the far side of the world, filled with desert rats still scrounging for that elusive gold, and where he's wearing the badge instead of running from it...at least here he gets to see her face every day.

*****

Life out here was tough, Linny knew that, but she liked it. And she liked it much more now that Roe was back in her life. Point is, she knew folks made their money any way they could, especially the women.

She’d seen enough life to know what it’s like when you don’t have the resources you need. So for every working woman who found herself under Linny’s roof, she’d be offered a spot as a barmaid, pulling in the pieces so they wouldn’t feel like they needed to work upstairs. But if they did, they wanted to - and for that, all the power to ‘em. Everyone who frequented her saloon knew that if they misbehaved themselves with those women, they’d be looking down the barrel of her shotgun.

The first - and last - unlucky man who mistook her for a painted lady didn't make it back out that door.

Linny knew her way around a broken bottle well enough that the Sheriff ordered another round and watched two of the regular old boys clean up the mess. Most of it, anyway. He knew there was still a spot near the end of the bar where the wood’s stained darker than the rest. She thanked him mighty finely for turning a blind eye, too. She was sweet on him like that.

To everyone else in town, it was a mystery why they ain't gotten hitched yet. They all saw the knowing glances and conversations with so many in-jokes it sounded like they were speaking a different language. She never accepted any other man’s courtin’ and folks from around these parts knew not to try anymore, especially when the Sheriff only ever had eyes for her.

They knew not to mess with Linny Gale, too, because if she didn’t get you first, the Sheriff would make sure you never stepped foot in town again; and if some Hay Seed thought he was quicker to the draw than Roe Wyatt, he either ended up food for the buzzards with a lead plumb between his eyes or was found crawling out the back of the saloon while the arsenic-flavored whiskey he got served hit its mark.

To everyone else, his calling on her was moving slower than molasses in January.

They didn’t know the half of it.

*****

“Howdy, Miss Linny. Sheriff.”

She half smiled at the old man taking a seat on a bar stool two over from Roe. She was already grabbing a glass and pouring as she asked, “What can I get’cha for?”

He chuckled when he saw she’d already poured his whiskey. “You know me too well.”

“And whose fault is that y’old honeysop,“ she laughed.

He’d gulped down half the drink and the skin at his eyes crinkled. “My mammy used to say that…honeysop…I ain’t heard no soul say that since ‘fore I could look over the dinner table.”

Her small smile was wistful as she wiped down the countertop and grabbed another glass, using a different rag she’d slung over her shoulder to give it a good wiping down.

“I’m an old soul.”

He chuckled; eyes distant, lost in a memory. “Yeah, m’ mammy was too.” He looked up and smiled the way he did at his little grandbabies, “A sweet thing like you is too young for that.”

Linny kept wiping down glasses sharing an automatic glance with Roe. A small smile graced her face as easily concealed mirth danced across his.

Setting the last glass down, she tossed the towel back over her shoulder and leaned closer to the older man. “Sweet talking me ain’t gonna pay off your tab, Rolph.”

“Always gotta try, ma’am,” he huffed a laugh and stood, finishing the last of the amber liquid.

Linny shook her head fondly and Roe lifted his hand in a wave. “This is the last one, ya hear?” The old coot held his hand over his heart and smiled before walking out into the blaring sun.

“How many last ones ‘ve you given him?” Roe asked, still nursing the drink she’d poured him a while ago.

A huff of air blew a stray blonde lock out of her face. “A few.”

“You’ll run this place out of business ‘f you keep doing that.”

“He’s sweet,” she rested her elbows on the bar and leaned in, “He’s been taking wildflowers up to Madam Briar’s twice a week. Sometimes I see them ambling together down by the general store.

“He don’t mean no harm. He calls me young and sweet; I like it.” She laughed and he smiled. “And don’t you be worrying about this place. She ain’t in trouble yet. I always overcharge those rowdy boys that breeze in from the next town over. Don’t know why they keep coming back, sure as hell not for my welcoming, not after one couldn’t hold his booze and was sick as a horse all over my floor.” She huffed indignantly but then shrugged. “But I’m keeping my shutters painted and bottles full ‘cause of them so they ain’t so bad.”

Most days were right as rain. Linny handled her saloon with little trouble, but if there was any left after she was done, Roe used his badge to finish it.

So, when some fella too big for his breeches moseyed on in, you could cut the tension with a knife.

The saloon fell silent, something Linny might’ve marveled at if it weren’t for the no-good Saddle Stiff who’d sauntered in looking for hell to pay. The man took one long look around the room until his eyes landed on Roe and the star-shaped badge on his chest.

“You the gunslinger ‘round these parts?” His voice was rough and hard when he stepped in front of the Sheriff.

Barely blinking, he eyed the newcomer up and down, then he took a long sip of his drink and looked him square in the eye before gesturing with his half-empty glass to Linny. “You best be taking that up with her.”

Scoffing, the man didn’t even look at her. “You that cowardly a Sheriff you’ll let some hussy take your beatin’?”

Any lingering whispers went completely quiet as Roe slowly stood from his stool. He had a few inches on the man and didn’t bother fighting off a smirk when the newcomer tried squaring his shoulders to look as big as him. The Sheriff held the man’s gaze as he finished the rest of his whiskey before stepping closer and looking down at the lunkhead.

“First off, partner,” Roe drawled in a low voice. “I don’t let her do anything. Second,” he stepped closer, forcing the other man to falter before regaining the ridiculous bravado he walked in with. “You come in here, rilin’ everybody up, hollerin’ for the man in charge, I’ll tell you this – you’re in this town, in this saloon – she’s in charge. And she don’t take well to outsiders walking in here acting like they know their ups from downs.

“Finally,” Roe took another step into the man’s space and shoved his chest with one hand before gripping the material in his fist and hauling him up. “You ever call her that again, you’ll really have to deal with me, and you don’t want to deal with me after spitting on this here lady.” He leaned closer and practically growled, “You won’t be walkin’ ‘way from that.”

Roe let the man drop back down flat-footed and watched as he stumbled but looked between the Sheriff and Linny who’d been watching the scene. He made some sort of decision and went to open his mouth trying to say shit nobody wanted to hear but before he could get two words past his gullet, Linny reached into her skirts, pulled out a loaded pistol, and aimed it straight between his eyes.

“Get your lousy ass outta my establishment.” She cocked the gun, not batting an eye. “Or I’m ‘bout to have another dead body on my premises. That ain’t gonna look so good to the Sheriff.”

Said Sheriff caught the bead of sweat finally dripping down the man’s face and shrugged. “Don’t know nothing ‘bout no body.”

Linny smirked and flashed him a wink before refocusing on the man standing on the other side of the bar. “Now, you gonna get back on that ruddy horse of yours that’s scaring all the fillies outside?” she asked. “Or are you gonna make me get my floors dirty?”

Having no sense of what he’d walked himself into, the man looked her up and down holding that pistol with a steady hand, and scoffed. “That supposed to scare me, Calico Queen?”

Roe slammed his fist on the bar and gripped the man’s shirt again, but Linny’s brows just shot up.

“Oh, you ain’t scared of this old thing?” she asked airily. One second the pistol was pointed at him, the next the flickering gas lamp in the corner of the saloon shattered in a rain of broken glass as a bullet lodged itself in the wood directly behind it. “That was giving me a damn headache anyway. What about this one?” she set the pistol on the bar and reached below it, pulling out a long shotgun.

The front doors came swinging in hard enough to crash against the walls as they pivoted on rusted hinges. Another man, a local who helped tend the horses, ran in breathless unaware of what he’d walked himself into.

“Sheriff!” he panted. “Need your help breaking up a brawl out front.”

Roe looked at Linny who had the situation very much in hand and let go of the scamp who wouldn’t be breathing much longer. Adjusting his hat, Roe nodded to her. “Duty calls, ma’am. For both our sakes, when you pull that here trigger, at least corral him outside will ya?”

“Fine by me, poppet. Less mess in here for me to clean up.” She smiled at him. “That’d be all yours to handle, Sheriff.” 

And it was.

And they stayed in that town until they couldn’t.

And then they left. Together.

“Where do you want it, Ace?”

Annie – Ace – pulled out her deck of luckies and lit up a butt, inhaling and blowing the smoke out in a practiced ring. The alley she was standing in was blocked off from the main road and, for extra precaution, always had a protective pair of eyes on the entrance; not that anyone would notice the guards, she was too smart to orchestrate anything so obvious.  

Keeping her face neutral, she surveyed the haul of smuggled liquor brought to her by one of the active bootleggers in their employ. The two men behind her stayed quiet; stoic, as she blew another smoke ring. She spotted in a second that the poorly concealed unease radiating off the man wasn’t because of the loaded weapons either of her boys was carrying. She looked the bottles over once, twice –

“You’re just the bees’ knees, Cal. Always bringing me the best.” She indulged him a bit, pulling the cigarette from her mouth, and watched the tension ease out of his shoulders.

“Anything for you,” he grinned shakily and kept fidgeting. The damn sap was sweating bullets. He tried making small talk and she let him think he was getting away with it for another minute before she stopped him from lamming off.

“One thing, you old Mug,” her voice dropped all sweetness, and as she stared him down, all the blood drained from his face.

Jerking her head at one of the trouble boys behind her, he wasted no time in pulling out a gat and pointing it at the idiot who thought he could fool her.

“Do you take me for a Dumb Dora? A patsy?” She asked steadily, smirking when she heard the trigger being cocked. “I wasn’t born yesterday. I know the fucking difference between profitable giggle juice and piss-poor hooch.”

The man was shaking now but she had no patience for disrespect. Not here.

“I—I don’t, I don’t know what you’re spittin’ about, Ace.” He stammered.

“That’s Mrs. Thorne to you.” She corrected him, arching a brow. Turning on her heel she ignored Mr. Weston’s pleading and said to her trigger man, “Don’t make a mess. This damn alley smells bad enough.”

The other man who’d been standing behind her reached for the door holding it open for her without a word. She flashed him a smile and walked back into the speakeasy. Annie was immediately surrounded by raucous laughter and brassy jazz music, it was just enough to drown out the shot fired behind her and the thud of a body hitting the ground.

*****

Owen loved the sound of the big band. It never got old, no matter how many nights he spent sitting in this drum, putting down glasses of champagne. He liked even better, that no one bothered him at his table in the corner – no one he didn’t want bothering him, that is.

He especially liked it because he had a clear sight of both doors, the stage, and the bar. Not to mention he never had a problem picking his Ace out of the crowd. The club may have been bedecked in lights and gold, but his wife always shined brighter.

Tonight, he spotted her standing next to a young doll who looked scared enough just to be standing in a juice joint, let alone able to enjoy herself. But the longer he watched them, the more at ease the girl looked in Ace’s company.

“Don’t be getting the jitters, now,” Annie rubbed a comforting hand down the girl’s arm. She couldn’t have been older than twenty, and it was obvious she’d never been in a place like this before. “You see those fellas in the corner there?” she nodded towards a pair of men halfway through a bottle of gin, each with a fine damp on their laps. “Those boys are coppers.”

When the young girl looked back, startled, the blonde laughed and gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Lose those heebie-jeebies. You’re safe here.”

Annie looked over the girl’s head and saw that her man was already looking at her. Like always. She gave him a subtle nod, which he immediately returned, setting down his glass and gesturing to one of the men standing to the side of his table. Ace didn’t need to hear him to know what her husband was ordering. 

“No one in this joint is a danger to you, you have my word.” At the girl’s still skeptical look, Ace smiled conspiratorially at her. “Take another look around, you see that handsome guy sitting there – no don’t stare – people in here listen to him. And he listens to me.” She leaned in closer and the girl finally smiled, making Ace’s smile wider. “He is absolutely dizzy with me. Now, let's get you a delicious glass of bubbly,” She snapped at one of the nearby waiters who came by and handed the girl some champagne. “Relax here at the bar and listen to our sweet canary sing. I heard her practicing her verses earlier and she's lovely.”

Leaving the girl in good hands, Annie snagged her own glass of champagne off a passing waiter and strutted across the dancefloor towards Owen. Her dress shimmered under the lights as she flounced to her husband’s table which was now occupied with a couple familiar faces. He didn’t falter in his conversation as she gracefully draped herself across his lap and wrapped an arm around his neck, carding her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Ace,” he squeezed her hip in greeting, “you remember Lore and Fen.”

“Ain’t you a looker,” Fen winked, and Annie smirked, feeling her husband’s grip on her hip tighten.

“Down boy,” she chuckled, crossing one leg over the other and subtly leaning closer into Owen’s embrace.

“They were just telling me,” he explained to her, “that our buddy at the station got word some Dry folks want to take matters into their own hands.”

“They don’t think the coppers are doing their job,” Fen leaned back, smirking. “Not finding and shuttin’ down all those corrupted, underground joints.”

Annie snorted and turned over her shoulder to look at the two Johns drinking away with badges hidden somewhere in their jackets. “I think they’re doing a swell job.”

Her laughter was echoed by Owen and Fen, but Lore just rolled his eyes at her flippancy.

“Those damn teetotalers think they’re so high and mighty,” The man gritted out, glaring daggers at the policemen in the corner – darkly enough Annie was surprised the boys didn’t drop dead on the spot.

“Cut it out, Salterre,” Annie chastised. He redirected his glare to her and even though she felt Owen stiffen, she merely smirked at the glowering man. “If you keep up looking so sore, people are bound to notice, and then those fellas will get made. It won’t take a genius to figure out why a man sitting comfortably at this here table is looking to pop one of them off.”

“I don’t think Salterre has ever sat comfortably.”

None of them paid Fen’s comment any head, but Annie’s smirk widened just a fraction.

“Yeah?” Lore goaded, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it between his teeth. “And why would that be so bad?”

Before she could answer, Owen beat her to it.

“What, you killing them? Or someone noticing you want to?”

“Both?” The dark-haired man asked, unconcerned. “Either? No one’s gonna be crying over a couple less coppers.”

“Get your head out of your ass, Salterre.” Annie snapped, staring hard at him. “You kill them? That comes back to bite us. I wouldn’t go so far as to say you’re smart, but I know you have eyes.” She ignored his sneer. “Look around and tell me how many people are in the club? Tell me how many people would be able to say that they saw those boys here.”

“So? That’s bad for them, not us.” He shrugged dismissively.

Annie downed the rest of her champagne and wished for strength. “No one in here but a few of us,” she looked pointedly around the small circle, “know they’re coppers. Anyone else would just know that they recognized those two goddamn faces in here before you supposedly cut ‘em down. That leads questions coming back here, to our establishment, to you, to us. That is not what we fucking want. It's the whole fucking reason we pay those boys off in the first place – so that they won’t be bringing questions around here. We help them, they help us. That’s how this works, rattlecap.”

Annie snapped her fingers and a fresh glass of champagne found itself in her hand. She took a long sip before threatening, “If you think you’re above all that, then I’ll be handling you myself.”

Lore didn’t say anything when she raised her brows at him, he just shifted his gaze to her husband as if he would contradict or chastise her. Owen leaned back in his seat, pulling her with him as they settled into the plush cushion.

“You heard the lady,” Owen simply said, instead.

And with that, Fen started snickering and Lore stretched his arms out on the edge of the booth as he silently seethed. The band picked up the first notes of a new song that had Annie twisting on her husband's lap to listen to the music.

When she rested her head against Owen’s he squeezed her hip again and fondly muttered, “Ace.” Some days it was her sweet nickname, on others it was a curse, and sometimes, like right now and said in a way that made her turn to press a red-lipped kiss to his cheek, it was a prayer.

*****

The wind roared around them as their car sped down the road. Owen was driving with one hand on the wheel and the other half-hanging out the window. Annie smiled as the scenery flew by in a blur. Tall buildings and crowded streets gave way to green foliage and open land.

The engine purred and she couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. She’d seen a lot of discoveries and creations, and she always wondered how they could ever get better, but they usually did - things always evolved and spurred the invention of new things. She remembered the journeys in horse-drawn carriages and knew that back then she wouldn’t have been able to dream of a day like today, flying down the roads in a beautiful car, the engine powering them to its limits.

Getting close to the house, Owen pulled off the main motorway and took a winding, private road that wound them beneath blooming trees, their canopies painting the pavement in shade.

The house wasn’t extravagant; in fact, it was incredibly modest. It was something her husband had built in his early days on this continent. Long before the Great War, before the Gold Rush, before the Civil War, and revolutionary battles. Back when they both were searching for something new and took those leaps, journeying across the ocean.

Their lives sometimes felt like swinging pendulums, positioned closely enough to intertwine, drawing them together indistinguishably, but angled just so and pulling them apart when they least expected.

As she reached for Owen’s hands and intertwined their fingers, squeezing once, she vowed to never let that happen again.

It wasn’t long before they’d brought their bags in and decided to take a walk along one of the trails beyond the house.

“Do you think we have to worry about Lore going rogue?” She asked quietly, leaning into Owen’s arm.

“No, I don’t think so,” he shook his head, carding one hand through his un-slicked back hair. “He has a temper but he’s smart. Worst he’ll do is give ‘em some words, but he wouldn’t do worse than that. He knows it’ll only go bad.”

“I think you give him too much credit.”

“I think you give yourself too little,” he countered, and at her raised brow he chuckled. “He’ll put up a fight, but he won’t cross you.”

Annie hummed. “As far as he’s concerned, you’re the one he should be holding back for.”

Owen barked a laugh. “If you honestly think that he doesn’t know who is really calling the shots then you are severely underestimating him.”

“I’m not underestimating his intelligence. I’m insulting his lack of tact.” She told him as they kept walking. “You know we work together; I know we work together; they know we work together; but most of the fellas packing heat and doing the work still think you have the final word. And that works because it allows me to do things I need to do without as sharp an eye watching my moves. 

“And if Salterre keeps pushing, then it won’t be long before everyone knows exactly how I can handle things – and that will be bad for both of us.” She pulled back and smirked up at his amused expression. “How do you think our supply is the best in town? Because I go out and make friends with all those grimy bootlegger’s dames; and between us ladies, things get done, arrangements get made, deals get sorted. And then, without watchful eyes on our lovely, delicate selves, we get our fellas to follow through with those deals…and the world goes round.”

“Okay, okay,” he laughed, agreeing. “Enough about that. I’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“Good.”

“And, Ace?” he laughed again, “You and I both know that every son of a bitch who works with us knows damn well that you’re packing as much heat as any one of them.”

They fell into companionable silence. There was no one in the world she felt as comfortable around.

“Do you remember when we got married?” She asked him suddenly.

“Of course, I do, Ace. It wasn’t that long ago.”

Her dress brushed against her legs as the breeze picked up.

“No, not this time,” she said. “I mean the time during the revolution.”

They kept walking steadily as he thought. “Which one?”

“The European one,” she elaborated.

He glanced down at her again. “Which one?”

“Oh, stop you sap,” she nudged his rib fondly. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Yes, I know what you’re talking about.” He stopped them and turned her to face him. “I remember every wedding I’ve had with you. I remember every ceremony and every dress. Every officiant. Every wedding night. And the only – only – thing that is good about the years when we’ve been apart is that every time we were, I knew I had one thing to look forward to: finding you again and getting to learn who you’ve become.”

“Ἀγαπῶ σὲ,” Annie whispered, silver-lined eyes staring up into his deep green ones.

“Te amo.”

“Ti amo.”

“Je t’aime.”

“I love you.”

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

Sitting on their aging porch swing, Aelin found herself sorting through faded pictures. There was one of them in a poodle skirt and leather, of flared bell bottoms and disco lights, of wild hair and rock concerts they still sing along to. There was one of them from New Year’s Eve, bedecked in glitter and tassels that had been shot off the moment that the millennium ended. And another one, taken a few seconds later – thank you Polaroid technology – of Rowan dipping Aelin, his arms wrapped around her as they both smiled too hard to really keep up their kiss, as they welcomed a new day, a new year, a new century and millennium. Giddy about what was to come.

“I think that’s enough reminiscing,” she finally whispered, reorganizing the images and replacing the lid on the box.

 “Yeah?” Rowan asked, just as quietly.

Aelin smiled, pressed a kiss to his lips, intertwined their fingers so their wedding bands glinted in the fading light, and answered, “Yeah. For now.”

*******

@acourtofsnakes @a-frog-with-a-laptop @astra-ad-mare @autumnbabylon @backtobl4ck @bankerfrog @becarefuloflove @camerooonchiu @captain-swan-is-endgame @charlizeed @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @doubt-less @earthtolinds @elentiyawhitethorn @feyretales @goddess-aelin @highqueenofelfhame @jorjy-jo @julemmaes @leiawritesstories @lemonade-coolattas @llyncooljones @mariamuses @moodymelanist @morganofthewildfire @nerdperson524 @rhysiedarling @rowaelinismyotp @rowaelinrambling @rowanaelinn @shyvioletcat @stardelia @superspiritfestival @sv0430 @swankii-art-teacher @thegreyj @the-lonelybarricade @the-regal-warrior @tomtenadia @westofmoon @whimsicallyreading @rowaelinscourt

[sarahjswift]

Here is the third chapter of spotlight on me, baby where are you? (Originally a one shot named “emails I can’t send”)

I’m having so much fun writing this series!

Word Count: 1.7k

Enjoy! Please let me know what you think! 😚

~~

Breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Well, she couldn’t do that in the peace-killing device she wore. Aelin was pretty sure her dress was slowly suffocating her.

“At least you look hot,” Lysandra had shrugged when Aelin had mentioned this to her best friend and stylist. “And that’s all that matters at the Grammy after party, isn’t it?”

Now, Aelin blew out a breath as she stared out the tinted window to the building before her. Everywhere, celebrities were exiting their luxury vehicles and sashaying their way towards the party. She thought they looked like ants crawling over their nest.

“Ready?” Aedion, sitting on the other side of the car, asked. He was clad in sweats and a white T-shirt, hair pulled back. Lysandra leaned against him, a hand on her boyfriend’s knee, the green-eyed beauty wearing a simple black dress. For a moment, Aelin was overcome with a devastating envy; not just for her friends’ obvious bliss in their relationship, but for their life. After the Grammys performance, their job was done, and they could drive home and relax on the couch, watch Netflix, and go to sleep.

Not Aelin. No, because of the life she’d so desperately wanted, she’d squeezed into her dress and was carted off into the limo moments after the exhausting event that was the Grammys. Now, she would spend the next five hours maintaining her perfect image, avoiding the cruel paparazzi and pandering to the ones she knew her agent had paid. She’d be lucky if she got to sleep before five in the morning. That is, if she could sleep at all.

Aelin couldn’t help feeling alone. She’d never tell anyone else this, of course; complaining about her life just felt privileged and spoiled. The only person who truly understood was…

Was…

Gone. Somebody else’s to love.

Snapping back to reality, Aelin forced a smile and nodded. “Of course.”

She turned back to the window and took a final breath, closing her eyes as she let her face melt into the mask she’d perfected over the time since her break into the industry; the arrogance, the casual beauty, the always-present amusement. Looking over her shoulder, she shot her friends a wink before the door opened and she stepped out onto the street.

Instantly, she was overwhelmed by the chaos of it all; the flash of the cameras, the shouting of the paparazzi.

“Aelin, over here!”

“Aelin, how did it feel to perform at the Grammys without any nominations?”

“Here, Aelin!”

“Aelin, who are you wearing tonight?”

“Look here, Aelin!”

“How were the Grammys, Aelin?”

“One smile, Aelin!”

“Aelin, how did it feel to perform your pointed single in front of ex Whitethorn?”

A wave of cold washed over Aelin, and she swallowed and locked her spine. Plastering a smirk on her face, she moved toward the entrance, letting her hips swing with every step. She felt and saw the lightbulbs flash, and kept her eyes on the entrance. The guard at the door gave her a smile and a nod, stepping aside to let her in. Aelin walked through the threshold and sighed, shoulders slumping for one second before she forced her posture perfect again.

Here we go.

__

The music was too loud.

Much, much too loud - meant to drown out the chatter of the industry’s finest. Rowan wondered how much people paid to have their music played at events like these.

“Rowan?”

Rowan blinked and looked down, straight into big brown eyes. Lyria smiled softly up at him, the action lighting up her face from pretty to beautiful. She reached out, curled her fingers around Rowan’s dress shirt and tugged. Obliging her, Rowan leaned down, turning his head so she could whisper into his ear.

“Can we go find the rest of the group?” she asked, her lips grazing the shell of his ear. Rowan pulled back and nodded, offering her his arm to take as they left the room. Instantly, the chaos of the main room was muted as they stepped into a hallway. “Oh, it was agonizingly loud in there, wasn’t it?” Lyria asked.

“I don’t understand why they always crank the music up to the top volume,” Rowan grumbled, shaking his head. “I was about to lose feeling in my ears.”

Lyria giggled, a soft, breathy sound. “Good thing I saved you.”

“Good thing.”

They made their way through the crowds, craning their necks to find the rest of The Cadre. Rowan welcomed the quiet Lyria offered him, letting his mind wander. He still felt shaky, totally on edge. How could he go on through this stupid party, full of vain, vapid people, after what had happened just two hours before? He didn’t know how he’d held on so long without breaking down, honestly. Most likely thanks to Lyria’s sweet presence.

“There!” the girl in question said, pointing through the crowd. Rowan instantly saw the backs of the heads of Gavriel, Fenrys, and Lorcan, and began gently tugging Lyria towards them. He felt his spirits rise at the thought of talking to his friends, debriefing the Grammys, discussing the awards…They reached the group and his friends turned, letting him see who they were all talking to -

Oh, gods.

Oh, fucking gods.

Standing there, in all her glory. Dressed in a tight red dress that stopped mid-thigh and hugged every curve, sleeveless with a dipping neckline. A gold necklace was draped across a perfect collarbone, drawing the eyes to a delightful amount of cleavage - just enough to tease but modest enough to maintain control. Golden hair swooped back with gold clips, two perfect strands framing the face..that face. High cheekbones. A pair of full lips painted red to match the dress. Darkened eyelashes and a cat eye to accentuate those blue, fiery eyes.

At the sight, Rowan almost fell to his knees.

He thought half-hysterically that far below him, some dark god was laughing his ass off as Rowan drowned in those eyes…that perfect shade of blue, that untamable fire he’d always adored…

Rowan forced his gaze away from Aelin Galathynius, and just like that, he was in control again. His legs were once again steady and strong. His heart, on the other hand, was still hammering like he’d run a race.

“Oh, Rowan!” Gavriel stammered, looking nervous. Rightfully so. Rowan was going to kill him once they were out of here. “We - we were looking for you, but we couldn’t find you guys…” His voice trailed off, most likely thanks to the death-promise that was undoubtedly in Rowan’s eyes.

“We were in the main room,” Lyria replied for him. “It got too loud for Rowan, though. Old man.” She chuckled, patting his arm.

Old man. Rowan wondered if Lyria knew what she was doing, making that joke. He dared a glance…

Her eyes were full of flame, lips pursed. His gaze dropped to her hand, currently holding a flute of champagne, and watched her slender pointer finger tap against the glass, an almond nail clacking against the surface. Her tell, one that no amount of media training could stamp out of her. She was angry.

Rowan felt the ghost of a smile around his mouth. He loved the sight of Aelin Galathynius in a rage.

No. He tamped down on the thought before it could go any farther.

He knew why she was mad. He let the train of thought carry him away, to better times…

Old man…

Old man…

—“You old man!” The fond joke he’d grown accustomed to hearing. He’d rolled his eyes and ruffled her hair, smirking at her shrieks of fake rage.

“Sorry, we’ve got to get home…this old man here needs to be in bed before eleven.” The excuse she’d give their friends whenever his hands would trace below her lower back, or when he’d press pleading kisses to the back of her neck when nobody was looking. It was his favorite insult, given that it usually led to fingernails dragging down his back, a head thrown back in ecstasy, pleasure unlike he’d ever known.

“You’re such an old man.” The words he’d beheld in her eyes after his stiff and formal introduction to her father. She hadn’t even had to say anything for him to understand. He’d thrown her a wink and pressed a kiss to her mouth, reveling in her delighted laughter, arms around his neck. He’d pulled her to him, hugging her tight, breathing in her lemon verbena shampoo. Glancing up, he’d seen her father watching them at the door and knew the sight had won the man’s approval more than any conversation would. —

Rowan pushed away the memories. The joy of those days had now turned to despair. The once-beloved words, old man, as sacred as phrases of love, felt distorted and dirty coming from Lyria’s pink lips. Clearing his throat, he opened his mouth to speak-

“Rowan can’t stay in one place for long before he leaves, can he?”

All heads whipped to the cool-faced beauty standing before them. The words were dripping with acid, but in a voice so melodic it almost didn’t pierce Rowan’s heart.

Almost.

Gavriel, Fenrys, and Lorcan shifted, all finding the floor, their drinks, the ceiling suddenly riveting. Rowan swallowed and squared his shoulders. “Aelin-” he began.

“I don’t know about you, but I’ve never had that problem with my boyfriend,” Lyria’s soft voice floated up from next to him, edged with a steel he’d never heard before from her. “We left because I wanted to.” She turned to him, smiling, and stroked his cheek once before letting her hand fall and grasp his tightly. “He’s always so responsive to my needs,” she said sweetly. Honeyed words, meant to choke.

Aelin’s nostrils flared, and she cocked her head in a move so animalistic a distant voice in Rowan’s mind wondered if she was descended from a leopard. A terrifying smile graced her mouth, eyes frozen in rage. Part of Rowan shrank back as his gaze darted from woman to woman. One feline and dangerous, the other doe-eyed and deceptively soft.

The soft part of Lyria, he saw, had gone as quickly as her loyalty to Aelin.

Aelin took one step forward. A single step, that had the entire group bracing themselves. Her words were breathy and tinged with dark amusement.

“Let’s see how long that lasts, sweetheart.”

@aelinchocolatelover @renxzs @throneofshadows @mariaofdoranelle

[wordsafterhours]

Hawk White

Author's Note: This idea started with a TikTok I saw, talking about a girl falling for her older brother's best friend, and that TikTok was based off a video clip. Anyways, the idea had been stuck in my head. Enjoying this unedited one shot.

Triggers: a little cussing never hurt anyone*

Word count: 4.5-5k?

---------------------------------------------------------------

Aelin should have known that when she woke up this morning with a splitting headache as though someone was trying to drill through her skull, that it was a precursor to how the day was going to go. But instead of going back to bed, like she wanted, she had drunk a large glass of water and taken two ibuprofens before getting dressed to conquer the day. 

The end of senior year’s fall semester was rapidly approaching, and her professors had been laying on the material relentlessly. Between a full course load of twenty-one hours, labs, and work, there weren’t enough hours in the day. Quite frankly, it was amazing she was doing more than treading water. With the exception of one B on a paper, things had been going her way.

Had. 

That was no longer the case. First it was the headache, next it was the stalled train, preventing her from getting into Orynth proper from her house, and when she finally made it to University, a lecture covering most of the content for the final, was five minutes from being over. She had pleaded with Professor Darrow to let her come by during official office hours to go over the content. He hadn’t wanted any part of it and made some off-handed remark about how he wouldn’t reward tardiness.

Aelin, for once had held her tongue, not wanting to reap any unnecessary consequences from Darrow by arguing how she’d never been late before and had the best grade in the class. No one liked a brownnoser or something like that. By staying over, she was late to her chem lab and ended up being partners with Cairn. The only thing he was good for was making arrogance his only personality trait and sleeping his way through the university’s cheerleading squad. 

His ego was stifling and because he was used to women falling at his feet, he’d never forgiven Aelin for not throwing herself at him. Now, he looked for any excuse to make snide comments when she walked past in lecture or knock ingredients over on her lab table when they were doing independent study. For two hours, she’d had to endure his hovering over her shoulder as she did what was supposed to be “group work” and then had the audacity to criticize them being docked two points when she missed a plus sign on one of the chemical formulas.  

When noon rolled around, she was two seconds from telling off the gods, and going home to her bed—it might have stopped the downward spiral in its tracks if she had. Alas, she had promised her boss that she’d inventory the new shipment of books that had come in. She’d spent hours organizing the books, putting them in careful stacks, and double-checking what needed to be put out on the shelves. This was something she’d done a million times, but in the monotony of it, her brain had wandered back to the events of the morning, and a stack of first editions had been the casualty of forgotten coffee. 

Never in her four years of working for Emrys had anything like that transpired. When he found her crying on the floor, coffee on her pants and the books, he didn’t fire her. He didn’t even chastise her. He simply bent down and slipped his arms around her, repeating “it’s okay, it’s okay” until her shoulders stopped shaking. After the mess had been cleaned up, he told her to go home, and they’d figure out what to do with the ruined books another day.

Now, she was lying face first in the bed that she never should have left to begin with. And her head was pounding again. With a loud sniffle, she turned, cracking open a swollen lid, staring at her discarded school materials. The number of waking hours left to get assignments done were dwindling—she needed to get up and get to work. Getting shot at or runover by a car sounded more appealing than academia.  

Blindly, her hand rifled through the discarded backpack, looking for her phone. 

“Aha!” she declared excitedly when she found it. There were two missed texts from Lysandra, probably asking her why she was late to lecture this morning, but those were for later. Flipping through the rest of her notifications, she smiled to herself when she noticed Rowan had a new Instagram post up. 

Rowan Whitethorn, her older cousin Aedion’s best friend, and her secret but not so secret friend. He was almost four years her senior, just like her cousin. He’d transferred from Doranelle his last year of high school and was a walk on for their high school’s rugby team. He was the talk of the entire school and one day, Aedion brought him over to family dinner, and he seamlessly joined in teasing her like he’d been doing it forever. Aelin had never regretted Aedion living with them until then.   

Rowan was constantly hanging out with Aedion, disrupting her peace, and filling the house with loud cheering and rambunctious behavior only befitting of teenage boys. Every interaction just honed her dislike; gods was he downright arrogant and annoying. It didn’t matter looked he walked off the page of a modeling magazine with his striking silver hair, strong jaw line, defined muscles, and sinful green eyes, he was the proverbial thorn in her side. If you’d asked her then, she would have swore an oath that he went out of his way antagonize her whenever the chance presented itself.  

But, as the summer between her freshman and sophomore year was fading into August, something changed. She wasn’t sure when it happened but one day, the teasing lessened and when he came to pick up Aedion, he invited her. Her cousin’s neck had about broken after, their mutual aversion to one another no secret. Weeks later, when the boys left for college south in Adarlan, Aelin thought their newfound friendship would dissipate just as quickly as it had come.

Four years later, she’d considered Rowan to be one of her best friends, and the person who knew her best. 

She clicked on the notification, the app immediately opening to his story. He looked so happy standing outside one of the large, opalescent buildings in downtown Orynth, arms resting atop Aedion and Fenrys’ shoulders as they smiled widely at the camera. She snorted reading the caption: “The Boys are Back in Town”.  

Their architecture firm Cadre had just opened last week but now it seemed all the more official being posted on his social media platform. Her best friend deserved all the happiness, he’d work so hard on bringing his dream to life, they all had. Her painted fingers were dialing his phone number before her brain could register what she was doing. 

“Hello?” his lilting voice questioned after one ring.

“Hey.”

“Hey you,” he greeted his voice having lost its seriousness.

“I saw you’re Instagram official now,” Aelin commented excitedly.

“Yeah.” His short reply sounded sheepish, and she knew his cheeks were tinged pink. Sometimes it was silly how shy he could become with compliments. He worked hard but had this impression that it didn’t need to be recognized, at least not as often as she congradulated him. 

“It’s bad ass! I’m proud of you, you’ve worked so hard. You should be putting it everywhere you can.”

“Everywhere I can, huh?” he quipped. 

It was her turn to blush, the tips of her ears burning uncomfortably at the innuendo. “Rowan!”

“After all this time, you’re still so easy to tease, Ace. I can’t help it,” he laughed. She imagined his green eyes were full of mirth, lips pulled up in a wicked smirk.

“Mhmm.” She usually would poke back at him, but the day’s events had left her in a rut that she didn’t feel like subduing just now. The other end of the phone grew silent—he’d picked up on her mood.

“Ace?” he asked quietly. 

“Yeah, Ro?” 

“What’s wrong?” He sounded worried, genuinely so. It was one of the things she loved most about him, that he always handled her with such care.

Sighing loudly, Aelin started recalling all the bad things that had happened to her since she’d woken up, making sure to highlight how she’d ruined books, including an extremely rare Terrasen history volume detailing the origins of the country itself. Aelin wasn’t sure where Emrys had found it or why it was even in the boxes of other books, but it didn’t matter now that it was covered in coffee.

“Do you have plans?” he asked loudly, sounding a little out of breath. 

“Well, not really. I mean I have homework but when don’t I?”

“I’m coming to get you,” he said, his tone stern and leaving no room for disagreement. 

She squeaked, surprise forcing her to her feet. “You’re what?”

“I’m coming to get you. You sound like you just need to decompress. We can go get ice cream or something.”

“Ro, I love that you want to hang out with me, but I know you’ve probably had a long day. And you’ve been so busy with the launch of Cadre. Honestly, I’ll just work on my paper and go to bed.” As much as she wanted to lay eyes on his handsome face and melt into a hug while being wrapped in the smell of pine and snow, she could do without. Aedion had looked ragged every time he dropped by the house lately, and it was likely Rowan was the same. They both didn’t have a healthy sense of self-preservation when it came to work-life balance.

“I’m already pulling out of the parking garage and heading that way. You can’t deny me after I ran down ten flights of stairs instead of waiting on the elevator; that’d be cruel even for you.” The devious half of her wanted to deny him, just a little, to see what his response would be, but she pocketed the idea instead.

“I’m only agreeing because you mentioned ice cream.” 

Lie. A complete lie. The mere promise of confined, alone time with her best friend would undoubtedly soothe her frazzled nerves like salve on a burn. Witty banter over the phone had been expected, what she wanted, but in true Rowan fashion, he knew her better than she knew herself.

“I’d say I was wounded, being second to ice cream, but your penchant for sweets is unparalleled.” 

“I make no apologies.” 

“Naturally. I’m exiting, I’ll see you soon if people aren’t driving obnoxiously slow,” he sounded annoyed already. Pained even. 

Aelin snorted. “Not everyone drives an expensive sports car.”

“They should,” he muttered before ending the call. 

Rolling off the bed, she headed straight into the bathroom. Her mascara was smeared, eyes puffy and red, and what looked like dried snot to the side of her nose. “Disgusting,” she shuddered turning on the faucet. Meticulously, she washed the makeup from her face and applied a tinted moisturizer once it was dry. It wasn’t perfect but she didn’t seem as ruddy now, and Rowan had seen her on more than one occasion looking less put together. 

She ran a brush through her long blonde hair and slipped into her faded Orynth University sweater. It was her favorite, its dark green coloring reminding her of Rowan’s eyes. Not that she’d ever admit that. Ever. It was one of the secrets she would take to her grave. Bounding down the stairs, she was surprised to find the house blessedly unoccupied. In the back of her brain, it seemed like she knew they wouldn’t be here. Last week, her mother had mentioned a work function but in true Aelin fashion, her attention had lapsed midway through the conversation. 

At least one merciful thing was happening today—she wouldn’t have to explain to her parents where she was going. Or listen to them dote over Rowan. You would think he had been born into the family with the way they were invested in him. It was nauseating at times. Peeking through the open curtains, Aelin’s turquoise gaze caught sight of Rowan’s sportscar coming up the long driveway and she headed out the door. 

He pulled up the car, putting it into park, before he got out and came around. It took every ounce of self-control to not drop her jaw. He was wearing a tailored button down, white, rolled up over his forearms, showing off part of his tattoo. Three buttons were open at the top, providing another view of black ink as it creeped up the left side of his neck. His pants hugged his muscled legs well, tight enough to show he worked out, but not enough to eclipse professionalism. They were the same color as her sweater. 

He looked positively sinful and the idea of confined time with him no longer seemed like a reward, but punishment instead. “Here,” he said warmly in greeting, bending to open the door for her. Smiling tightly, afraid of what might pass her lips if they parted, she slid into the cognac-colored seat. The door didn’t shut until her seatbelt was buckled. 

“What do you say we drive around first before ice cream? I don’t think you really want to get back to homework,” he speculated as he shut his own door. Sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, she rolled it back and forth in trepidation, hesitant to agree to his proposition. An unexpected tug of her head sideways caused her to shriek loudly in surprise. 

“Don’t start!” she chastised, looking sideways at him, eyes narrowed in annoyance. 

“You didn’t answer me,” Rowan explained, a hint of a smile on his face. 

“I was trying to decide if I could wait. You know my day has been godsdamned awful,” she defended dismally.

“You don’t always have to be perfect, Ace.” His words draped heavily across her and she dropped her head, staring intently at her fingers as she took out her anxiety on her fingernails. They’d be bloody nubs soon if she didn’t relax. 

“That’s easy for you to say.” 

He let out a breathy sigh, fingers drumming against the gear shift. “It is now. It took me a long time to realize I didn’t have to be perfect all the time and my life is better for it. I was in my own way for too long. Cadre almost didn’t happen because I was ready to throw in the towel when roadblocks kept happening. I felt like I wasn’t working hard enough. Making the right decisions. That I had to have all of the right answers when someone asked me a question,” he confessed quietly and full of conviction. 

“It’s daunting sometimes,” Aelin whispered, choosing to look out the window and away from him before she proceeded, “to live in the shadow of Aedion and you.” 

“Huh?” Without looking at him, she just knew his eyes were wide and his silver eyebrows had probably disappeared into his hairline. 

“My parents are so proud of you two. They constantly talk about you guys. At dinner, to friends, the work functions. The Orynth Gazette article that came out last week when your business opened… it’s already framed and on the wall. Both of you played Rugby in college and graduated Magna Cum Laude. You had two published articles in an architecture magazine before you were even a junior. I’ve never seen my parents be disappointed about either of you.” 

She cleared her throat, swallowing down the well of tears trying to crawl out. “Me? I made one B, one B, and they looked at me like confessed that I’d murdered our dog.” A loud sniffle filled the car as she continued to stare angrily at the darkening pine trees dotting the side of the road. 

“Did you ever think maybe they’re disappointed for you and not at you?” 

She laughed, the sound mangled, sounding more like a sob. “I still have a perfect GPA; I’m set to graduate with more hours than required of me. I’ve already submitted job applications into the city’s top scientific research lab and I’m going to be part of a published study on Ghost Leopard genetic mutations. They literally can only talk about that stupid B.” 

“This is not me being on their side—" his lilting voice said hesitantly. She leaned her head against the glass but flicked her gaze to him in silent permission to continue. Her body was stiff with anticipation. “—but maybe they act like that because they know you’re capable of always achieving at or above excellence. You set that bar a long time ago Aelin and I think they’re used to it. And you’re used to it. You are your own worst critic and if you set the expectation that it’s okay to do less sometimes, I think they’ll follow suit.” 

“Maybe you should tell them that,” Aelin muttered under her breath, angry that what Rowan had said made some sense. 

“I will. You know I will.”

“I know, but I don’t want you to get into the middle of it. I’m grown and I do possess the capability to tell them off.” Well, she should anyways but both were in high-powered jobs and could be intimidating without trying to be. “I think.” 

“Are you at least feeling better?” Rowan prodded. 

“Yeah, I am. You’ve just listened to me whine and whine today, I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t ever have to hid how you feel with me, okay? Friends don’t do that. Your troubles are my troubles.” His expression had become somber, green eyes darker than normal. Aelin thought he even looked a little mad but that didn’t match with the gentleness of his voice. 

“I knew there was a reason we were friends.” 

“And here I thought you kept me around because I buy you sweets,” he smirked. 

Her agreement to his statement was caught off when an annoying dinging sounded from the dashboard. Rowan’s lips pulled into a frown as he stared at the instrument panel. “Gods, the fact that this thing was basically empty earlier slipped my fucking mind. I’m sorry Ace, ice cream will have to wait longer.” 

“You’re just gripping because fuel prices make you cry.” It was her time to pick on him. Aelin had heard more about this car than she’d care to admit. She knew it’s time to go from zero to sixty, a whopping 2.8 seconds.  How many horsepower the engine was, its production time, when it came off the line in Doranelle… even the name of the damn paint color, Hawk White. It was Rowan’s pride and joy and it only liked premium gas. 

“I’ll never admit to it.” 

“Mhmm,” she replied, tabling his denial for now. 

The annoying dinging sounded twice more before he pulled into one of the city’s fancier gas stations. Aelin only ever came here when she was with him. Her reliable SUV didn’t need expensive gas or frequent maintenance. It didn’t bother her that it dragged to even get to highway speeds or needed an adapted to play her music, she loved it anyways. Besides, the garage was full of luxury cars is she felt the need for classy speed. If she had taken one today, maybe she would have made it to school on time. 

Rowan rolled cracked both windows halfway before cutting the engine. The gas tank was on her side, so they could still talk while he filled the tank. Shamelessly, she stared at his back, eyes tracing the taut fabric lines over his shoulders as he swiped his car and placed the pump into the opening. Casually, he rested his forearm on the window, hand dangling just inside. It was close enough, the calluses on his hands were visible. How would his thumb feel tracing her bottom lip? How would they feel tracing the most intimate parts of her?

Subtly, Aelin shook her head, astounded at her own audacity. Rowan was her best friend, not a piece of meat, and certainly not someone to muse salacious things about. Gods, she should have never left her bed.

“Bed?” Rowan asked.

Fuck. She’d said that last part out loud. “Oh nothing, I just was talking to myself.” 

“About your bed?” he prompted, green eyes sparkling in amusement.

“I happen to love my bed, it’s very comfortable.” 

“Yes, I know. I’ve been in it before.” He winked before turning away to look at the pump, arm still resting on the window. Speechless. She was speechless as she stared at his back once more, noting a small shake to his shoulders. The bastard was laughing.  If the gods possessed any modicum of pity for her, one would smite her here and now. 

She was two seconds from rolling his arm up in the window when an unfamiliar voice sounded from outside the window. 

“That’s a beautiful car.” 

“Thanks, I’m pretty fond of her myself,” he admitted, giving is full attention to whoever was outside the car. Aelin tried to look in the passenger mirror, but his frame was obscuring most of her view. Craning her neck, she looked back to see a dark-haired woman standing by her car at the pump behind theirs. 

“Zero to sixty in 2.8 seconds, right?” The woman flicked her dark hair behind her, showing off her lowcut shirt as she awaited his response. Was she seriously trying to show case her boobs while talking cars? Breaking her gaze from the woman, she looked over to see Rowan still giving her his full attention. 

“You know your cars, that’s unusual in a woman,” he supplied playfully.

“What am I, chopped liver?” she huffed angrily. He didn’t hear her and continued talking back and forth with the mystery woman. Aelin’s neck was becoming stiff from looking over her shoulder, never one to forsake nosiness but if they kept this up, she’d have to. 

Rolling her eyes, she decided to try a new tactic: staring holes into the side of his face until he remembered her presence. It was a wash. He was too busy flirting back and forth to even acknowledge the click of the pump shutting off. The woman’s overzealous laugh did her in, what he’d said wasn’t even that funny, and out of exasperation, she grabbed his fingers.

Rowan glanced down, his green eyes taking her in as he flashed a smirk full of white teeth before flicking his gaze back to where it had been. Once more, she squeezed his pointer and middle finger, trying to convey her frustration. She was ready to go. He could flirt on his own time. And she had been promised ice cream. Turning back around, she noticed the woman had moved much closer and had her phone out. 

“I’d love to talk cars some more, but I have to get going. My friend is going to wonder why it took me so long to get back. Could I get your number?” Unconsciously, Aelin went from grabbing two of his fingers, to grabbing his whole hand, squeezing tight enough to cut off blood flow. Briefly, he looked down at her, adjusting his arm to be further in the car, which wasn’t what she had been trying to accomplish at all—she wanted to stop having a front row seat them blatantly flirting with one another. 

With zero progress being made, she loosened her death grip on his hand, only to be shocked when he took the moment to thread his fingers through hers, preventing retreat. Tugging against him only caused him to hold tighter. “Full disclosure, if I give you my number, it’ll have to be from a friend only standpoint. My girl here might actually have something to say if I wasn’t upfront about that.” 

Her stomach felt as though it was in her throat, like she’d just ridden one of the amusement park rides that drops you 100 feet in seconds, and she was too aware of the rubatosis of pure shock. Had Rowan Whitethorn, secret crush of her high school and college years, star of her late-night fantasies, just referred to her as “his girl” whilst simultaneously turning down a beautiful woman? Too caught up in her own crashing thoughts, she’d completely missed the reply and only realized that when Rowan was pulling his hand away and then getting into the driver’s seat. 

The engine purred softly to life, and he shifted into gear, pulling back out onto the road. Robotically, her gaze counted the yellow stripes marking the lanes of the highway. And when they became too blurred to count, she started accounting for the mile marker signs instead. Anything was better than acknowledging whatever had just happened. Or didn’t happen. 

Rowan finally breached the stifling silence. “Are we going to talk about that?”

“Talk about what?” Aelin asked, feigning ignorance. 

He rolled his eyes and shifted gears, increasing the car’s speed as headed into a curve. “You know what.” 

“Nope,” she said, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis. Despite it being dark in the car and the only illumination of features being provided by the instrument panel, she could see every little mannerism he did. His jaw clenched twice before he pushed for a different answer. 

Vexed, she caved. “You mean that woman that clearly wanted in your pants? That’s the only thing to talk about and we don’t have to, I had a front row seat to it. A onetime admission was more than enough.”  

Unwelcomed fingers jabbed into the side of her rib, his pitiful attempt at gaining her attention further. Aelin wasn’t having it and angrily shoved his hand away, which was exactly what he’d intended. His large hand wrapped around hers and he moved it to rest atop the gear shift, using their combined grip to shift the car into another gear. Normally, a move like that would have had her core heating and a string of dirty thoughts to accompany it, but she wanted nothing to do with him, or his hand. 

She hastily tried to take back her hand, yet only worsened the situation. He let out an annoyed huff and placed her palm against his thigh, his flattened over the top. The warmth of his body was seeping into her skin and her heart was racing with awareness. In all their years of friendship, no hug, comment, touch, had ever come anywhere near this line. “Aelin,” he hounded expectantly.

“Rowan, there’s literally nothing to talk about. Gods, just give me back my hand and take me home. It’s late and I need to get my paper done.”  

“Whatever you say, Aelin.” He released her hand as though it had burned him, eyes straight on the road, and his face perfectly calm, giving nothing away. She couldn’t help but continue to peak over at him, trying to decide what was going on in head. The car’s atmosphere was suffocating and getting out of this car couldn’t come soon enough.

Five minutes later, Rowan turned down her road, and pulled his car into the same spot where he’d picked her up earlier. It seemed so long ago now, even though it had been mere hours. When he didn’t put the car in park, her brow furrowed in confusion, and she looked over after him. 

“We need to talk about what happened.” His tone was jarring, revealing how affected he undeniably was. 

“What?” she demanded, stubborn as ever. 

“What?” he parroted, gesturing quotation marks with his hands. “You know what I’m referring to. You’re much too smart to play dumb. You know it. I know it. So don’t insult yourself by doing it,” he spit icily. The lines of his jaw seemed cut from marble, clenched and unmoving, the set of his brow equally hard. 

Rowan would not win this battle. Aelin didn’t owe him anything, especially after he fragrantly flirted in front of her face and then used her as an excuse to get out of the situation. Typical man.  Dogged as ever, she angled her body towards the door and stared out into the night. The car slipped into park and the engine cut off. For someone so tall, Rowan had a certain quick grace about it and occasionally it took him using it, to remind her so. Now was one of those times. He was throwing open the passenger side door and undoing her seat belt before she could prevent him from doing so. 

She didn’t move, choosing to glare, crossing her arms across her body. He stepped back and made a grand gesture for her to get out of the car. Giving him a saccharine smile of thanks, she shoved off the seat, intent on making a beeline for the front door. His right arm blocked her, and he pushed her back to rest against the now closed car door. Both were breathing hard, eyes narrowed in disdain.  

If he thought he was going to use his body to bully her like he used to, he had another thing coming. Smirking, she lifted up a leg, aiming for the apex of his thighs. His eyes widened and he stepped back, staring in disbelief, hands covering her intended target. It was a low blow but effective. Aelin booked it for the front door—a few seconds head start was all she needed to beat him.  

Shoving open the front door, she smiled to herself in success. It was far easier to ignore phone calls and door knocks than an actual living, breathing person’s presence and he couldn’t get in a locked house. “That’s not very nice,” he scolded as his boot came to be between the frame and the door, preventing it from being shut. 

“Godsdamnit Ro, go away. I’m so beyond over this, I rather be fed to a pack of wolves than do whatever this is.” 

He pushed his muscled frame through the door, shutting it behind him. She took a step back, he followed. Somewhere in their dance of parry and counter moves, Aelin had stopped paying attention to her surroundings until her back was flush with the door, with nowhere to go. Victoriously, he grinned a predator’s smile, “We could have been done with this in the car, but you keep pretending we have nothing to talk about.” 

“Gods, stop, just stop. Quit being such a domineering ass. It was absolutely nothing. I know she was annoying you by the end, so I was just trying to get you out of the situation.” Aelin clenched and unclenched her first, trying to bury the burning temptation to throw them into his chest.  

“That’s a lie and we don’t lie to one another. You’re going to tell me the truth,” he said lowly, the anger rumbling in his chest. He placed his hands flush against the wall, almost brushing her upper arm as he did so, caging her in. 

“What truth are you expecting me to tell?” she inquired hostilely, the gold rings in her eyes flaring at his high-handed behavior.

“Admit it, you were jealous.” His face was serious, his green eyes piercing her with accusation. 

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Wrong answer, Aelin.” Rowan adjusted his right arm, moving his hand to rest against the wall alongside her face. “You didn’t want me to give her my number, did you? It made you jealous, didn’t it?” 

“You can do whatever you want, you’re a grown man. I was ready to leave, that’s it.” He was so close, his body heat was radiating, heating her already flushed skin. Could he see it, the pink tinge staining her cheeks and the column of her neck? Could he hear how loud her heart was pounding? She felt like a moth caught in a web, waiting to become its captors next meal. 

Shaking his head very deliberately back and forth, his adamant disapproval skated across her nerves, “Again, wrong answer, Aelin.” She didn’t think it was possible, but Rowan moved closer, his knee forcing her legs apart, his thigh coming to rest against the apex of hers. His head dropped, leaving mere inches between their faces, warm breath fanning her face, “I’m going to ask you one more time, were you jealous?”

“I’m not doing this. I don’t know why you’re being so insistent about an answer!” Giving into her earlier desires, she pushed her palms against his chest, attempting to put some distance between them. It proved futile. Under splayed palms, she could feel the rippling muscles of his chest as he breathed in and out. All logical thought was rapidly dissipating. “If the roles were reversed, you wouldn’t have cared. Stop making it a big deal.”

“No, I wouldn’t have been.” His eyes darkened with an emotion she couldn’t quite decipher as he stared intently down at her, waiting for her to process the words. 

“Huh?” Aelin asked dumfounded, her heart hammering faster than it ever had. There was no way she had heard him accurately. 

It was late, she was tired. It had been a stressful day. Rowan Whitethorn had not just admitted to being jealous while having her pinned up against the door with his body. 

“Every guy that touches you. Talks to you. Even so much as looks at you, makes me rage. So no, Aelin, I would not have been ‘okay”. I would be jealous, and I would have been able to tell you that if you’d asked it of me,” he growled the last part, his jaw clenching so hard it looked like it would snap under the pressure. 

“I don’t understand. You can’t possibly mean that,” she weakly protested. 

“Please,” he said, his left hand coming up to mirror his right, forcing her to look only at him. “Don’t act like you don’t know. So. Were. You. Jealous?”

Aelin wasn’t sure if it was the fact their noses were basically touching now or that she couldn’t look anywhere else, that there was no reprieve from his heavy gaze. Whatever it was, she could no longer lie to his face. The confession fell from her lips. “Yes.” 

Rowan’s massive frame retreated a couple steps, evidently taken aback by her candidness. Her body wept at the sudden loss of warmth. Her blue eyes roved over his unmoving form, rejection starting to take root in her belly, and laying waste to the anger and attraction that had previously occupied it. What had he gained by pushing her this far? Was he mad about earlier? Had he actually wanted that girl’s number? She had been pretty, actually she had been gorgeous—and that was part of why she’d interrupted him in the first place. Grabbing his hand had seemed like the most logical distraction. He had been there, with her, for her, making her bad day better, and having to share him with a pretty stranger had not been on her bingo card. 

He said nothing. Did nothing. And the bitter realization of being the punchline for whatever cruel joke this was threatened to suffocate her. It felt like a chore to breathe in and out, to even stay and hold her ground while feeling like she was being shredded. 

Within one blink, the distance between them vanished. His tattooed hand splayed out of the front of her neck, tipping her head up to rest against the door. “Right answer,” he praised against her lips before capturing them in a searing kiss.  

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Tag list:

@lunadorned @theresyourfireandblood @backtobl4ck @leiawritesstories @morganofthewildfire @rowaelinismyotp @jorjy-jo @theresyourfireandblood @numbers-colors-fashion @swankii-art-teacher @whispers-in-the-darkest-heart  @stardelia @astra-ad-mare

**** hopefully you guys don't mind being tagged outside of "Songs About You". If you do however, just shoot me a message and I won't general tag you :)

[justreadertings]

Concept: rowaelins child drawing all over her face and arms to look like her dad

[house-of-galathynius]

Overdrive

Chapter One

Chapter Two 

Word Count: 650

~

Welcome to my newest fic, Overdrive! I hope you’re ready for some friends to enemies to lovers mixed in with some F1 and a little bit of angst! 

~

Aelin

“… In other sporting news; Rowan Whitethorn has secured the Formula One drivers championship this weekend. He went on to win the penultimate race, securing this win over rival Chaol Westfall. The new world champion was all smiles as he took the podium alongside his teammate Aedion Ashryver.”

The screen cut to a grinning Rowan. His eyes were bright as the reporter held a microphone to him and congratulated him before asking if he had any comments on his first championship win.

“Honestly, I couldn’t have done this without the fantastic support of my team and engineers and all the people back at the factory. This has been a dream of mine since I was five years old and I have so many people to thank for getting me here.”

“Any plans for big celebrations?”

Rowan laughed. “I’m sure we have something planned. First I need to get through the final race of the season.”

The reporter laughed too. “And will your wife be joining you in the celebrations?”

Rowan’s eyes dimmed slightly, but he still held onto that smile. “We’ll see. She’s a very busy woman.”

The reporter cut off and the screen went back to the anchor before moving on to the next bit of news.

Aelin sat there gripping the mug until her knuckles were white. Her mother quickly turned the TV off and came to Aelin and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“We should be happy for him.” Evalin said gently.

But Aelin couldn’t find it in herself to be happy for him. Not when her heart ached at the sight of him. At the smile on his face or the green eyes that she had once known so well. She couldn’t summon any generosity to feel proud of him… not when he had left her behind and moved on so swiftly.

                                                         ~

Rowan

The house had been empty when he’d returned. He’d been expecting it of course. But it still hurt him to come inside and feel the absence of Lyria and all of her things. There were no bright flowers on the console table by the door, nor any of her colourful jackets hung on the hooks. Her books that filled the shelves were packed away and all that was left were the bare bones of the house, and the little possessions Rowan had.

There was a note on the counter and he almost couldn’t find the courage to read it. He knew what it would say, anyway.

But still, he picked it up and opened it.

Rowan,

The removal company will be at the house on Tuesday to collect my things— it’s all in the spare room in boxes, you won’t need to do anything. I’ve left my keys on your desk and the papers you need to sign. Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be. Just sign them and it can be over.

I hope you don’t need to, but if you need to talk to me then please do it via the lawyers. I’m sorry it had to end this way, but I couldn’t do it any longer.

Congrats on your win, I hope it was worth it.

Lyria

Rowan crumpled the paper in his hands and tossed it as hard as he could across the kitchen. The paper barely made it halfway before falling pathetically to the floor.

He had done this all for her. And she had left him. She fucking walked away. Rowan was glad he had told his manager not to come by today because he could barely contain his rage and devastation. Rowan could barely think as he marched down to his home gym and ran until he could barely feel his legs and his lungs were burning.

There was nothing left inside him when he crawled into bed, and for the first time since he was nineteen years old, he cried.

~

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[morganofthewildfire]

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The Other Side Of The Fence

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~2k words

CW: mentions of domestic abuse

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The sun was blazing down like it always was, burning Aelin’s skin where she laid in the crunchy brown grass. It was the middle of summer in the middle of fucking nowhere, and while the sun was technically setting soon, it refused to go easily. 

She stared up at the puffy white clouds, picture perfect ones just like a damned kid’s drawing. With another drag of her cigarette, she exhaled and ruined those clouds with a hazy stream of gray. 

Laying on the hill behind her sorry excuse for a house, clad in just her tiny cut off denim shorts and a faded bra, smoking a cigarette, no one would look at her and think she was going places. But she wasn’t offended, because it was true.

She’d been trapped in this hellhole of a town for the past twenty years of her sorry life. Her mom had tried to pretend it was better than it was, buying shit all the time like they weren’t living in what was practically a trailer, trying to be motherly in an avoidant way. Evalin Galathynius didn’t like to look things in the face; if they were anything less than perfect then she didn’t like to give it too much time to sit in her head and rot. Like Aelin. 

Her dad was too busy fucking around with other women to even notice anything was wrong, and her only other relative, her cousin Aedion, was too damn high all the time. 

Which was how she’d ended up here: married before she was even able to legally drink.

A clanging noise interrupted her self-pitying solitude, and she tilted her head on the grass to look down the hill. Her neighbor was fixing a gap in the chain link fence that lined his property, shirtless under the baking sun as he grappled with the metal. 

Aelin lifted a hand to her eyes to block that sun, unable to stop herself from staring. How was she supposed to, when her neighbor was a godsdamned work of art? 

His skin was rough and tanned, with some scars she didn’t feel like she had the right to ask about. His arms and his muscles were mouthwatering, offering more pleasure from just the sight than her husband had in their entire relationship. His hair was a unique shade, almost silvery in the light, and his eyes. His eyes. The dark green of them that reminded her of forests far away from here, or of glittering jewels she would never be able to afford, or of just safety that she’d never known. 

He’d only moved in recently, a new member to the cesspool that was this town, and the first time they’d met she’d had the urge to tell him to run away. Because Rowan Whitethorn was too good for this place. He didn’t belong, he unsettled her, and she didn’t know what to do about it.

“How’s the view up there?” His voice rang out, and she had to blink to realize that he was talking to her. They’d hardly spoken, and his voice had the same effect on her every damn time. 

At first Aelin thought he was calling her out for staring at him, but he seemed genuine, so she just leaned back down on the grass, taking another drag of her cigarette.

“Beautiful,” she said sarcastically as she stared back up at the clouds. “I don’t know any place prettier than my own backyard.” A rumble of a chuckle made her insides clench in an unfamiliar way, and she closed her eyes to distract herself, only opening them again when she felt him approach.

She snapped them open, watching him warily as he came up to her. 

“Mind if I join you?” Rowan asked, running a hand through his short hair, and she just gestured loosely with the cigarette. He took the invitation, sitting down on the grass by her side. Maybe she should be embarrassed that she was only in her bra, but it was a free country, and like she'd said, she was in her own backyard. 

If he had a problem with it, he could leave. 

Her husband would have a problem with it, but he was still at work, and would undoubtedly stop and pick up a new six pack of beers he’d drain all in one evening before taking his subsequent drunkenness out on her. It was routine at this point.

“What’s the deal with the fence?” Aelin asked after a few minutes of silence, glancing over at him out of the corner of her eye. 

Rowan shrugged, and accepted her cigarette when she offered it to him, looking far too sexy when he inhaled and exhaled like a practiced smoker. 

“I’m thinking of getting a dog,” he said casually, “you need a good fence for a dog.” 

She nodded her head at the logic, an almost wistful smile gracing her face. Not a true smile, she hadn’t had one of those in years, but something close to the sort.

“I always wanted a dog,” she admitted, unsure of why she was saying anything except for the fact that Rowan seemed to draw things out of her that no one else could. 

“Why don’t you get one?” He asked, passing back the cigarette. She sighed heavily, staring straight at the sun and relishing in the ache it caused. 

“Arobynn hates dogs,” she said, naming her absolutely wonderful husband. Aelin didn’t even try to hide the bruises anymore, it didn’t fucking matter. She’d made the decision, and if she was being honest, she would probably make the same decision again if she needed to. It was just how it was. “He had one when he was a kid and said he’d never do it again.” 

“And when was that?” Rowan asked, with a bite of anger in his voice that had her snapping her eyes to him. “Forty godsdamned years ago?” 

Ah. He was questioning the age gap. Even if he was exaggerating, he wasn’t far from the truth. Her husband was old enough to be her father; Aelin just wondered why he seemed to care?

No one else ever had, and wasn’t that the crux of every single one of her problems? 

Aelin didn’t know if Rowan had ever actually interacted with Arobynn apart from the first time they introduced themselves to their new neighbor. It was always an act, always a puppet show. Maybe they owned one of the nicer houses in one of the nicer areas of town, but it was just as shitty as the rest of it, and the falling apart facade failed to hide the absolutely crumbled pieces inside. 

Rowan seemed to harbor some sort of resentment toward him though, something more than could be caused by a couple of months of living next door. She had half a mind to ask him about it, but she didn’t want to have to answer any difficult questions. There were some things that she never spoke aloud, and she hated herself for how much she’d broken over the past few years, but she couldn’t let herself shatter completely. And admitting the truth just might do that.

Aelin shifted uncomfortably, frowning up at the sky instead of looking at him. A few moments passed before she opened her mouth to forcibly change the subject, not wanting to pry into the twisted secrets of her everyday life. But he beat her to it.

“What would you name your dog?” He asked, and she could feel his eyes on her body. Not gawking, he seemed to be more respectful than that. No, if anything he was assessing her, taking stock of every injury that her skin contained, trying to pierce through her skin to see what scars were buried even deeper. 

Aelin had never felt more exposed, but strangely, she didn’t shy away. 

“Fleetfoot,” she said quietly, her voice piercing the still air. All that was around them was the chirp of crickets, the rattling of an old industrial plant not too far away, the occasional pop that she could never be sure was a car backfiring or a gun taking down another not so innocent life. 

The town was riddled with crime, and though Aelin tried to stay out of it, she was sure she’d get pulled in at some point. Everyone did. Her husband was probably involved, though she would never ask. She still valued her miserable life.

“Why Fleetfoot?” Rowan asked politely, his arms braced on his knees where he still so casually sat. She didn’t know what he did for work, but if he wanted her to know he would tell her. She had no desire to disrupt whatever stolen moment in time this was.

“A dog named Fleetfoot would have to be fast,” Aelin explained, uncaring if he would understand or not. “I would want a dog who would run the hell away from here with me.” 

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Rowan nod in agreement, and she didn’t like what that did to her. He couldn’t possibly understand. Right?

She turned her head fully to watch him properly, her golden brows furrowed. He looked down at her, meeting her eyes, and her heart squeezed, like it always did when she saw that piercing green. She should look away, Aelin knew she should. She barely knew this man, and he barely knew her. 

It didn’t matter how much he fascinated her, it didn’t matter how much she wanted to pry into him and learn all his secrets the way he seemed to want to learn hers. It wasn’t possible, and the attempt would just hurt them both. 

But she couldn’t look away. 

As if something was pulling her, Aelin sat up slightly, pushing onto her elbows until she was sitting up all the way, putting herself only inches away from a man who was not her husband. Aelin felt no loyalty to Arobynn, how could she? But it would make everything worse if she forgot herself and her situation. 

Her breath stuttered as Rowan leaned in infinitesimally, his eyes dropping to her lips. Unconsciously she wet them with her tongue, unfamiliar warmth pooling in her. She’d never felt desire like she felt for him, she’d thought that part of her was broken. 

But she wasn’t foolish. 

And when the familiar sounds of Arobynn’s car pulling onto the driveway hit her ears, she jerked away in an instant, head turning toward the house. Her heart was racing, fear rushing through her veins. But she forced herself to take a deep breath, squeezing her hands into fists to fight the trembling. It’d been so long, she hated herself for still having this reaction to him. 

She glanced at where Rowan was sitting, but he was already gone, back in his yard, toying with the fence like he’d never even left. 

Aelin didn’t herself look at him again as she scrambled to a stand, putting out the cigarette in the dirt and heading toward the house. The tiny square footage of space, and the hill, was her whole world at this point. She rarely left. She had nothing to leave for. Her parents didn’t want to see her, her cousin was so out of it that she wasn’t sure he remembered she existed. The only other person she’d cared about was already gone. 

But before she stepped through the screen door of the back porch, she chanced a glance over at Rowan’s house, wondering hopelessly what it would be like on his side of the fence.

------

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[rowanaelinn]

Illicit Affairs - Chapter Fourty-Eight

Masterlist

A/N: I absolutely hate this chapter, but I hope you guys won’t share the feeling! It’s bad, like very bad, but I did promise you all the chapter today so here it is! If you feel like it, I can rewrite it, as I'm unsure if this actually makes sense or not.

Also a good news I wanted to share... I'm going to study in the US next year!!!! I'm so so happy, really. I can't wait to learn more English

Warnings: talk of death | Word Count: 5,000

The only thing she felt was the sour, metallic taste of blood in her mouth. Maybe it was because she kept biting her inner cheek, or maybe it was from the way she kept anxiously assaulting her hand with her teeth. Tears had long dried on her skin. It was as if she was stuck in a haze, and no matter how much screaming her brain did, she didn’t move or speak. She knew the man driving was speaking to her, but she couldn’t comprehend the words. 

All she wanted to scream at him was to drive faster and faster. He wasn’t going nearly as fast as she needed him to. If he’d let her drive, things would have been better. But he didn’t. She had no idea how she ended up being driven to Doranelle by Sam, but she remembered closing her eyes once on that sidewalk, and the next time she opened them she was in her car, Sam on the driver’s side. 

She had to snap out of this. Snap out of this terror that had paralyzed everything but her mind. She wished the fear had paralyzed it as well. Then maybe she wouldn’t feel like she was dying.

Which she would if they didn’t make it in time. Or if Helia… Or if that little bundle of joy and sunshine didn’t make it at all. Aelin would rather end her life than live in a world so cruel and joyless. 

She had no idea what happened, only knew that her little girl… She was hurt. She wasn’t alright. This… This wasn’t right. 

She was going to be sick again. She didn’t know where her phone was. She had to call Aedion, she had to tell him. If things turned badly… She needed her cousin with her. 

And yet, she made no moves to find her phone. 

Because it felt too much like the last time. 

It felt too much like the time she called him, announcing that Celaena had passed away. 

Aelin couldn’t make the calls anymore. She’d lost that strength along the way. She wouldn’t be the bearer of awful news anymore. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t imagine the way Fenrys had felt, making calls in the stead of—

Rowan. 

Why hadn’t Rowan called her? 

Oh, Gods—

What if he’d—

He had to be okay. He had to be fine. But if he was—why had Fenrys been the one to—

Someone grabbed her hand, stopping her movements. She hadn’t even realized she was moving, that she was doing something. 

“Aelin, you need to calm down,” Sam said, eyes on the road and one hand on the wheel. “You’re scaring me, you’re breathing weird.”

“I need my phone,” she breathed, looking everywhere for it. “I need to call him.” 

“Call who?” 

“My phone,” she snapped, ignoring where the fire came from. “Where is it?”

Sam frowned, but he dug in his pocket and handed her the device. “We’ll be in Doranelle in just a few minutes.” 

She said nothing. Her hands shook as she typed her password and called Rowan’s number. The line went dead right away, and her heart dropped. She tried again, and the same thing happened. Had he… Had he blocked her number? For the last six months they communicated through Fenrys or another one of their friends, but if… Even if that option broke her already mutilated heart, she rather that than him being hurt. If he was… The sheer idea of it made tears burned her eyes. 

“C-Can I get your phone, please?” 

Sam didn’t ask questions, only typing in his password and handing her his phone. She almost didn’t catch it, but she gripped it hard, dialing the number she knew by heart. But once more, the line went dead immediately. His phone was off. 

She hid her face in her hands, trying to keep her breathing regular but… He could be hurt. Helia was hurt. She thought that if she lost one of them, she’d die. But if she lost the two of them, how was she supposed to hold on? 

She startled when she felt a hand on her shoulder, “We’re there.” Sam said, voice hesitant. Aelin looked out to see they were indeed parked facing Doranelle’s hospital. She hadn’t told him where to do, but he’d taken her phone… Fenrys must have told him. 

Aelin allowed herself one breath. One deep, focused breath.

And then she was out of the car, rushing toward the entry. She wasn’t wearing her coat anymore, she had no idea when it’d been taken out—

On her heels, Sam was there. He asked her to slow down, to tell him what was wrong. How was she supposed to explain that? She couldn’t, she had no information… 

Cold air hit her skin as she entered the hospital, walking toward the receptionist who had her eyes wide open. Aelin must look awful. She forgot how cold it was in this goddamn hospital, especially during the summer. 

“Miss, are you alright?”

“Where is Helia Whitethorn?” she asked, her voice barely human. She wasn’t in the mood for any small talk, or even just a polite conversation. 

The woman frowned, “Miss, you look distressed, is there anything I can—”

Aelin’s tempter rose, “I just want to know where—”

Sam’s hand cupped her shoulder, “Listen, we just heard that she was here tonight. We would really appreciate some information.” 

“Are you family?” The woman asked. 

“No, but—”

“Yes,” Aelin cut him off. “I’m family.” 

She frowned, looking conflicted. “It’s policy that I cannot give you information about a patient if you’re not a family member.” 

“Can’t you hear? I am family.” 

“Can anyone prove that?” 

Aelin’s entire body tensed. Her—Helia. Helia was waiting, and this woman was wasting her time. This wasn’t right. “Do you have any idea who I am?” She hated playing this card but…

“Excuse me?” 

“My father is the chief of surgery, Rhoe Galathynius? You know him, I suppose. Tell me where she is before I call him.” 

Her face paled, and she typed something on her computer. 

“What the fuck was that?” Sam asked, voice barely louder than a whisper. He was frowning, looking at her as if she was thing strange thing. 

“It’s me loving people,” she snapped, turning back to the woman. 

“All I can tell you is to go into the fifth waiting room. I don’t have any other information.” 

Aelin only thanked her, and then she was running. Even in the stairs. The elevators were too long, too slow. She needed to be there. She took a turn right, then left, then right again until she reached the room. The door was opened, and she stopped in the doorway, breathless. Heads shot up, all familiar but only one mattered. She could have drowned in the sadness and despair of these beautiful green eyes. She let out a quiet, painful sob when she saw his arm in a sling and the scratches and bruises on his face. He stood, as if compelled. 

She couldn’t take it anymore. She ran, throwing herself at him. He groaned, and she realized she must have hurt his arm, and yet she was wrapped into the most bone-crushing hug she had ever been in. She could barely breathe with the way he squeezed her. He was alright, he was in her arms. She squeezed him harder, almost as a way to realize that indeed he was right there. He was with her. His hand cupped the back of her head, pressing her harder into him, as if he was also trying to wrap his mind around the fact that she was there.

She pulled out a little, a little unwillingly, and she only realized then that she had started crying again. “A-Are you okay? You fine?” 

“You’re here,” he breathed, surprise and shock hon his face. “How are you here?” 

“Fenrys,” she answered, still breathless “H-He called me.” 

She turned her head to Fenrys, and her heart broke at the sadness in his eyes. If she had more will, she would detach herself from Rowan to wrap her arms around Fenrys, but as if he knew what was on her mind, he shook his head. “We’ll get some coffee,” Fenrys said, and after that, all of his friends left, Connall squeezed her shoulder on his way out, and she smiled at him weakly.

There was just Rowan and her in there now. The moment she heard the door close, it was like it started something in Rowan. His body started shaking like a leaf, and worry spread through her veins.

His breathing sped up, turning irregular. “Hey, Rowan,” she breathed, hands on his face. “Look at me, look at me,” she begged him to do, having to force in face in the right angle. 

The distress in those beautiful green eyes when they met hers was nearly enough to bring her to her knees. But she fought. Because so many times he’d stood in her shoes, so many times he’d helped her when she needed. She would do the same, because it was the least he deserved.

“It’ll be okay,” she said, weakly. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

“The car came out of nowhere,” he said, voice shaking. She’d seen him bad, but she had never seen him in such a state. 

It terrified her.

She was supposed to be the unstable one. 

“It hit her side, and I-I couldn’t do shit, Aelin,” tears escaped his eyes, and Aelin’s entire heart shattered. 

“Where is she?” 

He closed his eyes, more tears streaming down his face. He fell into a chair, leaving her cold. He passed a hand through his hair, then looked up at her. It was defeat on his face, as if he was accepting that life had screwed him up. Again. “In surgery. Her brain—it was swollen and bleeding. Too much. Two of her ribs were broken and they punctured her lungs.” 

Aelin sat in the chair beside him, her whole body shaking. Almost as a reflex, her hands shot out for his, grabbing it tightly. He was hesitant at first, and then his hand closed around hers. Good. They would need each other tonight, more than they perhaps ever did.

It was as if her brain knew that she had to focus on him, because the mess turned into quiet. She angled her body toward him, “Hey, Rowan,” she breathed, and her free hand gently grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at her. “Everything will be fine.” 

He shook his head, trying to shake away her grip. “You don’t even believe that yourself.” 

She swallowed. “And you said it yourself, I have a track record in being wrong.” 

He cursed, his face falling in his hand after he let go of her. “I’m sorry, Aelin.” 

She shrugged, even if he didn’t have his eyes on her. “It’s okay,” she breathed. “I have said worse to you.” 

He shook his head, sighing heavily. 

Worry kept eating her from the outside, and she had to hold back from heaving for air. She needed more information, needed to know all the details. But she knew that Rowan was in shock right now. That asking him to relive the accident would only hurt him, if he could even recall what had happened. “How long has she been in the OR?” 

“An hour and twenty-four minutes,” he answered flatly. “Twenty-five, now.” 

And the fact that he counted, that he was counting what could be his last minutes in this world with her… She was going to be sick. 

“H-How long does it usually last? The neuro part.” He knew that more than her, and maybe taking his mind off his worry to switch it toward his job, the thing he loved so much… 

He looked at her, and he was quiet for a while. She thought he wouldn’t answer, that he’d leave her question pending in the void. But then, he said, “When there are no complications, around seven hours.” 

“And when…” She breathed, not even voicing the rest of that sentence. 

Then, she knew it hadn’t been a good idea to ask the question, because his voice was nearly frozen as he answered, “When the patient doesn’t die on the table, which happens in more than sixty five percent of cases for children under six, it can take up to twelve hours.”

She had the urge to tell him she wouldn’t die, that she would be fine, but the words died on her tongue. He was right, she didn’t believe it. She had a bad track record with keeping loved ones around. 

Oh—

Oh, Gods. What if it was her fault? 

She’d known. Known that she should have stayed away, that she should have never let herself in Helia and Rowan’s life. She’d made jokes about it, but it was very real. Aelin had brought her curse and miserable existence on Helia. She’d hurt her. Not only with the accident, but with everything else. 

She’d wormed herself a tiny space in Helia’s heart, and then started to take more and more space. And then, Aelin got selfish. She took off, because she was scared of facing her love for Rowan. She’d hurt Helia, and the girl had been too good to be angry at Aelin. 

If she died tonight, Aelin would never get over it. 

Never. 

Two dead around her was a coincidence. 

Three was a pattern. 

If this was her fault… How was she supposed to keep on going? She couldn’t. This wasn’t fair. She hadn’t… She had never hurt someone on purpose, she’d always tried to please people. Was that… Was that how life repaid her? By snatching away everyone that she loved?

Her aunt, her sister, maybe her daughter. 

Who was next? Aedion? Rowan?  

She rather it be her. In that moment, those dark thoughts she’d always fought to keep at bay, to keep silent, they came back. And she knew, that even if a miracle happened tonight, these thoughts would keep eating at her slowly. Maybe they had never disappeared, maybe they carefully waited the right moment to come back. 

Ever since the night Rowan left in his car, leaving her in her parents’ parking lot, she had felt them come back. They’d somehow disappeared in the months prior. But she’d fought harder than ever, for Helia. But now that they are in once more… 

Maybe they’d never disappear. They would always come back. 

Just like ivies. 

She was thorn away from that train of thought, from falling deep into that well of self-hatred by the door opening. 

She supposed she and Rowan looked rough, if the look on Lorcan’s face was any indication. There was sadness in his eyes, obviously, but pity, too. If she hadn’t been so… lost, she might have huffed. Getting pitied by Lorcan Salvaterre. Great, her life was just getting better and better. 

“A nurse just came by,” he said, and Aelin was at the edge of her seat, waiting for the rest. “There was a complication, more bleeding than they expected. But she is stable.” 

And even if the pain didn’t ease, breathing became a little easier. “Thank you,” she nodded. 

Lorcan’s eyes stayed on Rowan for a few seconds, until Rowan gave his best friend a slight nod. Lorcan left, then. She looked at him, at the man who had meant everything to her just a few months ago, the one who might still do, and he looked absent. 

She understood more than anyone perhaps how he felt. The utter despair, the fear of being left alone. She urged to show him that he wasn’t, that even if everything turned to hell today, he wouldn’t be alone anymore. But it wasn’t her role anymore, was it? He’d moved on. But if she could help…

She stood and grabbed his phone on the small table in front of them, pocketing it. “I’ll get us some coffee, and something to eat.” 

He looked up then. “You don’t have to.”

She only shrugged, and opened the door to then close it behind her.

Rowan’s friends were all talking outside of the room, quieting the moment they saw her. Sam was there, basically with them but still withdrawn. She was surprised, if she was honest, that he was still there. “Hey,” she breathed, crossing her arms for more warmth.

Lorcan opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, she was wrapped in Fenrys’s arms. For a second, she stayed motionless. With carefulness, she slowly hugged her friend back. It didn’t have the same desperation as her embrace with Rowan had, but it felt nice. Good. 

“Thank you for calling me.” 

His eyes were red when he pulled back, and her stomach dropped. She looked around and realized, it wasn’t just Rowan and Aelin. These men loved Helia, too. Everyone was worried.

“I’m glad you’re here.” 

Sam took a step in her direction, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?” 

No, she wasn’t. She shrugged, giving him a barely-there smile. She turned to Rowan’s friends. “H-He said something about a car. Are the other people involved here as well?” 

They all threw a look at each other. “He didn’t say a word to us, you’re the first person he talked to,” Lorcan answered. “But from what I heard, only his car was found.”

Dread filled her veins, her heart. “They just left them there?” 

“Oh, Gods,” Vaughan breathed, grabbing his partner’s hand. 

Aelin’s shaky hand covered her mouth as she tried to regulate her breathing. She wanted to lose it, but she couldn’t. She’d done it already; she could do it now. She could be strong for Rowan. 

She nodded a few times before saying, “I need to call his, hum, their insurance. Fuck, Helia’s grandparents too and hum,” she through, her brain hurting. “Aedion too.” 

“Aelin,” Sam breathed. “You already asked me to call Aedion.” 

She frowned, “Did I?” 

“Yes,” he nodded. “When we got in the car, don’t you remember?” 

She shook her head, passing a hand through her hair. Was the floor shaking under her feet, or was it just her legs? She was hot all of a sudden, her cheeks and chest burning. 

“And I called him before that,” Fenrys added. “Just after I called you.” Right, it would make sense that Fenrys called Aedion. They had this… thing. How could she forget? 

Rowan’s phone was taken from her hands, and she looked up at Lorcan. “Get your ass back in that room, girl. You’re not making the calls thing time.”

“I-I need to, to help him. You don’t get it.” 

“I get it. You know I do,” he said. “What you don’t get is that you’re not alone anymore. You have a support system, you have us. You let us to everything, and you just wait for your daughter to get better, okay?” 

Tears burned her eyes, and she wiped them away as quickly as they appeared.

“Daughter?” Sam asked, surprised in his voice. 

Right. He didn’t know about Helia. She never knew how to explain that situation. Fenrys, always here to help her, answered: “It’s a long story.” She looked at him and hoped her eyes conveyed her thanks. She didn’t feel like explaining how her path crossed Helia’s. 

“Get back in there, Aelin,” Vaughan said. “Rest if you can.” 

“We’ll bring you two something to eat.” 

And Lorcan was right, she wasn’t alone anymore. Hesitantly, she nodded, allowing them to care for her. 

---

The light was shining through the window, warming up the skin of her arms as the sun’s light hit directly on it. She hadn’t slept at all, fear too present to even think about closing her eyes for an instant. She sat next to Rowan in silence for the whole night. 

Aedion had arrived last night, worried. Somehow, he’d known that saying anything would have no impact on the way she felt, so he stayed quiet. He sat beside her and held her hand, Fenrys sitting on his other side. The room had filled with Helia’s family, though her grandparents weren’t there as they were keeping an eye on Loren. She was sure that it was better for them to babysit a hyperactive boy instead of waiting at the hospital in silence, doing nothing and only awaiting disaster. Especially after they… After they lost their daughter. Lorcan kept them updated every hour, Elide there to hold his hand. 

Marion was there, too, as well as other nurses. The woman she’d nearly always known threw her a knowing look, as if entirely unsurprised to see her there. Maybe Elide had told her, or maybe she had known before. Her father had said that many people voiced their concern. As careful as they’d been, it had not been enough.

She was lost in her thoughts when she snapped back to reality as someone new entered the room. Her father. Her heart leapt out of her chest when she saw his tired face, a woman surgeon next to him. 

He’d been the one to perform surgery on Helia. That much she understood right away. 

As if in sync, she and Rowan stood at the same time, taking a step toward the two surgeons. Her father’s kind eyes were on her, but her own gaze must have been pleading enough that he didn’t address her first. The woman spoke first. “She’s alive.” 

Everyone in the room let out the longest breath they had, and Aelin wasn’t an exception. The relief, it was almost as hard to take as the worry. Or maybe she was just feeling physically weak. She held on Rowan’s uninjured arm to keep her upright as the woman went on. “I could repair the damage done to her lungs, and there shouldn’t be too serious consequences, though she will need regular checkup throughout her whole life now. But this is a brave little girl you have, Dr. Whitethorn.” 

Tears socked Aelin’s cheeks as she nodded. Yes, she was so, so brave. And she was going to be fine. Rowan seemed to realize the same thing as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pressing her against him. Helia was going to walk out of this hell of a place, and she would—

“She is brave,” her father said, though his voice… It didn’t sound right. “Her brain was more swollen than we anticipated, it was pressing hard against the bone. The whole area was flooded with blood. We could repair most of the damage done, but even know, her brain remains swollen. More swollen than it should be.” 

“W-What does that mean?” Aelin dared to ask. 

“That we don’t know how much damage we are looking at until she wakes up by herself, which could take time. Especially after such heavy trauma on her body.” 

“How long?” Rowan asked, though she suspected he already know. Maybe he needed someone to confirm was he dreaded to hear, or maybe he asked for her… But anyway, her discomfort didn’t only come from the way he squeezed her shoulder. 

“In the best-case scenario, hours, of course. But… More realistically, days. Maybe weeks. If she… If she even wakes up,” her father said, his voice slightly quivering. 

It was as if the floor fell under her feet. What did he mean by that? Would she never wake up? Would her little body grow older and taller, all without the sparkling soul inhabiting it? “I don’t believe it will happen,” her father said, and she didn’t understand how she ended seated on her chair, her father’s hands holding hers as Rowan still stood motionless. “But it’s a possibility I must warn you about, even if it’s impossibly slim. I promise, love, the past isn’t repeating itself.”

She knew it didn’t mean anything, that her father wasn’t God, and yet she breathed, “It always repeats itself, dad.” It felt different to tell him such a thing, no matter how true it was. She shook her head, her breathing quickening. She couldn’t stand to be there anymore, she couldn’t stand to wait for the next bad news. 

She tried to stand up, but her father pushed her back into her seat. She didn’t understand, there was almost no one else in the room. Only she, her father, Rowan and Aedion. Rowan was standing, still staring into the void, but this time Aedion was standing in front of him, hands of his shoulder, trying to speak to him but he was perhaps too gone to hear anything. Maybe she was too, because the buzzing noise in her ears faded as her father’s rough voice woke her up. “You are not running. You will stay, you’ll go into her room and take her hand. No. Running.” 

“You,” she breathed, a sob escaping her. “You ran.”

“And you’re not me,” he almost hissed. “Everyday of your life, you’ve shown that you are better than I could ever hope to be, baby. You carried this family, you always were so, so strong, Aelin. I ran because I’m weak. You’re not, and right now, I need you to strong again for little while. What I did to you wasn’t fair, life was not fair to you, but you have the power to make it fairer for that girl. For your girl. We can’t change the past, but you can forge your future.” 

Then, she voiced what scared her. What had been eating at her for months, for years even. Her voice quivered as she asked, “What if I’m not enough?” 

His face hardened, “Never say such a thing about yourself. You stepped up when you didn’t have to, you’re more than enough Aelin. Don’t overthink it, just let your love speak. Remember? There’s no such thing as loving too much.” 

She nodded, trying to breath in deep. Told to get a hold of herself. He was right, she’d already stepped up.

And Helia… When she woke up, because she would, she didn’t deserve to feel the way Aelin had years ago. No, when she will open her big, green eyes… Gods, Aelin was going to hold her so tight. 

And because she knew she could, Aelin gathered all her strength. She stood, and took the three steps needed to be at Rowan’s side. With no hesitancy, she wrapped her hand around Rowan’s, and he looked up at her. And maybe he saw something in her eyes, something that hadn’t been there before, because he squared his shoulders back. “Let’s go see her.”

---

She didn’t run, but she cried. It was crazy how she could still cry even after all these hours. When she saw Helia’s small body, bruised and that tube in her throat, helping her breathe, it’d been hard. But she tried to ignore it, she made attraction of all these things. What she focused on was who was under these tubes and bruises. Her beautiful Helia, and she couldn’t stand to see her on that bed too big for her all alone. It seemed as if Rowan had had the same thought. 

Without saying a word to each other, they both sat on chairs at opposite sides of the bed. They each grabbed one of Helia’s tiny hands, and they didn’t let go. 

Hours passed, and Aelin never said a word. When Aedion, Lorcan, her father or even Gavriel came, offering her and Rowan any sort of things, whether it was food, drinks, fresh clothes, they refused. She didn’t want to leave Helia’s side for a second. 

But when the sun started to set, fatigue became stronger than her will. Keeping her eyes open was a struggle, and when she looked at Rowan, be looked bad. Exhausted. But he didn’t look at as if he was going to fall asleep in the next second. 

His eyes shifted to hers, and his face softened slightly. “You can sleep, if you want.” 

She shook her head, “No, if she wak—”

“Then I’ll wake you up,” he assured her. 

She stayed silent for a few seconds and asked, “Are you sure?” 

He nodded. “Rest Aelin, you need it.” 

“So do you,” she said, her voice turning raspy. 

He shrugged, “You’ll do the same to me when you wake up.” 

She almost wanted to smile at that, she lowered her head so it rested on the side of Helia’s leg. “Deal,” she whispered, before she fell asleep in a breath. 

---

Maybe minutes, or maybe hours later, she felt something being deposed onto her back, covering her. She wasn’t exactly awake, but she felt an heard what happened around her. She also felt warmth spread through her, thanks to the additional weight on her back. She was almost falling back asleep when she heard someone ask, “Are you her boyfriend?”

Rowan. 

Rowan asked that, she was pretty sure. 

“Why would you think so?” Another man answered, his voice less familiar. 

There were a few seconds of silence until Rowan answered, “She’s wearing her date shoes, and you arrived together.”

“Her what?” 

He’d noticed that she always wore the same shoes whenever she was on a date. How had he noticed such a small detail? She felt as she was seen whole, and it nearly sent a shiver down her spine. But still, she didn’t move, her eyes not opening. 

“It does not matter,” Rowan answered, his voice slightly raspier than it usually is. Maybe it was because of the fatigue, it must be. “Even if you already treat her well, treat her better. She always deserves more.” 

Silence, and then, “What is between me and Aelin is none of your business.” 

Maybe the conversation kept on going, maybe she did hear a door close. But she would never know, falling back asleep as quickly as she did earlier.

••••••

@sheharahu // @morganofthewildfire // @thestoriesyoutell // @fromthelibraryofemilyj // @swankii-art-teacher // @itsforeverinnocent-blog // @becarefuloflove // @imnotsogoodatthis // @rowaelinismyotp // @a-court-of-milkandhoney // @feysand-loml // @elentiyawhitethorn // @live-the-fangirl-life // @story-scribbler // @loves-books // @fangirlprincess09 // @theysayitscrazy // @danibutterr // @endlessdaydream // @thegreyj // @gracie-rosee // @acreativelydifferentlove // @cretaceous-therapod // @louphantomdragon // @mis-lil-red // @backtobl4ck // @whoever-you-choose-to-love // @lemonade-coolattas // @mad-madeline-ace // @the-introverted-bibliophile // @leiawritesstories // @emilyoftheshadows // @anniesbookshelf // @rainbowcheetah512 // @astra-ad-mare // @story-scribbler // @superspiritfestival // @wordsafterhours // @rowaelinrambling // @black-daisy-water // @fireheart-violet // @livsdriverslicense // @charlizeed // @ladykreads // @mariamuses // @autumnbabylon // @justreadertings // @highqueenofelfhame // @earthtolinds // @bowdawn // @psychopath-at-heart // @ginnyweasley06 // @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks

[leiawritesstories]

snowy nights with you

written for @throneofglassmicrofics November prompts: "cozy" & "curl"

just some cozy fluffy winter fluff ;))

word count: 752

warnings: none ;)

enjoy!!

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

Rowan's soft, rumbling chuckle drifted through Aelin's hazy slumber, and she cracked her eyes open to find him sitting on the edge of the couch, brushing her hair gently away from her face. "Hey, Fireheart. Good nap?"

"The best," she murmured, still groggy. She'd flopped onto the couch only a few minutes after she'd come home from work, another overly long day of dealing with her sleazy boss. Once her shoes were off and she was wrapped in her old sweats and one of Rowan's college hockey sweatshirts, she'd tumbled right into that inviting heap of blankets draped over the couch and closed her eyes.

"How long has it been?" she wondered, slowly pushing herself to a seated position.

He glanced at his watch. "Well, I just got home, so probably a couple hours. You hungry?"

"Always." Right on cue, her stomach rumbled. She laughed. "Yeah, I know, it's been a while since lunch."

"Good thing the takeout should be here in a few minutes," Rowan said, a smile pulling at his lips.

She looped her arms around his neck and plopped a theatrical kiss on his cheek. "Best husband in the world."

"I try my best, love," he teased, sliding his warm hand around to the back of her head and kissing her properly. She sighed into the kiss, drinking in the taste of his lips.

When she pulled away, smiling, her cheeks were flushed a soft pink. "I could get used to this," she joked, as if six months of marriage hadn't already acclimated her to the giddiness of coming home to her husband.

"Might have to change things up, then." He winked at her. "Can't have my wife thinking we have a fixed routine." His thumb rubbed the back of her palm, curving around the emerald on her left hand. "How was work?"

She groaned, tucking herself into his side and hiding her face in his shoulder. "About as good as usual." Her boss, Arobynn, was a sleazy asshole who ogled every woman in the office as much as possible and was constantly making lewd gestures at her.

"I'm gonna punch his face in," Rowan grumbled, irritation scrunching his brows. "Does he seriously not understand that you're my wife?"

"He probably just doesn't care." Aelin ran her thumb over the groove in Rowan's forehead, smoothing out the lines. "And Ro, my love, you can't just show up my office."

"I know." Sometime in the last handful of minutes, he'd managed to untangle the blankets from around Aelin and tuck them neatly over both of them. "But you're okay, yeah?"

"I am." She kissed the corner of his lips. "I can fend for myself, and I have Dorian and Fenrys if I need male backup."

"Okay." Rowan looked like he wanted to say something else, but he was interrupted by the chiming of the doorbell. "Food's here." He kissed Aelin's forehead. "I'll go get it."

Aelin settled herself back into her blanket cocoon, soaking in the warmth from the heap of blankets and her husband's sweatshirt. A chilly breeze curled in from the open front door, and she shivered, tucking the blankets tighter around herself. Her eyes drifted shut again, almost involuntarily, and she blinked awake to find the living room window cracked just a few inches.

It hadn't been open before.

Groggy, Aelin scrubbed her hands across her eyes, unwrapped herself from the pile of blankets, and stood up slowly, her body not quite willing to leave the cozy warmth of the couch. But she had to close the window, so she made herself walk across the floor and tug it shut. As she did so, a whiff of Rowan's cologne drifted up from the sleeve of his sweatshirt, and she closed her eyes, pulling the crisp pine scent deep into her lungs.

When she opened her eyes again, a film of tears blurred her vision as the recognition that she'd once again been dreaming hit her like a truck.

Only hours ago, she'd come home from work and wrapped herself in her husband's sweatshirt, clinging to one of the last pieces she had left of him. Only hours ago, she'd tucked her face into the thick, pine-scented fabric and breathed Rowan's presence into her blood, and she'd fallen asleep to the most beautiful memories of him.

But as always, she awoke to the reality--her, alone in the house they had hoped to fill with laughter, clinging to Rowan's clothes because she could no longer cling to his body.

~~~

TAGS:

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@mariaofdoranelle

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

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@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

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@earthtolinds

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@renxzs

@anarchiii

@fauna-flora11

@cynthiesjmxazrielslover

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[goddess-aelin]

Putting Out Fires

For Rowaelin Month day 26: taking care of the littles solo

@rowaelinscourt

Masterlist

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: none!

Alma Whitethorn Galathynius, six years old and eldest of three children (so far), was a beautiful and gentle soul. That is, when she wasn’t being a little hellion. With a strong gift of fire from her mother, Alma inherited the famous Galathynius temper and penchant for “accidentally” setting things on fire. Her four-year-old younger brother, Errin, was no better. While he also had fire powers, they were thankfully much weaker than his sister’s, especially since he also inherited his father’s strong gift of ice and wind, Rowan’s twin. Errin, though, found it funny to chase his sister, hands aflame and ice covering the floors to make it more difficult to run.

And not to mention poor Leven, the newly two-year-old who tried and failed to keep up with his older siblings. Leven, unlike his siblings, had a quiet disposition, contemplative and cool headed. While he wasn’t usually easily upset, his siblings chasing each other with flames certainly put a damper on his mood.

To put it short, Rowan was absolutely, positively exhausted.

Aelin left for Adarlan two weeks ago, hoping to meet with Dorian and Chaol to forge new trade agreements. Rowan had excitedly volunteered to stay home with their children instead of taking part in the courtly bullshit. But he didn’t anticipate that not having Aelin as a buffer would tempt his two oldest into becoming creatures sent by Hellas himself. If only Lorcan could see him right now.

Carrying Leven from his quiet room where the youngster was napping into the chaos of the playroom was like walking into a warzone. Rowan swears his hair was singed by a fireball passing by his head. Putting Leven down, the boy immediately latched onto his leg, not willing to take part in his siblings’ antics. Rowan, however, needed to get this under control…and fast. Otherwise, Aelin would be coming home to nothing but a burnt crisp of a castle.

“What is going on?!” Rowan tried to use his best booming voice, the voice of a commander, but he didn’t do a very good job. His voice came out as a squeak instead since a fireball shot directly toward his head once again, which of course, made Leven clutch his leg harder and tears form in the poor boy's eyes.

Rowan cleared his voice and tried again. “WHAT IS GOING ON!?”

The room went silent except for Leven’s sniffles. Both Alma and Errin’s hands were wreathed in flame, covering their tiny hands like wraps for sparring. A quick once-over of his kids informed Rowan that, luckily, no one seemed to be injured or burned.

Both Alma and Errin just stood there for a moment before spurring back into action. It all happened so fast. One minute, they were standing in front of each other, and the next, Errin’s little hand was holding the drapes. Still on fire.

“No! Don’t set fire to the–” Rowan was cut off by a wave of water dousing the flames. Huh, he thought. That’s new. Both Alma and Errin were frozen, looking bewildered as he felt. As far as he knew, neither Alma nor Errin had water powers, which left… “Oh my Gods!”

Rowan looked to his youngest, still clutching his leg but now with an outstretched little hand. He had an adorable pout on his face and it reminded him so much of Aelin that he could help but let a cackle escape.

Picking his youngest son up, he asked him, “Was that you, buddy? Did you put the fire out?”

Still pouting, Leven nodded. “Water.”

A smile burst over Rowan’s face. “That was amazing! You’re only two and you just put that big fire out!” He tickled his son’s belly and the youngster started giggling. His two older ones made their way over, bashful and embarrassed.

“We’re sorry, Daddy. We were just playing,” his oldest stated.

Bringing his arms around all three of them, he pulled them into a tight hug. “I know, my loves. You just have to be careful, especially inside.” He could feel Alma and Errin lay their heads on his chest and shoulder, Leven still in his arms, holding onto his neck. “I think that finding out Leven has water powers calls for some cake, yes?”

All three of his children started jumping up and down eagerly, having inherited their mother’s love of cake.

Afterwards, the kids were luckily more pliant and subdued, allowing Rowan to give them baths and get them into their nightclothes. With all three of them tucked into bed, Rowan was looking forward to absolutely passing out once he reached his own.

He was almost asleep when the patter of little feet reached his ears. In the doorway was a tiny shadow with long hair: Alma. The small girl crossed the room to where Rowan was laying and crawled her way up onto the massive bed.

“Daddy,” she whispered. “Can I sleep here tonight?”

As he sat up and started rubbing her back, he replied, “Did you have a nightmare?”

The little one shook her head. “No, I just missed you.” Rowan’s heart melted at that though he couldn’t help but let out a little chuckle as he pulled his daughter into his arms.

“You just saw me five minutes ago, little bird.”

“But I miss Mommy, too. And I want to sleep in here.” She crossed her arms and pouted, Aelin through and through.

“Okay, okay. You can sleep in here. But you have to sleep, okay? No playing.”

“Okay, Daddy! I’ll sleep, don’t you worry.”

Rowan made to lay back down but instead of resting next to him, Alma hopped off the bed and padded once again toward the door. Like a tiny mother with her little ducklings following behind, three figures now walked toward his bed. One by one, his children climbed up onto the bed and tucked themselves in beside him. Leven, only two and still fairly small yet, couldn’t reach the bed himself so Rowan hauled him up.

“I don’t think I remember agreeing to having three little birds in my bed.” A chorus of giggles broke out. Soon enough, though, his children’s light snores reached his ears and lulled him to sleep.

- - - - -

Something woke Rowan the next morning, though it was still before dawn. As his bleary eyes sharpened, a familiar figure was standing by the side of the bed, taking in the scene.

“Fireheart,” he whispered. “You’re home.”

She bent down to kiss him, short and sweet though not without feeling. “I’m home.” Her gaze turned to their three little ones snuggled up against Rowan. “And why is everyone in my bed?”

Rowan let out a soft chuckle. “The little masterminds formed a plan and ganged up on me to sleep here. I didn’t know you’d be back yet. I can move them.”

Aelin shook her head. “No, leave them be. I’ll snuggle in on the other side.”

Moments later, their three children were sandwiched between the two of them.

“Soon we won’t be able to fit all of them in here.”

Rowan gave her a knowing smile. They hadn’t told the kids yet that Aelin was expecting another sibling again but he knew they’d all be overjoyed at the prospect of another baby to spoil and scheme with. Rowan reached his hand to rest on Errin’s back, sleeping in the middle. Aelin’s covered his moments later and Rowan couldn’t help but thinking he was so godsdamned lucky.

A/N: I’m slacking so hard on the prompts this past week but I’m hoping to get some out after this month is over! Hope you enjoyed!

Tagging:

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

[aelinschild]

Paradigm; side by side

˙✧˖ March 1st: Morning

Main Masterlist | Paradigm; side by side Masterlist |

SYNOPSIS: Storms often come after the sun. WORDCOUNT: 620 WARNINGS: none!

Huge thank you to @throneofglassmicrofics for organizing! Make sure to check out other works over on their account!

There was a lulling of delayed movement, calm strokes repeated endlessly. 

Just outside of the rolled-down window, wind passing by in a gentle caress. Twisting and twining her hair, braiding it together by the hand of nature. Glaring off the water and reflected in burnished irises. The sun had only begun its slow trek across the sky.

Great strokes of pinks and oranges, bright as a summer garden. Weaving in, out, around clouds heavy from a misty evening. 

Her fingers tapped a unconscious beat on the steering wheel, gold heirloom rings clicking gently. Warmed from the heat of the blood pulsing under fair skin; soaking up the dregs of sunlight as it passes through her car. 

Aelin was less nervous now than she was at the beginning of her trip. Setting off before her sleeping city rose, closing doors and locking them with a finality that shook her hands. Counting steps, breaths, blinks. Everything that she was, left on the cold pavement. Watching in acquiescence, cool indifference behind it. 

The heat of the now rising sun warmed the piece of her she had forgotten of. 

From her last stop on the great stretch of highway, she could estimate the time to her destination. Minutes, now. A map highlighted with cherished stationary sat beside her, a companion in spirit. Alongside the rest of her worldly possessions, sprawling from the small space of the boot. 

Time was passing differently, like shedding the weight of a clocks hand, replacing it with a shadow. Flowing naturally, unhurried in all aspects. There was no urge to choke the seconds out, to pause the current to admire the sea. Aelin felt the change in her bones, just as the scene from her fantasies appeared.

A cottage by the sea. 

Two weeks ago, there was an explicit end. She had to be out, out, out. Her small apartment in the city was no longer hers, the lease trickling away, exchanging her for someone new. She had nowhere to go. That was until she found Rowan. 

The advert was… unfortunate. Lacked the geniality one would assume came with a seaside cottage. Each picture was slightly askew, just a fraction off its axis. Snapped like an afterthought. Described in clinical terms; two bedroom, two bathroom, small kitchen, and good outdoor space. 

The woman – Rowan – was kind enough. The rent was shockingly economical. A deal far too good to be true, Aelin had thought. No chance this was really an opportunity that had just… appeared for her. So, she had sought out the catch. 

But, there was none.

Rowan had been straightforward in her communication, expectations, and dealings. And days later Aelin had boxed her life away, tucked into a rusting car. Enough cash for the first few months of rent, and a box of pastries and some wildflowers as a thank-you gift. 

Stood before the seafoam coloured front door, surrounded by a weather worn wrap-around porch, her mind wandered. Imagining herself out here, sat under the sky as it danced through its emotive number. Scribbling away in notebooks, listening to the ruffle of the grass. Living in step with a mighty beast, watching its crawl up the surf. Following its retreat.

Too good to be true. 

She had knocked, had texted an hour ago that she would be on the final leg of the journey. Hand clasped soundly around the wildflowers, the smell of jam scones. The pitter-patter of footsteps rose. They sounded… heavier? 

Just as Aelin had moved to peer into the open window, curtains pushed back, seafoam shifted to cotton, shifted to a man. 

“Aelin,” He spoke, voice like a storm crashing on the rocks of a forsaken shore, “You’re earlier than I had expected. Come in.”

Taglist: @mariaofdoranelle , @goddess-aelin

Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist!

[golden-kingdom]

Favorite Crime - Chapter 1

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: There will be eventual sexual explicit scenes and there will be violence and blood in most chapters

Author's note: This is my first chaptered fic so please be easy on me. I'll try to update as often as possible, but I can't promise a schedule. I don't have the whole thing planned yet but I know where I'm going.

Masterlist

Read it on AO3

“Terrassen Senator Aedion Ashryver was officially nominated by the Democratic Party as their candidate for President of Erilea in the upcoming election against incumbent President Maeve Valg. Senator Ashryver is the nephew of President Galathynius who, as we all remember sadly, was assassinated by an unknown shooter in 2007. President Galathynius’s wife, Evalin Ashryver, and their 10-year-old daughter, Aelin, were also killed in the event. It remains one of the worst moments in the history of Erilea. In his speech earlier today, Senator Ashryver emphasized the importance of making Erilea a country where everyone feels safe again…”

Celaena took her turquoise eyes off the TV in front of her and downed the rest of her drink. She was looking for the bartender, she needed another drink, when a man sat down next to her and turned to face her.

“Hi beautiful,” he slurred out.

The man was old enough to be her father. His head, almost completely bald, was shining with sweat. He was looking at her with a salacious gaze, his eyes blurry from all the alcohol he had ingested. The man got closer to her and she could smell his breath reeking of cognac. He tried to grope her, and she was ready to tell him to fuck off and hit him in the balls when a strong hand grabbed the man’s arm.

“Leave her alone,” said a deep male voice in a menacing tone.

The creepy man tried to wriggle his arm out of his grip, but the other man wasn’t budging.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” he said, trying to sound threatening, but failing.

“I’m her boyfriend. I suggest you leave this bar and never try this again,” the man behind Celaena growled.

The disgusting old man took a step backward, almost tripping on his own feet. He grabbed his jacket and stumbled out of the bar with a frightened look.

Celaena turned to look at the man who had intervened. He was tall, taller than most people, and she could make out the muscles of his body through his fitted white shirt. He was looking with anger in the direction where the man had just left, his features harsh, but when he turned his deep green eyes towards her, his face softened.

“Are you okay?” he asked her.

“I had this under control. But thank you,” Celaena replied, squinting her eyes at the man in front of her.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself when I saw what was happening. I hate those kinds of men,” he explained, looking genuine.

Celaena nodded in understanding. She took in the man in front of her, his silver hair gleaming in the dim light of the bar. He was looking at her with curiosity in his eyes, like he was trying to figure her out. He cleared his throat.

“I’m Rowan,” he said, extending his hand.

“Lillian,” Celaena replied, looking up at him and shaking his large hand. She gave him a charming smile.

“Nice to meet you, Lillian,” he said, holding her hand a bit too long. He dropped it when he realized.

“Can I offer you a drink?” he asked her with a small smile. “As an apology,” he quickly added.

“I have to go, so maybe another time,” Celaena said.

She got closer to him, inhaling his scent of pine and snow, and whispered in his ear.

“I’ll see you around, Rowan.”

She flipped her golden blonde hair over her shoulder, knowing his eyes were on her. She left money on the bar for her drink and headed towards the door, looking back at Rowan, who was still sat on the stool at the bar with his gaze on her. She threw him a wink before leaving.

When she was outside, she smiled to herself.

…

When Celaena arrived at her apartment, she noticed a faint light beneath the door. She reached for the gun in her bag and listened for a few seconds. There weren’t any noise coming from inside. She switched the safety off and held her gun ready to fire. She unlocked the door quietly and, in one swift move, entered the place. There was someone sitting in her living room and she was aiming at their head, ready to shoot, when they turned around.

“Hello darling,” a voice she knew too well drawled.

She pulled down her gun, annoyed.

“I told you not to do this, Arobynn,” she said, putting her gun and her bag on the counter and removing her stilettos.

“Aren’t you happy to see me?” asked the auburn-haired man in a sarcastic tone.

“Not when you come into my apartment unannounced when I’m not there,” she replied curtly.

“Need I remind you who this apartment belongs to?” Arobynn said, his face passive, but his gray eyes filled with threat.

“I need to shower and go to bed. Did you need anything?” Celaena asked, impatient.

“Can’t I just come and see my favorite assassin for no reason?” he said with a smirk. “Tell me. How was your night, Celaena?”

“Fine,” she said, too tired to play this game.

“I told you to stay away from Whitethorn,” he said, not playing anymore. His eyes were gleaming with rage.

Celaena stopped in her tracks, composing her face, and looked at her boss.

“I just wanted to see what kind of man I’m going against with,” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady.

Arobynn stood up from his seat and walked up to her.

“You disobeyed me,” he said, his voice filled with violence.

Celaena didn’t see the slap coming, but she definitely felt it. She put her hand on her cheek where he had hit her, trying to contain her anger.

“You know what happens when you disobey me,” Arobynn told her. “Don’t do it again.”

Celaena didn’t say a word. She didn’t trust herself not to say something that would put her into more trouble. She gritted her teeth.

“But this isn’t why I’m here…” Arobynn said, his voice going back to normal in an instant. “I have a new target for you.”

Arobynn handed her a folder and she opened it, looking at the details inside thoughtfully.

“It must be done tonight,” he added in a firm tone.

She was about to protest, her bed was calling her, but she remembered who she was dealing with.

“It will be done,” she replied.

“Good,” he simply said before leaving as quietly as he had come in.

Celaena headed to the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. Her cheek was red and she probably would have a small bruise, but she had dealt with worse. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her anger, and went to her bedroom.

She unlocked the door to her walk-in closet with a magnetic card and walked inside. She strode past her designer clothes and accessories and went straight to the back. She grabbed a black outfit from the rack where dozens of the same dark clothes were hung.

When she was done changing, she turned around and looked at her stack of weapons. The whole wall was covered with guns, daggers and all kind of tools that helped her accomplish her missions. She grabbed her favorite dagger, holstering it around her thigh, and a gun in case anything went wrong. But nothing ever went wrong, she was the best and she knew it. Putting on her hood to hide her face, she went out into the night.

…

His phone started ringing loudly and Rowan woke up, cursing whoever was calling him. He looked at the clock. 5:30 am. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. He grabbed his phone and replied.

“Yes?”

“It’s Salavaterre. We need you on a crime scene.”

“It couldn’t wait until I got to the office in a few hours?” he complained.

“It’s her,” Lorcan said, and Rowan instantly sat up in his bed, now wide awake.

His boss didn’t need to specify who he was talking about.

“I’m on my way. Text me the address.”

Rowan got dressed quickly, grabbing his gun and his badge. Half an hour later, he was parking next to the address he had been sent. There were police cars all around the building. He showed his badge to a police officer and was let inside. The building he walked into was a luxurious one in the richer part of the town. He passed the empty reception and headed straight to the elevator. When he got to the eight floor, he was met with tons of people milling around. He spotted his boss and walked up to him.

“Follow me,” Lorcan simply said.

They passed under the yellow tape the police had put around the crime scene and stopped next to the body of man in his fifties. He had clearly been dead for a few hours. There was blood on the floor coming from where his throat had been slashed viciously.

“Who is he?” Rowan asked, examining the body.

“Erawan Perrington. He was a big-shot lawyer who tended to associate with the wrong kind of people.”

Rowan looked at the crime scene, taking in the details. There were no signs of fighting, the man probably had been taken by surprise and didn’t have the time to do anything before he was murdered. The slash in his throat was deep and straight, like the person who made it didn’t hesitate even for one second. He didn’t have to ask but he knew there would be no fingerprints or DNA anywhere, and that the lock would have been picked.

Rowan put on his gloves and picked up the small piece of paper next to the body. He knew this sign all too well, The Guild’s signature. He put it back where it had been and left without saying a word.

He got back in his car and drove to the FBI headquarters in Rifthold. When he entered the place, he gave a brief smile to the young man at the security who let him pass. He took the elevator the third floor and headed to his office.

He sat down at his desk, quickly opening the first drawer and picking up a thick file folder with “confidential” written in red capital letters on it. He opened it.

Alias: Celaena Sadorthien

Name: Unknown

Date of birth: Between 1990 and 2005

Sex: Female

Employment: Unknown

Address: Unknown

Affiliation: The Guild (see report TG274576)

Physical description: Unknown

Offense(s):

First degree murder of Archer Finn (see case AF588676)

First degree murder of Bill Chastain (see case BC648753)

First degree murder of Ned Clement (see case NC879479)

First degree murder of Cain King (see case CK7663563)

First degree murder of Grave Brown (see case GB789648)

First degree murder of Kaltain Rompier (see case KR783645)

And the list went on and on…

Rowan pinched the bridge of his nose and closed the file. He had been tasked with apprehending Rifthold’s most prominent assassin for six months now. Nobody knew anything about her, it was as if she was a ghost. But Rowan knew all too well how real she was and what she had done. This woman was violent psychopath with no remorse and a taste for blood. She was a threat to this city and to the country. He would find her and put her behind bars, no matter what it took.

…

Mayor Dorian Havilliard approached the podium set up in front of a group of journalists. He cleared his throat and leaned into the mic.

“I am here to address the recent murders that have happened in this city and the rise of criminality,” he started, quickly interrupted by an eager journalist at the front.

“Mr. Havilliard, do we know who is behind the murder of Attorney Perrington?”

Dorian took the time to look at his press assistant to see how much he was allowed to divulge to the public. He turned back to face the journalists.

“While I am not allowed to reveal any name, the FBI has a suspect in their sights. They are working very hard to apprehend this person,” he replied with a reassuring tone.

“Is anyone safe in Rifthold? What are you going to do about it?”

“This why I’m here today. The city is working hand in hand with FBI agents and the RHPD to make Rifthold safe again for everyone. I can guarantee you that it will be handled quickly and that the people who are guilty of those crimes will be arrested soon. You do not have to worry. We have the best people working on this. You can sleep soundly at night knowing our streets are protected,” he replied, giving everyone his best charming smile.

Every journalist started speaking at the same time. Dorian was quickly ushered out of the room. In the next room, councillor Chaol Westfall was waiting for him.

“Do you know if there are any new elements to the murder cases?” the mayor asked him, worry on his face.

“The FBI has a team headed by one of the best, special agent Salvaterre, who is working day and night to arrest the people behind it,” Chaol replied.

“Well, they need to be faster. It has been going on for too long. Everyone is on high alert every day and it won’t be long before citizens start panicking. There needs to be some order restored to this city. President Valg is putting a lot of pressure on me to work this out,” Dorian said with a long sigh.

“Dor, it will be okay. Like you said, we have the best people working on this. It’s not like you can go out there and catch those criminals yourself. You need to let the FBI do his job. And stop worrying so much, you don’t want to look like your father in 10 years,” Chaol said with a mischievous smile.

“Please don’t ever compare me to my father again, Chaol,” Dorian said, disgust in his face.

His friend laughed and patted Dorian on the back.

“Come on. We have a meeting in 15 minutes.”

…

“Wow, I wouldn’t want to be the one who pissed you off,” said Lysandra with a bright laugh, entering the gym in The Guild’s manor. Celaena didn’t live there anymore, but she liked to come to work out in peace.

Celaena gave one last punch to the punching bag she was pounding into and turned towards her friend.

“Who said someone pissed me off?” she asked, taking a sip from her water bottle and wiping the sweat off her forehead.

“The look on your face and the way you are demolishing that poor punching bag,” Lysandra replied, implacable.

Celaena ignored her and started training again. She loved kickboxing, it was her favorite way to clear her mind. And the fact that it kept her body in shape so she could feel sexy in her skin-tight outfits wasn’t a bad thing either.

“What happened to your face?” Lysandra asked suddenly, worry on her beautiful face.

“Nothing,” Celaena replied, kicking with all her strength.

“Did he hit you again?” Lysandra asked, disapproval in her tone.

Celaena didn’t reply, she just kept on offloading her anger on the punching bag. Lysandra knew her too well. And she knew how Arobynn was. Her friend had been on the receiving hand of their boss’ violence before.

“What did you do this time?” the dark-haired woman asked instead.

Celaena finally stopped and sat down on the bench next to her friend. She removed the wraps around her hands, ignoring her bloody knuckles.

“I went to see Whitethorn,” she finally replied. “I wanted to know what kind of man I was up against.”

If Lysandra was shocked by Celaena’s actions, she didn’t let it show.

“And?” her friend said, trying to get her to say more. “How is he?”

“He’s nothing special. Just another cop who thinks he’s better than me,” she simply said, ready to move on to another conversation.

But Lysandra wasn’t having it. She looked at Celaena with a playful smile on her face.

“I wouldn’t say he’s nothing special… I’ve seen pictures of him, that man is definitely something. A filthy cop he is, but he’s hot as hell.”

Celaena snorted at that.

“He’s not my type. I’m not into Government bootlickers who think they are holier than thou,” she deadpanned.

“If you say so…” Lysandra replied mischievously.

Celaena got up, she didn’t need to hear any more of her friend’s insinuations. She grabbed her things quickly, ready to leave.

“Arobynn wants to see you in his office,” Lysandra finally said.

“Alright. I’ll just get cleaned up and change first.”

“Don’t make him wait, you know how much he hates that,” her friend added before leaving.

Yes, she knew exactly how much Arobynn hated to wait. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.

...

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Trust Me, it'll be Fun

Aelin Galathynius x Rowan Whitethorn

“It’s just a spooky clock chiming at the incorrect time while all the lights are off and strange footsteps are creeping up the stairs, in a house that won’t let us leave.”

Masterlist | Read on Ao3 | Halloween Collection

Halloween Prompts

2053 words

*****

Whoever had the brilliant idea of sneaking into the decrepit, supposedly haunted house the weekend before Halloween needed some serious help. Aelin. 

Whoever forgot to give out snack instructions that resulted in no one bringing any food or drinks with them needed to get it together. Rowan

Whoever raided the cabinets and found an old bottle of Crème de Menthe and thought it would be a good idea to pass it around needed to find something better to do with their time than cause chaos. Fenrys. 

Whoever complained the entire time that they needed new friends needed to suck it. Lorcan.

And somehow, that was how they ended up separated – Aedion and Lysandra off to the kitchen, Fenrys gods-know-where, and Elide and Lorcan finally joining Aelin and Rowan in the foyer, arguing about leaving or staying. The front door was open and she could see the steps leading down to the path outside.

“Fireheart, c’mon, can we just call it a night?” Rowan sighed, crossing his arms. “We’ve been here for hours now, it's just an old house. There’s nothing spooky about it other than the fact that it's falling apart.”

“Rowan, we said we would spend the night here.” She argued half-heartedly.

He huffed, rolling his eyes. “How are we supposed to stay here all night with no food or water?”

Laughing, Aelin stepped closer and rested her hands on his crossed arms. “You say that like we're stranded on some desert island.”

“At least on an island, we wouldn’t have to hear your cousin and Lysandra making out in the next room.”

“My cousin,” she scoffed, “your friend is only ‘my cousin’ he annoys you.”

The sounds from the next room came again and she winced as Rowan’s brows shot up in vindication.  

“I’m with Rowan,” Elide spoke up, walking toward the couple with her fiancé a step behind her. “Let’s just go.”

“Really?” Aelin spun towards her friend who shrugged. “You too?”

“I didn’t even really want to come.”

“What? Why did you then?” the blonde asked curiously.

“Because you’re my friend,” Elide laughed and bumped her shoulder with Aelin’s. “And I thought you might die otherwise and I needed to see you in your last moments to give you a passable eulogy.”

“Aw, you’re so sweet,” Aelin smiled, ignoring the sound of Lorcan scoffing. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“I did.” Elide snorted. “And you said trust me, it’ll be fun!”

“Famous last words,” Rowan muttered, rolling his eyes and leaning against the wall next to Lorcan.

“I’m sorry El,” she really did look it. “I get ramped up with Halloween.”

“I know, babes,” her friend patted her arm with a small smile, “I know.”

“Are we leaving or not?” Lorcan cut it, earning a glare form Aelin and an eyeroll for Elide.

“Fine,” Aelin huffed. “But I’m doing this for Elide, not for you Salvaterre.”

“Goody,” he deadpanned.

She went to walk out the door but paused at the top of the stairs. There was something that she couldn’t put her finger on…

“Something’s blocking the porch,” Aelin said.

Elide stared at her. “What do you mean something’s blocking the porch?”

A gust of wind blew the door shut behind her and Aelin whipped around at the sound, backing up until her back hit Rowan’s chest.  

“I mean,” she explained, wrapping her arms around herself and glancing warily around the old house. “I tried to walk down the porch steps and I couldn’t.”

“What? You suddenly forgot how to walk down stairs, Galathynius?” Lorcan laughed and rolled his eyes, leaning back against the wall and letting his head hit the wood.

“No, you little shit—” she whirled on him, pointing a finger.

Rowan stepped in between them before they could get any closer to each other. Aelin shook off her boyfriend’s exasperated stare and tried explaining again.

“What I mean is that I tried to leave this house, and something stopped me,” she looked around at her friends and stressed, “like I physically couldn’t get to the bottom of the stairs.”

Elide forced out a weak laugh. “Ha ha, okay, very funny. You got me. Now can we cut it out and leave?” She stepped closer to Lorcan.

Aelin met her gaze and repeated, “I’m not kidding.”

“I may be a wimp when it comes to Halloween, but I’m not an idiot.” The smaller girl huffed. “You’re really playing up the whole haunted house thing, and you know what? Props to you. You did good.” She began a slow clap that brought a smirk to Lorcan’s face. “Now drop it.”

Rowan walked past them straight for the door and pulled on the door handle. The wood creaked against the effort.

“Cut it out, Whitethorn,” Lorcan griped when the door didn’t budge.

“Uh…” Rowan tried again, this time visibly straining as he pulled on the old door. “It’s not me.”

“Fucking hell.” Lorcan gritted out, slotting Elide next to Aelin as he took Rowan’s place and pulled. And pulled. And pulled. He gripped the handle and used his entire body weight, but it didn’t move.

“What the fuck?”

*****

“’Let’s go to a haunted house’ they said, ‘It's Halloween’ they said,” Aelin began pacing around the hall. “’It’ll be fun’, they said.”

“Don’t you dare pretend like you weren’t the one saying those things,” Aedion barked at her. He and Lysandra found their way back to the front hall when they heard their friends’ yelling.

“Oh, shut up,” she waved off her cousin and tried to think.

“Has anyone tried any of the other doors?” Lysandra asked. “Or windows, or whatever?”

“Okay,” Aelin perked up. “Lys and Aedion take the second floor, Rowan and I will search this floor, and Ellie, you and your guard dog take the attic.”

“Oh fuck no!” Elide protested. “You take the creepy attic, Lorcan and I will take the ground floor.”

“Not gonna correct the guard dog thing?” Rowan smirked at his friend. All he got back was a deadpan glare.

“Fine!” Aelin threw her hands up. “You two take this floor; Rowan and I have the attic.”

“Why are we looking in the attic at all?” Rowan asked, crossing his arms. “Even if there is a window, and even if we can get it open, it would still be three stories up and way too dangerous to escape from.”

Everyone stared at him, blinking, while he tried to find someone to see his point. Finally, Aelin huffed, “This is no time for common sense, Ro.”

He scrubbed a hand down his face and grumbled, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Okay!” Elide chirped, looking a little manic. “We each take a floor, look for anything that can help, and we meet back here in twenty minutes, yeah?”

A chorus of yeahs and okays and I’m going to kill you when we get out of here, Galathynius echoed throughout the group.

“And for the love of god,” Rowan pleaded, “somebody fucking find Moonbeam.”

They all split up, taking a different section of the house. Aelin and Rowan took their time walking up the stairs to the attic, each shift in the wood sending nerves rocketing through them. When they got to the top, they shared a look before Aelin pressed her hand to the door and pushed, letting in swing in and immediately outlining the silhouette of a figure staring right at them.

Three different screams echoed in the small hallway, each higher pitched than the last.

“Stop hitting me!” Fenrys shrieked under the barrage of Aelin’s fists. At the sound of his voice, Aelin pulled back, heart racing and chest heaving, finally shining the flashlight they’d grabbed in her friend’s face.

“Fenrys?!” she hissed, “You almost gave me a heart attack! What are you doing up here?”

She could feel Rowan’s erratic heart beating from where her back met his chest, as Fenrys stared at the pair like they were the crazy ones.

“Looking for these,” he lifted his hands and she saw the two bottles he was holding. “I knew a place like this would have more booze hidden around.”

“And you thought they’d be in the attic?” Rowan asked incredulously.

“Obviously,” Fenrys rolled his eyes. “And they were, so,” he shrugged.

“Gods, whatever,” Aelin pushed passed the blond and walked further into the dark and dusty room. A single swinging light bulb illuminated the space as the three of them looked around.

“What are you two doing up here?” Fenrys shot back.

“Looking for a way out,” Rowan didn’t elaborate.

Snorting, Fenrys mimicked, “And you thought you’d find it in the attic?”

Before either of them could reply, a loud chime sounded from the dilapidated grandfather clock that was pushed against a far wall. They whirled around. Aelin ended up in front of both guys, her fists raised while Rowan reached for the closest weapon he could find and Fenrys cradled the bottle of whiskey to his chest.

They had barely had a chance to wonder how a broken clock was chiming when they heard the stairs begin to creak.

“What are you gonna do, Whitethorn?” Fenrys hissed, “Sweep a ghost to death?”

Risking a glance behind her, Aelin saw Rowan clutching a broom between his hands and gripping it like a baseball bat. She elbowed Fenrys and hissed, “A ghost is already dead, dumbass.”

“Hey,” he hissed back. “Don’t call me a dumbass what it was your dumb ass that got all of our dumb asses here in the first place, dumbass.”

“Will you please stop saying dumbass?” Rowan hissed.

Aelin shot a triumphant look at Fenrys. “Yeah, dumbass.”

“For fucks sake…”

The lone lightbulb began flickering, immediately shutting all of them up. They could still hear the stairs creaking, the sound getting closer and closer every second.

“We’re going to die,” Fenrys breathed.

“It’s fine,” Aelin’s voice came out tinny and shaking.

“The fuck you mean it's fine?!”

“It’s fine,” she said again in that same choked squeak. “It’s just a spooky clock chiming at the incorrect time while all the lights are off and strange footsteps are creeping up the stairs, in a house that won’t let us leave.”

She felt both sets of eyes land on her and knew that if she looked at either man they would be looking at her as if she had lost her mind.

“How. Are. You. So. Calm?”

She forced a laugh, but it sounded more like a strained grunt. “Oh, because, none of this is real.”

“Uh,” Rowan’s voice came from her right, “It’s very real.”

“No,” she repeated, clearing her through and drawing in a breath. “You see, if it were real then you would see a Me-shaped hole in that door. But we can’t leave this house, which means I can’t escape, which means that it isn’t real.”

There was a beat of silence before Fenrys said, “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, and I’ve been listening to myself speak for twenty-five years.”

Rowan breathed, “Your denial both impresses and astounds me.”

“Thank you,” she breathed just as quietly. Glancing quickly between them, she asked, “Run?”

“Run.” Rowan nodded.

Another best passed and the three of them raced down the steps, screaming at whoever was coming towards them. They made it to the main floor before realizing they hadn’t run into anyone on their way down.

*****

The twenty-four-hour diner’s fluorescent lights lit up the group of seven friends who were huddled together in a booth, silently replaying the night's events in their heads.

“So,” Elide’s voice cracked, and she cleared her throat before continuing, her soft voice sounding almost obscenely loud in the near-empty diner, “What did we learn tonight?”

Groans echoed around the table.

Aedion spoke up first, “Run if you ever hear Aelin say, ‘Trust me, it’ll be fun.’”

A quiet fuck you followed but was drowned out by Lysandra who added, trailing a finger down the side of her water glass following a drop of condensation as it hit the table. “Crème de Menthe and Absinthe look way too similar. Way. Too. Similar.”

“When a door won’t open it's probably a Push, and not being supernaturally barricaded by ghosts,” Rowan groaned.

“That next time we do this, we better have snacks,” Aelin mumbled, staring a hole into the table.

“Next time?!”

*******

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