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acourtofquestions · 8 months ago

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You Are In Love

AKA my new favorite Rowaelin song

… think about it …

(I have because reading Empire of Storms & waiting for them to tell each other is driving me INSANE😅😂)

One look, dark room. — Meant just for you;

Mostly just them having their “mind-to-mind” reading the other too well conversations… during actual conversations.💕

What do you want me to tell you Fireheart? - "Tell me that we'll get through tomorrow. Tell me that we'll survive the war. Tell me-Tell me that even if I lead us all to ruin, we'll burn in hell together." "We're not going to hell," he said "But wherever we go, we'll go together.”

Time moved too fast, you play it back; buttons on a coat, light-hearted joke…

How they share their stories with each other, and recall those in all the months of missing each other.

The truth. The truth of her, undiluted and complete. And after all that they had been through, all that she still wanted to do ... So she steeled herself. "I have never told anyone this story. No one in the world knows it. But it's mine," she said, blinking past the burning in her eyes, "and it's time for me to tell it." Rowan leaned back on the rock, bracing his palms behind him. "Once upon a time," she said to him, to the world, to herself, "in a land long since burned to ash, there lived a young princess who loved her kingdom ... very much." And then she told him of the princess whose heart had burned with wildfire, of the mighty kingdom in the north, of its downfall and of the sacrifice of Lady Marion. It was a long story, and sometimes she grew quiet and cried--and during those times he leaned over to wipe away her tears. When she finished, Rowan merely passed her more of the tonic. She smiled at him, and he looked at her for a while before he smiled back, a different smile than all the others he'd given her before. They were quiet for some time, and she didn't know why she did it, but she held out a hand in front of her, palm facing the pool beneath. And slowly, wobbling, a droplet of water the size of a marble rose from the surface to her cupped palm. "No wonder your sense of self-preservation is so pathetic, if that's all the water you can conjure." But Rowan flicked her chin, and she knew he understood what it meant, to have summoned even a droplet to her hand. To feel her mother smiling at her from realms away. She grinned at Rowan through her tears, and sent the droplet splashing onto his face. Rowan tossed her into the pool. A moment later, laughing, he jumped in himself.

No proof, not much… but you saw enough.

From day one they knew each other better than anyone (as she’ll even say), “to have one person who knew the absolute truth about her--and didn't hate her for it.” While this quote is from a time when they were not saying it from love, they were saying it nonetheless, because it was present for so long this ‘understanding that says and sees more’ of theirs.

"How--how did you come back from that kind of loss?" "I didn't. For a long while I couldn't. I think I'm still... not back. I might never be." She nodded, lips pressed tight, and glanced toward the window. "But maybe," he said, quietly enough that she looked at him again. He didn't smile, but his eyes were inquisitive. "Maybe we could find the way back together." He would not apologize for today, or yesterday, or for any of it. And she would not ask him to, not now that she understood that in the weeks she had been looking at him it had been like gazing at a reflection. No wonder she had loathed him. "I think," she said, barely more than a whisper, "I would like that very much." He held out a hand. "Together, then."

Small talk, he drives; coffee at midnight. —

She was tired in her bones, but she rallied her energy one last time and told him of the years in Rifthold, of stealing Asterion horses and racing across the desert, of dancing until dawn with courtesans and thieves and all the beautiful, wicked creatures in the world. And then she told him about losing Sam, and of that first whipping in Endovier, when she'd spat blood in the Chief Overseer's face, and what she had seen and endured in the following year. She spoke of the day she had snapped and sprinted for her own death. Her heart grew heavy when at last she got to the evening when the Captain of the Royal Guard prowled into her life, and a tyrant's son had offered her a shot at freedom. She told him what she could about the competition and how she'd won it, until her words slurred and her eyelids drooped. There would be more time to tell him of what happened next--of the Wyrdkeys and Elena and Nehemia and how she had become so broken and useless.

The light reflects, the chain on your neck. —

Her powers cause pun intended light, and a multifaceted of the weights they are carrying; from Chaol’s ring, to missing Lyria, to her manacle scars… they both were carrying a lot from day one, too.

She wore her scars the way some women wear their finest jewelry.

He says, "Look up". And your shoulders brush…

He helped her see herself, reclaim her magic, & see the world.

Rowan stood with his queen in the rain, breathing in her scent, and let her steal his warmth for as long as she needed.

No proof, one touch… but you felt enough.

"From the moment he'd bitten her neck in Wendlyn, the moment he'd tasted her blood and loathed the beckoning wildfire that crackled in it, he'd been unable to get it out of his system."

Morning, his place;

The chapter of her moving in post magic burn-out.❤️‍🔥

It was the first warm bed she'd had in months. — She yawned, and Rowan rubbed his eyes, his other hand still in hers. But he didn't let go. — And when she awoke before dawn, warm and safe and rested, Rowan was still holding her hand, clasped to his chest. Something molten rushed through her, pouring over every crack and fracture still left gaping and open. Not to hurt or mar--but to weld. To forge.

Burnt toast, Sunday,

Her making that awful cake, & him eating every piece for her.

Things fell back into their usual rhythm in the two days that followed, though Rowan couldn't stop thinking about what Essar had said. Because he knew it was true, because ... because he wanted it to be true. Aelin said nothing about it, though he'd sometimes catch her frowning at him, as if trying to decipher some puzzle. He was poring over a report Vaughan had sent him when she walked into his room that night. The smell of chocolate and nuts hit him, and when he twisted in his seat, he discovered her carrying a small, misshapen cake, a sheepish smile on her face. "It took me hours to make this damn thing, so you'd better say it's good." She set it in front of him, along with a plate, fork, and knife. The blade she used to slice into the chocolate-frosted lump, cutting a large piece. It was layered with a lighter frosting— some sort of creamy-looking filling between the dark cake. "Chocolate hazelnut cake?" She plopped the piece on the plate for him and took his hand to press the fork into it. "You have no idea how hard it was to get the ingredients. Or to find some sort of recipe. I haven't even tasted it yet. Emrys looked like he was going to faint with horror." When Rowan just stared at the cake, she clicked her tongue. "This is the favor you owe me. Just try it." He gave her a long stare that usually sent men running, but she bit her lip and glanced at the cake. It was enough that he adjusted his grip on the fork, picked up a piece, and brought it to his mouth. While he chewed and swallowed, she was practically hopping from foot to foot and wringing her hands. So he let out a grunt of pleasure, took another bite, then another, until the entire piece was cleaned off his plate. Then he took another piece. And another. Until his stomach was protesting and all but a sliver was left on the platter. "I told you it was delicious," she preened, giving him a triumphant smile as he set down his fork. She ruffled his hair, but he caught her wrist, squeezing gently while he rose from his seat and brought his face dangerously close to hers. He knew every fleck of gold in those remarkable eyes— knew how her very blood tasted. And this near to her, their breath mingling ... "Now we're even," he said, and stalked out of the room. He was about three steps down the hall when Aelin's fork scraped against the platter, no doubt scooping up the sliver of cake he'd left. A moment after that, her curse barked off the stones of the fortress, followed by spitting and coughing. Despite himself, Rowan was smiling.

You keep his shirt. —

… stealing his t-shirts on repeat (cause it’s a mood)…

She must have been exhausted enough not to bother with anything other than that oversized shirt. His shirt, — It was enormous on her. It was so easy to forget how much smaller she was than him. How mortal. — Aelin slumbered beside him, her breathing deep and even, yet again wearing one of his shirts.

He keeps his word. —

They truly have no secrets, something she desperately needed, and they both learn/grow in.

"You trust nothing." She met his eyes. "I trust you."

And for once, you let go of your fears and your ghosts…

They do not forget to live, to lose themselves in the loves they lost… instead they take the time to fall in love, and grieve… he goes to Sam’s grave with her, & tells her of Lyria, he doesn’t let her face Arobynn or Rifthold alone… they might never be okay, but they focus on coming back together.

She studied the scarred, callused palm, then the tattooed face, full of a grim sort of hope. Someone who might--who did understand what it was like to be crippled at your very core, someone who was still climbing inch by inch out of that abyss. Perhaps they would never get out of it, perhaps they would never be whole again, but... "Together," she said, and took his outstretched hand. And somewhere far and deep inside her, an ember began to glow.

One step, not much… but it said enough.

Aelin took a step forward. One step, as if in a daze. She loosed a shuddering breath, and a small, whimpering noise came out of her--an And then she was sprinting down the alley, flying as though the winds themselves pushed at her heels. She flung herself on the male, crashing into him hard enough that anyone else might have gone rocking back into the stone wall. But the male grabbed her to him, his massive arms wrapping around her tightly and lifting her up. Nesryn made to approach, but Aedion stopped her with a hand on her arm. Aelin was laughing as she cried, and the male was just holding her, his hooded head buried in her neck. As if he were breathing her in. "Who is that?" Nesryn asked. Aedion smiled. "Rowan." She was shaking from head to toe, and couldn't stop crying, not as the full weight of missing Rowan crashed into her, the weight of these weeks alone. "How did you get here? How did yon find me?" Aelin withdrew far enough to study the harsh face shadowed by his hood, the tattoo peeking out along the side of it, and the grim line of his smile. He was here, he was here, he was here.

You kiss on sidewalks. —

The ✨Oakwald forest💖

"Just once," she said. "I want to kiss you just once." Every thought went out of his head. "That sounds like you're expecting not to do it again." The flicker of fear in her eyes told him enough--told him that her behavior at dinner might have been mostly bravado to keep Aedion calm. "I know the odds." "You and I have always relished damning the odds." She tried and failed to smile. He leaned in, sliding a hand around her waist, the lace and silk smooth against his fingers, her body warm and firm beneath it, and whispered in her ear, "Even when we're apart tomorrow, I'll be with you every step of the way. And every step after--wherever that may be." — His body went still--his entire world went still--at that whisper of a kiss, the answer to a question he'd asked for centuries.

You fight and you talk. —

May I present Heir of Fire?😂💁‍♀️

"We both are experts at clamming up, so let's make an agreement to talk right now like even-tempered, reasonable people." He didn't meet her gaze as he padded toward the bed and slumped down beside her, stretching out over the blankets. She didn't even reprimand him for getting the sheets wet--or mention that he could have taken half a minute to put on some clothes. "Looks like our days of fun are over," she said, propping her head with a fist and staring down at him. He gazed blankly at the ceiling. "Witches, dark lords, Fae Queens... If we make it through this alive, I'm going to take a nice, long vacation." His eyes were cold. "Don’t shut me out," she breathed. "Never," he murmured. "That's not--" He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "I failed you tonight." His words were a whisper in the darkness. "Rowan--" "He got close enough to kill you. If it had been another enemy, they might have." The bed rumbled as he took a shuddering sigh and lowered his hand from his eyes. The raw emotion there made her bite her lip. Never--never did he let her see those things. "I failed you. I swore to protect you, and I failed tonight." "Rowan, it's fine--" "It's not fine." His hand was warm as it clamped on her shoulder. She let him turn her onto her back, and found him half on top of her as he peered into her face. His body was a massive, solid force of nature above hers, but his eyes--the panic lingered. "I broke your trust. "You did no such thing. Rowan, you told him you wouldn't hand over the key." He sucked in a breath, his broad chest expanding. "I would have. Gods, Aelin--he had me, and he didn't even know it. He could have waited another minute and I would have told him, ring or no ring. Erawan, witches, the king, Maeve ... I would face all of them. But losing you..." He bowed his head, his breath warming her mouth as he closed his eyes. "I failed you tonight," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "I'm sorry." His pine-and-snow scent wrapped around her. She should move away, roll out of reach. Don't touch me like that. Yet there he was, his hand a brand on her bare shoulder, his body nearly covering hers. "You have nothing to be sorry for," she whispered. "I trust you, Rowan." He gave her a barely perceptible nod. — She blinked back the burning in her eyes as he reached between their bodies and took her hand, guiding it up to lay against his tattooed cheek. It was an effort to remember how to breathe, to focus on anything but that smooth, warm skin. He didn't tear his eyes away from hers as she grazed her thumb along his sharp cheekbone. Savoring each stroke, she caressed his face, that tattoo, never breaking his stare, even as it stripped her naked. I'm sorry, he still seemed to say. She kept her stare locked on his as she let go of his face and slowly, making sure he understood every step of the way, tilted her head back until her throat was arched and bared before him. "No one else," she whispered. "I would never allow anyone else at my throat." … "This changes things," she said, hardly able to get the words out. "Things have been changing for a while already. We'll deal with it."

One night he wakes, strange look on his face; pauses, then says "You're my best friend."

They are always the best of friends🥹

Rowan might have been her dearest friend, her carranam. — "You make me want to live, too, Aelin Galathynius," he said. "Not exist--but live." He cupped her cheek, and took a steadying breath--as if he'd thought about every word these past three days, over and over again. "I spent centuries wandering the world, from empires to kingdoms to wastelands, never settling, never stopping--not for one moment. I was always looking toward the horizon, always wondering what waited across the next ocean, over the next mountain. But I think ... I think that whole time, all those centuries, I was just looking for you." He brushed away a tear that escaped her then, and Aelin gazed at the Fae Prince who held her--at her friend, who had traveled through darkness and despair and ice and fire with her. — "You are my Fireheart."

… And you knew what it was; He is in love.

(They both knew it for a long time… if only they’d admit it 🤦‍♀️)

"I missed you"… I missed you with only ocean between us. But if it was death separating us... I would find you. I don't care how many rules it would break. Even if I had to get all three keys myself and open a gate, I would find you again. Always."

— And you understand now why they lost their minds and fought the wars —

Literally the books

Rowan laughed again—and Aelin thought she might never get sick of it, that laugh. That smile. When she looked back, Rowan was halfway to the camp, Evangeline's red-gold hair flashing as she bounded through the dripping trees, begging the prince for toast and eggs. Her family—and her kingdom. Two dreams long believed lost, she realized as the northern wind ruffled her hair. That she would do anything—ruin herself, sell herself—to protect.

…And why I've spent my whole life tryin' to put it into words. . .

They both were just looking for each other💙

All she had been able to think about, in spite of her kingdom, in spite of all she still had to do, was the fear in Rowan's eyes. And that it would be a shame if he never knew... if she never told him. . . "I claim you, Rowan Whitethorn. I don't care what you say and how much you protest. I claim you as my friend." — "To whatever end."

'Cause you can hear in the silence. . .

All those times he just grabs her hand beyond words to respond in

Rowan remained rooted to the center of the room as Aelin climbed into bed and blew out the candles. He stared at her through the darkness. She said softly, "You make me want to live, Rowan. Not survive; not exist. Live.” He didn't have the words. Not when what she said hit him harder and deeper than any kiss. So he climbed into bed and held her tightly all through the night.

You can feel it on the way home. . .

Them reuniting in Rifthold😭

"Welcome home, Aelin." A land of towering mountains--the Staghorns--spread before them, with valleys and rivers and hills; a land of untamed, wild beauty. Terrasen. And the smell--of pine and snow... How had she never realized that Rowan's scent was of Terrasen, of home? Rowan came close enough to graze her shoulder and murmured, "I feel as if I've been looking for this place my entire life." Indeed--with the wicked wind flowing fast and strong between the gray, jagged Staghorns in the distance, with the dense spread of Oakwald to their left, and the rivers and valleys sprawling toward those great northern mountains--it was paradise for a hawk. Paradise for her.

You can see it with the lights out. . .

Fireheart🥰

Aelin was awake--finally awake, and lifting her face to Rowan's. They were sitting on the bed, Aelin in Rowan's lap, the Fae warrior's arms locked around her as he looked at her the way she deserved to be looked at. And when they kissed, deeply, without hesitation--

… Even if this thing between them ... even if he knew it was not mere lust, or even just love. This thing between them, the force of it, could devour the world. And if they picked it, picked them, it might very well cause the end of it. It was why he had not uttered the words he'd meant to tell her for some time, even when every instinct was roaring for him to do it as they parted.

You are in love, true love. You are in love.

… Her throat ached with the effort of keeping the words in… She'd been in love with him for a while now. Longer than she wanted to admit.