#spoken to Dorian Havilliard

[acourtofquestions]

"The choice is yours how much you allow it into your life, how to use it-but go any longer without mastering it, Majesty, and it will destroy you."

A chill went down Dorian's spine.

And maybe it was the open ocean, or the endless stars above them, but Dorian said, "It wasn't enough. That day ... that day Sorscha died, it wasn't enough to save her." He spread his hands on his lap. "It only wishes to destroy."

Silence fell, long enough that Dorian wondered if Rowan had fallen asleep. He hadn't dared ask when the prince himself had last slept; he'd certainly eaten enough for a starved man.

"I was not there to save my mate when she was murdered, either," Rowan said at last.

Dorian straightened. Aelin had told him plenty of the prince's history, but not this. He supposed it wasn't her secret, her sorrow to share.

"I'm sorry," Dorian said.

His magic had felt the bond between Aelin and Rowan—the bond that went deeper than blood, than their magic, and he'd assumed it was just that they were mates, and hadn't announced it to anyone. But if Rowan already had a mate, and had lost her …

Rowan said, "You're going to hate the world, Dorian. You are going to hate yourself. You will hate your magic, and you will hate any moment of peace or happiness. But I had the luxury of a kingdom at peace and no one depending upon me. You do not."

Rowan shifted the rudder, adjusting their course farther out to sea as the coastline jutted to meet them, a rising wall of steep cliffs. He'd known they were traveling swiftly, but they had to be almost halfway to the southern border— and traveling far faster than he'd realized under the cover of darkness.

Dorian said at last, "I am the sovereign of a broken kingdom. My people do not know who rules them. And now that I am fleeing ..." He shook his head, exhaustion gnawing on his bones. "Have I yielded my kingdom to Erawan? What—what do I even do from here?"

The ship's creaking and the rush of water were the only sounds. "Your people will have learned by now that you were not among the dead. It is upon you to tell them how to interpret it—if they are to see you as abandoning them, or if they are to see you as a man who is leaving to find help—to save them. You must make that clear."

"By going to the Dead Islands."

A nod. "Aelin, unsurprisingly, has a fraught history with the Pirate Lord. You don't. It's in your best interest to make him see you as an advantageous ally. Aedion told me the Dead Islands were once overrun by General Narrok and several of Erawan's forces. Rolfe and his fleet fled-and though Rolfe is now once more ruler of Skull's Bay, that disgrace might be your way in with him. Convince him you are not your father's son���and that you'll grant Rolfe and his pirates privileges."

"You mean turn them into privateers."

"You have gold, we have gold. If promising Rolfe money and free rein to loot Erawan's ships will secure us an armada in the South, we'd be fools to shy from it."

Dorian considered the prince's words.

"I've never met a pirate."

"You met Aelin when she was still pretending to be Celaena," Rowan said drily. "I can promise you Rolfe won't be much worse."

"That's not reassuring."

A huffed laugh. Silence fell between them again.

At last, Rowan said, "I'm sorry—about Sorscha."

Dorian shrugged, and hated himself for the gesture, as if it diminished what Sorscha had meant, how brave she'd been—how special.

"You know," he said, "sometimes I wish Chaol were here to help me. And then sometimes I'm glad he's not, so he wouldn't be at risk again. I'm glad he's in Antica with Nesryn." He studied the prince, the lethal lines of his body, the predatory stillness with which he sat, even as he manned their boat. "Could you-could you teach me about magic? Not everything, mean, but ... what you can, whenever we can.

Rowan considered for a moment, and then said,

"I have known many kings in my life, Dorian Havilliard. And it was a rare man indeed who asked for help when he needed it, who would put aside pride."

Dorian was fairly certain his pride had been shredded under the claws of the Valg prince.

"I'll teach you as much as I can before we arrive in Skull's Bay," Rowan said. "We may find someone there who escaped the butchers-someone to instruct you more than I can."

"You taught Aelin."

Again, silence. Then, "Aelin is my heart. I taught her what I knew, and it worked because our magics understood each other deep down. Just as our souls did. You are ... different. Your magic is something I have rarely encountered. You need someone who grasps it, or at least how to train you in it. But I can teach you control; I can teach you about spiraling down into your power, and taking care of yourself."

Dorian nodded his thanks. "The first time you met Aelin, did you know ...?"

A snort. "No. Gods, no. We wanted to kill each other." The amusement flickered. "She was ... in a very dark place. We both were. But we led each other out of it. Found a way together."

For a heartbeat, Dorian could only stare. As if reading his mind, Rowan said, "You will find your way, too, Dorian. You'll find your way out."

He didn't have the right words to convey what was in his heart, so he sighed up at the starry, endless sky. "To Skull's Bay, then."

Rowan's smile was a slash of white in the darkness. "To Skull's Bay."

[mneiaifics]

Throne of Glass Fic: A Gift for Ideas

Ship: Dorian Havilliard/Erawan

Summary: Instead of offering up herself to Erawan, Maeve gives him something far more tempting. Dark Kingdom of Ash Morath arc AU.

Warning: Mind Manipulation

XxXxX

“Can Erawan be seduced by anyone?”

He could have sworn disgust flitted over her pale face before she said, “He can.”(1)

Dorian stared at himself in the mirror, relying on his magic to keep his pulse steady, breathing even. The black robes Maeve had set upon him were lovely, contrasting with the bronze of his skin, which itself she had suggested dusting with a fine sparkle.

“You hand me over and gain more of his favor while I gain enslavement,” he muttered, feeling more like a courtesan than a king.

“I have spoken to him more since first we met, his motivations are not so simple. And he has not seen this version of yourself, has not witnessed what you are becoming. He will be most pleased, enough that you can keep your will.”

Fool that he was, he had assumed up until the last moment that Maeve meant to seduce Erawan. “He has little interest in Queens,” she had dropped, as she proffered the garment woven from her own magic.

“I would think he had little interest in humans,” he had replied, then stalled at her answer.

“Oh, come now, we both know why that won’t matter in your case.”

Now, he tugged one last time on a piece of jewelry Maeve had adorned him with and stood from the vanity. He hid a grimace, looking himself over once more, before following her out of the room.

The plan was reckless, hopeless, suicidal. Erawan hated him, had every reason to shove another collar on him and keep him as a mindless pet. Or, at least, he’d more or less confirmed that when Dorian had posed as Vernon. As long as someone kept the keys from Erawan, kept him from reuniting with his brothers, he would hate them.

That Maeve insisted differently should mean nothing.

But they needed his key. They needed into Erawan’s tower.

”You know who I am, what I am. Tell him I have come, with a gift.”(2)

One of the guards broke off and entered the tower, returning soon after. Dorian had only moments to second guess the plan again before the door opened. The wind and rancid smell hit Dorian all at once, forcing him to brace himself with his magic, cold wrapped around his core.

“We have a meeting tomo–” Erawan cut himself off when he realized Maeve was not alone. His nostrils flared, his oily power reached out to encompass Dorian, poking and prodding, as if searching for how to break n spell set upon a servant. “A marvelous illusion, sister, I was not aware you were so well-acquainted with this one.”

Dorian looked at Maeve, who had something like triumph glittering in her eyes. She set her hand on his head, leaning close so her lips were brushing his cheek. He gave a flicker of his eyes away from her, a hint of disgust at the intimacy that he knew Erawan would spot.

“Dorian,” he breathed, lips stretching into a sharp smile. “Here to return to your proper place?”

He tilted his head up, to the side, a move that both looked like he was focusing on Erawan and moving away from Maeve’s touch. “I have…overestimated the grace that certain individuals are capable of giving.”

This was no different than the excuses he’d fed Maeve and he knew she believed them, but she didn’t know him. Perrington had known Dorian all his life, might see through him where a stranger, even one with access to his mind, might not.

Instead, Erawan gave him a knowing look. “We tried so hard to warn you, but you always did have to learn things the hard way, didn’t you?” He held out a hand with a graceful swoop of his arm, palm upward in offer. “What a gracious gift, sister. I will enjoy it to its fullest.”

Dorian set his hand in Erawan’s, saw Maeve begin to speak, and then he was through the door, which was already closed behind them. Erawan encouraged him to follow, never releasing his hold on Dorian’s hand, his magic encircling him like some constricting serpent, though wary of the sharp edges of ice within him.

“It is so difficult, forced to ally with those we can never trust, isn’t it, little king?”

“Then why do it? She’s not much use anymore, is she? She reached too far and lost her own kingdom.”

“She’s insufferable, but she is family.”

They reached a bedroom. It was…just a bedroom. Nothing wicked or magical. Most importantly, no collars that Dorian could spy. It felt like Erawan, though, like darkness and death, and a Wyrdkey as well.

He’d been right. It was here.

Now he just had to find it and somehow get out of there with it.

Erawan’s grip on his hand changed and he brought it up to his lips, brushing over the back of it. The cool touch of the smooth skin made Dorian shiver, an odd feeling resonating within him.

“I am surprised you wish to deal with me. When Maeve first informed me, I thought it was naught but a trap.” Dorian raised his eyebrows, meeting Erawan’s stare with a look he hoped was every bit as cruel as the Valg could give.

“If you had faced me as an enemy, I would tear you apart, leave the tattered remains of you to the princes for their fun,” Erawan breathed the words as if they were meant to be seductive. “But here you are, voluntarily returning, admitting your foolishness.” He reeled Dorian in with his hand, their fronts pressed together. “A child must be allowed to make mistakes, after all.”

“You collared me,” Dorian reminded, barely managing to keep his temper.

Erawan scoffed. “Your father did that. If I had been there, I would have taken my time with you, made sure to educate you as you needed. But your time with an occupant wasn’t without its benefits, was it? You learned so very much…about pain, about pleasure, didn’t you?”

The memories came unbidden, his mental walls slipping just enough for Erawan to glance within and know he was right, that some part of him had broken under the prince’s attention. His power leaked into the room, hints of frost forming on the windows.

A noise sounded from nearby–the bed, Dorian realized, eyes widening as he spotted the outline of a human form. “Here I thought you’d want me to yourself,” he managed.

“Oh, Dorian, don’t be jealous. You outshine that creature.” Erawan slipped around him, pressing his chest to Dorian’s back, and encouraged him to step towards the bed.

There was a woman, frail and hollowed out, her arm pulsing with dark veins. She resembled Kaltain, he thought, her dark hair cascading about her like a halo, though her skin must have been darker at some point before growing pale as death. A collar rested around her neck, gleaming with hideous intent up at Dorian.

She had the Wyrdkey within her.

He would need to distract Erawan long enough to slice it from her arm and flee.

“Maeve made it sound as though you were uninterested in women.”

Erawan chuckled, cool breath brushing against Dorian’s ear and making him shiver. “It’s just a human, Dorian, I have found some idle enjoyment in its body, but no more than any toy could give me.”

He glanced over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of those golden eyes. “And I? Am I not also simply a human toy?”

“You still haven’t realized it, have you?” He was spun around, pushed back, his knees buckling as they hit the bed and suddenly he was sitting on it, beside the woman, Erawan looming over him. “You’re so beautiful, Dorian. I had always wondered why you captured my attention so often, despite myself.”

Dorian went as he was pushed further onto the bed, worried at Erawan’s mood. He watched as long, manicured fingers reached out, picking up a lock of the woman’s limp hair and sliding through it.

“Dark haired and so willful under their obedient demeanor,” Erawan murmured, “but never who I truly wanted.”

The odd thrumming inside of Dorian contrasted with the sickness building in the pit of his stomach. Erawan had known him since he was a babe, Dorian himself was only a few years into his majority, had he truly been lusting after him for so long?

“I hope you do not think I will allow you to shove a wyrdkey under my flesh.”

Erawan dropped the woman’s hair, attention fully focused on Dorian. “Have no fear, little king, my plans involve no pain you will not enjoy.”

He would counter that, would claim he wanted no pain at all, but he wasn’t sure if Erawan would somehow see through the lie. Or perhaps all Valg, and their descendants, enjoyed such things, as he and Manon had.

“Do you want it? Do you want me?” Erawan was looming over him, so close to real touches, and the shadows of the room seemed to surge around them until Dorian couldn’t even notice the other person there.

“Please,” he murmured, licking his lips. “Please, Erawan.”

Even Valg had their weaknesses, watching Dorian beg him certainly spurred Erawan onward, their mouths crashing together. His nails felt sharper, tearing into Dorian’s skin, and he responded on instinct, biting harshly. Oily Valg blood filled his mouth and he had to fight not to gag. Erawan did not move away and Dorian breathed harshly through his nose until he couldn’t anymore, until he had to swallow.

It felt slimy, sliding down his throat, heavy and cold in his belly, but he was quickly distracted by Erawan’s wandering hands.

The passion igniting inside of him didn’t feel like he’d had before, he could not describe it in terms of lust or fire. Instead it was a rightness, a clawing need from the deepest pits of himself as Erawan licked the blood from the cuts he’d made before continuing lower, taking all of Dorian in his mouth.

His orgasm, when it came, was no relief, he needed more, his own fingers twisted into talons as he grasped at Erawan, begging in earnest. And Erawan gave, taking him with such exquisite pain that Dorian forgot it wasn’t pleasure.

He lost track of time, if days had passed outside the room he would have no way of knowing. There was only Erawan, whose body twisted between what Dorian could see and what he could perceive, who shoved torn fingers into Dorian’s mouth so he could suckle at the blood that dripped from them, who filled Dorian in every way, over and over again.

When their coupling was finally over, Dorian lying sprawled across Erawan’s body, he spared a thought to Maeve and if she’d really not known to warn him.

“She would not, she never allowed my brother so close,,” Erawan assured him, and it took Dorian long moments to realize he was responding to a thought and not spoken words.

He sucked in a sharp breath, stretching out the senses that were beyond the physical, finding the sheets of ice that protected his mind…and a crack bored through them, a perfect indentation shaped just for Erawan to access.

He’d filled his mind, too, at the end, stroking him to greater pleasure.

With full access to his thoughts, his memories, Dorian realized with a tinge of horror what that meant.

Erawan smiled at him, his soft amusement filtering through the bond he’d forced into place. “I will retrieve the other keys in the morn. You will face no punishment for a plan that you could have never carried through. My dear sister, though, perhaps needs a firmer hand before I return her to my brother.”

Even with the threat to his somewhat-ally, Dorian couldn’t force himself to worry, not with the lazy contentment that Erawan now enforced in his mind. It was better, he thought, then what Maeve would surely do in his thoughts. And so very much better than a collar, than being a passenger in his own body.

Beside them, the human let out a distressed groan, but they both ignored it, Dorian fading into sleep as Erawan stroked a hand through his hair, whispering of the wonders of his homeworld that Dorian would soon experience.

XxXxX

I didn't even know where I was going with this until I got there lol I had about three or four other endings I had thought of, but this was the one that got written.

The title comes from a Maeve quote, chapter 73 of Kingdom of Ash, "The collars are one of his more brilliant creations. Neither of his brothers was clever enough to come up with it. But Erawan—he always had a gift for ideas."

(1) Direct quote, Chapter 73 (2) Slightly changed quote, Chapter 73

[epithvts]

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .   the  continent  welcomes  ADRIUS  KACHRYLION  of  THE  MOUNTAIN  HOME,  the  HIGH  LORD  of  THE  WINTER  COURT.   when  the  HIGH  FAE  is  glamoured,  he  bears  a  resemblance  to  DANIEL  SHARMAN.   the  37  /  666  year  old  CIS  MALE  is  reputed  to  be  DEBONAIR  and  SOLICITOUS,  but  a  decade  of  war  has  left  them  AUSTERE  and  RECLUSIVE.   if  created  by  the  cauldron,  they  would  be  made  in  the  likeness  of  A  FEATHER  -  LIGHT  CROWN  THAT  BRINGS  A  WEIGHT  FAR  TOO  HEAVY  ;  THE  FAMILIAR  SCREECH  OF  METAL  AGAINST  METAL  INITIATED  BY  A  HOARSE  BATTLE  CRY  ;  THE  GRADUAL  LOSS  OF  HEAT  ON  AN  ABANDONED  HEARTH.   whispers  throughout  prythian  claim  that  their  allegiance  lies  with  THE  WINTER  COURT,   where  they  conspire  to  PROTECT  THE  PEOPLE  OF  THE  WINTER  COURT  AND  ENCOURAGE  PROSPERITY  BETWEEN  ITS  PEOPLE.

BASICS .

full  name.  adrius  kachrylion . age.  thirty  seven  /  six  hundred  sixty  six . birthdate.  december  24 . hometown.  the  mountain  home . current  location.  under  the  mountain . status.  unmated . orientation.  heteroromantic , heterosexual . occupation.  high  lord. abilities.  winnowing ,  glamouring ,  ice  manipulation ,  beast  form . siblings.  two  younger  brothers ,  one  younger  sister . pets.  a  black  cat  named  bear  that  parades  around  the  mountain  home . languages  spoken.  the  common  tongue . allegiance.  the  winter  court ,  the  kachrylion  family .

APPEARANCE .

hair  color.  white . eye  color.  blue . height.  six  foot  two . scars.  none . style.  typically  can  be  seen  in  greys  or  blues .  almost  always  with  some  kind  of  icy  crown  atop  his  head .

MISCELLANEOUS .

zodiac  sign.  capricorn . hogwarts  house.  gryffindor . alignment.  lawful  neutral . strengths.  solicitous ,  benevolent ,  calculated ,  debonair .   weaknesses.  reclusive ,  austere ,  overzealous ,  impatient . aesthetic.  a  feather  -  light  crown  that  brings  a  weight  far  too  heavy  ;  the  familiar  screech  of  metal  against  metal  initiated  by  a  hoarse  battle  cry  ;  the  gradual  loss  of  heat  on  an  abandoned  hearth . media  inspiration.  kallias  (  a  court  of  thorns  and  roses  ),  jack  frost  (  rise  of  the  guardians  ),  cedric  diggory  (  harry  potter  ),  jon  snow  (  a  song  of  ice  and  fire  ),  hiccup  haddock  iii  (  how  to  train  your  dragon  ),  edward  cullen  (  twilight  ),  dorian  havilliard  (  throne  of  glass  ).

BIOGRAPHY .

tw  abuse ,  torture ,  neglect ,  murder

you  come  into  this  world,  not  as  a  product  of  love  but  as  an  obligation  of  responsibility.  you  learn  quickly  enough  that  there  is  no  love  shared  between  your  parents,  only  sovereign  duty.  you  are  their  first  born,  the  heir  to  the  throne  of  the  winter  court,  and  nothing  more.  

you  are  robbed  of  your  childhood,  the  boy  who  once  dreamt  of  fairytales  and  fables  that  your  wet  nurse  fed  to  you  as  a  child  dead  before  the  age  of  five.  everyday  was  spent  either  in  the  library  with  tutors  from  several  courts  and  different  realms  or  in  the  courtyard  training  from  the  world's  most  skilled  teachers.  you  look  on  in  longing,  seeing  the  way  play  and  imagination  came  so  easily  to  the  other  children  at  court.  

plenty  of  times,  you  have  been  rejected  of  love.  from  your  mother,  whose  want  was  to  just  be  left  alone.  had  always  made  it  obvious  how  much  she  detested  being  the  high  lord's  brood  mare.  your  father,  much  of  the  same.  by  the  age  of  seven,  you  had  already  reduced  him  to  nothing  but  your  sire.  funny  how  you  begin  to  realize  that  blood  does  not  equate  to  family.  

just  as  your  schedule  for  lessons  were  strict  and  non  -  negotiable,  so  were  the  punishments.  often  times,  fueled  from  nothing  but  the  small  friends  you  made  at  court  and  your  innate  curiosity,  you've  ventured  into  town.  the  life  past  the  walls  of  the  mountain  home  had  always  piqued  your  interest.  and  you  longed  to  be  one  of  them,  to  share  the  food  from  their  table  and  create  memories  of  your  own  with  the  people  your  family  has  governed  over  for  centuries.

but  your  father  has  always  set  himself  on  a  pedestal.  that  night,  as  you  return  back  to  the  mountain  home,  lighter  than  a  feather  from  the  bit  of  life  restored  into  you,  your  father  waits  for  you,  with  a  whip  in  his  hand.  you  get  fifteen  slashes  that  night,  for  each  gold  coin  you  freely  gave  to  your  people.  though  never  on  the  face,  for  your  face  was  a  representation  of  the  family,  of  your  rule  to  come.  appearances  were  always  his  priority.

though  the  adventures  never  cease,  despite  the  frequent  additions  to  the  scars  on  your  back.  as  a  young  fae,  you  make  it  as  far  as  the  mortal  lands.  eager  to  learn  about  the  humans  and  their  lives.  there,  you  meet  a  woman,  who  smiles  far  too  kindly  at  your  kind.  she  offers  a  warmth  that  puts  out  your  frigid  ice.  a  love  that  you'd  never  known  before.  your  first  love,  a  human  woman.

but  nothing  goes  amiss  to  your  father.  and  soon  enough,  you  are  gifted  with  her  head.  no  son  of  mine  will  ever  mate  with  vermin.  the  words  fall  on  deaf  ears,  the  head  heavy  in  your  blood  stained  hands.  that  day  marks  your  death,  despite  the  way  immortality  sings  in  your  blood.

it  doesn't  take  much  for  you  to  pick  a  side  in  the  war.  your  heart  still  torn  from  loving  that  softhearted  woman  from  all  those  years  ago.  you'll  never  forget  the  way  she  made  you  burn  with  a  fire  unmatched.  and  so  when  azrael  takes  a  stand,  you  make  him  your  brother.  the  bond  you  share  with  the  heir  is  unlike  any  other,  it  brings  you  back  to  your  childhood:  blood  does  not  equate  to  family.  

the  throne  is  yours,  as  you  were  bred  to  take.  but  the  long  road  of  recovery  after  the  tyranny  and  malicious  rule  of  your  father  is  extensive.  nevertheless,  you  love  your  people.  and  you  would  rather  set  your  own  self  on  fire  than  to  watch  them  burn  ever  again.

TLDR  ;  a  boy  bred  for  the  sole  purpose  of  being  the  heir  of  the  winter  court.  lacked  love  growing  up.  severe  punishments  for  childish  amusements.  fell  in  love  with  a  human  woman  that  his  father  murdered.  has  finally  secured  his  throne  and  working  towards  gaining  the  love  of  his  people  <3

[aueternus]

@f1ameheir aelin & dorian starter

They hadn't spoken properly ——— a couple of sentences exchanged between them at the most. It was a given; a war was raging, territories across the continent were in disarray, and Dorian... he was now the exiled king of his own empire. So many things had transpired in such a short span that any time to talk was near impossible. Hells, neither of them had been in the same room for over six months. Aelin was whisked away to the southern continent for her protection, and Dorian had been discovering the extent of his abilities, to control them.

As the memories of Sorcha bleed into his renowned mind, the whimpered apologies and the thud of her head connecting with the ground, the Havilliard heir is quick to suppress them before the emotions arise ——— he would not torment himself with that. Blue eyes flicker across to the assassin, arms crossed over his chest. “ ...You're different. ” Not a critic, merely an observation. Something snapped in Aelin upon seeing the mangled corpse of the Eyllwe princess, much similar to Dorian's own repressed grief with having to watch the execution of his lover. Now? She held her chin higher, authentic confidence in every stride.

“ I'd hoped you'd find some peace, some closure there. I just didn't expect to see a long lost queen return. I was expecting the foul-mouthed assassin I met all that time. ” The corners of his lips twitch briefly ——— the change wasn't terrible by any means; hope of gaining freedom and prosperity had been re-established across the continent. Then again, both of them had changed. Dorian was still figuring out if his change of self was for the better or the worse.

[seasonofthewicth]

A Groovy Kind of Love - Chapter 7

AN: ty for being so patient with me but here we go! kinda mild swearing if anyone likes to be warned of that.

masterlist - ao3

------

Rowan quickly shut the door behind himself. His heart was racing, a pounding through his chest spreading down to his fingertips where he had braced them against the wooden panel of his bedroom door. He ran his other hand down his face, letting out a strangled groan.

He hadn’t meant to go so far. Hadn’t meant to go anywhere at all really, but he hadn’t been able to pull himself back from the intense look in Aelin’s eyes. Hadn’t been able to draw himself away from the stunned expression on her face, her eyes wide, and her blush, pink lips slightly parted as she gasped at his proximity. He hadn’t been able to pull himself back once he had caught the hint of her perfume, the intoxicating jasmine and lemon verbena scent, so enticing he had wanted to bury himself in her neck and never pull back.

He groaned again. The moment her head had tipped down, pinning him into place in the crook of her neck, had been divine and had sent a jolt of electricity through his body. Her skin had been soft and warm where he had brushed the lightest of kisses down the line of her throat.

He pressed a balled up fist to his forehead as he sent a silent prayer up to the gods.

He pushed himself back from the door, trying to gain some sense of control over his breathing but he couldn’t rid himself of the feeling of Aelin pressed up against him, the brush of her chest against his own, the tickle of her hair against his neck.

He clawed at the tangled strands of thought inside his head, desperately trying to find a semblance of a rational way to look at what he had just done. This was Aelin, his roommate, his friend and Aedion’s cousin. Fuck, Aedion would kill him if he found out.

Aedion played the protective older brother role well when it came to Aelin, and that had extended towards his own friends at times, shooting them harsh looks if they appeared to look at Aelin for longer than necessary or taking the empty seat next to her at the bar before they could get there.

Despite his overprotective nature Rowan knew that if Aedion found out he wanted to pursue something serious with Aelin he would be wary, but ultimately supportive despite the oath they had all sworn. He knew it was mostly in good spirits, with only a sprinkling of genuine threat.

Rowan wasn’t quite sure what he wanted. He knew Aelin well by now, sharing such close quarters would lead to a level of familiarity with anyone, but to take it further? To be able to touch Aelin as he had done, to touch her more than he had, to go further than a light caress of lips against skin.

He knew she owed him nothing, he hadn’t made even a whisper of his thoughts on the topic known to her, hadn’t let any of his fondness shine through their familiar bantering beyond casual friendship. He had messed this up. Aelin probably hadn’t even wanted him to flirt with her, she had been talking with Fenrys about her flirty new co-worker and Fenrys had been encouraging her to go for it. Gods, what had he been thinking?

The thought of Dorian Havilliard flirting with Aelin had got the better of him. The thought that Dorian could flirt with Aelin had clanged through him, hitting every rib as it passed through. Dorian wasn’t her roommate and had nothing holding him back. The thought had struck Rowan with a feeling of longing so strong he hadn’t been able to hold himself back from crowding her against the bench. Making sure her thoughts were of him and not Dorian.

He wasn’t even sure that it was Dorian, he liked the guy, had met him once or twice through Fenrys and while they hadn’t spoken more than a couple of sentences about a sports game that neither of them had been invested in he knew the man was charming.

He needed to see Aelin and apologise to her, explain that he had had a brief lapse in judgement, and that he was very sorry and wanted to move on. She deserved better than him anyway, he knew that. She deserved more than a law school drop-out who worked full time as a bartender, living in a shitty loft with four roommates even though they were all nearing thirty. He didn’t have great ambitions in life, he liked to take it easy and enjoy it one step at a time, he wasn’t a deputy principal with his life all pulled together. Not like Dorian.

He sighed, turning to his bed. His breathing had almost returned to normal in the minutes he had waited, and his body seemed to have calmed itself with the distance now between himself and Aelin. He placed his now-empty beer bottle on the chest of drawers next to his bed and threw himself face first onto the covers. His hips twitched slightly, and he cursed himself again, cursing the visions of fantasies of Aelin in this bed with him.

He could have brushed his lips higher, teasing her behind her ear before coming around to pin her lips beneath his own. He could have lifted his hands from the counter to grasp her hips, pulling her into his body while he pressed her into the counter

This wasn’t him. He let out a growl of frustration as he flipped over, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. He would make this right.

------

Aelin hesitated outside Rowan’s bedroom door before raising a hand to the barrier. She took a deep breath in, preparing herself before knocking gently three times.

She needed to see Rowan after the events that had happened in the kitchen the night before. She had spent all night tossing and turning in her bed, debating over and over what his actions could have meant. He hadn’t made any advances towards her in the past, their relationship had been relatively laid back, roommates who got along well, but even so she knew she had developed a soft spot for him.

She could never fight the soft smile she knew she wore when he was speaking animatedly about something. Whether it was slamming Lorcan’s favourite football team or having economic debates with Aedion she couldn’t help but be absorbed by the passion he would display. Her attention would always be drawn to his broad shoulders and muscular arms as he would gesture while he articulated his point. She fought the places her mind would go at the sight of his large hands and elegant fingers.

She also couldn’t deny the mounting evidence that he had somewhat of a soft spot for her. Rowan wasn’t open about his feelings, but his usually reserved demeanour definitely lightened when they were together. She also couldn’t forget his tenderness towards her, not only putting her to bed drunk but also tucking her toes under a throw on the couch when she’d complain about being cold. Having a cup of coffee ready for her when he made his own, always with a splash of cream and a cube of sugar, despite him drinking his own black.

Aelin wasn’t quite sure what she was hoping to achieve knocking on Rowan’s door, he might not be awake, or even in, but she had laid awake all night unable to lose the sensation of his lips on her neck. She swore the small spot still burned from his feather-light touch.

“Come in.” His voice startled her, pulling her out of the spiral she had entered, and she took a deep breath before pushing the door open.

Rowan was sprawled across his bed, laptop discarded half open next to him on his grey covers, a broad arm braced behind his head where he lay against his mound of pillows. At the sight of her he pushed himself up until he was sitting on the side of his bed, legs thrown over the side as he turned towards her.

“Hey,” His voice was soft as he smiled slightly at her.

“Hey.” Her own voice was just as soft as she shut the door behind herself.

“What’s up?”

“Not much.” She crossed the floor to take a seat next to him on the bed. Crossing her legs she rested her weight on an arm braced behind herself as she turned towards him. “I was just wondering what you were up to.”

He let out a slight gust of a laugh, turning up the corners of his mouth in a small smirk as he met her eyes. His piercing green eyes shining in the soft morning lighting as he looked up at her through his eyelashes.

“Not much.” He parroted back and the teasing lilt to his voice told her he knew exactly why she was in his bedroom. “Is there a reason you’ve barged into my room so early in the morning? On a weekend to boot.”

She refrained from sticking her tongue out at him like a child.

“I’m just scraping the barrel really, having to spend time with you.”

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head at her sad attempt at a joke. She was normally so much better at this. Rowan shifted his weight until he was mirroring her position, resting back on his arms with his long legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed.

“Really, none of the others are around? Not a single one?”

“Nope, Fenrys is probably still asleep, Lorcan’s working and Aedion is out.” She curled her tongue around her next words. “He’s stayed out. With a lady friend.”

“Really?” Rowan’s intrigue was clear, eyebrows shooting up on his forehead. “Not like him, normally he just brings them back here and leaves it to me to kick them out.”

Aelin laughed. “I know, and I think it might be the same girl as last time.”

Rowan’s eyebrows crept up. “Damn, he must actually like this girl, or she’s rutting good in bed.”

She felt her face twist in disgust at the mention of Aedion taking part in any bedroom activities.

“Let’s all hope it’s the former, okay.” She rested her hand on his upper arm as she nodded enthusiastically at him.

“Right.” He drew his gaze away from her, staring at the spot where his socked feet fidgeted on the floor.

She looked down, unsure of what to say next. She traced the lines on his sheets with a fingernail, noting the chipped hot pink nail polish she needed to take off.

“Look, Aelin—”

“So—”

They began at the same time. She shook her head, gesturing for him to go first.

Rowan cleared his throat.

“Look Aelin, about last night.” He took a breath in before meeting her gaze. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. That really wasn’t what I wanted to do.”

She slid the hand still resting on his arm up to his shoulder.

“You don’t have to apologise Ro,” Her eyes shot down to her lap quickly before she rallied herself to meet his gaze. “It’s not—I’d really rather you didn’t. It’s okay.”

“Well, I’m sorry anyway.”

“It’s really okay, honestly.” She smiled at him, feeling like a schoolgirl speaking to her playground crush, not knowing how to speak to a boy without turning a hundred shades of red. She normally kept her cool, knew how to flutter her eyelashes and smile up at a guy, leaning into him and talking herself up confidently.

Rowan bypassed all that, made her forget every line she’d ever used on a guy, made her forget to brush her hair back across her shoulder before looking up at him and smiling prettily. So quickly he had her wrapped around his finger and he didn’t even know.

But maybe, after last night, maybe he did know. The way he had got into her space had shown her a confident side to him she hadn’t seen before, a side to him that was smooth and charming and sexy. She brushed her thumb gently against the side of his neck, leaning her weight towards him, the mattress sinking sending her even closer to his warmth than she intended.

A muscle in his jaw worked at the motion and he took a sharp breath in.

“Aelin,” His voice was guttural as his hand came up to wrap around her wrist. “Don’t.”

She recoiled as if his words were a slap. Jerking her hand off his shoulder and into her chest as if the fingers he had curled around her wrist had burned her.

“You don’t have to worry about that, I won’t let it happen again. We can just forget it ever happened.”

Forget it ever happened.

Aelin jerked to her feet, her hands fluttering about her sides as she stood. Rowan followed the motion, his eyes not leaving her face, and she fought the blush she knew was rising.  

Forget it ever happened.

She had put herself forward and Rowan had rejected her. Obviously. He regretted it; had probably spent the hours she had spent writhing in bed thinking about him wondering how to let her down gently.

Gods, she needed to leave. Get out of here and away from Rowan long enough to compose herself.

“Yeah,” She heard herself say weakly. “Of course. Already forgotten.”

She was abstractly aware of the relief flooding Rowan’s features, his expression released from his frown. She crossed the room to his door, trying to purposefully slow her steps to not look as if she was running away.

She had messed things up, misread Rowan completely, and now she needed to leave.

Fuck.

------

“Oh good, you’re here.”

Manon Blackbeak’s tone was bored and dripping with sarcasm as she answered her and Lysandra’s front door. Impeccably styled as always her platinum hair was scraped back into a sleek ponytail, her clothes were relaxed but hung perfectly from her slim figure. Aelin knew she herself looked a mess in comparison, hadn’t managed to change from her baggy sweats and an old t-shirt from her high school sports days before leaving the loft.

“Yes.” Aelin narrowed her eyes when Manon made no move to let her in. “Is Lysandra here?”

Manon only shrugged. Fine then. Aelin took a step forward, crowding herself into Manon’s space until she backed up enough for Aelin to slip in beside her.

“Lys?” She called. “You here?”

A thud sounded from down the short hall before Lysandra appeared, midway through tugging on an oversized sweater.

“I’m here,” Lysandra froze as she took in Aelin’s expression. “Everything okay?”

Her friend’s voice was full of concern.

“Yeah, I just need to talk to you.” She said with a pointed look towards Manon, who remained standing by the front door.

For someone who seemed unable to stand Aelin she wasn’t in any rush to leave. After a beat the model shrugged before slinking off into her room and slamming the door.

Lysandra winced at the sound before turning to her, an open expression on her beautiful face.

“I fucked up,” Aelin told her. “With Rowan.”

“Ah, shit.”

Lysandra grasped her hand to lead her into the small living room. The yellow couch she had spent weeks sleeping on before she moved into the loft remained, taking up most of the space in the small room. She flopped down onto it as Lysandra took the spot next to her, tucking her legs in beneath herself as she leaned towards Aelin.

“What happened?”

What had happened? Looking back now it didn’t seem like much of a big deal. Rowan had very briefly flirted with her and then told her not to worry about it. He couldn’t help the miles her brain had ran with the idea, dreaming up imaginary scenarios she should have known were impossible. Impossible because Rowan didn’t like her in that way, he had just been teasing her in response to Dorian. Nothing more.

Her face must have told half of the story because Lysandra reached out to gently squeeze her hand.

“It’s going to sound stupid.”

“Never.”

She really loved her best friend, Lysandra’s statement was absolutely sincere.

“Last night, me and Rowan, got slightly… flirty. And then I spent all night thinking about him.” Lysandra winced. “I’m not done.”

“Ah.”

“And then this morning I went to see him and got hard-core rejected. That’s pretty much it.” She let out a weak laugh.

Lysandra pressed her lips together, taking a moment before saying, “I need details on the flirting, and the hard-core rejection.”

She pursed her lips.

“The flirting was hot.” Aelin laughed as she buried her face in her hands, blushing again at the memory of Rowan’s body pressed against her own, and the whisper of his lips against her neck. She couldn’t get over that image. “Like, all up in my space, had me feeling some things. He definitely kissed my neck at one point.”

Lysandra’s eyes went wide.

“He kissed you?”

“No,” She moaned. “Well, maybe, but not properly.”

Lysandra only raised one, perfectly shaped eyebrow.

“And then he rejected me. And now I’m freaking out about it. It’s Rowan.”

“I really can’t picture Rowan being flirty.”

“This is serious!”

“I’m being serious!” Lysandra cried, feigning offense. “How did it even start?”

“We were talking about Dorian flirting with me—”

“Dorian?” Lysandra stopped her.

“My co-worker.” She hadn’t had much chance to fill Lysandra in on all the details of her new school. She definitely hadn’t been avoiding telling Lysandra all the details about this one co-worker in particular.

Lysandra was straight to the point, “Is he hot?”

Dorian was hot. In a polished kind of way. The combination of his curly, dark hair and piercing blue eyes was somewhat princely. His tanned skin and blinding smile were a combination that many men and women, Fenrys included, would lap up.

Her silence spoke enough for Lysandra.

“He is! And then it went from there? Rowan flirted with you after hearing about this Dorian guy doing the same?” Aelin nodded. “He was totally jealous.”

Rowan jealous of Dorian? That changed things.

“But he rejected me?”

The look Lysandra gave her was sharp.

“Again, it’s Rowan.” Lysandra said, as if that simple fact would make all of Aelin’s confusion disappear. Aelin frowned at her. “We couldn’t possibly begin to understand the workings of the male brain.”

Aelin barked out a laugh as Lysandra brought a hand up to rest against her chin, tapping a finger against her lips before speaking.

“Okay, right. Real talk. Were you into it? Rowan flirting with you?”

Aelin bit her lip before nodding.

“But he turned you down?”

“He told me we could pretend it never happened.”

Lysandra hummed in response.

“And this Dorian, was he flirting with you?”

“I guess,” She said mildly.

“You know what you need to do right?” Lysandra held her arm out, palm raised as if the answer to her question was clear. “You need to text this Dorian guy. Forget about Rowan, that’s a bad idea anyway.”

Lysandra was at least partially right. She needed to remember that Rowan was her roommate, and if anything went wrong, she may be Aedion’s cousin, but Rowan was his best friend. And he was closer to Lorcan and Fenrys than she was, despite the lengths she thought she had improved her relationship with them in the short time she had lived in the loft.

“Lys, I don’t know.”

“Do you have his number?” Lysandra was taking no prisoners, now excited at the prospect of Aelin speaking to someone new.

Aelin hesitated but confirmed Lysandra’s question. They had all exchanged numbers in the staff room on her first day. She had Chaol, Yrene and Nehemia’s numbers too, not just Dorian’s.

Lysandra held her hand out, waggling her fingers in a gesture that said hand it over. Aelin reluctantly handed over the silver iPhone, bracing herself for the spectacle that was Lysandra’s flirting technique.

Her friend tapped away on the screen, having known Aelin’s password since they were teens. Eventually she held the screen up to Aelin for approval.

Her text was friendly, casual enough that if he responded negatively it wouldn’t be awkward, but open enough that her intentions could be clear. Aelin hesitated.

“What do you have to lose?” Aelin snapped her eyes up to her best friend’s. Lysandra had a stellar track record with her previous romantic relationships, she had called Arobynn an asshole from day one. Aelin just hadn’t listened.

Aelin grabbed the phone from her friend’s hand, pressing the send button and quickly locking her phone again.

She bit her lip as Lysandra squealed, giving her a light shake on the shoulder and Aelin allowed herself a smile. If Rowan wanted to pretend it had never happened she would too.

------

She and Dorian had agreed to meet at a bar. It wasn’t fancy, she was in jeans and flats, but it definitely could be a first date location. She slid her fingertips up and down through the condensation that had built up on the outside of her wine glass as she waited for Dorian to arrive.

She was ready for this, Dorian seemed like a great guy and she was attracted to him. Maybe not in the same way as Rowan, his carefully composed look was a complete contrast to Rowan’s cosy and relaxed vibe.

“Aelin, hey.” She turned at the sound of Dorian’s voice behind her.

“Hi,” She smiled as he pulled her into a brief side hug before sliding into the booth opposite her. He smelled good she noted as he signalled to the bartender for his drink, a hint of citrus and something else she couldn’t place.

He was dressed about as casually as she was, a crisp white polo shirt topped with a navy blue jacked that brought out the colour of his eyes. He looked good.

“I’m glad you texted me,” He told her. “I was planning on asking if you wanted to hang out.”

She smiled; this was a good idea. Dorian’s beer arrived and she toasted to him with her glass, watching him over the rim as she took a sip. He was watching her right back, a slight crinkle around his eyes as he smiled into his drink.

Dorian was easy to get along with, he kept the conversation flowing easily asking her about herself with questions about her job and her hobbies. They both loved reality TV, despite Dorian’s protests that it was a guilty pleasure. She had laughed and assured him there was nothing to feel guilty about.

They both loved teaching too and she had been thrilled to find that Dorian was just as passionate about it as her, if not more so. She had rested her chin on her fist, watching him with rapt attention as he spoke, enthusiastically, about how much he loved his students and how much he wanted to help them succeed.

He had bought the following rounds of drinks, respectfully declining her offers to pay for her own or even his. He had smiled at her, a smile that crept up the left side of his cheek more than his right, crooked in a way that she almost blushed.

She didn’t think much about Rowan throughout the night, her mind focussed on the man opposite her. Focussed on the way he would send her short glances when she tucked her hair behind her ear. The way his toes would accidentally nudge her own below the table.

While her text had been open ended, she knew the way it had been taken. It was definitely a date, and one she was enjoying.

When it came to the end of the night, the time limit imposed on them by the closing of the bar, Dorian laid a gentle hand on her lower back as she led the way out. Aelin paused on the street by the exit as she turned to him. His angular cheekbones highlighted in the shadows from the late night street lighting.

Aelin wasn’t sure how she wanted to play it, she had enjoyed the date and Dorian’s company spectacularly. She bit her lip, wanting Dorian to play his hand first, lest she be in for the second rejection of the day. She wasn’t sure whether he’d want to kiss her, or whether he wanted to take it slowly.

He seemed to pause in the same manner she did. Pursing his lips as he glanced between her face and the rest of the street. His hand was still resting on her lower back, the warmth fighting the chill in the air to spread through her entire body.

“I had a great time tonight,” He began, and she nodded her agreement. He took a short breath, considering his next words carefully. “Do you want to get out of here?”

He rubbed the back of his neck slightly, almost bashful in a stark contrast to how self-assured he had seemed so far.

Her heart seemed to skip a beat; this was the line in the sand. She knew what Lysandra would be screaming in her ear if she was here, do it, forget about Rowan. Forget about him the way he wanted to forget about her, and to move past it to just being friends.

Aelin took a step closer towards Dorian, looking up at him through her lashes as she scraped her teeth across her bottom lip. Dorian’s eyes tracked the motion.

“I’d love to.”

And she pressed her lips to his.

------ 

tags:

@jesstargaryenqueen​

@maybekindasortaace​

@slytheringalathynius​

@http-itsrebecca​

@morganofthewildfire​

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato​

@fictional-horan​

@tottenhamboys20​

@dressedindustandshadows​

@sleeping-and-books​

@perseusannabeth​

@ireallyshouldsleeprn​

@superspiritfestival​

@aelinfeyreeleven945tbln​

@spyofthenightcourt​

@jlinez​

@queen-of-glass​

@booknerdproblems

@sjmships​

@elriel4life​

@bamchickawowow​

idk why but tag lists confuse me so much so if I’ve missed anyone please let me know

[lifblogs]

Whumptober 2021 No. 11 - JUST KEEP SWIMMING adrift | drowning | dehydration

Title: Darkness Is Sinking Me Fandom: Throne of Glass Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Word Count: 266 Summary: Prince Dorian Havilliard of Adarlan is possessed by a Valg Prince, and he is losing himself. WARNINGS: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Gore, Horror, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Possession READ ON AO3

Prince Dorian Havilliard was screaming as he drowned. But no one could hear him, save for the thing that walked in his body, and saw through his eyes, and spoke with his mouth. Currently, they were before the large man in the throne in the glass castle, saying things Dorian never would have, agreeing to horrors that would have turned his stomach had the thing not had control of that as well.

He couldn’t remember who the man on the throne was. Couldn’t remember who he then went to in the cell, or the girl he’d spoken of.

Sorscha.

You don’t know Sorscha, the thing told him.

I don’t know Sorscha, Dorian repeated between screams because it was true.

There were memories of him holding a body and a head, trying to put the two pieces back together as blood spurted and flowed over him.

That was all.

The thing didn’t seem to understand human bodies, or perhaps it did, and didn’t care. It didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, didn’t drink.

Somehow no one noticed.

Dorian begged them to notice. He thrashed in the black he was adrift in, thrashed in the rotting waves of it as it tried to drag him under, tried to eat him.

He was vaguely aware that he was thirsty, dehydrated, but he knew he couldn’t consume the black. Not while he was its prey.

The thing cackled at his suffering, delighted in the darkness in his mind, and it stole him. Stoles his memories, his thoughts, his will.

Dorian was drowning, not sure he could even hear his own screams anymore.

[aelin-queen-of-terrasen]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫 | 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤

Rowaelin modern AU ▶ Masterlist

note: hi! thank you for all your comments and likes. hope y'all like this chapter. (also sorry for the bad gifs, I have no idea what I'm doing there!)

──────✧❅✦❅✧──────

Rowan was pissed, sleep-deprived and severely exhausted. Lorcan had taken his sweet time picking Aelin up and even once he'd arrived, she had thrown tantrums bad enough, it had taken both of them to get her into his damned car. He had gotten little sleep after that, thoughts reverting back to her antics.

He was looking forward to some peace when someone sat down beside him. "Leave me alone, Aelin," he groaned.

An amused snort. "She'll be offended you mistook me for her," Lorcan Salvaterre said.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "I've grown used to Aelin hounding me around this time." He should shut up sometime soon. This was Lorcan Salvaterre he was talking to, Lorcan who was as well-built as him, who looked like he had crawled out of some hellscape and was never seen without a scowl on his face. Lorcan could probably punch him for talking like that about Aelin.

"You don't like Aelin?" Lorcan asked.

It was a casual question that shouldn't have bothered him at all. But did he like Aelin? She was bothersome of course but he preferred her company to everyone else here. "I think she is fine," he finally said.

Lorcan nodded, dark eyes scanning his face. He rose from his seat. "Aelin is a nice person. You don't want to hurt her." Rowan didn't mistake the words for anything but a warning to not hurt her. A friend looking out for another. This is what they were. Aelin and her friends - they weren't friends, they were family. The closest thing Rowan had to that was his roommate.

"I don't want anything to do with her," Rowan said. He meant it.

Lorcan shook his head, then turned to leave. Almost as if in afterthought, he added, "Don't tell anyone what I said."

Students were still filing inside the classroom when Lorcan left, presumably to his own classroom. Rowan had his nose buried in the book he was reading but he could identify Aelin from the sight of those light, hurried footsteps, then the loud sigh that escaped her mouth when she plopped down beside him. Rowan turned in his seat.

"Bad day?" she chirped.

He didn't know how she could function after the amount of alcohol she had consumed. "Some idiot got drunk and I had to take care of her. Couldn't sleep," he grunted.

She clicked her tongue. "Inconsiderate. You should teach her some manners."

Rowan rolled his eyes and went back to reading his book. Unable to concentrate because of Aelin watching him, Rowan shut the book, opening his sketchbook instead. He glanced towards the door. Where was Professor Gavriel?

Aelin answered, "He isn't coming, something about recruiting a new quarterback for the football team."

Rowan shifted the sketchbook so it was out of Aelin's point of view. He expected her to peek or ask or interrupt but she watched him again, keen eyes memorizing all the details on his face. Rowan tried not to let the attention bother him as he worked. She was silent long enough that Rowan worried something was wrong.

But she asked, "Rowan, do you like football?" He wished she hadn't spoken.

"I do."

Don't ask don't ask don't ask don't ask don't ask—"Then why aren't you on the football team? You ever tried out?"

He had. Rowan didn't want to tell her that, didn't want to share that secret. Yet, somehow he told her, "I did. They didn't choose me. Not because I wasn't good at it but because the whole team hated me. Gavriel said it would affect the team spirit if he took me in, couldn't take that chance." He didn't want to share this secret about how much it had hurt to be rejected by students he had wanted to befriend. "I was principal's nephew, good at studies, at sports. I had a bad reputation around."

She cocked her head to the side. "Do you still want to join the team?"

"Doesn't matter. We don't always get what we want."

Aelin raised an eyebrow as if to say, you are one drama queen. Answer my question. So he did. "I still like football and this is my last year in school so yes."

"You should have done something about it," she said.

He could have shuddered in relief if only for the fact that there was no pity in her eyes, no sorrow. "I'd rather not spend time with people who ha—"

"You could've tried to make amends. If they believed you bad, did you do something to prove otherwise?" Her question took him off guard.

Had he done anything other than scowl and glare since he had changed schools? Rowan didn't want to go down that road, didn't want to visit that part of his past now. He pushed the thoughts away, buried himself in his silence, prepared to tell Aelin off but she was already on her feet, rushing towards the front of the class, squeals of excitement busting out of her.

She threw her arms around the guy standing near the front.

Dorian Havilliard leaned over to whisper something in her ear and Aelin laughed at him, loud and unrestrained. Everyone was watching but neither of them cared enough about it. Rowan convinced himself that the irritation he felt was only for the fact that they were being so loud, it was distracting him.

Yes, that was the only reasonable explanation that he could think of. With a long drawn-out sigh, Rowan went back to sitting in silence.

──────✧❅✦❅✧──────

Aelin was ecstatic.

Dorian had accompanied his parents to another continent for a business trip and she had missed him like hell. Her friends had tried their best to keep her entertained but no one could replace the dark haired boy.

When she pulled back, Dorian grinned at her. "Aw, missed me, Ace?"

"You are telling me you didn't miss your best friend?" Aelin smirked.

Dorian nodded, looking around the classroom before he looked at her again. "You are right, I did miss Chaol. Where is he?" He chuckled when she smacked the back of his head.

Then it occured to Aelin that he didn't know she had broken up with him. It had been three months ago, right after Dorian left. She hadn't wanted to tell him over the phone and now that he was in front of her, she wanted to enjoy his return instead of dwelling over that. So Aelin grinned, looping an arm with his and they were walking out of the classroom, one eye out in case Meave was making rounds.

"Mind telling me why Rowan was staring at you?" Dorian asked.

Rowan Whitethorn.

Whom she had left in the classroom without even a word. A blush creeped onto her cheeks even as she tried to summon some swagger, flipping her hair back. "I did not fret over outfits for over an hour in the morning to please my own eyes. Let him stare."

Dorian raised an eyebrow. "Is Rowan the reason you broke up?"

Here she thought she was keeping it a secret. "How'd you know we broke up?" Aelin asked, then realised her mistake.

Her best friend grinned at her. "I didn't. You confirmed it. But seriously, Rowan? The I-don't-ever-smile Rowan?"

"He smiles plenty," she offered, even though she hadn't seen him smile once.

There was no point hiding things from Dorian. Most dismissed him as a nerd who was only interested in books, quiet and reserved but he was charming when he needed to be. And perceptive. If there's anyone she won't be able to keep secrets from, it was him.

She didn't realise where they were going until they halted in front of the library. "You couldn't wait until after school?"

Dorian pointed towards the shelves at the back. "Lorcan and Aedion are here too, they are skipping class. They brought snacks." Aelin didn't need to tell them what would happen if the librarian Phillipa found them sneaking food inside.

Aedion was resting his head on the table when she reached him, Lorcan looking through the shelves for one reference book or another. There was no sign of Lysandra and Aelin remembered something about her joining art classes earlier this week.

"Hey idiots!" Dorian chirped.

Lorcan said without looking, "For your sake, I'll pretend you didn't say that."

Then they were all digging through what her cousin had brought - an assortment of chips and biscuits and candies and chocolates.

Aedion said to Dorian through mouthfuls of food, "I'm surprised you managed to bring her. Aelin hasn't left Rowan's side in two days."

Aelin coughed, kicking her cousin's leg underneath the table. Dorian already suspected something was up and if he hadn't already figured it out, he certainly would now.

But Dorian shrugged. "This isn't news to me. I've been shipping Rowaelin since sophomore year."

Aedion choked on the soft drink he was drinking. "You-Rowaelin-I don't... Sophomore year? Impossible." Impossible indeed. He couldn't have known about that, could he? He couldn't possibly have known about sophomore year.

Dorian smiled innocently. "Aelin has had a crush on him since sophomore year."

"Liar," Aedion blurted out.

Lorcan was silent, munching on his chips and Aelin thanked the gods for it. She could only handle two of them at a time. "How did you know?" she asked.

Dorian chuckled. "You weren't subtle about it. It was written all over your face when he passed by."

Lorcan was still silent as everyone tried to digest the information they had been fed. She had crushed on Rowan on his first day in school, had dismissed it for a temporary thing. It went away after she started dating Chaol.

That was until they'd been paired up for a project and the crush came back in full force. At least she won't have to hide her feelings from her friends now.

Even if Aedion looked like he had swallowed nails. "Rowan isn't good—"

"I took care of that. He'll play nice." Lorcan leaned back in his seat with a lazy, proud smirk on his face.

Aelin's stomach sank at whatever he meant by that but she knew Lorcan, trusted him enough that she didn't ask him about it. She did however add: "He doesn't like me back though so I'd appreciate it if you could keep your teasing to a minimum around him."

"I think he does like you back," Dorian replied. "And I am never wrong."

"You are wrong now."

Aelin hoped with all she had he wasn't.

──────✧❅✦❅✧──────

Tags:

@thesirenwashere // @judexcardanxgreenbriar //@fangirltrash74 // @the-dark-swan // @queenofgreenbriar // @clockworkgraystairs // @julemmaes // @rowaelinforeverworld // @mymultiversee // @queen-of-glass // @strangely-constructed-soul // @mijaldraws // @http-itsrebecca // @aesthetics-11 // @lord-douglas-the-third // @flowersinvegas // @towhateverend17 // @aelinchocolatelover // @justabunchoffandoms // @cool-ish-nerd // @faerie-queen-fireheart // @sad-book-whore // @didsomeonesayviolin // @atozfantazyxx // @hizqueen4life

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged. (I absolutely love having a long taglist, good for the ego, y'know?)

[scribomaniac]

One Step Ahead Ch 9: Family Matters

“Now it’s your turn to listen,” Aelin told him, her eyes burning into him like blue fire. “Come with me and I’ll explain everything.”

Rowan stared down at the ring in his hands, trying to determine if she was telling the truth. He couldn’t detect a trace of a lie in her voice, but she’d be good at lying. She’d have to be, in their line of work. The ring felt cool against his skin. Clean too. If there was a poison on this ring, it had rubbed off long ago or was near untraceable.

None of this made sense to him. His mistress was many things, but kin killer? And those tears she had cried for him earlier . . . those had seemed so real to him. Still believing Arobynn of someone similar to be behind all of this, Rowan resolved himself to see it through. If He could gain more information then he’d figure out who was responsible. And if he could do that, if he could reunite Maeve with her long lost great niece—the only family she had left—then he’d be Maeve’s champion, a hero.

Something inside Rowan’s chest fluttered at the prospect. A hero, just like she always thought him to be . . .

“Okay,” Rowan nodded, his green eyes trained onto her blue. “I’ll hear you out.”

Tension unfolded from Aelin’s shoulders like ice breaking off a glacier. Flexing her hands, breaking them out of their curled form, the assassin nodded and said, “Let’s go.”

Silently, the two packed up their camp and returned to the car. Aelin drove her way through a dark and narrow path with only the towering trees of Oakwald to accompany them. After several minutes where not a word was spoken between them, the forest opened up and a great manor came into view. The manor was grand, to be sure, but time had taken its toll on the building. In some parts the roof was coming apart, showing holes into the interior, and in others the glass of the windows looked so unclean they were pitch black. All the foliage which must have at one point in time been beautiful and cared for had overgrown and begun to creep up the brick walls, swallowing the manor one leaf at a time.

“Where are we?” Rowan asked when Aelin turned off the car.

“Somewhere safe. Now come on. They’re waiting for us.”

The inside of the manor wasn’t much better off than the outside. The entry hall and rooms beside it were dark and cold. Cobwebs grew a plenty and Rowan knows he heard some critter moving down the hall. But as they walked further into the home, Aelin led him to a door outlined with a warm light.

Adarlan’s Assassin gave the door a series of knocks, a code signaling to those on the other side that they were in safe company. A double knock returned Aelin’s and then it opened to reveal a young man with dark hair and piercing brown eyes and a scar tearing through his eyebrows and running down his cheek. His eyes flashed from Aelin to Rowan. His distrust of the Cleaner was obviously apparent in the way his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed, but he still moved aside to let them in.

Inside the room was much better kept than the rest of the house. There was a fire burning in a grand fireplace, an expensive, but worn, rug on the floor, and several comfortable looking couches and chairs. Most of which were already filled. Carefully taking in his surroundings, Rowan was surprised to find, once again, Dorian Havilliard and Chaol Westfall. He blinked at them slowly, trying—and failing—to think of some way to link the two of them and Aelin together.

Unsurprisingly, Aedion was lounging across the room. He was so slumped down in his seat it almost looked like he could slide off at any moment. Rowan wouldn’t be fooled though. If necessary, Aedion was ready to spring into action the microsecond he was needed. The white haired man wondered where the rest of his gang were. Since he didn’t see their bikes on his way in, he assumed they were guarding the manor and keeping watch for any unwanted visitors. Prowling in the dark like a pack of rabid wolves.

Next to the leader of The Bane sat the Faliq girl, which was curious. Her sharp eyes were trained on him, watching his every move. Remembering what she said earlier, about never missing her mark, he made himself a mental note not to keep his back towards her.

There were three other people in the room. The first was the young man who opened the door for them. He stood by the fire, behind a winged back chair which seated a frail old man. Rowan assumed this was the owner of the house.

And finally, sitting across from the fire on a sad looking fainting couch, a pillow clutched in his arms, was Athril Dearst.

Shooting Aelin a look, one that said—what the actual fuck are you playing at—Rowan found himself standing so close to her that he could easily spot the ring of gold within the blue of her eyes.

Staring right back at him, her determined gaze answered him, What I have to.

Explain, Rowan demanded, not looking away even when he heard Athril stand.  

Sighing, Aelin nodded. She looked over Rowan’s shoulder at Athril and said, “You start—you’re the one that set this all into motion, after all.”

Athril nodded. He looked at Rowan, then away, and then, as if he’d found a bit of courage deep within himself, locked eyes with Rowan and began, “Right. Well, I’m not sure if you know this, but it’s an election year.”

He waited for the Cleaner to nod.

“The polls weren’t looking great. There wasn’t a lot of public interest and when that happens it could go either way come Election Day. My campaign manager and I thought it’d be best to find something, a cause, to bring the people together and catch their attention.” The Wendlyn District Attorney cleared his throat, “So I decided to look into cold cases, and there was one that caught my eye. It was out of my district, but Terrasen’s D.A., welcomed me in with open arms and agreed we could share in any of the spoils closing such a notorious case would bring.”

Rowan caught Aelin’s eye and she nodded, confirming he meant her family’s murder.

“So I put pressure on the police to reopen the case, which led to,” Athril trailed off, looking towards Westfall to pick up the story.

Sitting up straighter, Chaol looked at the room with wide eyes. He looked alarmed by the prospect that he’d have to address the room. “I found it,” he got out, “the ring.  It,” he looked towards Faliq who nodded encouragingly to him which was . . . interesting, “had fallen into a vent beside his night table.” Westfall shrugged, “I guess no one looked there the first time around.”

Aelin snorted, “More like they were bribed not to.”

Rowan nodded at that, though who had bribed the police all those years ago, he was still unsure.

“That’s how we got involved,” Havilliard spoke up, clapping his friend on his shoulder. Westfall sighed quietly before relaxing back into his seat. “Chaol brought the ring to light and the news traveled up the channels and into my ears so we,” the prince of Rifthold’s lips split into a sly grin, one that hinted at something deeper, something hidden beneath the surface, “began exchanging conspiracy theories.”

“We thought for sure the ring belonged to Adarlan’s Assassin,” Westfall sat up again, his confidence growing, it seemed, now that he’d had time to think about what he wanted to say. “We thought this was the missing piece needed to finally pin it on her, but we quickly realized we were wrong.”

“How?” Rowan asked. The only way he’d been able to rule out the possibility of it being Aelin was because he knew her age and that the time line couldn’t match up. For anyone who didn’t know the famed assassin wasn’t even twenty, it’d be a natural assumption to make.

Both Westfall and Havilliard turned to look at Faliq. The young woman shrugged, “They were talking about it in my bakery, so I set them straight.”

A beat passed, and when Rowan kept his green eyes locked on the dark haired woman, she continued, “I’d already met Aelin at that point—knew her as Celeana, I mean—and knew she couldn’t have made that kill.”

Rowan nodded, though he had a few more questions, like why would Westfall and Havilliard take a random baker for her word, and how did she prove it to them? He still didn’t know how the sons of two powerful men had become friends with such a notorious member of the Underworld, but he had a feeling that information would come to light soon enough.

“Once Nesryn told me about the ring, I knew I had to act fast,” Aelin told him, her hip cocked and her hand resting on it as if she hadn’t a care in the world. “If I knew, that mean Maeve knew too, or would know soon enough.”

Following her train of thought, the white haired male said, “So you stole it before she could.” Aelin gave him a wide smile, one that showed off an awful lot of teeth and was surely meant to set him on edge. However, all it did for him was send a spark down his spine.

Still, this didn’t explain everything. Cocking his head at her, he silently asked, And this group? How’d this all happen?

For once, Aelin answered him aloud, “After our meetup in the bakery, I got Dorian, Chaol, and Nesryn to convince Athril to come here.”

Which was smart, considering Maeve would more than likely take him out to ensure no one kept sniffing around the Galathynius case. But no, Rowan reminded himself. Maeve wasn’t responsible for this. Nothing anyone had said had properly condemned his mistress. He needed more information if he was going to convince Aelin properly.

“I have to say,” Athril sat back down on the couch, grabbing for the pillow, “having these two,” he jerked his thumb at Havilliard and Westfall, “pick me up was a wise choice. I thought she,” know his thumb was aimed at Faliq, “had come to carve out my lungs.”

“That’s just her face,” Westfall said quietly, earning him a pillow to the face courtesy of Faliq. “What? It’s true!”

“Anyway,” Aelin said pointedly, giving Westfall a very tired look, “once we had the ring, we sent it out for testing.”

Rowan hummed, pulling the ring out from his pocket. “You said it was poisoned.”

“The interior, to be specific,” Athril pulled a briefcase out from underneath the couch and took some papers out. “There were only trace amounts left by the time we found it. The rest was absorbed into Orlon’s skin. Based on what Dr. Towers said, it wouldn’t have taken long for the poison to do its job.”

���What’s the name of the poison?” Rowan looked back over to Aelin, “If we know the name and the ingredients that could help us find the real killer.”

Aelin raised a delicate brow. Really buzzard? Her expression asked. Still trying to defend your mistress?

“It doesn’t have a name yet,” Westfall, of all people, told him. Rowan would have thought his participation in this conversation had ended, and yet he continued on as if he himself was the expert on the poison. “It’s an unknown. We have a breakdown of the ingredients though,” he nodded at Athril, who stood and handed Rowan several pages worth of data. “They’re very rare, which is good, and should help us narrow down the suspects. In fact, it already has.”

“Have you ever been to Valg, Rowan?” Aelin asked, moving over to stand before the fire and warm her hands. The hairs on the back of Rowan’s neck stood up, knowing that Aelin ever acted nonchalantly like this when she was at her most dangerous, when she had something up her sleeve.

Rowan hadn’t ever been to Valg. There was no reason for him to, considering what a crap hole the place was. It was full of empty buildings, the hollowed out husks of addict-addled bodies, and rusted over pipes. There was only one reason people ever went there and that was to die.

With her back to him, Aelin continued, “It’s a horrible place, run by three brothers who care nothing for it besides whatever money the junkyards and desperate bring in. But it does have an interesting collection of foliage that are renowned for their toxicity.” Turning around to face him again, Aelin’s face looked like it had been cut from marble, betraying none of the emotions Rowan was sure were raging through her.

“Why are you telling me this?” It was nothing new to the Cleaner. The King brothers, Orcus, Mantyx, and Erawan, were well known by the world for their brutal business practices and known in the Underworld for their vast supply of drugs and poisons.

“I’m telling you this,” Aelin said slowly, taking in a deep, slow breath, “because all of the ingredients in the poison originate from Valg and because of Maeve’s connection with it.”

Rowan frowned, trying to connect the dots and finding he couldn’t. There was no connection between Maeve and Valg. Silently, Rowan told her so.

Shoulders dropping back, Aelin stood up straighter. Rowan felt as if a stone dropped into his stomach, knowing he was about to be proven wrong.

“Maeve was married before, did you know?” Aelin cocked her head to the side, almost inquisitively. “It was only for a year or so, but it was legal. Apparently it ended in fire and brimstone, but I’m sure Maeve wouldn’t call it a complete loss.”

Athril handed him another piece of paper. It was a copy of a marriage certificate.

“Look at the names, Rowan.”

He did, and what he found there took the air right out of his lungs. Orcus King. Maeve had been married to Orcus King. Orcus King, the mastermind behind all the poisons produced in Valg. If Maeve had been married to him, had gained knowledge of his formulas and ingredients, then it’d be easy for her to . . .

“I need some air,” Rowan shoved the papers back into Athril’s hands and stormed out of the manor. There was a chill to the night, a welcomed sensation to combat his burning skin. He was going to be sick. Maeve was vicious, he always knew that—she didn’t become a mob boss by being nice, he knew that—but this was her family. Family was everything and she just—if Aelin was right then she just threw that all away.

Rowan closed his eyes and found a pair of chestnut eyes staring back at him. The wind carried the sound of a laugh, warm and infectious and familiar. Bile rose up Rowan’s throat. He’d give anything to just—and Maeve had thrown—he was going to be sick.

“Rowan,” Aelin’s voice broke through Rowan’s thoughts, through the laughter and the bile, and brought him back down into himself.

Dragging a hand down his face, Rowan turned to look at Adarlan’s Assassin. Standing before him now, Aelin looked so small and vulnerable, but she was looking at him as if he looked the same.

Opening her mouth, Aelin was about to say something else but Rowan cut her off, “I’m in. Whatever you need me to do.” He swallowed down the last remnants of the bile and resolved himself, “I’m in.”  

[abraxos-is-toothless]

Undercover- Throne of Glass AU (3)

Here we have a new chap! Got a little bit dark in this one? I mean not extremely but there are subtle hints to things.

Warnings: Swearing, violence and there is torture in this- it’s not descriptive but fair warning. I’ll update these as the story progresses.

Undercover Masterlist.

Full Masterlist.

—————

The house was wrecked. A total shit show. Pictures had fallen from the walls, broken glass vases were scattered across the floor and when Aelin stepped into the hall fully, there was blood spattered in various places. There was a crunch under her boot as she made for the stairs and looking down she was standing on a photo. It was the day Chaol and Yrene had told everyone about the baby; Chaol had taken it, everyone surrounding his wife with faces full of joy and happy tears. The rage that she had managed to tamper came back to the surface as she shouted, “Chaol!”

“Up here boss!”

Before she went to them she addressed the rest of the group, “Lochan, Salvaterre, Blackbeak and the Twins, I want the house checked from top to bottom. Nothing goes overlooked. The rest of you are with me.”

She was taking the stairs two at a time before anyone even had a chance to respond, but they would do what was asked of them. Walking through the door to the master bedroom, part of Aelin wanted to cry at the sight, but she held herself in check. Yrene was sat in bed, leaning against the headboard, small cuts on her cheek and her eye was beginning to bruise but what got to Aelin the most was the shaking of the other woman’s hands, which were covered in blood.  When Yrene saw them in the doorway she gave a small smile, trying to show that she was alright. “Hey, the cavalry's here.”

“Are you both alright?” It was Dorian who asked but Aelin didn’t berate him for overstepping, his best friend’s home was attacked and she was surprised he hadn’t lost his shit yet.

Chaol answered while gently cleaning off his wife’s hands. “We’re okay, Dor,” the man being addressed let out a relieved sigh at the words, “Yrene is just a little shaken up.”

Aelin knew why, gods how she knew. The first time you ever end a life, it takes something from you that you can never get back, leaving a dark spot on your soul that haunts you from then onwards. But if she could get her to talk about it, help Yrene justify why she had to do it, why it was the only choice she could make in that moment, then it might take away some of the guilt. “Chaol said you took two of them out.” She watched as the woman breathed in and out a few times before she made eye contact.

“I’m sorry boss. You always want them alive when things like this happen but they had me cornered and they said things about the baby. They were, they were goi-” She stopped talking as she let out a choked sob, her hands moving to hold her swollen stomach where that little miracle was growing. Before Aelin could say that it didn’t matter, that she was proud, that Yrene did what she had to protect her family, Gavriel’s low voice sounded from behind her.

“If you’d like, I can check everything with the baby is alright, Mrs. Westfall. I’m very well trained and I assume you have things I can use. Unless of course, you’d like to take her to a hospital, Ma’am?” Aelin couldn’t take her to a hospital this time, not with the cuts and bruises, it would start raising questions and she didn’t have the time to threaten a bunch of prying doctors.

“Thank you, we’ll get her back to the house first, we have our own little infirmary. Get your stuff packed, you’ll be at the big house until further notice. Now, where are the three that were left alive?”

If people wanted to start going after her family, then they were going to have to deal with the consequences.

oOoOo

Sometimes, people always told the story where there were two wolves living inside of you, fighting with each other. Rowan had never really believed in the bullshit until now, watching Sardothien circle three men menacingly, knife in one hand and a gun in the other, as if she was debating which she’d prefer. The agent in him was screaming at him to stop this, arrest her now, but the other was laughing like the devil, telling him that they deserved it for going after a pregnant woman, a child. But all he could do was watch and listen as the smile on her face grew into something quite sickening.

“You see boys, you clearly know who I am as you’re in the home of two of my people, but clearly you underestimated what you were up against.” Her voice was cold and dead as if she didn’t have any emotions, as if she wasn’t even a fucking person.  The only people in the room were Sardothien, Lochan, Blackbeak, Havilliard and himself. The house had been checked and there was nothing for them to find. Blackbeak had a manic grin on her face, same as her boss, like she couldn’t wait to get her hands on the pieces of shit, Havilliard was quietly seething on Rowan’s left side but as for Lochan, there was a mask she’d put on since they left and hour earlier and it hadn’t broken once. He’d never outwardly show it, but secretly part of him was terrified of them all.

“All you have to do is tell me everything I want to know and I’ll let you live.” Rowan assessed the three men tied to the chair before him, looking for any tells about them, when the one on the right caught his eye. Built the same as he and Lorcan, you’d think the man wouldn’t have been taken captive so easily. He was the only one glaring daggers into Celaena’s skull with a slight curl to his lip, and his fingers were twitching as though he was desperate to feel a weapon in his hands. Looks like someone held a grudge, which meant he had more information than the other two would and if there was a bigger mind behind all of this, then he was probably the most trusted. Praying that he wouldn’t put his foot in it this early into the mission, he risked speaking up.

“That one boss,” he nodded his head in the direction of his chosen target, “he doesn’t seem to like you very much whereas the other two look like they’re about to piss in their pants from you just being in the room. I wager he’s got something of interest for you.” The long feared Assassin Queen eyed him slowly, a fire in her turquoise eyes that he’d never seen before, and then turned to look at the raging man in the chair. A condescending laugh left her and recognition flashed across her face.

“I know you. You’re one of Arobynn’s little bitches. So that answers my question as to who sent you. But why you in particular? You always were useless and disobedient, I mean, how many times were disciplined for still touching even after you were told no?” Blackbeak went deathly still at the insinuation, which clearly meant there was quite a dark back-story there. Rowan knew the name, Arobynn Hamel was the man Celaena worked for before she managed to become the most feared woman in London, the man who had ‘owned’ her, or so he liked to believe. If it really was him behind this then it could escalate into a gang war quite quickly, hindering Rowan and the Cadre’s mission severely. It wouldn’t be awful he supposed, killing two birds with one stone and all that. He came back to himself when the man spat on Sardothien’s boots.

“And you were always the favourite, you ungrateful little wench. He gave you everything and you turned your back on him in an instant. Could have reigned over London side by side, but you couldn’t see what was right in front of you.” Rowan watched as she tensed up but only for a second before her body eased, that sadistic smile never left her face though. There was nothing in their files at the agency about such a relationship between the two, but he knew Arobynn liked to take in kids off the streets from a young age, grooming them to be his loyal little followers. Celaena was the same background as all of his men, so what made her so special?

Celaena moved around the chair to stand behind the three of them, the two who hadn’t spoken had closed their eyes as the trembling of their bodies increased. She tucked the gun back into the holster on her thigh before bringing the knife up to the man’s cheek, “I don’t like to ask things more than once, so, you’re going to tell me what he wants right now and save yourself a world of pain.”

“Go to hell, whore.”

“Your choice, I suppose.”

And so she dug that blade into the skin of his cheek and dragged downwards; Rowan watched as he screamed and jerked in the chair, trying to pull himself away from the blade. When all he did was sit there panting when she asked for information again, her blade moved just to the side of the previous cut and dragged down once more. It felt as though he stood in that room for hours, watching her maim a man’s face but could have only been thirty minutes. With four slices through each cheek, two through one eyebrow, Celaena was now prepared to slice part of an ear off when one of the others started shouting. “Stop, stop, stop! I’ll tell you anything just please, I can’t take the screams anymore.” Even as the words were said, she still sliced off the top of the other one’s ear.

The man that had tried to stop everything started outwardly sobbing and spewing out information as if he had no control. “He wants you back you fucking bitch! Arobynn wants you to come home, so he’s going to do everything to make you, but if you come back willingly everyone one you care about won’t have to die.”

Celaena was feral now, slicing the man in front of her one more time before moving back into their lines of vision. “Who disarmed the alarms?”

They each exchanged a look but said, at least, until she made to go back in again with the knife. “Cortland! Cortland took them out but we don’t know where he is, no one ever knows where he is except the boss.”

“Anything else you can tell me, boys?” They shook their heads desperately, pulling on their restraints.

“Very well, we’re done here. Blackbeack,” the white haired woman stepped forward, “do what you want with them, but be discreet.”

“It would be my pleasure, boss.” A knife was already twirling in her fingers of one hand an-

Oh god, those were fucking pliers in the other. Rowan didn’t even see where she had gotten them from.

All of them started protesting, squirming in their chairs, yelling every profanity they knew. “You lying bastard! You said that if we told you then we could go free.”

Lochan and Havilliard were already out of the door, and Rowan was holding it open, gritting his teeth at the fact he was about to allow three murders to go without doing anything. Celaena didn’t even look back as she sauntered to the door, “You’re all rapists, abusers and traffickers and you really thought I’d let you live. I hope the devil has fun with your sorry carcasses.”

When they were back out in the hall, both of the Westfalls were coming down the stairs and Celaena ordered Gav, Lorcan, Aedion and Lochan to escort them back to the house, just as the screams started from behind them. He and his men flinched at the brutality but there was no reaction from any of the others.

Rowan wanted to hate what was happening in that room, but knowing who those men were and what they had done, he found that he didn’t care.

Like he said, two wolves and one body, but right now his bad wolf was winning.

—————

Did we enjoy? Did we dislike? Honestly I love reading what you guys have to say so keep it coming:) If you want to be added/removed from the tags then just give me a shout! Also if there’s someone I’ve forgotten in the tags then thats my dumbass fault.

Tags: @bryaxisthefaceofnightmares @fancyclodpaintercookie @empress-sei @acourtofterrasenandvelaris @tswaney17 @queen-of-glass @thesirenwashere @awkward-avocado-s @http-itsrebecca @eatmysandwiches @poisonous00 @flowersinvegas @julemmaes @mu-si-ca-l @spyofthenightcourt @sis-it-dont-add-up  @mad-madeline-ace​ @df3ndyr @b00kworm

[brandyovereager]

The Phoenix Effect - pt. 6

Chapter SIX??? I’ve actually managed to write SIX chapters???

On ao3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22195906/chapters/59584855

Summary: Rowan is in Rifthold with Dorian when a strange phenomenon sweeps the land. Those once dead are popping up alive. Everyday, more and more are Reborn. One day Rowan encounters a Reborn young man who refuses to give his name, only asking to know the whereabouts of Celaena Sardothien.

-

The aftermath was nothing short of fucking chaos.

Rowan, Aedion, and Chaol all knew everything about Sam Cortland—as well as everything about the woman he was searching for—yet the assassin boy knew nothing of them. Naturally, this led to an uncomfortable tension, as well as some defensiveness in Sam.

Sam, gods, this was Sam Cortland.

Rowan had heard many stories about the young man—most of which were told to him by his mate in close confidence, spoken with a hint of pain in her voice. Aelin’s past was riddled with suffering—suffering that had shaped her into the broken young woman he met in Wendlyn—and Sam Cortland’s death was a large part of that.

If Rowan could, he would take on all of that suffering. He tried his best to help her heal, and his strong mate constantly surprised him with her resilience. Aelin has conquered many demons, both physical and mental, but Sam’s loss was still an open sore. She had never found the closure she needed to truly heal.

A part of him hoped that maybe the Rebirth of the young man would give her that closure. Maybe seeing him alive and well—getting to say the things she never got to say—would finally bring her peace.

At the very least, Rowan hoped Sam’s presence wouldn’t cause her more pain.

Gods, Aelin should be here. She should be the one to answer Sam’s questions. This young man certainly deserved the full story, but it was not Rowan’s story to tell. He wondered if he had much choice given the circumstances.

Looking around the group of them, it became clear to Rowan that of the three who knew the truth—he, Aedion, and Chaol—he was the one who should explain things to Sam. He would tell the young man what he needed to know right now, but the rest he would leave for his mate.

The thundering in his mind quieted and Rowan could finally register the flurry of questions and commotion happening around him.

“You,” the angry face of Sam Cortland turned towards Rowan, “you’ve been helping me, but you knew, didn’t you? You knew about Arobynn, now you say you know about Celaena, who in the hell are you really?” Well, this was off to a good start.

“I am Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius, mate and husband to the Queen of Terrasen, just as I told you before—“ Sam cut Rowan off.

“Don’t just tell me the same lie, I want the truth.” Sam’s voice was sharp and forceful.

“I never lied, but there is more to my story than just that. If you would let me, we can all sit down and I will tell you what you need.” Rowan tried his best to speak calmly, to show he was willing to comply with whatever the young man wished.

“Fine, but before you start spewing your tragic backstory I want to know one thing.”

“Of course.” Rowan had no problem with that.

“Is Celaena safe?”

“Yes, I can assure you she is happy and well.”

Dorian Havilliard chose that moment to exit his quarters and promptly froze as he took in the group gathered by his door.

“Well, this seems like much more fun than the meeting I’m supposed to go to. Does anybody want to let me in on what’s been taking place in front of my own rooms?” The young king’s tone was smug, but there was genuine confusion and concern woven into the words.

“Honestly, Your Majesty,” Aedion answered casually, “a bomb got dropped and this is the shitstorm that followed.” Dorian looked very curious now.

“Aftermaths are best dealt with in stuffy, formal meeting rooms. Come with me, and then I want to be filled in on what exactly you all let drop.”

After a quick but tense walk to one of Dorian’s meeting rooms and an introduction between Sam and Dorian—which resulted in raised brows for the young king—all eyes turned to Rowan in a silent cue for him to start explaining.

“From what you told me during our search today, I gather you learned Celaena Sardothien was captured and sentenced to work in the mines of Endovier, yes?” Sam nodded in confirmation. “Then something happened when you were in the Assassin’s Keep that made you ask to speak to King Dorian here, what was that?”

“I thought you were going to answer my questions now?” Sam was visibly irritated and Rowan doubted his patience would last much longer.

“Yes, but to do so I need to know how much you’ve already learned today.” What exactly did the boy find in the Assassin’s Keep.

“I found another one of Arobynn’s assassins—Tern—when I was in the Keep. I asked him how Celaena ended up in Endovier, and what happened to Arobynn. He told me Arobynn was killed in his sleep two years ago, and that he had arranged for Celaena’s capture. I was ready to slit his throat after that, but then he told me the King of Adarlan removed her from Endovier and brought her to Rifthold to do his dirty work. I wanted to see the King to find out what he had done with her.” He had found nothing about Aelin. Rowan had expected as much from how Sam had been acting, but he needed to confirm.

“I see. Well, first I can confirm that what Tern said is correct, he just left out the rest of story—conveniently. Did Celaena ever tell you about her past, before Arobynn took her in?”

“No, she never spoke about that. I know she was young, and I’m pretty sure the story was painful, but that’s just an assumption.” Rowan nodded in understanding.

“She’s from Terrasen. Her family was killed in their home when she was eight, and she was escaping the same fate when Arobynn found her. The rest of her story is something she deserves to tell you herself.” Aelin’s identity was hers to share with Sam, hopefully what he told the young man would be enough for now.

“Where can I find her? Is she in the castle?”

“She is no longer employed by the King of Adarlan. She returned to her home country two years ago.” Sam deflated slightly. “Aedion and I will soon be traveling back to Terrasen, and you may join us on the journey if you wish. I’m sure she would be happy to see you when we arrive, she has much to tell you.” That was quite the understatement.

Sam didn’t take long to mull it over.

“Very well, I will travel with you to Terrasen. When do we leave?” Rowan didn’t bother checking with Aedion before he responded.

“We depart tomorrow morning, I am ready to return to my mate.”

————

Somewhere in the forrest along the border of Terrasen and Adarlan, two more reborns emerge.

The world is fresh and tangible after what felt like years of fussy dreams. The reborn woman slowly starts to walk, taking in the feeling of her feet against the forrest floor. She is not quite sure where she is, or when she is. The last memory she has is of falling asleep beside her husband.

She died, or at least, she thought she had. She was dead, she should still be, but somehow the wind on her face is real. The trees in front of her are real. When her husband steps forward and grabs her hand, it feels like they touch in a way they haven’t truly touched in years.

This is an impossible occurrence. Some might call it a miracle, but a disruption of life’s natural order is no blessing. This was wrong, and could not have occurred for any good reason. Someone had played with a higher power that they did not understand.

The woman did not know exactly where she was, but she knew where she needed to go. There was someone they needed to find, and—hopefully—she was in Orynth.

Evalin and Rhoe Galathynius set off to find their daughter.

@rowaelinforeverworld @flowersinvegas @aelin-queen-of-terrasen @camixd93 @lord-douglas-the-third @montse121296 @dank-queen7 @slytheringalathynius @rhyswhitethorn @jesstargaryenqueen

[dawninlatin]

Queen of Peace, chapter 7

A Manorian High School AU

Masterlist

Words: 2431

Summary: Manon Blackbeak is flawless, untouchable. From the outside at least. Her grandmother pushes her to achieve greatness, and she doesn’t let anyone get too close in fear of being hurt. How can anyone love her when not even her parents could?

Dorian Havilliard has always felt safe and confident around his friends. He might not have the greatest of families, but with Aelin and Chaol by his side, nothing can go wrong. That is until he tries keeping his greatest secret from them.

What will happen when Dorian and Manon gets to know one another? Can two lost souls find their way back together?

Would you leave me

If I told you what I have done?

And would you leave me

If I told you what I’ve become?

-Florence + The Machine, No Light, No Light

«How’s school at the moment? Do you have a lot of work?»

Manon looked up from where she was chopping vegetables to find Asterin leaning against the counter, a curious look on her face. It was Friday night, and since her cousin had decided to stay home for once, they were currently in the kitchen, making dinner together.

«It’s okay, the only major assignment I have right now is a book project in English,» Manon responded, said book lying open on her bed, waiting for her to continue with it.

Asterin only nodded, turning back towards the stove. It had been like this the entire evening, the air full off awkward silence and unsaid words. Manon wasn’t entirely sure what had happened for it to be like this, who’s fault it was, but one thing she knew: She couldn’t take it anymore, not even for a minute. She had to say something to break the heavy tension.

«How’s it going with you and Hunter?» That certainly caught Asterin’s attention, considering they hadn’t spoken of her boyfriend since their argument a few weeks back. Manon didn’t want to bring it up again now, either, but there was a big elephant in the room, and its name was Hunter.

A blush spread over Asterin’s cheeks, and Manon wanted to throw up at the sweet, lovestruck look on her cousin’s face. «It’s all great,» Asterin said, smiling dreamily, «I really like him.»

Manon twisted back to her vegetables so that Asterin wouldn’t see how hard she rolled her eyes. She regretted asking.

Her cousin didn’t seem to take the hint though, because she kept going, «I would have gone to his place tonight as well, but he’s visiting his parents this weekend.» Right, Manon thought. Hunter was in college. He was only a freshman, only a few months older than Asterin, but still, he had a car, had his own apartment, was an adult. And their grandmother, if she found out-

«You haven’t told her, have you?» Asterin suddenly asked, as if knowing where Manon’s mind had wandered when she’d gone quiet. She really didn’t want to have this conversation.

She sighed, putting down the knife she was holding. «No, I haven’t told her, and I’m not going to either. Just-,» Manon didn’t know what to say, had never been good with words, had always preferred expressing herself physically, «-just be careful, okay?»

«I know, and thank you, for not saying anything I mean.» Manon smiled at her cousin, the heavy tension between them seemingly gone.

They continued their cooking in silence, but this time, it was the relaxed, calm quiet that came when you were so comfortable with being around someone that you didn’t need to talk. Manon relished the feeling, at least until Asterin opened her mouth and spoke once more, «You have some secret boyfriend too? You’ve been in a disturbingly good mood lately?»

Manon only emitted a choking sound, becoming very interested in the floor as Asterin wiggled her eyebrows at her. She could feel her face go beet red, could feel her heart being thundering, yet she didn’t answer, and she didn’t have to either, as water suddenly began to boil and Asterin had to shift her attention elsewhere.

Thank god, Manon thought, silently cursing her cousin for even daring to ask, silently cursing herself for reacting in such a way, and silently cursing a certain blue-eyed, smirky bastard for being the first person she had thought of.

-

Although it was late September, the warm summer they’d had lingered long enough for Dorian and Aelin to spend their shared free period outside, sitting by the football field.

Chaol was busy having P.E, his class running laps on the track around the field. Aelin delighted in watching them, in giving Chaol a mocking wave whenever he passed them, accompanied by a look that said, Look at me, sitting here in the sun, not running laps.

Dorian enjoyed himself too, but not because of his best friends misery. He had always loved this time of the year. When the trees turned red and yellow and brown, as if they were aflame, but it was still warm enough to bask in the sun with a good book.

Which was what Dorian was doing at this very moment. He was about halfway through Harry Potter and The Sorcerer’s Stone, and he was enjoying every second of it, especially since he would get to discuss it with Manon later that very day. Dorian desperately hoped she would like it…

Too lost in his own thoughts, Dorian didn’t realize Aelin had asked him something until she waved her hand in front of his face. «Hellooo, earth to Dorian.»

He shook his head, closing the book and carefully laying it in his backpack. «Sorry, I got a little…lost,» he mumbled, Aelin rolling her eyes. «What was your question?»

«I was just wondering what you’ve been up to lately. I know I’ve been spending less time with you and Chaol because of Rowan and all, but you seem different today, happier, more relaxed, than you’ve been for a long time.»

This was it, Dorian thought, taking a moment to ponder over what she’d said. He had to say it now. So he took a shuddering breath, before blurting out, «I’m bi.»

Dorian watched as Aelin’s eyes went wide, as her face broke out in one of the biggest grins he had ever seen, and he couldn’t help it when he let out a relieved exhale.

«Oh! That’s awesome!» Aelin exclaimed, throwing her arms around him with such force he lost his balance and had to brace an arm behind him to keep them upright. Still holding him in a bone-crushing embrace, Aelin asked, «Does Chaol know?»

Choking out something that sounded like I can’t breathe, Dorian wormed out of Aelin’s grasp, smoothing his hair that looked slightly more disheveled than it had moments ago. «Yeah, I told him last Friday,» he answered, looking towards the field, where his friend had stopped running, instead looking up at them. As if knowing exactly what was going on, Chaol gave Dorian a proud smile that made him feel all warm inside.

Dorian shifted his attention back to Aelin, cringing slightly, before saying, «Sorry I didn’t tell you first-»

«None of that,» Aelin interrupted, clicking her tongue. «Even if I am slightly offended you didn’t tell me first, I’m just glad you trust me enough to tell me at all. I’m happy for you Dorian!»

This time it was his turn to pull her into a warm embrace, although less crushing this time. «Thank you,» Dorian murmured into her hair. Aelin tightened her hold in answer.

After a while, they both pulled back, smiling softly at one another. Dorian hadn’t felt this light ever, he thought. It had been a victory, telling Chaol, but both of them knew now, he didn’t have to hide anymore. He had told both of his friends that he was bi, and yet nothing had changed. Everything was fine. No, everything was great.

Looking at Aelin, he saw that her signature smirk had appeared, her eyes glowing with mischief and playfulness. Bracing himself for what was to come next, Dorian raised an eyebrow in question.

That terrifying smirk only grew wider as Aelin said, «Does this mean we can talk about hot boys together?»

Dorian couldn’t do anything but laugh at her question, although he was sure anything could make him laugh right now. He felt so light he wondered how gravity was able to keep him grounded.

«I thought you had a boyfriend.» Aelin rolled her eyes.

«Yes, but me being on a strict Rowan Whitethorn-diet doesn’t mean I can’t look at other snacks.»

«You’re gross.»

-

«Just admit it, you love it,» Dorian teased, and had they not been sitting in a library filled with other people, Manon would have punched him. Hard.

It was Wednesday, and they were using their English lesson to compare notes. They had agreed to set this lesson as their halfway point, and Manon had read half of the book, and then some.

She wanted to hate it, she really did, but she couldn’t. Since that Saturday, Manon had found herself unable to stop reading. Her busy schedule had made it so that she only could sneak in a few pages here and there, but she read, everywhere. She read while waiting for the rest of her team to show up to dance practice, she read late at night, until she was so tired she couldn’t keep her eyes open, she had even taken up the habit of eating her lunch outside, alone, so that she could read a chapter or two in peace.

Tired as she might be, it was worth it. The story was thrilling, funny - and with no better word for it - magic. Had the circumstances been different, Manon thought, she probably would have been as much of a nerd as Dorian.

But even if she liked the book, there was no way she would admit it. Sighing, she replied, «I don’t. It’s a stupid, silly children’s story.» Manon had to bite her lip to keep her mask of boredom intact.

«Then why have you read three chapters past where we agreed?» Dorian asked, lifting an eyebrow while pointing his chin towards her book, lying in front of her with a bookmark marking a page way past the middle of the book. He was buying none of it, Manon realized, yet she couldn’t admit defeat. Never.

Manon had to look away to stop herself from smiling, to stop herself from rambling on and on about how good this book was. «Because I will be very busy the following days. Dorian only gave her a look that said Sure you will.

Dorian was about to open his mouth and say something else, but Manon beat him to it. «We should just get it over with, so you can go have your lunch-date with the librarian.» As soon as the words left her mouth, Manon realized what mistake she’d just made. Dorian looked over to the 90-year old librarian who looked like she had been in this dusty, old building since the dawn of time, and as if she’d heard what Manon said - which there was no way she could have done, Manon was fairly sure the woman was actually deaf - she winked at him. Holy shit.

The boy in front of her only gaped, before he started laughing. Dorian laughed so hard his face turned red, laughed so hard he almost fell off his chair, earning a reprimanding look from a woman sitting a few tables down. Manon scolded herself for making that joke, for showing any other emotion apart from boredom and annoyance, for revealing that she might not be as uninterested as she let on.

Once Dorian had managed to collect himself, at least a little, he said, «I never thought I would witness the mighty Manon Blackbeak make a joke.» He grinned at her, his face still red from laughing, and damn her, Manon couldn’t help but grin back.

-

Dorian hated Wednesday nights. It was the one night a week where his entire family was home, which meant he had to endure eating dinner with his entire family as well.

All joy from earlier today, from coming out to Aelin and working with Manon, disappeared as he sat at the table, listening to his brother throw another tantrum, while simultaneously shutting out his fathers voice coming from the end of the table.

He hardly spoke during these dinners, content with just eating in silence and fleeing to the peace and quiet of his room as soon as he got the chance.

Today was not one of those dinners. Dorian felt as if he was boiling with rage inside as his father kept talking, never shutting up. Apparently, gay marriage was to be legalized in some country somewhere, and his father was not happy about it.

Trying his very best to ignore out his father’s words, to ignore all the discriminating, homophobic comments that deep, arrogant voice wouldn’t stop spewing out, Dorian forced another bite down. The food felt like glue in his mouth.

After speaking to Aelin today, he had actually contemplated coming out to his parents. He had felt brave enough to do it. All that bravery disappeared the moment his father said a sentence so offensive Dorian decided he never wanted to hear it again, not even in his own head.

He felt anger and rage churn inside him, his blood turning to ice. Dorian wanted to get up and scream at his father. He imagined himself yelling, «How can you say something like that when I’m sitting right here?» But he didn’t, he kept eating, kept pushing the tears back, kept silent, feeling heavier and heavier.

-

As Manon read the final words of Harry Potter and The Sorcerer’s Stone, she couldn’t help but feel a little gloomy. It was depressing enough that she was spending her Friday night alone, reading a children’s book, but she also only had a week left of her and Dorian’s English project. The deadline had even been postponed a week, yet she was sitting here, feeling sad that it would end soon. Why are you feeling sad about that stupid project? You don’t actually like him, do you? she heard a voice inside her say. She couldn’t decide if it was her own or her grandmother’s.

Manon hated herself for admitting it, but she did enjoy spending time with Dorian. She enjoyed how easy it was to talk to him, how he made her smile and laugh, how he teased, but never mocked or judged. Had she been anyone else, she might had wanted to be his friend afterwards.

But Manon Blackbeak didn’t have friends. Friends were nothing but a distraction, and she couldn’t risk anything getting in the way of her future.

You will only end up like your mother.

It was enough that she was seriously contemplating heading to the library before dance practice tomorrow, to pick up the rest of the Harry Potter series, she didn’t need to befriend Dorian Havilliard as well.

Besides, if she let her mask fall too much, he would take one look at the broken mess she really was and bolt.

A/N: Decided to make it a little longer this time, as a treat:))) (don't get used to it tho...)

As always, feel free to comment, critique, ask questions, whatever you want:)

Bye! Imma go play The Sims

Peace&Love<3 -Dawninlatin

[vaultofqueenorion]

It is time to introduce you all to my favorite series of all time by my favorite author of all time, that is the Throne of Glass series by Sarah J. Maas. 

This also means that the whole review will basically be one giant hype-train, even if I will keep spoilers to a minimum. 

So let’s take a deep dive into the story of Adarlan’s greatest assassin, Celaena Sardothien, the most sassy character that I have ever met, and one of the badass women in the series.

The Title

The title is dramatic, it’s got flair, and it also portrays something entirely terrible that had me actually getting chills when I started reading about the villain of the story. 

The castle is made completely of glass. That doesn’t seem particularly practical you say? Well you would be right, and Celaena would agree with you. It’s extravagant, just like the nobles of Adarlan who give no thought to the people that the King of Adarlan has oppressed for a while now. 

It’s also kind of the perfect metaphor for Celaena - extravagant and beautiful, but hiding a fragility, a fear that could bring it all crashing down. 

The Characters

See Celaena might be the Adarlan’s (and maybe even the world’s!) greatest assassin with blood on her teeth and a sharp tongue, but there are hints to her fear, to her utter self depreciation and escapism throughout the whole book.

She is, simply, a hero who doesn’t want to be one.

It’s quite aptly summed up in the picture above. She doesn’t believe that she’s fated for anything - not after having been through what she’s been through. 

But she puts on a mask and smiles through it all, ridiculing those around her and lavishing in the finer things in life. 

This was one of the things that made me connect so much with her (not the lashing out part, the hiding your true self part - the fear). Her past has left her so broken, so afraid of failure and of the world around her that she simply stopped trying to save it all. 

And yet.

Because as the above shows, she still does save people. She saves a puppy from being killed for being the ‘runt of the litter’, and she saves a man from falling to his death. She keeps saving those around her, keeps trying even after she says that she’s done.

Even though she has troubles surviving on her own as it is.

That’s also what’s so interesting about Celaena - she manages to be vibrant while hopeless, kind while self-preserving. She’s a full-blooded killer, but she doesn’t kill those who don’t deserve it. There are so many opposites within her, and they all serve to make her an incredibly fun character to follow. 

She’s also very flawed, and she’s got a horribly fiery temper that leaves her with thoughts such as the ones below.

See? That’s not the voice of a kind and soft spoken woman. That’s the voice of a fighter that has walked through hell and yet still manages to come out the other side. 

A Nehemia so aptly puts it:

Her spirit remains as it once was - she is scarred and she is hurt, but she kept her defiance going. She kept getting up after being knocked down.

I think that is one of the things that had me relating to her the most. All of those feelings, all of the despair and fear and pain and yet she still manages to get onto her feet one more time after she gets knocked down.

Celaena is a hero who had me getting back on my own two feet long after I finished her story. 

Nehemia is the second character that I want to talk about. The princess of Eyllwe, the land that the Kind of Adarlan has practically enslaved for their rebellion against his power, Nehemia Ytger is stuck in an enemy capital, walking around the torturer of her people at all times. And yet she still manages to keep her chin up, her spine erect.

She’s a powerful woman, the light of her people, and the dearest friend of Celaena. She’s fierce and Celaena has the idea that she’s fighting to free her people, even as she walks among her enemies, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. 

She’s also the one to bail Celaena out at many points, their friendship deepening with each horrifying secret that they uncover. She’s clever enough to keep her things relatively hidden, but there’s also a hint of sadness to her whenever she talks about her people. As if she knows that she cannot ever do enough.

Chaol is the captain of the Royal Guard. He’s cold, he’s calculating and he’s suspicious of Celaena and her intentions. That is, until you get to know him. He can seem stand-offish - imagine an old grumpy man with a golden heart. The thing is that this old man’s heart (he’s young in the book btw, so don’t take the metaphor too seriously) has been encased in ice and it takes him a while to thaw.

He does, however, appreciate hard work, and I have the sneaking suspicion that he’s proud of Celaena after a while as she goes from hollowed out husk to powerhouse again.

The above is not a particularly nice part of the book, but it does signify their relationship at first. Chaol sort of tolerates her, he doesn’t really praise her, but he comes to care for her. A lot.

And it was really really nice to have a hero that had to be retrained again, because that is the most realistic thing that I’ve seen in regards to a hero who has come back from a long time of inactivity.

Dorian Havilliard, the Crown Prince of Adarlan, is a softie. At least he seems like that - naive, doesn’t go against his fathers wishes, womanizer. The standard douchey no-good straight guy who has it all.

It’s shown in the dumb question below (which makes Celaena have the most amazing response later on the page, but go read the book to see that one!).

Because Endovier is the Death camp. It’s been made to kill and to be unescapable. And yet he asks her the unthinkable. Celaena, with her sass and smart assery, gives the perfect response and her escape plan was almost perfect. 

Dorian learns, slowly, to stand up to his father. He learns what it means to care for someone other than himself and his best friend Chaol, and he actually seems to maybe not despise it, but at least rein back on the courtly stuff. But boy oh boy there’s a lot of character development here, and the potential is amazing.

The King of Adarlan was terrifying. He’s a peripheral character, most of the time, but he’s very much prevalent in all of their minds. Sort of a dark presence that never moves, never blinks, he seems to watch their every movement. 

He’s cruel, he’s dark and we have no clue how much he knows. That lack of knowledge is terrifying and it was nice to have a hero that actually feared their adversary rather than felt like they could defeat them, because Celaena, Dorian, everyone feels powerless against him. 

The quote below from Celaena is one that I am especially fond of.

Cain is ... wow. Don’t even get me started. He’s a brute and he’s just plain cruel for fun. I didn’t like him because he was a bully, but he was never that prominent for me. He was a villain like any other. 

Elena, who is another pretty good but also a bit meh character for me, warns Celaena of this regarding Cain and whatever is going on.

Elena is not a character that I will go into. She’s sort of the friendly ghost that hangs back and swoops in once in a while, and she seems to want to help Celaena, but you have to take a look at her for yourselves.

The Plot

Ever wanted to read a murder mystery slash assassing tournament slash love and friendship story that takes place in a fantasy world that once held magic but is now dried out? Then this is the one for you.

That is a huge simplification, of course, because reality is so much better. I was in suspense until the end - not about who was the evil one, but rather what is going on. There’s a whole level of suspense going on in figuring out what in the world is happening alongside Celaena, who needs to discover everything for herself.

And gosh. The whole retraining programme in which Celaena finally gets to eat like the noble she feels like, and the way she has her sassy spars with Chaol. 

Just everything.

Also the ball seen at the Yule ball is so worth it and her dress description gives me life.

Then we move on to the tournament. I was in love with the challenges and whenever one presented itself, my eyes were glued to the pages. The way Celaena can easily outmaneuver most of them, but she needs to keep it a secret is priceless.

Also the poison challenge in which the participants need to rank the poisons from the most deadly to the most harmless and then drink whatever they placed as ‘without poisons’ is amazing. Partly because Celaena actually doesn’t identify all of them, and partly because there is just so much confusion among everyone but one (who’s basically a poisoner) and when they drink it. Man did I enjoy watching all the characters that Celaena hated writhe on the ground before they could get the antidote.

Next comes the murders. They are gruesome and terribly well written, and the worst part is that no one can figure out what is doing it. Organs are removed, brains carved out and they are surrounded by strange marks. 

Of course Celaena finds out, which results in one of the most intense scenes in the book, which I very much loved.

The last part of the plot is the actual tournament. It is tense, and it is glorious. A hero who struggles so much at the end will always be appealing to me, and then the scene where she thinks I will not be afraid (below) is one of the most character defining moments for me.

Because that is who she is. She denies her fear room, she fights on through it, and she says that she is Celaena Sardothien, and she will not be afraid.

It gave me courage, too.

The Language

Gorgeous, stunning, fierce. Can I end the segment there? That’s not enough to convince you? Alright, then let’s take a deep dive.

This is my absolute favorite quote, so much so that I got a version of it tattooed, so the below is really the star of the book.

It’s got fate in it and it’s got power and it is so beautifully written that I am in awe. The fear part got me - that she is so powerful that she would be able to change the course of the world, but she is too afraid to do it, because of her past, because of the world around her.

Geez that hits right in the feels. 

The stars and darkness and unknown is a huge part of this book and there are so many beautiful quotes that it is hard to narrow it down. The thing is that while the characters carry the book, the language is paced perfectly with snippets of these gems hidden between the pages and it just makes you want to keep coming back, again and again and again.

I found myself trying to emulate her writing style after I had read it (I quickly dropped that again because I kept slipping back into my own style which is honestly the best), and it stuck with me long after I put down the book. 

In conclusion

Do you get the feeling that I could talk for days and days and days about this book? You are very much right. It is my all time favorite, and I devoured it whole in one sitting when I first got it. I simply couldn’t tear my eyes away from the pages and the wonderful world that Sarah J. Maas has built within. 

So do yourself a favor and check it out. I’ll be giving it five paws, in any case.

[firehrt]

𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑺𝑯𝑬𝑬𝑻.

Repost, don’t reblog.

BASICS.

full name. aelin ashryver galathynius, queen of terrasen. nickname. celaena, fire-breathing bitch-queen, laena, elentiya, fireheart gender. Female height. 5′8‘ age. 19 zodiac. taurus spoken languages. her native tongue is the spoken language of terrasen, which could probably be comparable to old welsh; fluent in the spoken language of rifthold, comparable to english; fluent in eyllwe.

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS.

hair color. golden blonde --- closer to strawberry currently. eye color. turquoise, her pupils ringed with gold. skin tone. sun-kissed. accent. she’s worked hard to stomp out any lingering accent that could trace her back to terrasen, but a rolling purr of a drawl slips out from time to time. voice. lilting, highly emphatic and expressive. she can be either brash and booming or coy and flirtatious; on several occasions she’s described as ‘purring,’ so it really just depends on the mood. dominant hand. originally right-handed, but arobynn made sure she was ambidextrous. by, y’know, making her break her dominant hand. :) posture. perfect, although it depends on the crowd. if she needs to slouch to blend in, she will. scars. she has....... a lot. 

ALONG THE TOP OF HER PALM AND ENCIRCLING HER THUMB : these are from book one, in which she defeats a ridderak — a creature from a different realm — and it leaves teeth marks.

THE BACK OF HER RIGHT HAND, PARTICULARLY DENSE SCAR TISSUE TOWARDS HER WRIST : when arobynn, her mentor, found her swordsmanship to be lacking in her left hand, he offered her a choice. she could either break her right hand, or he could do it for her. she chose the former, slamming her right hand in a door frame.

ACROSS HER PALM : this one is self-inflicted via dagger, the result of a blood oath she formed on behalf of nehemia.

UPPER LEFT THIGH : also earned from book one, in her duel with cain. it’s the only permanent scar she received from the brutal beating. sword wound.

ALONG THE CROOK OF HER NECK AND COLLARBONE : earned in book two, after defeating an ironteeth witch. due to the literal relationship between a witch and iron, the nature of her mark is recognizable to any ironteeth witch ( and even some non-witches ); this earns her the name ‘witch killer.’ shaped like teeth.

FULL LENGTH OF HER BACK : these are by far her most prominent, most horrific, and most significant scars. i won’t go into full detail, but they are indeed the result of whip lashings. many of them.

ALONG HER SIDE / PART OF HER BACK : earned in book four, during the final fight at the glass castle. stab wound.

tattoos. she had rowan tattoo over the scars on her back toward the end of book three. written in the native language of the fae, they tell the stories of every single loved one she’s lost. birthmarks. none most noticeable feature(s). her eyes. they’re hereditary, and every direct member of the royal family of terrasen has them. when she’s in her fae form, her ears also become pointed and her canines elongate --- so that, y’know. kinda sticks out

CHILDHOOD.

place of birth. orynth, the capital city of terrasen siblings. none --- but she has always considered aedion, her cousin, to be like a brother parents.  rhoe and evalin galathynius, both assassinated parental involvement. when they were alive, they were very close --- although the nature of aelin’s uncontrolled fire magic occasionally put strain on that dynamic.

ADULT LIFE.

occupation. adarlan’s assassin, formerly --- the most notorious assassin to walk the streets of rifthold. currently, she’s the queen of terrasen --- if a little displaced. for the time being, she works for spirale’s Third Street Saints as an associate on her own terms. current residence. golden ward. close friends. none in the city, really. back home: rowan whitethorn, lysandra, dorian havilliard, chaol westfall ( a bit estranged at her current canon point ) relationship status. single financial status. stable enough driver’s license. a what now criminal record. ohhhh god uh---- murder, treason, theft, grand theft, a whole myriad of smaller offenses probably vices. chocolate, cakes, sugar, a beautiful dress, luxury dining

SEX & ROMANCE.

sexual orientation. Bisexual romantic orientation. Biromantic. preferred emotional role. switch preferred sexual role. switch libido. she can control herself, but her libido is pretty damn high. turn ons. assertive personalities, hair-pulling, neck-kissing or biting, biting in general, scratching, being pinned, massaging, pampering. turn offs. shaming women, unwanted advances, an unearned sense of superiority, bad hygiene love language. words of affirmation, physical touch, and acts of service are the big ones --- particularly acts of service. she isn’t always good at voicing her feelings or opinions about someone if they might leave her vulnerable. relationship tendencies. no matter how hard she tries, she keeps winding up in someone’s arms and loving every second of it. 

MISCELLANEOUS.

character’s theme song: she doesn’t have a designated one, but THIS ONE gives me big celaena vibes and THIS ONE gives me big aelin vibes. hobbies to pass time. training, running, reading. mental illnesses. ptsd, depression, dissociation/depersonalization so strong it should be its own damn category physical illnesses. none fears. the dark, whips / whip sounds, sewers, heights. self-confidence level. really high and really low. she’ll exude an arrogant energy, and she’s unapologetic --- aware of her talents and looks. but at the same time, she puts the lives of pretty much everyone else before her own and generally views herself as ‘unworthy’ of a whole laundry list of good things. vulnerabilities. her memories of her last night in terrasen were a huge vulnerability for a long time, and it’s still not something she discusses with pretty much anyone. that, and her time in endovier. sewers also make her highly anxious, seeing as she almost died in one. any situation where she doesn’t have control is a big one.

tagged by: i snatched it tagging: u snatch it

[weewooweewrrr]

Unlikely Romances

Hey everyone! This is another fanfiction - but this time between Manon Blackbeak and Petrah Blueblood. It goes from the time period of Heir of Fire, to the end of Kingdom of Ash (I have NOT read KOA before making this.) Anyways, enjoy!

Word count: About 2,800

It wasn’t a secret that there were relationships between witches in the clans. It wasn’t that uncommon either, and no one really cared. The Blackbeak Matron had a lover in her own coven, and there were others that you would need both hands to count.

What was uncommon, however, was relationships - of any types - between different clans. The Ironteeth already didn’t like each other, not to mention that they barely met. It was better that way - before they ended up ripping each other apart, much like the War Games had proved they would in a heartbeat. They were rivals, and it would always be that way.

So what surprised Manon is that she found herself waiting by Petrah Blueblood’s bedside after those War Games, just hoping that she would wake up.

Maybe some part of Petrah really had been damaged when Iskra had given that order to kill, and Keelie had died on the rocks of the battlefield. The golden-eyed witch didn’t blame Petrah for her pain, because she had a small feeling that she would feel the same way if her own wyvern, Abraxos, suddenly died.

It was the day after she had killed that Crochan prisoner, and even after the time she spent with Abraxos, she couldn’t help but dwell on her words. Made you into monsters. Manon dwelled on it even more as she sat next to Petrah’s barely breathing form, knowing that if her grandmother found out, she would be punished even more than she already had.

Manon looked down at the Blueblood witch. Her sparkling blue eyes were closed, and her deep golden hair framed her pale face like sunlight. The witch had to force herself away in order to prevent herself from running her fingers across her cheeks. She looked frail, and in her face etched deep sadness. It hurt Manon, in some unknown part of her.

Manon stood from the stool, hearing footsteps grow louder on the floor of which Petrah laid. With a small glance back, Manon Blackbeak left the chambers through the window and made her way back to Abraxos. She needed to think without the witch in front of her.

Manon wasn’t sure whether to feel devastation, fear, fury, or nothing at all. She tried to feel the latter, but it was hard to with everything that had just been piled onto her. Her second for as long as she could remember was to be executed at sunrise tomorrow, and Petrah - Petrah - had defended her in that witch trial.

What would have happened if that tall, thin, beautiful witch with the hollow face hadn’t defended her? Would she be the one dying that next sunrise? Or would Asterin not be the one dying? Manon didn’t want to think of the idea that if Petrah had not interfered, her second would not be dying. But she knew deep down that it was her own damned decisions and mistakes that led to this.

She would give her Second a short end, because that was what Asterin deserved. When she knew that along with her own decisions, it was her Matron’s hatred of Asterin that had led to this, too.

But now, Manon had cornered that same witch who had defended her, golden eyes seeming to spark with emotions she did well to keep hidden. It was only this close that Manon finally realised how her freckles stood out against her skin, how her golden hair had been brushed to a beautiful color again - so unlike when she laid in her room in the uppermost chambers of the Omega.

Manon wondered if Petrah knew that she had sat by her bedside for however many hours, the exact amount forgotten in her immortal mind. The witch found that she hoped that Petrah didn’t know.

“Hello, Manon.” Her blue eyes still held that fierceness and unfinished business that she had spoken to Iskra with, and it made Manon realise with a jolt that, no, Petrah did not have her head in the clouds. That Petrah was an Ironteeth witch, and that she probably only put on that facade to trick her rivals and enemies. It was smart, and deadly. And, Manon realised with hatred at herself, hot. “What brings you here?”

Manon didn’t even think about how Petrah knew exactly what she was here for. “Why did you speak in my favor?”

A ghost of a smile graced Petrah’s lips before she spoke. “I think you know why, Manon.” She didn’t even have time to ask her to elaborate before Petrah walked off, still in her fighting leathers.

So Manon Blackbeak stood in that empty hall, looking at where Petrah had disappeared. She did not know how to answer the question hanging in her head, and Manon was unsure how she would even begin to, with all that laid upon her shoulders. With a sharp turn of her body, she stalked off towards her tower, brain churning with questions and ideas.

Made.

Made.

Made.

As she clumsily hung onto Abraxos’ leathery hide, those words repeated in her mind. Along with what her grandmother had finally admitted. She was a Blackbeak. But she was also the last living Crochan queen with the murder of her half-sister, Rhiannon.

A Queen. A living, breathing Crochan Queen. Well, maybe not living much longer seeing the state she was in, but.. It shook Manon to her core. To her husk of a heart, and Manon genuinely did not know how to feel about this, or much less how to process it.

Her bitch of a grandmother - Manon felt queasy at the thought of her being related to that monster - had killed her mother and father, and made her kill her half-sister. Manon may be a kin-slayer, but the Blackbeak Matron had done it willingly, and would not hesitate to do it again. Just like Manon would not hesitate to kill her if she saw the Matron again.

Her mind drifted off to what Petrah thought of the ordeal, and Manon could not find words why it did. She would probably be disgusted - like no doubt the rest of the Ironteeth were. But maybe Petrah and the other Bluebloods would understand that it was not Manon’s fault, and that she was still Ironteeth.

But did Manon even want to be an Ironteeth witch anymore? With what the Matron had done, along with Iskra Yellowlegs and the rest of her clan had done. With the shred of kindness Petrah had shown her - even if they were in rival clans.

No. She would always be an Ironteeth witch, and she would be a Crochan Queen. But Manon knew that she would have to pick which one to stay with. Because of she didn’t, that would ultimately be her downfall.

Dorian Havilliard and Manon Blackbeak had no feelings for each other besides sexual. Manon had learned that fairly quickly. He was handsome, and made her core burn, but Manon desired nothing beyond that. And Dorian saw her as a release - because human woman were too fragile.

Manon wondered what had made the King of Adarlan think that. What sad part in his life had made him decide not to go after a human woman, even if being with an immortal one would bring him the same sadness, too.

But it was that time with Dorian that she realised - had she ever felt real emotion for a man? No. That was not what witches did. What Ironteeth witches did - her father had proven that the Crochans did. But Asterin had proved that Ironteeth witches could, too.

Manon wondered if she ever felt any real emotion for another witch. She didn’t think she did. She didn’t see why she would feel that useless emotion. The white-haired beauty was unlike Asterin in so many different ways, and she had a feeling that she would be unlike her in their ability to love.

She hoped that she did, too. Because Manon would forever remember the words that Asterin had said. Joy so complete it was pain. The idea of being at such a mercy to something made Manon queasy. But things were changing. That much was obvious when she had to kill her half-sister. When her grandmother tried to kill her. When her grandmother had lied to her face about Asterin.

When she had saved Petrah. That decision alone had rocked her into the mess, and Manon had only now realised that. Maybe she was closer to being like Asterin’s flame than she ever thought.

What surprised Manon Blackbeak - she guess Manon Crochan, now - was not the fact that they had retrieved the third Wyrdkey. The parts she carried were heavy in her leathers, her nor Dorian wanting to trust what would happen when all three were together.

No, it was the fact that as she sat on the edge of a cliff, far off from the small army of Crochans she had managed to find, is that Petrah Blueblood joined her. Petrah did not bring a wyvern; she had brought one of the brooms that all witches alike had used before magic went out over ten years ago. But now they worked.

The white-haired witch supposed that Petrah couldn’t bring herself to have another wyvern, or that she wanted to come here as discreetly as possible. But the Matrons would have made her get another, so it was probably the latter assessment.

“You sure did destroy Morath.”

“You sure did state the obvious.”

Manon looked over at the golden-haired beauty, her blue eyes seeming darker in the night. “Why are you here, Petrah?”

It seemed to be that Petrah hesitated for a moment, and Manon was about to tell her to get the hell away when she finally spoke. “I come here to warn you. Your grandmother” - Manon almost cringed at the word - “has heard about what you are doing, and in all of your destroying of Morath, none of the Matrons have died. Neither has the Blackbeak Matron, who I saw you almost rip to shreds.”

Manon wasn’t as surprised as she was mad. She appreciated the warning - she did - but she was furious that she had not managed to kill the Matron bitch who, frankly, deserved to die in her eyes.

She guessed that it would be Asterin’s life to claim in the end. Her fiery cousin deserved it, for what the Matron had done to her.

“Thank you.” The words came out as Petrah was about mount her broom again, and Manon stood. She could feel Petrah looking at her - and her eyes perhaps lingering a bit too long on certain places.

“I would join you, except to do so would be a dishonor to my mother, and to the Blueblood Clan.” Manon watched as Petrah lifted those two fingers to her brow - respect of a Witch Queen - and then finally took off into the starry night.

The idea of it terrified her, but she also found herself longing to see more of Petrah. How she knew where she had went, Manon did not know, but she wished that Petrah would stay.

Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius was not dead.

But Dorian Havillard was, and had left the lands of Adarlan to Terrasen as he forged the lock and put Erawan, Maeve, and the rest of the valg back where they belonged. To that realm, which Manon had no want to know whatsoever.

The fact made Manon sadder than she had ever been in a while, with the war having taken so many of her Thirteen and army of Crochans she had gathered up. Taking her second - but also her grandmother - and taking Dorian.

Dorian - he was someone who Manon was describe as a friend. Nothing more than that, but he should have been honored to even be considered a friend to Manon. No mortal man had ever had the pleasure of being called her friend.

No, he shouldn’t have had to feel honored, Manon thought, trying to hold back tears she had barely shed before, I should be honored. She had so much grief weighing on her shoulders - grief that she know cared about, now acknowledged. The war against Erawan, holding those keys, her friend and some of her Thirteen dying.. It was weight that Manon wished she did not carry. Wished she did not now have to uphold herself as a Crochan Queen - and possibly Queen of the Witches.

The beautiful white-haired witch sat on an unknown hill and cried. Manon did not care if anyone saw her, because she needed to let out all of that grief that had been slowly building up in her ever since she saved Petrah from being splattered on the Omega floor.

She could not tell how long she cried there until a hand laid upon her shoulder, and a comforting presence - smelling of myrrh and rosemary - seated itself besides her. Manon found herself not caring much if this presence was about to kill her, but as she lifted her head, she wiped her tears with the edge of her new cloak. It was not red, but a deep navy blue.

As her golden eyes met such familiar blue ones in the beginnings of dawn, she blinked. The sun shone on the much too familiar deep golden hair, turning some of the strands as light as her own moon-white hair.

“Petrah,” Manon began, unable to tear her eyes away from that calm and understanding face. “What are you doing here?” Her voice was soft and hoarse, and she wished that it was not.

“It seemed that you would need…” Petrah trailed off slightly, as if wishing for something but unable to say it. “It seemed that you needed someone to talk to. After everything that’s happened.”

The kindness in that statement made Manon’s heart swell with both sadness and longing. She wished for Dorian - who had listened to her, even when they were not taking an edge off with each other. Who she had confided in, even if it was just little pieces of information. She wished for someone who she could talk to again, and that she could return the favor.

Manon supposed that that was the reason why she finally spoke to Petrah. Tears flowed, and a comforting and light hand on her shoulder had slowly turned into an embrace as Petrah listened to her speak, the sun slowly rising higher as the time passed.

“I do not know how I am supposed to lead all of those witches by myself. How I am supposed to, with all of this grief still weighing on me. The curse has been lifted off of the Western Wastes-” a gasp came from Petrah at this “-yet, I do not know what will happen. Will the Ironteeth and Crochans live together? Or will I be forced to take a side again in another war for the Wastes?”

Manon had been ready to be the High Witch of the Wastes one day, but now she doubted her abilities to. Maybe in a clear state of mind, she would realise that it was just her emotions clouding her usual sharp judgement. Now, after crying for how many hours and being held by a witch she had long wondered about her feelings for, she felt better.

Manon waited in silence before Petrah finally spoke, that calm voice seeming to lift all of her worries off of her shoulders.

“I believe.. That you can do it. That the Ironteeth and the Crochans will live in peace together, because when you put your mind to something Manon, it happens. I have seen it happen for the past one hundred years, and I have no doubts that you will be a great Queen. That Ironteeth and Crochan blood in you will make you a fine Queen. You just have to believe in yourself, even if it seems impossible right now.” Petrah’s fingers moved some of Manon’s hair away from her tear-painted face, and Manon couldn;t resist the small shiver that wracked through her body. “If you want, I will join you. In whatever way you wish for me to. Because I believe that the world needs to change, and you have the power to do that. What use will it be if we are constantly fighting over who had the rightful claim of the Wastes?”

Manon smiled softly at the witch who she was being held by, and she laid a hand on her face. “I would love for you to join me, Petrah. I admit.. My feelings for you have been complicated. But I don’t think I could do with without some help from a witch who always has had her head in the clouds.”

And, as a grin lit the Bluebloods face, Manon watched as she leaned closer until their lips touched together.

Instead of that despair that had been clouding her, she felt excited for the future. Especially if Petrah Blueblood was joining her.

[terrasensinstitute]

Unlikely Romances

Manon wonders about how she feels about the Bluebood witch, Petrah. I have NOT read KOA before this, so its spoiler free

Word Count: About 2,800

It wasn’t a secret that there were relationships between witches in the clans. It wasn’t that uncommon either, and no one really cared. The Blackbeak Matron had a lover in her own coven, and there were others that you would need both hands to count.

What was uncommon, however, was relationships - of any types - between different clans. The Ironteeth already didn’t like each other, not to mention that they barely met. It was better that way - before they ended up ripping each other apart, much like the War Games had proved they would in a heartbeat. They were rivals, and it would always be that way.

So what surprised Manon is that she found herself waiting by Petrah Blueblood’s bedside after those War Games, just hoping that she would wake up.

Maybe some part of Petrah really had been damaged when Iskra had given that order to kill, and Keelie had died on the rocks of the battlefield. The golden-eyed witch didn’t blame Petrah for her pain, because she had a small feeling that she would feel the same way if her own wyvern, Abraxos, suddenly died.

It was the day after she had killed that Crochan prisoner, and even after the time she spent with Abraxos, she couldn’t help but dwell on her words. Made you into monsters. Manon dwelled on it even more as she sat next to Petrah’s barely breathing form, knowing that if her grandmother found out, she would be punished even more than she already had.

Manon looked down at the Blueblood witch. Her sparkling blue eyes were closed, and her deep golden hair framed her pale face like sunlight. The witch had to force herself away in order to prevent herself from running her fingers across her cheeks. She looked frail, and in her face etched deep sadness. It hurt Manon, in some unknown part of her.

Manon stood from the stool, hearing footsteps grow louder on the floor of which Petrah laid. With a small glance back, Manon Blackbeak left the chambers through the window and made her way back to Abraxos. She needed to think without the witch in front of her.

Manon wasn’t sure whether to feel devastation, fear, fury, or nothing at all. She tried to feel the latter, but it was hard to with everything that had just been piled onto her. Her second for as long as she could remember was to be executed at sunrise tomorrow, and Petrah - Petrah - had defended her in that witch trial.

What would have happened if that tall, thin, beautiful witch with the hollow face hadn’t defended her? Would she be the one dying that next sunrise? Or would Asterin not be the one dying? Manon didn’t want to think of the idea that if Petrah had not interfered, her second would not be dying. But she knew deep down that it was her own damned decisions and mistakes that led to this.

She would give her Second a short end, because that was what Asterin deserved. When she knew that along with her own decisions, it was her Matron’s hatred of Asterin that had led to this, too.

But now, Manon had cornered that same witch who had defended her, golden eyes seeming to spark with emotions she did well to keep hidden. It was only this close that Manon finally realised how her freckles stood out against her skin, how her golden hair had been brushed to a beautiful color again - so unlike when she laid in her room in the uppermost chambers of the Omega.

Manon wondered if Petrah knew that she had sat by her bedside for however many hours, the exact amount forgotten in her immortal mind. The witch found that she hoped that Petrah didn’t know.

“Hello, Manon.” Her blue eyes still held that fierceness and unfinished business that she had spoken to Iskra with, and it made Manon realise with a jolt that, no, Petrah did not have her head in the clouds. That Petrah was an Ironteeth witch, and that she probably only put on that facade to trick her rivals and enemies. It was smart, and deadly. And, Manon realised with hatred at herself, hot. “What brings you here?”

Manon didn’t even think about how Petrah knew exactly what she was here for. “Why did you speak in my favor?”

A ghost of a smile graced Petrah’s lips before she spoke. “I think you know why, Manon.” She didn’t even have time to ask her to elaborate before Petrah walked off, still in her fighting leathers.

So Manon Blackbeak stood in that empty hall, looking at where Petrah had disappeared. She did not know how to answer the question hanging in her head, and Manon was unsure how she would even begin to, with all that laid upon her shoulders. With a sharp turn of her body, she stalked off towards her tower, brain churning with questions and ideas.

Made.

Made.

Made.

As she clumsily hung onto Abraxos’ leathery hide, those words repeated in her mind. Along with what her grandmother had finally admitted. She was a Blackbeak. But she was also the last living Crochan queen with the murder of her half-sister, Rhiannon.

A Queen. A living, breathing Crochan Queen. Well, maybe not living much longer seeing the state she was in, but.. It shook Manon to her core. To her husk of a heart, and Manon genuinely did not know how to feel about this, or much less how to process it.

Her bitch of a grandmother - Manon felt queasy at the thought of her being related to that monster - had killed her mother and father, and made her kill her half-sister. Manon may be a kin-slayer, but the Blackbeak Matron had done it willingly, and would not hesitate to do it again. Just like Manon would not hesitate to kill her if she saw the Matron again.

Her mind drifted off to what Petrah thought of the ordeal, and Manon could not find words why it did. She would probably be disgusted - like no doubt the rest of the Ironteeth were. But maybe Petrah and the other Bluebloods would understand that it was not Manon’s fault, and that she was still Ironteeth.

But did Manon even want to be an Ironteeth witch anymore? With what the Matron had done, along with Iskra Yellowlegs and the rest of her clan had done. With the shred of kindness Petrah had shown her - even if they were in rival clans.

No. She would always be an Ironteeth witch, and she would be a Crochan Queen. But Manon knew that she would have to pick which one to stay with. Because of she didn’t, that would ultimately be her downfall.

Dorian Havilliard and Manon Blackbeak had no feelings for each other besides sexual. Manon had learned that fairly quickly. He was handsome, and made her core burn, but Manon desired nothing beyond that. And Dorian saw her as a release - because human woman were too fragile.

Manon wondered what had made the King of Adarlan think that. What sad part in his life had made him decide not to go after a human woman, even if being with an immortal one would bring him the same sadness, too.

But it was that time with Dorian that she realised - had she ever felt real emotion for a man? No. That was not what witches did. What Ironteeth witches did - her father had proven that the Crochans did. But Asterin had proved that Ironteeth witches could, too.

Manon wondered if she ever felt any real emotion for another witch. She didn’t think she did. She didn’t see why she would feel that useless emotion. The white-haired beauty was unlike Asterin in so many different ways, and she had a feeling that she would be unlike her in their ability to love.

She hoped that she did, too. Because Manon would forever remember the words that Asterin had said. Joy so complete it was pain. The idea of being at such a mercy to something made Manon queasy. But things were changing. That much was obvious when she had to kill her half-sister. When her grandmother tried to kill her. When her grandmother had lied to her face about Asterin.

When she had saved Petrah. That decision alone had rocked her into the mess, and Manon had only now realised that. Maybe she was closer to being like Asterin’s flame than she ever thought.

What surprised Manon Blackbeak - she guess Manon Crochan, now - was not the fact that they had retrieved the third Wyrdkey. The parts she carried were heavy in her leathers, her nor Dorian wanting to trust what would happen when all three were together.

No, it was the fact that as she sat on the edge of a cliff, far off from the small army of Crochans she had managed to find, is that Petrah Blueblood joined her. Petrah did not bring a wyvern; she had brought one of the brooms that all witches alike had used before magic went out over ten years ago. But now they worked.

The white-haired witch supposed that Petrah couldn’t bring herself to have another wyvern, or that she wanted to come here as discreetly as possible. But the Matrons would have made her get another, so it was probably the latter assessment.

“You sure did destroy Morath.”

“You sure did state the obvious.”

Manon looked over at the golden-haired beauty, her blue eyes seeming darker in the night. “Why are you here, Petrah?”

It seemed to be that Petrah hesitated for a moment, and Manon was about to tell her to get the hell away when she finally spoke. “I come here to warn you. Your grandmother” - Manon almost cringed at the word - “has heard about what you are doing, and in all of your destroying of Morath, none of the Matrons have died. Neither has the Blackbeak Matron, who I saw you almost rip to shreds.”

Manon wasn’t as surprised as she was mad. She appreciated the warning - she did - but she was furious that she had not managed to kill the Matron bitch who, frankly, deserved to die in her eyes.

She guessed that it would be Asterin’s life to claim in the end. Her fiery cousin deserved it, for what the Matron had done to her.

“Thank you.” The words came out as Petrah was about mount her broom again, and Manon stood. She could feel Petrah looking at her - and her eyes perhaps lingering a bit too long on certain places.

“I would join you, except to do so would be a dishonor to my mother, and to the Blueblood Clan.” Manon watched as Petrah lifted those two fingers to her brow - respect of a Witch Queen - and then finally took off into the starry night.

The idea of it terrified her, but she also found herself longing to see more of Petrah. How she knew where she had went, Manon did not know, but she wished that Petrah would stay.

Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius was not dead.

But Dorian Havillard was, and had left the lands of Adarlan to Terrasen as he forged the lock and put Erawan, Maeve, and the rest of the valg back where they belonged. To that realm, which Manon had no want to know whatsoever.

The fact made Manon sadder than she had ever been in a while, with the war having taken so many of her Thirteen and army of Crochans she had gathered up. Taking her second - but also her grandmother - and taking Dorian.

Dorian - he was someone who Manon was describe as a friend. Nothing more than that, but he should have been honored to even be considered a friend to Manon. No mortal man had ever had the pleasure of being called her friend.

No, he shouldn’t have had to feel honored, Manon thought, trying to hold back tears she had barely shed before, I should be honored. She had so much grief weighing on her shoulders - grief that she know cared about, now acknowledged. The war against Erawan, holding those keys, her friend and some of her Thirteen dying.. It was weight that Manon wished she did not carry. Wished she did not now have to uphold herself as a Crochan Queen - and possibly Queen of the Witches.

The beautiful white-haired witch sat on an unknown hill and cried. Manon did not care if anyone saw her, because she needed to let out all of that grief that had been slowly building up in her ever since she saved Petrah from being splattered on the Omega floor.

She could not tell how long she cried there until a hand laid upon her shoulder, and a comforting presence - smelling of myrrh and rosemary - seated itself besides her. Manon found herself not caring much if this presence was about to kill her, but as she lifted her head, she wiped her tears with the edge of her new cloak. It was not red, but a deep navy blue.

As her golden eyes met such familiar blue ones in the beginnings of dawn, she blinked. The sun shone on the much too familiar deep golden hair, turning some of the strands as light as her own moon-white hair.

“Petrah,” Manon began, unable to tear her eyes away from that calm and understanding face. “What are you doing here?” Her voice was soft and hoarse, and she wished that it was not.

“It seemed that you would need…” Petrah trailed off slightly, as if wishing for something but unable to say it. “It seemed that you needed someone to talk to. After everything that’s happened.”

The kindness in that statement made Manon’s heart swell with both sadness and longing. She wished for Dorian - who had listened to her, even when they were not taking an edge off with each other. Who she had confided in, even if it was just little pieces of information. She wished for someone who she could talk to again, and that she could return the favor.

Manon supposed that that was the reason why she finally spoke to Petrah. Tears flowed, and a comforting and light hand on her shoulder had slowly turned into an embrace as Petrah listened to her speak, the sun slowly rising higher as the time passed.

“I do not know how I am supposed to lead all of those witches by myself. How I am supposed to, with all of this grief still weighing on me. The curse has been lifted off of the Western Wastes-” a gasp came from Petrah at this “-yet, I do not know what will happen. Will the Ironteeth and Crochans live together? Or will I be forced to take a side again in another war for the Wastes?”

Manon had been ready to be the High Witch of the Wastes one day, but now she doubted her abilities to. Maybe in a clear state of mind, she would realise that it was just her emotions clouding her usual sharp judgement. Now, after crying for how many hours and being held by a witch she had long wondered about her feelings for, she felt better.

Manon waited in silence before Petrah finally spoke, that calm voice seeming to lift all of her worries off of her shoulders.

“I believe.. That you can do it. That the Ironteeth and the Crochans will live in peace together, because when you put your mind to something Manon, it happens. I have seen it happen for the past one hundred years, and I have no doubts that you will be a great Queen. That Ironteeth and Crochan blood in you will make you a fine Queen. You just have to believe in yourself, even if it seems impossible right now.” Petrah’s fingers moved some of Manon’s hair away from her tear-painted face, and Manon couldn;t resist the small shiver that wracked through her body. “If you want, I will join you. In whatever way you wish for me to. Because I believe that the world needs to change, and you have the power to do that. What use will it be if we are constantly fighting over who had the rightful claim of the Wastes?”

Manon smiled softly at the witch who she was being held by, and she laid a hand on her face. “I would love for you to join me, Petrah. I admit.. My feelings for you have been complicated. But I don’t think I could do with without some help from a witch who always has had her head in the clouds.”

And, as a grin lit the Bluebloods face, Manon watched as she leaned closer until their lips touched together.

Instead of that despair that had been clouding her, she felt excited for the future. Especially if Petrah Blueblood was joining her.

[thebreadpuddingofficial]

20 Questions

Rules: Answer the 20 questions so your followers can get to know you better, and tag 20 people you would like to get to know better.

Name: Anika

Nickname: ❌

Zodiac Sign: Gemini

Height: 5'2 I’m very smol

Languages Spoken: English, Cantonese, some Mandarin, a tiny bit of French

Nationality: Chinese (is Hong Kongese a thing? Cuz Hong kongese)

Favourite Fruit(s): grapes, mangoes

Favourite Season: Summer/autumn

Favourite Scent: Jasmine, Mint, vanilla... cookies and bread smell pretty awesome too

Favourite Colour: yellow but it changes every few years idek

Favourite Animal: I don’t have one, but recently I’ve been loving crows cuz of the books I’ve been reading (six of crows & nevernigt, love them)

Favourite Fictional Character: I’ll give you six (cuz I couldn’t narrow it down to 5): Inej Ghafa, Rhysand, Collis Reed, Aelin Galathynius, Dorian Havilliard, Will Herondale...

Coffee, Tea or Hot Chocolate: I’ll never say no to hot chocolate, but I love tea :)

Number Of Blankets You Sleep With: 1 in the winter... how do people sleep with more than one? I would feel suffocated tbh

When Was Your Blog Created: sometime near the end of last year, I’m guessing... I’m a tumblr noob 😳

Favourite Subject: ooh art and graphics, and maybe history

Currently Watching: project runway & rewatching 2 broke girls

Favourite Band: don’t have one, but I love Ariana Grande... if it has to be a band, I sometimes listen to Matchbox Twenty?

Instruments Played: Piano, and I know a bit of guitar

Favourite Book: ooh this is hard but Crooked Kingdom, and black moon pretty close behind.

Lots of love to @julesherondalex for the tag 🤗

Tagging: @epeolatrist @sncinder @starsandvelaris

Sorry for the lack of tags 🤷🏻‍♀️