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theladyofdeath · 4 years

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In the Bleak Midwinter {20}

A Throne of Glass Period AU: 1920s.

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

A/N: Epilogue coming soon....

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

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

Links & masterlists:

Fanfic Masterlist

Ask me

The Cadre - 1920s AU {TOG}

In the Bleak Midwinter {The Cadre, Part 2}

For what seemed like the hundredth time in days, Aelin awoke in an unfamiliar place. The ground beneath her was damp and cool, covered in sticks and dead leaves. Once her vision cleared, she was blinking up at a surrounding of trees, bare from their fallen leaves of Autumn. She pushed herself up on her elbows, which sunk into the seeping dirt, covering her already dusty, bloody dress in thick mud.

A fluttering came from inside of her stomach, and Aelin was, once again, grateful to her baby for letting her know that they were still there, perfectly okay.

After pushing herself up on her knees, Aelin looked around. She was in the middle of the woods, but other than that, she had no idea where she was.

No fucking clue.

After taking a look around in every direction, she screamed at the top of her lungs.

There was no response.

Once she had randomly picked a direction, Aelin started walking.

With every step she took, she thought of Rowan.

Where was he? What had Maeve done since she’d left?

Left, been kicked out - same difference.

Aelin remembered very little. She was hungry, scared, heartbroken from hearing Rowan scream her name from the upstairs, wherever he had been upstairs. She could hear her name, which he shouted from the top of his lungs, through the door in which Maeve had kept her in within the basement.

Not long after, Cairn entered her room and hit her in the head with the butt of his gun.

She remembered nothing else until moments ago, when she woke up, tossed on the ground like a piece of trash.

She kept walking.

Every step hurt, she was beginning to feel dizzy.

Her hands rested on her stomach, giving her as much strength as she could muster.

Aelin felt like she had walked for hours, for days, even though the sun never set. Although it was Autumn, the sun was warm, and she was dehydrated. After a while, she decided on a break and plopped down on a log.

Her nightgown was ripped, her nightgown that she had been wearing when they stole Aelin from her bed.

Aelin forced herself to stand back up, even though her knees shook, and continued on her way. She still had no idea where she was, but she had been walking for so long that she figured she had to be getting to civilization soon.

She imagined that she couldn’t have been out long enough to go somewhere far enough away that she couldn’t find her way back. She didn’t think she had been out that long. But, then again, she had no idea how long she had really been out.

So she walked.

She walked for hours, walked until the sun began to sink low in the sky.

Then she saw smoke billowing in the distance, high above the trees.

A mangled cry left Aelin’s trembling body, and she tried to run, even though every inch of her body ached, even though she felt like she would faint.

For my baby, for Rowan. She repeated the words in her mind with every step she took, each time the ones she loved pushed her forward.

Until she fell out into a clearing.

Her house, the manor, sat half a mile away across the vast,green landscape.

Aelin sobbed.

Hours, she had spent hours wandering around through her own land, her own woods. They had brought her home. In the cruelest of ways, certainly, but they had brought her home.

Why would they bring her home?

Aelin’s blood ran cold.

Rowan had made a deal.

She had no doubt about it.

Her freedom, her to go home, for his life.

Aelin ran.

With every little last ounce of energy she had, Aelin ran across the grass, held onto her small bump as she ran and ran and ran until she was throwing open the front door.

“Gavriel!” she screamed, tears streaming down her face. “Aedion!”

“Aelin?” Lysandra was around the corner, tears in her eyes as Aelin threw herself into her friend’s arms. “Aelin! What - How - Are you-.”

“Rowan made a deal, they dropped me off in the woods, they left me for dead, on our property, they still have Ro, Lys, they have him, and they’re going to kill him-.”

“Ael-.”

“We have to go to him,” Aelin sobbed, her entire body shaking. Lysandra was practically holding her up. “We have to go to him, where are they? Where are the boys? Gavriel! Lorcan! Vau-.”

“Aelin,” Lysandra said, her voice loud, her face close to Aelin’s. “They’re gone.”

Aelin went still. “Gone?”

“They found out where Maeve is staying, where she’s keeping Rowan, they’ve already left.”

“They’ve already left,” Aelin breathed.

“They’ve already left,” Lysandra repeated, keeping her tear-lined eyes on Aelin’s.

“They’re going to get Rowan?” Aelin whispered.

“They’re going to get him,” Lysandra promised.

“And Lucy?”

“Safe,” Lysandra promised. “Napping in her crib, Natalia hasn’t left her side.”

“I have to apologize to Lorcan, I should have protected her, when he gets back with Rowan, I have to tell him I’m sorry, I have to, he has to, Rowan, Rowan has to-.”

“He’s coming back,” Lysandra said, her voice stern, even though it broke as the words escaped her. “There’s nothing to apologize for, it wasn’t your fault, and the men are coming back with Rowan, okay? They’re coming back.”

Aelin’s lip wobbled as she fell into Lysandra’s arms, sobbing, her face buried into Lysandra’s shoulder.

Lysandra held Aelin close, clung to her best friend, sobbed alongside her, neither saying a word.

It wasn’t until those sobs died down that Aelin finally spoke again, in the quietest of voices.

“Lys?”

“Yeah?”

“What if it’s already too late?” she asked, afraid of the words. The last thing Aelin remembered was his screams, his voice, echoing through the house, terrified.

Lysandra didn’t reply.

She only held Aelin tighter.

~~~~~

The gunshot rang through Rowan’s mind.

It all happened so quickly.

He was screaming for Aelin.

Screaming, because he didn’t know where she was, his wife.

She wasn’t there, Maeve had said.

She wouldn’t tell him where she was.

His wife.

His mate.

His love.

Carrying his child.

He screamed for her, over and over again. He screamed, but no one gave him an answer.

Maeve told him that his time was over.

Rowan didn’t care.

He just wanted his wife.

Maeve told him that he was worthless, told him that it was his fault her life had gone to shit, blamed Arobynn’s end on him.

It was Rowan’s fault.

He didn’t regret it.

He kept calling for Aelin.

Her name had barely left his lips when the gunshot rang out.

It hit Rowan between the ribs.

Maeve’s face was the last thing he saw before he faded away into darkness.

Her dark, serpentine grin.

Now, he had no idea where he was.

He wasn’t in pain, though. The bullet had hurt. The bullets always hurt.

Now, wherever he was, it no longer hurt.

Maeve wasn’t there, either.

He was still wearing his dingy clothes, his shirt still bloodstained where her shot had hit him.

“Hello?” he asked.

Suddenly, he was in a clearing. He was on his feet, his feet bare atop the grass. He spun around. All he could see was trees.

“Rowan?”

He knew that voice.

He spun around.

Connall, dressed in his finest suit, was leaning up against the trunk of a tree, smoking a cigarette. He gave Rowan a mischievous grin.

Rowan had missed that grin. “Con?”

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” he said, blowing a puff of smoke into the open air.

“Where am I?” Rowan asked, quietly.

Connall cocked his head to the side. “You’re still breathing, you know.”

“What?” Rowan shot back. “Where am-.”

“Maeve shot you, in the ribs, and she wants you to suffer a slow, miserable death. You’re still breathing,” Connall replied, his voice light, his eyes bright. “You could still wake up.”

“I don’t understand,” Rowan said, shaking his head.

“What’s not to understand?” Connall asked. “You’re dying. Want a smoke?”

Rowan blinked. Connall was now standing a mere foot away, holding out a box of smokes.

Rowan hesitated. “But-.”

“It’s a little overwhelming, isn’t it?” A new voice.

Rowan spun around.

Elide was there with that familiar, comforting smile.

“El,” he breathed, and his eyes were suddenly lined with tears as he looked back and forth between the two members of the Cadre that had been lost.

Lost, too soon, too young, long before their time.

“We’ve missed you both,” he said.

Connall’s grin widened. “Who knew becoming a father would make you so vulnerable, Whitethorn?”

Becoming a father.

Rowan wouldn’t be able to see his child be born.

Elide’s eyes softened. “You can still wake up, Ro.”

If he woke up, he’d be in pain.

What if Maeve was still there? She would stay there, smiling, watching him die.

He was a dead man.

“Not yet,” Elide said, reading his thoughts with a kind, gentle smile. “They’re coming.”

“Who?”

“Who do you think?” Connall asked, rolling his eyes. “Your men, along with Rhoe and his men.”

“They’re coming?” Rowan asked, as Elide’s hand rested on his shoulder.

“You didn’t think they’d let you die without a fight, did you?” Elide asked.

Rowan slowly shook his head. “Is this real?”

“Is what real?” Connall asked.

“This,” Rowan breathed, gesturing around them. “Wherever we are, the two of you.”

Connall tossed his cigarette onto the ground and put it out with his boot. “Do you want it to be real?”

Yes, he did. He wanted to see them, was happy to see them.

But he wasn’t ready to die.

“It’s real if you want it to be,” Elide followed, when Rowan said nothing. “You’re still breathing, Ro.”

Still breathing.

The Cadre was coming for him.

Aelin was alive, he knew it, felt it in his bones. ‘

“Live,” Connall pushed, reaching up to put his hand on Rowan’s shoulder.

The second Connall’s hand touched his dusty sleeve, Rowan’s eyes were shooting open.

~~~~~

They weren’t exactly sure what to expect when they got to the abandoned manor, but they were pleasantly surprised at one thing: they were fairly evenly matched in men, and Maeve’s men were not ready for a surprise attack.

Two men were shot before they even made it through the door. Chaol and Dorian were walking around the manor, eliminating all threats to the outside. On the inside was Rhoe, Ren, Aedion, and the Cadre, led by Lorcan and his twin revolvers.

Lorcan shot first and looked who it was after.

They were here, they knew it, and they would be getting them out.

True to Fenrys’ word, they found the closet that led down to the basement. There were a few more of Maeve’s men that were quickly demolished, but after opening up door after door, they found it was empty.

“It makes no sense,” Lorcan growled, kicking up a door that he’d already opened and searched within. “Where are they?”

“They should be here,” Fenrys agreed, shaking his head. Someone’s blood was smeared across his cheek.

“They have to be here somewhere,” Gavriel said.

“The place is massive, we don’t have much time, if I had to take a guess,” Rhoe said, his face paled. “Let’s move. Split up. Search the grounds.”

There was no time to disagree. Lorcan went with Gavriel and Fenrys as Rhoe, Ren, and Aedion searched the first floor. Lorcan was halfway up the basement’s stairs when he saw her.

She was smiling, brightly, as beautiful as she always was.

“Elide,” he breathed.

Gavriel shot him a look, but Lorcan wasn’t paying attention. He was watching as Elide whispered, “Follow me, my love.”

Lorcan didn’t hesitate. “Follow me.”

Gavriel and Fenrys looked worriedly at one another, but it didn’t stop their feet from moving, didn’t stop them from following him.

“Where is he?” Lorcan asked.

“Follow me,” Elide repeated, but she was moving quickly. They went through the kitchens and through the halls, through the foyer and into the winding hallway.

“Are they together?” Lorcan asked, following Elide up the winding staircase.

“How the hell am I supposed to know?” Gavriel growled.

“He’s not talking to you,” Fenrys whispered, with a surprise calm.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Gavriel asked, exasperated.

Fenrys didn’t answer.

“Who?” Elide asked, at last, as they neared the second floor landing.

“Aelin and Rowan,” Lorcan snapped. “Are they together?”

Elide’s brows furrowed. “Aelin is gone. Home, safe, with baby Lucy.”

Lorcan said, “Aelin is home.”

“Home? What-.”

“Trust him,” Fenrys begged.

Gavriel growled in frustration.

They followed Elide to the end of the hall where she stopped in front of a door. Before anyone could open it, her eyes widened. “Turn around!”

A shot rang out, but it missed them all, hitting the spot where Elide’s incandescent form stood in front of the wall.

They all spun, coming eye to eye with Maeve, Cairn to her right.

“It’s about time,” Maeve crooned, her heels clicking along the hardwood. “But, I’m afraid Aelin has left, and it’s too late for your leader.”

“Where is he?” Lorcan growled.

“Don’t bother,” she said, her smile remaining. “Too late.”

“Where the fuck is he?” Gavriel yelled, taking a step toward Maeve.

Cairn raised his gun.

Gavriel froze.

“Another step and it will be your last,” Maeve promised, her grin fading.

“You have a lot of nerve,” Lorcan said, quietly.

Mave only lifted a thin, sculpted brow. “Pardon?”

“My wife,” he breathed. “Connall. Now Rowan.” He shook his head. “You’ve known us our entire lives. Why?”

“Arobynn-.”

“Why?!” He screamed, Lorcan’s voice echoing through the hallway. “You are a ruthless, worthless, piece of shit!”

“Lor,” Gavriel whispered, in warning.

“What’s she going to do?” Lorcan asked, snorting. “Shoot me?”

“Oh, I’d love to,” Maeve snapped, and snatched the gun from Cairn’s hand. It went off, the bullet hitting a nearby lamp, shattering the bulb into countless piece and the clay base into chunks.

Another shot went off.

Everyone froze.

All but Maeve, who fell to the ground.

Smoke was coming from the revolver in Lorcan’s hand.

“That was for my wife, you bitch,” Lorcan hissed, slowly lowering the gun back to his side.

Cairn stared at Maeve’s lifeless form, his lips parted.

His body joined hers soon after, thanks to Gavriel.

Lorcan had already turned and was pushing his way inside of the room that Elide had led them to. After he pushed open the door, he froze.

Then he ran.

He ran to the center of the room where Rowan was tied, hanging limply, in an old wooden chair. There was a crimson stain on his shirt, above his ribs.

“Rowan!” Gavriel growled, but Lorcan was already on his knees in front of his leader.

“Ro,” he whispered, patting Rowan on his face. “Rowan, hey, Ro, wake up, yeah?” He pressed his ear up to Rowan’s chest.

“He’s breathing,” Elide said, softly, from behind Lorcan’s shoulder. “He was here, but now he’s not. He’s ready to live.”

Lorcan looked up at his wife, and the gentle kindness in her eyes.

She was fading.

“What?” was all Lorcan could say.

“Get him to the hospital,” Elide said, as her form became lighter and lighter.

“Elide,” he breathed.

Gavriel was untying Rowan, and Fenrys stood close by, not saying a word.

Perhaps he understood.

Perhaps he saw Connall, sometimes, too.

“Goodbye, my love,” she whispered, and Lorcan knew a tear had fallen down his cheek, but he didn’t care.

Elide disappeared, and Rowan fell forward with a groan. Gavriel had loosened the bonds around his wrists, and Lorcan caught Rowan, lifting him up.

Even as he wept.

Rowan’s eyes were still shut, but the house was silent, all for Rhoe’s voice from down the hall.

“Gavriel?”

They all looked through the open door. Rhoe stood before Maeve and Cairn’s bodies, Ren and Aedion behind him.

No one bothered to ask what had happened.

Maeve was dead.

That was all that mattered.

“We need to get Rowan out of here, to medical professionals,” Lorcan said, although his voice sounded distanced.

Rowan.

Elide.

Blood.

Maeve.

Cairn.

Too much was happening.

Rowan was being lifted off of Lorcan, then Lorcan was on his feet, following the others out of the room.

Everything was in a blur.

Elide was gone.

Elide was gone, and everything was in a blur.

Elide was gone.

Gone.

He couldn’t see her ghost, not anymore.

As Lorcan followed the others out of the house, over the dead bodies in which they shot, Gavriel hung close, holding Lorcan up by the arm.

Shock.

Lorcan was in shock.

His wife’s ghost disappeared.

His best friend was shot.

He had shot Maeve.

He was following the others out of the house, but he felt like he was in a dream.

A dream, a nightmare...One of them. Either, or.

Rowan was taken from the house, put in a cab, and driven away.

To safety.

To help.

Lorcan watched.

Watched, and waited, and hoped for the very best.

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

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#tacmc itbmw #tog #fanfic #1920s au #PB au

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theladyofdeath · 4 years

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In the Bleak midwinter {17}

A Throne of Glass Period AU: 1920s.

A/N: Coming in close to the end!

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

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

Links & masterlists:

Fanfic Masterlist

Ask me

The Cadre - 1920s AU {TOG}

In the Bleak Midwinter {The Cadre, Part 2}

Aelin didn’t know how long she and Lucy had been in that room, but she knew that she was cold, achy, and terrified. It took a while for Lucy to notice. She was a curious one, and pretty independent, so she could make herself comfortable in most places, especially once they had food. But, now, Aelin was running out of comforting conversation topics to have with a toddler as anxiety and fear thrummed through her veins.

The food they were given hours ago had made her sick, although she tried to keep everything down, for Lucy’s sake. Meanwhile, every horrible outcome of what was taking place outside of the four concrete walls she sat inside had her heart beating faster.

“Ae Ae,” Lucy began, and Aelin looked over at her, trying her best not to cry.

“Yes, Luce?” she replied, quietly.

“Dada,” Lucy whispered, her lip wobbling, but before she could cry, the door was unlocked, and pushed open.

Aelin quickly snatched Lucy up as she stood and held the toddler tightly in her arms.

Cairn stood there, looking as deadpan and serious as ever. “Come with me.”

“Where to?” Aelin asked, not moving a step.

Cairn showed no emotion. “Come with me, or I’ll lock you in here, again. It’s your choice.”

Aelin hated that she didn’t hesitate. Instead, with Lucy in her arms, she followed Cairn out of the little room and through the winding hallways.

The rest of the building wasn’t any better than the little room they had been trapped in. The stone walls continued, and Aelin didn’t feel comforted at all as they followed Cairn through the narrow hallways. Lucy was whining, which didn’t comfort Aelin either. Aelin should have been the one to comfort her but her own nerves were spiraling out of control.

Their walk seemed to last forever, but eventually, they came to a door. Lucy clung to the neckline of Aelin’s dress, and Lucy was grateful for it, it was the only thing that was keeping Aelin connected to reality.

Even though that reality was horrifying.

Cairn pushed open the door and gestured for Aelin to enter. She was smart enough not to fight back or be stubborn, even though she so desperately wanted to both be stubborn and fight back.

Maeve knew it, too, judging by the horrific smile on her red-painted lips as they entered. Aelin, Lucy in her arms, stopped just inside of the door with her chin raised high.

“Mrs. Whitethorn,” Maeve crooned, as Cairn shut the door behind them. “How are you enjoying your stay?”

“Food is shit,” Aelin said, plainly. Lucy’s whines had turned into a silent cry, her face buried into Aelin’s shoulder. “Is my husband on his way?”

Maeve’s eyes narrowed. “To the old train station, yes. In fact, he’ll be leaving that ungodly mansion of yours shortly.”

“Whatever you’re asking him for, he won’t give it to you,” Aelin said, shaking her head, but even as the words left her mouth, she knew she was wrong. For his wife, and his niece, Rowan would give Maeve whatever she wanted.

As her dark eyes lit up, Aelin knew that she knew it, too.

“I plan to test that theory,” she said, at last, her nails clicking on the hard desktop she sat behind. “Cairn.”

Lucy was being removed from Aelin’s arms before she could even have a second thought. The second she was in Cairn’s arms, she was wailing.

“No!” Aelin cried, taking a step forward to fight for her niece back, but a gun was cocked, and Aelin froze.

Maeve didn’t hesitate as she pointed her pistol at Aelin’s head. “One more step, and you die, which would just be awful for all of us, wouldn’t it?”

Aelin put a protective hand over her stomach, then looked at Lucy, who was being held by Cairn at Maeve’s right hand side. Aelin couldn’t help the tears that lined her eyes as she listened to Lucy cry.

“Edward!”

The door opened and a man Aelin had never seen before entered the room and took Aelin’s arms behind her back.

“Fuck you!” Aelin yelled, spitting at Maeve.

The woman snorted and set her gun down on her desk. Then, she nodded her head, and Aelin was hit in the back of the head, the rest of the world going dark around her.

~~~~~

“They’re late,” Lorcan grumbled, his hands opening and closing at his sides.

Rowan pulled the pocketwatch out of his breast pocket. Lorcan was right. It was two minutes past.

“They’ll be here,” he snapped.

Gavriel stood just behind them, watching the other side of the old abandoned platform, waiting, calmly. Fenrys was there, too, his jaw locked. They had left Aedion at home, watching and waiting in case anything happened there. Lysandra was with him, along with a hysterical Natalia.

Just as Rowan’s patience was running short, he saw them coming. A sleek, black car was driving up, followed by one that was nearly identical. Rowan had no doubt to whom the cars belonged to.

No one moved, no one said a word as those cars pulled up to the other side of the broken tracks.

They waited for a moment, and Rowan was about nearly to combust as the door to the first car opened and Cairn came out. He ascended the platform, and met their gazes as he approached.

Alone.

Before Rowan could open his mouth and spit out a retort, Cairn said, “Maeve sends apologies. She couldn’t make it, she was otherwise occupied.”

“Where are they.” It wasn’t a question, but a demand. Rowan’s voice was low, calm. He didn’t want to even start thinking about where Maeve’s attention was.

“Depends which one you’re asking about,” Cairn replied, simply.

Rowan froze, and it was Lorcan that growled, “Stop dancing around the subject, tell us the fucking conditions so we can get on with it.”

Cairn stared at them, perfectly happy with Lorcan’s outburst. It’s why he let the silence ensue before saying, “Mr. Whitethorn comes with me.”

Gavriel’s shoulders tensed as Fenrys snorted. Lorcan had begun to say no, but Rowan interrupted them all, saying, “And Lucy and Aelin come back?”

“I have Lucy in the car,” Cairn replied, simply, and when he didn’t go on, Rowan asked, “And my wife?”

Cairn just smiled, slowly.

“Well?” Rowan asked, after Cairn said nothing.

“Lucy comes back to you now,” he said, quietly. “Aelin will be sent back to the estate when Rowan is safely delivered to Maeve.”

“No,” Lorcan breathed, even though Rowan knew it hurt him to say it. “We find another way.”

“Lucy needs to be safe now,” Rowan said, quietly. “And Aelin needs to be safe now. I’ll be fine, and I’ll figure something out, but they need to be home, where I know they’re okay.”

Lorcan stilled, but Rowan said, “Bring Lucy to Lorcan and I’ll come willingly.”

“That undoes everything that we’ve fought for so far,” Fenrys muttered.

Rowan closed his eyes, knowing full well he was thinking of Connall. But Rowan wouldn’t have another death on his hands. Not his niece. Not his wife. He was done watching those he loved die, those that his family loved die.

He was over it.

Done.

Cairn waved a hand and the door to the second car was opened. A man in a suit came out, carrying Lucy, who was looking around with big, round eyes. The moment she spotted Lorcan, she began to cry, scream for him, but the second Lorcan took a step toward her, a gun was pointed at him.

So he stilled, and waited, even though it killed him to do so. The second Lucy was in his arms, though, he was clinging onto his daughter for dear life.

“Dada.” She wept his name, and if Rowan had any sort of hesitation, Lucy’s little voice pushed him over the edge. Without looking back at his men, he took a step toward Cairn, then another, and another.

Before anyone could say anything otherwise, Rowan was shoved into a car and being driven away from the abandoned train tracks.

Toward his aunt.

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

#tacmc itbmw #period au #1920s au #pb au #tog #throne of glass #fanfic

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theladyofdeath · 4 years

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In the Bleak Midwinter {18}

A Throne of Glass Period AU: 1920s.

A/N: Oooooooooh boy.

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

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

Links & masterlists:

Fanfic Masterlist

Ask me

The Cadre - 1920s AU {TOG}

In the Bleak Midwinter {The Cadre, Part 2}

Rowan rode in the back of the car, right next to Cairn. He hated it, knowing full well he wanted to lash out and kill Cairn on the spot, but also knowing it would bring harm to Aelin.

For the entirety of the ride, Rowan didn’t say a word, no matter how bad he wanted to. Cairn kept looking at him, tauntingly.

“Where’s my wife?” Rowan asked, quietly.

Cairn spun Rowan’s pistol around his finger, having already stripped him of his weapons.

“Don’t make me ask again,” Rowan asked, in a deadly calm.

“She’s alive,” Cairn answered, simply.

“And unharmed?” Rowan asked, staring at his gun in Cairn’s massive, scarred hand.

Cairn met Rowan’s gaze. “She was when I left, but that was a few hours ago. A lot can happen in the span of a few hours.”

Rowan’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t push. He was caught somewhere between wanting to grab his gun back from Cairn and putting a bullet through his head and saying fuck the consequences or sitting still, complying to the demands he was given, and probably getting shot by the end of the night.

At least, if Rowan got shot, his family would be safe.

At least, that was the theory.

Rowan opened his mouth to make a retort, but Cairn cut him off. “Say one more thing, and I’ll kill you with your own fucking gun. How tragic would that be?”

Rowan’s lips snapped shut, but the look in his eyes was worth a thousand words.

He hated this, every moment of it. Although grateful Lucy was home with Lorcan, Maeve still had his wife, his unborn child, and every chance he had to kill one of Maeve’s men and he couldn’t, didn’t, it drove him mad.

They eventually pulled up to a home, quite a ways from Orynth’s border. They must not have cared that Rowan was seeing it now.

Considering he wouldn’t be leaving it alive to retell the tale.

Rowan didn’t put up a fight as Cairn opened the door, ordering him out. In fact, he was quite cordial as he followed Maeve’s first in command into the old manor. Rowan didn’t know what he had been expecting, considering the landscaping wasn’t in horrible condition, but to find every piece of furniture covered in white sheets as if the owner was on an extended-holiday was not it.

He tried not to look too intrigued, though, as he followed Cairn through the hallways, then through the door that led down to the kitchens.

It was freezing, and the entire place was covered in webs as if no one had bothered to dust down there in a while. Rowan tried to keep his eyes open, trying to look for any sign that Aelin had been through there, but he was only met with a stone floor, and stone walls. They walked past the kitchen, further down the hall, where no windows let in any sort of light.

Candelabras lined the walls, though, which only made Rowan nauseous as he was reminded of some sort of medieval dungeon.

When they came to the end of the hall, and Rowan’s heart was nearly ready to beat through his chest, they halted in front of a closed door.

Cairn knocked on it, twice, and they waited.

For a moment, nothing happened, but then it swung open, and Rowan followed Cairn inside.

Maeve was lounging behind a massive oak desk, completely unphased by the arrival of her nephew. Instead of surprise, she was smiling at him as he entered, her eyes lit with something that made Rowan’s nausea grow worse.

“Hello, nephew,” Maeve crooned. “It’s been a while. How have you been?”

Rowan said nothing. His lips remained closed as he stared, waiting.

“I have to admit that I feel…” she paused, trying to decide on the perfect word. “Exhilarated. I’ve been trying for this victory for so long that I almost thought it was nothing more than a dream.”

“You haven’t won yet,” Rowan said, simply.

Maeve snorted. “I beg to differ. The second I got Aelin Galathynius into my company - spoiled little bitch, she is - I knew I had you wrapped around my finger.”

Rowan lifted his chin.

“You are mine now, nephew,” she crooned. “You will die.”

“Where is she?” Rowan breathed.

“Here,” Maeve answered, her voice light, which only pissed Rowan off more.

“I want to see her,” Rowan replied, keeping his voice as calm as possible.

“That’s not possible,” Maeve replied, without any hesitation.

“Surely if you’re going to kill me, you’re not so cruel that I can’t say goodbye,” Rowan responded.

“And how do you know that I’m not so cruel?” Maeve asked, humored.

Rowan’s jaw was rigid, and for a moment, he said nothing. He stared at his aunt, at the woman he had known his whole life, at the woman he’d used to live with, used to work for, and wondered how the fuck they got to where they were now.

He blamed it all on Arobynn Hammel.

In one fluid motion, Rowan reached down into his boot and pulled out a small, handmade bomb that Vaughan himself had constructed, He held it close to him, his fingers hovering near the pin that held it all together.

Everyone in the room froze, Maeve’s haughty smile finally fading away.

“I will cooperate, under one condition,” Rowan said, slowly. “Aelin goes home. Today. Now. Safely. You can take me, have me, kill me, but my wife goes free.”

Maeve’s eyes narrowed. “And if I say no? She’s in this building, you set that off, she dies, too.”

“So do you,” Rowan responded. “And all your men.”

“You’re bluffing,” Maeve spat.

Rowan’s grin was one to behold. “Would you like to test that theory?”

Maeve watched him, carefully. “Vaughan made that.”

“Yes.”

Her grin reappeared, and she shook her head, slowly. “You forget that I know you all. Very, very well.”

Rowan said nothing, unsure of where she was going, but not liking it, not one bit.

“I’ve seen many of Vaughan’s creations through the years,” Maeve went on, leaning back in her chair. “Both those that he has made to actually take lives, and those he’s made to use as a pawn.”

Rowan stayed perfectly still, perfectly calm. “Don’t test me, Maeve.”

“Don’t lie to me, nephew,” she spat.

The second Rowan moved, the butt of his own handgun hit him in the back of the head.

He remembered nothing after that for a long, long while.

~~~~~

“You let her take him?” Lysandra’s voice boomed through the manor.

“We had no choice,” Gavriel replied, his voice low. “What Rowan wants to do, he does, it doesn’t matter what we thought-.”

“He’s in Maeve’s hellhole!” Lysandra shouted. “She’s going to kill him!”

Aedion was standing just behind her, softly rubbing her lower back. She stepped away, not wanting comfort.

“We’re going to work out a plan,” Gavriel followed.

“A plan,” Lysandra repeated, mockingly. “Why does that not sound promising?”

“Way to put your faith in us,” Gavriel growled. “I understand you’re worried-.”

“Worried?” Lysandra interrupted, laughing humorlessly. They thought she’d say something else, thought she would blow up, thought she would tear them all to shreds, but she didn’t.

She just shook her head and turned her back to all of them, then walked away.

“She’s right.” Lorcan’s voice came quietly from the corner where Lucy was sound asleep on his shoulder. “We let him go, and we shouldn’t have.”

Gavriel said nothing. Instead, he took a cigarette out of his jacket pocket, put it between his lips, and lit the tip.

“We don’t even know where Maeve is holding them,” Fenrys said, leaning back in a chair in the dining room, his hat over his face.

No one bothered to correct him.

He was right.

“Would you like to know what I think?” Natalia asked.

All at once, they answered, “No.”

With a scowl, she hurried out, following Lysandra.

“I’ll go meet with Rhoe and the others,” Aedion announced. “See what we can find out. I’ll come back in a few hours to tell you what I know.”

Gavriel nodded, and Aedion was gone to tell Lysandra goodbye.

“And what do we do?” Lorcan asked, quietly. “While we wait?”

Lorcan, Fenrys, Gavriel, and Vaughan all looked at one another, realizing that it was the first time they had ever been without Rowan, since he had been their leader. Gavriel hated to admit that he felt like he felt when they had lost Rowan’s father. But, they wouldn’t vote on a new leader, not yet.

Rowan’s fight was not finished.

It wouldn’t be finished.

He was going to escape, going to live, going to beat this shit.

“We…” Gavriel began, then shook his head, taking another drag from his cigarette. After blowing out a long breath, and a puff of smoke, he continued. “Vaughan and I will go talk to our guys on the police force. Lor, you and Fen go back to the tracks and see if you can find any signs, or tracks, follow them. As soon as you have a decent lead, come back here. We’ll all meet up in a few hours and take it from there.”

There was a moment of silence, but then Fenrys asked, still beneath his hat, “And if we’re too late?”

The room fell silent.

It was a risk. Every moment they spent looking and finding nothing was a risk.

A risk they had no choice but to take.

Gavriel just shook his head. “We won’t be.”

It was a promise he couldn’t keep, but he would try to keep it if it was the last thing he did.

He wouldn’t say the words, wouldn’t bury Rowan, who was like a younger brother to him.

The words would not fall from his lips, not if Gavriel could help it. And yet, the words wouldn’t stop replaying through his mind as he stood from the dining room table, reloaded his gun, and left the manor with Vaughan.

In the bleak midwinter.

~~~~~

Aelin had been crying for hours.

At least, it felt like hours, but she had no way of knowing how much time had truly passed.

The moment the door to her prison opened and Rowan was tossed inside, bloody and unconscious, she had lost it.

For a while, she had tried to wake him up, to no avail. Then, once she made sure he was breathing, she just waited.

And the waiting was agonizing.

Leaning against the wall, in the dreadful silence, she watched Rowan’s chest rise and fall. Slowly, shakily.

His lip had been cut, his eye bruised, as if knocking him out hadn’t been good enough, the assholes under Maeve’s command had to leave their mark, too.

Feeling completely exhausted, she crawled over to Rowan and laid down beside him on the cold, hard floor. Rowan didn’t move as Aelin laid her head on his chest, and draped an arm across his waist.

A tear slid down her cheek, onto his jacket.

“Please wake up,” she whispered, pleaded, begged. “We need to get out of here, Ro. You, me, the baby….we need to get out of here.”

Nothing.

She grasped the fabric of his jacket, clinging to it with all that she had. At least Lucy was safe. At least, she hoped so. When Rowan woke up, Aelin would ask.

And Rowan would wake up.

Because, if he didn’t…

No.

The thought was too excruciating.

“Ro, Ro, please, wake up,” she whispered, although she was so tired that she could hardly keep her eyes open. “I love you, sweetheart, and I need you to wake up. We can get out of this, baby, but I can’t do it alone, okay?”

She could hear his heart beating beneath her ear, through the layers that covered his chest.

When she received no indication of Rowan waking up, a sob tore through Aelin’s body. She closed her eyes, taking in his scent, memorizing everything she could about her husband.

If this would be their last moment alive, she would take in everything she could, hoping it went with her to the afterlife. She hated it, though. Hated that this is what she would bring into the afterlife with her.

Memories of lying together on the floor, blood streaked across Rowan’s face, him unresponsive. Aelin must have fallen asleep, and it’s exactly what she dreamt about.

Rowan, unconscious, dying, and her soon after. Then, the three of them - Rowan, her, and their daughter - walking into the afterlife.

Their daughter looked just like her father.

Silver hair, green eyes, sun-kissed skin. She was beautiful. The most beautiful. Aelin couldn’t believe how much love she had for the little girl.

But then she woke up, her eyes shooting open.

A hand had moved to her lower back, and when she lifted herself up, she saw Rowan’s eyes watching her. He was exhausted, she could tell, in pain.

But he was awake.

“Rowan.” Her voice was part whisper, part sob, part disbelief. She cupped his face as she kissed him, carefully. “I was so afraid, so worried you were….”

Her words trailed off, unable to say any of what she was actually thinking.

“I’m okay,” Rowan said, his voice raspy, tired. He reached up with a shaky hand to brush a loose strand of hair out of her face. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

“What-.”

“I’m going to make a deal.”

“No,” Aelin breathed. “No, unless it includes you and me walking out of these doors, together.”

Rowan eyed her for a moment, his gaze soft, before he said, “We both know that won’t happen. But, I’m going to get you out of here, Aelin. You, and the baby.”

Aelin shook her head, knowing what he was going to say next.

“I’m going to have to give myself to Maeve, Aelin, but you and the baby will be free.”

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

#tacmc itbmw #tog #period au #1920s au #pb au

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theladyofdeath · 4 years

Text

In the Bleak Midwinter {1}

A Throne of Glass Period AU: 1920s.

A/N: At last! Enjoy the tragedy that is about to unfold...

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

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

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The Cadre - 1920s AU {TOG}

In the Bleak Midwinter {The Cadre, Part 2}

2 years later…

The wedding had been a peaceful event. Small, just family and close friends. The ceremony was held in a beautiful chapel with stained-glass windows and pews sturdy enough to last the last century. Rowan had waited at the end of the aisle while his bride was escorted to him by her father.

Aelin was beautiful.

They’d had a hard time planning the perfect wedding- mostly when it came to the guest list. But at last, two years later, they had come to a plan that they agreed on, and all was well.

Well enough, anyway.

Business, both legal and not, had skyrocketed in the past two years. Rowan and Aelin now lived in a massive house just outside of the city. They got a dog, per Aelin’s request, even though Rowan had never been one for pets. Fleetfoot seemed good enough, though. At least she never chewed anything up or shit on the carpet.

As for their enemies, there had only been little squabbles over the past couple years. After Arobynn’s death, the entirety of Orynth belonged to the Cadre, with no doubt from the citizens within. Everywhere Rowan went, people knew his name, knew his reputation, knew who he was and what he did. Not that anyone could prove it. Any of it. The cops still stayed off his back, although he owed a lot of that to those in uniform that he paid to keep quiet.

He had only recently received news from an enemy that caused true concern, but he had kept it to himself. He wanted to keep the peace...if only for a little while longer.

It had been a while since Rowan had seen his new wife, he realized, after they had returned to their home for a reception to celebrate their marriage. People were everywhere, and his men were on guard around the room - socializing, drinking, but staying alert, per his request. Rowan’s eyes scanned the room as he made his way to the far wall and up the grand staircase and down the hall, to where the master bedroom sat behind a closed set of thick double doors.

He pushed the door open and found Aelin sitting in front of her vanity, fixing her lipstick. Rowan closed the doors and leaned back against them, arms crossed, as he watched.

Aelin met his gaze through her reflection in the mirror.

When she said nothing, Rowan sighed, “Must I ask why you’re up here instead of floating through the ballroom like the social butterfly that you are?”

Aelin rolled her eyes. “Needed a moment.”

Rowan reeled in the urge to roll his eyes, too. “I know you, Aelin. So please tell me what’s really going on instead of tiptoeing around the issue, for the gods sake.”

Aelin slowly set down her pale, pink lipstick and straightened her back. “I feel you regret marrying me.”

Rowan blinked, shoulders tensing. “We just fucking said our vows an hour ago, what the hell are you talking about?”

He knew he should approach the subject with caution, and as Aelin’s eyes grew misty, he knew he had to do some damage control - and fast.

After pushing himself off of the doors, he approached his new wife and knelt before her, resting his hands on her knees as she sat before him on the vanity’s golden stool.

But before he could speak, Aelin said, “You’ve been acting strange lately, Ro, don’t think that I haven’t noticed. I thought you were simply nervous for the wedding, for being in front of all of those people at the ceremony, considering you have to be vulnerable in stating your vows, and let’s be honest, vulnerability isn’t your strong suit.” Rowan snorted, but Aelin went on, “But, now I’m not so sure. I fear you will grow to regret me, regret us, and it has already begun.”

Rowan sighed, closing his eyes for a moment to collect his emotions. Yelling at her, telling her how ridiculous she sounded, would not help matters, not at all.

Once he opened his eyes, he said, simply, “It’s just your hormones, that’s all.”

Aelin’s eyes had dried and were replaced with hellfire.

Nope, not the right thing to say, at all.

“I just mean,” Rowan said, quickly, placing his hands lovingly over Aelin’s stomach, “that...well….you’re….a little more emotional lately, you know?”

“Fuck off,” she muttered, pushing his hands away. “You blame everything on my hormones. Tell me that one more fucking time, Rowan Whitethorn, and I’m cutting your balls off in your sleep.”

Rowan blinked, as Aelin stood and walked to the other side of the room. She threw open the wardrobe and shuffled through it, even though she wouldn’t be changing her clothes.

“Are we really going to fight on our wedding day?” Rowan asked, standing to his feet. “We have a house full of guests downstairs, Aelin.”

“I don’t care,” she snapped.

“You are such a pain in the ass,” Rowan mumbled.

“Yeah, I am. And you’re a jackass.” She kept her back to him. “I demand to know what’s going on, Rowan.”

He opened his mouth for a snappy retort, but quickly shut it. It wasn’t worth the argument. Not today.

“It’s not you, okay?” Rowan said, sighing, running his hands down his face. “I don’t regret you, Aelin, and honestly, I don’t know how you could even think such a fucking stupid thing. Alright? I love you. I put a fucking kid inside of you. And I love that thing, too.”

Aelin paused her rummaging through the wardrobe and turned around, slowly. “Could you please not refer to our child as a fucking kid or that thing?”

Rowan’s eyes closed. “You’re asking a lot of me here, A.”

They had yet to tell anyone that Aelin was expecting. It was still early and she had yet to noticeably show.

Her heels clicked across the hardwood floor, and when Rowan opened his eyes, she was standing in front of him, gold-rimmed eyes still filled with worry. “What’s going on, Ro?”

He sucked in his bottom lip and turned away but Aelin took his chin and forced him to meet her gaze, once more.

“It’s business,” he said, at last.

“That’s not an answer.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Not a good enough one,” she protested.

“Let’s go back downstairs and enjoy the day,” Rowan said, “and later tonight, I’ll fill you in.”

Aelin stared at him for a moment. “It’s just business?”

“It’s just business,” he promised, and took her face into his hands as he kissed her, softly.

Aelin chuckled as she reached up to wipe away the lipstick that had transferred to his lips from hers. “Okay,” she breathed. “Fine. But tell your band of dipshits that they better keep themselves in line tonight. Lysandra says that Fenrys plans to start a fighting ring out back by the end of the night, and if he does that, I will personally kill him myself.”

“Alright,” Rowan muttered, although Lysandra had told him that, too, and he had thought nothing of it. “I’ll take care of it.”

~~~~~

Gavriel was nearly the last one to make it into the kitchen. The others were there, all who was missing was Rowan himself, who had announced that there would be a meeting in five minutes and if any of them were missing he’d have their balls.

Gavriel leaned back against the wall between Aedion and Vaughan, who offered him a cigarette. Fenrys and Connall were there, too, sitting on the counter top. And then there was Lorcan, nearly about to fall asleep where he stood. Apparently the little one was going through an “I don’t want to sleep” phase - again. Chaol, Dorian, and Ren were talking about something amongst themselves. From what Gavriel could gather, it had something to do with a woman. Judging by the annoyed look in his eyes and the pink tips of his ears, Gavriel assumed that they were trying to set Ren up with one of the guests upstairs.

After the uniting of Rowan and Aelin, Rhoe and his men became secondary members of the Cadre. They were all family now, after all - at least, that’s what they were told.

By the time Rowan padded down the stairs and into the kitchen, dodging busy waiters as they carried appetizers and champagne upstairs, the room was filled with smoke.

Rowan didn’t say a word as he pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit the tip. He took a long drag before he said, “Today is my wedding day. Which means that it’s an important day for my wife, and since it’s such an important day for my wife, I expect none of you will do anything to ruin it. In short, if you think it will embarrass Aelin, don’t do it.” He stood in the middle of them all, slowly turning, making sure to meet each of their gazes. He stopped when he faced Fenrys. “No fucking fighting.” He pointed from Fenrys, to Connall. “No fucking fighting.”

The twins held their hands up in surrender, as if they had no idea what Rowan was talking about. Beside Gavriel, Vaughan snorted.

“No fighting. No snow, no drugs,” Rowan went on, emphasizing the word drugs as he looked at Chaol, Dorian, and Ren. “No fucking in public places, gods, no one wants to see that, if you’re taking a woman, please do it upstairs, in one of the guest rooms and lock the fucking door. We don’t need a repeat of...well, any of the times we’ve caught Dorian and Manon in one of their many compromising positions.” Dorian just grinned as Rowan added, “And try not to get shitfaced. Please. Have a drink, but keep your fucking wits.”

“I know you said no drugs,” Fenrys said, raising his hand like he was a fucking schoolboy. “But Lor really looks like he could use a pick-me-up right about now.”

Rowan turned around to find Lorcan, eyes closed, breathing even, as he leaned up against the wall. He slowly walked toward the tall, broad-framed male, and patted his cheek with a little too much force.

Lorcan’s eyes shot open, exhaustion lingering in those onyx eyes. “Hmm?”

“Are you listening?” Rowan asked, cigarette between his teeth.

Lorcan yawned, and nodded. “Yeah. No-No fucking fighting.”

“Right,” Rowan confirmed, then turned around to the rest of them. “No. Fucking. Fighting!”

Rowan turned to leave, cigarette between his teeth. A waiter came around the corner and bumped into Rowan’s shoulder. Gavriel shook his head as Rowan shoved the waiter out of the way and headed out of sight.

“He seems tense,” Aedion muttered.

“He’s always tense,” Gavriel agreed. “Get a few drinks in him. He’ll be fine.”

“Get a few drinks in him then he’ll be the first one fighting,” Connall grinned.

Vaughan chuckled.

“When’s an appropriate time to leave?” Lorcan asked. “I need sleep.”

“How come you’re so exhausted?” Gavriel asked. “Your wife is upstairs floating around the room like a woman on a mission.”

“That’s because all we’ve seen since the baby’s been born is you miserable lot,” Lorcan muttered. “She’s excited to be around other people, pleasant people.”

Gavriel laughed as he followed Aedion out of the kitchen and up the servant’s stairs. Things had been going well between the two of them in the two years that had passed. They met for drinks once a week, but often ran into each other and talked for a while in the days in between.

“Plan to stay for a while?” Aedion asked, walking beside his father.

“I don’t have a choice,” Gavriel said. “Especially if Fen and Connall are going to fight, which they are, no matter what Rowan says. By the end of the night, they’ll be taking bets.”

Aedion laughed, quietly. “Sounds right.”

They fell into the ballroom, at last, and Gavriel watched Aedion’s eyes light up when he spotted Lysandra on the opposite side.

“Go,” Gavriel encouraged, when it was obvious Aedion wanted to walk away.

He never asked how it was going between the two of them, never wanted to push. He knew that the young couple was in love, but that Lysandra’s past still weighed on her heavily.

Because of that, it seemed like the two simply remained friends.

As much as two people could be friends when they’re in love with one another, anyway.

Gavriel couldn’t help but watch as Aedion asked Lysandra for her hand and led her onto the dancefloor. He spun her around, joy lighting up his eyes as Lysandra tilted her head back and laughed.

Then Rowan and Aelin entered the crowd, that little smile that Rowan reserved just for his bride plastered on his face. He deserved it, after all the kid had endured. Although Gavriel supposed Rowan was not a kid, not anymore.

He hadn’t been for a long while.

At least he had Aelin to make him happy.

Gavriel had noticed his shift in the recent weeks, though. He was more tense, more anxious. Something was happening, but Gavriel wasn’t sure what - none of them were.

And Gavriel knew better than to pressure him about it.

~~~~~

“I can’t believe you made me leave in the middle of dancing.”

Lorcan sighed. It was the fifth time Elide had said that on their drive home. In reality, Lorcan didn’t make her do anything. She had found him sleeping with a glass of whiskey in his hand at a table in the corner and asked if he needed to go home.

He mumbled a yes, and they were off.

Of course, now he was the bad guy.

“Blame your daughter,” Lorcan said, opening the front door. “She’s the one that doesn’t let me sleep.”

Elide shut the door behind them and locked it. The nanny was sitting in the den, sipping from a glass of vodka. Lorcan and the nanny had a love/hate relationship. She spoke a language that Lorcan didn’t understand, but everything she said to him was laced with anger. Elide was fluent, though, and communicated easily with Natalia, who obviously liked Elide a lot more than Lorcan.

He couldn’t complain, though. Any nanny who came to work for him and never asked questions was one he had to hold onto.

Even if she did constantly watch Lorcan with those narrowed, angry green eyes.

Elide asked Natalia a question, and she replied but the only word Lorcan knew was Lucielle.

He thudded up the stairs, Elide close behind him.

“I assume Lucy was good?” Lorcan murmured.

“Yes,” Elide confirmed, “and Natalia says your tie is silly.”

Lorcan looked down at his tie with a frown. “I like this tie. Cranky old woman.”

She pinched his ass with a quiet giggle. “I know.”

They both made their way into the nursery to check on their one year old. She was sound asleep in her crib, her black, curly hair wild atop her white sheets. Lorcan snorted, shaking his head.

“Goodnight, my love,” he whispered, brushing that hair back from her forehead, careful not to wake her.

“Come on,” Elide whispered. “Let her sleep.”

They left the nursery and stumbled down the hall into the master bedroom. Elide shut the door as Lorcan crashed onto their bed.

“Goodnight,” he mumbled.

“That’s all I get?” Elide crooned. “I thought we could work on baby number two tonight.”

Lorcan barked a laugh as he put his hands behind his head. Elide started unlacing his boots. “You want two kids waking us up at the crack of dawn?”

“Why not?” Elide asked, taking off his socks before crawling on top of his body and straddling his waist.

“Lucy is perfect,” Lorcan mumbled, his hands finding her thighs and lifting up the hem of her skirt so that his fingers could brush her warm skin, just above the garters. “But give me another year before we are blessed with another...angel.”

Elide laughed breathlessly as she leaned down and pressed her lips against her husband’s. “Very well.”

Lorcan yawned. “Fuck me, though. I’ll pull out. Maybe.”

Elide snorted. “How romantic.”

“I’m incredibly romantic,” Lorcan agreed, closing his eyes.

Elide started undoing his belt, but by the time she had his trousers unbuttoned, he was already snoring.

~~~~~

Rowan had left Aelin with the guests that remained, the dancing still going strong, as he snuck out of the back of the house.

Against his wishes, two grown men were fighting near the stables, Fenrys and Connall taking bets. Gavriel and Vaughan both looked curiously at Rowan as he approached.

“Couldn’t stay away?” Gavriel asked.

Rowan pulled the cigarette out from between his teeth. “They don’t listen, do they.”

Vaughan just shook his head.

“Leave them be,” Rowan said, looking away. “I need you two to come with me. Now.”

No one asked questions.

They loaded up into the car and drove to the edge of town, where the old railroad tracks ended.

Vaughan began to slow down as they approached, upon seeing the black car that sat by the tracks, the lights off.

“What’s going on?” Gavriel asked, quietly.

“Pretend like you already know,” Rowan said, tossing his cigarette onto the gravel as Vaughan put the car in park. Rowan got out, Vaughan and Gavriel at his back. They stood in the middle of the two cars and, a moment later, the car closest to the tracks opened and a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped out in a long, black coat and a neat fedora.

Rowan stilled. “Who the fuck are you?”

The man said nothing. He couldn’t have been much older than Rowan, but the look in his blue eyes was unsettling. He recognized him from somewhere, but Rowan couldn’t place him.

Without a word, the man held up a sealed envelope.

“Not going to talk?” Rowan asked, blinking. “Makes you look shady.”

The man didn’t budge.

He simply held the letter out.

“Very well,” Rowan sighed. He nodded to Vaughan, who stepped forward and snatched the letter out of the man’s hand.

Without another word, the man fell back into the backseat of the car, and they sped off.

Once they were out of sight, Gavriel turned to Rowan. “Is this where we get an explanation?”

Rowan took the envelope from Vaughan and lit a match after breaking the seal and pulling out the letter. He read over it in the ignited light, the other two watching him quietly, curiously.

“Fuck,” he muttered, then lit the corner of the letter and watched it go up in flames.

“Rowan,” Gavriel growled, neither he nor Vaughan moved from their spots as Rowan turned to get back into the car.

Rowan stopped and sighed as he turned to meet his friends, his family, his Cadre. He shoved his hands into his pockets as he said, “Maeve is back.” Rowan shrugged, turning his back to them to finish the distance to the car. “And she’s pissed.”

He loaded himself into the driver’s seat as Vaughan and Gavriel looked down at the letter on the ground, where the black hand was burning into nothingness and floating away in the night.

~~~~~~

#tog #throne of glass #period au #1920s au #rowaelin #elorcan #lysaedion #sjm #fanfic #fanfiction #au #tacmc ITBMW

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theladyofdeath · 4 years

Text

In the Bleak Midwinter {5}

A Throne of Glass Period AU: 1920s.

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

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

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

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The Cadre - 1920s AU {TOG}

In the Bleak Midwinter {The Cadre, Part 2}

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

Good thing he had a flask in his pocket.

It was good to always be prepared.

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

“Who was that?” Lorcan muttered.

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

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

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

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

“Naughty nothings?” Lorcan repeated.

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you wanna dance?”

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

Yes, he hated the music.

Yes, he hated dancing.

But gods, he loved Elide Lochan Salvaterre.

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

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

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

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

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

“Lorcan!”

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

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

The man fell down.

Another shot rang out.

His accomplice fell to the ground, as well.

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

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

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

Lorcan wasn’t processing it.

Couldn’t process it.

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

Her blood.

It was Elide’s blood.

She was bleeding.

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

Then it hit him.

It all hit him.

His heart began to race.

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

She had gotten shot.

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

And had hit Elide.

In the ribs.

Elide had been shot in the ribs.

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

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

He was panicking.

He was having a panic attack.

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

Elide.

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

Time stood still.

Time was blurry.

Time was meaningless.

Everything was meaningless if Elide wasn’t there.

She was fading.

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

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

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

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

Lucy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The land in Lorcan’s went limp.

And Elide Lochan Salvaterre went still.

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

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

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

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theladyofdeath · 4 years

Text

In the Bleak Midwinter {14}

A Throne of Glass Period AU: 1920s.

A/N: That’s right - a happy chapter! x

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

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

Links & masterlists:

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The Cadre - 1920s AU {TOG}

In the Bleak Midwinter {The Cadre, Part 2}

A soft knock came to Aedion’s closed bedroom door as he was looking at himself in the mirror. “Come in!”

The door crept open and Aelin peeked in. “How’s it coming, cousin?”

The way she said cousin had him rolling his eyes. “Fine, I guess.”

Aelin’s smile faltered as she stepped inside and shut the door behind her. “For someone about to finally marry the woman he’s been wanting to marry for half of his life, Fine, I guess, does not sound very comforting.”

Aedion turned back to the mirror and cocked his head. “I look like shit.”

Aelin snorted and came up behind him. “Turn.” He did as he was told, and although Aelin was nearly a head shorter than he was, she had no problem judgmentally sizing him up. “Well, the reason you look like shit is because you were up all night getting drunk with the other assholes in this house.”

It was true. The boys had thrown him a night out...or, well, in, and they had gotten a little carried away. The Cadre, as well as Ren, Chaol, and Dorian, had started a bonfire just outside of the back door of the kitchens, and stayed awake for most of the night drinking until they couldn’t walk, or think, straight.

“My husband looks like shit today too, though, if that makes you feel any better.”

Aedion huffed a laugh. “It does, actually. Rowan thinks he’s a fucking god, it pleases me to be told that he’s human.”

Aelin rolled her eyes but her lips were pressed together to suppress her grin. After attempting to straighten his collar, Aelin sighed. “Alright, strip down, this isn’t working.”

Aedion blinked. “What? This is my best suit.”

He hadn’t left, per Rowan’s request, to get anything for the wedding. No, they’d be using what the estate had, which was great, considering they planned a wedding in three days. Then again, it would only be family, and the estate’s staff, that would be attending. The only people coming from off the estate’s grounds were Rhoe, Chaol, Dorian, Ren, and the preacher.

“It’s wrinkled,” Aelin said, already walking away from him to throw open his wardrobe. “You’re not wearing wrinkled clothes to your wedding, Aedion, gods, I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”

Aedion sighed, even though she was right, as he began yanking off his tie, then his jacket, his vest, his shirt, and, finally, his trousers. When he was standing in his underclothes like a child in the middle of the floor, Aelin began tossing things back at him.

First was a pair of charcoal trousers, which he quickly pulled on before his cousin could mock him for being in his undershorts - which sounded like something she’d do, without a doubt. She also tossed him a new, white button down shirt, a vest, and a jacket that matched his trousers.

His fingers were shaking so desperately from the nerves that he was having trouble buttoning.

Aelin’s smile softened as she approached her cousin and swatted his hands away.

“You need a smoke,” she declared, helping him button up his shirt.

“I need a fucking bottle of rum,” he challenged.

Aelin buttoned his shirt up to the neckline, then buttoned both of the cuffs of his sleeves. “An entire bottle?”

“Yes,” Aedion said, in all seriousness, as he tucked in his shirt and pulled on his vest.

Aelin buttoned those buttons, too. “Why the hell are you so nervous?”

Aedion closed his eyes and threw his head back. “Because I’m pretty sure I was dreaming when she said yes.”

When he opened his eyes again, Aelin was holding out his jacket, which he slipped on without any hesitation. There were hardly any buttons, but Aelin reached out to button them, anyway, without being asked. “You have no idea how madly in love that woman is with you, do you?”

Aedion didn’t answer. He just looked down fondly at his cousin as she stepped back and observed the outfit she had thrown together.

“Sit,” she ordered, gesturing to the chair that sat by the little table by the window. Aedion did so, plopping down in the wooden chair with so much force that it creaked. Aelin went to the dresser and took a hairbrush before standing behind him, and brushing through his shoulder-length, golden hair. “Aedion, you were Lysandra’s light in the darkness, her only light, for so long. You’re her best friend. When I left here to come tend to your sorry ass, she was practically jumping out of her skin she was so excited.”

Aedion smiled, but all he managed to say was, “I thought you were her best friend.”

“Hush,” she said, yanking through the knots in his hair. “I was trying to encourage you.”

“Ow! Fuck, take it easy,” he muttered, gripping the edge of the table.

“Oh, grow a pair,” she muttered, then pulled a small twig out of his hair. “Okay, seriously, what the hell did all of you assholes get into last night?”

Aedion laughed, mostly because he couldn’t remember. Once his hair had been smoothed, Aelin pulled it back into a knot at the back of his head, and retrieved his shoes, in which she placed at his feet.

He caught her hand as she began to walk away and gave her fingers a squeeze. “Thank you.”

Aelin’s smile was sweeter than it usually was when she said, “You’re welcome.”

The bedroom door cracked open. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” Aedion called, and Gavriel slipped in, smiling at Aelin.

“You look lovely today,” he said, nodding his head as she swept by him in her shimmering navy blue dress.

“I know,” she said, hand on her baby bump, and shrugged. “Thanks, Uncle.”

It was all she referred to him as now.

Gavriel chuckled as Aelin left, then stuck a cigarette between his lips as he leaned back against the door.

“You look like you’re about to puke,” Gavriel said, then pulled a flask out of his jacket pocket and tossed it to Aedion.

He caught it, effortlessly, and wasted no time unscrewing the top and taking a sip. Rum burned its way down his throat. As he screwed the top back on and was about to toss it back, Gavriel shook his head and held up a hand. “Keep it,” he said, blowing a puff of smoke into the air. “You need it more than I do today.”

Aedion didn’t argue. He simply slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket before turning to take a final glimpse of himself in the mirror, with his hands in his trouser pockets.

“You look good,” Gavriel said, coming up behind his son and brushing off the shoulders of his jacket, his cigarette hanging loosely between his lips.

“Aelin’s work, I won’t take credit.”

After taking a step back, Gavriel chuckled as he pulled something else out of his jacket pocket. “As you know, I, uh, don’t have a lot of your mother’s, but I thought you should have this for today.”

Aedion stilled in surprise as Gavriel opened up his hand, where a small pearl bracelet sat in his palm.

“I’ve never seen that before,” Aedion said, quietly. “I didn’t even know you had it.”

“She gave it to me before…” his words drifted away, and Gavriel shrugged. “Well, before everything happened all those years ago. I’ve kept it in a little box with some other stuff that’s important to me.”

When Aedion didn’t take it, Gavriel stepped forward, grabbed his son’s hand, and put the bracelet into it.

“I can’t take this,” Aedion whispered. “It’s important to you-.”

“It’s important to me that you have that to give to your wife.” Gavriel took his cigarette out of his mouth with one hand and pulled out his pocket watch with the other. “Which, you’ll have in half an hour, so put the bracelet in your pocket and take another swig of rum. You still look like you’re going to puke.”

The bracelet was beautiful, simple, delicate. Aedion ran his thumb across the pearls before he did as his father instructed, and put it safely into his breast pocket. “Thank you.”

Gavriel only nodded, then smiled, gently, as he pulled his son into a hug. There was a time when Aedion didn’t think he’d ever be able to hug either of his parents. Yet, here was Gavriel, his gangster of a father, smoking a cigarette by his ear and giving him a full flask to calm his nerves.

The thought made Aedion laugh as he hugged him back.

~~~~~

Rowan padded up the stairs and down the hall until he made it to Lysandra’s door and pounded his fist against the thick wood.

When she didn’t answer, he knocked again. “Come on, Lys, it’s time.”

The door slowly opened, mid-knock, and Natalia’s stubborn face appeared.

Rowan blinked. “Everyone’s waiting.”

Natalia’s lips pursed as she pushed her way around Rowan and went down the stairs.

“Damn,” Rowan muttered, pushing the door open further.

When he caught sight of Lysandra, his hard demeanor softened. She wore a lavender dress that reached just past her knees, one that he thought looked all too familiar.

“Aelin bought it for your wedding,” Lysandra said, seeing his gaze sweep over her dress. “You know, before she found out she was pregnant and could no longer fit it in.”

Rowan chuckled, nodding from where he was leaning against the doorway. “Well, it looks beautiful on you.”

Lysandra arched a brow as she met his gaze. “I’ve known you for a long time, Rowan Whitethorn, and it still surprises me when you give out compliments.”

“Very funny,” Rowan muttered.

Lysandra’s grin widened as she went to the vanity and picked up a waist-length, matching lace veil. “Mind helping?”

Rowan reached for the veil, careful not to snag it with his rough, calloused fingers. Once Lysandra turned, Rowan hesitated, looking for the right part to stick the comb into her hair. Lysandra’s hair was short, but it had been twisted and pulled back for the veil, by a grumpy Natalia, no doubt.

Carefully, he slid the comb into her hair, right where it knotted at the base of her head, then stepped back. “There.”

Lysandra turned to look in the mirror and smiled brightly at her reflection. “Good?”

Rowan nodded, crossing his arms. “Beautiful.”

“Two compliments in one day?” she asked, those thin brows arching, once more. “I should get married more often.”

Unable to help himself, Rowan laughed and held out his hand. “Alright, bride, come on. They’re waiting.”

She looped her arm through his and neither of them said anything more as they left her room and started down the hall.

It wasn’t long ago that Lysandra was an enslaved woman who thought herself unworthy of anyone’s love. Now, seeing her beaming, grinning ear to ear as she went to get married to a damn good man, Rowan couldn’t have been happier for her.

Everyone was gathered in the ballroom. It was a strange, simple ceremony, no music, no chairs, just Aedion standing on the far side of the room, surrounded by a semi-circle of flower arrangements, and everyone else gathered in two seperate groups, leaving an aisle between them for Lysandra to walk down.

The second they rounded the corner into the ballroom, everyone’s eyes snapped up to them, to Rowan escorting her into the room. Aelin was already sobbing uncontrollably, holding onto Vaughan’s arm for support, who was handing her a handkerchief. Natalia was staring at Gavriel in hopes that he’d return her longing gaze.

He didn’t.

Even Lorcan had soft eyes as he looked at Lysandra. Fenrys, too, even though his cap was still pulled down nearly past his eyes.

Rhoe, Chaol, Dorian, and Ren all looked at their old friend, the boy who Rhoe practically raised, and to the bride, who would soon be a part of their family, too.

And then there was Aedion, standing next to a preacher, the same one who had married Rowan and Aelin. Aedion’s eyes were bright, his smile wide. He was practically bouncing where he stood, and Lysandra picked up her pace, unable to wait any longer.

The preacher asked who would be giving her away.

After Rowan said he would, he walked to Aelin’s side, who flung her arms around him, nearly knocking him over before she cried into his chest.

It was not a good time for pregnancy hormones to be making their appearance.

Per the couples request, the ceremony was kept short and sweet and simple. Ten minutes after it began, they were saying their I-do’s and kissing each other for the first time, as man and wife. Then, they were walking away, down the aisle of the ballroom, hand in hand, married.

Aelin watched, those tears still in her eyes, as she whispered, “It’s about damn time.”

~~~~~

#tacmc itbmw #the cadre #tog #throne of glass #rowaelin #lysaedion #fanfic #fanfiction #period au #pb au

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theladyofdeath · 4 years

Text

In the Bleak Midwinter {13}

A Throne of Glass Period AU: 1920s.

A/N: (:

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

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

Links & masterlists:

Fanfic Masterlist

Ask me

The Cadre - 1920s AU {TOG}

In the Bleak Midwinter {The Cadre, Part 2}

It was a traditional gypsy funeral, honoring their people, their heritage.

Connall was placed in a wagon, surrounded by his favorite earthly possessions, and set on fire.

The others watched, still amazed that it was happening. Connall shouldn’t have been one to go. He was too loyal, too pure.

It made no sense.

Another cruel twist of fate.

As the wagon and all inside turned to ash, becoming one with the land, Fenrys found himself wondering what Connall would come back as, in his next life.

Twins are unique in the sense that they are different people, of course, yet they’re two halves of the same heart, the same soul. Could he move on, Connall, in the afterlife, and come back as a sparrow or a mountain cat or a wolf if Fenrys was not there to be reincarnated alongside him? Would he be sent to some otherworldly waiting room until Fenrys took his departure from the earth, from his current life?

How could one twin move on when the other doesn’t?

Half of Fenrys' soul had been ripped away from him, from the world, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Fenrys just wanted to know what truly happened after death, where his brother was, and if he would ever see him again.

Because the thought of anything less had his heart shattering into a million pieces.

Over and over and over again.

~~~

Three weeks after they laid Connall to rest, Rowan sat in his office, smoking a cigarette.

It was a quiet afternoon. It was the universal nap hour - Lucy, a disgruntled Lorcan, a cranky Natalia, and a pregnant Aelin.

Aedion and Lysandra had been holed up all day, Gavriel still spent most of his time hiding from Natalia, and Vaughan was still healing. Fenrys kept himself distant - reading and drinking and staring up at the moon.

It left Rowan to have a little bit of alone time during the day, even though he didn’t really like it. He used to hate being around people, but now he had to keep around them to make sure they were safe.

Although he felt like he was doing a shitty job at that.

Elide.

Connall.

The next person would be Maeve.

A part of him longed for the life he used to have. Before the estate and all that came along with it. Perhaps if he was still the little nobody from the west side of Orynth that only did the little jobs, Maeve wouldn’t think he was worth the time of day.

Everyone would be safe.

Elide and Connall would still be alive.

Rowan wouldn’t constantly be sitting on the edge of his seat, waiting for something, anything to go wrong and hating himself for all the negative thoughts and constant anxiety, but he just couldn’t help it.

And with Maeve being silent for three weeks, it only had Rowan even more paranoid.

She was waiting to strike.

He knew it.

But he just didn’t know how.

All he knew was that when she would come, he would be fucking ready.

~~~~~

Lorcan laid awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if he would ever see the inside of his own home again. He didn’t mind the estate, and it was nice to be surrounded by so many people after the loss of Elide, but he missed his own bed, the bed that he shared with her. With an ache in his chest, he looked over at the small portrait that sat on his bedside table.

Gods, she was beautiful.

As she usually did when he was alone and was thinking about her, she appeared to him. This time, she wore an evening gown of dark blue with long, dangling diamond earrings and white gloves that went up past her elbows.

“Hello, my love,” she sang.

Lorcan didn’t say anything. He just stared at her, breathed her in, memorizing the image before she disappeared, once more.

Elide strolled around the room before meeting him where he laid on his bed. Her fingers brushed down his cheek, but he didn’t feel it, he never fucking felt it.

“Do you see Connall there?” Lorcan whispered, once she resumed her walk around the bedroom. “Wherever it is that you are?”

Elide stopped, slowly turned to where Lorcan laid and cocked her head to the side. “Connall?”

“He’s dead,” Lorcan breathed. He had told her that, though, when he saw her last. He knew he had.

“Am I dead?” she responded, her smile soft. “Why are we talking of such morbid things, my love? I came to talk about us.”

Lorcan told himself to look away from her, to look away from the figment of his imagination that was his wife, but he couldn’t. He needed to drink in her beauty, dwell in it, for just a little while.

“What about us?” he whispered, unable to help himself.

“How I love you, of course,” she said. “How I wish you were here with me.”

He shook his head, slowly. No, it was he who wished she was there with him, not the other way around. Lorcan didn’t wish for death.

At least he told himself as much.

He couldn’t.

Wouldn’t.

And yet, the ghost of his late wife held out her hand. “It doesn’t hurt. It’s so easy, so soft. Just follow the light, and it will be peaceful.”

For a moment, he truly thought his wife was holding out her hand to him, as if he could simply take her slender, pale fingers into his and he would be carried away, from one life to the next.

The life where Elide waited.

But she wasn’t.

The tips of her fingers were mere inches away from the bedside table, where his revolver sat, metal glistening in the bright light streaming through the window.

The light.

Lorcan hadn’t realized he was crying until he said, his voice soft and broken, “I love you.”

“Then come to me,” she begged.

“You’re a ghost,” he whispered.

“I am whatever you want me to be,” she promised. “Our love remains, even with this distance between us. Imagine how lovely it would be without such distance.”

It took every ounce of his being, but Lorcan closed his eyes and wept in the silence of the estate.

~~~

Lorcan was the last one into the dining room, but Rowan didn’t chastise him for being five minutes late. Instead, he looked around the table at the Cadre and flicked the ash from his cigarette.

He wasn’t sure where to begin, he never was. A greeting seemed pointless on normal days, during normal times, but now, when tensions were high, greetings seemed offensive.

What was the point of small talk when loved ones had died and their world was dissolving into chaos?

“People are getting nervous.” Rowan began, after another long drag from his cigarette. Gavriel nodded, slowly, while Vaughan watched Fenrys, wearily, as the young lad sat slumped in his chair, cap pulled down far over his eyes. Aedion was there, too, sitting next to Lorcan, who was playing with his lighter.

When it was clear that no one would be asking any questions, Rowan continued. “We’ve disappeared for two months, and people are starting to ask questions. So, I suggest we host a charity event. Here.”

The room went silent.

Then, it was Lorcan who said, “Don’t fucking act like you care about the people of Orynth. You’re trying to set a fucking trap for Maeve.”

Rowan remained silent at the head of the table.

Lorcan scoffed as he shook his head. “You’re insane. You would willingly be letting her into-.”

“The event guests will come by invitation only,” Rowan interrupted, tired of the protests even though they’d just begun. “The only people inside would have passed through a security checkpoint. Everyone inside will remain safe. We haven’t left this house in three weeks, which is why I assume Maeve has been silent. If we host an event, people will be here, cars and carriages, and Maeve can slip onto the lands with her men, waiting for one of us to step outdoors, no doubt. But Rhoe and his men,” Rowan said, nodding toward Aedion, “will be hunting them down, one by one, already hiding before Maeve’s men step onto the land. Ready. That way, we kill them off, while also keeping our image in the public eye.”

“The public eye?” Lorcan’s hostility continued.

“Yes,” Rowan spat, through gritted teeth. “Like it or not, the people of Orynth have given us our success within the last few years. We lose their interest, their trust, and we will be nothing once again.”

“And where has it gotten us?” Lorcan asked, shaking his head as he stared at the long, sleek cherrywood table. “Rich and lonely.”

Rowan cleared his throat. “The event will take place next Friday. I’ve already sent out invitations. We’ll auction shit off, all proceeds will go to the new library building.”

He slipped his cigarette between his lips and pushed back his chair before rising to his feet. As he began his exit, Lorcan said, “What’s the point of these fucking meetings if you’re just going to decide shit on your own?”

Rowan froze and the room went silent, once more. With his hands shoved into his pockets, the cigarette hanging loosely from his lips, Rowan turned to meet Lorcan’s hard gaze. In a quiet, cool, steady voice, Rowan said, “So you’ll be ready.”

~~~

When Aedion made it back into his bedroom, Lysandra was out on the balcony, her elbows leaned onto the railing as her dark hair blew in the cool breeze. He met her there, standing beside her, his elbow brushing hers.

“How’d it go?” Lysandra asked. As always, she was invited to the meeting, should have been there, according to Rowan, but she needed a break from the negativity.

Aedion didn’t blame her.

He didn’t answer her question, though, only reached across the short distance between them and took her hand into his.

“I’ll let you know after I process the information.”

Lysandra huffed a humorless laugh and nodded, squeezing his hand as she did so. “Fair enough.”

He snuck a glance at her, at the way the sunlight hit her emerald eyes just right, making them glitter, shine, captivating him. She was so incredibly beautiful, so perfectly lovely, and she didn’t even know it. Aedion had been in love with her for so long, since he was no more than just a child. It had taken him years to gain her love in return, years that he waited patiently for, years that he would wait patiently for all over again.

“You’re staring,” she said, although her eyes never left the vast landscape beyond.

“Yes,” he agreed. “I am.”

“Why?” she asked, humored, finally turning to meet his gaze.

“Because you’re nice to look at.” Aedion grinned as Lysandra snorted. “And, because I love you.”

Lysandra’s smile faded away as she turned her gaze back to the distant hills. “Something happened in the meeting, didn’t it?”

Aedion didn’t answer. He didn’t want to talk about the meeting, didn’t want to talk about Rowan’s plan, didn’t want to think about any of it. All he wanted to think about was the incredible woman before him.

So he took her hand and tugged, and when she slowly turned to look at him, Aedion’s smile had vanished.

“What is it?” she whispered. “Aedion, you’re scaring me-.”

“Marry me,” he breathed.

Lysandra sucked in a breath, hesitating.

“I know I’ve said it a million times before,” he began, shaking his head, “but this time, I’m asking. I love you, and I have always loved you, and with all this...shit going on, Lysandra, I just…” His words trailed off, and he didn’t know how to make sense of all that he was feeling, so he just stopped trying, and repeated, “Marry me. Please.”

He hadn’t realized he’d begun to cry until Lysandra reached up with trembling fingers to wipe his tears away. Her fingers trailed down his cheek, her thumb brushing his bottom lip.

“You mean it?” she asked, green eyes shining.

“Yeah,” he breathed, then laughed because he had no idea how she could possibly think he didn’t mean it. “All I want is to be your husband. All I’ve ever wanted was to be your husband.”

A slow tear rolled down her cheek. “Why do I feel like you’re only asking me this because you fear that you’ll die?”

Aedion let out a long, slow breath. “If you marry me, Lys, I promise to endure whatever hell comes my way so that we may have a long, happy life together. Alright?”

It was a promise he knew he couldn’t make. She knew it, too, because those tears flowed freely, but she only nodded, and closed her eyes as her forehead met his. “Then marry me now, Aedion Ashryver. If that’s what will protect you, marry me now.”

Their lips met in a slow, deep, tender kiss. Aedion could only hope that they could marry soon, and that such a marriage full of so much love would be enough to protect him.

To protect them both.

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

#tacmc itbmw #the cadre #fanfic #fanfiction #lysaedion #rowaelin #elorcan #sjm #period au #PB au

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theladyofdeath · 4 years

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In the Bleak Midwinter {9}

A Throne of Glass Period AU: 1920s.

A/N: i mean, we’re almost at the very middle of this beast, so....

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

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

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The Cadre - 1920s AU {TOG}

In the Bleak Midwinter {The Cadre, Part 2}

The second Gavriel opened his eyes, he felt like shit. His head was pounding, the need to puke was unbearable, and it only worsened when he rolled onto his side and caught sight of who laid next to him.

He blinked, then looked around to make sure he was in the right room.

He was.

But what the fuck was Natalia doing beside him?

Nude, at that.

It took every ounce of self control not to curse out loud as Gavriel slowly scooted to the edge of the bed and pushed himself off the mattress. He grabbed his trousers, shirt, and shoes off the floor before hurrying out into the hallway.

Where Fenrys and Connall stood.

They both looked up at him, frozen in place, as he shut his bedroom door behind him.

Fenrys opened his mouth to ask for an explanation, no doubt, but Gavriel quickly said, “Don’t ask.”

“Is there a woman in there?” Connall asked. “Who the fuck could you possibly-.”

His words trailed off and his mouth fell open. Then, as Gavriel yanked on his pants, the twins slowly looked at one another with recognition in their eyes.

“Not a fucking word,” Gavriel muttered, buttoning up his shirt after slipping on his shoes as he walked down the hall, toward the staircase.

Fenrys and Connall were close behind as they all swept into the dining room for breakfast.

It seemed they were the last to arrive. With the exception of Natalia, of course.

Aedion’s eyes swept over Gavriel as he plopped down in the chair across from his son. With his mouth full of bacon, Aedion asked, “What the hell happened to you?”

“Too much to drink,” Gavriel muttered, pouring himself a glass of orange juice.

“When was the last time you’ve been hungover, Gav?” Rowan asked, humored, from the head of the table.

Gavrel just shrugged. “Good to see you up and walking around,” he said, instead, nodding to Aedion.

Aedion shot a glance to the seat next to him, where Lysandra sat. “I have a good caretaker.”

“Don’t make me tear up, my hormones are out of control,” Aeliln said, from the seat next to Rowan.

Lysandra only grinned.

Lucy began to fuss on Lorcan’s lap, and he let her down to walk around. “Has anyone seen Natalia? She wasn’t there to get Lucy up this morning. I’m worried.”

The grins that were shot at Gavriel from Fenrys and Connall made Gavriel’s skin crawl.

“Don’t,” he warned.

Which was just as bad as anything they were going to say, apparently.

Lorcan looked from the twins, to Gavriel, then down to Gavriel’s wrinkled clothes before meeting his gaze with hardened eyes. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Aedion’s eyes widened as Fenrys and Connall began to laugh. Gavriel dropped his fork against the table before putting his face in his hands.

“Fuck,” Rowan muttered, from down the table. “Seriously? The nanny?”

Even Vaughan was grinning.

“I was drunk,” Gavriel mumbled, into his hands.

“Too drunk apparently,” Lorcan scolded.

“Oh, this is great,” Lysandra said, and when Gavriel looked up from his hands, she was watching him with her chin propped on her fists.

Aedion was practically bouncing in his seat. “Damn, the old man still gets it.”

“I’m not that old,” Gavriel muttered.

“She is, though,” Lorcan said, under his breath, and if nothing else, Gavriel thought, at least his misfortune was making Lorcan smile.

But Gavriel still mumbled, “Fuck off.”

“How was she?” Fenrys asked. “Was it...was she...I mean…”

“Just stop,” Gavriel said, shaking his head. “I’m not talking about this.”

“Why not?” Rowan asked, one brow raised. “Because it was shit or because you can’t remember?”

Gavriel hesitated. No, he couldn’t remember.

The table erupted into laughter.

Gavriel pushed himself up from the table and mentioned that he was taking a walk before heading out of the dining room.

“Wait!” Aedion called after him. “Is she going to be my new mommy?”

Gavriel threw a vulgar gesture over his shoulder before making himself scarce.

~~~~~

Aelin walked down Main Street.

She wore a fitted skirt, loving to show off the little bump that had been growing bigger by the day. It was her first time out of the estate since Elide’s death and Rowan had been against it but Aelin claimed she needed to get out of the confines of her own house before she completely lost her mind. Besides, she was only going to see her father, then she’d return home to safety.

Which was what she promised Rowan a thousand times before they went their separate ways.

Aelin entered Rhoe’s office without a knock and made herself at home in a cushioned armchair.

He looked up, slowly took off his glasses, then asked, “You came here alone?”

Aelin rolled her eyes. “Contrary to what all you men think, I am capable of taking care of myself.”

Rhoe’s eyes drifted from his daughter’s to her belly, then back up again. “How’s my grandchild?”

“He made me refuse French toast at breakfast this morning, so, as of right now, we’re not on speaking terms.”

Rhoe snorted. “He?”

A sly grin formed on Aelin’s lips. “Mother's intuition.”

Rhoe just shook his head. “As much as I love you, Fireheart, is there a reason you’re here? I prefer you stay safe at home.” As Aelin opened her mouth to protest, he held up a hand. “I know, you can protect yourself, but I like to know that you’re both safe.”

Aelin sighed, putting her hand protectively on her bump. “I just came to give you an update. Rowan wants to set another trap for Maeve's men, but after the last time, I’m sure she’ll be suspicious. Either way, you and the guys are being called on for help. Plan on Sunday.”

“Okay,” Rhoe began, without any hesitation. “And Aedion?”

“Healing as he should be,” Aelin promised.

Rhoe blew out a slow, steady breath. Even though Aedion and Gavriel had formed a good relationship, Rhoe still thought of his nephew as a son.

“Well, nice talk,” Aelin said, standing up abruptly.

Rhoe blinked. “And where are you going?”

“The bakery,” Aelin replied, simply. “Ro is expecting me when the hour is up and I need a dozen muffins to keep this child growing inside of my womb pleased.”

Rhoe hesitated. “Let me walk you.”

“Do you seriously think Maeve would shoot a pregnant woman?” Aelin asked, shaking her head.

Rhoe hesitated, then pushed himself up from his desk.

“I’m not taking the chance.”

“Gods, dad, Vaughan is just around the corner, waiting there to take me back home. Alright? It’s more dangerous for you to be out there than me. I just want some chocolate muffins. Okay? The baby wants muffins.”

Rhoe watched his daughter wearily for a long moment before nodding, at last. She could tell he didn’t like it, but also knew that if he kept protesting, she would only argue with him.

So, she kissed her father on the cheek while he mumbled something about her being just like her mother, then she was off, hurrying across the street to the bakery, where she loaded up on chocolate muffins before heading back down Main Street, where Vaughan waited.

He was sitting in the street car, and Aelin could see him in the distance. He was flipping through the paper, surely looking at any small hint or sign of Maeve. His feet were propped up through the window, and Aelin didn’t know why, but she always loved when Vaughan had his guard down. He was always so put together, always so calm and collected.

It was nice to see him relaxed.

His eyes snapped up as she approached, her heels thudding along the dirt path as she came closer to the car.

“Miss me?” she asked as she approached.

Vaughan only chuckled as he pulled his long legs back into the car and folded the paper up, neatly.

Then, he tensed, and Aelin froze. Before he could react, his eyes were growing wide, and Aelin knew something horrible was about to happen when Vaughan, who hadn’t said a single word since he returned home from the war, opened his mouth and yelled two little words in a raspy, broken voice.

“Get down!”

She did so without hesitation, the muffins in the paper sack she held falling to the ground as Aelin fell to her knees and covered her head, just as the shot rang out. After a violent swear, Aelin was looking over her shoulder, where the shot had come from. A large man in a baggy suit and striped fedora stood there, his gun still pointed in their direction.

Aelin was crawling the small distance to the car, where Vaughan now had his gun pointed at the stranger, but it was not Vaughan’s gun that rang out a second time, but the enemy’s.

Vaughan’s head jerked back as his hand flew up to his chest, his body falling back into the leather seats.

Aelin froze as she realized what was happening, as a crimson stain began to pool just beneath Vaughan’s ivory collar. She reached for him, but he shook his head and held out his weapon.

Aelin took the pistol into her shaky hands and twirled around to where the man still was.

Another bullet flew at her, and missed.

Then Aelin fired.

Once.

Twice.

Three times, three shots, three chances.

And one hit him just between his eyes.

The man crumbled to the ground but Aelin didn’t wait to see what happened next, because her attention had returned to Vaughan, who was holding a hand against his skin. Blood spilled between his fingers, and Aelin’s panic grew.

His eyes were losing focus.

“Hey,” she breathed, taking his face into her hands, forcing him to look at her. “Hey, stay with me, okay? I’m going to get you home. Alright? Stay with me, Gav will get the bullet out, yeah?”

She could see the terror in his eyes.

Vaughan opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Aelin took one last look at the man lying dead in the dirt before she shoved Vaughan into the middle of the front bench with all of her strength and started the car.

She had only driven a car once, and Rowan had been trying to teach her the entire time, but she absolutely failed. So now, as she attempted to make sense of what was in front of her, her panic only grew. Maybe it was the adrenaline, but whatever she started doing seemed to work, because the car took off. She ignored the looks they got as she drove. It was unusual for a woman to be behind the wheel, and incredibly unusual for a car to be speeding through city streets.

“Five minutes,” Aelin begged, sneaking a look at Vaughan. His head was leaned back against the top of the seat, his body slumped. The hand he had been using to try and slow the bleeding had fallen down to his abdomen, and his eyes were shutting.

“No,” she hissed, reaching over with one hand to place it over the gunshot wound. Her hand instantly became soaked with his blood.

She drove as quickly as she could, one hand on the wheel, the other pressed down against Vaughan’s chest. She knew she was crying, could taste the saltiness of her tears streaming into her open lips as she left the city behind and made her way to the estate.

By the time she began driving down the long driveway, Aelin was a mess, and Vaughan’s eyes had shut.

“No!” she screamed at him, but he didn’t move. She could feel his steady heartbeat, though, could see the rise and fall of his chest.

“Help!” Her voice came out loudly, brutally, a piercing cry as she pulled up in front of the house. She tried to concentrate, tried to turn off the car, but her thoughts were only on Vaughan.

His words replayed in her mind.

Get down!

He had broken his vow of silence to save her, and her baby’s, life.

The front door of the estate was tossed open and Connall appeared, his lazy grin disappearing as his eyes widened. Aelin didn’t hear what he yelled, but she saw the panic in his round eyes. Before she could collect her thoughts, the others were there - Fenrys, Gavriel, Lorcan - and they were taking Vaughan out of the car and inside.

Aelin felt numb.

She watched as they dragged Vaughan into the house, his body disappearing.

In the distance, she saw a black mare appear, Rowan atop it.

Aelin was still behind the wheel of the car, the motor running, her hands gripping the wheel so tightly that her knuckles were turning white.

Vaughan had disappeared, but his blood remained on the seat beside her. She had done everything she could, had tried her very hardest to get him here, to safety, to people who could help.

She only hoped it was enough.

Rowan’s voice filled the silence, breaking through the ringing in her ears.

“Aelin, look at me!”

He sounded so distant, but she could feel his touch.

Her eyes slowly drifted toward his.

“What happened?” he asked.

Green eyes swept over her body, and she knew she was covered in blood.

“Not mine,” she whispered, or thought she did.

Rowan reached over her and turned off the car before he opened the door and helped her out. He swept her up into his arms, cradling her against his chest, as they entered the house. Aelin could hear screaming in the distance, but she only closed her eyes.

Lysandra’s voice filled the air, giving Rowan a rundown of what had happened, or the basics of what had happened, but Aelin could hardly hear. She remained in Rowan’s arms, fingers clinging to his shirt as he carried her up the stairs.

They entered their bedroom and Rowan closed the door behind them as Vaughan’s screaming abruptly stopped.

It never got easier, this life, the death, the horrors of it all. She remembered, years ago, watching Sam die in her arms, her first love, her old friend. She watched her mother die, too, when she was only just a child, and although it was more peaceful then what had happened to Sam, to Elide, to Vaughan...it was death, and death lingered.

When the screaming didn’t continue, Aelin began to panic.

Rowan saw it, and shook his head, slowly. “Gavriel got the bullet out, that’s all.”

Aelin nodded, but she wasn’t so sure. She should go up there, should watch, should be with her friend who had been hurt because of her, but she couldn’t convince herself to, not as her hands shook uncontrollably.

Rowan sat her on the edge of the bed and knelt before her, taking those hands into his. His eyes softened, but his jaw locked. “You killed him, then?”

Aelin nodded, mutely.

A breath left Rowan’s body. “I need you to tell me what happened, Ae.”

“A man came out of nowhere,” Aelin whispered, eyes unfocused as they stared at the wall over her husband’s shoulder. “Vaughan yelled at me to get down, then a shot went off, then another.”

Rowan’s body tensed, his hands around hers going still. He must have been thinking the same thing she had: Vaughan had broken his silence to protect her.

“Vaughan went down in the car and I crawled to him and took his gun and shot the guy in the head,” Aelin said, hurriedly, wanting the story, the horrendous memory, to be done with.

For a moment, Rowan said nothing. Then, he pushed himself onto his feet and began to pace. “I shouldn’t have let you go.”

“I made my own decision,” Aelin said, but her voice was empty. “And it may have cost Vaughan his life.”

Rowan stopped and turned to her, his brows furrowed. She quickly wiped a tear that had fallen down her cheek with bloodstained fingers as Rowan said, “No. No, hey.” He was in front of her, once more, taking her face into his hands and tilting her head up, forcing her to meet his weary eyes. “Vaughan knew what he was doing when he said he’d drive you into town. Okay? He offered, I didn’t ask, and he wanted to get out of this damned house as much as you did.”

Aelin nodded, but she felt no comfort. Her tears only fell heavier as she said, “I’m so fucking tired of this, Ro.”

His hands fell from her face as he resumed his pacing, slower this time. “I know.”

That was it, there was nothing more to say. They could scream and get mad, could plan and hide and cower, but all of that could be summed up into one exhausted sentence: I’m so fucking tired of this.

Rowan went to the double doors on the far end of their room and threw them open, walking out onto the balcony for fresh air. Aelin didn’t follow him. Instead, she waited for her tears to dry and her hands to stop shaking before she pushed herself back up on her feet and went down the hall, where Vaughan laid.

~~~~~

Vaughan had lost a lot of blood, but Aelin had done everything she could, Lorcan knew it, and he knew it wasn’t an easy position to be in.

Vaughan had blacked out just as Gavriel was pulling the bullet out.

He was still breathing, but he hadn’t woken up.

Time would tell.

Lorcan couldn’t bear it, though, couldn’t bear being in the room, hearing his screams, seeing the blood.

It was too much.

It was too soon.

So he ran out of the back of the house, desperate for air. His chest was heaving as the door shut behind him, and he only took a few steps before he was brought down to his knees, sobbing, falling into the soft, green grass.

He needed a drink.

He needed a smoke.

He needed his wife.

As he rolled onto his back, his sobs fading, his eyes opened and he was left staring up at the sky. The sun had gone away, hidden behind a herd of dark gray clouds. He laid there, perfectly still, trying to catch his breath.

Then he wasn’t alone, not anymore.

He turned his head, another tear falling from his dark eyes as he caught her beauty. She was in the dress he’d met her in, that day so long ago, when she showed up at Hellas for a job as a barmaid. Her hair was shorter, then, her plump lips a ruby red.

“Elide,” he whispered her name, desperately, wanting her to be real, knowing she wasn’t.

She only smiled, brightly, and her voice was quiet when she replied, “My love.”

Lorcan rolled onto his side to stare at her, to breathe her in for as long as it lasted, for as long as she stayed. Sometimes she stayed for a few seconds, sometimes for a few minutes, but it never lasted long enough, it was never enough.

“I miss you,” he breathed.

“I miss you, my love.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, my love.”

He wondered if it was real, if it was her ghost visiting him from beyond, because their love was that powerful. Or, he wondered if it was all in his mind, if the grief was making him go mad. He didn’t care, though, as long as she was with him.

Even if it wasn’t real.

Even if she wasn’t really there.

He reached out to brush his fingers across her pale cheek, but he didn’t feel a thing.

He could talk and envision all he wanted, but he would never be able to touch her, kiss her, wrap her in his arms again.

So he pulled his hand back to his side as he took a deep, shuddering breath.

His voice was broken when he begged, “Come back to me.”

Elide’s weary eyes met his, but she didn’t speak. Instead, she began to sing a soft lullaby, one she’d sung to Lucy countless times. Lorcan closed his eyes, and let his wife’s soft, soothing voice carry him into a deep sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

#tacmc ITBMW #the cadre #tog #fanfic #fanfiction #throne of glass #rowaelin #lysaedion #elorcan

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theladyofdeath · 4 years

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In the Bleak Midwinter {16}

A Throne of Glass Period AU: 1920s.

A/N: Sometimes, you just need a short chapter full of angst...

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

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

Links & masterlists:

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The Cadre - 1920s AU {TOG}

In the Bleak Midwinter {The Cadre, Part 2}

Aelin awoke in a damp, poorly-lit room.

There was a candle in the corner, having already burned about halfway through. She was lying on the cold, hard floor. The room couldn’t have been any bigger than her washroom at home, but it certainly wasn’t anywhere near as luxurious. It was completely empty, save for the candle, Lucy, and the three little blocks she was playing with.

Aelin let out a broken sob as she turned to find the toddler. Lucy met her gaze, her dark, curly hair a wild mess. Dirt was smudged on her cheeks, but she looked otherwise unharmed.

“Ae Ae,” she said, reaching up her little hand to Aelin’s lips. Aelin kissed her little fingers and sighed.

“Hi, Luce,” she whispered. “Where are we, huh?”

Aelin pulled herself up into sitting position and rubbed a hand over her bump. She seemed unharmed, too.

Unharmed, but she had no idea where they were, had no idea what time it was. There were no windows, and Aelin had no indication of how long she had been unconscious. She took another look at Lucy, who seemed to be having fun with her blocks.

The toys they gave her so they wouldn’t have to deal with constant screaming and crying, no doubt. Aelin looked around at the concrete walls and sighed. The space reminded her of a bomb shelter, even though the war had never touched Orynth.

Unless they were no longer in Orynth.

She had no way of knowing.

“Ae Ae,” Lucy said again, and Aelin quickly looked down at the toddler as she crawled onto Aelin’s lap.

“Yes?” she whispered.

“No no,” she said, picking the blocks back up and hitting them together.

Aelin’s brows scrunched together. “No?”

Lucy shook her head. “No, no.”

Aelin was about to reply when the knob turned.

A broad-shouldered man opened the door and stood at the threshold. He took one look at Aelin, and then one look at Lucy before setting down a plate of food and backing away.

“No, wait!” Aelin said, scrambling to her feet. “Where are we? Who’s in char-.”

“Maeve will see you shortly.” His voice was low, his words clipped. He said nothing else as he shut the door behind him, locking it before he walked away.

The word rang through Aelin’s mind.

The name.

Of course it was Maeve. Who else would it have been? The ultimate revenge, taking the only other two ladies that belonged to the Cadre, that the Cadre loved. Thank goodness Lysandra was still at the party or she would have been there with them, too.

Aelin prayed to the gods that she stayed safe, and that they somehow managed to get out of this shit.

She prayed that Rowan and the others found out where they were.

And fast.

~~~~~

Lorcan spent the last hour of his life puking his guts up, unable to deal with the horrors of his reality.

His daughter.

His baby.

First, Elide, and now, Lucy.

He was going to kill Maeve, destroy her, if it was the last thing he did.

After hurrying into Rowan’s office, he grabbed a bottle of whiskey off the desk and took a long swig before taking his revolver out of his holster and spinning it around on his finger.

“Where are the others?” Lorcan growled.

Fenrys was sitting at Rowan’s desk, manning the phone, just in case someone called. “Not back yet. I assume you came up short?”

Lorcan shook his head. “No leads. None.”

That nausea returned and Lorcan hauled himself to the nearest garbage can. As he dry-heaved into the empty can, the door burst open again, and Rowan and Gavriel came in. The latter was covered in dirt, the former in blood.

Lorcan’s face paled. “Who-.”

“Nobody useful,” Rowan grumbled, and just when he opened his mouth to say something, the phone rang. Four sets of eyes snapped to the telephone. Before Fenrys could act, Rowan put the earpiece to his ear and the microphone in front of his mouth. “Hello?”

“My, my,” the voice on the other end crooned. Seductive, taunting. “You sound as if something tragic has happened, nephew.”

Lorcan stood right by him, leaning toward the earpiece, grasping onto every word.

Rowan couldn’t breathe. “Maeve.”

“Stop looking, my dear,” she said, without missing a beat. “Your men will only get hurt.”

“Where is she?” Rowan growled into the phone. “WHERE’S MY WIFE?”

There was a short stretch of silence before she replied. “Old train station at dawn.”

The line went dead.

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

#tacmc ITBMW #16 #tog #period au #PB au #1920s au #fanfic #fanfiction

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theladyofdeath · 4 years

Text

In the Bleak Midwinter {11}

A Throne of Glass Period AU: 1920s.

A/N: this is pretty fluffy...right?!....

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

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

Links & masterlists:

Fanfic Masterlist

Ask me

The Cadre - 1920s AU {TOG}

In the Bleak Midwinter {The Cadre, Part 2}

Rowan awoke to a frigid bucket of water being poured over his head.

He shot up in bed, a crude string of curses flying out of his mouth as he wiped his hands down his face, only to be met with the narrowed, fiery gaze of his wife.

“Wake up,” she snapped. “I’ve tried waking you up for the last hour. You missed breakfast.”

His shoulders tensed. “Fuck. What time is it?”

“Almost ten.”

Water droplets fell from the tips of his hair. “Was that really necessary?”

“It worked, didn’t it?” she said, throwing the pail aside.

He sat still, his head pounding, his stomach churning, the upper half of his body soaked, as Aelin went to sit in front of her vanity. He was pissed, and he was tired, but he deserved it.

When he came into his bedroom, drunk off his ass, the night before, she was sound asleep, and the moment his head hit the pillow, he was gone, too.

So, now, ignoring his pain and nausea, Rowan pushed himself off the bed and slowly unbuttoned his drenched shirt. “I…”

It was all he could get out. He loved Aelin, more than anything in the world, but he still wasn’t good at sharing his emotions. Even with Lysandra, he only confessed anything when she caught him in his worst possible moments.

“Got drunk in the kitchen last night?” Aelin supplied, meeting his eyes in her reflection. “Yeah, Lys told me.”

Rowan muttered a curse as he slipped his suspenders down his arms, then his shirt sleeves. His trousers hung low on his hips as he said, “Yeah, that was stupid.”

“But better than having to be up here with me, right?” she asked, brushing through her already brushed hair.

“Don’t say stupid shit, Aelin,” he muttered.

“Seriously?” she asked, turning around. There was clear pain in her eyes. “Don’t act like I’m the one in the wrong here, Ro!”

With his eyes closed and his fingers rubbing his temples, he sighed. “I know. I know, okay? I know. You’re right.”

When he opened his eyes, once again, Aelin’s eyes were blurred, her head shaking furiously. “I’m so fucking tired of this, Ro. She’s taken control of you, and I’m...I’m losing you. We’re losing you.”

All of the thoughts faded from Rowan’s mind. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Maeve!” Aelin yelled, throwing her hands up, exasperated. “She’s taking you from me, Ro, and that’s just as bad as-.” Her words trailed off, she was clearly frustrated as her tears began to fall. “You’re not the man I married. The man I married, the man I wanted so desperately to marry...we were a team. He confided in me, and he didn’t treat me like some fucking damsel in distress!”

All he could do was stare. He wanted to rush to her, to wipe her tears, but he had a pretty heavy feeling that she didn’t want him touching her. He knew she’d been pissed, unhappy with his communication lately, but this was so much more than that. “Ae-.”

“Just stop,” she said, exhaustion lingering in those turquoise eyes. “If it’s an excuse, an apology, I don’t want to hear it.”

That was all Rowan had, his excuses, his apologies. Hesitantly, he approached her, down on his knees in front of her, but when he reached for her hands, she snatched them back, and when he reached up to cup her face, she was shoving him in the chest.

Rowan lost his balance and stumbled backwards, catching himself from hitting the floor with an outstretched hand.

“Don’t push me away, Aelin,” he breathed.

“Why?” she spat. “You’ve been pushing me away for weeks, Rowan!”

Rowan tensed, her words hurting worse than anything, but only because she was right. He had been, everyone knew it, himself included. He had his reasons, certainly, but those reasons were on the list of excuses Aelin didn’t want to hear.

“Fine,” he hissed, pulling himself back up on his feet, but Aelin was only a step behind.

“Yeah, walk away, that’s what you always do when I try to talk to you about anything,” Aelin snapped, and he knew he shouldn’t be arguing with his pregnant wife, especially on a day where a lot was on the line, but he couldn’t help it.

She knew just how to get under his fucking skin.

“Fuck, Aelin,” he breathed, stopping where he was and holding his arms out wide. “What is it you want from me?”

“To be you! To talk to me! To stop being such a distant asshole!” she yelled. There was a good few feet between them, and Aelin wasn’t moving to close the distance.

Neither would he.

“I’m trying to-.”

“Protect me, yeah, yeah,” she began, rolling her eyes, angrily wiping a tear from her cheek. “I don’t need your protection, Ro, I’m so fucking tired of all these men telling me that they want to protect me! Let me help!”

“No,” Rowan growled. “I want you nowhere near Maeve.”

Aelin took a slow, deep breath before she said, in a quiet calm, “I may have married you, Rowan, but that does not mean that you can tell me what I can and cannot do.”

“That’s exactly what it means,” he said, matching her tone, crossing his arms.

Aelin just shook her head. “Gods, Ro, fuck you.”

“Fuck me?” he repeated, laughing humorlessly. “Fuck me?! I’m trying to keep my wife and my baby safe! How does that make me the bad guy?”

“Because I can help!” she screamed. “I’m the one who killed the guy in the alley! I’m the one who stood on the roof with a machine gun when Arobynn went down! I’m not a fucking trophy wife, Ro, let me help!”

“No!” he spat.

But Aelin was hurrying at him, to shove him in the chest, once more, over and over and over again. He let her. This time, he was prepared, his feet planted. She could push against him all she wanted, but he hardly moved.

After a few seconds of her getting her frustration out against his bare chest, though, he grabbed her wrists, his fingers wrapping wholly around them. “Are you finished?” he snapped.

“Hardly,” she spat, but didn’t fight him, not anymore.

They were both breathing heavily, no more than a few inches between Aelin’s face and his as he looked down upon her and lowered her arms.

She let her breathing calm, and when Rowan began to finally loosen his grip around her wrists, she whispered, “Let me help, Ro.”

His fingers rested loosely around her wrists as he closed his eyes and said, “I can’t.”

Darkness was all he allowed himself to see as her voice broke when she asked, “Why not?”

Replacing the darkness was a memory. Behind his eyelids, Rowan saw Lorcan on the floor, cradling Elide, watching the life drain out of her.

“I can’t watch you die,” he breathed. “I can’t fathom the thought of her taking you away from me, of her taking both of you away from me, Aelin, I’m so fucking in love with you, with our baby, I couldn’t bear it.”

For a moment, there was only silence, then Aelin took her hands from his grasps, and he let her go, but it was only so that she could cup his face in her trembling hands.

When Rowan opened his eyes, a tear slid down to the top of his lips.

“I couldn’t bear it, Aelin,” he whispered, once again, as a soft sob broke him,and she brushed his tears away with her fingers.

Rowan took in her puffy eyes, her damp, flushed cheeks, and knew he had been hurting her with his distance, but she had to understand that there were horrors out there that would destroy him.

And they all revolved around her, his love.

“We did not choose this life, Ro,” she said, quietly, “but, we did choose each other, and that means that we are a team, a pair, a partnership, and we will get through the worst of the worst, together.”

He wanted to tell her no, but it was purely selfish. He only hung his head and let himself cry, weep, mourn out of fear, out of pressure, out of being unaware of the unknown.

When he was able to calm himself, to collect himself, he lifted his chin to find Aelin watching him, her fingers still on his cheeks, her eyes full of pain and adoration.

His shoulders sagged as he confessed, “I’m fucking terrified.”

“Me too, Ro,” she whispered, then leaned up on her toes to press her mouth to his. It was a soft brush of her lips, but Rowan felt like it had been too long since he felt that familiar brush. His alcohol rampage from the night before seemed underwhelming as the sensation of her touch swept through his body.

His broad arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her body into his, the only thing separating them being the tiny baby bump, still able to be seen clearly now through her loose-fitting dress. After hiking her skirt up, Rowan lifted her by her ass, and her legs naturally wrapped around his bare waist. He refused to break contact with her lips as he slowly trekked to the foot of their bed and sat down, Aelin planted firmly in his lap.

As his hands wandered up her dress, up her back, she pulled back, her hands on his chest, travelling down to the buttons of his trousers, which she quickly undid before pulling her dress over her head and discarding it on the bed behind them.

With his lips meeting hers, once again, Rowan’s hands instantly met his wife’s breasts before rounding to her back and untying the thin brassiere. He never got tired of her breasts, the way they fit perfectly into his palms, the little moans she made as his tongue brushed over her nipples.

There was no time wasted with meaningless foreplay. The need to reach that ultimate level of intimacy was far too overwhelming, so the second Rowan’s cock was pulled out of his trousers, Aelin slid herself down onto him, taking him into her fully, readily. Rowan groaned, quietly, his hands gripping her ass as she rocked her hips, his forehead pressed against hers, their lips lightly brushing one another’s.

Rowan decided then that fucking was the cure to any horrid hangover.

He also decided that he had no idea how this beautiful, strong, perfect woman loved him, but was grateful for that love, because he simply couldn’t survive without it.

As he approached his climax, Rowan held his wife tightly as he thrust his hips up into her. The sounds that tumbled freely from her lips had him on the edge, so melodic and sweet and captivating.

With a curse, he came inside of her, and slid his tongue between her lips as he rode it out.

Aelin’s cheek was resting on his shoulder, her lips pressing softly against his neck, his cock still up inside of her when their bedroom door flew open and Lorcan hurried inside.

“Fuck!” Rowan yelled, pulling a blanket up around his nude wife. “What the fuck?”

“Sorry, didn’t see a thing,” Lorcan said, covering his eyes as he turned his back to them, but his tone told them he wasn’t sorry, at all. When he said what he said next, though, Rowan didn’t care that he had stormed in, either. “Vaughan’s awake.”

~~~~~

Aelin and Rowan were the last to hurry in, and from their disheveled appearance and heated cheeks, Vaughan assumed Lorcan had rushed in on them in quite the intimate position. That was good, though, they needed it.

He was sitting up in his bed, eating a bowl of soup by himself. Vaughan had never been unconscious for that long, but once he got past the dry throat and stiff movements and pain where he’d been hit with the bullet, he felt pretty damn good, all things considering.

After she crossed through the threshold, Aelin let out a relieved cry, and Vaughan slowly set his bowl of soup down on the side table as she came to him and wrapped him into her arms. His arms swept around her and he patted her back, softly, as she wept. He knew she thought what had happened had been her fault, but it hadn’t been, not at all. He was glad it had been him instead of her, for if it had been the other way around, she may have died, and the baby would have most likely. Once she leaned back, Vaughan’s large hands reached for her bump with a soft smile.

Aelin wiped at her eyes as she chuckled, softly. “Glad to see Uncle Vaughan awake.”

Vaughan’s grin widened. Uncle Vaughan. He loved being Uncle Vaughan to Lucy, and couldn’t wait for another little one to join their little circle.

“How are you feeling?” Rowan asked, his voice almost gentle.

Vaughan shrugged, then pointed to where the paper sat on the table across the room.

Lorcan just shook his head from where he stood at the foot of Vaughan’s bed, fully aware of why he wanted to read the morning’s headline. “It’s Sunday, you’ve been sleeping for nearly three days, and we’ve got to be in the backwoods to face down Maeve’s men in a few hours.”

Vaughan stilled.

He hadn’t realized it had been days that he’d been sleeping, hadn’t realized that Sunday had already approached.

And he wouldn’t be there to help.

He had to help.

Vaughan went to sit up further but led out a mangled cry as his wound throbbed, his head growing lighter, his vision blurry. Aelin gave him a stern look as she said, “Well, I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re doing, but you’re staying in this bed.”

He shook his head, but fell back against the pillows, nonetheless.

“You have to rest,” Rowan agreed. “I’m sure today won’t be the end of this shit, so you have to get better to help us next time we run into trouble.”

“I’ll stay here and sit with you,” Aelin promised, then looked over her shoulder at Rowan, who nodded. “If I leave, it’ll just be you and Natalia, and I’d never push her onto an injured man.”

Lorcan snorted as he pulled on his cap.

Vaughan sighed, a huff through his nose, but he nodded, nonetheless.

It wasn’t like he had a choice.

Even though the thought of his men, his family, going to face off with the enemy without him made his stomach churn even more.

Rowan must have seen the look in his eyes, because he said, “Don’t worry. This time, we’re all coming back, unharmed.”

Vaughan nodded, but the feeling that sat in the pit of his stomach was anything but comforting.

~~~~~

Aedion looked in the mirror at his bare chest, covered with a fresh bandage. It was still sore, but mostly from the minor infection. Other than that, it was healing nicely.

Nice enough that Aedion would be joining the others against Maeve.

Which Lysandra hated.

She watched him wearily from his bed, wearing nothing but a knitted blanket wrapped around her shoulders as she took a long drag from her cigarette. He kept glancing up at her reflection, at her annoyed, judgmental gaze.

“I’m going to be fine, Lys,” he muttered, turning around to tug on his trousers. “I’m feeling great, I promise.”

Lysandra didn’t say a word.

Her eyes only narrowed.

“If you could say something nice, that’d be helpful,” he mumbled, pulling a shirt out of the wardrobe and tugging it on.

“I don’t want to be helpful,” she replied, simply. “I want you to come back in bed with me until that wound on your chest is nothing more than a scar.”

“Well, we don’t have that luxury, now do we?” he asked, keeping his voice light.

Lysandra only rolled her eyes and put her cigarette between her teeth as she dropped her blanket. Aedion had just buttoned his shirt as his eyes trailed down her body with a sigh.

“Don’t try and seduce me,” Aedion said, meeting her eyes with a grin. “It won’t work.”

Lysandra laughed, quietly. “You’re a liar, Aedion Ashryver.”

“Maybe so,” he agreed, quietly, and he definitely knew he was a liar when Lysandra started crawling on her hands and knees toward the foot of the bed.

Aedion groaned, turning his back to her, reaching for the wardrobe, once again, for his vest, which he buttoned up with shaky fingers.

“Cruel, wicked woman.”

She was on her feet, behind him now, her slender arms wrapping around his waist. He turned around to meet her embrace. After brushing her dark hair back behind her ears, he was kissing her, softly, just once.

“I have to go,” he whispered.

She nodded, shortly. “I know.” He kissed her again before she added, “Please try not to get shot this time.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” he muttered.

A knock came to the door, loudly and abruptly. “Hurry up!” Rowan’s low, demanding voice came through the thin wood. “Meeting in the dining room!”

Aedion sighed, and let go of Lysandra’s bare ass to grab his jacket off the back of a chair. After pulling it on, and grabbing his hat, he turned to his girlfriend, once more. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she whispered, and kissed him, softly, slowly. “Come back to me, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he promised. “I will.”

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

#tacmc ITBMW #the cadre #1920s au #pb au #tog #throne of glass #fanfic #fanfiction

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theladyofdeath · 4 years

Text

In the Bleak Midwinter {6}

A Throne of Glass Period AU: 1920s.

A/N: I mean....

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

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

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The Cadre - 1920s AU {TOG}

In the Bleak Midwinter {The Cadre, Part 2}

Lorcan hadn’t left his room in days, except for the funeral.

He laid in their bed, clinging to her pillow, desperate for her scent.

He knew he had to get up, knew he had a job to do, knew there was more to life than this, but he couldn’t force himself, not yet.

She was gone.

His wife.

Gone.

The mother of his child.

Gone.

The love of his life.

Gone.

The only woman to take his heart and make it a part of her own.

Gone.

He had failed her.

The thought was too unbearable, his reality was too unbearable, so he stayed in bed, sleeping, sometimes, but mostly awake, drowning in his unfathomable thoughts.

From time to time, she appeared to him. One night, he saw her reflection in the floor length mirror in the corner of the room, watching him. And just this morning, she was standing at the foot of their bed, watching him, lovingly.

He knew she wasn’t real, knew it was just his mind playing tricks, knew it was only her ghost keeping close to him, but he lived for those moments, longed for those moments, when she appeared.

But as soon as she appeared, she was gone, once again.

Natalia would check on him from time to time. She would say nothing as she entered, but would bring him food, water, cigarettes, whiskey. She removed all the guns from his room, took the revolver out of the holster that was strapped to his body, but other than that, the nanny left him alone.

And took care of Lucy.

Lucille, his baby.

Lucille, his joy.

Lucille, the little girl that would never get to fully know her mother.

Lorcan rolled onto his back, Elide’s pillow clinging to his chest, and stared at the ceiling as the door to his bedroom burst open.

Rowan came in, silently closing the door behind him, and sat on the edge of the bed. He didn’t look at Lorcan. Lorcan didn’t look at him. A moment of silence passed, in which Rowan took a cigarette out of the case in his front pocket. He put it between his wet lips. He lit the end.

Then he offered one to Lorcan.

They smoked, and let that smoke fill the air as the silence ensued. It wasn’t until the cigarette was nearly disintegrated that Rowan said, “I need you, Lor.”

Lorcan didn’t reply.

He felt nothing.

“Everyone’s coming to the estate,” Rowan went on, still not meeting Lorcan’s gaze. His back was to him as he laid with Elide’s pillow, staring at the ceiling, a cigarette clenched between his teeth. “We’re staying together. It’s not safe. Maeve has proven that she has men everywhere.”

Still, Lorcan said nothing.

He couldn’t.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken, had forgotten how to form a word.

“I would like you there, too,” Rowan said. “And Luce. And that scary ass nanny of yours.”

In the back of his mind, Lorcan thought he should laugh, but he couldn’t.

Laughter was pointless.

“Come on,” Rowan said, after a moment. “Pack a bag, meet me downstairs, we’ll go to the estate together.”

Lorcan stayed perfectly still.

“Aelin has requested a pork roast for dinner,” Rowan went on. “You like pork roast.”

Lorcan hadn’t eaten in days.

Rowan looked over his shoulder, then, and Lorcan met his gaze, recognizing the pain in his old friend’s pine-green eyes. If only he knew what true pain was. Rowan had no idea, but Lorcan knew. Lorcan knew pain, Lorcan knew heartache, Lorcan knew what it was like to have his entire world crumbling beneath him with nowhere to land.

“Come on, Lor,” Rowan said, once again, his voice low. “Since when are you one to let the world defeat you?”

Lorcan took the cigarette out of his mouth and slowly met his friend’s, his leader’s, face. “Since my wife took a bullet that was meant for me.”

His words slurred, and he wondered just how much whiskey he had taken in.

Rowan’s jaw locked, but he nodded, gaze falling away from Lorcan’s, as if he couldn’t take Lorcan’s heartwrenching gaze any longer.

After a minute, Rowan said, “I’ll tell Natalia to pack her and Lucy’s belongings. We’ll meet you downstairs.”

Then he was up on his feet, his boots padding heavily against the wooden floorboards, and he was gone.

Lorcan laid there for another moment, processing. He knew Rowan was right, knew it was wiser to stay together, but Lorcan didn’t give a damn about his life, not without Elide.

Not without his fucking wife.

And yet, he wasn’t the only one he had to think about.

He had Lucy.

Lucy needed to be safe. For if he lost Lucy, he would have nothing left.

That, and that alone, was the only reason why Lorcan pulled himself off of his bed. He stumbled to his wardrobe, where he tossed a few things onto his bed, along with his bag from the army. He packed lightly and didn’t realize tears were streaming down his face until he was zipping the bag closed, and the canvas fabric was becoming spotted, over and over again, with wet drops.

He tossed the bag over his shoulder, grabbed a hat and pulled it over his tangled hair, slipped on his boots without tying them, and opened his bedroom door.

He had nearly forgotten what the hallway looked like.

A massive painting of him, Elide, and Lucy hung at the top of the stairs, and Lorcan stopped as he reached it, staring at their faces.

It was beautiful.

Done by one of Orynth’s best.

Now, he wished for it to burn, for it was only a reminder.

Maybe it was best to be at Rowan’s just for the fact that there were no reminders of the life he once had, not so long ago.

Lorcan nearly stumbled down the stairs, hardly able to keep his balance as he took step after step.

Rowan was waiting in an armchair, smoking another cigarette as he bounced a giggling Lucy on his knee. Lorcan wondered if Lucy even realized her mother was gone, dead, nothing. She wasn’t even two.

He pushed the thought aside and looked to Natalia, who was already watching him, wearily. She held two bags in her hands, so Lorcan assumed she had already packed.

With a sigh, Lorcan dropped his bag and went over to Rowan and Lucy. He felt guilty. He’d hardly seen his daughter in a week, but it was probably for the best.

He was not the best role model to have around a toddler.

“Hello, my love,” he whispered, when Lucy spotted him and reached up her arms.

Lorcan picked her up and kissed her forehead. He tried to smile, but failed.

“Dada,” she smiled, smacking his cheeks.

“Yeah,” Lorcan breathed. “We’re going to Uncle Ro’s for a while. Yeah?”

“Ya,” Lucy repeated. He carried her to where his bag lied on the Persian rug, and picked it up, once more, and slung it over his shoulder.

“Mama!” Lucy said.

Lorcan froze, his entire body going tense, his jaw going rigid, his mind replaying the scene he had witnessed.

Elide lying on the tile.

Bleeding on the marble.

Laying in his arms.

Motionless.

Lorcan blinked, following the line of Lucy’s pointed finger.

She was pointing at a small portrait of Elide that was sitting on the end table near them.

“Mama,” Lucy repeated, and it took everything in Lorcan to keep a straight face, to not show fear, to not show sadness, to not cry in front of these people.

Clearing his throat, Lorcan took the portrait off the table and shoved it into his bag.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Mama will come, too.”

~~~~~

Lysandra looked around the room she would be staying in. She had been in Aelin and Rowan’s house plenty of times, but there were so many guest rooms that she hadn’t been in them all.

The one she was occupying being one of them.

There wasn’t a lot.

A bed, a vanity, a few paintings, a wardrobe.

When Rowan called the Cadre to stay in his estate, he thought that Lysandra should be part of that, too. She was the organizer of the Cadre. The heart of the Cadre, as he called her.

And after what had happened to Elide…

Lysandra didn’t protest.

Poor Elide.

Shot for a bullet that was meant for her husband. Knowing Elide, Lysandra knew that was how she wanted to go, knew that she thought she had been protecting Lorcan and hadn’t regretted it. She loved that man, had found some kindness and beauty in him that Lysandra had only recently begun to understand.

She loved him.

And she had died because of him.

Lysandra hadn’t been there. She had been with Aedion, tangled up in his arms. They had never made it to the gala, had only heard the news when Gavriel came pounding on her door hours later.

The guilt had been eating her alive.

Not that she thought there was anything she could have done to have save her friend, but she should have been there with her.

She should have been there with Elide in her last moments.

From what Aelin told her, it was a sight no one wanted to ever relive, Lorcan hovering, sobbing, wailing over his wife.

Lorcan Salvaterre had made Lysandra pissed off more times than she should count.

But she knew one thing, for certain.

Lorcan loved Elide.

And he didn’t deserve to lose her.

Elide didn’t deserve any of it.

Lysandra popped open her travelling case to hang up her clothes. As she opened the wardrobe, a knock came to the door.

“Come in!” she called.

She thought it would have been Aelin, but Aedion entered and shut the door softly behind him.

“Hey,” he whispered.

She smiled, softly. “Hey. I didn’t know you were coming by.”

“I’m staying here,” he said, simply. “The others are staying with Rhoe while the battle with Maeve goes on...but, Aelin said they had plenty of rooms and offered me one.”

“They do have plenty of rooms,” Lysandra said, looking around, although all she could see was her one room, her four walls.

“That they do,” Aedion said, laughing under his breath, although the light never reached his eyes. “I haven’t seen you in a few days.”

“Sorry,” she muttered. “I’ve been busy.”

“No, I get it,” Aedion said, quickly. “I just….I wanted to see you. Make sure you were okay.”

Lysandra wasn’t sure if she was okay, though. She would survive, sure, but Elide had been a close friend. The absence of her was unbearable, and her death also meant that Maeve was true to her word.

Even if Elide hadn’t been her target.

“I’m okay,” she whispered, slowly, continuing to hang up her clothes.

“Okay,” Aedion breathed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I just wanted to let you know I was here. If you…..need me, I’m right across the hall.”

When Lysandra said nothing, Aedion turned to leave.

“Aedion,” she said, terrified that he would leave worrying that she was angry with him.

He stopped and looked back at her, over his shoulder, and the look in his eyes was genuine when he said, “It’s okay. I get it. I really do.”

Then, he was gone, and Lysandra was left alone, hanging up her clothes in silence.

~~~~~

Supper time rolled around and Rowan’s chefs prepared them a glorious meal. Everyone ate, except for Lorcan, although no one said a word. He could tell Aelin was on the verge of having a meltdown, whether it was because of the hormones or because she hated prolonged silence, he wasn’t sure.

“I should bring his food up to him, at least,” Aelin muttered, staring at Lorcan’s vacant spot across from her. “He needs to eat.”

“Let him be for tonight,” Rowan mumbled back, and that was that.

He wasn’t hungry much, either. His pork roast sat on his plate with roasted potatoes and carrots, but he hadn’t taken a bite, had only pushed his food around with his fork.

Aelin slowly set down her fork and dabbed her mouth with her napkin before she pushed her chair back and went to the other side of the table, took Lorcan’s plate, and left the room.

Rowan dropped his fork and it hit his plate with a clatter that had everyone jumping amidst the silence. Fully ignoring his manners, not that he had too many, Rowan put his elbows up on the table and threw his face into his hands.

“She feels like she’s helping,” Gavriel said, from the other end of the long table. “Let her.”

Rowan didn’t reply, didn’t even look up from his hands. Yes, Aelin felt like she was helping, but she wasn’t. All she had done in the past week was “help”. It was her way of getting her mind off of things.

Lorcan had lost a wife.

But Aelin had lost one of her best and longest friends.

And it was all his fault.

Rowan had lied awake every night, wondering how the fuck Elide was the first to go. The bullet hadn’t even been meant for her, which only made it worse. Fate was telling Rowan Whitethorn that he deserved the worst the world had to offer.

And it started with Elide, started with his pregnant wife in pain over the loss of her friend, started with his best friend in catastrophic anguish over the loss of his wife.

And it was all his fault.

Maeve had promised him that he would watch the others die, that he would suffer before meeting his end, and at first, they were just words, but now they were a reality.

At least they had all agreed to stay together.

Stay together, until Maeve and her men were dead. Even when Maeve was gone, Rowan wasn’t sure it would stop.

Maeve had to die.

Her men had to die.

And Rowan would see to it that no one else he cared for died.

“Rowan.”

He slowly looked up from his hands and met Gavriel’s gaze. Aedion sat beside him, eating slowly, Lysandra on his opposite side, watching Rowan with sadness in her eyes.

“What happened to Elide wasn’t your-.”

“Don’t,” Rowan said, pushing himself back from the table. “Aelin’s told me as much, countless times.”

A table full of people remained as Rowan fled from the dining room, down the hall and through the foyer until he let himself outside. The sun was sinking, it would soon be dark.

And no one was to be outside after dark.

He felt pathetic, making them all hide away until he could figure out a way to end this thing. He didn’t know how, though. He had no idea how to stop her.

Out of all the people in the world, his aunt, his blood, would be his end.

And Elide…

She deserved better.

And it was all Rowan’s fault.

His fault.

With his hands in his pockets and a cigarette between his teeth, Rowan headed around the side of the house, where the stables sat. He walked up to the stall that was holding his newest, prized mare. All black, faster than any racehorse he’d owned before. Beautiful, fast, and here she was, sitting in a stall for his pleasure.

He sighed, petting the horse, softly. She huffed and swung her head, which only made him snort. She was young, yet. A funny little thing with quite the attitude.

Aelin had grown quite fond of her.

Rowan was pretty sure the horse was her true spirit animal.

Soft footsteps and the crunching of leaves came from just outside of the stables and Rowan froze. His gun was out of its holster, cocked, and pointing in the direction of the threshold as the figure rounded the corner.

And yelped. “Gods, fuck, Ro.��

Rowan slowly lowered his gun as the breath left his body, his shoulders deflating.

Lysandra shook her head as she met him at his side, admiring the horse he was petting. “You can’t just go pointing that thing around.”

“I wouldn’t shoot you,” he said, a little bite to his voice.

“I know,” Lysandra said, quietly, reaching up to brush her fingers along the horse’s neck. “Gav was right, you know, and he means well. What happened to Elide wasn’t your fault.”

Rowan said nothing, he simply turned around and leaned up against the wooden post, his eyes closing as he took a long, slow drag from the cigarette between his fingers.

Lysandra scoffed. “Really? You’re just going to ignore me? Close your eyes and pretend I don’t exist until I walk away?”

“Yes,” he mumbled.

“No,” she said, and the cigarette was taken out of his hand, forcing his eyes to fly open. He met her fiery emerald gaze as she dropped his cigarette into the dirt and put it out with the heel of her Mary-Janes. She took a step closer to him and poked him in the chest with a pointed finger. “I’m not going anywhere, and you will talk about this with me.”

“I have nothing to say,” he said, refusing to move.

“That’s bullshit,” she snapped. “You seem to forget that I know you better than that.”

“I haven’t forgotten anything,” he said, voice low, a warning in his eyes, in his growl.

“Really?” Lysandra said, brows shooting up. He could smell the vodka on her breath. “Because it sure as hell seems that you’ve forgotten that you’re not the only one involved in this, Ro! We all are, and we’re all hurting right now!”

“You don’t think I know that? You don’t think that I fucking know that?” He asked, his voice raising as he pushed himself off of the post. Lysandra didn’t move, though. She stayed put, staring up at him with wide eyes and a locked jaw. “I fucking know that, Lysandra! Alright? I know that Lorcan has been in fucking hell, and I know that you and Ae have been in fucking hell! And I also know that it is my fucking fault, no matter how much you, or my wife, or Gavriel try to tell me otherwise! But you wanna know the truth of it? You wanna know the truth of it, yeah? I don’t know how to fucking make it stop!”

Lysandra didn’t say a word. Her chest rose and fell in heavy breaths as Rowan screamed in her face.

“All I can think about is who will be next,” he breathed, his green eyes wild, dark, crazed. “All I can fucking think about is it being Aelin, or you, or one of the guys, or one of Rhoe’s guys, and, I just, it’s driving me fucking mad! I’ve got nothing, alright? I have no strategy, I have few men, and I don’t know where the fuck Maeve is or what the fuck she’s planning!”

“Rowa-.”

“She won’t stop until I’m dead, Lysandra,” he said, laughing humorlessly as the words flowed out. “She won’t fucking stop until I’m six feet under, so let’s just cut this short, eh? She doesn’t want to kill me first, she wants me to suffer, but I’m the one she wants dead. It needs to stop. It has to stop. Make it stop.”

With a steady hand, and his heavy breaths intruding on the newfound silence as his words came to an abrupt end, he held out his gun to her.

“Take it.”

Lysandra’s eyes widened as she shook her head, quickly, realizing what he was implying. “No.”

“Shoot me.” His words were short, clipped, demanding.

“No,” she said, her word just as hard.

“Fucking take it!” he yelled, making tears spring into Lysandra’s eyes.

“No,” she pleaded, her head still shaking, his short hair flying wildly into the dampness on her cheeks as those tears streamed onto her cool, paled skin.

“Someone else is going to die, Lysandra! Take it!”

She couldn’t say it again, but she wouldn’t do it, only watched him with such sadness that it sent his heart crumbling away into nothingness.

“Make it stop!” His voice echoed in the silence of the stables as he screamed, a loud, broken string of three words that had his throat feeling hoarse.

Lysandra kept her hands at her sides as her soft sobs shook her body. But she said, barely audible, “No.”

Rowan’s chest was heaving as he screamed. No words, just a morbid, mangled noise. He was crying, knew he was crying, didn’t care that he was crying. Shoot me, shoot me, shoot me, he pleaded, inside of his mind as his screams faded away into the oncoming nightfall.

But Lysandra took his gun out of his hand and emptied it out before opening his jacket and putting it back into his holster. Then, she took his face into her hands and brushed away his tears before pulling him into her, and wrapping her arms around his body.

They stayed like that for a moment in nothing but the silence before Lysandra said, “We will get through this, Ro, but we will get through it together. And to do that, we will need our leader.”

~~~~~~~~

#tacmc ITBMW #pb au

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theladyofdeath · 4 years

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In the Bleak Midwinter {8}

A Throne of Glass Period AU: 1920s.

A/N: goodness this chapter is a mess.

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

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

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The Cadre - 1920s AU {TOG}

In the Bleak Midwinter {The Cadre, Part 2}

“Wake up, you slob.”

Natalia’s grouchy, old face was the first thing Lorcan saw when he opened his eyes. He groaned and rolled over, planting his face in his pillow. “Go away.”

“Your daughter is asking for her father,” Natalia snapped. They may have had a moment the night before, but it seems like her hatred of him continued - and now she was voicing it in a language that Lorcan could understand.

Lucky him.

Lorcan sighed and pushed himself up on his elbows. He’d been neglecting his daughter, and he knew it wasn’t right. No matter what state he was in, she was more important than his misery.

“Okay.”

With a curt nod, Natalia disappeared. Lorcan rubbed his hands over his face, as if that would help the pounding headache he had. He looked at the empty bottle of whiskey on his nightstand - the bottle that had been full the night before.

The second he sat up and leaned back against the headboard, Lucy was hurrying in, a huge smile on her little lips. She was already ready for the day, it seemed, and Lorcan was realizing he didn’t even know what time it was. With a glance out the window he knew it was still morning - late morning, but morning.

Natalia’s voice came from the doorway. “Yell for me if I am needed.”

Then, she was gone.

“Dada,” Lucy smiled, reaching up for him when she reached the side of his bed. He picked her up without hesitation and sat her on his lap.

“Hi, Lucy Love,” he said, quietly, and her little hands wrapped around his thumbs.

She did look like him. Elide always found it funny how she had done all the work in carrying her and birthing her, only for her to come out looking exactly like him.

He sat still for a moment, holding onto her little hands as she babbled on in her little language, only forming real words from time to time.

At least one of them was talkative.

With his headache and exhaustion, Lorcan was ashamed to say that he spaced out for a few minutes, only coming back to reality when he heard Lucy say, “Mama?”

Lorcan blinked, following his daughter’s pointed finger to the nightstand, where the portrait of Elide sat behind the empty bottle of liquor.

Lucy stared at the framed picture with large eyes.

Lorcan cleared his throat. Whatever he was about to say, Lorcan knew she would not truly understand, not yet, but he still felt like they were important to voice. “Mama is gone, my love. She...won’t come back. It’s just you and me now.”

Lucy looked back at Lorcan, her fingers still wrapped around his thumbs. “Mama.”

“Mama’s gone,” Lorcan said, once more, his voice so desperately quiet as he watched Lucy’s smile fade away. It would do her no good if he began to cry, even though he could hardly contain his tears. He stared down at his hands, his thumbs, where his daughter clung to him with a tight grasp. “But she is still with us, in our hearts, because we love her.” A moment passed before he once again met his toddler’s gaze. “Yeah?”

“Ya,” she said, shortly, her little voice light.

Lorcan chuckled, and nodded, slowly. “Yeah.”

“Dada pay?”

“Hmmm,” Lorcan hummed, pretending to think long and hard about it. “What shall dada and Lucy play?”

Lucy pointed to the window, where the late morning sun was high in the sky. “‘Side.”

“Outside it is,” Lorcan said. “Go see the horses?”

Lucy’s face brightened and she fell into Lorcan’s chest, her little arms going around his neck. Lorcan laughed, breathlessly, but couldn’t stop the lump from forming in his throat.

He wished so horribly that Elide was there to go see the horses, too.

“Alright,” Lorcan said, quietly, clearing his throat. “Dada put on pants, and we’ll go see the horses.”

Lucy bounced on the big bed as Lorcan quickly dressed himself and pulled on his shoes, and his hat. Then, with his toddler in his arms, Lorcan went to see the horses.

~~~~~

Lysandra’s eyes drifted open to find herself completely bare and snuggled up to Aedion’s side, her cheek on his chest and her slender arm draped over his bony waist.

The events of the night before flooded her memory - the heavy breaths, the kissing until her lips grew chapped, the way he felt inside of her. She knew her cheeks were heating as he stirred beneath her with a groan. She watched as his eyelids fluttered open and he took a deep, shaky breath. His eyes were sleepy, as was his smile, when he looked down at her and laughed, quietly. “Good morning.”

“Hi,” she breathed.

Aedion intertwined his fingers with hers as he said, “Hi.”

She stayed quiet for a moment, breathing in the late morning spent in bed with him, her love. “I don’t want to leave this bed.”

“Then don’t,” he breathed.

Lysandra chuckled. “I have to, at some point. Besides, I need breakfast. I have to eat. I need pancakes.”

Aedion sighed. “Pancakes are good.”

“With syrup,” Lysandra said.

“A lot of syrup,” Aedion agreed.

Lysandra laughed, softly, then leaned up on her elbow and looked up at him. “Last night was nice.”

“Yeah,” he breathed, without missing a beat, “it was.” With tentative fingers, he reached up to brush her hair behind her ear, and the light, unfiltered look in his eyes made her heart skip a beat. “Will you come back tonight?”

“Maybe,” she crooned. “If you’re lucky.”

Aedion snorted. “Okay, I see how it’s going to be.”

Lysandra laughed and pulled herself on top of his body, kissing his nose, then meeting his lips in a soft, slow embrace.

Aedion watched her with complete adoration in his turquoise eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she whispered, running her fingers through his hair. “I should go get dressed, though. I’m sure Ro will expect me at some point this morning.”

Aedion nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay,” she repeated, and reluctantly pulled herself out of the bed. His eyes hungrily grazed over her body as she bent over to retrieve her nightgown.

That single look sent chills down her spine, and it took everything in Lysandra not to run back to that bed, but to slip on her nightgown, and her robe, instead.

“I’ll see you in a little while,” she whispered, as she hurried toward the door.

Aedion’s fond smile followed her as she escaped into the hallway and across the hall to her own room. She threw open the door and closed it, quickly, leaning back against the thick slab of wood as she halted.

Aelin was sitting on her bed, a brow lifted as she read the morning paper.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence, then Aelin said, slowly, “Good morning.”

Lysandra sucked in her breath before saying, “Good morning.”

A moment of silence passed before Aelin scoffed. “Really? You’re going to make me ask?”

Lysandra chuckled as she hurried to her wardrobe and threw it open. “If you already know, what’s the point of me saying it?”

“Uh, because I need to see the look on your face when you say it aloud,” Aelin said, as if it were obvious.

“Fine,” Lysandra breathed, slowly turning around to meet Aelin’s gaze. “Aedion and I…”

Aelin was nearly bouncing on the edge of Lysandra’s bed.

“Fucked,” Lysandra finished, unable to think of another word.

Aelin clapped, then covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh gods, oh I’m so happy, oh where is he? I need to go hug him. Are you serious? It happened? What does this mean? Are you two together? My gods, you’re getting married, aren’t you?”

Lysandra rolled her eyes but she couldn’t help but chuckle. “You have too many questions. Get out.”

“Oh, I’m not moving until every detail is uncovered,” Aelin said, crossing her legs.

Lysandra lifted a brow. “You want to know every detail? Gods, Aelin, he’s your cousin.”

Aelin gave her a disgusted look. “Okay...a broad overview of your emotions would be fine.”

“It was…” Lysandra took a moment to think of the perfect word, but none would come to mind, none that captured her true feelings. “Kind.”

“Kind?” Aelin repeated.

Lysandra slowly turned to meet her best friend’s gaze. “Kind.”

Aelin’s eyes softened as she let out a breath. “Good.”

In Lysandra’s past life, on a morning after sex, after she had spent her night in someone’s bed, Lysandra only had tears and curses to spew at her best friend. But now, after her first night with Aedion, there was only serenity and utter admiration.

“I love him,” Lysandra whispered, then realized she was staring at her feet.

Aelin was soon in front of her, taking her best friend’s face into her hands. “I know. And he loves you, and I am so fucking happy.”

Lysandra only chuckled before Aelin took her into her arms, her eyes misty. “At least I have a little good news.”

Lysandra blinked, pulling back from Aelin with narrowed brows. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Aelin took a moment to choose her words wisely. “It’s….going to be an interesting day.”

~~~~~

Rowan came to the conclusion that Maeve’s men would follow him wherever he went.

He intended to use that to his advantage.

There was an apartment complex in the city, close to where their old house had been. Rowan was familiar with it, helped the single mothers who lived there and hired the men who resided within the homes. It was because of that that he felt confident in his plan.

He had told everyone there to stay inside for the day, to keep to themselves and open the door for no one.

It was risky, of course.

But he had already killed three men, and as Maeve overpowered them in manpower, he had to find a way to try and make the numbers more even. The Cadre was in support of him, whether because they truly believed in him or because he was their leader, Rowan wasn’t certain, but he didn’t care, either way, as long as it got the job done.

He was standing in an alley near the apartments, waiting for the clock in the square to chime noon. He had been counting down the seconds, waiting for the time to pass. There were very few things Rowan Whitethorn hated.

Waiting was one of them.

He hoped the others were where they were meant to be: Lorcan, Gavriel, Fenrys, Connall, Vaughan, Aedion. Rowan had taken full advantage of Aedion staying with them. He knew it was for Lysandra’s sake, but he didn’t care. If Aedion was staying in his home, it meant he was loyal to the Cadre.

So Rowan would put him to work.

It was two minutes until noon.

Rowan was going through the plan in his mind, once more, although he’d gone through the plan a hundred times now. Typically, on Tuesdays at noon, Rowan made his rounds to the people in the apartments. Some owed him money, some he paid for their minimal help in his endeavors. Either way, Tuesdays at noon was when he was in this spot, which Maeve now knew.

Guns were planted.

The men were waiting.

Someone would die today.

Rowan just hoped it wasn’t him.

One minute until noon.

He checked inside of his jacket for his pistol, which he already knew was there. It was more of a comfort thing, checking if it was there. After he found his gun was where it was meant to be, he checked his pocket watch, wondering what Aelin was doing.

Was she wondering how he was? Was she hoping he was still alive, still walking? Was she worried? Rowan couldn’t decide what was worse - if she was worried about him, or if she wasn’t.

The clock in the square struck noon and Rowan shoved his hands into his pockets then began to walk. He had been hiding behind the apartments, in a slim alley that didn’t leave much room for running away. It was a good thing no one had caught him there, but he assumed no one would follow him into an alley.

Rowan wouldn’t run in alleyways, but they couldn’t either.

He dropped a cigarette butt into the dusty road before coming around the corner, looking as nonchalant as possible. He had to keep himself from looking around, of making sure that his men were planted where they were supposed to be.

Rowan stopped in front of the first door and waited.

A few seconds went by.

Then, a few more.

He made a show of knocking, and prayed that whomever was inside remembered the orders.

Stay inside. Open the door for nobody, until it’s over.

The door remained shut.

But a shot went off, and Rowan was instantly crouched behind the barrier.

It had begun.

A few feet away, given to one of the women that lived in the complex and put outside of her door early that morning, was a machine gun, one that shot off countless rounds per minute.

If Rowan was going to win this war, he needed warlike materials.

Careful to keep his head down, Rowan crawled on his knees to retrieve the gun, then waited. The first shot had come from over his left shoulder.

He knew where to look, where to aim. After taking the massive gun into his hands, he cocked it and waited, his back leaned up against the concrete barrier.

It was time to kill.

Without a second thought, Rowan was peeking up over the barrier and firing. He was surprised at the power of the gun. It had nearly knocked him over as he pulled the trigger.

The gun went wild.

War broke loose.

Gunshots were flying from every direction. Rowan was in the heart of it all, but that was his job, his duty, as the leader. When one gun ran out of ammunition, he was hurrying toward the next and firing it. They only had so many machine guns - all of which had been found just before they killed Arobynn Hammel. They had once belonged to him, but now they belonged to Rowan, and he intended to use them to his full advantage.

He fired as much as he could, as accurately as he could. He now knew where Maeve’s men were stationed, and he wouldn’t stop until they were all dead.

~~~~~

Aedion was exhausted.

He figured after being shot that there would be an unbearable amount of pain, but he was mostly tired.

“Stay awake,” Gavriel growled as he carried Aedion inside of the estate, practically dragging him as his son was nearly the same size as he.

Rowan was walking in front of them, and the second he opened the door, he yelled, “We need warm water and whiskey!”

Natalia was just in the den, bouncing Lucy on her hip as they flooded into the foyer. She took one look at the bloodied crew, then at Aedion, and was hurrying off to find help.

“Aelin!” Rowan yelled, his voice desperate.

His wife hurried down the stairs a moment later, stopping midway as she observed them all, wide-eyed. They were covered in blood, Aedion being held up by Gavriel.

“Warm water, whiskey, rag, knife,” Rowan ordered.

Aelin’s face paled, but she nodded and hurried away, the same direction Natalia had gone.

It wasn’t until Aedion was sitting in a chair in the dining room that Lysandra entered and had gone still. She took one look at Aedion and was shaking her head. “What happened?” The question was hardly more than a whisper.

“Shot in the shoulder,” Fenrys said. “He’ll be fine.”

Lysandra nodded, slowly but she looked unsure. From his blood soaked shirt, it seemed that he’d lost a lot of blood.

And yet, Aedion looked in her direction and met her gaze. He smiled, weakly, as his eyes fluttered shut. “I’m fine.”

The words were slurred.

Aelin and Natalia were coming back a minute later, all the supplies in their hands. Lorcan, although covered in blood and sweat, was holding his daughter, cradling her head into his shoulder.

It was too soon.

Too soon after the death of Elide to deal with another shooting.

But Vaughan was hard at work, concentrating as Aedion was dealt a shot of whiskey, then another, and another. His eyes glazed over, from the alcohol and the loss of blood.

Only a minute had passed before Vaughan got the bullet out with bloodied fingers and dropped it onto the dining room table. Aelin was holding onto a shaking Lysandra. Fenrys and Connall were holding Aedion’s shoulders as alcohol was poured onto the wound. Aedion’s scream filled the air. Gavriel was handing Vaughan the supplies he needed to stitch Aedion up. Rowan was standing in the doorway, silently watching.

Lorcan had disappeared with Lucielle.

“There,” Gavriel said, looking up at Lysandra with tired, weary eyes. “Take him upstairs. Have him rest.”

Lysandra nodded, but they all knew how much Gavriel didn’t want Aedion out of his sight. Their relationship had been going well, and this was too close of a call. He had come close to losing his son...too close.

But, with Fenrys and Connall’s help, Lysandra was leading Aedion up the stairs and into his bed. His shirt had been removed, the stitched up wound on full display. Fenrys and Connall had helped lay him down but soon left them alone. Aedion was groaning as the bedroom door was shut behind them.

He breathed her name.

She froze, observing his body lying still, on his back, eyes closed.

“I’m mad at you,” she said, at last. “Don’t say my name like that.”

Despite himself, the corners of Aedion’s mouth jolted upward. “Come lay with me, pissed or not.”

Lysandra rolled her eyes but her feet betrayed her, because they were walking directly toward him. She sat down on the edge of the mattress and fell down beside him. She stayed a few inches away, careful for the wound that had been patched up on his shoulder. His breathing was even, and she knew that he was still awake, even though his eyes were closed; and yet, she wasn’t sure what to say. He was doing his job, there was no use in chastising him for it.

So, she laid there, perfectly still, watching his chest rise and fall until he fell asleep.

~~~~~

Aelin was brushing her wet hair when Rowan came into the room, hours later. She had just taken a bath, it seemed, and Rowan knew he could use one, but he was too exhausted to take one. She said nothing as he plopped down on the side of their bed and unlaced his shoes, then took off his hat, his jacket, his shoulder holster.

For a few minutes, she said nothing. There were a ton of questions she wanted to ask, Rowan was certain, but she did not voice them.

Not until Rowan was nearly bare, in nothing but his dusty trousers.

Their room seemed smaller tonight. Gods, he was hot.

“How many of her men did you kill?” she asked, her voice quiet.

Rowan stumbled to the nightstand and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it up before he said “Ten.”

Aelin sucked in a breath, then nodded. It was a good number, considering they were the enemies, but still, a death was still a death. It was a morbid situation, to say the least.

“How’s Aedion?” Rowan asked, a few seconds later.

“He’s okay,” Aelin said. “Stable, sleeping. Lysandra’s with him.”

Rowan nodded, curtly, before falling back onto the bed, his hands covering his face. He was utterly exhausted, and this war with Maeve was nowhere near being over. And yet, he couldn’t stop himself from laughing. It began as a quiet, breathy laugh, then turned into the laugh of a crazed madman. He knew he sounded insane, looked insane, that his wife was second guessing her marriage to him, but he couldn’t stop.

They were so fucked.

They were in such shit.

His hands were pulled off his face and he was left laughing up at the face of his wife, one of her brows arched high. “Are you drunk?”

Yes, he was. He’d sat downstairs with the others and drank, and drank, and drank until his toes felt funny. But, he shook his head. “No.”

“Liar,” she said, then looked down at his dusty trousers and scoffed. “Stand, don’t get on my bed in those dirty pants.”

He did so, then leaned down to press his mouth to Aelin’s. She quickly broke the kiss and gagged. “Fuck, your breath-.”

“Smells nice?” Rowan finished for her, then laughed some more.

Aelin shook her head, unable to keep a straight face. “I can’t believe it. Rowan Whitethorn is completely shitfaced.”

He shook his head and held up his hands. “Not true. You lie. You’re lying.”

Aelin chuckled quietly as she unbuttoned his trousers and yanked them down his thighs.

Rowan leaned down and whispered, obnoxiously, “Are we fucking?”

“Definitely not,” Aelin mumbled. “You’re getting out of these dusty pants, and you’re getting into the bath while I go get you a glass of water.”

Rowan groaned. “That doesn’t sound as fun, at all.”

Aelin just shook her head and looked up to meet her husband’s gaze. “I’ve forgotten how annoying you are when you’re drunk.”

Rowan took a step closer to Aelin as he said, “I’m not- I’m not drunk.”

“Uh Huh,” she crooned, and began walking backward toward the washroom. “Strip down, drunk boy, you’re bathing.”

Rowan took one step and reconsidered everything as the room began to spin. “Fuck,” he muttered, reaching out for something to grab onto and failing, ending up on the floor with a thump. He was quickly back on his feet, though, just as Aelin called from the washroom, “What was that?”

“I- it- Fleetfoot,” Rowan said, trying to keep his eyes open as he continued his walk to the washroom. He looked over his shoulder. The pup wasn’t even there.

Aelin knew it, too, because she was already watching the threshold as he appeared. He leaned against it and cocked his head, “Hello, beautiful.”

Aelin laughed. “Gods, Ro, undershorts off, now.”

He slipped them down as he said, “You just want to see my cock.”

Aelin snorted and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

Rowan sloppily got into the tub and his body went limp as the water filled up around him.

“Aelin,” he whispered, above the running water.

“Yes?” Aelin said, slowly, watching him out of the corner of her eye.

“I really love whiskey,” he said, staring at his knees.

“I know, Ro,” she said, amused, then turned off the faucet before pushing herself up off her knees. “I’m going to get you some water. Try not to….just….stay in the tub, okay?”

Rowan’s eyes were closing. “Yes, ma’am.”

And with that, she was gone. Rowan was almost too big to be in the tub. His knees were pulled up, his toes touching the other side. It was hard to get comfortable in the fucking thing. Yet, Aelin hadn’t even made it out of the bedroom before he was sleeping soundly in the warm water.

~~~~~~

Gavriel was the last person in the dining room. He looked at the table full of empty bottles and glasses and assumed it was his duty to pick them all up. It had been a while since he’d been drunk, couldn’t even remember the last time he’d indulged himself a little too heavily.

But, oh, he could feel it the moment he stood. He swayed, quickly holding onto the side of the table as the room blurred. He muttered a curse before sliding back down into his chair.

He had a reason for drinking so much, of course. It had been an anxiety filled day. Times were tense enough, but when Aedion got shot, Gavriel’s entire world stopped.

He’d come around the corner where Gavriel had been stationed, half his shirt drenched in crimson. Gavriel couldn’t breath, not as he rushed to his son’s side and tore open his shirt to find a bullet lodged into his skin. His turquoise eyes, the eyes his mother had, were glassing over, and Gavriel quickly took Aedion into his arms.

At least the battle ended soon after. Ten of Maeve’s men were killed, and only Aedion had been injured.

They had hurried him back to the estate and Vaughan worked quietly, steadily, to remove the bullet from Aedion’s shoulder. Gavriel couldn’t do it. His hands were shaking too much.

Gavriel’s hands never shook.

But it was his son.

He was sleeping soundly now, though, and Lysandra was with him. Nothing would happen to Aedion while Lysandra was with him.

Aedion loved Lysandra like he loved Aedion’s mother.

It was a beautiful thing to watch.

With forced effort, Gavriel pushed himself to his feet once again and, forgetting the horrid alcohol-filled scene left on the table, Gavriel made his way into the hall.

Where he ran into Natalia.

He didn’t know much about Lucy’s nanny. She kept to herself, mostly, and when she didn’t, she was mostly giving everyone scornful looks.

He took a step back, putting a hand on the doorframe to keep himself steady. After clearing his throat, he said, “Apologies.”

Natalia lifted her chin. “It’s alright.”

She had a thick accent.

Gavriel liked accents.

“Care to have a drink?” he asked, and wasn’t sure why, because he could hardly stand as it was.

Natalia stared at him for a moment before she said, “Vodka.”

“Vodka,” Gavriel repeated, certain that vodka was somewhere on the table in the dining room behind him. He led the way, unsteadily, before finding a nearly-empty bottle of vodka on the table and pouring what was left into a clean glass. He set it in front of Natalia, who was sitting at the table, then sat next to her.

He found a nearly empty bottle of whiskey on the table and brought it to his lips. Gods, he was going to regret it all in the morning.

But now, with his head light, he didn’t give a fuck.

“So, you’re a nanny,” Gavriel said - his attempt at small talk.

Natalia just looked at him and blinked. “Obviously.”

Gavriel nodded. “Nice.”

“You are not good at small talk,” Natalia said, downing half her glass before setting it on the table.

Gavriel blinked, staring at the glass. “Impressive.”

“I can hold my liquor,” Natalia said, then turned her gaze to Gavriel. “Your son is the one who was shot.”

Gavriel nodded, taking another drink. “He’s doing okay now.”

“I am glad,” Natalia said, then downed the rest of her drink before pouring herself some more.

Gavriel was amazed.

Natalia couldn’t have been too much older than him. Maybe ten years or so, somewhere in her late forties. She was pretty, he supposed. Her hair was in a long braid and her green eyes were lit up, although narrowed. She wore a nightgown and a robe, which would typically be considered inappropriate, but drinking with a woman alone in the middle of the night was also considered inappropriate, so Gavriel neglected to mention it.

“You are staring at me,” Natalia said. “Why.”

Gavriel took a slow drink before setting the bottle of whiskey back on the table. “You’re quite lovely.”

Natalia tensed, slowly turning her gaze to meet Gavriel’s, who was still watching her. Then, before he could realize what was happening, Natalia was straddling his lap, sliding her tongue into his mouth.

~~~~~

#tacmc the cadre #tacmc ITBMW #rowaelin #elorcan #lysaedion #fanfic #tog

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theladyofdeath · 4 years

Text

In the Bleak Midwinter {12}

A Throne of Glass Period AU: 1920s.

A/N: .......my finger slipped.

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

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

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The Cadre - 1920s AU {TOG}

In the Bleak Midwinter {The Cadre, Part 2}

The late afternoon sun was bright and warm, but even it did not erase the eeriness of the clearing on the outskirts of town as Rowan and the others waited in the woods, hidden by the thick line of trees.

Maeve’s men would be arriving any second, and although their plan was set, and Rowan was confident in it, it did not take away the bundle of nerves that settled in his stomach. They all remained quiet, not a word uttered, as they waited. Rhoe had come, along with Dorian, Chaol, and Ren. Fenrys and Connall stood closest to the edge of the clearing, their eyes shooting in every direction, watching intently. Lorcan was leaning against the thick trunk of an oak tree, smoking a cigarette, lazily, as if nothing in the world bothered him at all. Gavriel, on the other hand, kept close to Aedion, not trusting that he had healed enough to be there.

Rowan ran through their plan, for the thousandth time, in his mind.

It was pointless, though. In situations like this, things rarely went according to plan.

As the sun began to sink behind the trees, a group of men stepped into the clearing. The six that appeared were only a handful of Maeve’s numbers, which meant the others were no doubt hiding behind the trees, just as Rhoe and his men were.

Nonetheless, Rowan gave a motion with his fingers and stepped out into the clearing, the rest of the Cadre behind him while the others stayed behind. It was strange walking without Vaughan. Even when Rowan was a kid, Vaughan had always been there, in the pack. They still stood their ground, though, Rowan and the other four who walked one step behind, Gavriel, Lorcan, Fenrys, and Connall. They were no doubt feeling Vaughan’s absence, too.

They didn’t walk far into the clearing, stopped a good distance away from their opponents, the long grass nearly up to their knees, no more than ten feet away from the tree line. Maeve’s men, led by Cairn, had done the same.

“I see my aunt still hides when the talking stops and the fighting begins,” Rowan said, hands at his side.

Cairn shrugged. “She’s too precious to be put on the front lines.”

Behind Rowan, Lorcan snorted. Rowan was tempted to do the same, but he only blinked before he said, “Very well. Let her know that her dear Vaughan woke up, will you? She always had eyes for him.”

Cairn’s jaw locked, meaning that Rowan’s suspicions were correct: Maeve had a horribly ugly way of making men fall for her and forcing them to become her bitches.

“Do you always talk so much in these sort of situations?” Cairn asked, cocking his head.

“I can go straight for my gun, if that’s what you prefer.” Rowan’s low voice drifted through the meadow.

He was greeted with silence.

Cairn did not speak, nor did the five others behind him. Rowan stared him down, unblinking, as Gavriel lazily reached for the gun beneath his jacket.

It was a sign.

The first move.

As soon as Gavriel took out his pistol, displayed the cool metal in the late afternoon sun, all weapons would be drawn, and the shooting would begin. Which is, surely, why Gavriel took his sweet, sweet time. Seconds passed as the silence ensued, as branches blowing in the soft breeze was all that could be heard. Rowan kept his eyes on Cairn’s, his jaw hard, his hands slack at his sides, long, scarred fingers brushing along the loose fabric of his trousers.

Then, Rowan’s right hand balled into a fist.

Just behind his right shoulder, Gavriel swiftly pulled out his gun.

Weapons were out and the first shot was fired. Gavriel, landing a bullet in the shoulder of a tall, young red-headed man behind Cairn.

Others were coming out across the clearing as a bullet whirred past Rowan’s ear. He muttered a curse and he took a step forward and reached down, into the long, swaying grass, where one of Arobynn Hammel’s stolen guns laid hidden.

The moment Rowan rose and took his aim, the other machine guns were being fired from his left, toward Maeve’s men, controlled by Rhoe, Aedion, Ren, Chaol, and Dorian.

It was perfect, glorious, an easy defeat as Maeve’s men began to fall. Another fifteen, at least, had come into the clearing from the woods behind Cairn and the others, and Rowan wasn’t sure how many more there were. The gun went off in his hands, shooting more rounds than any gun should be able to, but he wouldn’t complain.

It was them, or him.

Just when he thought it would be a quick, over and done with battle, a shadow flew over his head, and by the time he realized what it had been, it was too late.

An explosion went off, and he was thrown onto the ground. A ringing in his ears greeted him as his head hit the ground, broken by the softness of the grass, but he knew that Rhoe’s men were still shooting, that Maeve’s men were still falling. His body shook off the shock as he rose, running on pure adrenaline.

Rowan stumbled, trying to catch his balance as he aimed, once more, at the few that remained. Cairn had run, he’d noticed, as he started walking toward the others, firing away. Another shadow passed over them, and this time Rowan yelled, “Get down!”

He followed his own advice, falling between the high grass, hands over his head, face against the dirt. The second explosion was further than the first, and just when he was about to stand, yet again, the gunfire ceased.

Even Rhoe and the others beyond the trees.

Rowan slowly pulled himself up on his feet to find himself in an empty clearing. Maeve’s men either laid dead in the grass or they had fled alongside Cairn. He waited a moment to be sure, scanned the treeline but found no one, nothing. Dropping the massive gun to his side, he slowly turned to face his men as blood trickled from a cut just above his eyebrow. He was unsure of how he’d gotten it, hadn’t even felt it happen.

The ringing in his ears remained as he turned to find Lorcan, sweating, his hair a mess, that cigarette still between his teeth, breathing heavily. Gavriel was alright, too, putting his pistols back into the twin holsters beneath his jacket.

But it was Fenrys who caught Rowan’s attention, because he was looking around, frantically, eyes wide, chest heaving.

From his lips flew one word, one name, in a desperate scream. “Connall!”

“To your right!”

It was Dorian, jumping out from behind the clearing with a pointed finger. Fenrys didn’t hesitate, sprinting in the direction Havilliard had been pointing. The others were close behind, but Fenrys fell down into the grass, and a piercing cry filled the silence.

Rowan came to an abrupt stop, nearly running into the back of Gavriel when he saw the crumpled up body Fenrys was covering with his own. Their faces were identical, but one was covered in tears, and the other was staring blankly up at the cloudless blue sky.

~~~~~~~~

Aelin and Lysandra had been pacing for nearly an hour outside of the front doors of the estate. It was a perfect day, the sun shining brightly, even as it began to sink down beyond the distant hills. The cool breeze kept them from getting too warm. Even though the day was beautiful, it didn’t take away it’s horrid nature.

Aelin felt like she was going to puke.

There was a soft tap from one of the windows above them and Aelin spun around to find Vaughan sitting in the same chair she’d left him in, in the library just above the entrance. He met her gaze, then pointed.

“Ae,” Lysandra breathed.

Aelin’s gaze shot down the dirt drive, where she could see the trio of cars in the distance. As they grew nearer, Aelin’s heart raced faster. Lysandra was instantly at her side, holding her friend’s hand. Aelin gripped her fingers, the other hand resting protectively over her bump.

It felt like an eternity as they watched the cars come closer, the two women standing together, holding their breath, clutching one another.

And then the cars were in front of them, stopping, neatly in a row. Rowan, Lorcan, and Gavriel got out of the first; her father, Chaol, and Dorian getting out of the second; and in the third, which the other men were hurrying to, Aedion stepped out, then Ren Allsbrook.

Aelin knew something horrible had happened, knew something had gone wrong, as Fenrys stepped out, covered in bright red blood.

Lysandra tensed from beside her.

And behind her, the door flew open, and Vaughan, grunting and clutching his chest, stepped out into the daylight, bare-chested, barefoot. He stopped beside Aelin, watching in horror as Lorcan, Gavriel, and Rhoe lifted a disfigured body out of the backseat.

The look on Fenrys face could have shattered the world with just a glance.

Rowan turned, and Aelin met his gaze with a soft, brutal sob.

The leader of the Cadre looked utterly defeated as a tear slid down his dusty, bloodied cheek.

~~~~~

Maeve was sitting behind a grand oak desk as Cairn entered the room. His clothes were torn and blood-splattered. He shut the door behind him as she took in his appearance.

“You all are back sooner than I expected,” she said, after a moment.

Cairn’s shoulders tensed as he said, “They had fucking machine guns, Maeve, more so than we thought, you sent us into a bloody slaughter.”

Maeve just shrugged a shoulder as she crossed her legs. “They called, we answered the call.”

“We lost over half our men,” Cairn snapped.

“And the grenades?” Maeve asked, her voice remaining light, curious.

“Used,” Cairn answered, plainly.

Maeve sat perfectly still, waiting for him to continue.

At last, Cairn went on. “We killed off one.”

A loud, short laugh broke free from Maeve as she rose to her feet. “One? Two fucking grenades, and you only killed one?”

Cairn said nothing.

“Pathetic,” Maeve spat. “Which?”

“One of the twins,” Cairn answered, shrugging. “We did what we could with what we had.”

Maeve looked at him for a long moment before taking a deep breath and falling back into her chair. “Yes, yes, of course, my dear. Do not worry, I have a plan. We will wait for their walls to fall down, and then we will strike. And when we do, he will have no choice but to surrender.”

The one, the only one that mattered, the murderer of her one true love.

Cairn opened his mouth, no doubt to ask a question, but Maeve held up her hand and shook her head. “Not yet, my dear. I’ll reveal my secrets in time, but not yet.”

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

#tacmc ITBMW #the cadre #tog #throne of glass #fanfic #fanfiction #period au #1920s au #pb au

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theladyofdeath · 4 years

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In the Bleak Midwinter {10}

A Throne of Glass Period AU: 1920s.

A/N: pretty sure shit’s about to go down...we’ve reached the middle of this 20 chapter fic! thank you all for reading, reblogging, liking, etc. I thrive on your comments and excitement. x

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

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

Links & masterlists:

Fanfic Masterlist

Ask me

The Cadre - 1920s AU {TOG}

In the Bleak Midwinter {The Cadre, Part 2}

Aelin sat by Vaughan’s side, nearly nonstop, for two days. He was still breathing steadily, and the doctor said he should wake up, but it would be when he was ready, and he hadn’t yet, which only increased Aelin’s anxiety, and she could hardly take any more anxiety.

It was nearly nightfall on Saturday evening, and Aelin knew she should join the others for dinner, but she had no appetite. The others cared for Vaughan, too, of course, but Aelin was the one who felt responsible for what had happened, even though everyone had told her not to think such things.

She couldn’t help it, though.

Instead of joining the others for dinner, Aelin opened up the morning paper and began reading it aloud. Although Vaughan didn’t stir, she liked to think that he was listening and knew he liked to stay informed. Once she’d gotten through the paper, she set it on the nightstand and gave him the news from the house, too.

“Lysandra has been taking care of Aedion, and he seems to be healing quickly,” Aelin began, sitting back in her chair with her feet propped on the side of the mattress. “I think it’s because Lys is giving him extra attention, but she denies that theory.”

Vaughan’s chest slowly rose and fell.

“Speaking of lovers, Gav has been trying to avoid Natalia as much as possible, but she’s been seeking him out, I swear,” Aelin said, and couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yesterday, she passed behind him and pinched his ass, and I have never seen Gavriel’s cheeks get so red.”

It was hilarious. Aelin had left Vaughan’s side to go get a glass of water before bed, and she passed by them the second it happened. Despite everything that was going on, Aelin nearly cried she was laughing so hard.

“Tomorrow is Sunday, though, so that’s shit,” Aelin went on, her smile fading. “I’m worried about them, especially since you won’t be there.” She shook her head, looking away from Vaughan to the open window and the sun sinking down beyond the distant hills. “But Ro is adamant that they must make their move, and as much as I hate it, I understand it. The quicker Maeve is defeated, the better.”

Aelin couldn’t bear losing anyone else. Elide’s death had been tragic, and although she kept telling herself that Vaughan would wake up, if this shit with Maeve continued on, they would only lose another one of their family, and that was not okay.

Aelin wished she knew where Maeve was hiding so she could put a bullet into the bitch’s head herself.

Unfortunately, though, that was impossible, because Rowan kept her completely out of the loop, and every time she tried to talk to him about it, she was only ignored.

She loved her husband, knew he was trying to protect her and their baby, but he was being a complete dick.

With a sigh, she looked back at Vaughan, picked up the book of poetry on his nightstand, and began reading, once more.

~~~~

Lorcan kissed Lucy’s head and laid her in the crib before walking to his adjoining room. He had rocked her to sleep, like Elide used to, and was surprised when she was snoring soundly five minutes later. He gave her one last look over his shoulder before he closed the door behind him.

The second he stepped into his room, he froze.

Natalia sat on the edge of his bed, reading a book.

He lifted a brow. “Get bored of Gavriel and want to fuck me, instead?”

Natalia’s eyes narrowed as she snapped her book shut. “No. You disgust me.”

“Damn, let me down easy, okay,” he muttered, plopping down in a wooden chair. As he untied his shoes, he asked, “What’s going on with you and Gav, anyways?”

She shrugged a shoulder as she said, “He is afraid to be with me, I am too much of a woman for him to handle.”

Lorcan laughed - a true, genuine laugh. “I could see that. You need a strong man, Natalia.”

Natalia hummed her agreement before asking, “Are you ready for tomorrow?”

Lorcan took a moment to think about his answer. No, he wasn’t, because if he died, he’d be taken away from Lucy, leaving her orphaned. And yet, he was, because if he died, he’d be able to find his wife in the afterlife and kiss her, once again.

At last, he shrugged. “Is anyone ever really ready to walk into battle?”

Natalia’s lips thinned as she nodded. “I suppose that is a valid question.”

Lorcan nodded, taking a bottle of half-drunk whiskey from the table beside him and popping the top. “What do you think about America?”

Natalia froze, the question catching her off guard. “America?”

“Yeah,” Lorcan said. “I’ve been thinking that after this shit with Maeve is done, we could go there.”

Natalia hesitated. “To live there?”

Lorcan shrugged, taking a massive chug from the bottle. “Why not?”

“Because your life is here,” Natalia said, quietly. “Because your family is here.”

Lorcan set the glass bottle back on the table, a little too hard. “Elide is my family. Lucy is my family. One of them is dead, the other goes with me wherever I go.”

In a rare moment of vulnerability, Natalia’s eyes softened. “You want to run away.”

He wanted to snap, wanted to tell her that she was wrong, but she wasn’t, and she knew it, as did he. So, he shook his head, slowly, inspecting a loose floorboard a few feet away from his bare toes. “Everywhere I look, I see her. It doesn’t matter where I am, or who I’m with, everywhere I go in this fucking city, I see her.”

Natalia shifted on the edge of the bed before asking, “And that pains you?”

His eyes snapped to hers as his jaw hardened. “What the fuck do you mean? Of course it pains me! I lost my fucking wife, Natalia!”

If Natalia was surprised at his outburst, she didn’t show it. She simply said, “And I lost a friend, and Lucy lost a mother. I know that Elide was the love of your life, Lorcan, which is why it surprises me that you wish to leave this city behind, for it is one of the few things you have left of her.”

A moment of silence passed before Lorcan reached to grab the bottle, once again. As he put the cool glass to his lips, Natalia spat, “That’s right, numb your emotions with alcohol. That’ll help.”

He slowly took the bottle from his lips as he met Natalia’s cold stare. “Fuck you.”

Natalia’s shoulders tensed as she stood up, abruptly, and began to leave the room.

“Fuck,” Lorcan breathed, almost tempted to let her go, but he didn’t. “I’m sorry, okay? I just...I didn’t mean that.”

Natalia froze, but she didn’t turn around.

“I don’t know how to handle this,” Lorcan said, his voice growing quiet. “Yeah, I drink to numb it all, because the emotions are too much to handle, you know? No, I don’t know how to keep seeing her everywhere I look and realize that she’s not actually here, that she never will be again. And yes, sometimes that makes me want to run away and start over.”

For a moment, no one spoke, no one moved, but then Natalia slowly turned around to look at Lorcan. Her jaw was still rigid, her shoulders stiff, but her eyes were no longer cold.

In a quiet voice, she said, “Elide would not want you to run, Lorcan. She would want you to be near your family, those you love, those she loved...and she would want you to be happy.”

Lorcan quickly looked away so that she wouldn’t see how his eyes grew misty.

“It will take time,” Natalia said, turning her back to him, once more. “But, there is no shame in mourning, Lorcan.”

She was nearly out of his room when he called, “Natalia.”

She stopped, looking over her shoulder, waiting.

“You are my family, too,” he said, just in case she wasn’t aware.

She chuckled, but her eyes held a certain fondness as she said, “As you are mine.”

~~~~~

Lysandra kissed a sleeping Aedion on the forehead as she crept out of his bedroom and headed down to the kitchen. She couldn’t sleep, but figured a shot or two of whiskey would have her out in no time.

She was just around the corner when she heard a sudden clatter and froze. It was nearing midnight, and with everything going on, Lysandra’s mind immediately went to the worst case scenario. If it wasn’t for the f-fuck! that followed, Lysandra would have hauled ass the other direction.

She rounded the corner and found Rowan, eyelids drooped and his shirt half unbuttoned, sitting on the floor, his back leaned up against the cabinets with a nearly empty bottle of whiskey in his hand.

Although he was less than ten feet away, he raised his hand high in the air and waved.

Lysandra just shook her head and crossed her arms. “What the hell are you doing, Ro?”

He blinked, then raised the nearly-empty bottle. “Drinking.”

“I see that,” Lysandra said, with a sigh. “Shouldn’t you be upstairs in bed with your wife?”

Rowan snorted. “Fuck no, she doesn’t want to be around me.”

His words were slurred, his cheeks flushed. Lysandra rubbed her temples as she said, “You’re even stupider when you’re drunk, you know that? All she wants is to be around you.”

“No, she wants to know what’s going on,” Rowan corrected, his long finger pointed in Lysandra’s direction. “She wants to be a part of this fucking war, and that’s not going to happen.”

“She feels like you’re keeping information-.”

“Obviously I’m keep-keeping information,” he said, blinking before he took another swig from the bottle. “The more information she knows, Lys, the more dangerous it is.”

“Aelin is tough-.”

“She’s carrying my fucking child.” The words came out hurried, quiet, and when Lysandra tried to meet his gaze, he quickly looked away. “Stay out of my marriage, Lys, and I won’t ask you about Ashryver, alright? Just...Just…”

“Just,” Lysandra repeated, voice full of sarcasm and venom, then kicked his boot. “Get up.”

“No,” he said, and downed the rest of the liquid from the bottle. “I’m content where I am.”

“Fuck, you’re pathetic,” Lysandra breathed, and reached down to tug on his arm. “Come on, you idiot, tomorrow is important and you need rest.”

He sighed, loudly and dramatically. “I can’t rest, Lys, I can’t fucking sleep!”

Lysandra froze and dropped his arm as his tone rang through the quiet kitchen. “Fine. Stay here, ignore your wife, be a dick.”

Lysandra went to take a step away, but then Rowan said, quietly, “I’m not a fucking dick, I’m trying to keep you all fucking safe. Pardon me if I need a fucking drink.”

With a defeated sigh, Lysandra slowly turned back around. He was a mess, dark circles beneath his eyes, his hair sticking up wildly, his close wrinkled. “What’s going on, Ro? You’ve been in plenty of shitty situations, and you’ve always kept yourself put together. You’re a fucking mess.”

“We’re all going to die,” he said, tossing his hands into the air. “Elide….now Vaughan is unconscious, and my wife blames herself, and nothing I say fucking helps. My wife, Lys, my pregnant wife came into the house two days ago covered in fucking blood, having just shot a man, because I wasn’t there to protect her. I have tried so damn hard to protect her, and all she does is get pissed at me for it.”

“Ro-.”

“Remember when we were kids?” Rowan asked, staring up at the ceiling. “When we were just two fucking kids, and the world wasn’t on my shoulders? When the most interesting thing to happen to us was you and me, sneaking around behind Clarisse’s back? Fuck.”

“It was never easy, Ro,” Lysandra whispered. “Our lives have never been easy.”

“No,” he agreed, “but everyone’s fate didn’t rest in my hands, either.”

Lysandra watched him for a moment. She could see the pain, the hurt, the weight of the world on his shoulders. It was because of that look, that heartbreak, that Lysandra reached out her hands and said, as gently as possible, “Come on, Ro. Let me walk you upstairs.”

For a second, he looked like he would protest, but then he took her hands and allowed her to help him up.

Gods, he was massive. Not only did he tower over her, but as drunk as he was, a lot of his weight fell into Lysandra, who barely stayed on her own two feet.

But his arms were around her, clearly leaning on her for support. After a few failed attempts, and a few stumbles where Rowan ended up on the ground, they finally found their groove and walked through the silent house. The stairs took the longest to conquer, but once they reached the second floor, his bedroom was only a short distance.

When they got to the door of the master bedroom, Rowan froze.

Lysandra saw the internal war going on within him, as she had a hundred times before.

“Just go lay with her, Ro,” she whispered. “Let her know that you love her.”

He nodded, nearly ready to fall over again, but then he let go of Lysandra and let himself inside. She was left alone in the hall, hurting for her best friend and for the boy that was now a man, the boy who was tossed into a world that he didn’t choose, a world that was eating him alive, slowly, day by day, hour by hour.

~~~~~

Maeve sat in the den of her little home on the outskirts of town, a drink in one hand, a cigarette in the other. She had discarded her heels, but her stockings and day clothes remained. She longed to be in something more comfortable, but with Cairn there, that would be horribly inappropriate.

Although late, he had come to give her his daily report, as her second.

“And is there news on Vaughan?” she asked. It had been nearly all she’d thought about in two days, after her men returned saying that the quiet one had been injured. Her man, however, had been shot by Aelin Galathynius - Maeve had been keeping her out of it, because she was pregnant, but maybe she shouldn’t have been. If Rowan’s wife was dangerous, she should be added to the list, too.

“He still lives, as far as I know,” Cairn replied, sitting in the large armchair across from her, near the blazing fire.

Maeve hummed, unable to decide if that was a good thing or not. She had always been fond of Vaughan. Gavriel, too. “Very well. And how are things going for tomorrow?”

“Whitethorn wants to meet in a field beyond the city limits,” Cairn said. “As far as I know, we still have more men than they do, but we have to be weary of their gun supply. We’ve been trying to get a hold of new weapons, but in this city, that’s not easy, and having anything shipped in will take too long.”

Maeve sighed, running a hand through her dark, cropped hair. “They stole them from Arobynn, you can’t steal them back?”

“You make it sound like an easy task,” Cairn crooned.

“If I wanted easy shit done, I would do it myself,” Maeve snapped, bringing the cigarette to her lips. “If they have the guns, we need to have something over them, something in our favor aside from a few extra men.”

She stilled then, the idea popping into her mind with such clarity that she couldn’t help but laugh, softly, forcing Cairn to look at his leader as if she’d gone mad.

“I’ve got it,” she breathed. “Oh, I’ve fucking got it.”

Carin blinked. “Mind sharing or should I take a guess?”

“All in good time, my love,” she said, her grin wide, wicked as she leaned back into her chair and continued to indulge herself. “You and the boys take care of tomorrow, and I will make a plan for what comes after that.”

A cruel, wicked plan for her boys.

After all, it was what they deserved.

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

#tacmc ITBMW #the cadre #tog #fanfic #fanfiction #pb au #1920s au

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