#the ashryver eyes and terrasen green

[acourtofquestions]

Aelin.

He had no voice here, but he spoke her name. Threw it across the gulf between them.

Slowly, she turned to him.

It was her face—or it would be in a few years. When she Settled.

But it wasn't the slightly older features that knocked the breath from him.

It was the hand on her rounded belly.

She stared toward him, hair still flowing.

Behind her, four small figures emerged.

Rowan fell to his knees.

The tallest: a girl with golden hair and pine-green eyes, solemn-faced and as proud as her mother. The boy beside her, nearly her height, smiled at him, warm and bright, his Ashryver eyes near-glowing beneath his cap of silver hair.

The boy next to him, silver-haired and green-eyed, might as well have been Rowan's twin.

And the smallest girl, clinging to her mother's legs ... A fine-boned, silver-haired child, little more than a babe, her blue eyes harking back to a lineage he did not know.

Children. His children. Their children.

With another mere weeks from being born.

His family.

The family he might have, the future he might have. The most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Aelin.

[leiawritesstories]

The Princess & The Warrior

Rowaelin Month 2024, Day 15: What if? and Day 30: Alternate Canon @rowaelinscourt

Ending Rowaelin Month with a little bit of a bang 🤭 What if...Rowan and Aelin's powers were swapped, giving Aelin ice and Rowan fire? And the alternate canon is that Rowan comes to Terrasen to train Aelin teehee

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: some swearing, sparring/fighting, big surprises ehehe

enjoy!!!!!

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

Dressed in her usual training uniform of fitted pants, loose belted tunic, and flexible-soled boots, Aelin tossed her braid over her shoulder and raised her arms above her head, loosening the muscles in her shoulders. She paced back and forth across the packed dirt ground of the training courtyard, trying her best not to spiral into self-doubt at the thought of this new phase of her training. 

A few weeks ago, her parents had informed her that they were in the process of bringing over a Fae tutor for her from Doranelle, where most of the immortal Fae lived. Queen Sellene Whitethorn, a longtime ally of Terrasen, was known for her dedication to training magic-wielders, and when Rhoe and Evalin had discovered that their daughter’s powers were far more vast than anticipated, their first thought had been to reach out to Doranelle. Aelin’s tutors from Rifthold, as educated as they were, only had experience training people with ordinary levels of magic. 

Not since Brannon Galathynius had there been a wielder of her caliber. 

And it terrified the shit out of her. 

Almost unconsciously, Aelin formed a razor-sharp blade of ice in her left hand, the exact same size and weight as the sword in her right hand but made of magic rather than steel. She went through the familiar motions of her warm-up movements, focusing on her breathing to feel the way that her body shifted and moved over the dirt. With the fluid swoops of her blades, she trailed a pattern of glittering snowflakes through the humid summer air. 

“Good form.” A male voice, calmly measured in a way that could only come from centuries of life experience, sounded from the far side of the courtyard. 

She turned around, dropping both swords to hang loosely at her sides, and waited as a Fae male a good seven inches taller than her with corded muscles lining the breadth of his shoulders tucked back his hood and strode—no, prowled—across the courtyard towards her. “You must be the new tutor.” 

His nostrils flared briefly, and his lips tightened into a flat line. “You can call me Rowan.” 

Her eyes widened slightly as she put together the details—the name, the green eyes and silver hair, the tattoos scrolling down half his face and the length of his arm, the handles of the hatchets strapped to his belt. “Prince Rowan Whitethorn, hmm? I wouldn’t have expected Queen Sellene to send one of her relatives all the way to Terrasen.” 

Rowan snorted softly. “Apparently, there’s a princess in Terrasen who can’t control the depth of her magic.” He ran a critical gaze up and down Aelin’s form. “That would be you, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius.” 

“Just Aelin is fine.” 

“Whatever you say, princess.” Without further warning, Rowan launched a blade of blue flame at Aelin’s face. 

She whipped her ice sword out, just barely managing to deflect it. “What in the hells?!” 

Fire ignited around his left fist, a short dagger appearing in his right. “Welcome to training, princess. I thought you already had some.” Sarcasm dripped from his words. 

“Maybe I’m deliberately keeping my guard down.” She flicked her fingers, propelling a burst of tiny, sharp-edged ice crystals towards his smug face with a winter breeze. 

Bored, he cast a shield of orange flame, easily fending off her attack. “Maybe those idiot tutors of yours couldn’t teach you anything but crude basics.” 

“Hmm, I suppose modern training does seem crude to you in your old age.” Smirking, she coiled a wind around his left leg and tugged hard, throwing him off balance. 

Faster than she thought possible, faster than he had any right to be, he punched her. 

She’d barely even seen him move. 

“Asshole,” she snarled. She shook the blurriness from her eyes and hurled a fist at his thigh, engaging him in hand-to-hand combat. Rapidly melting her ice sword into a solid glove around her left hand, she kicked a knife out of her boot and swiped at Rowan, who batted off her attacks as if she were nothing more than an untrained recruit. His technique was precise and vicious and brutal, honed by centuries of training with the Fae legions of Doranelle, and Aelin felt her strength rapidly flagging as she strained to block his relentless jabs and punches and bursting bites of flame. 

“Shift, princess,” he ordered. “You have more strength and stamina as a Fae.” 

“If you’d give me a godsdamn minute, I could,” she panted. 

He shook his head and kicked the back of her knee. “In battle, you won’t have a godsdamn minute. You think an enemy is going to stop so you can fucking shift?” 

She swore angrily at him and whipped her knee up, hitting him squarely in the groin. He wheezed and doubled over, and she had just enough time to gather her depleted strength and shift into her Fae form. With her enhanced senses, she saw his knife slipping towards her, and she managed to deflect it just before the blade could nip at her skin. 

“Better,” he murmured, and he unleashed a furious barrage of punches that had her head spinning as she fought off the strikes that came from every angle. A coil of fire snaked up her leg, and she snuffed it with a breath of icy wind, only to find Rowan’s leg hooked behind her stabilizing leg, jerking in a twisting motion that sent her tumbling to the packed dirt. 

“That’s cheating,” she gasped, flinging a handful of dirt into his face. 

He hissed, and faster than she could see, he held the edge of his knife to her throat. “Yield.” 

As covertly as she could, she gathered a handful of snow above his head, and she grunted, straining to break free of his hold, as she dumped that snow down his back. 

He jerked at the shock of the cold, and the edge of the blade grazed her skin. Tiny pricks of blood welled up on the knife’s edge. “First blood is mine.” He withdrew the knife and stood up, holding out his tattooed hand to help her to her feet. She stood up reluctantly, brushing the dirt off of her clothes, and he went to wipe his knife on his tunic when he scented the blood on the blade. 

And he froze dead in his tracks. 

“No,” he whispered, shock bared on his face. “It can’t be.” 

Aelin seized the chance to slice the tip of her dagger across his fingertip, as his free hand was hanging loose, and the scent of his blood on her knife crashed into her with the force of a blizzard. 

Mate. 

This ancient, rude, insufferable male…was her mate. 

“Impossible,” she breathed, echoing his stunned silence. She was only twenty-four, and although she knew from her family’s Fae heritage that she would eventually Settle, she’d never given any thought to the idea that she might have a mate. Royalty married for prestige, not for any other reason. 

His face shuttered. “This changes nothing.” 

“Wrong.” She folded her arms across her chest, defiance blazing in her eyes. “This changes everything. I don’t care how terrified either of us are, you don’t get to use this as an excuse to leave.” 

“I wasn’t…” Rowan bit back his words. “It might not be the best idea for me to train you.” 

“Bullshit,” Aelin scoffed. “Queen Sellene clearly chose you for a reason. Certainly you can manage to teach me the control you think I lack without letting any of your damn territorial Fae instincts get in the way.” 

To her utter shock, his lips twitched upwards into something resembling a smirk. “What the hell would you know about ‘territorial Fae instincts,’ princess?” 

“I’m Fae too, you know.” Bitterness clogged her throat, the anguished screams of the one she couldn’t save echoing through her mind. “I can be incredibly protective.” 

He must have read the hollowness in her eyes. “All right. I’ll stay.” 

“Good, then you’re not a coward.” 

“One condition, though.” 

She raised a brow. “Oh?” 

He sighed, mumbling something indecipherable under his breath. “We cannot tell anyone.” 

“Why in the hells would I want to?” She tucked her knife back down the side of her boot. “You have been here for all of a day, and the last time I let someone into my heart, he died.” She whirled on her heel and left, her footfalls like thunderclaps in the suddenly silent courtyard. 

And Rowan could only stare, shell-shocked, an unidentified emotion beginning to stir in his heart.

~~~

TAGS:

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@mariaofdoranelle

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

@renxzs

@anarchiii

@fauna-flora11

@cynthiesjmxazrielslover

@mysterylilycheeta

[catastrophesandcures]

|| A Heavy Name || Throne of Glass One-Shot ||

(Where: the new Heir of Terrasen struggles with cursive G’s, the eyes of people long gone, and holding up her mother’s name)

Adele, Age 8

Adele Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius wishes for a shorter name. Her hand cramps, fingers occasionally spasming, as she signs her name over and over and over, over, over…

She works to perfect her handwriting, to get accustomed to the long loops and scrolls. She’s sometimes taken to signing with a simple AAWG, but Uncle Darrow, the old badger, says princesses of Terrasen wield their powerful names. 

What the sword won’t do, the name can. 

Adele glares over her shoulder to the portrait of Uncle Darrow that hangs beside old king Orlon. Adele shakes her practice sheet at Uncle Darrow’s stern, always watching picture as if to say, See? I’m not cutting corners! 

Adele peaks at Orlon, then. For some reason, she’s always afraid to fully look the painting in the eye. Beside him, Grandfather Rhoe. Then, Grandmother Evalin. She looks like Mama, but younger. She has the same eyes as Mama, maybe softer, less…wild. Adele looks away from Grandmother Evalin too, not able to think about Mama not having a mama. She stops looking at what she calls the Big Pictures–faces of the dead–and moves her gaze to the smaller frames along the hearth’s shelf, to the pocket sized portrait of her younger brother, Arryn. He’d just cut his own hair, and the golden strands spiked in different directions. Adele giggles. He looks awful, and the squiggle of a mustache she’d drawn over his lip has yet to be noticed. 

Uncle Darrow seems to frown down at her, then. She can hear him telling her to get back to work. Adele rolls her green eyes, but practices and practices until her handwriting is perfect. She must be perfect. Not just a princess of Terrasen, but Heir of Aelin Firebringer. Heir of so many people. There are so many eyes, waiting and watching. 

Adele messes up her G, again. She always messes up the G of Galathynius. She starts a new line, from her first name, and goes and goes, her little hand straining to hold the quill, straining to make it to the end. 

She loops the G in the wrong direction. 

“Rutting G!” 

Adele likes to curse when she’s alone, and she spits the word Uncle Aedion taught her again and again. Her chest heaves and she pants, tearing the paper in half, shredding it to pieces, and splits them until she holds confetti. 

Until she holds burning paper in too small hands. Ashes fall between her fingers, her palms unable to keep all that she holds, all that she burns. 

She doesn’t often cry. Adele is a princess, Heir of Fire–she is strong. 

But, she weeps. The blooming flame in her hands rutting scares her. She can’t put it out. She shakes her hands. She blows, but her breath is shallow and shaking. 

Adele screams. Screams at her hands, at the fire, at the G’s she turned to ash and stomped beneath her feet. Her handheld fire blooms and grows. “Rutting stop!” Adele screams at her open, unburnt palms. 

And then cool, soft but calloused hands, close over hers. Water meets her fire until there’s no more smoke, but steam. They are the most familiar hands in the world. Scarred and calloused; nimble, long fingers prone to playing a haughty tune on the pianoforte. Cool to the touch. Patient. They keep holding Adele’s, hers sweaty and clammy. 

Adele doesn’t look up. Her chin dips to her chest as tears roll down her face, her nose. 

Fingers catch her tears–cool, calloused, familiar. “Why do you cry, Fireheart?”

Adele sobs at the name. Exhausted, head splitting, she relinquishes to her mother’s embrace and nestles into the space between chin and breast. The safest place in the world, as if Mama’s body had been carved to fit Adele’s. 

“Because,” Adele hiccups, “I’m not perfect.” Another hitch of uneven breath, then, “And it makes me feel lost.”

Mama grips Adele, tight and warm. She smells like the embers of a home’s hearth, like jasmine and wind. Adele presses her nose to her mother’s skin, clinging to the comfort. 

When Mama pulls away just slightly, just enough so that their eyes meet, Adele looks away. Mama has none of it. Her palm cups Adele’s cheek, bringing them face to face. Turquoise and gold meet pine green. Soft meets sorrow. Mother sees daughter. 

“Perfect,” Mama’s warm, fiery tone says, “can go to rutting hell.” 

A knowing gleam shines in Mama’s eyes, perking the corner of mouth. Adele laughs nervously, but Mama laughs with her, hands still holding Adele’s flaming face from the crying. And the magic. 

Mama’s finger tilts Adele’s chin up again, and this time Adele really looks at her. She wonders if she looks like her, or if Adele takes more after her father. Her cousins tease her that she’s too serious. A courtier from Mellisande had once pinched her cheeks and told her to smile more. Has anyone ever dared pinch the cheeks of Aelin Ashryver Galathynius? Adele holds the ends of her mother’s long, gold hair in a fist and wonders if she’ll wear that queenly, beautiful face one day. If she’ll carry grace and mischief as well as Aelin of the Wildfire. Adele knows the stories–well, just some. Just the ones from the shelves she could reach. Which, Adele knows, are the least interesting shelves in the Library of Orynth. She’ll have to start climbing to the higher, dustier shelves where the real stories are waiting for her. There’s a book up high that has Mama’s name on the spine. It ripples with red and gold and blue, as if a living flame wraps the pages. Another book beside it, The Walking Dead, doesn’t sound nearly as interesting as the one about her own mother. 

Mama raises her brows slightly and looks down her lashes at Adele–a look she knows means to listen, and listen good. She’s the prettiest lady in the whole wide world. 

“If I cared about being perfect,” Mama says softly, and a moment passes where her eyes cloud, as if she’d gone very far away. Adele doesn’t know what to call that look, that distance in her mother’s eyes, but she feels it. “I wouldn’t be me. And I,” her mother quirks a conspirator’s brow at Adele, the light in her eyes shining once more, “am rutting wonderful.”

Adele laughs again. 

Her mother leans down to wiggle their noses together. “You are wonderful, my girl. No matter what you do, to whatever end, I will be the voice that never lets you forget it. I want nothing from you, Fireheart, other than to be completely yourself.”

“What if I’m not like you?” 

Mama props Adele onto her feet so that she stands. Mama kneels before her, and Adele wonders if anyone in the world has ever seen Aelin on her knees. Adele knows she’s just a child, that there are things she doesn’t know, but she cannot imagine it–her mother, the strongest, most powerful person to ever exist, who Adele worships like a god–on her knees. But, Mama does kneel. Now, before Adele. Though she only meets the top of her mother’s head, Adele wonders if she’ll ever stand as tall as her. 

“Then I’ll be glad for it.” Mama’s eyes flash and she almost looks like an animal from Oakwald with the intensity seeping through her, like fire taken skin. “Be yourself. Let yourself discover who that is. You do not belong in my shadow, Fireheart. You are the torch I carry.” 

Mama catches a rogue tear, and something ripples across the surface of her face. Adele has only ever seen her mother cry at the birth of her brothers and baby sister, but she almost does now. Her eyes, the same as Grandmother Evalin and Arryn’s, mist. 

“I was your age when…” Mama trails off, distant again, lost in thought as her gaze roams every inch of Adele, as if memorizing her, as if remembering something. 

A breeze passes through the study though no windows are open. It smells like winter and Yulemas, and Adele instantly perks. She feels joy in her chest, a spark of belonging and home. Mama’s eyes flutter in that same joy Adele must be feeling. 

Mama continues, having found the strength she needs, and says, “I was your age when a lot of people made me feel like I was wretched and horrible. The world hated me for a long, long time.” Mama smirks. “Someone always will.”

Adele balks at the idea of anyone even remotely disliking her mother, but Mama nods as if to say it’s the truth. “Let no one ever, ever make you feel that way. Not even me. No, you’re not perfect. You are my daughter.” Mama combs her fingers through Adele’s hair. “Which means, you’re bound to be misunderstood, to make mistakes. You are my daughter, which means, you’re bound to always get up again.” 

They lean their brows together, and Mama whispers, just for Adele, “You are the greatest thing that ever happened to me.” Then, louder, “And you can tell your nosy, nursemaid father I said that.” 

A deep chuckle sounds from the far ends of the study. Another winter wind that reminds Adele of all her favorite memories drifts to them. It combs through her hair, and Adele can feel Papa’s phantom hands, bigger than her head, bigger than any problem or tear.

Mama squeaks, jolting as if something had pinched her, and laughs as she throws a glare towards where Papa still lingers in the dark somewhere. 

Before they get up to join him, her mother pulls her into one more tight embrace. Her arms are solid and muscled, and they hold Adele like precious jewels. 

Mama whispers, “We carry a heavy name. Bear it however the rutt you want.” She leans back, eyes shining. “Now, let’s discuss your copious use of curse words.” 

Adele shrieks, running away. 

[shallyne]

Idk I got some inspiration for a reunion between Evangeline and Lysandra and I wanted to write it for @throneofglassmicrofics

Prompt: warmth

Evangeline straightened the skirts of her dress nervously as she stepped into the opulent of Terrasen, following a beautiful and very chatty servant through the hallways it has been a while since she has been here, and it was as grand as she remembered, not some warped memories of her childish imagination. That's also the reason that she was so nervous, it has been so long that maybe everyone had forgotten her already.

She took a deep breath and nodded politely to the servants chatter, even though she hadn't listened at all. The Queen of Terrasen had restored the castle after the war, nothing looked like it was ever abandoned anymore, and somehow it looked lived in, not like a museum. Warm, the palace was warm. A home.

"Evangeline!" a familiar voice called, shutting the servants chatter off. One look in the direction of the queen, she smiled and scattered away, leaving Evangeline with Aelin Ashryver Galathynius. Evangeline didn't know if she should bow or curtsy, but Aelin took the decision from her when she pulled Evangeline in a crushing hug. "Oh, look at you!" she said when they parted fron the hug, resting her hands on Evangeline's shoulders. "You've grown so much since I last saw you." her eyes were shining, as if genuinely happy to see Evangeline, not mad that she hasn't visited for so long. Aelin’s turquoise eyes wandered over Evangeline, from her red-golden hair to her terrasen green dress. "How is it going with Darrow? I hope you're making everything as it gets with that old man." she said, winking at Evangeline, who smiled and clutched the letter in her hand that she carried for the queen, when two doors opened at different ends of the hallways.

"Aelin, have you heard the news about Lord Darrow–" a golden hairef man with the same eyes as Aelin came bursting in. Aedion. He must have recognized herbat the same time, as his eyes slightly widened.

"Have you just said Evangeline?" a brunette burst into the hallway the same time as Aedion. Lysandra. Evangeline's eyes burned as Lysandra stopped in her tracks gaping at Evangeline, her cheeks warming.

"I'm sorry that I'm visiting so late–" but she didn't get any chance to explain befire Lysandra crossed to distanced and pulled her in, hugging her tightly. Evangeline had forgotten how her hugs felt, how safe she felt. Lysandra had saved her then, the scars she was bearing proved that, and Evangeline knew as she hugged the woman who was more of a mother figure to her than anyone ever, that Lysandra would keep her safe now.

"You're back." Lysandra whispered.

"I am," Evangeline's voice cracked. "But I fear I bring sad news. Lord Darrow has passed away last night."

Lysandra pulled back to look at Evangeline, shocked but mostly looking for a reaction from Evangeline as she felt two pairs of eyes at her back.

So overwhelmed by everything that has happened in the last twenty-four hours, she hugged Lysandra again before she brought any words out to explain. Some familiarity, then she would get to business. She just needed one moment with Lysandra.

[acourtofquestions]

Tried to make a more Night Court & Terrasen theme

I was tagged in a chain post for this picrew but the original post got thrown into an air fryer so I'm just gonna start one

@jade-do-stuff @jumbleverse @frogshapedbrick @confusion-personified

@toastedpotatoes @jakskdneo @angealainn

@bi-fiend @buncha-nonsense @calliel41

@matthew-knyshait @inkscapedoodles @loremaster3

And anyone else who wants to!

[thegreyj]

Excuse me, but that's not my name

I hinted at this on my masterlist, and now finally publishing it. I wrote it like almost two years ago, but I thought I should try posting some of my older stuff too!

This is just a random high school reunion AU oneshot from my collection, I hope you enjoy!

CW: fluff, humor, mentions of bullying

Word count: 3,4k

Excuse me, but that's not my name

Closing the front door behind her, Aelin kicked off her heels and dropped her keys on the bowl next to the pile of mail Rowan had picked up earlier when he had gotten home. A quick glance at the stack was almost an automatic reaction, which usually didn’t stir any interest in the woman’s head. Today, however, there was something that stood out from the generic white letters. A light blue envelope with “Aelin Ashryver Galathynius” written with neat letters on it.

Must be from someone back when I wasn’t married, Aelin thought. She did add Rowan’s last name to that seemingly neverending name of hers. Plus, she was very particular that all her names were used and to get a letter without one name just felt wrong. Someone might think it funny or even stupid to get so many feelings over a mere name, but for Aelin, her name was her story – an important story too, of how she grew up to be the confident woman she is today. She wasn’t like that always, no, Aelin used to be a laughingstock back in high school. It got to a point where she first dropped her ‘Ashryver’ name, then tried changing her name entirely to ‘Celaena Sardothien’. Thank gods she didn’t go through that officially.

“Did you see the letter that came for you in the mail?” Aelin’s musings were interrupted by the voice belonging to the man of her dreams, her husband.

“Yeah, didn’t open it yet though,” Aelin responded, picking up the envelope finally and trotted towards Rowan’s voice. He was laying on the sofa, reading a book with his glasses perched on his nose. Aelin almost drooled at the sight – she really did win the lottery when she got Rowan as her husband. Six foot four tall, solid muscle, striking tattoos against his slightly tanned skin, the most gorgeous pine green eyes and silver hair. And the accent. Oh, so good. Despite Rowan having lived in Terrasen for so long, he still hadn’t lost the lilt from his voice.

“Done daydreaming about me, love?” Rowan chuckled as he caught Aelin staring. She blushed slightly, then regained her bearings and just grinned at the man still laying on the sofa.

“Well, I can’t help that you look so damn sexy the way you hold that book, and the glasses on your nose… Gods, I might just ravish you for dinner instead of the takeout I brought.”

This made Rowan grin just as brightly as his wife did, and his eyes took on a predatory gaze. He set the book down gently, rose from the sofa and slowly walked towards Aelin, almost like a hunter trying to reach its prey. When he was right in front of the gold-haired woman, he could hear her small, sharp intake of breath, like she was anticipating something unexpecting. Which was the reality of their life. Neither ever knew what the other was about to do, so all the possible scenarios from Rowan throwing her to his shoulder and running to the bedroom, to him stripping the clothes off her and having the dinner off her body went through her mind. Probably all scenarios, except for what actually happened next.

Rowan reached his hand slowly towards Aelin and quickly snatched the letter from her hands. He then ran from their living room, giggling. Giggling. Her giant hunk of a husband giggled while stealing a letter from her. Aelin joined the giggles and ran after him. She found him perched at the end of their bed, opening the letter.

“Hey, what happened to not opening anyone else’s mail?” Aelin tried to sound upset but ended up laughing. She wasn’t actually mad about the fact that Rowan was opening a letter addressed to her. They fully trusted each other, so this was not unusual with the two of them.

“I have to check who the secret admirer is sending letters to my wife,” Rowan simply responded, still with that silly grin on his face. “So, I can then find them and show them you’re taken. They left out the name I gave you, this is outrageous!”

“Opening a mere letter helps you with your machismo, Whitethorn? Alright, be my guest then,” the woman kept up their light banter. “But no, really, I haven’t the faintest idea who this is from, so open it up. I want to find out who dares to write me a letter without actually putting my full name to the front.”

By now, the folded paper had been pulled from the light blue envelope, and Rowan began reading the letter out loud. With his special commentary of course.

“Dear Aelin – who dares call you dear in a letter, unless they are your family?” Rowan gruntled but began again. “Dear Aelin, I hope this letter finds you well – what is this, the 19th century? Finds you well, sure. I have been tasked to form a group and contact them in order to start the preparations. A sort of special operations team, if I may say so. Seriously, whoever wrote this is living some sort of a fairytale. Who writes like this anymore? I remembered you participating in similar tasks back in high school – oh so a high school friend then – and thought you would be a perfect addition to our team. It has now been nearly 10 years since our graduation from high school, and we are organising the reunion. Oh, it’s your reunion soon,” Rowan stopped reading for a bit and looked at Aelin, who did not look very happy with the thought of seeing her peers from high school.

“As I mentioned, I was tasked with forming a group to organise this reunion and would very much like for you to be a part of the team. Please respond to me as soon as possible. I have enclosed both my email and my phone number at the bottom of this letter. Kind regards, Kaltain Rompier. Well, love, it seems you are asked to organise your reunion,” Rowan chuckled at the fire blazing from his wife’s eyes.

“No. Absolutely not. I hated them then, I still hate them now. Kaltain Rompier was a bitch who bullied me back then and I’m sure this is just her attempt to bully me more somehow,” Aelin crossed her arms and looked like a sulking toddler, which just made Rowan laugh.

“Love. Love, listen to me. I get how bad high school was for-,” Rowan was interrupted by the fiery woman in front of him.

“How could you get that, mister popular star athlete who every girl wanted to date, and all the guys wanted to befriend? How could you get how fucking bad the entire experience was for me?” Aelin was on the offense now. Rowan raised his hands in defense, trying to show his wife he was on her side.

“Alright, I can’t fully get that, but I know you and I understand you, and I can imagine based off of what you’ve told me. But if you back out now, you’re just letting them win. What a better way to show off the new, absolutely stunning, confident version of you, than to beat them at their own game?”

Rowan did have a point. A tiny point, but a point, nonetheless. Aelin could help with the organising of the event, then participate in the event and just show off her amazing, successful life. She hugged Rowan, thanking him for bringing her back from her insecurities again. It wasn’t often Aelin fell to the old version of herself, but sometimes the bullied girl showed her emotions through the cracks of the confident, grown-up armor. Thankfully Rowan loved and knew how to handle all versions of Aelin, which made life easier nowadays.

--

It was now almost three months later, Aelin having done a lot of the organising from the comforts of her home, such as booking the venue and listing the names and addresses of their peers. The other three, including Kaltain, did more of the hands-on preparations, which meant Aelin did not have to meet up with them face to face. She did call them a few times to clarify things and to assist them on choosing the color schemes and similar things.

The event was happening tonight. Aelin had spent the entire morning being pampered to lower her stress levels, and then spending time on the phone handling last minute preparations to increase her stress levels right back up. Rowan was going to be her plus one, and he knew better than to be on her way today of all days. Instead, he had gotten dressed when it was necessary, and was now wearing his tailored three-piece tuxedo while waiting for his wife.

Aelin was finally ready, wearing a dress Rowan had bought for his wife. A black, skin-tight dress with an open back and some thin, golden chains holding the dress up and together, almost highlighting the dragon tattoo on her back. She had pulled most of her hair up, leaving just a few strands down, and very little makeup to enhance her natural beauty. She wasn’t wearing any other jewelry except for the wedding and engagement rings from Rowan, and a thin bangle on her wrist which Rowan had gotten her on her 25th birthday. It had “Fireheart” engraved on it.

“Wow, love. You look… breathtaking,” Rowan said as he stood up, with a smooth motion closing the button on his jacket and offering Aelin her coat.

“Thanks, buzzard. You look delicious,” Aelin winked. It seems that a lot of the stress from before was now gone, or at least more hidden. Rowan chuckled at her comment.

“Shall we?”

--

At the venue, the two of them separated with a kiss. Rowan told her he’d go find their table while Aelin was asked by one of the venue managers to handle some very last-minute detail, which apparently only Aelin could do, or at least that’s what that Rompier lady had told the manager. Aelin was slightly pissed that she couldn’t simply enjoy her evening as she had planned, or at least try to, but she handled the issue with speed and grace, and then finally began her walk towards the room. Many people were whispering, trying to figure out who she was. Aelin had changed quite a bit since high school, when she had been a shy music geek who almost everyone made fun of.

Rowan was facing similar whispers, most of them wondering how the hell he had ended up on this particular reunion, seeing as his 10-year-reunion had been three years prior. He had been a senior when they had been freshmen, and he had been the biggest star athlete of their school back then. Everyone still remembered him, as he had set some records which, still to this day, were undefeated. Simply smiling at anyone greeting him, but not staying for a chat, he found their table right in at the front of the stage. “Aelin Ashryver Galathynius and date”. Again, they had forgotten a part of her name, which made him frown. He didn’t mind being simply Aelin’s date tonight, no need to steal her thunder. He was proudly showing Aelin off today, since he had the most beautiful woman at his side – as he always did, if you asked his opinion.

Aelin finally made it to the room, but she wasn’t about to mingle. Instead, she quickly spotted the silver head of her husband, seated at one of the small tables at the front. Many women in the room were staring at him in adoration, which brought almost an evil smile to Aelin’s face. They could look all they wanted, but they most certainly could not touch.

“If everyone would please be seated, so we may begin with the speeches before dinner. Dinner tonight will be served buffet-style, so everyone will be collecting their own food when the time is upon,” Kaltain had found her way to the stage by now and her screechy voice was annoying Aelin already, before the event had even time to officially begin. She did manage to sneak to sit beside Rowan as everyone else was distracted trying to find their seats. Once everyone was seated, Kaltain picked up the microphone once again.

“First of all, I would like to offer a very warm welcome to all tonight. I’m so happy to see each and every one of you here on this special evening. I am absolutely certain we will all be enjoying the event as we reach back to our fondest years to reminisce, look back to the predictions made at the end of our senior year and maybe see some of them come true too,” Kaltain had a bitchy smirk on her face. Or maybe the bitchy face was a norm for her. Aelin certainly thought so.

“We have quite a few speeches prepared, so let’s start with those. First of all, I’d like to call to the stage our beloved principal, Murtaugh Allsbrook!” Kaltain began applauding as the old man began his trek to the stage. As the principal opened his mouth to give his speech, Rowan turned slightly towards Aelin and whispered in her ear.

“That old bag is still the principal? I thought he’d be dead by now,” Rowan tried to lighten up his wife with a joke. Aelin snickered quietly, so it was working. He made funny comments about all the people giving speeches, whether his comments were true or not, at least he had managed to make Aelin’s mood a bit brighter. When the numbingly boring, but mandatory speeches were finally over, Rowan told Aelin to stay still as he would get their meals. He knew precisely what Aelin would want to eat, and he was happy to do a small act of pampering for his wife. Aelin thanked him with a kiss and went scrolling through her phone.

Rowan found his way to the buffet line and realised his mistake. Staying still in the line opened up opportunities for the others to engage him in conversation, and he didn’t want to be too rude, as this was supposed to be Aelin’s night.

“Rowan Whitethorn! Thought I recognised you,” came a screeching voice behind him as a hand touched his arm. A hand which did not belong to his wife, but to one Kaltain Rompier.

“Yes, indeed it is I,” Rowan replied with uninterest and tried to unsuccessfully shrug her hand off.

“How have you been all these years? You still look just as good as you did back in high school. I used to have the biggest crush on you back then,” Kaltain giggled trying to flirt. “You can’t still be single, not with those looks.”

“Oh, no. Happily married thank you very much. Here as my wife’s plus one,” he finally managed to get rid of the hand as he grabbed two plates and began collecting food on them.

“Hahaha, of course,” Kaltain giggled again. “And just who might your wife be? Do I know her? Of course, I know her since she is here, hahaha.”

Luckily someone came by to talk to Kaltain, so Rowan could escape that horrid woman and finish the plates for him and Aelin. He was walking back to their table, when he noticed someone trying to flirt with Aelin, but looking like they got turned down. The other person had turned away by the time Rowan reached the table, setting down the food in front of the bottomless pit he called his wife.

“Ooooh you got everything I wanted, thank you buzzard!” Rowan just smiled and began eating his salmon as he watched the incredible woman beside her wolf down the entire plate of pasta and fried things.

--

Dinner was now over and there were some videos shown that took people right back down the memory lane. Rowan spotted Aelin’s picture a few times. She was so different now; no wonder people didn’t recognise her. In high school she used to wear overly large clothing, her hair was dyed to a darker colour and puberty hadn’t been kind to her either. But even in the pictures, Rowan found Aelin to be beautiful. Her eyes were the one thing that had not changed, and even back then her eyes showed Aelin’s soul if you knew where to look. She looked to be in peace while playing the instruments in the pictures.

One thing in particular made Rowan frown. As they were showing the yearbook pictures behind on the big screen, there were “most likely to” slogans written underneath a lot of the names. Most likely to be successful, most likely to be married with kids, most likely to be a celebrity and so on. But the thing written under Aelin’s picture did finally make him realise how bad high school had been for his wife. Most likely to die a virgin. These slogans were submitted by others, in good jest, but this had to have been pure malice. He now knew why Aelin had never shown her yearbook to him. He grabbed Aelin’s hand in a comforting gesture – to him or to Aelin, he did not know.

As the evening went by, so did the “fun” games too. The most successful of the games was a back down the memory lane trivia quiz – even Rowan had somehow ended up in a question there despite being a few years older. They also hosted a photo booth, which Aelin and Rowan took advantage of to take some... more promiscuous pictures, as well as some cute ones. Neither of the couple wanted to mingle a lot with others, so they just stuck with each other, flirting and joking together. A few of the people who’d been in the music program with Aelin had come by to exchange a few words. Quite a few ladies tried to come by to chat Rowan up, who just responded to them by kissing Aelin on the cheek or the neck, or even occasionally a full-blown kiss on the lips to deter any of the annoying women.

When the mingling was dying down a bit, Kaltain – the self-appointed hostess – decided to finally wrap up the evening.

“Hello again everyone. I hope you have enjoyed the evening tonight; I know I have. We have had quite a few surprises here tonight and some not-so-surprising things come out as well. I would like to thank every single one of you for coming tonight, it wouldn’t have been a success without you all. Now that we have had the pleasure of reminiscing the good old days and had some fun, I’d like to thank a few special people tonight,” Kaltain began her speech.

“Yours truly, I, Kaltain Rompier, was tasked with bringing together the team to organise this whole shindig, and we did a magnificent job even if I say so myself. I’d like to thank my team next. Nox Owens, you did an amazing job with the decorations. Would you please stand up so everyone may applaud you?”

The man in question rose from his seat and had a small grin on his face. Everyone in the room clapped their hands in appreciation.

“I know I could not have done this without Yrene Westfall’s incredible assistance – you knew her as Yrene Towers back in high school. She sent out all the invitations and made sure our dinner tonight was as tasty as it was!”

It was Yrene’s turn to get up for the applause. Her long curls flowed down her back and her brown skin was glowing – probably due to the very visible reason. She was pregnant. And apparently, she is married one of the class heartthrobs too - Chaol.

“Last but not least, bringing to the table her incredible skills at acquiring people’s personal information, as well as choosing and booking our gorgeous venue, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius!”

As Aelin rose from her seat, silence fell upon the room. No one had expected the gorgeous blonde at Rowan Whitethorn’s arm to be the Aelin they knew from high school.

“Um, excuse me, but that’s not my name. At least not my full name. I’d appreciate my actual name used, which is Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius. Oh, and I most certainly will not die a virgin,” Aelin said that with so much conviction and confidence, you could literally picture her dropping the microphone. Rowan simply grinned from his seat, taking her hand and kissing it. Someone started applauding at the back, and the others joined in. Aelin simply stood and enjoyed the attention. For the first time in her life, she enjoyed the attention by her high school peers.

Aelin 1 – high school 0.

--

Tags: @rowanaelinn | @morganofthewildfire | @tomtenadia | @leiawritesstories | @aelinchocolatelover | @backtobl4ck | @wesupremeginger | @goddess-aelin |

[justreadertings]

Till Death Do Us Part Chapter 1

I am absolutely thrilled to share this first chapter with you all! I have a feeling this is going to be a verryyy long ride, so thank you to anyone who is going on it with me! I absolutely adore this chapter, and I’m so excited to hear what you all think! If you want to be tagged, just lemme know and you can join our secret society where I give you forehead kisses and chocolates :)) without further ado, here is chapter 1-- Magee 

masterlist

tw: brief violence, anxiety Till Death Do Us Part- Chapter 1

Sixteen years ago, when the Galathynius family joined with the Whitethorns to reunite Terrasen and Dornelle into one country, 239 articles were set in place. The new constitution reunited the country in order to stop the tyrant empire of Adarlan, and restore order to a fifty year long civil war. The last article, Article 240, was set to be enacted on the day of Princess Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, Heir to the Unified Throne of Terrasen’s 18th birthday. On that day, the Galathynius family assured their now united country, all peace would be restored. 

-

“Are you asleep?” 

The princess squinted in the dark. She hid her smile in the sleeves of her nightgown. “Are you asleep?”

“Obviously not.”

Aelin pursed her lips and turned around carefully, as to not break their ill put together fort. She peered into the darkness. After a moment, the figure beside her turned too, and she was face to face with those green eyes. 

“I can’t fall asleep,” Rowan told her, whispering. 

Aelin cuddled her stuffed dog, fleetfoot, close to her. “Why are you whispering?”

“So we don’t wake anyone up.”

She laughed at that. Rowan was always so worried, so anxious. No wonder he couldn’t sleep. She didn’t know how they were gonna wake anyone up in the Great Hall. At least she hoped none of the guards lining the soaring windows were sleeping… her parents would have their heads. Well. Figuratively. They weren’t that mean.

“It was your idea to sleep out here,” Aelin argued.

Rowan frowned, pushing his hands through his shoulder length silver hair. She’d asked, earlier into their sleepover if she could braid it. She had been very convincing, telling him it’d be the same as when he had to tie his hair back for court. He’d only batted her hand away. She had threatened him with her father’s greatsword if he hurt her feelings again. It was all in good fun.

“I didn’t know it’d be so… quiet.”

“I thought you liked the quiet.” 

“I do,” he told her, even though she already knew it. “It’s just… this quiet is not a peaceful kind.”

Aelin would be much cozier in her bed right now if they’d gone with her plan, so she was feeling a little more prone to brattiness. “And what kind of quiet is this, pray tell?” She did her best Maeve impression.

Rowan didn’t answer for a moment, and she assumed he was just mad at her attitude. Huffing, she made to roll over again, until his voice rang out in the hall, causing goosebumps on her arms. “The bad kind.”

That ‘bad’ quietness settled over them. In the ten years of their friendship, she’d always been the dramatic one. Aelin did not like the change of pace.

“How ominous of you.”

That frown of his pulled on his face, and Aelin reached over to boop his nose. His answering scowl made her laugh. 

“Grumpy grumpy,” she sang. He only frowned at her some more. “How about this,” she said, rolling onto her back to stare up at the satin sheets draping off of Councilroom thrones. “Teach me more of the Old Language.”

Rowan, the party pooper, only sighed. “Why?”

Aelin flashed him a wicked grin. “Because it’ll help me fall asleep faster.”

They stared at each other in the darkness. Rowan watched her for a few moments, then settled down into the many, many blankets Aelin had dragged out. “Fine. If only to fill the silence.”

Only moments later, gunshots rang out into the hall. Silent no more.

Six Years Later…

Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, future Queen of Terrasen, Princess of the Unified Lands of Terrasen and Dornelle, the girl with fire in her heart, blessed by the gods themselves- was coming home today. 

Home. A foreign thought. Her home had been somewhere tucked in the Staghorns for nearly seven years. Not even her wards knew the exact location. But no more. Today, her titles and lands would return to her, and her word would once again be law.

Your Princess is returning, Terrasen, she thought to herself. Hopefully this time, you’ll know what's good for you and try to dispose of me after I save your asses. Elide would tell her to quit with her pessimistic attitude. Aelin would remind her that she hadn’t abandoned her country yet- nor would she ever, no matter the hell it put her through, so a bit of cynicism was allowed. 

The coach, bland and unassuming, rattled over gravel. Her cousin in question placed a hand on Aelin’s knee, pulling her from her thoughts. Her mind was always a crowded place, but in the days leading up to her return, there was hardly any room for more overthinking.

“Yes?”

A soft smile from her nursemaid who sat across from them. “Welcome home.”

Her heart skidded to a stop. The palace of Orynth. Her birthplace. Her throne. Home at last. With the screaming outside the silver walls, it seemed more so than ever. But Aelin knew it wasn’t her people that would make her feel so welcomed. It was not the old bricks of the palace, even if the sight of them made her heart clench in her chest. It was not the discrete back roads to the palace, keeping her hidden as she always would be.

No, Aelin would feel home when and only when those Ashryver eyes of hers met the green ones she had dreamed of since the day she’d been taken from them.

Yes. Aelin would certainly be home when she found Rowan.

-

She had asked to see his face thousands of times. Just a photograph, just a newspaper. Anything that would let her know how he’s grown. What he looks like now. So she could prepare herself, of course, but also so she didn’t miss him so thoroughly.

Gods, how she’d missed him. 

He was never allowed to visit. He’d draw too much attention, and “we couldn’t have my location revealed, now could we?” 

Her safety was of utmost importance- that she knew more than anything. Had learned that lesson time and time again. But nevertheless, she ached everyday for six years waiting to see his face. And now that she was within the walls of their home? Her whole body was buzzing. Celenea Sardothian no more.

The foreign taste of the word princess on her tongue made her feel so much… too much. It was not the first time she’d debated who was stronger, Celeana or Aelin. She shook her head. The thought was silly. 

She was Princess and soon to be Queen Aelin Ashryver Galathynius- and though her nervous body was telling her otherwise- she was not afraid. Her fingers brushed over the scars adorning her wrist just thinking the words.

The coach rounded to the old wooden stoop in the back of the castle, used mostly for maids and cooks. Elide squeezed her knee again as the curtains pulled back and a few dignitaries of her parents stepped out. Still, no silver hair. Her fingers broke the fabric on the seat, her long nails digging. 

“Remember,” Marion- Aelin’s caregiver, her mother’s closest friend, and Elide’s mother- had told her when they’d set route for Terrasen earlier in the week, “this is a first impression. You must keep that wild heart tame.”

Aelin had waved a hand. “I will be prim and proper for my country. Maybe I’ll even give them a reason to keep me alive this time.” Elide had whacked her for the comment. Aelin had only felt a twinge of guilt. It was her trauma after all, and she should be allowed to joke about it.

Either way, Aelin didn’t know if she could make good on that promise when she saw him. She’d been missing her best friend for six years. How was she supposed to keep herself calm when she saw- 

Oh Gods. She only saw a flash of silver, but it was undoubtedly him. She might throw up all over Celeana’s drab beige dress. What if he was different? She knew she was different. Flashes of fire and blood sparked behind her eyes. She had to shut them to focus. Rowan, she thought. Her nerves settled, her body returning, just a bit to her. Rowan. She was ready to be Aelin again. Because Aelin was Rowan’s. She would always have a place here. Her heart thumped wildly.

“Ready, dear?”

He was out there. Really. She’d seen him. Aelin rose her eyes to the heavens, asking Mala Firebringer, her shoulder God to aid her in this moment and keep her from doing something foolish.

“Ready,” she squeaked out. 

The door opened, and the row of men in suits, the row of guards with the Unified Crest of Terrasen, Elide and Marion at her back- they all disappeared. And Aelin immediately broke her promise and sprinted from the coach.

Rowan was bigger, taller, and much, much stronger than he was at fourteen. And when he caught her… it was home. She could smell his pine and snow scent as his strong arms banded around her back to hold her. Tears came embarrassingly quick.

He whispered something to her, but it was lost in the mass of her hair. His voice was so deep. So much time had passed and yet…

It was still her Rowan. She hadn’t made him up, hadn’t only dreamt of a world where someone understood her pain and her person- but had remembered it. And she might’ve just let herself stand there and learn all the new planes of him if he hadn’t pulled back.

Reality snapped into place then, even in the fog of him. She was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, Daughter of the Unitors, the Fallen Rhoe and Evalin. She was the future queen of her great nation.

And she was her country's greatest target. Starting with the men lined up behind their prince, trying to hide their disapproving sneers. They’d wanted her to be the proper princess since the day she was born under the United Banner. They’d always said that their country was given a second chance when Orynth and Dornelle merged to become Terrasen again, and that her impropriety was wasting it. Aelin had learned very young when to stand her ground, and Rowan had always been a proud presence beside her. So when they looked her up and down and scoffed, she stared right back, even as Rowan’s eyes branded into her skin.

Aelin’s back straightened, a portrait of her proud mother. Even as her favorite dagger, the one with the carved flower hilt, pressed uncomfortably under her corset. She forced herself to focus. She would do this, she thought. She would jump into the lion's den and save Terrasen, even after all these years. After all it did to her. Instead of her place in the mountains, she would be here, at the meetings, she would speak with her court. She could do this. Her gaze went to meet Rowan’s for assurance, but his back had turned. 

Panic clutched her at his missing face. From the wooden stoop, the hand that had just held hers was latched onto a delicate one, attached to an even prettier woman. Rowan’s smile was a knife to her heart, as painful as any bullet. And though she already had a hunch, his excitement could only mean one thing…

“Aelin… I want you to meet Lyria.”

I hope that didn’t ruin anyone’s night (lies) 

Taglist: @leiawritesstories​ @tomtenadia​ @fireheart-violet​ @backtobl4ck​ @morganofthewildfire​ @rowaelinismyotp​ @aelinchocolatelover​ @thegreyj​ 

[goddess-aelin]

Dancing to a Happy Song

Masterlist

Part 5: Dancing to Happy Songs

Word Count: ~3K

FLUFF, dancing, Aelin being a QUEEN. 

The night of the peace ball had finally arrived in Orynth and the castle was abuzz with preparations. The ball was set to start promptly at 7pm, with the King and Queen of Terrasen making a grand entrance at 7:15. The queen was, after all, Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius and she would never refuse an opportunity to make a dramatic entrance.

Rowan was standing in front of the white double doors that led directly onto the dais while everyone else was filtering in through the grand, golden front doors. Rowan hated making a scene. Hated dressing up. Hated balls even more. But he hated none of those things as much as he hated what he knew would be present tonight. Remelle. He decided at that moment that he wasn’t going to worry about her. He could avoid her or hand her off to Fenrys to deal with. This was Terrasen’s night. Aelin’s night. And he’d be damned if he would let something as insignificant as Remelle of Doranelle tarnish what was sure to be a lovely evening with his mate by his side.

He was still waiting for the aforementioned mate as 7:15 was slowly creeping closer. Aelin insisted that she have Lysandra help get her ready, claiming that no one could do her hair and makeup better than the shapeshifter. Rowan thought Aelin looked beautiful all the time and no amount of makeup or lack thereof could change that. 

He was eating his words a second later as his wife glided down the hallway toward him, a picture of beauty. She was radiant in a dark forest green gown, honoring Terrasen. The gown was tightly fitted through the hips with long sleeves and a modest neckline. The velvet of the gown shimmered slightly as though it was imbued with tiny crystals. Hell if Rowan knew, maybe it was. Aelin’s baby bump was on full display in the tightness of the middle of the gown. As she made her way closer, she stopped before giving him a slow turn, showing off the back of the gown. He forced his eyes to move away from her enticing behind to the stunning and intricate draping that made up the back. Where the front was modest, the back was the complete opposite. Thin, glittering, golden straps criss-crossed at various angles, holding the sides of the gown together. That seemed to be the only fabric that remotely covered Aelin’s back from her neck to the dimples at the base of her spine. He could fully see her shoulder bones and it looked as if the shoulders of the gown were minutes away from falling off her arms completely. It was scandalous. What was even more scandalous was how well the back of the gown showed off her tattoos. The same tattoos that covered his back. Where she might have covered them up years ago, the markings Rowan made were now on full display. And Aelin knew exactly what that would do to him.

He rushed towards her, pulling her into him before she could even finish her little spin. His lips met his mate’s with a ferocity that could rarely be matched and Rowan couldn’t help a growl from escaping his throat. After what could’ve been minutes or hours, they finally pulled their lips away from each other, though stayed close enough to share breath.

“I thought you might like this gown.” When Rowan opened his eyes, Aelin was smirking.

“I do. I do love it so much and I would love to show you how much. But unfortunately, you wanted to make your grand entrance at this little shindig that we’re hosting.” As they locked eyes, Aelin could tell that his words were a promise for later. His words became softer and less heated as he put both hands on each side of her face and whispered, “You look beautiful, Fireheart. I’m so in love with you.” His hand made slow circles over her swollen belly. Another moment passed as they stayed in their own little world, breathing each other in and trading small kisses.  

Rowan finally had the sense to pull away, knowing it was probably well past the time they were supposed to make their grand entrance. “Well, milady. Shall we?” Rowan offered his arm and Aelin enthusiastically gripped it with a stunning smile on her face.

“We shall, milord.” Rowan’s smile mirrored her own.

With that, the double doors were opened and Rowan and Aelin gracefully walked through. They both knew all eyes were on them and they could tell when guests really took a good look at them, noticing Aelin’s pregnancy. A chorus of gasps accompanied the soft violins that were already playing. Guests were milling about, talking in small groups or making their way over to the refreshment tables. Aelin could see her friends gathered near the dais, proudly watching their queen make her entrance. Her cadre and court bowed slightly when she approached her throne and the rest of the room quickly followed suit. Aelin could only make out a few people that weren’t bowing, probably kings or queens of their own kingdoms.

Before she sat on her throne, Aelin felt the need to welcome everyone to her home. “Welcome, all, to Orynth, the capital city of our lovely country of Terrasen. Tomorrow will be for planning and creating new friendships and connections but tonight is for fun. I hope that you all can feel welcome tonight. And since I can’t dance for too long, obviously,” She gestured to her belly as a few chuckles rang out from the audience. “I hope that you all will make good use of the dance floor.” With a smile, Aelin gently bowed her head and took her seat on the golden throne, Rowan doing the same with the matching throne to her right.

Violins, pianos, cellos, and harps began playing together in a chorus of lilting notes and smooth melodies. Aelin and Rowan would take to the dance floor later that night, leading the main waltz. Aelin had hand picked the music and had been thrilled that they hired such talented musicians from all over Terrasen to play for this special occasion.

After the first dance concluded, Aelin decided it was time to mingle a bit. Taking Rowan’s hand, she made her way down the three steps of the dais to her friends mingling about. Eventually, Rowan was pulled away by his cousin, Enda, and his mate. Some of the others dispersed, as well and Aelin was left alone with Lysandra and Elide.

She was happy to catch up with her friends, not having time to do so since they became parents. Aelin assumed that time would be even more scarce when her own baby was born. They talked about mundane things, which Aelin was grateful for. She needed normalcy. She needed fewer conversations about table settings and guest lists and more about gossip and fashion. Her interest was especially piqued when Elide brought up the fact that Lady Essar was in attendance. 

“Jealous, Elide?” Lysandra asked.

“Actually, no. I’m more intrigued than anything. She seemed like a really nice person when she helped me in Doranelle.”

Aelin could see that Elide’s wheels were turning, though. “What are you thinking, El?”

A small, devious smile crossed Elide’s face. “You know I love Lorcan with every fiber of my being.” Aelin feigned a gag at that. “But sometimes I also want to see him squirm a little bit, ya know? Everytime anyone brings up former lovers, he tenses and gets all weird. It could be fun to play with him a little bit. Plus I have his demon spawn in me right now and this baby is not letting me sleep whatsoever. So I thought maybe he should get a taste of discomfort, too.” Aelin couldn't help but laugh.

“You have a devious, devious mind, Elide. I love it. What are you going to do?” “To be honest, I don’t think I’ll need to do anything other than talk to the woman. Which I wanted to do anyway. So really, it’s a two for one deal.” Elide couldn’t help her laughter either. “She really was nice, though. So I do want to say hello. But ya know, if you guys could just push Lorcan over there while I’m talking to her, that’d be great.” Aelin and Lysandra both gave smirks and nodded as Elide made her way to the refreshment table where Essar was currently lingering.

“This could end very, very badly, I think.” Lysandra murmured. Aelin nodded in agreement but thought that this was a great way to make the night more interesting.

A thought crossed Aelin’s mind about what Rowan said two nights ago. About her absolute favorite person being present. But as she looked around the room, she didn’t see Remelle anywhere. She made her way over to Rowan just to be sure, getting well wishes and congratulations from guests along the way.

Coming up behind him, she wrapped her arms around his waist, at least as much as she was able to with her giant belly between them. Rowan chuckled before turning and returning her hug. “How’s your night so far, Fireheart?”

She rested her head on Rowan’s chest before she replied. “It’s going well, my wonderful, handsome husband. But I do have to wonder why there’s a lack of…a certain dramatic presence.” Rowan understood what she was asking immediately. Hell, he was wondering the same thing. He wasn’t going to question it, though. He was just going to take this glorious gift and be grateful for it.

Eventually, Aelin made her way over to Aedion, who was talking to some foreign dignitaries. Rowan was still standing with Enda but his cousin and his mate were more concerned about being wrapped up in each other than having an actual conversation with him. Rowan’s eyes were wandering around the room, taking in many faces, both old and new. His eyes landed on a very uncomfortable looking Lorcan, currently standing next to his wife who was talking to Essar. Rowan chuckled quietly. Lorcan could be a miserable bastard, though it had gotten better since he married Elide, but even he didn’t deserve the torment from his current wife and his ex-lover. It looked as though Elide and Essar were getting along swimmingly, the conversation not looking to end anytime soon. Rowan figured he would play the nice guy and save Lorcan from the torture.

As soon as he approached, the conversation stopped and he was pulled into a hug first by Elide and then by Essar, who congratulated him on his wife’s pregnancy. The four of them talked for a bit before Elide complained about being hungry and was escorted all too eagerly to the refreshments by Lorcan.

Rowan and Essar talked for a bit, conversing about how her time in Orynth was going. Before they could delve deep into conversation, a hand was run down Rowan’s arm and once again, he knew exactly who it was. The touch sent chills down his spine and they certainly weren’t the good kind. Rowan closed his eyes and took a deep inhale before taking the wrist of the person and removing it from his arm. He looked to Essar, who had an apologetic look on her face, before looking to the culprit.

Remelle was standing beside him in a gaudy purple gown, complete with silver accents. Rowan was no fashion expert but he thought the bright purple hue made her look extremely washed out.

“What have I missed? I arrived a bit late to the ball. I mean, looking this good takes time, you know?” Rowan swore that she fluttered her eyelashes at him. He could feel his blood starting to boil. Essar tried to diffuse the tension by offering Remelle some sparkling wine but the female had the gall to insult it. “As if I would drink something so cheap. No thank you. Besides, I want to talk to Rowan for a bit. Alone.” She raised her eyebrows at Essar.

“Well, Essar and I were actually just in the middle of a conversation. You’re welcome to join, Remelle, but I know you don’t like talking much about politics.” Rowan was pretty sure he was going to break a tooth by the end of this conversation.

“I would much rather not actually talk at all.” Remelle sidled closer to Rowan, who, in turn, backed a step away. Remelle, at least, stopped moving forward. “Where is this queen that everyone speaks so highly of? I haven’t even seen her once tonight. In fact, I haven’t seen her the whole time I’ve been here. A bit rude if you ask me.”

“I mean you did just say that you just got here so I would assume you probably didn’t have many chances.” Rowan retorted, taking a sip of his champagne. She was shit-talking his mate. It’s not really something he normally looked past but in the spirit of building relations between countries, Rowan refrained from saying anything further.

Just as Remelle was about to open her mouth to say something once more, Rowan felt a warm presence at his side. He knew exactly who it was before he even looked, smelling the jasmine, lemon verbena, and crackling embers of his wife. She wasn’t wearing her crown. Interesting.

“YOU!” Remelle spat, completely outraged.

“Me!” Aelin retorted almost too enthusiastically with a smirk.

“You’re lucky I’m not having the guards kick you out right here and now. What you did to me a few years ago was completely unforgivable. The nerve you had to attack a lady such as myself, well, I’ve never seen anything like it!” Aelin raised an eyebrow, amusement rolling off of her in waves. Rowan wasn’t sure how exactly Aelin was staying so calm in the face of such rampant idiocy. He had to refrain from rolling his eyes or doing something worse.

“I cannot believe this is the company you keep. The Rowan Whitethorn I know would never–”

“Galathynius.” Rowan interrupted. His eyes traveled from his wife to the current bane of his existence.

“Excuse me?” Remelle looked slighted at the interruption.

“My name. It’s Rowan Whitethorn-Galathynius.” Remelle opened her mouth and then shut it, looking like a fish gasping for air. “Allow me to introduce my wife, Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn-Galathynius, Queen of Terrasen.” Elide, having impeccable timing, chose that moment to hurry over towards Aelin and return her “missing” crown.

“Your Majesty, I think you happened to drop this!” Elide gave a wink and sauntered back off towards her husband. Aelin placed the crown on her head which Rowan then helped her to adjust.  Remelle was still staying as unmoving as a statue, choosing not to put her foot in her mouth further.

“Rowan, I actually came to get you. It’s time for our waltz.” Aelin gave him a small smile that was filled with complete wicked delight. “It was a pleasure to see you again, Remelle.” Rowan bowed slightly and offered his mate his hand before leading her out onto the dance floor. As they were walking, Rowan heard a loud thump from behind them of a foot being stomped along with a not-so-quiet noise of frustration. Rowan and Aelin turned in unison only to see Remelle’s retreating back.

“Good riddance.” Aelin muttered. “Honestly? I hope she doesn’t come to the peace talks. It would make things so much simpler.”

Rowan gathered his mate in his arms, assuming the starting position to the waltz. The slower first steps of the dance began with a cadence of violins. From there, Rowan led Aelin through the song with practiced ease, focusing entirely on his mate. The rest of the crowd was supposed to join in little by little but Rowan was lost in Aelin. He had no clue if his friends were dancing or if Remelle had returned and honestly, he didn’t care. As they swept across the floor in the small circle they made, Rowan’s gaze remained on Aelin’s. He felt as if this dance was deconstructing his soul into its simplest pieces and rebuilding them all around Aelin. She already was his soul, his heart. But this dance, like their magic, was a way for that connection to erupt into the world. To show her his love and adoration; his gratefulness and joy.

Eventually, the song came to an end and was replaced by a smooth, flowing melody that could’ve been a lullaby. Rowan started to halt his slow movements but was pulled right back in by Aelin’s arms. Apparently, she wasn’t ready to let go just yet. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, resting her head on his chest.

“Let’s just stay here a while longer. Enjoy this moment.” Even if he claimed in the past that dancing was only for special occasions, he could never deny his Fireheart anything. Especially when he could feel the contentment radiating off of her like heat from the sun. So he wrapped one arm tightly around her waist and took one of her hands in his other, resting his chin on the top of her head. They stayed like that, quietly swaying, for what seemed like hours. Rowan was a warrior, a male who took pride in strength and solidity. Yet he never wanted this sweet, loving moment to end.

As the song drifted into something more upbeat, the couple pulled away only slightly, choosing to stay in each other’s arms once more.

“I know what you did back there, by the way.” Rowan said quietly.  

Aelin looked up at Rowan, confused. “What do you mean?” “With Remelle. I know you didn’t just magically drop your crown. You love that crown and are always gentle with it. And somehow Elide just happened to bring it to you at the moment Remelle found out you were the queen?” Rowan raised an eyebrow as Aelin smiled sheepishly.

“What can I say? I sure can be clumsy sometimes.” Rowan gave her a look that said I don’t believe that for a second. “I may have happened to look over and see her touching your arm. And I may have reacted accordingly.”

“Now who’s being a territorial fae?” Rowan smirked.

“At least I’m not a brute.” With that, Aelin stuck her tongue out at him. It took everything in him to not reach out and grab her tongue between two fingers just like he did in Wendlyn when they first met. She knew how much he hated it when she did that. Spoiled brat. But she was his spoiled brat. And he’d spend every day for the rest of his long life spoiling her in every way he could.

For the rest of the night, he did just that. Whenever Aelin wanted to dance, he danced. Whenever she asked for a drink, he was there to get it for her. And when she asked him after the ball to show her how much he loved her in the green gown, well, he couldn’t exactly deny her that, either, could he? Tomorrow the peace summit would begin but tonight, they were just Rowan and Aelin, mates who conquered all odds to be here, together. A husband and wife with an expanding family, adding to the wonderful one they already had. There would be days in the future where things might not be so carefree but right now, Rowan was going to enjoy this moment with his Fireheart, dancing the night away to their own happy song.  

A/N: Good riddance, Remelle! Soooo... that was the last of the plot of the story! It’s technically complete but I’m definitely going to write a few one shots of after this. Especially since it’s canonverse and canon-compliant, I think I can pretty much fit any canon one-shots I write into this universe! So stay tuned for more :) I also love to make art so if I have time, I think I’m going to grace our screens with a rowaelin family portrait. I might die of cuteness while making it tho 🥲

Tagging: @cretaceous-therapod @morganofthewildfire @tomtenadia @live-the-fangirl-life @charlizeed @violet-mermaid7 @euphoric-melancholyy @kritical24 @rubyriveraqueen @dealfea @maeclin @ayaashryver @anna-swims @leiawritesstories @whoever-you-choose-to-love @holdthefrickup @kyereads @heirofflowers @bananaanna23 @thecrispypotatochip @shanias-world @rowanaelinn @bruiseonthefaceofhumanity

[tomtenadia]

Thicker than blood - 4

Welcome to another update. I love this chapter.

CW: language, mild NSFW, blood

MASTERLIST // CH.3

Saturday eventually arrived and Rowan was in his flat getting ready for the Galathynius’ gala. He hated that kind of party. Far too fancy for him. He was a man loving easy life. At those parties he always felt like out of his depth. And this one was going to be a very high class one. The Galathynius were the most ancient clan in Terrasen and a pure blooded family. His clan in Doranelle too was ancient and pureblooded. So he technically was one them, but he never cared much about that sort of stuff. Also, vampire could be touchy when it came to being a pureblood or not. The ancient families still followed the old tradition that a pureblooded vampire was not allowed to marry and mate with someone like them. Halfbloods, were not well accepted in some parts of vampire society.

He sighed and stashed that thought away and finished getting ready for the painful shindig.

Once ready, he finally forced himself to leave the house, get to his car and set off for the half an hour drive to the Galathynius mansion.

Their clan seat was tucked away in the countryside away from the city, surrounded by an extensive estate. Rumour had it that under that massive land lay a state of the art lab with all the possible advanced technologies and more. No one, other than the few trusted people allowed in, ever set foot in it.

He probably sounded petulant but he hated that Lorcan dragged him in. Fenrys would have been a better choice. The young vampire loved that kind of mingling and he was the most social of the group.

When he arrived at the imposing gates a guard stopped him and checked his name against a list and once they were okay he was allowed to drive through. In front of the house a valet met him and offered to park his car. Rowan almost protested but the young man did not back down.

He took a deep breath and started climbing the stairs. The hall was illuminated by the ancient chandeliers. The mansion was old and always been owned by the Galathynius. It was the seat of their clan.

He kept walking and reached the ballroom where a man with a tray full of flute glasses filled with blood met him. Rowan grabbed his and started wandering around. That was all he was meant to do. No one was interested in talking to a detective and he loved his anonymity.

Lorcan found him ten minutes later “Good, you made it,” he grabbed Rowan’s arms “come.”

He tried to protest but Lorcan seemed on a mission.

They walked deeper in the crowd until they reached a group of four people and he froze. What was she doing there? Why she had her hand on Rhoe Galathynius’ arm?

He stared at her. She had a long green dress that accentuated her curves beautifully. Her hair was fashioned in an intricate braid. And her eyes. Blue with a ring of gold, like the other woman at Rhoe’s side. No. It could not be.

He turned to her and she winked at him.

Celaena Sardothien, the junkie ME who had plagued his nights was Aelin Galathynius. The heir of the oldest clan in Orynth. Fuck. Fuck.

He was ripped from his thought when Lorcan’s voice brought him back to reality.

“This is agent Rowan Whitethorn.”

“Rowan, let me introduce you Evalin and Rhoe Galathynius,” Rowan shook their hands “this is Aedion Ashryver, he is the lead scientist,” and eventually Lorcan turned and Rowan’s gaze landed on the woman “This is Aelin Ashryver Galathynius.”

“Rowan,” her smile grew wide and dangerous “it’s an honour to meet you, agent.”

He heard Lorcan talk in the background but his mind was focused on the woman in front of him. Did her parents know? The daughter of the couple who helped develop synthetic blood was a junkie. So many thoughts filled his brain. There was no way he could arrest her now. It would cause a huge scandal. And why did she use an alias? Or worked as ME? Surely given her families riches she could play spoiled girl and live off her family reputation. 

“Agent Salvaterre was telling us that you are working on some cases that involves humans being drained and dumped in an alley.” The voice of Rhoe Galathynius reached him and he finally removed his eyes from Aelin.

“Yes, we just started the investigation. We think the two incidents are connected but at the moment I don’t have much lead.”

“Do you think they are rogues?’ The question had come from Aedion who was listening intently. Damn he looked like Aelin’s brother.

“We had junkies attacks, but no deaths,” his stare landed on Aelin and she glared at him “This is much worse.”

“I though the junkies problem was under control,” the harsh words had come from Rhoe “or it will be soon. Aedion has come up with a cocktail to help these people beat the cravings. He added and Aedion took over “we had a few volunteers who helped us perfection the mix and we had excellent results,” he explained proudly “after only a week the needs have stopped and they are down to an injection a week for another month. Much better than the three months in a rehab centre.”

Rowan nodded. If there really was a less painful way to treat the craving he was willing to support it.

“They are adapting to synthetic blood nicely.”

Aedion passed him his business card “maybe next time you catch a junkie you can send him or her my way.”

Rowan’s hand almost shook. You have one in your family he wanted to say.

“I will keep this in mind.”

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I promised a dance to my fiancee,” he walked to Aelin and kissed her cheek “Love you.”

Aelin nodded as if in a daze and Aedion disappeared.

Rowan was about to add something but Aelin excused herself and ran away.

“You must excuse our daughter, she doesn’t like this type of parties. We rarely see her,” explained Evalin with a pang of pain in her voice “she has her life, her job at the morgue and we see her only when family events call.”

So the parents knew of her other job and that she had another life. Rowan was curious to understand more about that mysterious woman.

“Go Rowan. There’s plenty of nice women. Both of you. Go have fun.”

Rowan nodded and excused himself, leaving Lorcan alone with the Galathynius.

He searched for Aelin but she was gone. That seemed to be their thing. Him chasing after her.

He was walking absentmindedly around the grand salon when a hand grabbed him and pulled him inside a closet. The door clicked shut and the light went on. In front of him stood Aelin.

“Did you like the surprise?”

“You are their heir?”

“Just because my mother gave birth to me. I am nothing like my family. I do not believe in their crazy ideas.”

Rowan groaned “they are good ideas, to help society.”

Aelin rolled her eyes “and control people and force them to reject who they truly are.”

He pushed her against the wall “you don’t know what you are talking about.”

She moved closer to him “I live my life on my own terms… Rowan.”

The way his name sounded on her lips almost broke him.

“Do you like the dress, agent?”

Rowan’s mouth was on her neck. Gods, she was like a drug, her scent drove him insane.

He felt her hands land in his hair and Aelin’s leg hook at his hips bringing them indecently close.

“What if I told you that under this dress I am naked?” Her mouth landed on his lips and the kiss was hard and needy “hoist me up in those strong arms and fuck me senseless.”

Rowan ended up on his knees instead and looked up at her. His eyes were dark with lust and she loved to see him on his knees. Her heeled foot landed on his thigh and she pulled up her dress to her waist until she was exposed in front of him.

His calloused hands slowly trailed her long legs starting from her ankles all the way up to her thighs.

Her hands grabbed his long hair quite hard “I love to have this effect on men. I love them at my feet.”

Rowan looked at her and smirked and a moment later his finger was in her and felt Aelin buckle hard. His finger started moving and Aelin’s moan grew and he almost lost it when he saw her hand dip in the square neck of her dress and began teasing her nipples. “Does this turn you on, agent? Are you all hard for me?”

Rowan’s replied by adding a second finger while his thumb landed on her clit and started torturing her “I want my name on your lips,” his tongue licked a strip of her wet core.

“Rowan,” she said breathlessly, her head tilted back and her eyes closed.

“Good girl.”

Aelin bit her lower lips as she pinched hard a nipple and loved the reaction in him, his gaze turned ravenous and that’s when he added a third finger stretching her. No man had ever done that to her with just his hands. Most of the times she had to go back home and give herself that climax that never came. But the man at her feet was managing to have her almost beg for more. Hellas, she imagined him inside her. If his fingers could fill her in such a delicious way she did not wanted to imagine his cock.

“You are imagining me fuck you, aren’t you princess?” His lips landed on her clit and Aelin almost screamed “Not yet, I want you first at my mercy with just my fingers and mouth. I want you to beg.”

Aelin groaned hard and felt the orgasm building the pressure in her core rising quickly.

“Then make me come hard, agent and stop teasing.”

His hand trailed up to her exposed breast and pinched her nipple hard but Aelin grabbed his finger and leaning forward she took them in her mouth and licked them clean one by one “imagine this is your cock, and my warm mouth around it.”

Rowan groaned, his hand came back down and sneaked under the dress and grabbed her arse quite hard and in that instant his mouth was fully on her sex, feasting on her like a starved man. Desperate for her all of a sudden. Her arousal mixed with her scent of lemon and verbena was tickling his senses. Fingers back inside her he teased and feasted until she finally felt her orgasm build quickly, her walls starting to clench around “come hard for me, say my name like a prayer to the dark gods.”

And as she was finally close to her peak, while his fingers were still inside her, he moved his mouth to her inner thigh where blood called and he bit her hard, and drank, her orgasm exploded, rippling through him so hard that he almost came in his trousers too.

He drank until the frenzy passed and when he pulled back his eyes landed on hers and a truth appeared in front of him. Mate. The woman standing in front of him was his mate. She was staring at him with a scared gaze. She knew he had learnt the truth. She could read it in his eyes. He stood as if in a daze “no…” he whispered “no… this is a fucking joke.”

All he could do was to ran away.

Aelin stared at him and at the clear rejection. Of course he was mad. Fate had saddled him with his enemy. With a junkie. Someone whom he despised with all his being. She had tasted the truth the day she cut him and licked his blood. He had discovered it in the throes of passion, when the bond was at its peak. 

Aelin let her body fell seated on the floor and stood like that for what seemed like ages.

Then eventually stood and decided she had to go out and delete that horrible night from her head. 

She had to forget.

And she knew exactly how.

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[rowanaelinn]

Slipped away - chapter one

prompt - single parent @rowaelinscourt

“It’s cold,” Fenrys complained, sitting on Rowan’s new couch.

“We are in the north, you dumbass.” Lorcan snapped. “Of course it’s colder than what you’re used to.”

“Doranelle is in the North too.”

Lorcan took a deep breath, apparently, he wasn’t feeling very patient today. “I don’t know, Fenrys, it might be because we are on a whole other continent, maybe?”

Rowan snorted at his friends, Fenrys was playing dumb just to annoy Lorcan and as always, it worked. They were enjoying their last day of rest before their first day of work tomorrow. It wasn't a new job, not really. The company they worked for had just moved from Doranelle to Orynth, and of course, Rowan and the other employees had to move too.

Rowan knew that with the opening of the new Valg Industries headquarters the next few months would not be smooth sailing, but he believed in himself. Maeve was so confident that she even promoted him. It was a new beginning for Rowan and he was happy about it, his life in Doranelle was the perfect definition of dull. Not that he hated it, he was just glad to be away from his cousins. He didn’t hate them, they were just so… meddlesome.

Rowan walked into his kitchen and opened his fridge, empty. He cursed under his breath. The few bottles of beer he had last night ran out very quickly, they didn’t even have leftovers of the pizza they ordered yesterday. Which was a problem because Rowan was starving and there was no way he would order food for the second night in a row, it had already bothered him to do so yesterday.

He checked his watch, six in the afternoon. He was pretty sure the grocery store didn’t close before seven, he had little time if he wanted to go there. He needed to be quick. “Going shopping, be gone when I come back,” Rowan told his friends as he picked his car key. He needed some time alone but he knew they would probably still be there when he came back, his friends weren’t ones to listen.

He slammed the front door behind him and got into his car. It still smelled new, the leather still a little too stiff under Rowan's body. He had gotten the car yesterday, he had decided that if he was going to change his life, he would do it all the way. Nothing in his life in Doranelle set foot in Terrasen except his friends and his job.

Rowan lived in an upscale residence in downtown Orynth. Between his family's money and the money he was making even before he was promoted, he could afford it. He didn't want to live in the apartments that the company offered to its employees, he needed some peace and quiet.

So Rowan took a house that was too big for him, in a suburb full of family, as if he wasn't almost thirty and wasn't still alone. He had never felt so out of place, but he would get used to it.

He had chosen the opposite of the life he had until then, wanting space. He had left to forget.

When he pulled into the grocery store parking lot, Rowan could have sworn he saw a familiar face. He blinked and it was gone, he shook his head. How could he recognize anyone if he had never been to Terassen? He needed to sleep.

He got out of his car and shivered slightly. Maybe Fenrys was right, it wasn't cold but it was definitely colder than Doranelle at this time of year.

He walked into the store, it was large. Everything in Terassen looked big. The houses, the buildings, the stores... Rowan could get used to it.

He took a basket from the entrance and went straight to the vegetables. The store was almost empty considering the time of day, he could hear a couple of kids laughing in the background but otherwise, everything was quiet. It felt good to be away from the world.

He selected enough vegetables for three days, preferring to shop for short periods rather than a whole week. It made less mess and allowed him to control what he ate. That's one of the things he needed, control.

"Gotcha!" He heard a woman's voice laugh rather loudly.

"Noooo!" A little girl said and Rowan heard her laugh and ran. Gods, children were loud.

A few seconds later, something hit Rowan's legs. He looked down to find a little girl. She was a brunette with blue eyes. She laughed and stood up. "Sorry," she said before running off again to lose whoever was trying to catch her, but it was too late. A tall blonde lady came running up and threw herself on top of the little girl, grabbing her under the arms and throwing her over her shoulder. The little girl screamed with laughter and tried to struggle as the adult spun around. "Stop!" the child screamed but continued to laugh.

Rowan felt like he was intruding but he couldn't stop the tip of his lips from rising slightly. The adult stopped spinning but did not let go of the child, the little one wrapped her arms around the woman's neck and hid her head. "Hey, little monster, did you apologize?" She asked, her eyes still on the little one. Rowan couldn't see her face with the hair hiding it. "Huh?" She shook the little girl slightly but she refused to look at her.

"She did," Rowan said, not wanting the little girl to get into trouble. When the woman looked at him, his heart stopped beating and his whole body froze. It was impossible.

Did the gods hate him that much? What had he done to them for them to punish him like that?

Her eyes widened and he noticed her body going still, her hold around the girl tightening. Her mouth opened and then closed.

As he had been years before, he was struck by the intensity of Aelin Galathynius’s gaze. These blue and gold eyes were mesmerizing, had always been and always will.

His only thought was that she looked older, but since he had last seen her when she was nineteen it wasn’t surprising. She looked like a woman now, and womanhood suited her. She was wearing a white shirt and black skirt, a simple outfit for a working woman, and yet Rowan couldn’t help but stare longer than necessary at her body. If she had been beautiful seven years ago, she was magnificent now.

He wanted to punch himself in the face, so much work to forget about everything that happened, so much work to ignore the guilt and pain just to be ruined by a meeting in a grocery store.

“Rowan,” she breathed.

“Hi, Aelin.”

The little girl looked at him and he noticed everything she had in common with Aelin. Her eyes first, and the same nose and lips. They looked so similar.

Suddenly he was struck by the truth standing in front of him. While it had taken everything in him to try to forget about her, Aelin had moved on. And she had a daughter. Aelin had a life and if the laugh she let out a minute before was any indication, she was happy.

“What are you doing here?” He blurted.

A snort. “What am I doing in a grocery store?”

“In Orynth.”

“This is my hometown.” She said, her voice so tight he couldn’t guess what she might be feeling. It had always been so damn hard to read her. Orynth was her hometown? How come he never knew that? He knew she was from Terassen, her accent betraying her, but didn’t know exactly where. He knew so much about her but at the same time so little. That little truth hurt. “What are you doing here?”

“I moved. For work.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Fuck, that was awkward. “How old is your daughter?” He asked, nodding toward the small girl playing with Aelin’s hair. Aelin looked at her and her expression softened a little.

“Oh, no. She isn’t my…” She took a deep breath. “She’s Aedion and Lysandra’s daughter. I’m just babysitting for the night.” Right, Aedion. That’s why the small girl looks so much like Aelin. “Remember Aedion?”

Of course, he did, last time he saw the man Rowan got his nose broken and a black eye. He wouldn’t forget his old friend so soon. But Rowan didn’t care about that, right now he only cared that Aelin, in fact, didn’t have a daughter. It was easier to breathe suddenly. “Yeah.”

“But she’s four,” Aelin said and he knew it was only so she had something to say. Talking was awkward but the silence was worse.

Before he could say anything else, someone interrupted them by hitting Aelin’s legs, hugging them. This girl was blonde, Ashryver blonde. Gods, how many children did Lysandra and Aedion have?

The youngest paused on the ground and did not waste time before leaving from where she came. Aelin seemed to forget Rowan's entire existence as she knelt down to face the child, though she looked even tenser than a few minutes before.

"Hey, pumpkin, what's going on?" She asked softly, delicately taking the girl's grip to force her to look at her. "Tell me."

"Asper pulled my hair!" The girl cried and Aelin smiled.

"Did you try to tickle his neck?" She asked, making Rowan choke. Aelin didn’t spare him a glance. He wanted to ask her why she wasn’t punishing this Asper for pulling hair but he guessed Aelin would beat him up if he questioned how Aedion chose to raise his children. “You know how sensitive he is.” She smiled at the child. The girl sniffed heavily and Aelin used her sleeve to dry her tears. "Go back over there, I'll be there in two minutes." The child nodded briskly and before she left, she turned her head to Rowan.

His blood ran cold as green eyes fixed on him.

She looked like Aelin on the little one before, of course, but not only that. Did she... No. Lysandra had green eyes too. Rowan could have sworn that Lysandra's eyes were much lighter, but he hadn't seen her in seven years. He was wrong. He had to be wrong.

"Hi!" She said with a big smile. She was missing a tooth in the front, but that didn't take away from her charm.

Rowan swallowed, "Um, Hi." He managed to smile but he couldn't help that she looked too little like Lysandra.

“Are you a grandpa?” The girl asked and Rowan choked. “Only grandpa has grey hair.” She smiled and looked proud of herself. Silver, his damn hair is silver, not grey.

"Go ahead, Helia," Aelin said before Rowan could answer, her voice firm. She pushed the little one toward the alley away from Rowan. Aelin stood up when the little one was gone and his eyes shot to hers.

"It was nice to see you again," she said but he knew she was thinking the exact opposite. Rowan's heart was beating so loudly that Rowan could hear it pounding in his ears.

"Aelin," He called to her, stopping her in her tracks. " Just how... How old is she?"

"Bye, Rowan." Her voice left no room for questions, but he didn't care. He didn't care about what happened in college and now wasn't the time to start.

"Answer me." Not a question and she knew it. He could swear he saw the gold ring in her eyes flutter, a sign he had learned to recognize as anger. Well, let her be angry, he deserved answers.

"Ace, is everything okay?" A man with nearly black hair and sapphire blue eyes asked him. A boy a little taller than Helia was sitting on the man's shoulders and when Rowan saw his green eyes...

He had to be wrong.

"Aelin?" The man asked again as Aelin hadn't looked at him yet, her gaze still on Rowan.

"Yes." She replied with her voice cold. "My friend was just leaving, right?"

The way she said the word "friend" was anything but friendly. Fuck, he wanted to yell at her, he wanted to demand answers now, but he didn't. The two little girls were behind Aelin and the man, watching what was going on.

"Answer my question first."

"Get out." She gritted through her teeth.

"Why do you have your angry voice, Mommy?" The little boy asked and suddenly Aelin's eyes softened and she looked at the boy. She grabbed him by the underarms and took him in her arms.

Mommy.

Her son.

Clearly not the son of the man next to Aelin. He looked about six, maybe even seven.

No. That was impossible. It was only one night. One night he had spent the last seven years regretting...

“Mommy’s not angry.” She smiled as she caressed her son’s hair. Their… No, her son. For all Rowan knew, Aelin only had a thing for men with green eyes. It meant nothing. “But she’s busy right now, go back to the car with uncle Dorian, okay? Then we’ll eat pizza, that’s your favorite, right?” The three kids cheered and Aelin gave her son to the man, Dorian.

“You okay?” He asked, touching Aelin’s shoulder. Rowan didn’t know why but he wanted to slap the man.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in two minutes.” She reassured him and he nodded, letting Aelin’s son on his shoulder as he held the two girls by their hands and walked back to the parking lot. Rowan wanted to stop him, wanted to ask that boy and girl how old they were but they were just kids. He couldn’t scare them. This was between Rowan and Aelin.

“I deserve the truth.”

“You don’t deserve shit. Not after what you did.”

“It was between me and you, not between me and-” He was cut off by her.

“There is nothing between you and them. Do you understand me? Nothing.” Them. So the girl…

He couldn’t take it. She had made it clear already, deep inside he knew the answer to his question but he needed to hear her say it. “Are they mine?” He finally asked and if looks could kill, Rowan would be buried already.

“They are mine.”

Why did she have to be so fucking complicated? He clenched his fists, trying to keep his anger inside him but it was so damn hard. “Am I their father?”

Both of them were breathing heavily and Rowan was glad for the empty store now, not wanting to cause a scene. “No.” Her voice was lethal and Rowan’s mind froze. He didn’t know if it was a good thing or not. But they looked so much like him… “If your question is whether or not you knocked me up, the answer is yes. But you are not a father. Never been and never will be to them.”

They were his. Rowan’s entire world stopped and he wasn’t sure how he kept standing. He was a father, no matter what Aelin said.

“How could you hide this from me? How could you take them away from me?” He was screaming now. He didn’t care about causing a scene anymore, he didn’t care about anything but the two kids in a car outside. “They are my kids!”

“You don’t even know their fucking name!” She was screaming too, cheeks red. Fuck, why did she always had to be the most attractive when she was angry? He hated her so fucking much. “I am the one who’s been raising them alone for almost seven fucking years!” She didn’t look alone, not with that Dorian by her side.

Suddenly, he knew Aedion didn’t punch him for what he and Aelin shared the last night he saw her. He had punched him for getting his cousin pregnant. He knew Aelin hadn’t been honest about what happened between them after the sex or he would have been dead by now, so now he was sure it was because of the kids. He had deserved it, deserved more than the five punches Aedion managed to give Rowan before Fenrys and Lorcan separated them.

“I will die before I let you treat my children like you treated me. Get out of Terassen, nobody wants you here.”

She left storming out of the store without her groceries and Rowan was frozen. He knew he should go back after her and apologize, he should beg her for a chance to know his kids but he couldn’t move.

He had children, twins. And Aelin had been raising them alone because of him, because of what happened.

He was so fucking screwed.

He didn’t care about what Aelin told him, he wouldn’t go anywhere. It was too late to save what could have happened between him and Aelin, it had been too late since the night she left his apartment in tears. But it wasn’t too late for his children and he would fight for them.

————

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[acourtofquestions]

Aelin Ashryver Galathynius (by knightfallart)

[cuquitalocita]

...oops |rowaelin month- day 5|

rowaelin masterlist

an: i had a dream about this and i kind of hate the ending buttt enjoy! :)

word count: 3,988

~~

“You did what?” 

It wouldn’t take a genius to note that twenty one year- old Princess Aelin Ashryver Galathynius was fuming. And it would have been to no one’s surprise if the princess herself brought the very palace down in flames herself in a matter of moments. 

The Queen of Terrasen sighed and with a small shake of her head, daintily placed her teacup on the table in front of her. With her hands crossed in her lap, she turned her blue gaze to her daughter’s twin one, this one holding a fire many would cower from despite the girl’s young age. But it seemed that Evalin Ashryver feared no one but the gods, and she faced her daughter’s seeth head-on. 

“Fireheart-” 

“An arranged marriage? I wasn’t aware I was a doll who’s life you can just play with. Is this top okay or would you like to change me into a new pretty dress?”

Evalin merely rolled her eyes at her only daughter, allowing her to rant and fume as she pleased for what seemed like hours before the princess finally collapsed into the chair beside her, blue in the face and a vein popping out of her forehead. 

“Fireheart,” she began again, this time gentler. “You have to understand, your father and I are simply doing what we believe is best for the country. For our people.”

“By selling me away? I’m not a child anymore mother, and I can make my own decisions just fine.” The anger had vanished, now replaced by a look of utter despair in the princess’ eyes as she gazed at her mother, an attempt to delay what she knew was inevitable.

“We know that Aelin, of course we do, and we would never do anything to purposefully hurt you. Terrasen is… is struggling right now, my love. You may be our only hope.” 

The look in her mother’s eyes settled something in her chest and she realized there would be no fighting this- although she most certainly would try. Her parents were set on an arranged marriage for the Princess of Terrasen. 

And as she stormed through the door of her chambers, Aelin’s thoughts settled on one in particular.

The Prince of Doranelle better be handsome.

~~

The Wild Princess of Terrasen, they called her.

Well- Aelin thought as she gunned the Corvette through the streets of the capital- if they wanted a wild princess, a wild princess is what they would get. 

She remembered a time where her mother had rolled her eyes when her daughter had told her she wanted a Corvette for her sixteenth birthday. She didn’t even have a license, and she would never be driving herself, so what good would it do?

Aelin smirked. Apparently they were perfect for fits of rage. 

She vaguely remembered a few lessons Brullo had given her when she had managed to bribe the grumpy body guard with cookies enough for him to teach her how to drive- unbeknownst to her mother, of course. Aelin bet that Evalin Ashryver would just about have a heart attack if she knew her daughter could drive.

Aelin swerved into the left lane without her turn signal, earning an angry honk and a few unkind words from the car behind her.

Well- sort of knew how to drive. 

Oops, she thought. From then on, she turned her speed down just a bit. 

As Aelin careened through the streets of Terrasen, she realized that as a princess, she truly had been deprived of her own country. Sure, she had been escorted through the streets during the annual parade, and her father used to take her to Malakai’s for her favorite cake every once in a while, but the streets she drove through now were unknown to her. 

She passed jogging college kids and mothers with strollers and toddlers, couples holding hands and homeless people that scattered some of the streets. The sight made her heart clench and her knuckles turn white on the steering wheel. 

Aelin was so focused on the people around her, she forgot to look forward as she drove through a glaring red light. Luckily there were barely any other cars around her, and the only indication that she had done something wrong came from a distinctly aggravated male voice screaming, “What the fu-”

“Shit!” 

Aelin slammed her foot down on the breaks as her gaze came into contact with a man in front of her- she was going full speed towards him as she tried crossing the cross walk. The car came to a screeching halt directly in front of him, but the momentum proved to be too much as the Corvette did in fact make contact with him.

She thought time slowed down as the man went shooting to the ground with a groan of pain. 

Yes, she had just hit a man with her car.

But her mother was going to absolute assassinate her. 

Another loud groan from outside the window had Aelin shoving the car into park and flying out to the man in front of her, heart in her throat. 

As she took in the man, she wondered what the odds were of hitting a person with your car and having them be one of the most attractive people you’ve ever seen. Pretty low, Aelin would think, but like everything else in her life, statistics did not seem to be on her side.

The man was clearly young, maybe a few years older than her, and even though he wore a thick winter jacket to protect him from the Terrasen winter, he was clearly built like a greek god. With silver hair almost matching the snow around him and tan skin that signaled to Aelin he clearly wasn’t from around here, the man could have been on the front page of any popular magazine. 

“Fuck!” 

Aelin kneeled down beside the man who was thankfully still conscious, face scrunched up in pain and clear anger. It made him look older, she thought as she finally looked at his eyes. They were a stunning green. She wanted to hit herself with her car. Of course they were. 

“A-are you okay?” She helped him up, placing a hand on his lower back and pushing him up until he sat forward enough until he could support himself.

The man glared at her, teeth clenched in pain as his gaze burned into her own.

“Are you crazy?” he growled, his voice even deeper than Aelin thought it would have been. “Am I okay? You just hit me with your fucking car!” 

Aelin jerked her hand away from him, suddenly defensive. “Look, I am so sorry. I- I wasn’t looking where I was driving and-”

The man scoffed. “Obviously.” 

Aelin saw red. 

“Well what the fuck were you doing on a crosswalk two seconds before the light turned red? You had plenty of time to move out of the way and you’re blaming me because you couldn’t look around?” 

It was moments like these where Aelin realized why Elide’s fiancee liked to call her ‘fire breathing bitch queen.’ Sure, she could acknowledge it. She had just hit the guy with her car, and Aelin had foung a way to blame him. 

“Maybe if you had been less careless about crashing Daddy’s car you would have been a bit more careful and we wouldn’t be here right now, Princess.” 

Aelin almost slapped him, if not for the derogatory way her title slipped through his tongue. And that was when she realized that he had no idea who she was. The man in front of her didn’t look like an idiot. He wouldn’t be insulting her if he knew who she was. And Aelin realized she didn’t want him to know. Not as the words that spilled through her lips could ruin her entire legacy.

“Watch it.” The words were low and dangerous, and something flashed in the man’s eyes that signaled to her than he had caught the anger lacing her tone. “You don’t know shit about me.”

“I don’t think I need to. Nor do I care enough to want to.”

“Well you’re clearly fine, if you can spew ridiculous insults out of your head at the drop of a dime,” Aelin deadpanned. “So, can we wrap this up?” 

“Gladly.” He made to get up, placing his weight on his arm as he pushed himself upward, cutting off with a loud gasp of pain before sinking back to the ground, his green eyes alight with agony. The sight made a pang shoot through Aelin’s chest and she grabbed his arm to steady him before his momentum his head careening toward the ground. 

“Shit, we need to take you to the hospital.” She rose, already on her way back to the car.

“No way am I going anywhere with you.” 

“That’s fine.” Aelin’s smile was purely saccharine. “You can stay here if you’d like. It’s supposed to drop to -10 in a few hours when the sun goes down but you look pretty toasty to me. Of course, your fingers will fall off before the ambulance gets here, so it’s really give or take.”

The man growled and rubbed a large hand through his hair.

“So what do you say, Superman?” Aelin gestured to the car behind her. “What’s the worst that can happen? I already hit you with my car today.” 

If the tone of his voice was any indication, the man was in enough pain to barely put up a fight.

“Fine. But get into another accident and I’m calling the police.”

Aelin almost laughed. Little did he know that she owned the police.

It was only during the awkwardly silent drive to the hospital that Aelin realized the workers at the hospital would recognize her, and then the man beside her would. The thought put a sour taste in Aelin’s mouth. She liked fighting with this man- liked the fact that he treated her with the same amount of respect he would anyone who hit him with their car. Even if he was an infuriating prick of a man. 

“Alright,” she pulled the car into park. “Here we are.” The man grunted in acknowledgment.

Surprisingly enough, the ER was close to empty on the Thursday evening and Aelin was grateful that it meant fewer people would recognize her. Who knew how the paparazzi would react if they saw their crown princess in the ER with an unknown man. 

As if her ‘issues’ weren’t plastered in the tabloids enough already. 

Aelin hadn’t realized how tall the man was until he was standing solidly behind her at the check-in desk. He was close enough that she could feel him at her back and she swore her shoulder had bumped below his own. Gods, he was strong.

She shook her head, clearing her thoughts, and turned to the man at the desk. 

“Hi um, I’m here to check in a patient.” If the way the man swallowed was any indication, said patient was glaring daggers from beside her. He turned to the monitor in front of him and began typing something into the computer.

“And, what’s the reason for your visit today?”

Aelin cleared her throat. “Just- just a checkup. He had a bit of a fall, we just wanted to make sure everything is okay.” She felt what must have been a scoff from behind her but ignored it. The man nodded without looking at her or stopping his typing.

“Okay,” he finally said after a few moments of silence. He handed a clipboard to Aelin holding a few pieces of obvious paperwork. “Fill this out and give it back to me when you’re done. It’s a slow day so you should be able to meet with the doctor in just a second.” Aelin nodded, thanking the man and making her way to the empty seats across the desk, dragging her silver-haired friend with her until he collapsed into the seat beside her with a huff. 

She ignored him in favor of flicking through the paperwork as casually as she could, attempting to not draw attention to the fact that she clearly knew none of the personal information about the man beside her.

Aelin leaned close to him and almost rolled her eyes when he leaned significantly away.

“Hey,” she whispered. She watched as he rolled his eyes.

“What?”

“What’s your name?” he leveled her with a confused look and she held up the paperwork. But really, what kind of an idiot hit someone with their car and didn’t ask for their name. Aelin was such an idiot. Such an-

“Rowan.”

“What?”

“My name. It’s Rowan.” She raised a brow,

“Rowan…?”

“Whitethorn.” Rowan Whitethorn. The name sent a pang of familiarity through her and Aelin struggled to ruffle through her mind to find where she had heard it before. 

“What do you do for work?” The question was out of her mouth before she could berate herself for how stupid it was. His eyebrows shot up to the top of his head.

“Is that on the form?” his voice was defensive but Aelin shrugged nonetheless and Rowan sighed before running a hand through his hair. “Let’s say I’m involved with politics.” 

Aelin grimaced. Maybe that was why her mind had blocked out his name. Anyone involved with any kind of politics was automatically dislikeable in Aelin’s eyes. She had been around enough politicians to recognize their slimy exterior. 

Rowan clearly noticed her face and scowled at her. “Well not all of us have a choice in our future just because we’re young and irresponsible.” Like you, was what he didn’t have to say. Aelin wanted to kick him. If only he knew. Instead, she rolled her eyes and looked back at the sheet in front of her.

“Date of birth?”

“December 8, 1995.” Aelin almost dropped her pencil but instead turned to Rowan, surprised to find him already looking at her.

“Seriously? You’re twenty- five?”

“What’s your point?”

“All of the high and mighty, ‘I’m your elder’ attitude and you’re only four years older than me.” She shook her head and turned back to the form, ignoring the glare she could feel burning into her skull and trying her best not to think about how good Rowan smelled from beside her. She never would have thought that the scent of pine could be so intoxicating. 

“Place of birth?”

“Doranelle.” Aelin wondered if he knew anything of the infamous prince she was to marry. She really should have done some more research before storming out of the palace. 

“Height?”

“6’ 4”.” 

“Any allergies?”

“Blondes.” Aelin ignored that one. 

“Any family history of fatal medical issues?”

“No.”

“Type and reason for pain?” 

“An irritation in my head from the woman beside me.” 

Aelin threw her pen at him and watched as he winced before looking at her with wide annoyed eyes. But she frankly didn’t give a fuck anymore. She could have let him freeze to death outside and here he was complaining about her.

“You know, this whole thing would be a lot easier if you weren’t such a prick.”

“Actually this whole thing would be a lot easier if you hadn’t-”

Rowan was cut off by the clearing of a throat in front of them, signaling someone had come through the door. The two had been too preoccupied with one another to even notice the doctor standing in front of them. 

She’s beautiful, with cinnamon skin and curly hair, and she wears an amused smile on her face as she looks between the two. Aelin and Rowan automatically calm themselves into an acceptable demeanor and Aelin stands to shake hands with the doctor in front of them, handing her the unfinished paperwork.

“Alright, Mr… Whitethorn. I’m Doctor Towers and I’ll be helping you out here today. Why don’t you come back here with me and we can check you out.” Rowan stood up to follow her out of the room before Doctor Towers turned back to look at Aelin. “You can come too, Mrs. Whitethorn. We’ll probably need you to clear a few things up.”

Aelin hated the blush that sprang to her cheeks at the implication that she could be married to Rowan, and she almost laughed. As if she could ever marry someone like him. Their protests are cut off by the creaking of the door and neither Aelin nor Rowan bothers to correct the doctor as she leads them to a section of the hospital filled with open hospital beds and shitty curtains for ‘privacy.’

Pulling one shut, Doctor Towers gestures for Rowan to sit on the bed. Once he does, she leans back on her heels and pulls out her own clipboard. 

“Okay, what seems to be the problem today?”

They’re silent for a moment, both looking at each other with wide eyes, not knowing what to say. Eventually, Aelin clears her throat. 

“Um, we had a bit of an accident-”

“I would hardly call it an ‘accident.’ She-”

“He decided to walk through a crosswalk during a green light and-”

“You hit me with your car!” 

It seemed the entire hospital went silent for a moment before sound resumed once more and Aelin allowed her head to fall into her hands.

“It wasn’t like that. I-”

“You slammed straight into me!”

“I barely knicked you!” 

Doctor Towers had been watching the sparring match between the two with wide eyes, clearly still hung up on the fact that he had been hit by a car and was still alive. It took a moment before she shook her head and scribbled a few things down on her piece of paper. 

“I hate to ask this,” she cleared her throat. “Was this- um, a crime of passion?”

Aelin and Rowan stared at her blankly before turning to each other, both confused. She tried again.

“I mean- when a wife hits her husband with a car-” Realizing what she was implying, Aelin and Rowan were quick with their rebuttals. 

“She’s not-”

“I’m not his wife!”

“Most definitely not-”

“As if I’d ever marry this prick-”

“I would rather hit myself with a car than voluntarily pledge myself to her.” 

Aelin rolled her eyes and crossed her arms in front of her defensively. “Now that’s a little dramatic.” 

“Well, you did hit me with a car.” If Aelin didn’t know any better, she would say that it almost looked like amusement twisted his lips. 

“You’re never gonna get over that, are you?” 

“Not likely.” 

Doctor Towers cleared her throat from beside them, causing the two to snap their gazes back to her. Whatever they found there had them shut their mouths like scolded children.

“So…” she arched a brow. “It was an accident?”

Rowan nodded while Aelin muttered, “Unfortunately.” 

Doctor Towers ignored the comment in favor of looking at Aelin closely. She watched in despair as it clicked in her head who exactly was standing in front of her and Aelin found herself holding her breath. But surprisingly enough, the doctor said nothing, simply turning to Rowan with a knowing look.

“So Mr. Whitethorn, what hurts?”

“Besides everything?” Rowan grimaced as he circled his shoulder. “Mostly my shoulder. I don’t know if I pulled it today specifically, but it’s been bothering me for a while. I think today just aggravated it.” 

“It could be a stress fracture,” she mused. “Has anything happened recently in your life that could have caused your anxiety and stress levels to shoot up? It could be anything really from, an increase in work to a big change or big news…”

Rowan let out what Aelin assumed was some sort of laugh. She ignored the shiver it sent down her spine.

“You could say that.” 

Doctor Towers didn’t press for more information, merely nodded and wrote something down before looking at Rowan again.

“The only solution I can really offer you right now is to ice it as often as you can for about eight to ten weeks, and it should heal on its own. No cast necessary.”

“Really?” Aelin exclaimed, unable to hold back the relief in her voice. Maybe her mother wouldn’t kill her after all. “That’s great.” 

“It is,” Doctor Towers gazed at her through a knowing smile and narrowed eyes. “Just try not to hit people with your car anymore Pr-, ma’am.” Aelin almost laughed at the comment, even more at the mistake she had almost made, but instead nodded with a small smile.

“I’ll see what I can do.” 

Turning to Rowan, Aelin found him already watching her, a strange look on his face as he gazed between the two women. He opened his mouth to speak when the door to the ER burst open, and the Queen herself strutted through.

Aelin thought that if a look could set a flame, she would be ashes by now. 

She felt herself pale as her mother walked toward her on near-silent footsteps, leaving citizens bowing in her wake. But the Queen only had eyes for her daughter. Very angry eyes. 

“Aelin Ashryver Galathynius,” she hissed, and Aelin tried not to cringe. “You are in so much trouble young lady.” Aelin opened her mouth to defend herself. “Sneaking out, close to Yulemas in fact, when crime rates are highest, stealing a car-”

“It’s not stealing if it’s mine-” Her mouth snapped shut at the look her mother gave her. 

“You’ll come to learn Aelin, that as future queen of this country, you have a status to uphold. You have an image- a reputation, one that should not include sneaking out of the palace unsupervised and ending up in the ER.” 

She felt the words like a stab to the heart. Aelin knew the last thing her mother wanted to do was hurt her, especially with her words. But Aelin felt the truth of them to the bottom of her toes, and she was swept into a tidal wave of disappointment in herself. No wonder her parents wanted to marry her off. Of course she couldn’t lead a country on her own.

“Mother, I’m sorry I snuck out. I was just so upset with you. And do you think I meant to end up in the ER? I hit him with my car for Gods sake! I couldn’t just-”

“You’re the princess?” 

The surprisingly choked voice came from Rowan, and the two pairs of Ashryver eyes snapped to him in a millisecond. Rowan was looking at Aelin like he had never seen her before, and she frowned at him in confusion. Maybe he hadn’t met a princess before, but this was hardly how she thought he would react. It was as if he was going to be sick.

From beside her, Evalin let out a strangled laugh and Aelin gazed at her mother incredulously. From beside her, Aelin’s mother burst into peals of laughter. 

“Well, this is quite the situation, isn’t it?” she laughed. It was a moment before she composed herself and turned to Rowan.  “Rowan Whitethorn. I suppose introductions aren’t necessary.” 

Rowan was bowing, green eyes hard as they met Aelin’s and stayed there, even as he addressed her mother. “Your majesty. Allow me to express my gratitude for welcoming me into your country.” 

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” Evalin insisted, still smiling as if she couldn’t believe what was happening. “You’re practically family, after all.” 

And that was when it hit her.

Let’s just say I’m involved with politics.

Doranelle.

Recent stressful news.

His name. 

Rowan’s eyes were on hers as the realization struck that Aelin not only fell into the statistics of people who hit attractive strangers with their car but also happened to hit members of royalty.

No- Aelin thought as she gaped at her betrothed- she most definitely did not fall in favor of most statistics. But they had fallen with her on one account.

The Prince of Doranelle was handsome. 

~~

this prompt was: “i accidentally hit you with my car”

taglist:

@story-scribbler​

@rowaelinismyotp​

@live-the-fangirl-life​

@claralady​

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[korrawrites]

Aedion and Evangeline: Father's Day

requested by anon

words: 1372

fandom: Throne of Glass, post KOA

characters: Aedion Ashryver, Evangeline Ashryver, Lysandra Ashryver

ships: slight Lysaedion

genre: family, comfort

summary: Aedion spends first father's day without Gavriel, feeling sad over the loss of his father, however, Evangeline cheers him up.

Aedion Ashryver was sitting on the bank of a meadow in Caraverre, overlooking the vast scenery ahead of him. Mountains rising behind Orynth, as though protecting it from the cloudless sky, and so many trees and flowers, varying in every color and shade he could think of. He was staring into the distance, mind long lost in the sadness of his thoughts.

A father's day, the first one since Gavriel died. As a child, he never paid any attention to the holiday, a day like any other, no father to celebrate it with. Back before the fall of Orynth, he would spend the occasion with Aelin and Rhoe, his dear uncle taking pity on him and treating him like a son, Aelin was already his sister anyway. He would do everything with them, going horse-riding or visiting the huge libraries. Although nice, it never felt quite right.

After that, however, with spending years on war fronts and Adarlan, Aedion forgot about it altogether, he didn't even have the time nor opportunity to celebrate his birthday, let one a father's day with a father he did not have.

He narrowed his eyes, trying to see Orynth in the vicinity. As Rowan had said, the tales and songs of Gavriel spread, Aedion could almost hear it in the faraway singing of the birds.

The Lion fell before the western gate of Orynth, defending the city and his son.

A single tear slid down his cheek, one he wasn't conscious of until it fell down onto his hand.

He didn't want to feel like this. It wasn't fair, he hated Gavriel for the longest time, and yet he hoped and hoped the lion would come to save him that faithful day of the battle. And he did, nonetheless. He sacrificed himself in the favor of saving everyone else, Aedion hated him a little bit for that as well.

Was he cursed? To lose his father quite literally right after he accepted him as one?

More tears fell, he didn't care to wipe them away until he heard a high-pitched child's voice calling to him; "Aedion?"

He quickly ran his hands over his face, gaze facing at the horizon for a few seconds, composing himself, before turning his head back. "Yes, Evangeline?"

The little girl was dressed in a simple yet beautiful blue dress decorated with flowers, no doubt of Lysandra's choosing. Before Aedion could repeat his question she sat down on the grass beside him, taking one of his much bigger hands in hers. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. Was it possible that she knew what was on his mind? Had Lysandra told her, Lysandra whom Aedion didn't say much to today, but she read him like an open book?

She appeared so innocent, this child that has witnessed and endured so much despite her young age. Aedion thanked all the gods looking over them that she and Lysandra survived the war. Yes, he was tremendously sad for the loss of his father, but losing his daughter... He didn't think he could take it. He supposed it was yet another one of the things he shared with Gavriel.

"Thank you, sweetheart," he mumbled gently patting her shoulder. He didn't realize how long it took him to say that, and that the words were accompanied by tears. Tears Evangeline obviously saw, for she wrapped her arms around him, hugging him as tightly as a little girl like her could.

Aedion loosed a heavy breath of relief, the great ache in his chest suddenly becoming more bearable due to the hug.

He imagined himself as a child, would Gavriel hold him close like he did Evangeline now? Would he feel safe and protected? Evangeline once told him, during those long days of battle, that she felt the safest with him. The words brought such a sense of duty to him, wishing nothing more than to protect the child before him with his last breath. Is that how Gavriel felt dying to save Aedion and everyone else? He could only guess. He could only hope.

"I've made this for you," Evangeline said after what seemed like a long while, pulling away slightly but still leaning on him. He just now realized that she was holding a paper, he wondered how he could have been so distracted not to have seen it before.

He carefully took the drawing extended to him, tears pricking onto his eyes yet again, this time however, the ones he didn't try to hide. Evangeline had drawn, albeit clearly still a child's work, rather nicely, a few figures standing together.

In the middle of the paper was obviously him, with his shoulder-length golden hair, and turquoise-and-gold eyes that had obviously taken her a while to draw. One of his hands was holding Lysandra's, dressed in her usual green gown and arms full of jewelry. She tried to do one of the complicated haircuts her adoptive mother favored, but in the end settled for a simple let-down hair with one tail behind.

Holding Aedion's other hand was a taller male, with hair much like Aedion's, golden eyes, and a collection of lines adorning his hands and neck like tattoos, ones Evangeline couldn't remember but they bore at least some resemblance. Perhaps she even asked someone; Lysandra, Rowan, Aelin, even Lorcan, about the specifics of the lion's appearance.

Finally, sitting on Aedion's shoulders, with reddish-blond hair and a big smile was Evangeline. One of her hands was on his head, the other waving into the distance, as though greeting the real-life Aedion.

At the top of the paper in blank space, it wrote; "happy father's day".

"D-do you like it?" Evangeline asked shyly.

Aedion took himself a few more moments observing the drawing, noting all the small details. The necklace he had given Lysandra for her birthday a couple of months ago, the pride in Gavriel's eyes, Sword of Orynth hanging at his hip, the similarities between himself and his father...

"I love it, Evangeline." He kissed the top of her head, causing her to giggle. "Such luck I have to have such a talented daughter." He meant it, he had never imagined himself as a father, didn't even think he would live past the age of 25, and yet here he was now, failing to find the words to describe his immense love for the child in front of him.

They hugged again, he didn't want to let go, as though fearing he would lose her. "Happy father's day, Aedion, I love you."

"Love you too," he said automatically, brushing her golden locks with his fingers.

They were still for a few seconds before Evangeline pulled away slightly. "Fleetfoot!" She exclaimed as the dog ran towards them, Lysandra behind her.

"Guess who came to visit?" Lady of Caraverre asked with a smile.

Evangeline quickly kissed Aedion's cheek before she started running away from a dog chasing her in a play. Fleetfoot caught up to her and tackled her to the ground, licking her face all over, causing Evangeline to laugh loudly and cuddle the dog's ears.

"We are so lucky to have her," Lysandra said sitting down next to Aedion where their daughter previously was.

"We really are." Aedion wrapped an arm around her back. "Did you see this?" He asked showing her the drawing.

"Yes! She showed it to me, wanted to be sure you would like it."

"I wouldn't like it more if it were a portrait painted by the best artists of Terrasen," he said proudly admiring the art. "We need to frame it."

Lysandra smiled gently. "Of course, my love. Are you alright?" A tentative question, she had seen the way he was distant this morning and just wandered off later. She didn't blame him, she could never. She did, however, want to know how he was. It pained her seeing him like this.

Aedion looked at Lysandra beside him, then Evangeline playing with Fleetfoot. His girls, his home. "Better than ever."

[leiawritesstories]

The Assassin And The General

Word count: 2,469 

Warnings: it’s still pretty angsty. Language, some violence, mentions of more violence/blood/death/Arobynn, grief, and some other painful things. But also Aedion! Yay!

Enjoy!

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

Aedion Ashryver wrapped his fur-lined cloak around himself and waited, eyes trained on the rolling hills that marked the border between Adarlan and Terrasen. He’d been oddly silent since moving himself and half the Bane out here, as if he were searching his mind for what he remembered of Terrasen’s only surviving direct heir to the throne. He was so young when the plague swept through Orynth, a boy of only eleven to Aelin’s nine years. They were practically siblings, raised together from the day Aedion arrived in his Fae father’s arms, barely a year old, and was welcomed into the Galathynius family. He and Aelin had been the terror of the castle together, her quick mind and his penchant for strategy combining to create a never-ending stream of pranks. 

And then the plague struck. 

Aedion and Aelin both had escaped illness, but Rhoe and Evalin had not. The children had stayed by their bedside near constantly, Aelin suddenly turning more serious than he’d ever seen her be, pleading with her parents to recover, to stay, to ascend to the throne like she knew they were destined to do. King Orlon had fallen ill as well, earlier. His illness was brief, so ravaging that there was little the healers and doctors could do beyond easing his pain. The king of Terrasen had died peacefully in his sleep, his pain numbed by a tonic from one of the healers. Everyone had thought that Rhoe would ascend to the throne after an appropriate mourning time, him being next in line, and then he and Evalin fell ill. Their illness...lingered. It broke Aedion’s heart to see little Aelin pleading with her parents, to see her parents reassuring her that they would be okay when everyone knew, after a certain time, that they would not recover. 

Only a few days before they passed, Rhoe and Evalin called Aelin into their rooms alone. She emerged crying, but carrying herself with the posture of a crown princess. That night, she’d told Aedion that she was going to be the queen. She’d cried, the pain of watching her parents leave this world and the fears of what becoming queen would involve crashing over her, and he’d just held her through her sobs. When she’d calmed down, Aedion knelt to face her, holding up his dagger, and sworn his eternal loyalty to her, slicing the blade across his palm to seal the vow. 

Eyes red, back straight, Aelin had accepted his blood oath, slicing the blade across her own palm to seal their bond in shared blood. 

Unconsciously, Aedion rubbed his thumb across the scar on his palm. Where the hell are you, Aelin?

~

Celaena had planned every step of her journey into Terrasen meticulously, from the supplies she needed to the cover story she’d spread. Arobynn needed to be convinced that she was following his orders, or...

She stopped the thought of what could happen if Arobynn wasn’t convinced before she could think it. 

As far as everyone in her unit knew, Captain Sardothien had heard rumors of a group approaching the Adarlan-Terrasen border, and she’d headed off to investigate. If she found anything, there’d be no trace by the time she returned. So far, that story was enough to keep Arobynn’s leash from tightening, so she stuck with it and prayed to whatever gods existed that it held. 

Pack strapped to her back, weapons tucked into every holster on her uniform and hidden in her boots, her sleeves, her thigh sheath, Celaena pulled her heavy winter gear on over her leathers, formally left Nox in charge during her absence, and headed out, soon vanishing into the hills that rippled across the Adarlan-Terrasen border. The landscape was quiet, almost serene, the greens and grays and browns blanketed with snow. Early spring had only just begun to spread across the Staghorn Mountains, pockets of green beginning to appear from beneath the winter’s coverings, and the air, though fresh, remained bitingly cold. She wore her Fae form, the immortal body allowing her to cover far more terrain in a shorter time than her human form, and as she ran through the hills, the landscape blurring past, she felt...joy. She felt free for the first time in years, free to run through the starkly beautiful mountains in her Fae body, free to run towards her cousin, towards her homeland, towards the promise of shattering Arobynn’s spell. 

Not quite two hours into her journey, she felt it. She’d crossed into Terrasen.  Unbidden, an ancient, depthless well of fire surged within her, the iron fist that had become her magic’s constant companion thrown aside. 

And Celaena burned with her flames, releasing the wildfire in a tiny, contained bubble of gold, allowing her fire to break free for the first time in years. Alive with the rush of controlling her power on her own, Celaena closed her eyes, speaking to the fire that lived within her. Tendrils of burning reds and oranges and golds snaked up her arms, caressing her skin, weaving into a circlet of living flame around her brow. 

Hood thrown back, the crown of fire burning brightly on her red-blonde head, Celaena Sardothien traced a finger down an old scar on her palm, reaching out for an old blood bond that would lead her to someone she hadn’t seen in ten years. Someone who could help her bring Arobynn’s unholy spell crashing down on his worthless, cruel head. 

Aedion Ashryver. Feared general of the Bane. Her bloodsworn cousin. 

The blood oath, dormant for so long, shifted, tugging her faintly to the east. So Celaena turned eastwards, crown of flames blazing, and headed off to bring Erilea’s tyrant to his death. 

~

She scented the small camp before she saw it, the unmistakable odor of a squadron of men carried to her immortal nose on a soft breeze. Wrinkling her nose, she strode forward, soon approaching the sentry standing at the edge of the camp. Poor little fellow took one look at her Fae body, at the burning gold ring in her eyes, at the crown of flames ringing her head, and sprinted into the camp, looking as if he’d piss himself at any minute. 

Celaena chuckled to herself, sauntering into the camp bold as brass. After all, she technically had the authority to enter any of Terrasen’s military camps as she pleased, her being the heir apparent. Aelin being the heir apparent. 

Booted footsteps crunched in the snow behind her, faltering as they drew near. She turned, meeting the emotion-choked gaze of a man with eyes twin to her own, a man who took one more hesitant stride forward and fell to his knees, tears pooling in his eyes. 

“Aelin,” Aedion breathed, her name settling over her like a familiar blanket. 

“Aedion,” she whispered, her voice threatening to break despite her best efforts. 

He crushed her against his chest in a heartbeat, his strong, familiar arms wrapping around her. She returned his embrace just as fiercely, careful not to let her wildfire crown singe him. His pulse thundered in her pointed ears, the joy and relief and a hundred other emotions of reuniting with her setting his blood afire. 

“I thought you...I thought...” He trailed off, unable to form the words. 

“I’m very much alive,” Celaena--Aelin--reassured him, grasping his hand in comfort. “I left Orynth to avoid being taken in by the advisors.”

He shuddered. “A wise decision. Here.” He held open a tent flap. “We can talk here.”

“No one would disturb the general in his private tent?” she smirked, raising an eyebrow. Fuck, she knew. 

“No indeed!” he smirked right back. 

She chuckled, the sound so achingly familiar yet so changed with age, and seated herself in one of the two chairs, letting her wildfire crown fade away. “So Aeds, what do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

“Specify,” she deadpanned, folding her hands. 

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. Tell me--tell me where you went, all those years ago, and then we can talk about the spell.”

So she told him how she traveled to Rifthold, how she ended up in the Assassins’ Keep, how she was trained--all of her training, the beatings and the missions and the agony she endured at Arobynn’s hands--how she went to the Academy on her own time and money to learn about her wildfire, how she was so, so beyond lucky that she’d learned to lock the power away and display only an ordinary fire gift. 

“If he knew, if anyone knew, I’d be dead.” Simple, cold fact. 

And she told him of her spying on Arobynn and his inner circle, how she’d figured out their plans before they acted, how she was helpless to resist once the spell slammed into place, leaving Arobynn master of all the magic-wielders within the spell’s confines. 

“So where are the borders?” Aedion asked, peering at the notes she spread across his desk. 

“Here.” Aelin traced the lines she’d inked, the outlines of the massive region which Arobynn controlled, the area where his unholy spell was active. “It stops at the Wastes, at the sea, at the edge of Eyllwe, and here at the Terrasen border.”

“Why Terrasen?” It was a logical question. “Why doesn’t it extend into Terrasen?”

“No pillars,” Aelin replied, tapping the marks she’d made at the corners of the spell. “He cast the spell so its pillars were the ancient temples, and--”

“And there aren’t any ancient temple ruins in Terrasen,” Aedion finished, his general’s mind catching on.

“Exactly.”

“So you’re planning to take out the temples?” 

“One by one.” Fire sparked in Aelin’s eyes. “Or all at once, if we had the numbers to do it. But no, it’ll have to be one by one. Or at least...” She trailed off, speculative. 

“At least one of the northern ones before striking at the one in Rifthold?” Aedion asked.

Her eyes jerked to his. “How--”

“Take out the center, and the borders will fail.”

Aelin’s eyes welled up, hearing her father’s gentle wisdom in her cousin’s voice. “Yeah.” She sniffled. “Gods, I forgot you studied with...with Father.”

“Taught me near everything I know,” Aedion murmured. “Right. So what’s your grand plan, Ae? You can’t possibly be planning to burn the place down.”

“I can’t burn the place down, you idiot,” she snorted, her old snark reappearing, “not when I’m back under that shithead’s control.” 

“That asshole prick,” Aedion grumbled, ire flaring in his eyes. 

“So, naturally, we’ll just have to plant charges and stage an accidental fire that just so happens to spark one of those charges.”

“Accidental?” Aedion raised both his brows. “Little cousin, nothing you do is ever accidental.”

“Shut up,” she shot back, “it’ll look like an accident. And by the time he finds out, the spell’s borders will already have shrunk, so he can’t do shit about it.”

Aedion whistled softly. “Brilliant.” 

“Don’t flatter, Aed. I’m not some general you’re trying to woo into your bed.”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, a blush flaring up. 

Aelin just chuckled. “Lighten up, Aed. You know I won’t betray any of your... activities to anyone.”

“I know,” he sighed. “Shit, I just wish the rest of my men weren’t so godsdamn terrified of approaching my tent, though.”

“Afraid their poor eyes will fall upon something they don’t want to see?” Aelin teased. 

“And of what’d happen next,” he grumbled. 

“Fair enough,” she snorted. “So, General Ashryver. Are you willing to potentially sacrifice yourself and your men on a crazy suicide mission led by your slightly unhinged assassin princess?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” he swore, dropping to one knee. “Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, heir to Terrasen, I pledge to you my sword.” He drew a blade from its sheath along his spine, and she sucked in a gasp. The Sword of Orynth laid in her cousin’s hands, its ancient, scarred bone handle balanced atop his open palm. 

“May your blade never falter,” she intoned, voice steady despite the emotion clogging her throat at seeing her kingdom’s famed sword. Aedion sheathed his sword and stood, clasping her hand. 

“Will you send word?”

“As soon as we’re ready,” she promised. “Look for the messenger bird to arrive.” 

He nodded, so much shining unspoken in his eyes. Instinctively, he embraced her once more, clinging to his cousin, his queen, lost for so long but returned crowned in flames, ready to face and conquer the darkness spread across the continent. 

“To whatever end, Aed,” she promised, the Galathynius family motto coming so easily to her lips. 

“To whatever end,” he swore, the blood bond between them thrumming. 

As Aelin exited the camp, she passed through the rest of the Bane, gathered speechless at the sight of their queen. So she ignited her crown of flames once more, walking through her soldiers with a straight back, head high, the promise of a new dawn burning in the flames wreathing her head. She heard their reverent whispers, the soft chants that escalated into full-blown war cries, the Bane promising their swords, their strength, to their queen. Heart overflowing, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius left the Bane’s small camp and headed back towards Endovier, back to her legion and her duties and the temple in the city. To the promise of blasting through one of the spell’s pillars. 

To freedom. 

~

Aedion watched Aelin disappear into the hills, watched that crown of blazing flames grow smaller and smaller until it vanished into the snowy terrain. Then he turned back to his men, giving them orders to remain just where they were. He sent a small squad back to the main camp, ordering the rest of the Bane to move out and establish camp a few miles away from this one, so the whole legion was close to the border, waiting for Aelin’s signal. 

The screech of a hawk ripped through the sky, drawing his attention away from giving out orders. A white-tailed hawk swooped overhead, diving down to perch atop one of the tents. Aedion narrowed his eyes at the bird, the enhanced senses he’d received from his Fae father prickling. His nostrils widened, sniffing at the breeze, catching a tang of pine and snow and winter stronger than could be considered ordinary for early spring, even in the Staghorns. 

Before he could make another move, another guess, the hawk hopped off the tent pole, fluttering down to the ground. There was a flash of light, and then Aedion was looking into the slightly bemused green eyes of a pure Fae male taller and broader than him. His eyes narrowed, then widened in sudden recognition, the male’s silvery hair and the tattoo winding down the side of his face and disappearing into his fur-lined clothes distinctive, marking him...

“Prince Rowan Whitethorn,” Aedion greeted the male, bowing from his waist. “What brings you to the Bane’s camp?”

~~~

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[manonblaqkbeak]

Exhausted but Grateful

Good evening, back again with yet another fic. I was asked by @autumnbabylon for a papa Rowan fic so here’s my attempt lol.

Enjoy!

1265 words

Rowan wasn't sure what made him open his eyes in the middle of the night. But here he was, slowly cracking open his tired eyes. The only noises he could hear was Aelin's snoring where she was wrapped in his arms, the ticking of the clock on her nightstand, and Elentiya's breathing. He reached out with his magic, but nothing was there.

He looked over to where he knew Elentiya would be, next to Aelin on their bed within easy reach. The bassinet he built was by the foot of the bed, but their daughter seldom spent time in it.

Elentiya was awake, her pine-green eyes wide and exploring.

Their daughter was not a fan of sleep, often spending the night screaming the entire castle awake, or doing exactly this, looking at the world through her young eyes.

Rowan and Aelin really wished she would sleep. At one month old, he was certain that she barely had any sleep since her arrival and Rowan and his mate felt the effects of it—and the few people that saw them could see the effects too, mainly the dark circles under their eyes. Rowan had often fought in wars sleep deprived and managed to win them, so when his daughter arrived, he was ready for the sleepless nights, to re-use the skill of sleeping with his eyes open.

He was prepared. Until he soon discovered that sleep deprivation due to a baby was just completely different. He fought in battles with his eyes half open, but he could not raise his baby with his eyes half open.

With his eyes fully opened, Rowan glanced at the clock and internally groaned when he read the time—2:37am. Her last diaper change had only been thirty minutes ago, her last feed at midnight. Rowan had changed her diaper, so that Aelin could sleep for longer—she did need it more than him.

Her body was still healing, since Yrene did not heal the internal damage of birth, claiming that it was best to let the body heal naturally, that she would have only intervene if Aelin was in great danger, and since his mate was not in great danger, Aelin had a miserable time; constantly having to change her soiled undergarments and linen rags due to the heavy postpartum bleeding (which, according to Yrene, was heavier than humans since Fae recovery was far more harsh than what human women had to go through) that she had to deal with for a couple more weeks, the slow process of her body going back to its pre-pregnancy stage, and a whole slew of other things.

Rowan was proud as hell of Aelin, and he made sure to tell her that often, so that she could know how much he appreciated her for what she was going through—and what she went through during her pregnancy and the labour to bring their daughter into the world.

Kissing Aelin softly on the cheek, Rowan slowly detached himself from her. Once successful, he silently moved off from the bed and picked up his daughter, mentally begging her not to cry. It was always a gamble to pick her up when she was awake, the result would either end with Elentiya screeching in their ears or staying quiet.

Tonight, she was quiet, thank the rutting gods.

Cradling her in his bare arms, Rowan made his way onto the balcony, the night air warm and bringing with it the scent of the Kingsflame. He pointed out the flowers, vivid even at night, and told her how important those flowers were to Aelin, to the people of Terrasen.

The people of Terrasen had not yet seen Elentiya, but knew that the Princess was healthy and well looked after. He and Aelin were feeling rather protective over their daughter, and in the first two weeks of her life, they had only trusted Yrene and Aelin's personal Healer, Magnolia, in the same room as them. It was just last week that their family finally got to meet Elentiya, arriving with gifts for all three of them. And when no one had dropped her, Aelin and Rowan felt comfortable enough to leave their daughter alone so that they could have a moments rest and then a steaming hot bath for them both.

One day soon, the people would be able to see her, but not just yet, it would be in small steps. First with their family, and perhaps a stroll through the palace gardens.

“Would you like the visit the gardens?” he asked his daughter, knowing very well that she couldn't answer. “It's one of your mother's favourite palaces to wind down. Maybe when you're older, you could have a plot of your own to grow anything you want. Maybe a change of scenery will help you to learn how to sleep through the night.” Kissing Elentiya's cheek, because he and Aelin both unable to resist giving her kisses whenever they could, Rowan then started to tell Elentiya the stories behind the constellations of the stars that weren't covered by clouds.

When the Lord of the North made itself known, he shifted her in his arms so that she could see the bright constellation.

“This constellation means everything to the people of Terrasen. It's everything to your mother, too. It helped her when she was lost," he said, and then added, "when you're older, your mother and I will take you to Oakwald and hopefully you'll see one of the sacred stags for yourself.”

“I like the sound of that,” Aelin said from the balcony doors. Before he could turn around, Aelin came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his bare waist and rested her head on his back. “How long have you been out here for?”

Rowan shrugged lightly and was about to answer when he noticed Elentiya's eyes drooping. Slowly extracting himself from Aelin's arms, he kissed his wife's cheek and went back inside, carefully putting her in the bassinet, covering her with the Terrasen green and gold blanket, the gift from Aedion embroidered with the symbols of the Houses of Galathynius, Ashryver and Whitethorn.

Aelin was already back on their bed and she gave him a small smile as she patted his spot. More than ready for some sleep, Rowan climbed back into bed, Aelin resting her head on his chest.

“I think going to the gardens would be a good thing,” Aelin said after a moment. “It'd be nice to get out and I think it'd be good for Elentiya, too, to see something else other than these chambers.”

“What time would you want to go?” he asked, trailing his fingers up and down her back. Aelin took to wearing his silk tunics, claiming that she found the material soothing against her sore breasts, their daughter seemingly hungry all the time.

“Around mid-morning," she said, fighting a yawn. "It's usually quiet around then, it's mainly the gardeners around.”

“Sounds like a good plan.” Rowan kissed the top of her head and borrowed down into the pillows.

“Of course it's a good plan, I came up with it.”

Rowan snorted but didn't say anything, too tired to get into the history of Aelin's plans.

Soon, they both fell asleep, exhausted but grateful for Elentiya, and knew that they would always cherish these moments with her, even if they couldn't remember the last time they had a proper nights sleep. Both of them already looking forward to the day--when Aelin was ready, of course--to add another member to their family one day.

[llyncooljones]

nothing's right | it's illegal - chapter two.

ao3 || rowaelin masterlist || it’s illegal masterlist

word count: 4274

trigger warnings: blood, death, drug use, alcohol, language.

tag list: @live-the-fangirl-life @rowaelinismyotp @rowanaelin @fireheartwhitethorn4ever @themoonthestarsthesuriel @autumnbabylon

her dorm room, almost five.

Aelin Ashryver-Galanthynius and regret are familiar friends. They know each other well, too well. Sometimes she’ll walk regret on the street, sometimes she finds herself attached to the hip with regret. On the odd occasion she’ll share drinks with regret, she’ll take the odd line with regret.

They’re familiar in that not really, only when we’re fucked up beyond recognition way. In the way college kids are with each other, the sick and desensitised way in which they recognise each other because one saw the other crush and snort some pills off some girl’s ass cheeks two years ago at a fucked-up frat party that neither wanted to go to, but now will never forget.

If she were to write a list of her regrets, she’d use up all the ink in Terrasen, all the paper in Terrasen. And that’s including all the yet-to-be paper contained in the trees of the famed forests of Terrasen.

If she were to write a list of her regrets, she’d probably find it easier to write a list of what she doesn’t regret.

In short, Aelin Ashryver-Galanthynius has a lot of regrets—too many for being only twenty-one. And it's not like she won't be twenty-two in a few months. But even with that, her regrets amass to an amount larger than any other person her age. Ever.

Which twenty-one-year-olds can say they don’t regret something? None. Everyone has regrets. That isn’t what sets Aelin so far apart from the rest of the people her age. It is the sheer volume, the ridiculous quantity, the overall mass that pushes her shoulders into a deeper curve, inches her feet those inches closer to the earth beneath.

It had been her first ever college class that had made her realise she was different, that she had something more that no one else had. That she had a little extra hole in her heart that no one else had. That she had an even larger chip on her shoulder than the rest of her class combined.

That made her realise that, yeah, everyone is fucked up, but she was what happened when fucked up had a basement, and the only way out of the basement was to start digging deeper and deeper until her hands are blistered, and her nail beds are bleeding, but she’s still surrounded by darkness and there isn’t anyone to help her.

Her college professor was one of those old-fashioned types, who wore a tweed jacket with shamefully brown elbow and shoulder pads. The kind who wore a matching a tweed pencil skirt and a button-up in the shade motel sheet, and tiny little tweed kitten heels that click-clacked on the worn linoleum in that horrifying way.

She was Professor Henderson, or she was no one. Not Miss, not Ms, not Mrs, not Marigold, not Henderson.

The kind of old-fashioned professor who printed everything and didn’t use the expensive projector given to all the lecture halls on campus—choosing to write all her notes on the four whiteboards at the front. Who believed in a syllabus and an assignment tracking sheets and professional introductions.

The kind of person who was strict and severe, but also the kind of person who genuinely gave a damn. Who could actually stand in front of a lecture hall of over one hundred kids and genuinely mean it when she said she cared, that someone could come up to her, and know that she would help. She was truthful and trustworthy.

She had kind eyes, big and green and knowledgeable, hidden behind thick glasses. Hair, slowly going grey at the roots, pulled into a bun that had surely taken years to master but was now to her as a flick of the wrist was to the rest.

That first class with her, syllabi handed out, assignments trackers being written on, she had invited each one of her students to the front to have a chat. To debate the best options for her class going forward.

What the best form of homework would be for them, how they would best revise, how they would best take notes. Her personal email is given to everyone in case of emergencies outside of school. She let everyone know that she was a safe space if anyone ever needed one, that she could help, would help.

She had invited Aelin up last, asking more questions than anyone else had been asked. Double checking that she had accommodation, that she had the necessary resources. Gone the extra step and handed Aelin her phone number, for whatever she needed it for.

Somehow, Aelin knew that she was the only one in that class to be given the professor’s phone number, everyone else chatting about how ridiculous it was to be given her personal email, how silly the professor was for thinking they would go to her for anything when they had parents.

All Aelin could do was sit, silent, still, staring straight ahead with the paper held reverently between her fingers, typing the numbers slowly into her phone, naming the contact ‘Prof. Henderson’. And all she could think was that her [professor was the best person she’s met since she met him, since she loved him.

And all she could think was how sad of a thought that was.

And all she could think was how lucky those kids were, to be able to laugh in the face of kindness and genuine care, how lucky they were to be able to bite the hand that feeds them and still be fed.

Whereas all she had ever done, all she had ever wanted to do was love the hands that fed her, love the hands that loved her back, and now, here she sits. Alone, except for her college professor and a dickhead cousin across the continent.

Now, it’s three years later, and she’s still got that number in her phone, under ‘Marigold’ it’s the only number in her most recent calls section, the only number she finds herself reaching for. Now, she sits down for dinner with her professor each week, finds time to visit the personification of kindness that is Marigold Henderson, during her office hours.

She finds herself able to manage just barely with the help of her, finds herself able to put down the bottle sometimes, finds herself able to forgo the pills sometimes, finds herself able to see the light sometimes, finds herself capable of being loved, and loving someone in turn, sometimes.

Only sometimes.

Most of the time, she’s still drowning. She still feels the blood on her hands, still sees the panicked expressions, hears the final words of them, tastes their souls in the air as they are snatched from her clawing, grasping hands.

Most of the time, she’s still crying into a bottle at the end of the night, most of the time, she’s still swallowing a pill with vodka every weekend, most of the time, she finds herself brushing off kindness and interest. Most of the time, she knows she doesn’t deserve love, knows she doesn’t deserve kindness.

Not after what she did to the last people who loved her, to the last people who showed her kindness.

Most of the time, tonight, tomorrow, next week. What’s the difference to her, she’s still going to beating off the nightmares with a stick that’s slowly cracking apart, that’s slowly splintering in her own hands.

Tonight, she’s sober. Clearheaded, eyes wide open, laptop slowly blurring in front of her. She isn’t sure what time she started, what time it is, what time she’ll finish at. She doesn’t know much. Not about living, laughing, loving. Nor girl bossing, gatekeeping, gaslighting

Ask her to recite the fifth amendment, tell her to list all thirty of the human rights, request that she detail the process of being called forth as a witness in a trial… she’ll answer in a heartbeat. She can tell you in seconds, human rights are her bread and butter. The right to life, the right to freedom of thought, the right to freedom of speech, the right to marry and have children, the right to work.

She can go on, and on, and on.

Ask when the last time she felt truly adored, truly loved, and she’d wonder, she’d have to think, she’d have to debate what counts and what doesn’t. In the end, she’ll be crying, maybe finding solace in the bottle.

But she won’t, not tonight.

Tonight, instead, she sits, fed up and tired, sick of all the pain that never gives way to the yellow brick path, of all the wicked witches of the west, and the general absence of all the good witches of the east. Her brain is tired, her hands are shaking, her body no longer knows what it needs and what it should reject.

After all the shit Aelin’s put it through, after all the shit Aelin’s put in it, it’s no wonder that her body has no fucking clue anymore.

What’s normal. What isn’t.

When it should sleep. When it shouldn’t.

When it should tap out. When it shouldn’t.

Her hands shake on her laptop keyboard, and try as she might, nothing will stop the trembling of her body. Nothing ever has. Nothing has ever been able to shut off their voices in her head, that low murmuring that keeps her awake, keeps her needing, keeps her crazy.

That keeps her going, even when she should have stopped a few too many breakdowns ago.

The words on her screen blur the longer she thinks about them, she can't bring herself to shut the laptop, though. Because that's giving up and she won't do that.

She can't do that.

Not when she has to do all of this, complete all of this. Do it for them, for the lives they can no longer live.

For the sights, they can no longer see.

For the sounds, they can no longer hear.

For the textures, they can no longer feel.

For the flavours, they can no longer taste.

For the scents, they can no longer smell.

Tonight might just be the first night she’s been sober for in too many years.

But tonight is special.

Tonight is an anniversary. Of all the good things in her life, off all the happiness she’s ever felt. Today is the day, ten years ago, that she had met Sam. In all his fluffy-haired, smooth-faced glory. All his childlike innocence and the happy, dopey smile marring the serious lines of his face everyone said he would grow into.

Aelin wants to shout because he never got to grow into those harsh lines, into the lanky build he had always hated but she had always loved. She wants to riot, go on a hapless, helpless, hopeless quest to find the gods, to demand they change fate.

She can’t bear the thought of going to his grave, going to all of their graves, drunk, and high, and disappointing them. Wrecking all their love for her. Because she isn’t her anymore, she’s this fucked up amalgamation of everything she never should have, and everything she was destined to be. This cursed middle ground that keeps her alive and wanting to not be so.

All of a sudden, she’s wrecked. She’s sobbing into closed fists as she presses them to her eyes. She’s cursing the cold metal of her rings, the way they make her flinch against the cold of them. She’s taking gasping breaths and hugging desperate arms around her legs as her knees come up to meet her chin. She’s not surprised to find her knees sodden with tears in a few seconds, not surprised to find her hands slipping with the salt water dripping from them.

She can’t remember the last time she cried so violently, so recklessly. She’s usually the master of her emotions, a mask containing her past, all her secrets and hurt, always in place. Always shielding her from more hurt. From the possibility of having everyone leave her once more, of having to be alone once more.

If you have no one, no one can leave you.

She can no longer remember why she’s crying, only knows that her heart is ripped, and her soul is torn, and that she’ll never find the energy to fix them, only the energy to be able to ignore the blood slipping from them, only the energy to ignore the slow slipping of her life through her fingers.

At some point, she had curled herself around the stupidly large teddy bear on her bed, hugging the bear like it’s her friend, like it’s the only person on earth.

Her mind shifts violently to the past, to the nights she had spent curled around Sam like this, nights spent loving him and cherishing him and kissing the freckles across his nose and his cheeks. The funny little mole that sat right between his two collarbones.

Nights spent endlessly, with the stars as their endless company, with happiness as their endless protector against the harsh realities of life. She just wishes now that she could be near him. Be close to him. Press a kiss to that birthmark, smell the intoxicating aroma of the spices that always clung to his shirts and his skin after walking through the little civilisations at the centre of their town.

She finds herself slipping shoes on, grabbing a hoodie for the cold, pulling a bottle of vodka from beneath her bed, the little collection of pills from her bedside table drawer, her car keys from the hook above the door.

Then she’s locking the door behind her, double-checking, and then heading for her car to head to Sam, to the only family she has.

She’s gone from her mind for most of the journey, unaware of life as it passes her by in speeding cars and slow-going busses. She can’t think as her car slows to pull into the cemetery, can’t bear to, knowing if she does, she’s liable to put this car through the fucking church.

She stays in her car for a while, sat with her hands white-knuckling the steering wheel, debating all the horrors of the cemetery, all the abandoned graves and wilted flowers, and tiny headstones, and too-small differences between the birth year and the death year.

She stares at the gates lost to memories that threaten to drag her so completely under, that she’s sure she’ll never find a way out, never find the light at the end of the tunnel.

six years ago, the hospital, late at night.

Tears.

They coat her cheeks, her lips, her jaw, her neck. Some even fall down her shirt. Clean skin sits where the saltwater has touched her. A slight path through the mud that sticks to her skin.

Mostly, it's blood. Her clothes soaking in it, her nail beds stained, her nose infected with the slightly coppery scent. It had come from them, thick and evidence and of their injuries, of what she’s done to them. She drowns in the sins it carries. She can't breathe through the scent of her wrongdoing.

She can feel eyes on her. Curious. Concerned.

They aren't welcome.

The only eyes she wants to feel will never befall her skin again. She'll never feel their intensities again. The piercing turquoise, the shining gold of her mother’s eyes. The sharp, coffee-warm brown of her father’s eyes. The calming, sweetening golden-brown of Sam’s eyes.

There is a chance she might. A small, slight chance. A chance she can't believe in. Can't hope in. Aelin knows as soon as she hopes that it will come true, it won't come true.

She’s always been lucky like that.

She sits still in the black plastic chair; the arms digging into her own arms. She won't move until they come and tell her. She won't. She can't. Isn’t able to.

She can't function.

"Miss Galanthynius? I’m Doctor Bathden, I have news regarding your family. If you'd like to follow me." The doctor looks kind, old and well adept at dealing with... emotional family members.

Aelin follows the woman wordlessly, mindlessly. She can't bring herself to question where they’re going. Can't bring herself to talk.

She's lost all the spirit she once possessed. She has lost all that makes up Aelin. She is a gaping hole of a person.

She walks through a door and even the jarring sound of it slamming doesn't remove her from her trance like state.

"Miss Galanthynius, we were able to save your cousin, Aedion Ashryver. He was very lucky in his injuries, that the fall didn't cause damage to his spine or cranium. At worst, he'll have some severe bruising, pain in his head and along his back. Superficial, in the grand scheme of things." Alive. Aedion is alive, she’s glad, she really, really is, if it isn’t showing. But she isn’t sure she can feel her face, let alone express her emotions through her facial muscles.

"Unfortunately, that is the last of the truly good news I am able to inform you of. We were unable to stabilise your father, Rhoe Galanthynius, in time to operate on him. I regret to inform you, Miss Galathynius, that he didn’t make it.”

There are no changes, she still stares ahead, still breathes slowly, still cries in that slow, silent, tortured way you do when you can no longer face the thought of sobbing. Just tears rolling, rolling, rolling, dripping. Down her nose, down her cheeks, down her chin, down her neck. She allows her eyes to close for a little, to picture her father. Tall and imposing, big and bigger still. Rough and tough, but with the gentlest hugs and fiercest love. The adoration his eyes always held when looking at her, or her mother, or her cousin.

Then, she gives herself a moment to think. About how she’ll never see him again, how she’ll never know his hugs again, never see him laugh and joke again. Never call him dad, never have him walk her down the aisle, never see him holding his grandchild.

Then she closes her eyes, braces herself, prepares herself.

"Secondly, your mother, Evalin Ashryver-Galanthynius, during transportation to the hospital via the helicopter, she suffered injuries more severe than the crew had equipment to deal with in the air ambulance, though try they did. She was pronounced dead on arrival.”

She only feels more numb. She’s sure she’s crying more now, a few sobs escaping her as she sits here, in this annoyingly comfortable chair. She allows the words to filter through, to hit her body, her heart. She’s scared, because both her parents are dead… And the world isn’t any different. No one else is scared, no one else is alone. Everything is the same, and gods she wishes it weren’t.

Her mother, her best friend since she was born, her protector and the fiercest warrior in her corner, gone, never to fight beside her in battles, dead. Final, unmoving, never-ending.

"Finally, Sam Cortland, your boyfriend, he hit his head. Had it not been for the angle at which he had it, he would still be here. Unfortunately, he hit it in such a way that has rendered him brain dead. Whilst he is still alive, he must remain on life support to be so."

She wants to be sad, mad, rageful, vengeful. She wishes she could feel some emotion. But she isn’t, she can’t. she’s dead to it all, dead like her family is, dead like she should be.

Alive. Aedion is alive.

Dead. Her parents are dead.

Life support. Sam is on life support.

Quietly she asks the doctor to take her to Sam. They enter a private room, which she imagines paid for by herself and her parents' gaudy insurance policy.

His hands are pale. His face even more so. Lips blue. Cheeks hollow. Closed eyes. He's lying down, legs straight and arms at his sides. He could be dead.

She should be dead.

"Sam. Oh, Sam." Tears are flooding her, she's choking on her upset, unable to draw in a breath past her tears, suffocating her. Killing her slowly.

Her hand grips his. She doesn't know what to say, she twists the ring on her finger.

"I'm sorry. I love you. I'm not sure I'll know what to do in a world without you in it. A world where someone doesn't just get me, on a subatomic particle level. A world where I'll laugh and nobody else will because fuck, that was our inside joke. A world where I'll turn around and no longer see you five feet behind me, checking me out. A world where I'll buy you random shit and then realise at the cash desk when they hand me my receipt that, fuck, you died.

"I won't know what to do. Tell me what to do. I need you, Sam. I need you. I'm not sure about anything other than I love you. You and I. That was it the answer to all of my questions. But now? The answer doesn't exist anymore. What kind of equation changes so dramatically.

"And I've got to decide how you get to live after this. It's up to me. Is it kinder to just say end it? Or is it kinder to give you that chance of becoming a walking medical miracle and wake up? Talk to me, Sam. Tell me what to do."

present-day, the graveyard, early morning.

She walks steadily down the uneven cobblestone path. It's so far beyond midnight that she should be waking up right now. In short: she should not be here.

She passes so many names she can't remember her own. So many names, so many forgotten. Cracked marble, faded inscriptions, rotting flowers, silent trees even as the wind whistles through the leaves.

She slowly approaches those she came here to visit, a red glow flickering in the distance. Near where they’re all buried. String lights and street lamps illuminate the area further. Allowing her to see the figure slumped against a gravestone.

A man is sitting there. Looking angelic in the low light. He's sat at the headstone next to the last of the ones she is visiting. Polished grey marble, smooth and shining. A bouquet of sunflowers sitting at the base, alongside a bouquet of daisies, lilies and white tulips. She can’t bring herself to look any longer, finally at the first of the headstones she’s to visit.

She leans against her father's headstone, her back against the cold stone, her legs in front of her. Some would say she looks uncomfortable, but for Aelin, this is the most home-like place she'll ever know.

In all her chronic exhaustion, she feels her father’s phantom arms wrap around her shoulder. Gripping her to him. She can almost feel her ribs groaning under the force, as they had when she was a teenager. She wishes now that maybe he had popped a few ribs, broken a few, maybe just bruised them. At least if that had happened, she'd have proof of her father’s love for her. Tangible evidence that he truly adored his daughter and hated to let her go when she wriggled in his hold.

She tilts her head to the side, looking deeply at the man who's slumped against the slab of stone, his head tilted to the sky and a joint slipped between his lips.

His hair is whiter than the wings of an angel, longer on top and shorter on the sides. In the sunlight she’s sure it glints and glimmers, like a bauble on a Christmas tree, like a diamond set in gold. She hates such hairstyles, but on this man, it looks holy. If this is her scripture, what would be her alter, what would be her worship, would he be her God, or her Devil. Her Angel, or her Demon.

His eyes are closed, thick lashes of the palest blond are clogged with water and shiny as a result. A strong brow only serves to accentuate his features, making him seem at odds with his youthful appearance. His bone structure is all harsh angles and sharp lines, cruel against such soft skin.

Stubble runs over his cheeks, only slightly lighter than his skin and offsetting something she can't put her finger on. Light shines off the tear tracks on his cheeks, slipping over and down his cheekbones. Slipping further and further, under the obtuse angle of his jaw, down the detailed column of his throat. His jutting Adam’s apple, the fine muscle, the evident cartilage.

His lips are full, a light pinkish-red. Heart-shaped. Lopsided. Used and abused, needed in the night, disregarded in the day. She knows the feeling well, something akin to regret. Made for sin and used for pleasure. The blunt resting on the slightly fatter bottom completes his look, a fallen angel.

As her examination continues, her brilliant brain puts two and two together. The white hair, the build, the drink and the drugs, the exhaustion, the subtle air of intellect (she imagines most of it is lost in the weed). Law student extraordinaire, hockey player legend, the Big Man on Campus™.

Her most esteemed rival, her greatest hurdle, the pre-law student to her own pre-law student. The one hundred to her own ninety-nine, the ninety-nine to her own one hundred.

“A shot for a hit, Mr Whitehorn?” She asks him, suddenly unable to control her own mouth with the vodka in hand.

None other than Rowan motherfucking Whitehorn.

Who the fuck needs a name that fucking pretentious anyway?