#unbreakable sword

[oikvw]

heir of grief

[bbboar]

Shout out to Forge Paranatural fr being such and excellent excellent creature design but also because BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK

[000marie198]

Must commend Tails

No, not for his genius or adorableness or cunning or skills or battle prowess, no

Must commend Tails for being Sonic's brother.

He deals with Sonic whenever the latter runs off to hide from feelings, he looks after the hero and does research when the hedgehog becomes a magnet for all kinds of unknown wacky energy and powers, he provides background support when Sonic needs it or when he runs off without finishing things up, he mediates petty or silly quarrels his big brother likes to start by riling up one of his friends, he takes care of Sonic when he needs rest or is sick and is being stubborn, he worries where Sonic is carefree, he learned to read the other like an open book because his big brother loves hiding his own pain and suffering, he used to edit translations when Sonic couldn't talk and would become a little too excited, he covers for his brother when the other is too tired or annoyed or overwhelmed or busy or whatever, he builds trackers and vital tracers and automatic SOS beacon into Sonic's communicator and most other gadgets to keep him safe, he strategizes the path ahead to catch Sonic if the other falls, sometimes it's like he's the parent here.

Must commend the little guy for being the hero of the world's hero

[wheredidalltheusersgo]

Capo Tonio from my jjba AU where everything is the same, except Tonio and Risotto switch roles in the story!

[houserosaire]

Prompt #3: Tempest

Clouds hung dark as mourning veils over the sky. Their heavy dark hue spoke of rain rather than snow even before the distant rumble of incoming thunder reached his ears. The rising wind tugged at his hair, whipped the smell of the rain at him. Silvaineaux closed his eyes and tipped his head back, welcoming the storm.

Gradually though, he became aware of another scent mingled with the sweet clean scent of storm, the dry reek of scale and brimstone. Of a rumbling song that did not match the thunder, and a rhythm to the wind that was not the first fall of rain. He opened his eyes to find the clouds had become the myriad flickering shadows of a thousand, thousand beating wings, the sky black and the air heavy with the tempest song of numberless dragons.

Silvaineaux jerked awake, shoving his way out of the heavy blankets as he bolted upright. The darkness around him was heavy and still. No sounds of distant storms reached him. His room was silent, the space within the heavy hangings of his bed peaceful. The banked coals in the fireplace crackled softly but otherwise…

No. There was a sound. He was certain of it. There had been some small sound. Perhaps it was that sound as much as the storm of his dreams that had woken him. His head tilted within the weight of that darkness, seeking a repetition. Whatever it was, it was stealthy, which meant that it was not friendly. Honore or Alain would have knocked at the door or called out to wake him.

He shifted carefully on the bed, moving slowly as he leaned out across it. His palm slid over the sheets until he found the edge of the wide mattress and then he leaned further, moving an ilm at a time.

Silvaineaux kept his breaths shallow and quiet as he reached slowly down over the edge of the mattress, fingertips groping until he found the small ledge at the edge of the bedframe. His fingers closed on the hard leather of a scabbard. Just as slowly he drew the weight of his sword back up, careful not to let it bump or tug at the hangings or the bedframe. The sound came again, so small he could not quite place what it sounded like. Yet this time it came with something even more disconcerting, the smallest of tugs, barely felt at the blankets that still rested over his legs. 

He drew in a slightly sharper breath, then reached for the hilt of his sword. He found it easily enough by feel even within the darkness of the bed. His fingers closed around the comfort of that familiar weight. Ilm by ilm he tugged at the scabbard with his free hand, drawing it off the blade so slowly it would not make its usual warning hiss. He set the scabbard carefully aside on sheets still warm from his own sleeping body, and reached to ease the blankets off his legs. 

He felt the second small tug against his hands as the small sound came again.

Whatever waited without would not find an easy quarry. Silvaineaux yanked abruptly at the blankets, tossing them back and then naked blade in hand he yanked the hangings rapidly open.

The moon was not terribly bright outside the windows, but that frail light and the banked fire in the hearth revealed to him the familiar emptiness of his own room. 

No lurking thief or assassin stood at the side of the bed. His door was closed. His heart thundered in his chest, his hand was ready on the hilt of his sword but there was nothing there. Silvaineaux swallowed, looking around a second time. Yet he had heard  that sound, had felt that tug against the blankets. 

With that thought he slowly looked down toward the floor. There at last was the movement he had expected. His fingers shifted briefly on the sword hilt as he squinted at the small thing he could see moving on the floor beside the bed. 

When the soft sound came again, he saw the movement that came with it, the small pale lump sprang up so abruptly from the rug that he startled. Until he saw the small paws stretch out and catch at the blankets. Understanding brought with it a wave or relief so intense that he was almost light-headed with it. He reached for the scabbard, slamming the sword back into its home without a care for the sound it made. He settled it back into its place before reaching out to curl  his hand around the small thing slowly making its way up the side of his bed.

It mewed. Silvaineaux laughed despite himself. “How in the name of all that is holy did you get in here?” He asked it as he lifted it toward his face. The kitten was still so small his hand easily encircled it, his fingers dwarfing the small legs. He rather expected it to hiss. But instead it mewed again, and then began to purr like the rumble of distant thunder. 

[hrodvitnon]

Working on my first Falke-centric fic, featuring the LSTR unit that S-23 Sierpinski definitely had before she vanished into the ether.

---

Falke rests her chin atop the knuckles of her joined fingers, focusing on LSTR-S2301 as she works.  There is a vague familiarity to her mien; efficient, no-nonsense, decisive, determined.  Falke digs through her knowledge of the model before her; LSTR units are stoic loners whose neural template is based off of a Vinetan soldier.  In just one brief description she already feels more kinship with this seemingly unassuming engineer than she does the models she's meant to be complemented by.

Falke's mouth curves.  "I have a wonder."

"Hm?"

"How do your fellow LSTRs refer to each other?  By names or numbers?"

LSTR-S2301 considers the question for all of two seconds before shrugging.  "Numbers.  We don't interact with each other like most Replikas of other rates do.  We generally don't interact at all unless necessary."

An idea begins forming in Falke's mind.  A delicious idea.

"Neither do FLKR units," she admits, causing LSTR-S2301 to look up at her.  So exhilarating to maintain eye contact with someone who isn't cowed by her through reputation alone!  Such a small, simple, insignificant thing, one that might be considered blasphemous among the more devoted, like Adler.  But Falke likes that about her. 

"We are all sisters, as we are made in the image of the Great Revolutionary and Her Daughter, but you almost never see two of us in the same place for logistical reasons.  Only one FLKR per AEON facility and so on.  However, we have our own war names assigned, and might even give each other secret names, should such an occasion arise that two of us might join forces."

"I presume you have both your war name and secret name."

"I do.  I'm tempted to share them with you."

LSTR-S2301's eyes widen noticeably and Falke's mouth forms a smile.  The two watch each other for a moment.

"Commander, permission to pose a question?"

"Granted."

"Is it possible for the divine apparent to blaspheme against itself?"

"I'm about to try."

LSTER-S2301 has no response for that.  Falke stands from her desk and strides over to one of the paintings, pleased with this minor demonstration of... rebellion?  How delicious.  She looks over one shoulder to meet eyes with the LSTR; still standing at her own full height even as she's towered over, as if in defiance.  Yes, Falke likes this Replika very much.

The movement of LSTR-S2301's eyes indicate a question that she isn't sure ought to be voiced.

"You already have permission to speak," Falke reminds her.

"Am I permitted to ask the etymological origin of a FLKR's name?"

Ahh, good and careful wording.  Not asking what exactly a secret name is, but what the basis for it is.  Falke walks around her desk, trailing her fingers along its wooden surface as if in thought of how she might answer.  She simply must, since the LSTR asked so shrewdly.

"FLKR war names can be grandiose, even ostentatious, as one would expect of our rate.  'Falke Who Is Called Divine,' as an example.  It only serves to inspire troops in battle, but in cycle-by-cycle business like our facility it's nothing but a mouthful.  Hence, the secret names.  These are much simpler.  We name ourselves after weapons of old legends."

"A similar practice as the STAR units," LSTR-S2301 surmises.

"Quite so.  But while Hunter is so named for her marksmanship or Tank for her durability, our secret names are chosen because frankly, they just sound impressive.  The Great Revolutionary once said that all the many implements of war are in some way feminine.  The People's Navy informally refer to their ships with female descriptors, some Gestalt soldiers may name their blade or rifle after a woman they fancy.  We FLKRs specifically use mythical weapons for our secret names because we are gods among Replikas, and gods must be strong."

Falke stops, standing a few scant feet away from LSTR-S2301.  As ever, the shorter Replika fearlessly gazes up at her.  So unyielding, this magpie, nigh unbreakable in her composure.  The idea in Falke's head bears fruit.

"In fact, if you were a fellow FLKR..."

LSTR-S2301 stiffens.

Falke continues, undeterred, a broad smile on her lovely face.  "Then I've already thought of the perfect secret name for you."

"Respectfully, Commander... I am the only LSTR unit in S-23.  Assigning me a secret name is unnecessary.  Simply calling me Elster will suffice."

Falke's eyes narrow imperceptibly; inwardly, her hackles are raised.  But that is the name Alina Seo calls you.  The name anyone can call you, Replika or Gestalt.  Why should I share the name I give you with anyone else?  You are my LSTR.  MY magpie.  Her jealousy is well hidden, fortunately.  Wouldn't want it getting out that Commander Falke feels threatened by a mere Gestalt worker. 

Falke responds calmly.  "Even so, you surely aren't immune to curiosity.  It's a fine name, if I may say so myself.  What's more, saying 'LSTR-Ess-Two-Three-Zero-One' is too long for our conversations."

LSTR concedes the point with a nearly silent sigh.  "Very well.  What is my name?"

"Durandal."

It feels good saying it out loud.  Durandal.  The newly christened LSTR unit glances down at the carpet, mouth and tongue forming the syllables in practice as she tests it for herself.  Durandal.  Du-ran-dal.  Falke certainly talks enough for both of them, but she quite likes watching how her magpie's mouth works when speaking.

"Are you aware of the origins of your name?" Falke asks.

"No, and I trust you will absolve me of my negligence."

She grins.  "It was a sword wielded by a paladin.  A vast number of soldiers fell to that blade, as you might imagine.  Its master once tried to break it upon a mountain to prevent its capture by enemy hands, but the sword endured while the mountain was cleaved in half.  'Ah, Durandal, fair, hallowed, and devote, What store of relics lies in thy hilt of gold!'"

"So dramatic."

"As is the nature of old epics, and FLKRs for that matter."

[ivyithink]

local little bodyguard all cool and collected until he has to say goodbye to his king BESTIE , who leaves for naval academy

(just in case! every single bruise is a result of training and silly teenage boys activities! I try tagging properly any triggering stuff on this blog, and this ain’t it!)

[omercifulheaves]

Unbreakable Red Sonja Art by Roberto De Le Torre

[howifeltabouthim]

Collum looked in himself for the despair, the obedient submission to fate, but he couldn't quite find them. He found only the rock that the plough couldn't break.

Lev Grossman, from The Bright Sword

[high-guardian-herbs]

“ if burning yourself up, your flesh, your blood, and your bones, saves the people you care about, would you do it?”

On an unrelated note did you know that the smoke of a burning rosemary is believed to purify and cleanse the place of negative energies?

(Warning : rambles in the tags lol)

[shower-racoon]

just beat Minecraft for the third time

[officialbillhader]

on sunday i played minecraft basically all day just farming xp and i got a sweet ass pickaxe and i cannot tell you guys how happy and proud of my world i am

[convexicalcrow]

ngl when chunkbase said there was a skele spawner and a geode close by, I didn't think it meant this close by wtf. XD

This is going to require ... a lot of thinking about how to wrangle the two farms lol. In the meantime, I have built the world's longest and jankiest staircase to get back up again. I will probably put in bubblevators later on maybe. ig I got lucky that it's surrounded by deep dark tho so I don't have to worry about mob spawns. And I've broken all the shriekers I can find bc who wants a warden down here? not me lol. There was also a smol iron vein nearby that I got a stack of iron from, so. :D

I do want to get this one up and running, as well as a zombie spawner for leather/rotten flesh. Once they're built, I'll probably test them out in easy to make sure they're working, and once I'm happy with that, I'll move to easy permanently.

also apparently my closest cherry grove biome is also near where my stronghold is so. that's ... fun. o.o i haven't even been to the nether yet, let alone thought about the end. XD

And we're going to get cherry trees next bc this is in the middle of the mountain my starter base is looking at, and a) it's covered in so much snowier snow oml and b) I'm gonna build a lil shrine there and plant cherry trees everywhere. So all the spruce has to go and I'll prob make a lil snow farm to go and replace all the snowier snow with proper snow so I don't have to deal with it. I have leather boots, but tbh that's not the point. XD I should flood it with water, that'll sort the snowier snow out. :D

Also there are two lil cave areas that connect through from the outside of the mountain near my storage house through to the grove here. So I've been tidying them up a lil in preparation for proper stairs and pathways.

I didn't take a screenshot of it, but there's now a dirt bridge connecting my starter cave area to this mountain and that leads into a tunnel that opens up to this grove. I got so many tunnels going lol. XD

I did have to take my first death tho bc as I was digging the janky staircase down to the skele spawner, I got lost in a small cave area and couldn't find where the staircase had opened into the cave. IT WAS SUCH A SMALL AREA HOW DID I GET LOST idk but I got an axolotl out of it so who's winning? :D But this is why I play with keep inventory on so I can die and go back to spawn and follow the staircase back down to where I left off lol.

Tomorrow, we go cherry tree hunting. I also want to mock out the roof for my storage house in creative bc the vision I have is. Complicated lol. And I want to get it right before I start building it in survival. And I want to start making the lil river that's going to flow between the two mountains. Do some terraforming to get the shape right and fill in any open cave areas that I don't want to just flood with water lol.

[valiantwarrior37]

one of my favorite scenes

we can say the first encounter went well

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 57

Chapter Highlights (most of the chapter is the highlight lol)

An hour before dawn, the keep and two armies beyond it were stirring.

Rowan had barely slept, and instead lain awake beside Aelin, listening to her breathing.

That the rest of them slumbered soundly was testament to their exhaustion, though Lorcan had not found them again. Rowan was willing to bet it was by choice.

It was not fear or anticipation of battle that had kept Rowan up—no, he'd slept well enough during other wars. But rather the fact that his mind would not stop looping him from thought to thought to thought.

He'd seen the numbers camped outside.

Valg, human men loyal to Erawan, some fell beasts, yet nothing like the ilken or the

Wyrdhounds, or even the witches.

Aelin could wipe them away before the sun had fully risen. A few blasts of her power, and that army would be gone.

Yet she had not presented it as an option in their planning last night.

He'd seen the hope shining in the eyes of the people in the keep, the awe of the children as she'd passed. The Fire-Bringer, they'd whispered. Aelin of the Wildfire.

How soon would that awe and hope crumble today when not a spark of that fire was unleashed? How soon would the men's fear turn rank when the Queen of Terrasen did not wipe away Morath's legions?

He hadn't been able to ask her. Had told himself to, had roared at himself to ask these past few weeks, when even their training hadn't summoned an ember.

But he couldn't bring himself to demand why she wouldn't or couldn't use her power, why they had seen or felt nothing of it after those initial few days of freedom. Couldn't ask what Maeve and Cairn had done to possibly make her fear or hate her magic enough that she didn't touch it.

Worry and dread gnawing at him, Rowan slipped from the room, the din of preparations greeting him the moment he entered the hall. A heartbeat later, the door opened behind him, and steps fell into sync with his own, along with a familiar, wicked scent.

"They burned her."

Rowan glanced sidelong at Fenrys. "What?" But Fenrys nodded to a passing healer.

"Cairn—and Maeve, through her orders."

"Why are you telling me this?" Fenrys, blood oath or no, what he'd done for Aelin or no, was not privy to these matters. No, it was between him and his mate, and no one else.

Fenrys threw him a grin that didn't meet his eyes. "You were staring at her half the night. I could see it on your face. You're all thinking it—why doesn't she just burn the enemy to hell?" Rowan aimed for the washing station down the hall. A few soldiers and healers stood along the metal trough, scrubbing their faces to shake the sleep or nerves.

Fenrys said, "He put her in those metal gauntlets. And one time, he heated them over an open brazier. There…" He stumbled for words, and Rowan could barely breathe. "It took the healers two weeks to fix what he did to her hands and wrists. And when she woke up, there was nothing but healed skin. She couldn't tell what had been done and what was a nightmare." Rowan reached for one of the ewers that some of the children refilled every few moments and dumped it over his head. Icy water bit into his skin, drowning out the roaring in his ears.

"Cairn did many things like that." Fenrys took up a ewer himself, and splashed some into his hands before rubbing them over his face.

Rowan's hands shook as he watched the water funnel toward the basin set beneath the trough.

"Your claiming marks, though." Fenrys wiped his face again. "No matter what they did to her, they remained. Longer than any other scar, they stayed."

Yet her neck had been smooth when he'd found her.

Reading that thought, Fenrys said, "The last time they healed her, right before she escaped. That's when they vanished. When Maeve told her that you had gone to Terrasen."

The words hit like a blow. When she had lost hope that he was coming for her. Even the greatest healers in the world hadn't been able to take that from her until then.

Rowan wiped his face on the arm of his jacket. "Why are you telling me this?" he repeated.

Fenrys rose from the trough, drying his face with the same lack of ceremony. "So you can stop wondering what happened. Focus on something else today." The warrior kept pace beside him as they headed for where they'd been told a meager breakfast would be laid out.

"And let her come to you when she's ready."

"She's my mate," Rowan growled. "You think I don't know that?" Fenrys could shove his snout into someone else's business.

Fenrys held up his hands. "You can be brutal, when you want something."

"I'd never force her to tell me anything she wasn't ready to say." It had been their bargain from the start. Part of why he'd fallen in love with her.

He should have known then, during those days in Mistward, when he found himself sharing parts of himself, his history, that he'd never told anyone. When he found himself needing to tell her, in fragments and pieces, yes, but he'd wanted her to know. And Aelin had wanted to hear it. All of it.

They discovered Aelin and Elide already at the buffet table, grim-faced as they plucked up pieces of bread and cheese and dried fruit. No sign of Gavriel or Lorcan.

Rowan came up behind his mate and pressed a kiss to her neck. Right to where his new claiming marks lay.

She hummed, and offered him a bite of the bread she'd already dug into while gathering the rest of her food. He obliged, the bread thick and hearty, then said, "You were asleep when I left a few minutes ago, yet you somehow beat me to the breakfast table." Another kiss to her neck. "Why am I not surprised?"

Elide laughed beside Aelin, piling food onto her own plate. Aelin only elbowed him as he fell into line beside her.

The four of them ate quickly, refilled their waterskins at the fountain in an interior courtyard, and set about finding armor. There was little on the upper levels that was fit for wearing, so they descended into the keep, deeper and deeper, until they came across a locked room.

"Should we, or is it rude?" Aelin mused, peering at the wooden door.

Rowan sent a spear of his wind aiming for the lock and splintered it apart. "Looks like it was already open when we got here," he said mildly.

Aelin gave him a wicked grin, and Fenrys pulled a torch off its bracket in the narrow stone hallway to illuminate the room beyond.

"Well, now we know why the rest of the keep is a piece of shit," Aelin said, surveying the trove. "He's kept all the gold and fun things down here."

Indeed, his mate's idea of fun things was the same as Rowan's: armor and swords, spears and ancient maces.

"He couldn't have distributed this?" Elide frowned at the racks of swords and daggers.

"It's all heirlooms," said Fenrys, approaching one such rack and studying the hilt of a sword. "Ancient, but still good. Really good," he added, pulling a blade from its sheath.

He glanced at Rowan. "This was forged by an Asterion blacksmith."

"From a different age," Rowan mused, marveling at the flawless blade, its impeccable condition. "When Fae were not so feared."

"Are we just going to take it? Without even Chaol's permission?" Elide chewed on her lip.

Aelin snickered. "Let's consider ourselves swords-for-hire. And as such, we have fees that need to be paid." She hefted a round, golden shield, its edges beautifully engraved with a motif of waves. Also Asterion-made, judging by the craftsmanship. Likely for the Lord of Anielle— the Lord of the Silver Lake. "So, we'll take what we're owed for today's battle, and spare His Lordship the task of having to come down here himself."

Gods, he loved her.

Fenrys winked at Elide. "I won't tell if you don't, Lady."

Elide blushed, then waved them onward. "Collect your earnings, then."

Rowan did. He and Fenrys found armor that could fit them—in certain areas. They had to forgo the entire suit, but took pieces to enforce their shoulders, forearms, and shins. Rowan had just finished strapping greaves on his legs when Fenrys said, "We should bring some of this up for Lorcan and Gavriel."

Indeed they should. Rowan eyed other pieces, and began collecting extra daggers and blades, then sections from another suit that might fit Lorcan, Fenrys doing the same for Gavriel.

"You must charge a great deal for your services," Elide muttered. Even while the Lady of Perranth tied a few daggers to her own belt.

"I need some way to pay for my expensive tastes, don't I?" Aelin drawled, weighing a dagger in her hands.

But she hadn't donned any armor yet, and when Rowan gave her an inquiring glance, Aelin jerked her chin toward him. "Head upstairs-track down Lorcan and Gavriel. I'll find you soon."

Her face was unreadable for once. Perhaps she wanted a moment alone before battle. And when Rowan tried to find any words in her eyes, Aelin turned toward the shield she'd claimed. As if contemplating it.

So Rowan and Fenrys headed upstairs, Elide helping to haul their stolen gear. No one stopped them. Not with the sky turning to gray, and soldiers rushing to their positions on the battlements.

Rowan and Fenrys didn't have far to go.

They'd be stationed by the gates at the lower level, where the battering rams might come flying through if Morath got desperate enough.

On the level above them, Chaol sat astride his magnificent black horse, the mare's breath curling from her nostrils. Rowan lifted a hand in greeting, and Chaol saluted back before gazing toward the enemy army.

The khaganate would make the first maneuver, the initial push to get Morath moving.

"I always forget how much I hate this part," Fenrys muttered. "The waiting before it begins."

Rowan grunted his agreement.

Gavriel prowled up to them, Lorcan a dark storm behind him. Rowan wordlessly handed the latter the armor he'd gathered. "Courtesy of the Lord of Anielle." Lorcan gave him a look that said he knew Rowan was full of shit, but began efficiently donning the armor, Gavriel doing the same.

Whether the soldiers around them marked that armor, whether Chaol recognized it, no one said a word.

"Ready now," Chaol called out to the men of his keep.

This would be it—today. Whether that hope remained or fractured.

Already, the awakening sky revealed two siege towers being hauled toward them. Right to the wall. Far closer than Rowan had last noted when flying overhead last night. Morath, it seemed, had not been sleeping, either.

The ruks would remain back with their own army, driving Morath to the keep. To be picked off here, one by one.

"We have minutes until that first tower makes contact with the wall," Gavriel observed. A scan of the battlements, the soldiers atop them, revealed no sign of Aelin. Lorcan indeed muttered, "Someone better tell her to stop primping and get here." Rowan snarled in warning.

"Archers!" Chaol's bellow rang out. Behind them, down the battlements, bows groaned. Fenrys unslung the bow across his back and nocked an arrow into place.

Rowan kept his own bow strapped across his back, the quiver untouched, Gavriel and Lorcan doing the same. No need to waste them on a few soldiers when their aim might be needed with far worse targets later in the day.

But one of them had to be noted felling soldiers. For whatever it would do to rally their spirits. And Fenrys, as fine an archer as Rowan, he'd admit, would do just fine.

Rowan followed the line of Fenrys's arrowhead to where he'd marked one of the bearers of a siege ladder. "Make it impressive," he muttered.

"Mind your own business," Fenrys muttered back, tracking his target with the tip of his arrow as he awaited Chaol's order.

If Aelin didn't arrive within another moment, he'd have to leave the battlements to find her. What in hell had held her up?

Lorcan drew his ancient blade, which Rowan had witnessed felling soldiers in kingdoms far from here, in wars far longer than this one. "They'll head for the gates when that siege tower docks," Lorcan said, glancing from the battlements to the gate a level below, the small bastion of men in front of it. Trees had been felled to prop up the metal doors, but should a solid enough group of enemy soldiers swarm it, they might get those supports and the heavy locks down within minutes. And open the gates to the hordes beyond

"We don't let them get that far," Rowan said, eyeing up the massive tower lumbering closer. Soldiers teemed behind it, waiting to scale its interior. "Chaol brought the tower down the other day without our help. It can happen again."

"Volley!" Chaol's roar echoed off the stones, and arrows sang.

Like a swarm of locusts, they swept upon the soldiers marching below. Fenrys's arrow found its mark with lethal precision.

Within a heartbeat, another was on its tail. A second soldier at the siege ladder fell.

Where the hell was Aelin—

Morath didn't halt. Marched right over the soldiers who fell on their front lines.

The pulse of human fear down the battlements rippled against his skin. The cadre would have to strike fast, and strike well, to shake it away.

The siege tower lumbered closer. One glance from Rowan had him and his friends moving toward the spot it would now undeniably strike upon the battlements. Close enough to the stairs down to the gate. Morath had chosen the location well.

Some of the soldiers they passed were praying, a shuddering push of words into the frigid morning air.

Lorcan said to one of them, "Save your breath for the battle, not the gods."

Rowan shot him a look, but the man, gaping at Lorcan, quieted.

Chaol ordered another volley, and arrows flew, Fenrys firing as he walked. As if he were barely bothered.

Still, the whispered prayers continued down the line, swords shaking along with them.

Up by Chaol, the soldiers held firm, faces solid.

But here, on this level of the battlements ... those faces were pale. Wide-eyed.

"Someone better say something inspiring," Fenrys said through gritted teeth, firing another arrow. "Or these men are going to piss themselves in a minute."

For a minute was all they had left, as the first siege tower inched closer.

"You've got the pretty face," Lorcan retorted. "You'd do a better job of it."

"It's too late for speeches," Rowan cut in before Fenrys could reply. "Better to show them what we can do."

Rowan steadied his breathing, readying his magic to rip through Valg lungs. He'd fell a few with his blades first. To show how easily it could be done, that Morath was desperate and victory would be near. The magic would come later.

The siege tower groaned as it slowed to a stop.

Just as the wall under them shuddered at its impact, Fenrys whispered, "Holy gods."

Not at the bridge that snapped down, soldiers teeming in the dark depths inside.

But at who emerged from the keep archway behind them. What emerged.

Rowan didn't know where to look. At the soldiers pouring out of the siege tower, leaping onto the battlements, or at Aelin.

At the Queen of Terrasen.

She'd found armor below the keep. Beautiful, pale gold armor that gleamed like a summer dawn. Holding back her braided hair, a diadem lay flush against her head. Not a diadem, but a piece of armor. Part of some ancient set for a lady long since buried.

A crown for war, a crown to wear into battle. A crown to lead armies.

There was no fear on her face, no doubt, as Aelin hefted her shield, flipping Goldryn in her hand once before the first of Morath's soldiers was upon her.

A swift, upward strike cleaved the Morath grunt from navel to chin. His black blood sprayed, but she was already moving, flowing like a stream around a rock.

Rowan launched into movement, his blades finding their marks, but still he watched her.

Aelin slammed her shield against an oncoming warrior, Goldryn slicing through another before she plunged the blade into the soldier she'd deflected.

She did it again, and again.

All while heading toward that siege tower. Unhindered. Unleashed.

A call went down the line. The queen has come.

Soldiers waiting their turn whirled toward them. Aelin took on three Valg soldiers and left them dying on the stones.

She planted her line before the gaping maw of that siege tower, right in the path of those teeming hordes. Every moment of the training she'd done on the ship here, on the road, every new blister and callus—all to rebuild herself for this.

The queen has come.

Goldryn unfaltering, her shield an extension of her arm, Aelin glowed like the sun that now broke over the khagan's army as she engaged each soldier that hurtled her way.

Five, ten—she moved and moved and moved, ducking and swiping, shoving and flipping, black blood spraying, her face the portrait of grim, unbreaking will.

"The queen!" the men shouted. "To the queen!"

And as Rowan fought his way closer, as that cry went down the battlements and Anielle men ran to aid her, he realized that Aelin did not need an ounce of flame to inspire men to follow.

That she had been waiting, yanking at the bit, to show them what she, without magic, without any godly power, might do.

He'd never seen such a glorious sight. In every land, every battle, he had never seen anything as glorious as Aelin before the throat of the siege tower, holding the line.

Dawn breaking around them, Rowan loosed a battle cry and tore into Morath.

This first battle would set the tone.

It would set the tone, and send a message.

Not to Morath.

Impress us, Hasar had said.

So she would. So she'd picked the golden armor and her battle-crown. And waited until dawn, until that siege tower slammed into the battlements, before unleashing herself.

To keep the men here from breaking, to wipe away the fear festering in their eyes.

To convince the khaganate royals of what she might do, what she could do. Not a threat, but a reminder.

She was no helpless princess. She had never been.

Goldryn sang with each swipe, her mind as cool and sharp as the blade while she assessed each enemy soldier, their weapons, and took them down accordingly. She dimly knew that Rowan fought at her side, Gavriel and Fenrys battling near her left flank.

But she was keenly aware of the mortal men who leaped into the fray with cries of defiance.

They'd made it this far. They would survive today, too. And the khaganate royals would know it.

Galloping hooves drowned out the battle, and then Chaol was there, sword flashing, driving into the unending tide that rushed from the tower's entrance.

"To Lord Chaol! To the queen!"

How far they both were from Rifthold.

From the assassin and the captain.

Arrows rose from the army beyond the wall, but a wave of icy wind snapped them into splinters before they could find any marks. A dark blur plunged past, and then Lorcan was at the siege tower's mouth, his sword swinging so fast Aelin could barely follow it. He battled his way across the metal bridge of the tower, into the stairwell beyond. Like he'd fight his way down the ramps and onto the battlefield itself. Below, a boom began. Morath had brought in their battering ram.

Aelin smiled grimly. She'd bring them all down. Then Erawan. And then she'd unleash herself upon Maeve.

At the opposite end of the field, the khagan's army pushed, gaining the field step by step.

Not helpless. Not contained. Never again.

Death became a melody in her blood, every movement a dance as the tide of soldiers pouring from the tower slowed. As if Lorcan was indeed forcing his way down the interior.

Those who got past him met her blade, or Rowan's. A flash of gold, and Gavriel had slaughtered his way into the siege tower as well, twin blades a whirlwind.

What Lorcan and the Lion would do upon reaching the bottom, how they'd dislodge the tower, she didn't know. Didn't think about it.

Not from this place of killing and movement, of breath and blood. Of freedom.

Death had been her curse and her gift and her friend for these long, long years. She was happy to greet it again under the golden morning sun.

[dawnwinds]

if any of u read my kazu or neuvi fic, or maybe saw my post abt catalina on my main, u might be familiar with my bbg <3

anyw so i have an idea that a small faction of her followers that still exist do their upmost to try and revive her and end up being successful by using barbatos’ blood as part of the ritual.

and then she wakes up, realizes what they did to barbatos, and goes batshit crazy… bc like wdym someone hurt HER barbatos?