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cicada-bones · 3 years

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The Warrior and the Wildfire

Chapter 5: Reunion

Here we go! The big one! Honestly I feel like this chapter might be even more emotional than chapter 65 when they finally get together. I hope you enjoy and are now forgiving me for that last cliffhanger!

(and also disclaimer i do NOT ship jon/sansa, that photo was just the right Vibe™ so please no one come for me)

word count: 5956

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Rowan tensed, the blood in his veins spiking with apprehension. The laughing group was just down the street, only a few blocks away from him. But they were hidden from his sight by a thick blanket of fog.

However, that meant that he was also hidden - so Rowan could take his time.

His senses strained as every sound, sight, and smell from within a quarter mile came streaming into him. He could hear everything, from the drops of fetid rainwater off a nearby gutter, to the whipping of the wind around a sharp corner, the pattering of rats’ paws in the alleyways, the snoring of an old man, warm in his bed, and the giggling of his daughter as she stayed up well past her bedtime, her soft hands rifling through a well-worn book.

Then there were the scents of the city. Rancid and foul place that it was, there were still some pleasant things to be found – such as the soft clouds of flour from a corner bakery just beginning to wake for the morning rush, burning sage and melting candlewax, a lavender sprig wilting in a nearby window, and –

And then he tasted it. The barest hint of jasmine, lemon verbena, and flickering embers. The scent of home.

The oath in his chest seemed to purr with delight.

Aelin was here. She was right here –

But she wasn’t alone.

Rowan could hear the quiet steps of one– no, two others. The first was small and light-footed, probably a young mortal woman, who smelled of mint and some kind of southern spice…almost like pepper and fig leaves. The other was a male, perhaps a young demi-Fae. Though his movements were quiet, his steps were far heavier, marking him at over 6 feet.

There was also the scent of blood about the male, which had Rowan’s hackles rising. But it was old and sour – likely an old wound whose infection had only just begun to heal over. And as their movements were light and unhindered, their conversation free and open, Rowan wasn’t particularly worried that a fight was brewing. But still, his guard stayed up.

The man’s true scent spoke of warm furs and roasting chestnuts and…and something else, something almost…familiar.

His thoughts distracted, trying to place the strange smell, Rowan unthinkingly shifted his stance, causing the soft scrape of leather on stone to echo through the fog.

And the tension in his body ratcheted to new heights as he felt the group fall abruptly silent.

All was still. Rowan’s hands began to sweat.

What if she wasn’t happy to see him? What if she ordered him back to Wendlyn?

Rowan did his best to rally his thoughts, as he slowly made his way forwards through the mist. Making sure that each of his movements were choreographed far in advance. He didn’t want to surprise them, particularly that strange male, whose scent he still could not place…

And then Rowan was breaking through the fog, and he could finally see them, could finally see her. Vaguely he heard the male and the young woman say something to each other, but Rowan couldn’t tear his eyes or ears away from the cloaked woman standing stock-still barely a dozen feet from him, her lovely scent billowing with shock.

Aelin’s face was covered with a hood, so he couldn’t see her reaction to him, couldn’t know if she recognized him. But then she was taking a hesitant step forwards and loosing a shuddering breath and a small, whimpering noise that was almost a sob. And suddenly, Rowan felt all of his worries disappear as easily as the morning snow beneath the midday sun.

It was Aelin. And of course she didn’t hate him, of course she was as relieved to see him as he was to see her.

And then she was running, running straight into his arms and Rowan could feel his every muscle, his every bone all the way through to his soul, sighing in relief. Relief that she was here, that they were together again. Relief that he was touching her once more.

Rowan grabbed Aelin and pulled her into his embrace, his arms wrapping completely around her small frame as she buried her head into his neck. He curled around her, breathing in her scent as if it were the last drops of water in a blistering desert, as if it were a life-saving elixir. As if her scent alone would take him from the brink of hell.

Rowan didn’t realize truly how much he’d missed her until that moment.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Rowan registered that she was crying.

“How did you get here? How did you find me?” Aelin pulled just far enough away that he could see the edges of her face beneath the hooded cloak; the pointed chin, the delicate nose, those beautiful, upturned lips –

Rowan slowly found his voice. “You made it clear my kind wouldn’t be welcome on your continent. So I stowed away on a ship. You’d mentioned a home in the slums, so when I arrived this evening, I wandered until I picked up your scent.”

As he spoke, his eyes scanned over her, carefully assessing.

She was changed. Even though only a month or so had passed since he last held her, Aelin seemed different. Older. She carried herself with more weight, more authority.

His mouth tightened. “You have a lot to tell me.”

She only nodded, gripping his shoulders even harder. And Rowan couldn’t say he was displeased with that.

Rowan carefully raised his right hand, and brushed it against the softness of her cheek, tucking a lock of golden hair behind her ear. “But you’re not hurt,” he said softly, needing to make absolutely sure. “You’re safe?”

Aelin just nodded again, burying her face in his chest.

Rowan felt as though the city could fall apart around them, and he would not move one inch. He would never be able to hold her for long enough.

“I thought I gave you an order to stay in Wendlyn.” It was almost a tease.

“I had my reasons, best spoken somewhere secure.” He didn’t like to evade the question, but he couldn’t speak of Lorcan in such an exposed place. So instead he changed the subject, “Your friends at the fortress say hello, by the way. I think they miss having an extra scullery maid. Especially Luca – especially in the mornings.”

Aelin laughed lightly, squeezing him once again. As if making sure he was real.

But tears still streamed down her cheeks, and Rowan found that he couldn’t keep his worry down any longer. Perhaps she was injured, and was keeping the truth from him, trying to keep him from worrying –

“Why are you crying?” he asked, trying and failing to push her back far enough so he could read her face.

She refused to move a single inch.

“I’m crying,” she sniffled, “because you smell so rutting bad my eyes are watering.”

Rowan let out a roar of laughter, the sound so wild that he heard the vermin in the alleys go silent. And the gaze of Aelin’s two companions really started bore into him.

But Rowan payed them no heed as Aelin finally pulled away from him, a wry smile curving her lips. “Bathing isn’t an option for a stowaway,” he said, finally letting her go, but flicking her nose before she could sidle out of his reach.

Aelin shoved him right back.

All Rowan wanted was to push her in return – to touch her, poke her, prod her, until she was snarling and writhing and snapping her teeth.

But the demi-Fae male at the other end of the alley was eyeing him carefully, his scent a potent mix of worry and aggression and protectiveness. And Rowan knew that he wouldn’t be patient for much longer.

“Are you just going to make them stand there all night?” Rowan asked.

“Since when are you a stickler for manners?” Aelin slung an arm around his waist, as if she was worried he would disappear on her. Neglecting, of course, to remember that it was she who disappeared on him, and not the other way around.

But instead of fighting the point, Rowan just put his arm around her shoulders as together, they turned and walked back to where her companions were waiting for them.

As they approached, Rowan fully turned over his attention to the two strangers, carefully cataloguing their every move, scent, and sound. Taking note of the muscles they favored, each blade hidden beneath their clothes.

The woman, an archer if ever he’d seen one, looked out of place. As if she were desperate to get out of their hair. The male, however, looked as though he wouldn’t move for all the world.

His every gesture thrilled towards Rowan, his instincts screaming at him challenge him, to measure himself against him. And as Rowan drew closer, he finally placed that familiar piece in his scent – or at least he thought he did.

The demi-Fae smelled of Aelin, the scent layered and complex. His first thought was that they were sharing a bed, an idea that clanged through him, uncomfortably. But the scent was too old, too deep – and once Rowan spotted that golden hair, that fair skin, he knew that he must be looking at the face of Aedion Ashryver.

Aelin’s cousin.

His face was mostly covered, but from what Rowan could see, the bones were strong and sharp. Unforgiving. But the male was young, barely into his twenties, and he was still coming into his power.

The Fae blood in his veins was strong, stronger even than Aelin’s in some ways. Rowan couldn’t tell if he could shift – but if he could, Aedion Ashryver might even be strong enough to rival any in Maeve’s court. Perhaps strong enough to rival even him.

And Rowan knew that Aedion wanted to find out. Wanted to challenge him. To prove himself, to Rowan, to their queen.

Rank would have to be established.

No matter the male’s strength, he was still but a boy. And though he was reportedly a fine warrior, Rowan was one of Maeve’s war-torn lieutenants, was Aelin’s bloodsworn. Her Second.

Aedion would have to find his place. Rowan could only hope that he would do so gracefully, without bloodshed. He doubted it would much endear him to Aelin if he killed her cousin in some ill-begotten contest.

Aelin pinched Rowan’s side, and as he hissed in response, Rowan realized that the two of them had been locked in a stare. So Rowan casually broke their gaze and pinched Aelin’s shoulder right back.

He had been playing these games for a long time, had been playing them well before Aedion’s grandfather, and his father, and his father before him, had been more than a flicker in his mother’s womb. Touching Aelin so informally, refusing to acknowledge that challenge burning in Aedion’s eyes – they were signs of dominance, attempts to put the boy in his place.

And Aedion knew that. But he didn’t say anything as Aelin turned back towards the group, saying, “Let’s get inside.”

But the other woman, the archer, was edging away from the group, her eyes flickering between him and Aedion. “I’ll see you later,” she said, not seeming to refer to anyone in particular. And she barely waited a moment for a reaction before sidling into the shadows and out of sight.

Rowan stored his curiosity away for another time as Aelin pulled him forwards through the mist, and they headed deeper into the slums. Aedion fell carefully into step behind them, and Rowan could sense that the male hadn’t given up. Far from avoided, their confrontation had been delayed, allowing the roiling tension between them to build and build and build.

Rowan tried to keep himself from looking forwards to it. To ridding the boy of his arrogance, and cementing his own place with their queen. He didn’t succeed.

Together, the three of them walked through the night, Rowan keeping careful note of every sound, every flicker of movement, every strange scent. And this far into the slums, there were many of those. He did his best to ignore the rot and filth and vomit.

He also tried to keep himself from focusing too much on that empty space between his body and Aelin’s, the way that it seemed to crackle with energy. The way that he wanted to make it disappear.

No matter how many resolutions he made, how many times he told himself that he couldn’t pursue her, that it would be a mistake to let themselves get any closer, it all seemed to go up in flames the second her eyes locked with his. The second her scent curled in his nostrils.

But he didn’t have a choice – he had to keep control of himself.

They walked together until they came upon an unremarkable wooden warehouse, and Aelin fell to a stop. For a moment, they paused while Rowan examined it – making note of every entrance and exit, every window, every dimension. Only once he was absolutely sure the building was empty did Rowan step aside, allowing Aelin to unlock the rolling metal door and enter.

Tugging him by the hand, she led him through a large storeroom, mostly empty besides a few stacks of wooden crates that smelled of ink, and towards a wooden staircase that led to the second level, where Rowan guessed they would find her apartment.

But whatever expectations he had unconsciously formed, once Aelin turned the lock on that bright green door and revealed her home to him, Rowan knew that there was no way he could have ever anticipated this.

The apartment was fit for a king. Plush, luscious couches, mahogany furniture, hardwood floors topped with soft woolen rugs, a carved marble fireplace, and just so many books. They were everywhere, on the large dining table at one side of the room, stacked on the floor by the couch, on shelves framing the fireplace, atop the mantelpiece – even piled high on one of the soft armchairs.

Aelin had carved out an oasis for herself, right in the middle of the least likely place imaginable.

While Rowan examined the apartment, Aedion had moved in from behind them and was now standing beside the fireplace, his hood still up, hands within easy reach of his weapons. Not that it would make a difference.

From what Rowan could see, there were at least two bedrooms and a kitchen in addition to this larger, shared space. But before he could make a thorough survey of the building, Aelin was tightening her grip on his arm and saying, “Aedion, meet Rowan. Rowan, meet Aedion. His Highness needs a bath or I’ll vomit if I have to sit next to him for more than a minute.” Then she was dragging him into the next room and shutting the door behind them.

For the life of him, Rowan didn’t know why it made a difference, this being alone with her. A simple closed door. But it did.

They were now in what Rowan could only suppose was her bedroom. Aelin was leaning against the closed door, and he could feel her studying him.

Rowan turned, studying her right back. Her lithe body was clothed in some tight-fitting material, though much of her silhouette was still obscured by that damned cloak. Along with most of her face.

But he didn’t miss it as Aelin bit her lip.

Against his will, Rowan’s eyes slid to her mouth, his blood running hot as the space between them went taut.

“Take off your hood,” Rowan said, his voice rougher than he intended.

Aelin crossed her arms. “You show me yours and I’ll show you mine, Prince.”

He pursed his lips, then yanked back his hood. “From tears to sass in a few minutes. I’m glad the month apart hasn’t dimmed your usual good spirits.”

“Your hair! You cut it all off!” She rushed towards him, pulling off her own hood as the distance between them closed. And it took all of Rowan’s self-control not to reach out and touch her again.

She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Rowan didn’t know if that was due to a fault of memory, or if she actually had become more stunning during the month separating them, but he didn’t much care.

Her gold-and-turquoise eyes still pierced him through, and even though she no longer had her magic, they still seemed just as molten. But for some strange reason, she had decided to dye her hair a flat, uninteresting shade of red. It was dull, and did nothing for her pretty skin.

He wanted to scowl at it.

“Since you seemed to think that we would be doing a good amount of fighting here, shorter hair is more useful. Though I can’t say that your hair might be considered the same. You might as well have dyed it blue.”

“Hush. Your hair was so pretty. I was hoping you’d let me braid it one day. I suppose I’ll have to buy a pony instead.” She cocked her head, her eyes dangerous. “When you shift, will your hawk form be plucked, then?”

His jaw clenched, nostrils flaring. Aelin barely kept her laugh in.

Rowan tried to change the subject, turning to look over the lavish bedroom. “You weren’t lying about your taste for luxury.”

That was an understatement. The space was beautiful and warm and welcoming – and not only because it was filled to the brim with her scent.

Candles dotted every surface, casting a soft warm light. The bed was in the corner, beside the entrance to an attached bathroom. And Rowan was sure that it would be more comfortable than any bed he had ever slept in. Across the room was another marble fireplace, the door to a very large closet, and a window gracing the adjacent wall. Along with yet more books.

“Not all of us enjoy living in warrior-squalor,” she said, grabbing his hand again. Rowan gave up on conversation and instead closed his fingers around hers. Another moment passed while they just looked at each other.

Those eyes – they were full of secrets. Of stories.

Rowan opened his mouth to demand that she explain everything, to explain why her cousin was here, why she seemed so heavy with worry, why the city was teeming with Valg – but Aelin cut him off before he could speak, pulling them into the bathroom.

She flitted about the room, lighting a few candles by the sink and on the ledge above the tub, saying, “I meant it about the bath.” She twisted the faucets and plugged the drain. “You stink.” She bent to grab a towel from the small cabinet by the toilet.

Rowan was starting to worry that she was purposely avoiding telling him what had happened this past month. His voice was flat as he said, “Tell me everything.”

Aelin was silent, grabbing a green vial of some gritty power and another of what he thought was an oil, and dumping generous amounts of each into the rising bathwater, turning it milky and opaque.

“I will, when you’re soaking in the bath and don’t smell like a vagrant.”

“If memory serves, you smelled even worse when we first met. And I didn’t shove you into the nearest trough in Varese.”

She just glared at him. “Funny.”

Rowan’s face almost split into a grin. “You made my eyes water for the entire damn journey to Mistward.”

“Just get in.”

Chuckling, Rowan obeyed her, and began the long process of undressing. Before he could wonder whether she would be staying to watch him strip, Aelin turned from the room, shrugging off her cloak and unstrapping her various weapons. But she neglected to shut the door behind her.

Rowan stripped anyways, discarding his clothes carelessly on the floor and placing his weapons atop the cabinet, next to all those mysterious bottles and vials. By the time she was done with him, she’d probably have him smelling the like a gods-damned flower shop.

Rowan just sighed, lowering himself carefully in the tub and shutting off the faucets. He had to keep himself from groaning at the delectable warmth – the hot bathwater was almost as pleasant as the relief of holding Aelin had been.

But only almost.

A few moments passed as Rowan began the sorry task of scrubbing away at the thick layer of dirt and grime covering him. All the while trying desperately to keep himself from listening too closely to the sounds of cloth on skin coming from the bedroom, as Aelin pulled off that tight black suit of hers and changed into something more comfortable.

It made Rowan wish that Aelin had drawn a colder bath.

By the time Aelin returned, the water was so clouded by soap and dirt that he doubted she could see anything beneath.

He could feel the weight of her gaze on him, her eyes flowing over all his exposed skin. But Rowan didn’t acknowledge her, instead continuing to scrub at his check and shoulders, splashing water on his face.

She only handed him a washcloth, saying, “Here.” And he wasn’t sure, but her voice almost seemed rougher than usual. Rowan just dunked the cloth in the water and began rubbing it over his face, his neck, his chest.

Aelin was still looking at him.

Another moment passed, and then she mutely handed him some lavender soap. Rowan sighed in resignation, accepting his fate. He would just have to smell like a flower shop – Lorcan would be shocked to see him now.

Then Aelin sat on the curved lip of the porcelain tub and began to speak.

She told him of her journey across the ocean, of the plans she had made and of losing her magic. Of arriving in Rifthold and immediately setting after Arobynn, and learning of what had happened here through the spring – of Dorian and Chaol and Aedion, and what they’d lost in the wake of the king’s wrath. How she’d discovered that Dorian was now possessed by a Valg. How she’d failed to kill him, but managed to save Aedion from certain death. She told him of meeting Nesryn, the woman from earlier, who was a pretty great shot. And of getting to know Lysandra and Evangeline, who were still trapped under Arobynn’s thumb.

She spoke very little of Chaol, and whether she had let him back into her life. And she said nothing at all of her plans for the future. But Rowan knew that he would have to be satisfied with what she did tell him. At least for now.

By the time her story of demons and danger and deceit was done, Rowan was nearly finished washing himself, and the bathwater was considerably less warm. Once again, Rowan found himself mourning their missing magics. Aelin would be able to keep the bath warm with less than half a thought.

Rowan absentmindedly raised the soap to his head, thinking to wash his hair with it, when Aelin squeaked. “You don’t use that in your hair!” she hissed, quickly standing up and rifling through the cabinet of bottles and vials.

Rowan scowled, seriously considering dolloping the lavender soap on his hair while she wasn’t looking. But patience won out.

“Rose, lemon verbena, or …” Aelin sniffed at the glass bottle. “Jasmine.” She squinted down at him.

Rowan just looked back up at her. Do I look like I care what you pick?

She clicked her tongue. “Jasmine it is, you buzzard.” She moved to stand just out of sight at the head of the bathtub, and before he really realized what was happening, Aelin had already dumped some of the sweet-smelling tonic on his head and her hands were brushing the top of his head, rubbing in the soap.

Rowan knew that he was supposed to stop this, knew that this was far, far too intimate. Knew that this was coming very close to breaking all of those careful rules he had set for himself.

But the second he felt her touch, all his resistance crumbled to dust.

Her fingers weren’t rough, but they weren’t too gentle, either. Aelin found exactly the right amount of pressure as she massaged the soap into his scalp, moving from his hairline to his ears to his neck and back again.

The scent of the oil wafted down towards him, mixed in with her own scent. And without thinking, Rowan took in a slow breath, luxuriating in the scent. It felt as though his face was being caressed with the taste of night-kissed jasmine.

Aelin’s fingers began playing with his hair. “I could still probably braid this,” she teased. “Very teensy-tiny braids, so – ”

Rowan growled, more out of habit than real irritation. He couldn’t help but lean into her touch, closing his eyes as he felt his whole body relax.

“You’re no better than a house cat.”

Rowan couldn’t even summon the will for a rebuttal. Instead, he let out a low noise in his throat, a sound of pure pleasure. It might as well have been a purr.

Rowan hardly cared.

He knew he’d probably yell at himself for this later. But Rowan also knew that he wouldn’t trade this feeling for anything. And no matter how upset he might be in a few hours, he knew he would never regret it.

Just as Rowan was beginning to wonder whether Aelin’s fingers were starting to prune, she spoke up. “You haven’t said anything about your magic.”

He tensed, and Aelin’s hands stilled. “What about it?”

Rowan felt her lean down to peer at his face, her hair sliding from behind her shoulders to stroke the back of his neck. It sent a warm shiver down his spine.

“I take it it’s gone,” she said. “How does it feel to be as powerless as a mortal?”

He opened his eyes, his brow falling into a scowl. “It’s not funny.”

“Do I look like I’m laughing?”

“I spent the first few days sick to my stomach and barely able to move. It was like having a blanket thrown over my senses.”

“And now?”

“And now I’m dealing with it.”

She poked him in the shoulder. “Grumpy, grumpy.”

Rowan snarled in annoyance – but it was more at the fact that she had removed her hands from his scalp than because of her teasing. Aelin only pursed her lips and pushed down on his shoulders, silently asking him to dunk his head underwater.

He did so, and by the time he emerged, Aelin was standing and holding out a bath towel for him to use. “I’m going to find you some clothes.”

“I have – ”

“Oh, no. Those are going right to the laundress. And you’ll get them back only if she can make them smell decent again. Until then, you’ll wear whatever I give you.”

“You’ve become a tyrant, Princess,” he said, taking the towel from her.

Aelin just rolled her eyes, turning away from the bathtub just as Rowan stood up, water sloshing everywhere. She didn’t look back at him, moving straight across the bedroom and directly into the huge closet.

Rowan was somehow simultaneously disappointed and very, very relieved. He didn’t know if he would be able to control himself if she saw him – her long looks were already heavy enough as it was.

But still, there was that other voice. The one that wanted her to see all of him. Just as he had already seen all of her.

Rowan shook himself slightly, then began toweling off. Thinking cold thoughts.

Once he was mostly dry, Rowan wrapped the towel tightly around his waist and walked through the bedroom, and into the absolutely massive closet. Only to find Aelin crouched on the floor, staring at the open drawer in front of her.

For a moment, Rowan just looked at her in confusion. But then he remembered.

All those years ago, before the king, before Endovier, Aelin had lived in this apartment with Sam. Right before he had been killed.

These must be his clothes.

“You don’t have to give those to me,” Rowan said, soft as he could.

Aelin started anyways, twisting in place to face him. For a moment, she only stared at him. And Rowan wasn’t sure if it was because of the scent of the dead boy swirling around them, escaping from the dresser full of his old clothing, or because Rowan had taken her off guard, but Aelin’s look was dazed. She looked completely at a loss for words.

She swallowed, then finally spoke. “Clean clothes are scarce in the house right now, and these are of no use sitting here.” She pulled out a pale shirt and held it up. “I hope it fits.”

Rowan looked at it apprehensively, then took it. Sam had been an eighteen-year-old mortal when he died, and his clothes definitely reflected that. Rowan had his doubts about ‘fit.’

Aelin quickly looked away from him, her face carefully blank as she rifled through the drawer for undershorts and pants. “I’ll get you proper clothes tomorrow. I’m pretty sure you’ll start a riot if the women of Rifthold see you walking down the streets in nothing but a towel.”

Rowan huffed a laugh that he hoped didn’t sound forced. He knew that Aelin would never stop mourning that boy, no matter how long she lived. But it was different now, being here. Where she had last seen him living and breathing.

It made it so much more real. That she had loved, and lost. Just as he had.

And Rowan couldn’t help but feel as though he were intruding.

But instead of pulling away, and leaving Aelin to wallow in that guilt and sadness alone, he stepped forwards, under the pretense of examining the contents of the closet. Thinking to help her the only way he knew how – with distraction.

But soon, he found himself entranced by them. So many luscious fabrics, exquisite embroideries, soft furs… “You wore all this?” He looked at her with wonder.

She nodded, quietly getting to her feet. Rowan flicked through a few of the garments, eyeing the tunics and dresses and shirts – some of which were the finest he had ever seen. “These are … very beautiful,” he admitted.

Aelin’s voice was soft. “I would have pegged you for a proud member of the anti-finery crowd.”

“Clothes are weapons, too,” he said, remembering all those times he had been stuck at court dinners, parties, festivals – with all that careful maneuvering. Fae playing games with each other for centuries, whole generations.

He continued searching through the closet, but then paused when he glanced a luxurious gown of pure black velvet. Its sleeves were made of tight, sheer silk, the neckline skimming just below the collarbones. And while the font was completely unadorned, the back nearly took his breath away.

A great, golden dragon roared down the spine of the garment, rendered perfectly in glittering metallic threads. Spraying a torrent of golden fire up to the neckline where it poured over the dress’ shoulders. It was so detailed that each scale was perfectly visible, as the serpentine dragon curled down the skirt of the dress to rest on the hemline, where the tail swung around the edge of the garment, as if lazily brushing the floor.

Rowan loosed a breath. “I like this one best.”

Aelin reach out a hand to brush to soft velvet sleeve. “I saw it in a shop when I was sixteen and bought it immediately. But when the dress was delivered a few weeks later, it seemed too…old. It overpowered the girl I was. So I never wore it, and it’s hung here for three years.”

As she spoke, Rowan ran a finger down the golden spine of the roaring, furious dragon, marveling at the rippling texture. “You’re not that girl anymore,” he said softly. “Someday, I want to see you wear this.”

Aelin looked up at him, meeting his gaze. The gold in her eyes just as molten and burning as the flames of that golden dragon.

“I missed you,” she breathed.

And the vulnerability, the pure openness he could see in her eyes made something in his gut clench tight. This was exactly what he was afraid of. Why he made all those gods-damned rules in the first place.

“We weren’t apart that long.” His voice was cold as ice.

Aelin scowled. “So? Am I not allowed to miss you?”

Rowan’s jaw clenched, and guilt was already swirling in his stomach for the lie he knew he had to tell. “I once told you that the people you care about are weapons to be used against you. Missing me was a foolish distraction.”

Aelin’s face darkened. “You’re a real charmer, you know that?”

When Rowan didn’t say anything, Aelin swallowed and pushed the clothes into his arms. “You can get dressed in here,” she tossed the words at him like a blade, walking out of the closet without another word.

Rowan made sure she didn’t see the way her tone had cut into him.

He breathed deep, shoving away those emotions to deal with them later. It didn’t matter if she thought him cold, or heartless. Not if it kept her safe.

So Rowan breathed again, and began trying to worm his way into a dead man’s clothes. Trying not to let that bother him too.

As practical as he was, the last thing Rowan wanted to do was put on the clothes of the mortal man Aelin’s had loved, and who loved her. It was like forcing himself into someone else’s love story, the unwelcome addition. The replacement that nobody wanted.

He stretched the undershorts over his thighs, and then carefully shrugged his way into the pants. They were too short, but they fit. Barely.

The shirt however was another story. Just looking at it Rowan knew that it would be too tight. So instead of risking tearing it, Rowan figured it would be better to go barechested.

He walked back into the bedroom to find that Aelin had gone into the bathroom. From the sound of it, she was washing her face. But this time, she had closed the door.

Rowan tried not to read too much into that gesture.

When she returned, her face darkening at the sight of him in the comically-small pants, he held the shirt out to her, saying, “The shirt is too small. I didn’t want to rip it.”

Aelin took it from him gingerly, then just looked at it for a moment, her expression unreadable. “I’ll go out first thing,” she said softly, then breathed in through her nose, quick and sharp. “Well, if you don’t mind meeting Aedion shirtless, I suppose we should go say hello.”

Rowan shook his head ever so slightly. “We need to talk.”

Aelin’s hackles instantly rose. “Good talk or bad talk?”

“The kind that will make me glad you don’t have access to your power so you don’t spew flames everywhere.”

“That was one incident, and if you ask me, your absolutely wonderful former lover deserved it.”

Rowan’s lips twitched, remembering. Remelle had certainly deserved it. And if Aelin hadn’t intervened, Rowan might have ended up doing something he would have regretted. Like murdering Remelle.

On second thought, maybe he wouldn’t have regretted it so much.

Aelin just sighed, “Now or later?”

“Later. It can wait a bit.”

She pursed her lips, then nodded, turning towards the door to the great room. Where Aedion was waiting for them.

···

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aelin-queen-of-terrasen · 4 years

Note

Hi! I feel like we were robbed of a reunion between Aelin and Nox in KoA so could you write it, please?

Sorry for the delay, nonnie! Hope you'll like this! 💖

cinders : chapter one

post-koa rowaelin fanfic • fic masterlist • full masterlist

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Honor among thieves, Aelin remembered the phrase with wry amusement as she was kicked out of her seventh tavern that night. Thief or not, she had no qualms about her honor or the lack thereof, not when she was drunk out of her mind with not a copper in her pocket to spend.

All night, she'd cheated at cards, started four brawls and failed to pay for the ale she consumed at most establishments she'd graced with her presence. Come dawn, there would be no tavern left that she hadn't been banned from. Idly, she wondered what would happen if the barkeep found out he was kicking out adarlan's assassin—or the queen of terrasen, for that matter. He probably won't believe her, considering she looked worse than an average drunkard roaming the streets of orynth in middle of the night with a swollen eye and a busted lip. Her wrist hurt from where she'd fallen down and landed on it during one of the aforementioned brawls but she paid it no heed, already looking for another place she could waste her night away in.

Aelin steadied herself with the support of a nearby wall, head spinning and her knees buckled.

She pressed her cheek against the cool surface of the cemented wall, wondering how long she had before someone in her court would notice her absence and drag her back to the palace like she was an invalid in need of protection instead of mala's heir and the queen of one of the most prosperous kingdoms since the rebuilding finished months ago.

The scrape of boots behind her made her turn, hands already positioned in easy reach of the daggers hidden beneath her cloak.

"So this is how our queen passes her time now?" a familiar voice drawled out behind her, amusement in his tone.

That voice—her head spun as she tried to place it. Aelin turned towards him, the movement too fast for her inebriated state and nausea rose in her stomach. She squinted her eyes at the figure standing a few steps away, his own hood covering a better part of his face. The figure looked tall and lean, dressed like one of the common folk. Maybe she could outmaneuver him—

He threw his hood back and her heart stumbled. "Nox?" her voice was slurred, wonder and disbelief warring within her.

"You caught me," he said, voice filled with amusement. "When I imagined us meeting again, this is not what I had in mind."

Her eyebrows rose to her hairline. "You say that as if it was a sure thing we'd meet again."

"I had to. Do you know how awful it is to claim friendship with the saviour of Erilea and have them dismiss your words as a lie?" Nox said, sketching a mocking bow.

He pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. Her lips twitched up in amusement as she said, "I apologise for the inconvenience my popularity may have caused you."

Her head still spun, and she cautiously took a step forward, the moonlight illuminating her old friend's face completely. He looked just like she remembered, moderately handsome with those dark hair framing his face and a lean figure. He grinned, though there was something subdued about it now—some weight that hadn't been there before, no doubt a product of the war they'd all been a part of. When he said nothing, she added: "Lysandra told me she met you," Aelin said. "I tried to find you, after the war—but you'd vanished."

His grin widened into a wolfish one—too reminiscent of her beloved cousin's, "I helped drug the lords of terrasen—Lord Darrow would've sent me to the gallows." He stepped forward to provide support when she almost tripped over her own two feet.

Aelin let him wrap his arms around her, leaning into him. God, she'd missed the former thief and his troublesome grin, the friendship he'd offered her in a competition filled with enemies and a palace teeming with insincere people, the lighthearted air he carried with him.

"Lord Darrow needs to remove that stick shoved far up his ass," she said when she'd steadied herself again somewhat. "I tried to find you."

"I know. Thank you—for saving my life." Nox squeezed her shoulder gratefully. "You didn't have to warn me, you could've just let me stay but you didn't."

He pulled away when he smelled the ale on her breath and frowned. "You shouldn't be out here alone. I think we should take you home." Her stomach sank at the thought of the towering palace, images flashing inside her head one after another—a kitchen, low voices, blood on the bed, the healer's face, a figure clutching her abdomen in pain. Home. Home shouldn't be a place she'd be afraid of.

Her stomach churned at the thought of having to return. Aelin frowned. "I don't want to go back."

"I think you should," he said. "I saw two search parties roaming tonight."

She didn't dare look at his face, lest she might snap at him. He was yet another person who was so interested in telling her how to act. She wasn't an immature who needed instructions from others. "Fine, I should go," she conceded. "You could come with me, you know—there are a lot of open jobs around the palace—"

"I think I will," he nodded. "I don't think you should be out here alone, whatever prompted you to come here."

He looked at her expectantly, waiting for an answer. When none came, he shrugged but the offer hung in the silence between them until she answered, "It's not so simple." Then needing to change the topic of the conversation, asked, "Where have you been—back to the same former profession?" The world spun a little, and her vision grew blurrier. Her voice sounded like a garbled mess, even to her own ears. It was a wonder Nox could make sense of her words.

"And if I did? Not all of us are secret heirs to enslaved kingdoms with kick-ass powers," he grinned.

Aelin tried to answer him but her mouth wouldn't open, her eyelids felt so heavy, half drooped and her legs gave out beneath her. Nox, as if he hadn't noticed the real extent of her inebriated state before, shifted her so she was leaning on him for support but it was a struggle to keep her upright. The palace of Orynth was only streets away now when someone—one of the guards, perhaps?—shouted something, though she couldn't make out the words.

She looked up from her half-asleep state minutes later to the sound of a familar pattern of footsteps.

Nox stiffened, two daggers identical to the ones they'd practiced with in Rifthold sometimes in his hands.

"Relax," she told him, though the words were so slurred, she couldn't be sure he understood. "Lorcan is one of the bloodsworn of my court."

Said bloodsword had his own sword out, looking furious, if not somewhat tired, though the determination shone on his face—he looked like a man on a mission. He walked towards them, movements rigid as ever, every muscle in his body tensed. Nox sheathed his daggers, though he positioned himself in front of her. Aelin rolled her eyes, wondering why everyone she befriended acted had to be a protective bastard?

"Step away from her," said Lorcan through gritted teeth.

The thief of Perranth did no such thing and she barely refrained from another eye roll. Stubborn, overprotective mother hens. "Really, Lorcan, this is one of my friends. You can put your sword away; no one is about to murder me here, I think." Her bloodsworn didn't look so amused at her attempt at humor and this time, she didn't supress her eyeroll.

If Fenrys were here, he'd have teased Lorcan for being the overbearing mother hen Elide claimed he was. Lord Lorcan Lochan—the name was a constant source of amusement for her—may not like her, but he was loyal to his queen and diligent in his duties.

And Fenrys wasn't here—seperated from her for the first time since the two of them had escaped Doranelle months ago—he was looking over the preparation of the last few details of the peace treaties in Rifthold and helping Dorian settle into his position, assisting in the rebuilding efforts there. Elide and Lysandra were at their own estates, looking over their own territories. Her cousin had accompanied Lysandra to Carraverre with a promise to return as soon as she had a routine in place. And Rowan was the farthest—in a different continent, in the city which had caused her so much pain and suffering, Aelin was still haunted by it's memories.

So it was that Aelin was left to spend time with the least favourite member of her court—Lorcan.

She wondered when her mate would be back, wondered what he'd say if he'd found her here tonight instead, wondered if she could hide what she'd heard from him—how he'd react if he found out. He won't leave her, not him. He'd tell her servants' gossip was nothing to be worried about, he'd comfort her the best he could. But over the years, he'd realise how right they were and he wouldn't say a word of his disappointment—no, he loved her too much to hurt her like that. He'd come to resent her for it though, and then immortality won't seem like the blessing it does now.

Aelin's thoughts were steered away from the dark direction by Lorcan's words. "Been dallying with the commonfolk, have you?"

"Don't be an ass," she snapped at the implication. "He's a friend from Rifthold. I won't hurt my mate like that."

Lorcan had the good sense to look apologetic as he rubbed at his face. "I know you won't—I didn't mean to say it." It was as good an apology as she'd ever receive from him.

Poor Nox had turned pale at the sight of a tall, brooding fae but he said with all the nonchalance he could muster, he said, "I saw her outside one of the taverns I frequented and I recognized her. I offered to escort her back."

Lorcan extended his hand, and the scowl on his face made her decide she'd be better off not pissing him off more. He scanned her head to toe, jaw clenching at the sight of the bruises on her face. "You're hurt," he didn't wait for a confirmation. His fists clenched and unclenched repeatedly, "Right now, you'll come with me to the palace, you'll go to your room and you will sleep, like you should've been doing. Tomorrow, we'll talk about this."

His features were schooled into a cool mask of indifference. She almost snapped at being ordered to bed like a child but the concern in his voice made her reconsider her words. Still, she couldn't help it when the words escaped. "I'm not some petulant child," she said in quiet voice.

"You're certainly acting like one now," then his features softened a little. "Let's go home."

Neither said a word until Lorcan had escorted her into her chambers. At her behest, Nox was given a guest room to stay in (much to Lorcan's displeasure) while one of the healers from the royal wing tended to her. She wondered if it was this woman she'd heard talking with the cook, or if she'd even heard anyone at all. Maybe it was all some horrible nightmare she'd dreamed up? She wished it had been some nightmare—or if not, then at least that she hadn't heard the words at all and lived in blissful ignorance for however long she could.

He turned to leave and Aelin started, "I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have—"

He snapped. "Tomorrow. We'll talk about this tomorrow. This—" he pointed towards the bruises—"is nothing to what could've happened if someone had recognised you. You have no idea what you risked!"

"I know what I risked and what could've happened," she bit back. "This isn't the first time I've wasted my night away in tavern after tavern." Her head hammered with pain at the volume of their words but she paid it no heed in her fury. He had no right to call her out; she didn't need his permission or someone else's. What did he care if come dawn, she was found dead in a ditch somewhere? He would be able to live with Elide and still be free of the blood oath. It could be no loss to him. "I'm under no obligation to answer to you," she said.

"I'm a part of your court. If you put yourself in danger, you will answer me," he said.

"I was in danger long before I took the throne. I can handle myself."

Lorcan had either noticed how drained she felt and decided to postpone the conversation or he saw no benefit in arguing with an unreasonable drunkard further because he nodded with a terse nod and an omnious: "We're not done here," and left her room, closing the door behind him softly. She wished he'd slammed the door shut instead, yelled at her or left her on the steps of the palace to the care of some maid—almost wished he'd drawn out his sword on her instead of leaving her alone to the silence of her chambers.

Involuntarily, she recalled the sudden, sharp pains in her abdomen last week. Her cycles had been a little irregular since the war but she hadn't given it much thought until she'd stumbled upon the two gossiping servants—those cursed words she wished she'd never heard. She had come back and tried to sleep, tried to discredit the rumours as speculation but those words had haunted her until she'd escaped her room for fresh air and found herself in a cheap tavern. Those horrible visions had flashed in front of her eyes until she was too intoxicated to remember her own name. Sleep offered no solace at all, and everytime she shut her eyes, she saw a stillborn child, a bed covered in blood, an empty cradle and she'd woken up covered in sweat and her breathing harsh, heart beating wildly against her ribcage.

The bruises on her face turned darker by the morning, but the salve she applied brought her some relief from the pain. Aelin left her chambers only when necessity called for it, the bruises cleverly hidden under her golden curls arranged tactically. The third meeting with the lords of all great houses was dreadfully boring. Lorcan's piercing gaze and Darrow's inquisitive look when she didn't greet them with her usual aplomb did nothing to ease her anticipation for her confrontation. He made no allusion to it as she attended to her duties, though she wasn't naive enough to hope he'd forget. Thus, it was with no surprise that she welcomed him into the sitting room of her private chambers that afternoon when she retreated for a small break. Indeed, he looked comically out of place in the ornate, colourful chamber with his black tunic he wore.

Lorcan's dark eyes upbraided her bruises, then satisfied with the healing progress, sat down and fell into silence. She didn't dare break it—he wanted to have this conversation. She was determined not to give up.

"We need to talk," he said when he realised she won't initiate the conversation.

"We do," she agreed to his surprise, until she added: "How is Nox?"

"Nox? Made drinking buddies with the thief, did you?" he asked. His lips curled in disdain—at her actions or her choice in friends, she couldn't tell.

"Dark hair, pretty face, smiles too much?" she asked. "I'd like you to find him a job 'round here. He has skills we could use, and I'd like to have more friendly companions here."

He looked tempted to retort, but stopped in time to recognise her attempt at distracting him. "I'll see to it. Now, will you tell me why you thought sneaking out of the palace, disappearing for hours and then showing up drunk and half passed-out, with a known local thief, bruised and battered was a good idea?" It didn't sound like a good idea when he said it like that, but she hadn't planned most of it, had she? Finding Nox had been a coincidence, and she hadn't foreseen running out of coins, getting kicked out of taverns or starting those brawls.

"I survived for years in much unsavory conditions than this," said she. "I don't need you to be an overprotective mother hen to me."

He arched an eyebrow. "So you want to be difficult about this?" he leaned back in his seat and relaxed his muscles, "I know you didn't just leave because you wanted to get drunk. Something happened, and you can choose to tell me now, or we can wait here until you confess. I have infinite patience and nothing better to do." She was tempted to walk away from this conversation, little good though it would do her. He pressed, "I'll wait for your answer right here, Aelin. If you want to—that is, if you think it'll help, I'll listen." And he looked so awkward, so uncomfortable, had Aelin looked up at him then, she would have been amused to see one of the most powerful fae warriors squirm in his seat, looking alarmed at whatever it was he saw in her face.

"I'm sorry! I told you I am," she asserted. "I wish you'd leave me alone."

Lorcan didn't think she was apologising for sneaking out without telling him—hell, it seemed like she wasn't apologising to him at all. He didn't know what she meant. Maybe she didn't know either.

He awkwardly patted her arm in an effort to comfort her, though he failed miserably. He hadn't seen that haunted look in her eyes since that first month after she'd escaped that iron coffin. It had taken months of careful manuevering from Rowan to coax that light back into her eyes. He wondered what haunted her now, what bothered her so. How long would it take for her to recover should she break again—this woman who had accomplished the very impossible, turned the tide in many a war, who had defeated armies through sheer will alone? How many times could she break before it would be impossible to put her back together? He wished Rowan were here to console her—or even Fenrys or Aedion. They won't do such a lousy job at it and she certainly won't confide in him. He shouldn't have thought otherwise—

"Pardon me for the interruption, Your Majesty, Your Lordship," the maid said, "but you have visitors."

Lorcan was disinclined to allow Aelin to present herself to company now when she looked one word away from shattering but he knew better than to try to stop her. The wilful woman hardly ever listened to him though, and she was walking out of her chambers before he'd even risen from his seat. He grumbled under his breath, following after her until a sharp squeal erupted from her mouth.

Lorcan was running towards the throne room, already drawing out his sword. It was pure relief that greeted him when his eyes fell on the grinning visitor, his sharp canines gleaming under the sunlight filtering inside through the windows. He nodded in acknowledgement towards the fae warrior and he returned with a look of his own before a noisy storm of gold and green flew past him and slammed into the still awaiting arms of the warrior. A lesser male might have fallen from the force of the collision, but he wrapped his arms around her waist, as unwilling to leave her as she was.

"Welcome back, Your Majesty," Lorcan said wryly as the squeals of delight from his queen grew louder.

King-consort Rowan Whitethorn swept his mate into his arms. "Missed me so much, did you?" he chuckled.

"Understatement," she mumbled into his chest, pulling herself closer. "Tomorrow, I'll pass a decree that you're not allowed to leave me behind ever again."

Rowan mumbled promises to not go anywhere without her anytime soon. Without a care for everyone else in the room, his lips pressed hers with an incessant need, though he drew back when she winced. It was with no small amount of horror that Rowan looked at her, reallylooked at her, memorising every line on her face, the width of her grin and the delight suffused in her brilliant ashryver eyes and stopped short at the busted lip and the bruise around her eye, brushing it with a featherlight touch of his fingers.

Aelin stiffened, and he saw in her expression that she hadn't planned to inform about this misadventure of hers, whatever it was.

He shut his eyes, attempting to regain some measure of composure. "Explain," he demanded, a lethal calm seeping into his voice.

Rowan didn't miss the way his wife stiffened further at his voice, and he noticed her eyes. The emptiness in them was almost too much to bear, too painful a reminder of what she'd endured the previous year and he looked away, though his voice softened.

"Fireheart, what happened? Tell me," he urged in the softest tone he could manage, "Please?"

It was the last word he spoke—the one filled with so much concern, love and devotion that she failed to keep her tears at bay. It was a valiant attempt she made, to blink the traitorous evidence of her grief back into her eyes but then she looked at him again—her mate, her husband, her best friend.

She let Rowan pull her into another embrace; and then, Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius came undone in his arms.

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soooo new fic. hope y'all liked it!

tags: @little-crow-corvere @abookishfreak @louisleblancdiggory @courtofjurdan @queenofgreenbriar @clockworkgraystairs @julemmaes @mymultiversee @queen-of-glass @strangely-constructed-soul @mijaldraws @http-itsrebecca @aesthetics-11 @lord-douglas-the-third @flowersinvegas @aelinchocolatelover @faerie-queen-fireheart @sad-book-whore @hizqueen4life @the-gods-killer @booknerdproblems @annejulianneh111 @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @b00kworm @mysweetvillain @curlyredqueen06 @moondancer-204 @thesurielships @witchling-leonor @ladywitchling @amren-courtofdreams @ifinallygavein @jlinez @faequeenaelin @df3ndyr @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @superspiritfestival @xx-fiona-xx @stardelia @maastrash @miihlovesnoone @sanakapoor @maddymelv @rattlethestarsdarling @ireallyshouldsleeprn @morganofthewildfire

let me know if you'd like to be tagged.

#throne of glass #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfiction #sarah j maas #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #rowaelin #rowaelin fluff #lorcan x elide #lysadieon #elorcan #manorian #kingdom of ash #tog fanfic #tog fanfiction #sjm #aelin-queen-of-terrasen

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booknerdproblems · 4 years

Text

Lorcan’s Death Headcannon.

So. I did a thing. Its actually kind of cute. But sad. I’m sorry. Ish. This may be updated.

TW: Major Character Death

Lorcan’s Death Headcanon:

-So, we know that Lord Lorcan Lochan gave up his Fae life-span to be with Elide.

-Elide had died three years ago, at the good old age of ninety-two. It was peaceful and calm, surrounded by her children.

-Elide and Lorcan had 3 children, one girl and two boys, Marion, the oldest, had already taken over Elide’s role as Lady of Perranth, and was doing marvellously.

-Now, Lorcan was six-hundred and two, and had lived a happy life with Elide. After all his centuries as a ruthless warrior, he had finally had a chance to live a happy, settled life with his mate.

-Everyone knew Lorcan’s death was imminent, so The Cadre and Aelin had all travelled from Orynth to be there in his final moments.

-Lorcan was calm, ready to see Elide again, confident his children were happy and his kingdom was stable.

-His children were all there, holding his hand and whispering to him, having already said their goodbyes.

-The Cadre (and Aelin) were all telling some of their stupid stories, reliving the best moments.

-(Aelin still hasn’t forgotten he shoved her into a brick wall when they first met)

-About ten years after the war, when Aelin could talk in vague terms about it without panicking, and the sting had dulled, Lorcan and Aelin had talked about what happened with Maeve on that beach in Eyllwe.

-And over the years, Lorcan and Aelin had become friends.

-He had devoted his life to Elide, and Terrasen, and, although he would never admit it, Aelin.

-He thought she was a fine queen, and was secretly proud to be one of her bloodsworn.

-Lorcan was loyal to a fault, and had served his queen well the past years.

-After Elide had passed, Aelin had been there for him at every turn, helping him through the grief of losing a mate.

- Children on one side, his King and Queen on the other, Lorcan smiled.

-”I’ll see you in hell, Galathynius.”

No idea who wants be tagged in this. Uhhhh... hey! @bookworm232020, you love Lorcan stuff.

#throne of glass #headcanon #tog #sarah j maas #sjm #lord lorcan lochan #lorcan salvaterre #lorcan #elide x lorcan #elide lochan #elide #elorcan #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #terrasen #the cadre #fenrys moonbeam

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livlepretre · 2 years

Note

Now that I know you read TOG, isn’t it freaking hilarious that Vaughan did not physically appear once during KOA or EOS? Man shows up less than 5 times throughout the entire series. The world is falling apart, the war is essentially spanning the entire world because it’s got people from every continent involved, and Vaughan has vanished. He got that order to look for Lorcan and dipped. Maeve, his queen he is bloodsworn to, dies (and it’s implied that bloodsworn can feel if something happens to the person they’re sworn to) and he still does not show up. He really decided that the possible end of the world was the perfect time for a vacation and some me-time. His entire cadre has joined Aelin’s court, his queen is actually Valg, the fate of the world is at stake, and Vaughan is possibly drinking mimosas on a beach and going “y’all hear something?” Where did he go, because I know that Maeve did not have him out looking for Lorcan post-EOS??

Look, I loved that Vaughan dipped. Honestly, same. Who wouldn’t? The wing kink on display would be far too uncomfortable for anyone.

#tog #okay I can’t help it what is WITH sjm and the wings

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julemmaes · 4 years

Note

Could you pleeeeeeease write a fic where Aelin is sick and Rowan and Fenrys are both being overprotective?!

Menace - October 1st

Rowan Whitethorn x Aelin Galathynius x Fenrys Moonbeam

A/N: This wasn’t sent for the Multifandom October Fest, but I used it anyway cause I needed to answer it lmao. I couldn’t write more cause today I have classes from 8:30 to 5:30 and I’m kinda dying over here, so, sorry if it doesn’t meet expectations, I tried.

I think some of the ones you’ve sent will be just as short while others I’ll try to write longer stuff cause I’m more inspired by some of the prompts (you guys really went wild).

Asks are always open tho, for more requests, so again “don’t be shy” - if I don’t consider your ask for the MOF it’s because it’d take too much time to write and it’s not something I can do in just a day, but I’ll definitely answer them all after it’s finished.

Word count: 1,269

Aelin hadn't been feeling well for a couple of days. Her head had hurt since Rowan had left to do some bureaucratic work in Adarlan - something that required the presence of the Prince Consort - and the day before the pain had worsened so much that she hadn't been able to reach her rooms without Fenrys' help.

The wolf had stayed with her, in his animal form, curled up around her body to comfort her as she twisted and cried during the night. Without Rowan at the castle there was no other way to make her feel safe at such a delicate moment and where she felt exposed.

She had woken up several times, screaming the name of her mate, crying the name of friends lost during the war. There had been a moment when she had opened her eyes and looked Fenrys in the face, caressing his snout. She had screamed shortly afterwards, moving frantically to get away from him. She had fallen out of bed and the bloodsworn had been forced to turn back into his human form. To talk some sense into her, to make her realize she was safe.

As soon as Aelin had seen him she had burst into tears, clutching her head in her hands and looking into his eyes. She had screamed Sam's name and Fenrys' heart broke in his chest when he heard the despair in his queen's voice.

In the morning, it took Aedion and Lysandra forcing the man to leave the still feverish girl. Fenrys had refused to walk away from her and the cousin had had to remind him that if he didn't eat anything, he would not be able to protect her in case of real danger.

Fenrys had frowned and replied that he would have no problem in case a real threat came to the palace, but he had listened to them anyway and got out of bed, leaving a whining Aelin.

He crossed paths with Elide and Lorcan on his way to the kitchens and warned them of the queen's physical condition. They were just visiting and were only supposed to stay a few days, to update Aelin about the situation in Perranth, but Fenrys saw the concern in both their eyes and knew immediately that there would be no way to get them to leave until their friend was back to health.

He had just taken his seat at one of the tables used by the servants when he heard it.

Aelin's agonizing scream.

He didn't bother picking up his chair when, getting up too quickly, he threw it against the wall, also dropping his plate filled with food.

He started running towards the stairs and a shock of terror went through his whole body. He turned into the air, jumping, so he could go faster.

Aelin screamed again.

The sound made Fenrys growl so loud that the few people in the hallways moved even before they saw him coming, frightened by the fierce animal.

He entered the room, slamming the door against the wall.

He took one look at Aelin, checking her figure and making sure she was not hurt, and when he saw her he almost tripped over his feet. She was clutching her body with her arms and seemed so small, so helpless between the sheets of the large bed.

Where the hell was Aedion? Why wasn't he here with her?

He turned to the other side of the room, finding only Lorcan and Elide. The latter with a wounded and confused expression on her face. Fenrys growled once more, showing his fangs, standing at attention.

Lorcan kept his hands forward and when he made to move, Aelin screamed again.

"Please don't! I am begging you." She was crying so hard that Fenrys was hesitant between tearing Lorcan's throat to bits and rushing over to her, holding her in his embrace, plunging his snout into the hollow of her neck.

"Aelin, your majesty. My queen..."

"I am not your queen!" she cried, gripping the blanket between her fingers, looking even smaller, "You obey her! You serve that monster."

All of them gasped. What was she talking about?

Aelin closed her eyes, begging the gods to leave her alone. Mumbling of blood and sand.

"Aelin, you are in Terrasen. You're home." Elide tried to get closer to the girl, but Fenrys snarled and jumped towards Lorcan, who, moving sideways, dodged the wolf's open jaws. He heard Elide screaming his name and saw his friend draw a dagger, ready to defend himself if necessary.

Fenrys felt Alein's distress even through the room. He felt that she didn't want Lorcan to stay there, he perceived him as a threat. He was about to attack again, the fur on his back upright, a sign of anger, and the claws scratched on the stone floor threateningly.

Lorcan looked at him attentively, shifting his gaze from Elide to the door. He was as tense as Fenrys, probably concerned for his wife. He raised his hand to the wolf, "Fen, you need to calm down."

Fenrys growled louder and Aelin called out his name from the bed, making the wolf's attention turn in her direction. That small gesture cost him the advantage he seemed to have had up to that moment.

Lorcan jumped on him, holding an arm around the animal's neck. Fenrys began to fight against his friend's grip, while Elide moved to get near the bed, to reach Alein and try to understand what was wrong, what she was seeing that others couldn't.

Fenrys had just managed to turn the positions upside down, pushing his front paws over Lorcan's chest, his mouth open above the other's face, when the window of the room exploded into a thousand pieces, shooting glass splinters everywhere.

Elide walked away from the bed immediately when Rowan turned and she saw the delirium in his eyes.

Their king was breathing frantically, both hands clasped around the hilt of his sword, ready to kill anyone who had caused his wife so much pain that he had been able to feel it through the bond.

He looked at Aelin and seemed to bleach, his hands snapped open, dropping the weapon and when he put one knee on the mattress, pushing himself towards Alein, she whimpered.

Fenrys instantly jumped on the bed, growling in his face. Rowan replied with an equally beastly, equally dangerous sound.

Lorcan took advantage of the moment of distraction to grab Elide and run out of the room, closing the door behind them.

"I am not the threat here, Fenrys." whispered his king. Aelin groaned and Fenrys trembled, growling and stepping on the mattress. Rowan's knee slipped down.

"Rowan?" Aelin's voice was so small, so feeble. When she opened her eyes and turned to her mate, relief took over her expression and she burst into tears. "Rowan."

Fenrys quickly backed away. Leaving room to let the male move, who without hesitation lay down next to his wife and held her close to his chest.

"I'm here Fireheart, I'm here." he kissed her on the head, clutching her fragile body, while Aelin curled up against him. Fenrys lay down on the covers, nudging her ankle with his snout.

Rowan kept his eyes closed while he whispered sweet nothings to her, but when she moved and stretched out towards the wolf, he looked at them, watching as Fenrys blinked four times. Observing how Aelin mirrored that movement.

They remained lying on that one bed, the three of them, growling at everyone and sending away all those who tried to enter the room.

tog tag lists (if you wanna be added/removed just send me an ask or dm me)

@tottenhamboys20 @sjm-things @kris10maas @awesomelena555 @sannelovesreading @queenamydien29 @ireallyshouldsleeprn @messyhairday-me @ncssian @observationanxioustheorist @my-fan-side @booksstorm @maastrash @sayosdreams @thedarkdemigod @courtofjurdan @thewayshedreamed @ladywitchling @nahthanks

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kanejdorogaya · 4 years

Text

Interviewer: So what did you want to be when you were kids? Why?

Lorcan: Alive.

Fenrys: Model. Who can resist these looks?

Lysandra: Florist. Cause the slums were too smelly.

Aedion: Aelin's bloodsworn *guilty smile*. You know why.

Rowan: Warrior. Always a warrior.

Aelin: Karma delivery person. Everybody has got something coming to them. *winks*

Interviewer: *swallows* Uh, that's all.

If you repost on Instagram please credit @_court.of.glass_

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rhyswhitethorn · 4 years

Note

Maybe a prompt of "youre nothing but a lovesick puppy after her" for any ship..??

Sorry it took so long, anon! Was having rough time lately, but here’s some Rowaelin for you! This is pre-QoS by the way. Sometimes I wondered what Rowan did before he came over (and intimidated the males of Erilea), so...

That aside, listen to Lovesick by Midnight Fusic! Great track, really.

Lovesick (ROWAELIN)

“You’re nothing but a lovesick puppy after her.”

Prince Rowan Whitethorn slammed his mug of whatever shit drink he ordered down onto the table. The tavern grew eerily quiet and all eyes were on him, but he didn’t give a fuck. He stared into Lorcan Salvaterre’s dark eyes.

His former Commander stared back at him. As if daring him to take another step across the line.

Rowan breathed out through his nose and lifted his mug to take a sip. He had had a long day and needed a good drink, but the best he could get was some watered down wine. The outskirts of Doranelle never had the best to offer, but this would do.

Lorcan chuckled and leaned back into his seat, smiling as if he had won this round. A victory lap outside after their drink, perhaps?

“No, I’m not.”

Gavriel sighed. Rowan knew he hated it when the Commander and ex Second-in-Command started arguing. Always the peacekeeper, Gavriel said, “Drop it, Lorcan, and enough of the Princess. It seems as if you’re the lovesick puppy.” Rowan was surprised at the sudden sarcasm from the Lion of Doranelle, but he hid it. Lorcan just spat at Gavriel’s feet, narrowly missing his boots.

Rowan knew though, that Lorcan was just looking out for him. All that changed when Rowan joined Aelin Galathynius’ court. Now, he was on his own. That was the gift Aelin had given him—a free will, even if he was bloodsworn to her. If he was to worry about her, he had every reason to.

“Why are you following me, anyway?” Rowan asked. He was given orders by his Queen, or Princess as they call her, to stay in Wendlyn. With Lorcan and Gavriel following him around, it seemed as if his only option to get away from them was to head to Erilea.

Gavriel flicked his eyes towards Lorcan, then back to Rowan. It was a quick glance, but Rowan caught it anyway. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Lorcan quickly replied. Rowan narrowed his eyes but Lorcan continued. “I’m just worried. You know how the young Princess is. Brash and arrogant, especially with you.” Lorcan stood up to fetch another drink.

The threat of a sudden burst of temper started rising up in Rowan, but he remembered how helpless she was sometimes. Losing her parents at a young age and being brought up to be Adarlan’s most notorious assassin came with a lot of expectations, if not responsibility. The scars on her back from her time at Endovier had made him realize that. And the fact that she hid it from him so that he wouldn’t pity her? That’s the strength that Aelin has along with her arrogance.

He shuddered at the thought of a seventeen year old being forced to endure inhumane whippings. Thank the Gods she had killed the Overseer, or Gods forbid, he’d go there himself and do it for her.

For his Queen.

Gavriel started to speak, snapping Rowan out of his thoughts. “So what’s your plan now? Are you going to go with her and fight?” Rowan looked at Gavriel suspiciously.

“If I tell you, would you tell Maeve?”

A low blow, but with the blood oath tying them to the Dark Fae Queen, no secrets are safe. Rowan almost released his breath when Gavriel chuckled and said, “No, I’m genuinely curious.”

Rowan looked around, aware that Lorcan was halfway across the tavern. “I’m to stay here until she orders me to come. Or she brings herself here. Either way goes.” Gavriel nodded at that. “What’s Lorcan’s deal?” Rowan brought himself to ask.

Gavriel turned to look at Lorcan, who was pushing away a barmaid who thought it was a good idea to flirt with him. “I don’t know. Ever since Maeve broke your blood oath, things have been very. . one sided with all of us. Everyone has secrets now. Fenrys wants out of the blood oath. Who knows, maybe Lorcan does too? Though I doubt it,” Gavriel quickly finished, seeing that Lorcan was on his way back.

Rowan was about to cover and change the subject when Lorcan asked, “Do you love her?”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “Who?”

“Your new Princess.”

“Why are you suddenly asking that?” Rowan asked back. Where was Lorcan going with this?

“We weren’t done. You’re her dog now, and all the interaction between the two of you at Mistward indicated you love her. Who the fuck would try and see if they’re carranam willingly after knowing each other for a few months? And don’t mention the fact that the both of you hated each other at first. Everyone knows how bad your arguments were. You. Love. Her,” Lorcan spat his last three words with venom.

Rowan was too tired of being pushed around by Lorcan. At one time, he didn’t care, but now without the oath, he was free to fight back. “I loved one person, and one person only. And she’s gone. Don’t think that I would so easily forget my mate because a pretty, young princess was handed as an assignment to me. This,” Rowan pointed at the tattoo on his face, “serves as a reminder for that. I do not love Aelin. She is my Queen, and will choose a suitable consort or King, for that matter.” Even if Aelin did pick him as her consort, he had nothing to offer her. Not even his love, which had all gone to Lyria. Hell, Aelin had someone already back in Adarlan. Rowan was only a part of her court.

Lorcan only smiled, satisfied with Rowan’s answer, and drank his drink down. He placed the mug on the table and clapped Rowan’s back. “Well said, brother. Now, I have things to do and places to be.”

Rowan only watched Lorcan walk out the door and turned to Gavriel.

He had the look of pity on his face.

Before Rowan could say anything, Gavriel’s deep voice rumbled out. “I know that feeling. There was a time when I almost wanted to break the oath, but she’s gone now and I have nothing left to live for except my honour.”

Out of the five members of his former cadre, Gavriel had always been the understanding one. Rowan smiled softly at Gavriel and nodded. “I guess the both of us have one reason to live. Our own Queens.”

Gavriel smiled back and stood up. “I need to go back now. Maeve intends to send me to Mistward and check on whether there might be more Valg coming after the Demi-Fae or not.” Rowan shook his hand, knowing that this was Gavriel’s way of saying goodbye. He nodded and proceeded to watch another brother walk out the door, a dim flash of golden light coming through the windows.

He smiled when he remembered his Queen had referred to him as his kitty-cat friend.

Despite everything he has said about Aelin, he missed her. It had only been two days, but he already feels the need to protect her. Their time together in Wendlyn was short, just a small slot of time in his long life, but Aelin Galathynius had brought excitement and chaos into it. She had gone from the arrogant assassin who had no care in the world and hated Rowan with all her heart to an elegant and smart Queen, and his carranam at that. An honour for him on its own.

Rowan finished his drink and stood, wanting to find a way to help Aelin. He was bored here with nothing to do. He tipped the barmaid and walked out, getting a hint of Gavriel’s scent heading towards Mistward.

Lorcan however. . .

He followed through a bunch of shops, some fountains and down the street. Heading to the docks, he stopped short.

“The boat to Erilea has sailed. You’re late by ten minutes. Next one’s in two days if the storms can be weathered,” the docker said to him. As if he’s answered it many times before.

Rowan looked at the docker and turned towards the sea. This was where Lorcan’s trail stops. He believed that Gavriel had told him the truth about Lorcan’s intentions. A feeling of dread went through Rowan.

What the hell is Lorcan up to in his Queen’s continent?

#sjm #sarah j maas #rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #lorcan salvaterre #gavriel #throne of glass #heir of fire #queen of shadows

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shyvioletcat · 4 years

Note

in a rowaelin tolkein au, how would you cast the characters? would you just genderbend everything? how much do you think you would have to shift lotr's plot to make tog characters work? would aelin/rowan be frodo/sam? (i saw that you love tolkein and was thinking about this and wondering if you had thought about it at all lmao)

I’m just going to start with this is one of the best asks I’ve ever received so thank you so much for sending it in. This is how I would do it.

Dorian and Chaol are Frodo and Sam. Like you see how that works right? They eventually go off on their own adventure to destroy Erawan’s wyrdgate. Dorian has a ring which is like the final key to get it to work. I kinda want Gollum’s parallel to be Manon... Because we’ve got that distrust from Chaol/Sam there and the otherness, and Manon would be like one of Erawan’s captains/wing leader like we get in the books. At some point Chaol gets hurt and they split again etc etc. We get the Tower of Dawn spin off and it’s Dorian and Manon that head to Morath/Mordor.

But I digress, this is was a Rowaelin story 😏.

Aelin is Aragorn. Lost throne, forgotten heir, self sacrificing, comes out of nowhere to help the ringbearer. Perfect fit.

Now, how could Rowan not be Legolas? Moody, broody elf man who’s initially tagging along just because dad (or in this case Maeve who is basically Saruman) said so.

Now this is where my ideas get a little foggy when it comes to the rest of the fellowship because dynamics and story and stuff. But do have some thoughts.

I think Connall and Fenrys would be a good fit for Merry and Pippin. They seem like the obvious choice personality wise.

Lorcan would be Boromir. Feels like he’s got to do it out of obligation. Would rather take the ring to Maeve so she can sort it out. But then he finds out Maeve on the bad side... oh dear. Whatever shall he do now. Guess he’ll just have to stay with the Fellowship. Whoever shall he meet along the way 🤔.

Now. Gimli. I’m thinking Lysandra mainly just because I want to add her in. She’s got her shifter gifts so she’s real handy.

Ok. This ones gonna hurt a little. Gavriel is Gandalf. Now. I can’t decide if I want him to do the balrog thing or do the Boromir sacrifice. I’m leaning towards the Boromir thing but if I do the balrog thing I can bring him back and he can meet Aedion becauuusse...

Aedion is Faramir. He’s in Orynth/Minas Tirith running the show while Darrow slowly loses hope and his mind. Boy is he surprised when Aelin turns up.

And of course we can’t forget Elide. She’s Éowyn, trapped in Perranth/Edoras by Vernon who is very much the Grima role. I’m thinking her father is Theoden but because of the loss of Marion he’s very protective of Elide so we get her desire to fight but he won’t let her. But she of course does get in there in a Éowyn-esque manner. Also, definitely Elorcan going on there.

Now. Back to Rowaelin.

We definitely get the whole start of Heir of Fire hating each other thing but they of course eventually warm to each other. Their first real turning point would be around the Lothlorien point. So say Gavriel dies, Aelin is very upset and we get the comforting. Then we get the pinging/miscommunication/denial stuff from Lothlorien to Helms Deep. At the Helms Deep battle equivalent Aelin has a burnout and Rowan loses his mind and oh no, here come all the feelings. We definitely get a ‘to whatever end’ moment when she wakes up. Rowan also becomes her bloodsworn and promises to help do whatever he can to get her throne back. Then when she does they get married and have lots of babies and live happily ever after.

Other notes: Elena would fill in the Gandalf wise guide stuff with her appearances. I think Aelin’s big trial would be the Paths of the Dead which would be something similar to forging the lock to get the extra help. Maybe Galadriel and Celeborn are Mala and Brannon in their lesser forms. Maybe the witches are the Ents? They’re hiding out in the forest and Connall and Fenrys find them (a little FenrysxAsterin anybody?). Whitethorns are definitely running the show in Mirkwood, possibly rebels against Maeve.

I think that’s all I got at the moment. Thank you so much for sending this in.

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parabatai-nephilim · 4 years

Text

Aelin and her blood sworn:

Rowan: a soul connection. Being carranam and mates, Rowan requested it so show his love for Aelin and gratitude that she persuaded Maeve to set him free

Aedion: his birthright, Terrasen’s tradition and his most sacred duty: to protect Aelin and Terrasen

Fenrys: OUR MOONBEAM DESERVED AND EARNED THE BLOOD OATH!!! It’s always been his dream to serve a ruler like Aelin and belong in a court like hers. He’s been entranced by her from the very start. It was Aelin’s gift to him and her way to also save his life when he broke the blood oath with Maeve

Lorcan: For Elide LOL, will not be invited to holidays 🤣 let’s be honest - “bitch” is his term of endearment for Aelin

Not bloodsworn:

Elide: she wanted to, but Aelin needed Elide, Lady of Perranth, to be able to vote for her as rightful Queen of Terrasen without the Terrasen lords invalidating the vote because of the blood oath

Gavriel: the most painful almost. Aelin wanted Aedion to swear it before his father but Gavriel died protecting his son

Lysandra: never mentioned but she totally would! I don’t think Aelin would let her though because Lysandra always wanted to be free

Vaughan: seems almost right that Maeve’s blood sworn warriors would move on to Aelin but Vaughan said “peace out”

Connall: even if he’s Fenrys’ twin, we don’t talk about him because I don’t think he has even an inch of respect towards Aelin. Regarded to her as “that thing”. He’d see it as another competition with Fenrys

#throne of glass #sarah j maas #cadre #rowan whitethorn #maeve #aelinashryvergalathynius #fireheart #fenrys moonbeam #connall moonbeam #gavriel #lorcan salvaterre #aedion ashryver #kingdom of ash #heir of fire #empire of storms #queen of shadows #crown of midnight #tog

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aelinbitch-archive · 4 years

Note

groupchat: aideon, rowan, lorcan, fenrys

name #1: people who got bloodsworn to aelin before me even though i specifically said i wanted it first - named by aedion

name #2: bitter bitches - named by fenrys

name #3: Cadre. - named by rowan

(lorcan never texts in this. actually he has a landline so it’s confusing as to how they added him)

#greatest hits: joking and jesting.

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highqueenofelfhame · 5 years

Note

“Don’t you think it’s about time you buried the hatchet?” “Into his head? Definitely.” For Rowaelin make it anything you want I just want to see that conversation LMAO

Queen Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius lounged on her throne, legs crossed and fingers tap, tap, tapping against her bicep as she watched the room carefully. Rowan approached her from her left, a chalice of red wine in his hand that he presented to his queen.

“Why that face?” he inquired as she took a long sip, a too long sip that had her squirming in her chair. He didn’t need to ask, not really. He knew perfectly well why she was scowling, which male in the throngs of people that she watched carefully with a glowing ball of flame in her hands. Rowan sighed behind her, moving around to the front of her throne. He kneeled before her, his hands resting on his thighs as he leaned forward to brush a kiss to her mouth. "Don’t you think it’s about time you buried the hatchet?“

"Don’t you think it’s about time you buried the hatchet?” she countered, a brow quirked. She pressed another kiss to his mouth, which had spread into a slow grin.

“Into his head?”

“Definitely,” she agreed, running her tongue over her teeth. Rowan laughed with a shake of his head. They couldn’t kill him. There was no point. He was bloodsworn and had followed his vow to protect and serve the court of Terrasen. He made Elide more than happy, and she deserved it after all these years. Still, They didn’t have bigger villain’s to fight, there was so little trouble that existed in their home land that nobody quite got under the Queen’s skin like Lorcan Lochan these days - but if he was their only threat, she would take it. She would take it a thousand times over.

#rowaelin #drabbles

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cicada-bones · 3 years

Text

The Warrior and the Wildfire

Chapter 6: The Forgotten Child

Sorry about that last cliffhanger! (though I hope my speedy update will help! I start school again this week - so I knew I needed to get this out before my workload started to pile up again)

Please let me know what you think! I know im really bad about replying to comments, but I promise I love and appreciate every single one ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

word count: 6619

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

As they entered, Aedion rose from his seat at the kitchen table. It seemed he had spent the past hour just sitting around, waiting for them. And stewing. However, now that he had finally removed his cloak, Rowan could actually get a good look at the young demi-Fae.

He was tall, over six feet, and surprisingly well-muscled. He wasn’t ambidextrous, but from the way he carried himself, it seemed as though his swordsmanship might be just as proficient off the left side as the right. And he had this certain…arrogance, a weight in his step and a glint in his eyes, that told Rowan he’d been winning his fights for perhaps a bit too long.

And those eyes, those Ashryver eyes – they were so like Aelin’s that Rowan almost felt they might even be twins. Along with that golden hair, the hard cheekbones, and those broad shoulders – Aelin and Aedion were two side of the same gold coin.

Though Rowan didn’t think he would’ve ever expected to discover that Aelin was the tamer side of that coin.

The second Rowan appeared at Aelin’s side, he felt Aedion’s gaze lock with his. And the challenge that burned in it had not dimmed one bit.

Rowan’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. But he felt sighing. With everything they were facing, with the King and the Valg and Arobynn and the keys and everything, the gods still had to go and foist another Fenrys on him?

Aedion’s eyes flicked over him, appraising. “You never bothered to tell me how handsome your faerie prince is, Aelin.”

She scowled, and a muscle in Rowan’s jaw pulsed. But before he could speak, Aedion was jutting his chin at him and saying, “Tomorrow morning, you and I are going to train on the roof. I want to know everything you know.”

Aelin clicked her tongue. “All I’ve heard from your mouth these past few days is Prince Rowan this and Prince Rowan that, and yet this is what you decide to say to him? No bowing and scraping?”

Aedion just sat back down, his smirk plastered to his face.

Yep, just like Fenrys.

“If Prince Rowan wants formalities, I can grovel, but he doesn’t look like someone who particularly cares.”

Well, if this was the game the young wolf wished to play, Rowan could certainly oblige him. So he made sure his face was carefully blank before he replied. “Whatever my queen wants.”

The scent of pepper and burnt wood was so strong Rowan could practically feel Aelin’s irritation. But still, he didn’t tear his eyes away from the young warrior-prince.

And Aedion just stared right back, stared as if he were used to everyone quickly looking away, stared as if this was the first time his power had been truly questioned in years. And it made Rowan realize that Aedion had actually expected that Rowan would yield to him. Without a fight.

If they were in Doranelle – or actually even if they were just outside, and not in this tiny wooden box where neither of them could escape Aelin’s watchful gaze – Rowan would make the demi-Fae pay for his insolence.

He wouldn’t kill him – no, just teach the warrior-prince a lesson he would be unlikely to forget.

It didn’t matter that Aedion was her family, didn’t matter that Aelin might care for her cousin more than she did for Rowan. Didn’t matter that she and Aedion had so much more history, or that they carried each other’s scents – Rowan was her bloodsworn. Her carranam.

Rowan was Aelin’s Second until she informed him otherwise. And Aedion would have to learn to accept that. Just as Rowan would accept whatever place Aelin decided that Aedion would take in her court. Even if that place was in her bed.

Rowan heard the brush of fabric as Aelin leaned against the sink, folding her arms tight against her chest. “If you’re going to have a pissing contest, can you at least do it on the roof?”

Once again, Rowan was the one to break their stare, turning to look at Aelin with his brows raised. Pissing contest?

She just frowned at him. Don’t kill my cousin, please.

“She says we’re no better than dogs,” Aedion said, filling the silence. “So I wouldn’t be surprised if she actually believes we’d piss on her furniture.”

But as he spoke, the warrior-prince’s scent wafted over Rowan, and this time, it was easy to smell Aelin on him. To pick the scent apart, note by note, and sense every emotion, every facet.

Rowan could taste the snow on him, the winds of Terrasen. Could taste the years of the sweat and blood of battle. Could even taste the Fae blood pumping through his veins – the wildness, and the magic. And then Rowan got that feeling again, that feeling of something familiar…something he just couldn’t quite place.

That familiar thing wasn’t Aelin after all. It was something else – someone else…

“Aedion needs a bath, too, I know,” Aelin said, noticing his strange concentration.. “He insisted on smoking a pipe at the taproom. He said it gave him an air of dignity.”

Rowan tilted his head to the side, sniffing at the air, only barely registering Aelin’s words.

Aedion realized that Rowan was scenting him, and he shifted in his seat, his face twisting into a concerned, inquisitive expression. A look that Rowan knew very well. It was an expression he had seen thousands of times before, in hundreds of planning sessions, war councils, or in casual conversations over a few drinks.

A look he had seen on Gavriel’s face. And the missing piece of that familiar scent fell into place.

The fur, the warmth – the young wolf in front of him was the son of the Lion.

The words came slow. “Your mothers were cousins, Prince, but who sired you?”

Aedion didn’t shift an inch. “Does it matter?”

“Do you know?” Rowan pressed.

Aedion shrugged. “She never told me – or anyone.”

Aelin was catching on far more quickly than her cousin. “I’m guessing you have some idea?” she hedged.

Rowan turned to look at her. “He doesn’t look familiar to you?”

“He looks like me.”

“Yes, but – ” Rowan sighed. “You met his father. A few weeks ago. Gavriel.”

Rowan thought he might be able to hear a pin drop – in the next town over.

Shock billowed through the room like clear smoke, and all three of them were completely, perfectly still. Rowan could practically hear the gears turning in Aelin’s mind as she worked through it, piecing it all together – the timelines, the heightened strength, the strange way Gavriel had acted while at Mistward –

“He asked me,” Aelin murmured. “He asked me how old I was, and seemed relieved when I said nineteen.”

Rowan only nodded. He remembered that time for himself, that time two decades earlier.

Rowan and Lorcan had been off, representing their Queen somewhere in the far East. In a court that had treated them well, but bored them to tears. Gavriel, however, had been in Varese. Where he had obviously met Aedion’s mother, and gotten her with child.

Then abandoned her, and never spoke of her again.

Aedion’s voice was hoarse as he finally spoke. “The Lion is my father?”

Rowan just nodded at the young general, at the son of his oldest friend. This would change everything.

“Does he know?”

“I bet seeing Aelin was the first time he wondered if he’d sired a child with your mother. He probably still doesn’t have any idea, unless that prompted him to start looking…”

As he spoke, for the first time, Rowan found himself considering his own history.

For over two hundred years, he’d traveled the world. Bedding without thought, without consequence. It was difficult for the Fae to conceive, that was true. But for all he knew, he had a child waiting for him out there somewhere.

Rowan had never felt more reckless and irresponsible than he did in that moment, looking at the child that Gavriel had left behind.

That kind, compassionate male, the leader who had tattooed the names of his fallen men on his own skin, had thoughtlessly abandoned his own son. If Gavriel had been capable of that, than what had Rowan been capable of? Cold, heartless male that he had been?

Aedion was just looking back at him. But this time, the stare was made of nothing – no fire, no challenge. It was empty. And Aelin seemed to be getting worried. She moved towards the table, her hand reaching out to brush her cousin’s. The touch soft, gentle.

Their eyes met, and Rowan couldn’t help the pang of jealousy that cut through him. “This changes nothing,” Aelin said, her expression open, and kind. “About who you are, what you mean to me. Nothing.”

There was a moment of silence while Aelin brushed her thumb over the back of Aedion’s hand, trying to give him what small comfort he could. It made Rowan’s heart ache.

Suddenly, she pivoted back to face him. “What does this mean where Maeve is concerned? Gavriel is bound through the blood oath, so would she have a claim on his offspring?”

“Like hell she does,” Aedion spat.

Rowan paused for a moment, considering. His voice was gentle when he spoke. “I don’t know. Even if she thought so, it would be an act of war to steal Aedion from you.”

“This information doesn’t leave this room,” Aelin said, calm and calculating. “It’s ultimately your choice, Aedion, whether to approach Gavriel. But we have enough enemies gathering around us as it is. I don’t need to start a war with Maeve.”

But she would. She would start a war for him, if he asked her to. Rowan could see it in her eyes. And he couldn’t help but wonder if she would do the same for him.

“It stays with us,” Aedion managed to choke out, his voice rough. Once again, the boy’s eyes met his - that challenge smoldering there once again.

But this most recent stand-off didn’t last particularly long.

Aelin clicked her tongue at them. “Stop doing that alpha-male nonsense. Once was enough.”

Rowan didn’t so much as blink. “I’m not doing anything,” he said, perhaps a little too innocently.

“Insufferable,” Aelin muttered, giving Rowan a playful shove. “Are you actually going to get into a pissing contest with every person we meet? Because if that’s the case, then it’ll take us an hour just to make it down one block of this city, and I doubt the residents will be particularly happy.”

Rowan finally turned away from Aedion, letting their stare break with a near-audible snap. He did Aedion the courtesy of pretending not to hear his quiet, relieved sigh.

Particularly as Aelin was truly getting annoyed with him. I thought I asked you to leave my cousin alone.

You just told me not to kill him, not that I had to leave him alone.

Aelin’s frown deepened as she crossed her arms, waiting.

Rowan pursed his lips. “It’ll take time to adjust to a new dynamic,” he admitted, somewhat reluctantly.

Aelin seemed almost shocked that he’d said even that much. Rowan grumbled at her.

Aedion, however, was riding a high. Rowan could hear the blood thrumming in his veins, and his muscles were stretched tight as a drum in that chair he was pretending to lounge in. “Aelin never said anything about sending for you.”

Rowan’s eyes slid back to the wolf’s, icy and intent. “Does she answer to you, General?”

Aelin just rolled her eyes, obviously deciding to treat the tension building between the two males as if it didn’t exist. “You know he didn’t mean it that way, so don’t pick a fight, you prick.”

Aedion stiffened, catching the insinuation beneath Aelin’s statement. And now Rowan had to hide a victorious smile.

If she was asking Rowan to stand down, then it was because she was worried that Rowan would hurt Aedion. Meant that she thought Aedion was the one who needed protecting, that Aedion was the lesser warrior.

But Aelin probably didn’t know that – and she had never been a bloodsworn warrior either. So no matter how loyal, no matter how caring or compassionate, she had no idea the lengths to which Rowan would go to keep her safe. No idea how solidly, how permanently, he stood behind her. Even on the smallest of things.

“I’m blood-sworn to you,” Rowan tried to explain, “Which means several things, one of which being that I don’t particularly care for the questioning of others, even your cousin.”

Before the words were even all the way out, Rowan knew that he had made a mistake.

Aelin had gone pale as a ghost, freezing in place. And Rowan found himself searching for his magic, reaching out to test shields that were no longer there, calling the winds towards him to sense for any unwelcome intruders. But he had no powers to call.

Instead, he scented the air, his mind straining to listen for even the smallest of noises. But there was nothing. Only the sound of Aedion’s ragged breathing.

The wolf was a man whose whole world had come falling about his ears. And he was looking at Aelin with more than just shock, more than just hurt. His eyes were filled with the pain of betrayal.

Of a betrayal so close, so unexpected, that it shattered the very air to pieces.

Rowan found himself preparing to leap in front of Aelin, preparing to rip into the young warrior-prince with everything he had if he made so much as one move towards his queen.

“What did he just say?” The boy’s words were excruciatingly soft.

Aelin squared her shoulders, her words clear and steady. “Rowan took the blood oath to me before I left Wendlyn.”

“You let him do what?”

Aelin raised up her hands, whether to soothe or protect, Rowan wasn’t sure. Nor did he have any idea why the hell Aelin had kept this a secret from her cousin. Though judging by this reaction, she might have simply been scared.

But perhaps…was Aelin ashamed of him?

But her voice didn’t shake. “As far as I knew, Aedion, you were loyally serving the king. As far as I knew, I was never going to see you again.”

“You let him take the blood oath to you?” Aedion was bellowing now, and it took all of Rowan’s self-control to keep from stepping between the two cousins, to keep from lunging at Aedion and knocking him to the floor.

Then, all of a sudden, Aedion was leaping towards the fireplace, his arms reaching towards the trinkets atop the mantelpiece.

But before his fingers got within an inch, Aelin had flung out a vicious finger and was advancing on him, Rowan following close behind. “You break one thing, you shatter just one of my possessions, and I will shove the shards down your rutting throat.”

Aedion spat at her feet, but didn’t move another inch towards the fireplace. “How dare you? How dare you let him take it?”

“I dare because it is my blood to give away; I dare because you did not exist for me then. Even if neither of you had taken it yet, I would still give it to him because he is my carranam, and he has earned my unquestioning loyalty!”

Rowan kept very still.

“And what about our unquestioning loyalty?” Aedion roared, “What have you done to earn that? What have you done to save our people since you’ve returned? Were you ever going to tell me about the blood oath, or was that just another of your many lies?”

Aelin snarled, vicious and intense. And from the look on Aedion’s face, Rowan could tell that he had forgotten she had Fae blood in her too. The idiot.

“Go have your temper tantrum somewhere else.” Aelin said. “Don’t come back until you can act like a human being. Or half of one, at least.”

Aedion just swore at her, foul and filthy, and before Rowan could stop himself he was lunging towards Aedion, knocking aside the furniture hard enough to flip it over –

But then Aelin threw out her hand. Stopping him in his tracks.

Aedion looked at him and laughed, the sound brittle and cold. Then smiled at Rowan in that infuriating, overconfident way. A smile that had started a thousand brawls. A smile that Rowan had seen countless times on Lorcan’s, Fenrys’, and even his own, face.

So Rowan knew exactly what lay behind it. And he also knew exactly how he would strike Aedion down if the wolf pup decided to take it beyond just a smile.

Rowan carefully moved back to the chair, righted it, and sat down, casually as anything. But before Aedion could react, Aelin pointed at the door. “Get the hell out. I don’t want to see you again for a good while.”

Aedion didn’t hesitate before striding over to the front door and flinging it open so hard he nearly ripped it off its hinges. And then it shut behind him with a soft, very final, click.

Silence fell in the apartment as Aedion’s footsteps faded away down the stairs, until Aelin stood and walked into her bedroom, beginning to pace. She didn’t shut the door behind her, so Rowan figured it was alright for him to follow behind her.

After a moment’s consideration, he perched on the edge of the mattress, which was exactly as plush as he’d expected it to be. For long minutes, Aelin didn’t even acknowledge him.

She was turned inwards, her thoughts battling with each other, her scent a raging cloud of anxiety and anger and regret and fear. And Rowan wanted to pummel Aedion into the dirt for making her load any heavier.

His queen carried more burdens than anyone should have to, burdens heavy enough to curve the spine of even the most hardened warrior. Seeing her struggle like this – it was enough that Rowan had to physically force himself to keep from launching himself into the night after that arrogant warrior-prince.

He understood why Aedion was enraged, he really, really did. If Aelin had rejected him in such a way – he would have felt exactly the same. He probably would have felt worse. But never, not in a thousand lifetimes, would he have ever made that reaction her problem.

Rowan wondered if Aedion was always so hot-headed, so volatile, or if this reaction was because the circumstances were so extreme. He wondered if Aedion would make a good King.

Rowan decided to give the male the benefit of the doubt. He owed Aelin that much at the very least – after spending so many weeks thinking the worse of her, without any justification.

Even if that anger, that hatred, had mostly been a reaction to this inexplicable, undeniable feeling, this thing between them. Even then, in Varese, it had been there. And it had scared the shit out of him.

But still, Aelin had always been older than her years. Older and wiser. And by contrast, Aedion just seemed so young. Rowan was sure the male was experienced in war, and even in playing the role he had been forced into in Rifthold’s royal court. But at negotiating? Maneuvering? Compromise? Rallying enemy forces to their cause? Rowan was less sure.

But he had to admit, the wolf was indisputably powerful. The rage and aggression and power that had come off of him – Rowan didn’t think he’d seen its like from any other demi-Fae than Lorcan.

The boy had potential. Potential that Rowan would have to figure out how to harness, to use to their goals. To form the beginnings of Aelin’s royal court. For no matter any reservations Rowan might have about Aedion, it was clear that it would be the three of them who would form its backbone.

Still, Aelin hadn’t ceased her pacing. At this rate, she was in danger of wearing a track into the rug before the fireplace.

“If that’s any indication of what to expect from our court,” Rowan said at last, “then we’ll never have a dull moment.”

Aelin didn’t bother looking over at him, instead flinging out her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Don’t tease me right now.”

Rowan just waited, knowing she was gathering the words, hating that pain and sorrow and guilt on every line of her body. He’d sell his soul to the dark god to never have her look like that again.

Aelin scrubbed at her face, huffed a short sigh. “Every time I turn around,” she said, approaching the bed and leaning against the carved post, “I feel like I’m one wrong move or word away from leading them to ruin. People’s lives – your life – depend on me. There’s no room for error.”

Rowan could offer her nothing but the truth. “You will make mistakes. You will make decisions, and sometimes you will regret those choices. Sometimes there won’t be a right choice, just the best of several bad options. I don’t need to tell you that you can do this – you know you can. I wouldn’t have sworn the oath to you if I didn’t think you could.”

She sat down on the bed next to him, their thighs close enough to touch. This close, Rowan could see every single fleck of gold in her eyes. This close, it almost felt as though her scent enveloped him like a cloud of mist, like a second skin.

And at the moment, that scent was rife with tension and worry and guilt – like layers of sour spice and rotten fruit. But as the two of them sat together, all of that seemed to fade away, a veil being lifted, to reveal true scent beneath. It caressed him, soft as a bedroom whisper.

Aelin shook her head. “It was so much easier being alone.”

“I know,” he said, clamping down on the instinct to sling his arm around her shoulders and tuck her in close. Instead, he tried to focus on the sounds of the city around them, the light rattling of the windowpane in the wind, the patter of vermin in the streets below, the chirping of birds overhead.

One of the first things he’d wanted to do was survey the apartment, to make sure each and every piece of it was completely secure, to familiarize himself with the space. But then he had let himself be distracted, by Aelin, by Aedion – and so the apartment remained unsafe, and unfamiliar.

Rowan sighed at himself. It made him feel…helpless, to have to do everything the old-fashioned way. To not be able to handle things that had been so simple, so basic, with his magic. He felt off-balance. And at a time when being off-balance could be fatal to her.

The minutes ticked passed in quiet companionship.

“I said some appalling things to him,” Aelin said, eventually.

“Don’t worry about it,” Rowan responded, unable to help the growl. “He said some equally appalling things to you. Your tempers are evenly matched.”

She let out a breathy chuckle, her body finally relaxing into the mattress. “Tell me about the fortress – what it was like when you went back to help rebuild.”

So Rowan smiled as he told her about mining stone and remaking the wall, about working with a Malakai who no longer seemed remotely intimidated by him, about repairing the damage done to the base of the castle where the tunnel had lay hidden.

And when he spoke of training Luca, and of Emrys’ request, Aelin was punching him on the arm and scolding him for disappointing her friends like that. “Why didn’t you stay? Luca obviously needed your help!”

Rowan just shook his head, his face darkening. And here it was, the news he’d been avoiding all night. Not wanting to add yet another weight to the pile on her shoulders.

“Just say it,” she said, with a direct, unyielding sort of look. And Rowan wondered if she realized that for all she complained about his alpha nonsense, she was pureblooded alpha herself.

Rowan took a long breath. “Lorcan’s here.”

She straightened. “That’s why you came.”

Rowan nodded. “I caught his scent sneaking around near Mistward and tracked it to the coast, then onto a ship. I picked up his trail when I docked this evening.” Her face was pale, so he added, “I made sure to cover my tracks before hunting you down.”

Aelin still didn’t say anything, just processing. Adjusting. Recalculating.

His former commander would certainly require some recalculation. He could prove completely disastrous. Rowan really needed to make sure the apartment was secure, as soon as possible.

When she remained silent, Rowan continued. “He doesn’t know you well enough to immediately pick up your scent. I’d bet good money that he got on that boat just to drag me here so I’d lead him to you.”

Aelin swore with creative colorfulness. “Maeve probably thinks we’ll also lead him right to the third Wyrdkey. Do you think she gave him the order to put us down – either to get the key, or afterward?”

“Maybe.” The thought was enough to shoot icy rage through him. “I won’t let that happen.”

Her mouth quirked to the side. “You think I could take him?”

“If you had your magic, possibly.”

Irritation rippled in her eyes – enough so that he knew something else nagged at her. “But without magic, in your human form…You’d be dead before you could draw your sword.”

“He’s that good.”

Rowan gave her a slow nod.

She looked him over with an assassin’s eye. “Could you take him?”

“It’d be so destructive, I wouldn’t risk it. You remember what I told you about Sollemere.” Aelin’s face tightened, remembering, even as the thought of having to destroy Lorcan clanged through him. If it ever came to that, Rowan would know things were truly desperate.

Rowan sighed, shoving those worries aside. They were pointless. “Without our magic, it’s hard to call who’d win. It would depend on who wanted it more.” Once, Rowan might have let him win, let Lorcan end him just to put a stop to his own miserable life, but now… “Lorcan makes a move against you, and he dies.”

Aelin didn’t blink at the violence that laced every word. Another part of him – a part that had been knotted from the moment she left – uncoiled like some wild animal stretching out before a fire.

Aelin cocked her head. “Any idea where he’d hide?”

“None. I’ll start hunting him tomorrow.”

“No,” she said. “Lorcan will easily find us without you hunting him. But if he expects me to lead him to the third key so he can bring it back to Maeve, then maybe …” He could almost see the wheels turning in her head. She let out a hum. “I’ll think about that tomorrow. Do you think Maeve wants the key merely to keep me from using it, or to use it herself?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“Both, then.” Aelin sighed. “The question is, will she try to use us to hunt down the other two keys, or does she have another one of your cadre out searching for them now?”

“Let’s hope she hasn’t sent anyone else.”

“If Gavriel knew that Aedion is his son…” She glanced toward the bedroom door, guilt and pain flickering on her lovely features. “Would he follow Maeve, even if it meant hurting or killing Aedion in the process? Is her control over him that strong?”

“Gavriel …” He’d seen the warrior with lovers over the centuries, and seen him leave them at Maeve’s order. But he’d also been the only male of his cadre who had stopped that night to help Aelin against the Valg.

“Don’t answer now,” Aelin cut in with a yawn. “We should go to bed.”

Rowan immediately tensed, and as casually as he could, he asked, “Where should I sleep?”

She patted the bed behind them. “Just like old times.”

Rowan clenched his jaw. He’d been bracing himself for this all night – for weeks now. “It’s not like the fortress, where no one thinks twice about it.”

“And what if I want you to stay in here with me?” Aelin’s eyes bore into a him, a completely different kind of challenge than the one set by Aedion. But one equally fraught. And one that burned far hotter.

Carefully, Rowan said, “Then I’ll stay. On the couch. But you need to be clear to the others about what my staying in here means.” There were so many lines that needed to be held.

Aelin was off-limits – completely off-limits, for about a dozen different reasons. The stupidest possible thing he could do would be to give in now, to let that desperate, craving part of himself win out so easily. She wasn’t his to claim.

Aelin only shrugged, irreverent as always. “Then I’ll issue a royal decree about my honorable intentions toward you over breakfast.”

Rowan snorted. And though he didn’t want to, he said, “And – the captain.”

“What about him?” she said, a little too sharply.

“Just consider how he might interpret things.”

“Why?”

She’d done an excellent job of not really mentioning him. But there was enough anger, enough pain in that one word, that Rowan couldn’t back down. “Tell me what happened.”

Aelin didn’t meet his eyes. “He said what occurred here – to my friends, to him and Dorian, while I was away in Wendlyn – that it was my fault. And that I was a monster.”

For a moment, blinding, blistering wrath shot through him. And all he wanted to do was to reach out to her, to brush her hand. To cradle her face.

Rowan stayed frozen in place.

She still wasn’t looking at him as she said, “Do you think – ”

“Never,” he said. “Never, Aelin.”

At last she looked up at him, her eyes as old and tired as her throne. Looking nothing like a girl of nineteen.

“If you’re a monster, I’m a monster,” Rowan said, smiling at her gently, but making sure that his fangs glinted in the candlelight.

She let out a rough laugh, close enough that her breath warmed his face. “Just sleep in the bed,” she said. “I don’t feel like digging up bedding for the couch.”

Maybe it was the laugh, or the silver lining her eyes, but he said, “Fine.”

He was such stupid fool when it came to her. He made himself add, “But it sends a message, Aelin.”

She lifted her brows in a way that usually meant fire was going to start flickering – but none came. Both of them were trapped in their bodies, stranded without magic. He’d adapt; he’d endure.

“Oh?” she purred, and he braced himself for the tempest. “And what message does it send? That I’m a whore? As if what I do in the privacy of my own room, with my body, is anyone’s concern.”

“You think I don’t agree?” His temper slipped its leash. No one else had ever been able to get under his skin so fast, so deep. “But things are different now, Aelin. You’re a queen of the realm. We have to consider how it looks, what impact it might have on our relationships with people who find it to be improper. Explaining that it’s for your safety – ”

“Oh, please. My safety? You think Lorcan or the king or whoever the hell else has it in for me is going to slither through the window in the middle of the night? I can protect myself, you know.”

“Gods above, I know you can.” He’d never been in doubt of that.

Her nostrils flared. “This is one of the stupidest fights we’ve ever had. All thanks to your idiocy, I might add.” She stalked toward her closet, her hips swishing as if to accentuate every word as she snapped, “Just get in bed.”

He tried his best to keep his eyes from following them, and failed completely. Then loosed a tight breath as she and those hips vanished into the closet.

How he would survive the weeks to come holed up in this apartment, he had no idea. What with the antagonistic warrior-prince on one hand, and the irresistible queen on the other – the Fae in this house were far too used to getting their own way.

And the month apart had only seemed to increase his attraction to Aelin. The idea of sleeping at her side, his skin inches from hers – all the blood in his body seemed to rush through him, burning as it went.

This was going to be agony.

Rowan stood from the bed, heading to the bathroom to see if washing his face and readying for bed might make him see sense. The cold water helped, but only barely.

When he returned to the bedroom, Aelin was still in the closet, changing. So Rowan gingerly moved over the plush mattress and slid between the silken sheets. The cloth was filled with her scent – and Rowan couldn’t lie to himself and say that he didn’t love it, being wrapped up in her scent.

Another minute passed, and then Aelin emerged, a smirk on her face, and –

Rowan jolted upright, the bed groaning. “What in hell is that?”

Aelin didn’t pause or look over, but he could feel her satisfaction at his outburst. Instead of deigning to answer the question, she just walked into the bathroom, casual as anything.

Rowan barely heard the sound of the tap turning on, the splash of water as she washed her face. He could barely hear anything over the pounding of his heart.

He tried his best to think of something, anything else. But he couldn’t. That image was burned into his mind like a brand.

Aelin had changed into a delicate pink lace nightgown. There were no sleeves, only thin straps that rested atop her shoulders, while the torturous hemline grazed just below her collarbones, the lace trim fluttering slightly as she walked. And through the thin material, Rowan thought he could just see the shapes of her nipples poking through, right at the peaks of her breasts.

But all of that was nothing, nothing, to the rest of the dress. The nightgown fell over the planes of her stomach, pulling in at her waist and highlighting all of her beautiful curves. And coming to an end right beneath her hips, only barely covering her ass and leaving the entire expanse of her long, muscled legs, completely bare.

Rowan was speechless.

When she returned, her face freshly washed, Rowan finally managed to find his voice. He crossed his arms over his chest. “You forgot the bottom part.”

Aelin ignored him, instead walking about the bedroom and blowing out the candles, one by one by one. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“There is no bottom part,” she said, flinging back the covers on her side. “It’s starting to get so hot, and I hate sweating when I sleep. Plus, you’re practically a furnace. So it’s either this or I sleep naked. You can sleep in the bathtub if you have a problem with it.”

Rowan growled, more frustrated than she would ever know. “You’ve made your point.”

“Hmm.” She slid into bed beside him, making sure to keep a careful distance between them. Something that Rowan vaguely remembered wanting, but for the life of him he couldn’t come up with a single reason why.

His very skin ached with need. The need to reach out, to close the space between their two bodies, to feel her skin beneath his hands, to rip that nightgown to shreds –

Rowan breathed, concentrating on slowly freezing his body in place, locking his muscles tight. He wasn’t a rutting child. And he had some gods-damned self-control.

Aelin settled into bed beside him, and for a long moment, the only sounds in the bedroom were the rustling of fabric on skin. She settled with her back to him, the sharp points of her shoulders poking through the skin, those long, ragged scars prominently on display.

The tattoos he had painstakingly inked only a month before had already started to fade in places, making a few of the characters difficult to read. Likely because it had been into scar tissue. He had to actively stop himself from tracing their shapes, from skimming his fingers over the soft expanse of her back…

Rowan’s voice was carefully blank as he said, “I need to fill in the ink a bit more in a few places.”

Aelin turned to face him, her pupils widening in the dark, “What?” she asked, confusedly. As she turned, her breasts spilled out onto the sheets, pressing together under the weight of her arm.

Rowan looked up at the ceiling.

“Your tattoo,” he said. “There are a few spots I need to fill in at some point.”

“Fine,” she said, and Rowan couldn’t be sure, but he almost thought he caught a hint of disappointment in her tone.

Another moment passed in silence, and almost against his will, Rowan found himself saying, “I’ve never seen – clothing like that.”

She rolled back over to face him again, her eyes lit up with a playful delight. “You mean to tell me the females in Doranelle don’t have scandalous nightclothes? Or anywhere else in the world?”

Before he could think twice, Rowan was speaking, “My encounters with other females usually didn’t involve parading around in nightclothes.”

“And what clothes did they involve?”

“Usually, none at all.” He knew he was being reckless, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Aelin clicked her tongue at him. “Having had the utter delight of meeting Remelle this spring, I have a hard time believing she didn’t subject you to clothing parades.”

Rowan turned his face back towards the ceiling, this time because of the image of that repulsive, conniving female. His thoughts couldn’t have been farther from the memory of the time he’d spent with her. “We’re not talking about this.”

Aelin chuckled, the movement making the lace on her collarbones shake slightly. If every night was going to be like this…

“Are all your nightclothes like that?” Rowan asked tentatively.

“So curious about my negligees, Prince. Whatever would the others say? Maybe you should issue a decree to clarify.”

Rowan growled, and Aelin answered through a wide grin. “Yes, I have more, don’t worry. If Lorcan is going to murder me in my sleep, I might as well look good.”

“Vain until the bitter end.”

But Aelin would not relent. “Is there a specific color you’d like me to wear? If I’m going to scandalize you, I should at least do it in something you like.”

“You’re a menace.”

And Aelin laughed, and the sound of that laugh was worth the pain of a thousand nightgowns. Was worth the entire month apart.

And before he knew what he was doing, Rowan said, “Gold. Not yellow – real, metallic gold.”

“You’re out of luck,” she murmured into her pillow. “I would never own anything so ostentatious.”

And through all of his frustration, Rowan was smiling at her.

Soon, Aelin had fallen into a deep sleep, her bare shoulders falling and rising with each breath, the tiniest whine escaping through her nose.

And yet thirty minutes later, Rowan was still awake, forcibly staring up at the ceiling as he tried to calm the roaring in his blood by sheer force of will. A roaring that was steadily shredding through his self-control.

Shit.

He was in such deep, unending shit.

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aelin-queen-of-terrasen · 4 years

Note

"Are you going to be okay?" + "Please stop lying to me" for either Rowaelin or someone from the Cadre (Rowan and Lorcan or Fenrys and Connal)

note: so like, since we need more Lorcan and Aelin brotp fics, I'm gonna do them for this one. hope you don't mind. if you'd like to check out my other fics, here's the masterlist.

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Lorcan hated how much he was used to Terrasen now, hated how it felt like home more than Doranelle ever had. In the five centuries he had been alive, he had never imagined this is where he would end up. Bloodsworn to a queen of fire and ash, as wild as she was reckless. A queen who actually cared for her people and her court. A queen who no doubt hated his guts ever since that cursed day on the beach. He had nightmares about that gods damned day sometimes, of Aelin being bruised and battered. Aelin may have forgiven him but he couldn't forgive himself.

He had tried to avoid her as much as he could, didn't want to get close to the wicked queen and had done a good job at keeping away from her until today.

"You're sure there's no one else who can do this?" he asked, hesitant.

Emrys, the cook, quirked an eyebrow at that. The storykeeper had a bowl of steaming soup in his hand. "Prince Rowan isn't here and she's sick. Do you want to be the one to tell him why I let just some servant into close quarters with her when she was ill disposed?" The man had a point. The Fae part of him wanted to growl at the mere thought of letting anyone near her, not when she was probably passed out.

Lorcan sighed in resignation before he was making his way towards her private chambers, the bowl of soup in his hand. He knocked twice on the door of her private chambers and entered when a muffled voice replied, 'The door's open.' She had likely heard him arrive with her fae senses. He almost wished she hadn't let him in.

He didn't know what he expected but the fire breathing bitch queen hunched over papers, her quarters resembling a trash bin was not it.

She had her head propped up with one hand, another holding a piece of parchment that her eyes skimmed through. She half turned in her seat and gave him a wry smile when she spotted the bowl of soup in his hand. "First my bloodsworn warrior, now my personal servant? I'm impres—" the words were cut off by a sneeze, then another and another in quick succession.

She rose from her seat, then flicked a hand in dismissal. "Thank you. You can leave now." But then she was stumbling, eyes half shut and Lorcan barely caught her in time.

She righted herself soon, pulling away from him. Her cheeks and nose were pink from the cold outside, face uncharacteristically pale and turquoise eyes lacking their usual gleam of wickedness.

He frowned. "Are you going to be fine?" It was a stupid question. The woman was trying to work when she was so sick. She was anything but fine.

"Yeah, just a cold. You'd think after all the shit with Maeve and Erawan, I'd be immune to something as trivial as cold." Her humour failed to hit it's mark when a coughing fit seized her. She said, "You can leave. I'll be fine."

Lorcan didn't know what came over him, only that she was being an idiot and he needed her to rest if she was going to recover. "Stop lying to me! You aren't fine, you should rest." He pushed her back on the chair she had been sitting in, shoved the papers aside and slammed the bowl of soup in front of her. "Finish this."

"I don't—"

"Aelin, finish this now."

Short of using the blood oath to make him leave, there was nothing she could do that would make him leave. Lorcan doubted she'd use the oath and he wasn't leaving until he was sure she was fine, even if she did try to kill him a lot of times. For all he knew, she still did want to kill him.

Aelin grumbled but obeyed. "Damn you overprotective fae bastards."

While she ate, Lorcan drew the curtains shut to keep the cold air out, lit the fireplace when she didn't light it herself and tidied up the bed, making space for her to lay down between all the dresses sprawled on it. He could call in a servant to clean all that up but his fae instincts wouldn't let anyone within a hundred feet of her until he was sure his queen was safe and protected. Whatever reason Lorcan had for taking the blood oath, she was his queen now. It was his duty to protect her.

Aelin was back to working by the time he was done. "You're not working anymore, Aelin. Finish that tomorrow."

"I won't finish in time if I stop now."

"You will," he nudged her to rise. "If it's so important, I'll help you finish. For now, you need to go to bed."

She looked ready to protest and Lorcan was prepared to throw her over his shoulder, then chain her to her bed if that's what it took. Aelin must have known that because she surrendered and moved to lay down in her bed. Lorcan watched her closely should she stumble again. He didn't want to explain to Rowan why and how his wife fell face first onto the floor when the prince returned.

Aelin cocked her head at him when Lorcan moved to pull up the covers. "What, now you're tucking me in? Are you going to kiss my forehead, then sing me to sleep next, father?"

Insufferable, as always. "Can you please stop, Aelin?" he asked.

But of course, she couldn't stop. When had she ever stopped? "You didn't even call me bitch! Look at us bonding together! Elide bribed you into this, didn't she?" A pointed look at that. "You're going soft on me, Salvaterre."

He ignored the jibes, then turned to leave the room once he made sure she was safe and warm. "I'll be right outside, call me if you need something." Then he pulled back, scanning the room for any safety hazards before he left.

Aelin cleared her throat, stopping him with a hand on his wrist. "You don't have to do this. I know you don't like me, it's alright. I understand."

She didn't understand shit. He wished Elide had bribed him into doing this or something so he could claim he was here against his will. He didn't want to care for anyone else, not now, not after all that he had done and seen and lived. Especially not for another queen, one just as powerful—if not more—than Maeve. Sometimes, Lorcan had nightmares about that too—about serving in Maeve's court still, wreaking havoc in her name. He didn't want to end up devoted to this new queen as he'd been to Maeve even if he knew the two of them were nothing alike.

Maybe it was that realisation that made Lorcan want to say it. "I've never said it before, not like this but I'm sorry for what happened with Maeve." His voice wobbled as an image of a blood drenched shirt lying in the sad flashed across his vision. Lorcan steeled himself and went on. Aelin had saved his life and Elide's countless times. He owed her this truth, "...you were a foreign queen, a stranger I didn't care about. Now, Aelin? Now, you're my queen and I promise, oath or no oath, I will always protect you." Then, just to lift the mood, he added with a scowl: "Even if you are a raging pain in the ass most times."

Aelin snorted, nudging him to sit beside her. Hellas damn him, he did. "And here I was, thinking we'd become friends after that speech."

"The only way we'll be friends is if you use the blood oath to do that."

Aelin shot him a glare before she snuggled closer, head resting on his chest as if she was trying to leech off his warmth. "It won't be the worst thing in the world to have you around the palace sometimes, I suppose," she mused, her voice muffled and soft. Lorcan didn't move even when her breathing turned soft and steady, his arm wrapped around her.

He didn't regret a thing until the court returned to find the two of them wrapped in a warm embrace. Needless to say, no one let Lorcan forget about it for the next few weeks.

----------------

note: oof, hope y'all liked reading that. it was fun to write Lorcan and Aelin. Would totally do it again. also, not to self promote but join the 1K celebration if you haven't already!

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booknerdproblems · 4 years

Text

Immortals Chapter 7

Hello lovely people! I am sorry for the later-than-usual update, my week has been seriously hectic. It’s involved medical collapses, panic attacks and sleepovers. Due to this, this chapter is 100% my least favourite, and it’s unedited. I do, however, have the chapter after this written, so I will not be late with the next update!

TW: minor swearing

Here is a link to my main masterlist, where the all chapters for this fic can be found.

“Good,” said Asterin, “we’re immortals. Things should change, and often, or they’ll get boring” The next time Rowan saw Aelin Galathynius was two days later, in the throne room of Maeve’s stone palace. He was giving his report alongside Lorcan when she swept into the room and walked right up to Maeve. Without even a hint of a bow, she announced she was to visit Mistward, one Doranelle’s demi-fae outposts the other side of the Cambrian Mountains. Rowan liked Mistward, the people were down-to-earth and friendly, if a little intimidated by him. At least they weren’t snivelling nobility.

Apparently, her mother had spent some time there in her youth, fighting for demi-fae rights, and Aelin wished to visit the fortress she had heard much about. It seemed Evalin Ashryver had never had the chance to go back before her untimely death last year.

The Lord of Allsbrook and Lady Lysandra were to remain in Doranelle, and Aelin had set up meetings with Maeve’s foreign trade advisor for her entourage, and they were going to meet whilst she attended to her personal business.

Maeve had then promptly ordered Rowan to go with her to Mistward, to which Aelin had waved off, not needing an escort.

“I must insist. I can’t let my favourite niece wander the forest alone now, can I?” Maeve had replied with a snake’s smile. Rowan had no idea what Maeve’s ulterior motives were, but wasn’t about to ask any time soon.

Fenrys was on his way to Varese, so would accompany them for the first part of the journey. Rowan was deeply looking forward to this journey, it would be the best fucking highlight of his life. Two equally arrogant, swaggering fae who were currently in the business of bedding each other at every turn. Truly, Rowan couldn’t wait.

Rowan hadn’t been able to look Fenrys in the eye for two days after The Incident, until he finally got over himself and confronted the male about it. Fenrys had chuckled, clapped him on the shoulder, winked, and walked off without a word. So, Rowan thought it went well enough. It had been a sharp slap in the face, a reminder that he was a broken, centuries-old warrior, blood sworn to another queen. It had reminded him of what the tattoo covering his left side stood for. The shame he’d carry until his last breath. And Aelin, she was a young queen, a dreamer who was good for her people and the world. She was a gift to the world, even if she was arrogant and swaggering and slightly disrespectful. Gods, he couldn’t stand her contradictions. One moment she was kind and compassionate, helping a Doranelle youngling, and making his head spin, the next she was arrogant and rude addressing his queen and still making his head spin.

-x-

Waiting on one of Doranelle’s many bridges, Rowan traced the route in his head. He went through the comforting, familiar motions of securing his weapons and checking his food and water rations whilst he waited for Fenrys and the queen. Unsurprisingly, they were late.

A quarter of an hour later, Rowan spotted them in the distance. The queen was carrying a pack with a bedroll, for the two day trek to Mistward. He wondered how she would react to sleeping exposed to the elements, she was royalty afterall.

Fenrys’ blonde hair was up in a bun, a dark green tunic clinging to his body, complementing his bronze skin.

Once they’d reached him, he simply nodded in approval and turned toward the mountains, leading the way.

-x-

Two and a half hours later, Fenrys at last broke the silence that enveloped the three.

“So, are you going to be okay with sleeping out in the wild like this?” He addressed Aelin.

“Aw, are you worried about me?” Aelin’s tone was teasing.

Fenrys scowled, “Well, have you ever slept outdoors before?”

“Of course I’ve slept outdoors, who do you think I am?”

“Uh, the- Queen of Terrasen?”

“Fair point.” Aelin conceded, “But yes, I’ve slept on a bedroll before. Every summer, as the winter’s in Terrasen are too cold, me and my cousin Aedion do a three day hiking trip in the Staghorns, hunting and drinking ourselves half to death.”

Fenrys laughed, the sound light and carefree. “Reminds me of Connall and myself.”

“Yes well, Aedion is practically my brother anyways.”

“He’s bloodsworn to you, is he not?” Rowan cut in, curiosity getting the better of him.

“He is, swore it at my coronation last year.” Aelin looked surprised at his question.

“And he was okay with you both out in the wild without a guard?” Rowan’s tone was slightly judgemental, and Aelin frowned.

“Aedion knows better than to try and keep me locked up, I’d just break out and kill him myself.” Her voice was filled with fondness as she spoke of her bloodsworn.

“Couldn’t you just order him too through the blood oath?” Fenrys asked.

“Why the fuck would I do that? It’d take the fun out of everything.”

“He is your bloodsworn, though, so surely he has to do as you say?”

Aelin stumbled, looking toward Fenrys.

“Aedion is not some slave I order to do my bidding,” her voice was razor-sharp, “swearing the blood oath is a promise of respect and loyalty, not blind devotion. The orders I give him are his to do as he pleases, and should he wish to be free of his oath, he may do so at his earliest convenience. I neither can, nor do I even want to have people forced to serve me, and anyone who chooses to indeed follow me is valued and respected as their own individual within my court.”

Fenrys was looking at Aelin with a new sort of respect, and perhaps a hint of longing behind his eyes. Not longing for her, but for what position she could offer him in life. Indeed, Rowan’s own image of the young queen was constantly evolving, and her declaration had him smiling a little. He could imagine her court in the future, a band of nobility and commoners, standing strong against any threat to their immortal queen. Happy to serve, free to do as they please. A court to change the world. Dreamers, the lot of them.

She truly was the opposite of Maeve.

Nobody had spoken, but Aelin gave them a little smirk, and said,

“Anyway, nobody in their right mind could get past them.” She gestured to the surrounding forest, and Rowan sucked in a sharp breath at what he now noticed.

“The Little Folk,” Fenrys breathed from behind him.

Small figures, dryads and imps and pixies, all dancing through the trees silently.

Come to greet the Heir of Brannon. Perhaps they wondered after their kin in Terrasen, maybe had come to honour her Ashryver lineage or greet her as a descendant of Mab. Rowan had only caught glimpses of them in the past, they rarely ever revealed themselves. But here they were, murmuring to the Queen of Terrasen. And she… Aelin was whispering back.

Rowan had never heard of people talking to the Little Folk, but here was Aelin Galathynius, murmuring to them as if they were old friends.

She was speaking so softly, even Rowan’s sharp Fae ears had trouble hearing them. A winding ribbon of flame was dancing among them and the Little Folk suddenly receded, chattering amongst themselves. Looking back, Rowan started as he saw the Queen of Terrasen. A purple and blue flower crown sat upon her golden hair, and a delicate bracelet of acorns, daisies and thistles was upon her wrist. She was smiling softly, and Rowan’s breath was momentarily knocked from him.

Her eyes held a warm, content glow and embers seemed to light up her irises. Her golden hair was floating in the wind, and a truly happy smile sat upon her lips. Her cheeks held a light blush and in that moment, she looked truly beautiful.

Shaking it off, he looked at Fenrys and immediately glowered. The male’s eyes were on his and his eyebrows were raised as if to say ‘really?’ and his eyes had an amused, knowing gleam.

Turning back to the route, Rowan’s scowl remained for the rest of the afternoon, glaring at all the trees as if they’d personally offended him.

-x-

As they’d stopped for the night, Rowan had appreciated the queen’s quick, efficient way of setting up camp.

He did, however, hear her grumbling to Fenrys as she laid down on her bedroll for the night, set up next to but an appropriate distance away from the other male’s.

“Just because I’m used to these conditions, doesn’t mean I have to like them.” She was whining as Rowan rolled his eyes.

A pause then, “Rowan Whitethorn I can hear your eyes rolling right now.”

“Sure you can, Princess.” Rowan replied.

“I can!” Aelin protested, “and I’m serious. I would kill for a hot bath and one of my silk nightgowns right now.”

Fenrys whispered something in her pointed ear that made the temperature spike and earned him a punch to the arm.

Rowan rolled his eyes again so hard it hurt his brain, before rolling over and closing his eyes.

-x-

Waking with a jolt the next morning, Rowan found Aelin already awake, in her human form, whilst Fenrys was still snoring on the other side of mossy clearing.

“Morning,” he grunted.

Aelin just grumbled, raking her hands through her hair, wincing as her fingers caught on the tangles.

“Not a morning person?” Rowan chuckled as she levelled a glare at him.

Rowan just walked over to wake Fenrys up, telling Aelin to start packing up.

-x-

An hour later, Fenrys had pulled Aelin into a quick hug, murmuring goodbye as he separated for the way to Varese.

He saluted Rowan, receiving a roll of pine-green eyes in his response, before vanishing into nothing, leaving Rowan and Aelin in the middle of Wendlyn’s forests, staring at each other.

Rowan broke first, raking his hand through ruffled silver hair and sighing.

“Mistward is twenty miles away. I’m not in the mood to spend the next eight hours walking. Shift, and let's go. We’re running.” He gave her a feral grin, canines exposed.

Aelin narrowed her eyes at the commanding tone, but started to braid her waist-length hair at the base of her head. Rowan secured his pack as a flash of light indicated her shifting. Gods, she really was gorgeous. And her beauty was heightened in her Fae form, her ears delicately pointed and canines lengthened. She moved with ethereal grace, and everything seemed to revolve around her. Too bad he could barely stand her, even if he’d felt a… shift, in their relationship since they sparred. Since he’d felt their magic dancing around each other. Since he’d begun to see her as more of an… equal.

He didn’t exactly know where he stood with the young Queen of Terrasen, sometimes she acted like his mortal enemy, sometimes she just seemed like an overly-excitable acquaintance with mild pestering tendencies.

Aelin finished tying her braid, bracing her hands on her hips and smirking at him, arrogance back in full swing. Rowan nodded once at her, and took off.

He raced through the trees, dodging boulders and leaping fallen logs as the world blurred around him. The forest was so alive, all the plants and animals coming together to create its own kind of magic, a circle of life and death and rebirth. The wind whipped through his hair, and his arms pumped harder as he sprinted, a thin sheen of sweat starting to break out upon his skin.

Rowan looked sideways, and spotted a blur of gold through the trees a little way away from him. Aelin met his gaze, and grinned at him in the pure, unbridled joy that came with pushing your Fae body to the limits. The scents and tastes of the world around him were so exhilarating, and he felt nothing could compare to the feeling. He smiled back at the young demi-fae, and felt, almost, less alone. Maybe, just maybe, a friendship could be possible between the two. For the first time in a long, long while, Rowan felt… hopeful. Like he could look forward to tomorrow.

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