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aelin-queen-of-terrasen · 4 years

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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

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#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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