#rourke farran

[leiawritesstories]

PART SIX: JUNE

Word count: 8.1k

Warnings: swearing, violence, breaking and entering, fuzzy science, scheming, flirting and more flirting, innuendo, a villain, more violence, blood, minor character death

shout out to @house-of-galathynius for beta reading this hot mess and to @backtobl4ck for encouraging frederick

I don't know if I should say this, but...enjoy!! 😁😈

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“Moon Moon!” Aelin clapped her hands twice as she strolled past Fenrys, who lounged against the Boss’s office door like it was the most natural place for him to be. “Thanks for showing up.” 

The blonde man shrugged, a half-smirk curling his lips. “Like I had a choice.” 

“You always do.” She threw him Celaena’s sweet little grin that usually made people either piss themselves, cry, or start babbling. “You can choose to show up, or you can choose to die.” 

“Not much of a choice, Boss,” he drawled. He flopped into the chair across from her desk. “So tell me, who’s the mark?” 

Aelin tapped on her computer for a few minutes before she slid a single sheet of paper across the desk. “Have a good long look, Moon Moon, because this is the only time you’ll see all of this info in one place.” As the Boss, she was many things, and stupid was decidedly not one of them. 

Fen picked up the paper, his dark eyes scanning each line of text and small, grainy photo. He cocked one blonde brow. “Rourke Farran, eh?” Not looking up from the paper, he huffed out a breath. “The man’s whole fuckin’ house is a booby trap, Boss.” 

“I’m aware.” 

“So what’s this bastard done to…god damn.” Before he could even ask the full question, it was answered. “He’s got a front for a front.” 

“I have never tolerated, nor will I ever tolerate, the treatment of human beings like commodities,” Aelin said softly, lethally. Celaena Sardothien’s notorious steel undercut her tone. “Farran thinks he can get away with it because I haven’t come for him. Yet.” 

Fenrys whistled lowly and set down the paper. “What’s your timeline, Boss?” 

Aelin liked this man more and more with each interaction. “I need Farran at the river warehouse by the 10th. You can use whatever means necessary, beat him up a little, get him nice and ready for his session with me, but don’t even fucking think about killing him.” 

“Don’t worry, Boss.” A lazy, hungry grin unfurled across Fen’s handsome face, the dim lamplight reflecting off the scars on his cheeks. “Softening up bad boys is my specialty.” 

“That’s why I hired you.” Aelin took back the paper and tossed it into the shredder next to her desk, which ate through the single sheet with a brief mechanical grinding of teeth. She burned the shreds at the end of each day, never one to take any chances with documents that could potentially be stitched back together. Fenrys stood up to leave, and she waited until he was almost out the door before speaking again. “One more thing, Moon Moon.” 

“Yeah?” He paused, alert, his stance striking an oddly familiar chord in her mind. 

“Farran isn’t dumb enough to put all of his guard dogs in one place.” 

He nodded slowly, working over that little tidbit of information. “Noted. I’ll tell you when he’s ready for you.” With a wink that was far too flirtatious for anyone’s good, Fen left her office. 

Aelin rolled her eyes as she returned to her computer. Her encoded list of targets was shrinking by the week; really, there was only one name left after Rourke Farran received his one-way ticket to her riverside warehouse, and it called to her every day. Some days, it took all of her willpower to stick to her typical Boss hours and Galathynius hours when she knew that if she spent just one more hour as Boss, she could solidify the plans that she’d been simmering for so fucking long. Just before she slit his throat, she’d once murmured to a criminal that she was cleansing the world of villains. In the months since then, that cleansing had nearly been completed. 

She slid her gaze down to the end of the page, following the trail of crimson lines that struck out each name up through Farran’s, and stopped, musing on the last name left. Five letters. One name—the villainous criminal was possibly more elusive than Celaena Sardothien herself. 

Maeve.

On the one hand, it made complete sense that Arobynn’s lover—ex-lover—would have taken over his business, diminished as it was when all of his cronies started fighting over their pieces of the trade after Arobynn died. On the other hand, Aelin had wondered just why the hell Maeve would have wanted to take over Arobynn’s drug- and gun-running business; surely the money couldn’t be the only reason. The more she dug into the grimy, seedy backchannels of truth, though, the more she came to understand why Maeve had done it. 

The woman had been madly in love with Arobynn Hamel, and now she was madly out for blood. 

~

In the prep room of the Gal Inc. labs, Aelin snapped on a fresh pair of sterile blue latex gloves, checked her badge where it was clipped to her lab coat, and nodded at her reflection. It had been seven weeks since Ren had come into the labs to have his SecondSkin changed—she and Nehemia had decided to extend the wearing period to seven weeks, as Ren’s use of SecondSkin was an experiment—and she was curious to see if anything was different. 

“About time,” Nehemia said dryly as Aelin walked into the small, sterile lab, the one that Nehemia typically reserved for experiments that needed to be kept quiet. “I was just about to assume you were in a meeting and start the removal process without you.” 

“Hello to you too, Dr. Ytger,” Aelin returned, just as dryly. “I just had to primp a little longer, you know how much effort it takes to look this good.” 

Nehemia snorted. “Galathynius, if you spent that much time primping, I’d never let you in my lab.” 

“Don’t I know it.” Aelin sat down on the second rolling stool and scooted over to Ren’s side. “Okay, Nemi. It’s your experiment.” 

Quickly but clearly, Nehemia ran through her usual list of removal instructions, then dismissed Ren to go take his shower. He emerged about half an hour later, wearing his robe, his hair damp and his face…

“Aelin, come here.” Nehemia motioned for Ren to sit down and scooted her stool up close so she could examine his ruddy face. “This doesn’t look like a typical hot-shower flush.” 

Aelin scanned the redness on Ren’s face and nodded in agreement. “Allsbrook, does it itch?” 

“Not on my face, no,” he answered. 

“Are you itchy anywhere else?” 

“Yes.” He nodded. “Chest, elbows, upper arms, torso, knees, feet, most of my back, some other areas. It’s not bad, it’s more annoying, like when you have a mosquito bite that you want to scratch.” 

“Would you please remove your robe so we can see if there’s anything visibly wrong with your skin?” Nehemia asked. 

“One sec.” Ren hopped off the chair, went into the shower room, and came back out a moment later. “Just wanted to put my boxers on.” He took off his robe, hung it on the hook in the wall, and sat back down.

“Too much information, Allsbrook,” Aelin grumbled. 

Nehemia ran her analytical gaze over Ren’s body, charting the red rash spread over the areas that he had said were itchy. It looked like an ordinary chafing rash, the skin irritated and slightly split in some places, and some of the redness faded, indicating that it was probably sensitive to the heat of the shower he had taken to remove the SecondSkin. 

“Are you allergic to latex or any of its components?” Nehemia inquired. 

“Not as far as I’m aware, no,” Ren said. 

Nehemia hummed. “Ae, I have thoughts. What do you think?” 

“Prolonged exposure?” Aelin asked. “It almost seems like what happens when you wear the same tightly fitting garment—like a leotard—for an extended period of time and it chafes.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking. It could also potentially be compounded by bacteria and dirt buildup under the material. It lays atop the skin, and as much as we want to claim that there’s no gap, we know there has to be a microscopic distance between the material and the wearer’s skin that could allow that to happen.” Nehemia gently touched two gloved fingers to the rash on Ren’s chest. “Does this hurt?” 

“No.” 

She pressed down. “Does it hurt when I do this?” 

He shook his head. “No. Itches, but it doesn’t hurt.” 

“That’s a good sign, at least.” Nehemia sighed. “Okay, Galathynius, we need to talk before we can decide how to move forward.” She beckoned Aelin towards the back of the room. “Should we go ahead with another application?” she asked, her voice lowered to a whisper. 

Aelin pressed her lips together. “Well, we can’t exactly have him disappear while we try and work out the rash.” 

“I don’t want it to spread or get any worse because it wasn’t treated, though,” Nehemia said. “I think we need to at least treat the rash.” 

“Yes, I agree, but how will that work with another application?” Aelin’s brows furrowed. “And how should we treat the rash if we’re not fully certain of what it is and how it works?” 

“We haven’t yet agreed to do another full application,” Nehemia reminded her, “and my instinct is saying to treat it like it’s a normal chafing rash—hydrocortisone cream, Benadryl, that kind of thing.” 

Aelin nodded. “Okay, that sounds fine. How do you think we should apply the SecondSkin?” 

“Hmm.” Nehemia tugged her lower lip between her teeth. “We could selectively apply it and avoid the rash areas. Theoretically, he’s not going to be stripping down in front of anyone for any reason, so he really only needs to have the right fingerprints and face, maybe footprints too. I vote we just apply the SecondSkin to his hands, face and neck, and feet.” 

“I think we should apply it from hands up to elbows, just to be safe, but that sounds like a solid plan. Do we have hydrocortisone cream here?” 

“Should be in the first aid bin.” Nehemia returned to Ren’s chair. “Okay, Allsbrook, here’s how we’re going to proceed. We’ll treat your rash and reapply the synthetic to your hands and lower arms, face and neck, and feet, which should hopefully give the rash time and breathing room to heal. You should apply this cream every day, as often as necessary, to the parts that are most itchy or inflamed.” She took the tube of hydrocortisone cream that Aelin handed her and applied it to Ren’s rash. 

“Is this something I can find at the pharmacy?” he asked. 

“Yes, it’s a common treatment,” Aelin replied. She walked over to the safe built into the far wall, keyed in the combination, opened the compartment, and retrieved a sleek steel canister from inside. She closed the compartment back up and brought the canister over to the prep table next to where Ren sat. 

Nehemia took off her used gloves and replaced them with a fresh pair. “Ready?” 

“Ready,” Ren confirmed. 

Working in tandem, Aelin and Nehemia carefully laid the almost-invisible film of SecondSkin over Ren’s hands, forearms, face, and feet, carefully molding it to his skin. The pieces had all been prepped beforehand, since it took a significant amount of time to press fingerprints and other distinctive blemishes and markings into the synthetic material, and the SecondSkin molded to Ren’s skin flawlessly, leaving almost no evidence that it was there. 

“Come back in two weeks,” Aelin instructed him as she disposed of her gloves. “We’ll want to see if your rash has improved, which will help us decide how to move forward.” 

“Got it.” Ren went back into the bathroom, got dressed, and came back out as Chaol Westfall, contact lenses placed and bland grin on his face. “See you in two weeks, Dr. Ytger, Galathynius.” He left the lab. 

“We should have seen this coming,” Nehemia groaned when Ren was gone, chucking her gloves into the trash bin. “Honestly, Ae, I feel like such an idiot.” 

“Nemi, you are a genius,” Aelin reassured her. “You’ve been so busy with development and research, and we didn’t even know this could happen until we saw it today.” 

“Yeah.” The chief engineer sighed. “I need to go chart all of this, and you probably have meetings or whatever shit you do in your big fancy office.” She smirked at Aelin.

Aelin rolled her eyes, nudging her friend in the shoulder. “I’d say something smartass, but I do have a meeting pretty soon. Let me know if anything comes up with Allsbrook, yeah?” 

“Of course.” Nehemia waved and turned down a side hallway towards her office. Aelin headed back to the prep room, put her lab coat in the laundry basket, and collected her things before heading to her office and the inevitable day of meetings. 

Two weeks later, Ren came back to the labs, his rash significantly improved. Nehemia removed and reapplied the SecondSkin in the same few areas and instructed him to keep treating the rash, as she didn’t want to move forward with full SecondSkin application until it had completely healed. 

“It’s a good sign that the rash is healing,” she told Aelin over the phone later that day. “In theory, that means the SecondSkin could cause a rash from chafing, irritation, or prolonged use, but the rash can be treated like normal.” 

“Definitely a good sign.” Aelin jotted down that note. “Hopefully, that means SecondSkin can be used for the wide audience we’ve been intending all along.”

“How much longer do you think this is going to be in development and testing?” Nehemia asked. “It’s been over two years, Ae. Shouldn’t this be about the time where we start to consider trial groups?” 

“I’d say yes, but we’ve only just learned about the rash, and we’re not yet sure if the current formula won’t cause that rash.” Aelin was partially thinking out loud. “My gut says to wait until the Ren trial isn’t getting a rash, and then move into trial groups.” Which will give me more time to get rid of Maeve before she can make a move for the SecondSkin tech like Arobynn did, she added silently. 

She was the only person who knew why Arobynn Hamel had died when he did—the former crime lord had taken one step too close to her highly guarded technology, and she’d had no choice but to retaliate. It was…not unexpected that Maeve would try to do the same. 

~

Fenrys Moonbeam might very well be insane. 

People had told him that frequently, ever since he was a reckless kid jumping off the playground structures at school, but he’d never had the thought himself until he was strolling into the Night Owl—a popular nightclub that was rumored to be the primary front of Maeve’s organization—in tight leather pants, a silver sequined jacket, and no shirt. Because rumor also had it that Maeve, the so-called Queen of the Night, had a…taste for handsome men, and he had it on good information that Rourke Farran was a frequent guest at the Night Owl. 

He sauntered up to the bouncer with a lazy, easy grin sprawled across his face. “Hey.” 

The bouncer, who could accurately be depicted as a concrete brick, stared flatly at him. “Invitation only, fancy boy.” 

“I’m with Cadre,” Fen returned, sliding his hand into his jacket to retrieve a beautiful ivory card with purple script embossed across its fine surface. He waved the card at the bouncer. “And they’re expecting me in ten minutes, so it would be great if you’d let me get my pretty ass through the door.” 

“Fuckin’ performers,” the bouncer muttered as he swung open the door. 

“Thank you,” Fen crooned, blowing a kiss at the stone-faced man. The door slammed behind him, and he tucked the invitation—expertly forged by Celaena’s man Nox—back into his jacket and slipped into the crowd of dancing bodies. He winked and smirked his way through the crowd, letting the thumping beat of the music ease his rhythm, until he reached the bar. 

Sure enough, Rourke Farran lounged on a barstool near the far end, one hand around a bottle of beer and the other around the waist of a blonde woman whose lipstick was littered all over his neck. 

Fenrys muffled the snort he wanted to let out and waved over the bartender. “I’ll take a Sex on the Beach,” he purred, giving the guy, who was probably in his early twenties, a wink. 

The bartender’s blush was faintly visible in the flashing strobe lights. “Want that extra strong?” His gaze flicked ever so quickly to Fen’s bare chest. 

“Give it to me as-is, and then we’ll see.” Fen lowered his eyes to half-mast and watched the bartender make his drink. The other man threw the drink together effortlessly, sliding it across the bartop to Fenrys with a little smile of his own. 

“I get off shift in an hour,” he said softly, dark blue eyes alight with hope and a little hesitancy. 

“Good to know.” Fen took a long sip of his cocktail and nodded appreciatively. “Delicious.” In his periphery, he noticed Farran push the blonde out of his lap and stand up, swaying a little, and turn towards the dancefloor. 

He brushed past Fen on his way over. “Get a fuckin’ room,” he slurred, his glassy-eyed gaze flicking once over Fen’s glittering jacket and tight pants. “Goddamn fancy boy.” 

“I’ll be back.” Fen drained the rest of his drink, tossed a twenty on the bar, and rose, following Farran into the sea of dancing bodies. He kept a discreet distance from the man, far enough away to not be noticed but close enough to watch the man’s moves. 

As he had suspected, Farran oozed sleaziness. What he was doing on the dancefloor barely passed for dancing; his gyrating hips and roaming hands were just barely short of outright having sex in public. He moved from girl to girl, changing partners as often as the music changed, leaving a good number of people giving him dirty looks for being too handsy. Fen snorted, knowing that the man probably deserved their scorn. Farran began to move towards the doors, and Fen slipped onto the dancefloor himself, moving fluidly through the crowd, keeping a constant eye on Farran’s steady, subtle escape route. 

Time to move, Moonbeam. 

Feeling a twinge of guilt for not staying to meet the cute bartender, Fenrys watched Farran leave the club and waited exactly a minute and a half before he headed out as well, putting enough unsteadiness in his step to indicate intoxication. Once he was out of the club, he glanced down the street in both directions and then went left. Even if he couldn’t track Farran, he knew where the bastard lived. 

After a quick pit stop in an alley to swap out his flashy jacket for a closely fitted black knit turtleneck, Fenrys headed into the tidy grid of streets that made up western Orynth, taking a meandering route towards the tidy, wealthy neighborhood where Rourke Farran lived. The neighborhood was decked out with security cameras, as Celaena had warned him, so he looped around through the expansive back yards, slinking easily through the landscaped trees and plants until he came to the fence that marked the edge of Farran’s property. There weren’t cameras along the back fence, primarily because of the rotating patrol of guard dogs and security guards, so Fen swiftly scaled the fence and hopped into a tree. 

He waited for the first round of patrols to pass before he carefully reached into the thigh pocket of his pants, withdrew a slim, vacuum-sealed package of meat, quietly cut open the plastic, and tossed the meat in a gentle arc directly onto the grass beside the paved walkway that wove around Farran’s house. A pair of guard dogs came barreling around the corner within sixty seconds, barking and growling and quickly discovering the meat. The second and third patrols weren’t far behind, and it was only a few minutes before all eight guard dogs were tearing apart the meat. 

“The fuck is happening?” A security guard rounded the corner, breathless from sprinting. He saw the dogs calming down and settling back into their patrols after having finished the meat. “God. Which idiot dropped snacks everywhere?” 

Another guard sprinted around the corner. “Everything okay?” 

“One of you jackasses dropped the dogs’ snacks,” the first guard snapped. 

The second one raised his hands in innocence. “I’m not the snack keeper tonight, dude.” 

“Whatever. Just get your ass back to rounds.” The guards nudged the dogs back onto the path and headed away. 

Mentally, Fenrys started counting minutes. He got to four, then five, then slowly and carefully slid down from the tree and darted across the lawn and onto the shadowed back porch. A moment later, he’d scaled the drainpipe leading up the side of the house and was perched on the balcony directly outside the master bedroom. 

Wherein Rourke Farran was fully naked in front of his mirror, with his—

“Fucking hell,” Fen groaned to himself, shaking his head. “Disgusting.” But also enough of a distraction for him to slip down onto the balcony, pull a slender silver tube from his sleeve, raise it to his lips, and blow a tiny needle dart straight into the back of Farran’s neck. 

Farran crumpled to the floor. 

Good work, Moonbeam, Fenrys complimented himself. Now you just have to get the asshole out of his booby-trap house and over to the river warehouse.

Easy. 

Right?

~

“He’s all yours, Boss,” Fenrys drawled as Aelin strolled past on the way out of the storage warehouse. 

She glanced at her smart watch. “It’s only the eleventh, Moon Moon. That was quick.” 

He shrugged, irreverent as always. “What can I say? I like to work fast.” 

“Hopefully not all the time.” She smirked wickedly. “Your bartender boyfriend might be disappointed.”

Fenrys flushed a delightful shade of pink. “How the fuck—”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answered, Moon Moon.” She winked wickedly at him. “How’s our special guest doing? Is he adjusted to his new home?” 

“It took him some time to get used to the room,” Fen returned, casually pulling a set of brass knuckles from a pocket of his cargo pants and spinning them over his fist. 

Aelin chuckled, soft and lethal. “Not surprising. Thanks, Fen.” She paused just in front of the side door, her gloved knuckles resting on the doorknob. “Oh, Moon Moon?” 

“Yeah?” He froze, his posture still as a…soldier’s. 

“I’ll need you for cleanup on the twenty-seventh.” 

He nodded. “Got it, Boss.” 

Aelin keyed in the door code and left the warehouse, satisfied that she had set the wheels of her plan in motion. While she trusted Con’s assessment of his brother, she wasn’t fully convinced that she could completely trust anyone on her payroll, and Fen’s easy charm masked a cold, heartless willingness to carry out whatever depraved task she demanded of him. Furthermore, that stance of his—the utter stillness of his posture when someone ordered him to stop—had been pricking at her memory for days, and she’d only just realized why. 

Fenrys stood like a soldier. More than that—he stood like one of her uncle’s men, one of the Terrasen Special Forces. 

And Aelin knew the day one of Gav’s men got into Celaena Sardothien’s business would be the day her double identity began to crumble. Even if she wanted to trust Fenrys, she had to confirm for herself that she could, and that meant giving him a fake kill date in case he needed to report back to someone in the military. 

If he did, if he turned out to be a spy, then the TSF would come sniffing around for Rourke Farran when it was already weeks too late. 

~

Aelin laced her fingers with Rowan’s as they strolled through the fancy restaurant’s glass front doors, something settling deep in her chest at the simple, casual intimacy of holding his hand. Her mind had been running in overdrive for the last two weeks, and even now, with ten days left in the month, she hadn’t been able to slow the constant dizzying whirl of her thoughts. 

Rowan was one of the only people who’d brought her a glimpse of peace recently, in the few scattered dates they’d been able to snatch between both of their busy schedules. He flicked her a tiny, secret smile, one that only she ever saw, before approaching the hostess stand with the same confidence that cloaked him when he was in his investigator clothes and badge. And dear god, the things that confidence did to her already throbbing pussy—she was half tempted to slip off her panties and sneak them to him under the table. 

But she was a mature woman, so she wouldn’t. 

“Whitethorn, party of two, seven-thirty reservation,” Rowan said to the hostess. 

The young woman—probably a college student, if Aelin’s guess was correct—tapped a few things into her tablet. “Your table is ready, Mr. Whitethorn. Please, this way.” She led Rowan and Aelin through the low-lit restaurant towards the far wall of windows. Through the glass was a breathtaking view of Orynth, the city cast in shades of bronze as the sun began to drift downwards. 

“Gorgeous,” Aelin murmured, captivated by the view. 

Rowan’s thumb brushed across the back of her hand. “Not half as much as you.” 

She blushed. “You’re quite the flirt, you—oh!” Unexpectedly, a man’s shoulder brushed hers as they wove through the restaurant floor. She looked up to find none other than Police Captain Chaol Westfall, wearing a nice suit and a mildly shocked expression. 

“M–Miss Galathynius,” he finally managed, clearing his throat. “And, ah, Lieutenant Whitethorn. I…I apologize for running into you.” 

“Westfall, what are you doing here?” Rowan inquired, polite on the surface but with narrowed, suspicious eyes. 

“Considering we aren’t at work, it’s none of your business, White-horn, but I was at dinner with a friend of mine,” Chaol shot back. There was definite animosity underlying his words. 

Rowan raised a brow. “You…have friends?” 

“Ah, lighten up, darling,” Aelin interjected before either man could resort to fists. “We don’t all live at our workplace, as we seem to have discovered. And Ro, darling, we’ve left that poor hostess floundering.” She wrapped her hand around his arm and tugged him towards their table. 

He shot Chaol one last suspicious look. Chaol returned the look, but broke the stare-off to nod respectfully at Aelin as she passed. “Ms. Galathynius.” 

When they reached their table, Rowan pulled out Aelin’s chair before seating himself across from her. Questions brewed in the shifting of his eyes. “Question, Ae—do you know Westfall? How?” 

“That was two questions,” she teased. “Yes, I’ve met Captain Westfall before. It’s all part of the business; I’ve met just about every notable figure in Orynth at some function or another. I probably met the police captain at some kind of gala.” 

Rowan nodded slowly, digesting the information. “That makes sense. All those faces probably run together after long enough, yeah?” 

“I try to keep them separate, but yeah.” She flashed him a sheepish grin. “There’s only so many names and faces you can memorize before they all start to appear the same.” 

“Why, Miss Galathynius,” Rowan drawled, his face alight with mischief, “are you implying that there are too many men in suits in this fine city?” 

She shrugged, meeting the gleam of his humor with her own dry wit. “I’m simply observing that if a few less of them were to bother me at every function I attend, my mind would be clearer.” 

“I thought you had a mind like a steel trap, love.” Raising a brow, he sipped his water. 

“It sometimes takes a moment to pull out a name from the file cabinet,” she returned. “And—oh look, here comes our server.” Their server, a sandy-blonde-haired man in his late twenties wearing the restaurant staff’s uniform of white shirt, black trousers, and maroon tie, wore a pleasant (if tired) smile as he pulled his notepad from his apron pocket. 

“Good evening,” he said cheerfully. “My name is James, and I’ll be your server tonight. Would you like to hear about our specials this evening?” 

Aelin glanced at Rowan, whose eyes had visibly narrowed as he scanned the server. The look was so blatantly male, she almost rolled her eyes, but her possessive buzzard relaxed when he saw the silver wedding band adorning the server’s left ring finger. “I actually think we’re ready to order, if that’s alright?” 

James the server just about melted to the floor in relief. “Are you serious?” he asked, lowering his voice to an incredulous whisper. “I—I haven’t had a single easy table tonight, and it’s the last two hours of a double and—I’m so sorry, that was completely unprofessional of me.” 

Aelin chuckled. “Don’t worry, James, was it? Customer service is a rough job.” 

“Tell me about it,” the man grumbled. 

Rowan shot Aelin a confused look. “Ae, love, I haven’t even looked at the menu.” 

“Do you trust me, love?” she asked. 

He pursed his lips, not quite used to letting someone else order his food. “All right.” 

“Perfect.” She blew him a subtle kiss. “Okay, James, is it alright if I give you our order a few steps away?” She lowered her voice conspiratorially, keeping it still loud enough for Rowan to hear. “I want to surprise my boyfriend; I’ve been here more than once but he hasn’t ever been.” 

“Of course.” James smiled, a genuine one this time. “I brought my wife here once when we were dating—took half my paycheck, but it was worth it.” He stepped aside a few paces and Aelin followed, quietly giving her and Rowan’s order. The server’s pen flew over his page. 

“And say hi to Chef Emrys for me, would you?” she concluded. 

“You…you know the head chef?” 

“Bit of a long story, but yes. Tell him Aelin Galathynius says hi, please. Thanks!” She came back to the table and slipped into her seat, leaving the very nice but very shocked server to collect his wits after realizing just who he was talking to and go to place the order. 

“Poor guy looks like he just got hit by a truck,” Rowan observed, smothering a laugh.

Aelin smirked. “I may or may not have given him my full name.” 

“Ah, the name drop.” He nodded sagely. “Just what every famous CEO has to do to the poor server who got their table.” 

“You’ve got quite a mouth for a soldier, you know,” Aelin mused, her words slowing to a near- seductive pace. “A respectable man would never insinuate that his date uses her job title for perks.” 

“I never said I was respectable.” Lazily, his gaze roamed down her upper body, admiring the way her little black dress scooped beneath her collarbones, accentuating the gleam of the single small teardrop diamond pendant that nestled in the hollow of her throat. 

James came by with two glasses of white wine and an appetizer platter with two sharing plates, breaking the dangerous haze of the moment, and Aelin thanked the server as he headed off, no doubt to take care of his other tables. 

Rowan’s jaw slacked just a bit at the sight of the cured meat and prawns arranged on the plate. “Please tell me you didn’t order the most expensive things on the menu, Ae.” 

“Of course not.” She reached across the table and linked her hands with his, the gesture as natural as breathing. “I got us an appetizer to share, a first course, a meat course, and a dessert, and I’m not the kind of person who orders expensive items just to flash her money around.” 

He breathed out a deep, controlled exhale. “I know, love. It’s just…” His thumb rubbed across her knuckles. “I’m not used to any of this—the fancy restaurants, the fancy food, the way people don’t bat an eye at spending thirty dollars for some toast.” 

She cracked a grin at that. “Let me introduce you to the fine, fine work of Chef Emrys, then. I actually used to work for him, way back when I was eighteen and my parents decided I needed to experience real-people jobs.” 

“Way back when,” he drawled, teasing her. 

“Hush, old man,” she teased right back, plating up a sampling of the appetizer plate and sliding it over to him. “I know I’m only twenty-seven, but my stint as a hostess feels like forever ago.” 

“Kind of like how basic training feels like forever ago for me.” Rowan agreed. He bit into one of the cured prawns and nearly moaned, his eyes closing in joy. “God, this is incredible.” 

She beamed. “Wait until you taste Chef Emrys’s filet mignon, Ro.” 

The conversation flowed freely between them after that, only interrupted by the arrival of new food and wine. A mushroom and herb risotto accompanied by an aged Riesling. The promised filet mignon, which almost made Rowan cry with joy, and a spectacular six-year Merlot. And finally, individual blackberry cobblers, the berries ripe and fresh and perfectly sweet-tart, paired with the restaurant’s signature Cabernet. 

“I don’t think I can move,” Rowan sighed as he set down his last empty wineglass. “But it was absolutely worth every bite.” 

“I think I’m going to dream of this cobbler,” Aelin added, regretfully nudging her empty dish towards the end of the table. “Tell me when you’re ready to leave, yes?” 

“Gonna need three to five business days,” he mumbled. 

Her laughter rippled across their low-lit table. “I love when you let that humor of yours loose.” 

A different kind of hunger flickered in his forest eyes. “And I love when I have you all to myself.” 

“Possessive much?” 

He just shrugged. “Call me whatever you want, love, but we both know you only come for me.” 

Flames flickered through her blood at the deep, sinful timbre of his voice. “That’s only because I haven’t introduced you to my drawer full of battery-powered boyfriends.” 

The banked embers simmering in his expression flared into a bonfire, and he sat upright and beckoned their server over. “Suddenly, I’m ready to go home.” 

James was at their table within two minutes. “How was everything for you tonight? Can I get you anything else?” 

“It was absolutely mind-blowing, as always,” Aelin said. “And no, I think we’ll just take the check.” Covertly, she slipped James her credit card, and he gave her a small nod as he went over to the server computer to process the payment. 

“Don’t think I didn’t hear you,” Rowan murmured, the velvet caress of his voice stroking down her spine. “Mind-blowing, Ae?” 

“Would you happen to know anything about that?” she asked, innocently. 

In response, he trailed a brazen stare down her figure. “Seems like you need a refresher.” He stood up far too smoothly for someone who had just finished his fourth glass of wine, gave her his hand for stability as she rose, and then rested that hand against the small of her back, his touch burning through her dress. 

Their server returned with a check folder in his hand and passed it over to Aelin, who glanced over the receipts, signed her name, and tucked her credit card and her copy of the receipt back into her small handbag. “Thanks, James.” 

“Ah, thank you, Ms. Galathynius, Mr. Whitethorn. You might have been the best table I’ve had all day.” He tucked the folder into his apron pocket with a wry grin. “Have a good one!” 

“If it’s good, it won’t be just one,” Rowan whispered into Aelin’s ear. 

A shiver danced down her neck. “Is that a promise, Lieutenant?” 

He held the door open for her as they left the restaurant. “Ask me again when you’re begging for my cock, love.” 

~

Ren Allsbrook, alias Chaol Westfall, was expecting Whitethorn’s visit, but the man’s presence in his office still gave him an oddly unsettled feeling. 

He pasted a bland, blasé expression onto his face. “Yes, Whitethorn?” 

Rowan dropped into the chair opposite Ren’s, regarding him with a piercing look that almost seemed to pierce beneath the layer of SecondSkin cloaking his true identity. “How the hell do you know Aelin, Westfall?” 

Ren shrugged. “We met at some city leader event a while back. Some big thing the mayor hosted so the big names of Orynth could pretend to be civil to each other.” 

“Yeah? How long ago was that?” 

Fucking think, Allsbrook. Chaol Westfall had been the police captain for about three years, Ren had taken over as Chaol six months ago in January, and the mayor’s Leaders Gala was always held in…the fall…“Last October, I believe. You’ll have to give me a little grace on the estimate, since I was damn busy with actual work.” 

“Cute of you to think you can get away with sneering at me from your soapbox, Westfall,” Whitethorn said dryly. “Well, I checked the dates, and the mayor always holds his little party in October, so I’ll buy your story.” 

“My story, huh? When did you get so desperate for leads that you started accusing coworkers, Whitethorn?” 

“Shut up,” Rowan grunted. “I’m just making sure you haven’t been doing anything shady with my girlfriend, jackass.” 

“Ooooooh, we’re using official terms now?” Ren couldn’t resist the urge to press Whitethorn’s buttons. “I thought you were allergic to that kind of commitment.” 

“I wouldn’t get smart-mouthed with me, Westfailure,” Rowan grumbled. “I’ve seen you going to the Galathynius labs. What the hell are you doing there?” 

Ren muffled a rather creative string of curses. “Whitethorn, I know you’re terse, but what the hell was that subject change? Give me some goddamn context, for shit’s sake.” 

“Fine.” Rowan pulled up some security camera footage on his tablet. “This is a record of the feed from the Galathynius, Inc. lab complex’s security cameras, and before you open your mouth, I have clearance. Two and a half weeks ago, on June 4th, you went to the labs. You went again yesterday.” He tapped on the video, and the footage played, clearly showing Chaol walk into the labs and walk back out after a period of fast-forwarding through nothing. 

“Well.” Think, you fucking idiot! “Since we are currently quietly investigating a connection between Galathynius, Incorporated, and the, uh, Shadow Killer—”

“Shadow Assassin,” Rowan corrected. 

“Whatever. That person. You think there’s a connection, and I’m pursuing it. I happen to know a scientist who works in the Galathynius labs, and I set up a couple of meetings to speak with her.” Ren folded his arms across his chest. Buy the story, Whitethorn. 

Whitethorn frowned. “Why didn’t I hear about these meetings?” 

“Because I was being discreet, duh.” Ren poured a heavy dose of sarcasm into the last word.

Rowan grumbled something that sounded like a string of cussing. “I didn’t get sent to this investigation for the laugh track, Westfall.” He stood up and left the office, carelessly banging the door shut behind him. 

“Jackass,” Ren grumbled. He turned back to the endless slog of paperwork and files he had to get through, because the job of police captain came with a lifetime supply of that shit. Against all beliefs, he’d actually come to enjoy this job, this role, and he was just as invested in the case as Whitethorn was. 

He just happened to be on a different side. 

~

This is fucking insane, this is fucking insane, this is fucking insane. Those were the words running through Fenrys’s head as he and his twin strolled down the secret back stars of the Night Owl. He was barely able to focus on the opulence of the hallway—plush velvet lining the walls, fine mahogany banisters, and black wall torches and overhead lights giving the whole space a deep purple glow—when his mind was so focused on what lay at the end of the walk. 

“Relax,” Con muttered. “Don’t get us fucking killed before we’ve found out what she wants.”

“I’m trying,” Fen grumbled. He straightened the lapels of his jacket, the same sequined one he’d worn to the Night Owl three weeks ago. “But—”

“But nothing.” Con cut him off. “Remember why we’re here.” 

“Right.” Because Celaena had trusted the two of them with infiltrating Maeve’s lair. Because they were the key to taking down the last obstacle in Boss Sardothien’s path, whatever the hell it was. 

The masked guard in front of the twins stopped at a dark wooden door at the end of the hall. “Wait here,” he said, expressionless. He went into the room, closed the door behind him, and came out a few minutes later just as expressionless. “Maeve will see you now.” And he opened the door. 

Fenrys took a quick, deep breath and strolled into the dark-paneled office, Con at his side, both of their gazes immediately locking onto the woman who sat behind the imposing black marble desk at the far end of the room. Her face was pale, nearly opalescent in the darkness, her lips were stained scarlet, and her unnervingly violet gaze was fixed on the twins. 

“Thank you for being willing to meet on such short notice, boys,” Maeve said, her calm, cold voice slicing through the room like a blade. 

“Our honor,” Fen replied. Maeve gestured at the pair of leather chairs opposite her desk, and the twins sat down. 

She steepled her fingers under her chin. “I have a job for you.” 

Con shared a loaded look with Fen. “Both of us, or just one?” 

“Both of you. I need one of you for each side of the job.” 

Slowly, Fen nodded. “Alright. What can we do for you?” 

One corner of Maeve’s scarlet lips curled upwards. She retrieved a thin manila file from her desk and slid it across the desktop. “Fenrys, kill this man.” The order was as clearly and casually enunciated as if she was asking for a glass of water. “Connall, you will stay here to monitor Fenrys’s task.” 

Beside Fenrys, Con’s posture stiffened. “How?” 

“We have an advanced tech space that will provide all the equipment you need, as well as the chance to experiment with some of the devices we’re working on.” A gleam flickered briefly through the Queen of the Night’s unflinching stare. “And I require company.” 

“Alright.” Con dipped his head in acquiescence, flatly refusing to meet the sharp, concerned gaze Fen shot towards him. 

“Excellent.” Maeve smiled, and it sent a shiver down Fenrys’s spine. “You may go, Fenrys. I expect it won’t take you too long to get the job done.” 

“I pride myself on efficiency,” he smirked, masking the oily chill in his blood with a lazy, half-wild grin. He rose, nodded at Maeve, and strolled out of the room and then out of the club, his steps sure and unfaltering until he was around the corner and out of sight. 

Then, he ducked into a side alley and slumped against the wall, his veneer of easy confidence dropping to reveal his hidden terror. Fuck! He’d left his brother in that spider’s lair; gods only knew what could happen if either of them failed to do what Maeve commanded. Hands shaking, Fenrys reached into the hidden inner pockets of his jacket, his fingers closing around the comfortingly cold steel of his favorite twin flat knives and the envelope containing the thick piece of cardstock that had been in the file. The least he could do—for himself, for Connall, and for the man he had to kill—was carry out his task quickly, before the Queen of the Night could hurt his brother.

And so, heart heavy, Fenrys Moonbeam adjusted his jacket and the weapons contained within it and began his prowl towards Orynth Police headquarters.

~

Rowan arrived at Orynth PD unusually early on the morning of June 30. After a restless night—he’d tossed and turned far into the wee hours of the morning, snatched probably three solid hours of sleep, and had a muddled collection of dream snippets—he’d just decided to bite the bullet and drag his ass out of bed at five in the morning. Shortly before six, he keyed in his code at the door of the police station, let himself into the quiet, chilly building, and dragged himself to the locker room to dump his bag and splash some icy water on his face. With his vest strapped on and his badge around his arm, he grabbed his laptop bag and trudged up the stairs to the offices, ducking into his office to drop off his things and try to form a to-do list. 

Fuck, he needed caffeine. He needed it badly enough that he’d even drink the bitter shit from the common-room carafe. So he pushed his chair in, left his office, and went down to the bullpen, following the faint scent of the first batch of coffee. Operating on autopilot, he was halfway to the break room before he smelled it. 

Blood. 

That coppery tang was unmistakable. 

Fuck. 

Coffee forgotten, Rowan whirled around and strode back to the bullpen, following his nose like some kind of hound. A bloodhound, whispered the traitorous part of his mind that sounded an awful lot like Aelin’s witty laugh. In any other context, he might have laughed along. But not this time. Head down, he tracked the metallic stench of blood across the bullpen, its tang growing heavier with each successive step he took. The blood, wherever it was, was still fresh enough to be that strong, but old enough to have spread its scent through a significant part of the floor. Both of those things worried him. A lot. 

Hand straying to his holster, Rowan rounded the corner towards the cluster of desks where the detectives and Westfall worked whenever Westfall was in the bullpen. He inhaled, catching a lungful of blood-scent, so strong it nearly knocked him back. That part of the floor was still shadowed in the early-morning dimness, so he flicked on the nearest light for a better visual. 

The flashlight in his hand clattered to the floor. His other hand clenched around the cold, smooth handle of his gun. 

He’d found the source of the blood stench. 

He blinked. Shook his head. He snapped his jaw shut, swore at himself a few times, imagined Gav yelling at him for losing his mind like a goddamn fucking green idiot, and took one step forwards. 

He froze. 

Sprawled facedown in a pool of his own blood, the back of his skull concave as if bashed in with a heavy, blunt object, with a bullet hole ripped through his temple and knives pinning his now-limp hands to the desk, was Chaol Westfall. 

Rowan locked up the side of himself that immediately started screaming questions and approached Chaol’s…corpse…carefully, forcing the investigative side of himself to take the lead. He cautiously nudged Westfall with his baton, noting the lack of response. With that amount of blood loss, he’d be more shocked if the man was alive, but he still had to go through the steps. As much as he could, Rowan circled the body, clocking each new wound he found on the man’s body. It was…more brutal than he had initially noticed, slashes and cuts scattered over the body, as well as the knives stabbed through the hands and the obvious point-blank range of the bullet, marked by its entry and exit wounds. 

As he came to the other side, Rowan stopped once again, because there was a goddamned note tacked to Westfall’s forehead. No—nailed to his forehead. 

Fuck.

He pulled on the pair of latex gloves he kept tucked into his belt and gingerly reached for the note, lifting it up enough to read it. He didn’t remove it; he was too experienced to fuck with a crime scene like that. He did, however, lift up the paper, which was surprisingly thick and high-quality for a fucking assassin signoff. Three words were printed onto the note in dark ink. He tilted the paper slightly, and the black ink shimmered with a dark purple sheen, indicative both of its quality and probably of the signature colors of whoever the hell had written the message. 

Tread carefully, Lieutenant. 

There was no signature. There was, however, a symbol stamped beneath the short, threatening message. Rowan peered at the stamp, sharp gaze scanning it until the shape came into focus. It was an almost photographic image of an owl, the bird posed in eerie stillness, its inked eyes large and unblinking. And atop the owl’s head sat a crown, a perfect arc of five jeweled spikes. 

It was the mark of the Queen of the Night.

~~~

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[morganofthewildfire]

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After The Rain - Chapter 11

Gray Eyes

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masterlist

~1.4k words

CW: mentions of violence and death, allusions to sexual assault

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1923

“Go,” she hissed to Rowan, but he shook his head. Celaena was beginning to panic. “You can’t be in here.”

Rowan looked around hurriedly, just as the lock clicked. Her heart was pounding as he darted into her closet, the door clicking shut behind him softly just as the door to her bedroom opened.

In a split second, Celaena was back in bed, sitting up like she’d just woken to the sound of the door. She knew who it was before they even appeared. 

“Arobynn?” She asked, rubbing her eyes and pretending like she was still groggy from sleep. Never mind the fact that he’d beaten her to nearly a pulp only that morning; she still had to be somewhat responsive, otherwise he’d get suspicious.

And she couldn’t have him suspicious, not with Rowan hiding in the closet right by her.

She stiffened as Arobynn stepped into her room, shutting the door behind him. The only thing that settled her was the proximity of someone who’d just told her openly minutes before that he wouldn’t hesitate to kill Arobynn should he try to lay a single hand on her. 

Her best friend, apparently. 

“Celaena darling,” he said, sidling over casually toward her bed. 

“It’s the middle of the night,” she said, eyeing him carefully. Especially as he perched on the edge of her bed, far too close to her. She could practically see Rowan bristling from inside the closet. But fortunately he didn’t come out.

She could deal with this herself. After all, she had for over a decade. Even if the unwelcome advances had only escalated as time went on, culminating in -

“I couldn’t sleep,” Arobynn said, clearly a lie. “I’m not happy with how our conversation ended earlier. Especially after all of your time gone. I felt like I didn’t act in a proper manner.” Bullshit. It was all bullshit. “I haven’t even gotten a chance to tell you how sorry I am about poor Samuel’s fate.” 

Celaena’s blood went cold. 

And she couldn’t force out any words, just staying there, silent, until Arobynn continued talking.

“And I didn’t get the chance to tell you that my men took care of Farran,” he said, “he’s out of the picture.” 

Shock raced through her, but she didn’t let it show on her face, not wanting to give him that satisfaction.

“Why did you wait to tell me?” She managed to croak out, and he tilted his head, looking at her a bit pityingly. At least painting that emotion on his face; Celaena wasn’t sure he felt anything at all, at least not for anyone other than himself.

Especially when all he did was shrug with all of the grace of someone who didn’t give a fuck what anyone else thought.

“It simply wasn’t the right time,” Arobynn said, and she blinked.

“And now is?” Her words were tight. She couldn’t help it, too many emotions were going through her for her to be able to easily comprehend them. 

Rourke Farran was a man who had likely the most evil and vile reputation in the entire underground of Rifthold. He owned a pleasure hall called the Vaults in the seediest part of downtown, and had a hand tangled in practically every shady dealing he could reach. 

Celaena was absolutely disgusted by him. 

So when she and Sam were hired to kill him, it was an easy decision. One last job, then they’d have the money to leave. 

But it hadn’t gone as planned.

Celaena had met Samuel Cortland years ago. He’d grown up under Arobynn’s “tutelage” just as much as she had, though he was never his favorite. In fact, he’d resented the special treatment she’d received, and they’d been at odds for years. Sam hadn’t had a skillset as wide as hers either, which was why Celaena was Arobynn’s favorite little pet.

She killed for him, she spied for him, she… did whatever needed to be done. Which sometimes included using the body the gods had given her and she’d worked hard to keep to make people a little looser, a little more eager to spill to her. It was her least favorite part, especially when it escalated to the point where she was treated no better than one of the girls whose poor fate had left them abandoned in a brothel.

It didn’t happen often, but it was never any less debasing. But she couldn’t say no because then she’d get punished by Arobynn. 

That had been her life - selling herself and her skills and hating Samuel Cortland. Until an incident that had changed something between them until they were allies, and then friends, and then more.

It never would’ve lasted, she knew that. It was a product of their situation, and the moment they were able to escape, she was sure they would’ve gone their separate ways soon enough. But that in no way meant she wasn’t horrifyingly distraught by his death.

One last job.

That’s what it was supposed to be. 

But it’d failed, and even though they tried to cut their losses and just run to the train station and get the hell away regardless, they’d been caught. And… Sam had been tortured and killed in the most brutal way possible.

And as for Celaena - she’d been forced to sit there and listen as he died, and after he was gone had had her autonomy taken from her in the most grueling way possible. It was different than all the times before, because at least then, even if she didn’t like to, it was still her choice.

That time it was decidedly not.

After her attacker was done, which could be assumed to be Farran himself, she’d been dumped at Arobynn’s front door like a sack of potatoes. And the first chance she’d gotten - she’d run.

“Would you rather me have waited until tomorrow?” Arobynn asked, disrupting her thoughts, and she clenched her jaw. Evasions, diversions, twisting her own words around until she was left wondering what she’d even said. That was his game.

She was fucking tired of it.

“Anyways,” he continued, “after what happened with poor Sam, and with what happened to you, it would just be an insult to let him keep living.”

With what happened to her. 

She hated how clinical that sounded. How avoidant. He wouldn’t even say it out loud. It was despicable, it was cowardly, especially when Celaena could still feel every touch on her skin.

From the outside, she’d escaped unscathed, which most people would say she was lucky for, that she should praise the gods for letting her be okay. But just because she held no external wounds, didn’t mean she wasn’t scarred.

“So he’s dead?” She asked, her voice flat. Arobynn nodded.

“He is,” he answered, “put in the ground where he belongs.” And where you belonged too, she thought, barely stopping herself from saying it out loud.

She was too vulnerable here; she couldn’t be throwing things out there like that without a plan. Especially with Rowan still hidden in the closet, two inches of thick wood separating him from certain death. No matter what Rowan said, he was in the house of an enemy. Arobynn had dozens of people he could call to restrain him, Rowan just had himself.

And even though they’d collaborated to find Celaena, Maeve and Arobynn were still at odds. Finding Rowan not only in his house, but in his prized possession’s bedroom… it wouldn’t end well for him.

“Another thing as well,” Arobynn said, and Celaena just stared at him. “I hope we can put everything behind us, and move on. You have so much potential, Celaena, I’d hate for you to waste it.” His voice was suffocatingly sugary. “We can do so much together.” He stood up from her bed, heading toward her door. “Think on that, okay?”

But Celaena already had her answer. No, they couldn’t put everything behind them. Not after what had happened to her. Because everyone assumed it was Farran behind it all, but that was what he wanted her to think. Wanted everyone to think.

But she knew better.

Because in that split second her blindfold had slipped… it’d been gray eyes she’d seen.

---

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[crunchywarrior]

Throne of Glass bad things I guess. This is a list of bad things that happened to Aelin starting when she was 8 to 18. This contains extreme spoilers so yeah.

Aelin 1. When she was 8 her parents, family, and everyone she carried about died. Then Marion made a sacrifice for her, which might have been what she carried with her most because she felt like it was a pointless sacrifice, she almost didn’t get away. Aelin’s biggest weakness is arguably her loyalty to her friends, she would do anything for them do anything to keep them safe. One reason I believe this is because of is Marion’s sacrifice. She doesn’t want anyone else to make these sacrifices for her. She only barely got away because of the wyrdkey around her neck and Elena. Then of course Arobynn found her and took her in. Because someone wants to kill her, (she doesn’t know who at that point) and because she is the princess to be queen of Terrasen, Arobynn gives her the name Celaena Sardothein, and raises her as an assassin. This it’s self is another thing on the list, because she wished to become a healer.

2. Her training with Arobynn was nothing outside of torture, with Arobynn’s brutal methods one was to get her able to use a weapon easily with either hand, he had her break her own wrist. All of this led her to become the best assassin ever, (Adarlan’s Assassin) though she still vowed never to kill anyone from Terrasen. This went on for ten years.

3. just before she turned 17 She went on a mission to skulls bay, where she found out about Arobynn’s business in slave trades. Of course, Aelin being Aelin, she released the slaves and when she came back to the Assassin’s keep, Arobynn beat her and sent her packing to the Silent Assassins. And then of course when she got back (she turned 18 over the time) Arobynn pulled another lie on her and got her an avocation to kill this ‘slave dealer’ who turned out to actually be someone trying to save slaves. Aelin was crushed with this news, it was easily enough to convince her to use the money she’d gotten from the mute master to free herself from Arobynn. This brings up another thing he did, paying for her to have the best training, the best clothes, food, whatever she wanted, then turned around and said that she had to pay him back for all of this, and until then, she was bound to him. He also did this to Sam, his second favorite young assassin. (Aelin had to sell her horse to get the money to free him of his dept)

4. Sam died. Aelin and Sam now away from the Assassin’s keep couldn’t find and contracts, until they agreed to go after one of the most dangerous people in Adarlan, Rourke Farran. Sam walked right into a trap and was tortured and killed by Farran. This broke Aelin. The first person she had found since the downfall of Terrasen that she actually loved died, was killed, she failed him. She could barely move when she found out, then deciding to inflict her revenge on Rourke she jumped into Arobynn’s trap, and was sent to Endovier, where she worked as a slave.

5. Endovier, is a torture camp set up by the king of adarlan. Aelin was tortured there for a year, only trying to break free once, on the anniversary of her parents death. All of these events in Aelin’s life take place before the events of Throne of Glass, another thing to notice is I basically did a run through of Aelin’s life up to Endovier starting at Terrasens diminish. Yeah, Aelin doesn’t have the best life. But these events are what shape her as a character, they outline her loyalty and felt responsibility to her friends, and show what she had to go through. Another thing she carried is the ten years she was with the assassins, she wasn’t doing anything for Terrasen. She was the rightful queen of Terrasen, and felt like for those years she abandoned it, while others fought for it.

if you read to the end I’m surprised but thanks!!! This is my show of how I can’t seriously discuss things, I’m considering doing more of these with the other characters and finish going through the rest of the bad things in Aelin’s life. If you think I should please tell me that in the comments!!

#Throne of glass #assassins blade #aelin #aelin galathynius #aelin ashryver galathynius #aelin x sam #sam cortland #arobynn #arobynn hamel #celaena #celaena sardothien #celaena x sam #Elena #brannon #aelin of the wildfire #Endovier #Rourke fallan #aelin fireheart #rowan whitethorn #lysandra #Chaol westfall #dorian havilliard

[ohanthonytomallamadingdong]

i finished the last two novellas in Assassin’s Blade today as a lovely beach read. it was great to have the wind in my hair, the rhythm of the waves in my ears, and the sand under my feet while i had an entire breakdown

before i move onto Heir of Fire, as has become custom, here are my thoughts:

- Sam

- Sam Sam Sam SAM SAM

- whywhywhywhy

- all i can say is that i really really want Celaena to have the honor and satisfaction of killing Arobynn and Rourke Farran in Heir of Fire

- that is not a want actually it’s a need

- Celaena’s classic phrase “…and i will not be afraid” coming from Sam has shattered me

- aside from aforementioned tragedies, THAT WAS DORIAN AND CHAOL AT THE HARVEST MOON PARTY

- DORIAN HAS MET SAM

- the slave trade situation and Arobynn’s double betrayal on that is so frustrating to me and im ready to see Celaena tear it down as Aelin

- Celaena’s love of music and art and dancing and the finer things is actually a side of character that’s so dear to me

- it’s not just appreciation it’s bone-deep, whole-bodied love

- the symbolism of the white stag and Celaena telling it to run and it looking her in the eye as she goes to the salt mines I-

- excellent

- last thing:

- i want more of this Yrene and this Ansel they speak of

- more Silent Assassins too

- i like them (even tho Ansel needs some help)

#throne of glass #sarah j maas #celaena sardothien #assassins blade #ansel of briarcliff #also celaena do be giving hella bi vibes #between Ansel and the way she reacted to being touched by that courtesan at the party #das sapphic babe #maybe just me projecting #but that’s what fictional characters are for babie

[silverflameataraxia]

One look at the brown-haired Fae warrior - Cairn - standing at Maeve's side, and Aelin had known what he was. She'd killed enough of them over the years. She'd spent time with Rourke Farran. What he'd do to Elide... Lorcan also knew what a male like Cairn would do to a young woman. And if he was sanctioned by Maeve herself...

I 100% believe that if Maeve and Cairn had actually tried to take Elide that Lorcan would have been able to break his blood oath. His mating bond with Elide would have had a stronger pull on him.

#throne of glass #empire of storms #queen maeve #aelin whitethorn #lorcan x elide #lorcan lochan #aelin fireheart #lady elide #lord lorcan lochan #aelin of the wildfire #elide x lorcan #lorcan salvaterre #queen aelin #elide lochan #lorcan supremacy #aelin galythinius #elide supremacy #lorcan stan #aelin ashryver galathynius #elide stan #elorcan supremacy #aelin's court #elorcan

[athena-theunicorn]

First line tag game!

Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don't by shy and share anyway.

Thank you @wanderingnightingale for the tag 🤗

Against All Gods - fruits basket 2019

Tohru Honda woke up a year ago in a hospital bed.  

The Silence Between Them - Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild

Zelda followed her father toward the bridge overlooking the soldier’s and guard’s training yard. Her father, King Roham Hyrule had a meeting with the Captain of the Guard, to talk about the kids who were to start training.  

The Distance Between Them - Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild

Well, it's been quite some time, has it not, Hero?

The Memories Between Them - Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild

What do you do now, Hero? Without evil breathing down your neck? Without the weight of the world on your shoulders?

From Ash to Fire - Throne of Glass

Sam Cortland never really believed in the Afterworld. He always thought you would either be punished for your life, or maybe float in and endless void. He wasn’t sure. But the idea of Hell seemed to be the most fitting for the way he lived his life, and while he was dying at the hands of Rourke Farran, he was sure that’s where he’d ended up.   

waiting games - I Fell in Love with Hope

I used to get letters, handwritten and blood stained. Then I got typed letters, the smell of ink comforting. Then it turned to emails I would keep in a special folder, although I would never look at them again.

I nominate @farore-or-less @hejmaja and @heroineoftwilight !

#zelink fanfic #fanfiction #tagging game

[celsardo]

𝖔𝖓𝖈𝖊 𝖉𝖚𝖇𝖇𝖊𝖉 𝖆𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖔𝖗𝖗𝖆'𝖘 𝖆𝖘𝖘𝖆𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖓, it was not an upbringing that celaena had grown into. when king havilliard slaughtered millions in his own plight for power, celaena's parents, two nobleheads, fell victim to his brutality. celaena had just been eight years old when she had awoken in a pool of her parents' blood, and it had stained her skin in ways that no water could wash. weeks later, the starving and nearly frozen to death child was found by arobynn hamel, a leader of a ring of assassins who took celaena under his wing. he wasn't a paternal figure, but he taught her how to survive, despite his methods being brutal. when he realized her left hand was weaker in combat than her right, he told her to break her right hand or he'd do it himself. so, that night, she slammed her right hand in a door and broke two bones so she could learn to be ambidextrous. he taught her how to slip from any bindings by letting her stay on the ground for days in her own filth until she figured out how to escape. this sort of training led her to become known as andorra's assassin despite her young age, the deadliest assassin in the small country nestled between france and spain.

by the time she was sixteen, she had gained the attention of one of andorra's most dangerous crime lords, ioan jayne, who sought out celaena and the one person who meant the most to her -- sam cortland, her first love. sam had accepted a contract to kill jayne and his right hand, rourke farran, so that he could use the money to start a life with celaena. however, the mission went terribly wrong as sam was captured and celaena was baited into the trap, where she was forced to watch sam die the worst, most agonizing death she can recall ever seeing. blinded by rage once she was rescued, she returned to get revenge on farran, but she was intercepted by authorities and thrown into the salt mines, one of the many prison camps amongst andorra.

most people only survived the death camps for a few months at a time, but celaena was too stubborn to die. she kept her head low except for one particular night. one night where she snapped and barreled through guard after guard. it was the ninth anniversary of her parents' death, and she had her eye on the escape. did she think she'd get there? no, no. but death would be an equal blessing. she had just barely kissed her fingers to the edge of the mines when she was dragged back down, laughing wildly as she faced her punishment.

she kept her head low for months to come after that, her frame thin and malnourished, when the king's guard came for her. she was selected by the crown prince dorian to come to the glass castle, where she would soon learn she was to compete against twenty three other dangerous figures in andorra ( all men, of course ) to be the king's champion. she had negotiated her freedom with dorian. if she won the competition, then she would work for his father for four years before she would be granted total freedom. as far as the court was concerned, she was not celaena sardothien, andorra's assassin. that would put a target on her back. so, she gained a pseudonym, lady lillian gordaina, in order to give her the best fighting chance in the competition.

the competition wasn't easy, especially in the final trials where she learned that the largest competitor, cain, was cheating to find gains for himself. he nearly bested her, but she ended up coming out on top. she served king havilliard for four years ( often playing him by exchanging information from his targets before letting them change their name and escape with their lives, robbing sick houses to present body parts for the king ) before she was given the freedom she had worked hard to earn.

now that she's earned her freedom, celaena is exploring europe with a large question mark in her mind. she has an apartment in the slums of andorra from before she was taken to the mines, but the salary she was given for her work won't last forever, so for now, she's taking on freelance assassin jobs in order to maintain a warm place to sleep at night and food in her stomach while she works to find her purpose in this new lease on life.

#verse info #「 𝓿 」 » andorra's assassin

[deathcherries]

Sam: *couldn't find Celaena*

*someone screams*

Sam: there she is

#sam: what are you doing #celaena: making acquaintances #celaena sardothien #sam cortland #samlaena #celaena x sam #sam x celaena #arobynn hamel #lysandra ennar #rolfe #skulls bay #erilea #ioan jayne #rourke farran #dorian havilliard #chaol westfall #wesley #red desert #ansel of briarcliff #ilias #silent assassins #king of assassins #assassins blade #throne of glass #tog #sjm #sarah j maas #fantasy #ya #ya fantasy

[iwillwalkthroughthefire]

Aelin (with backup vocals from Lysandra and Elide): He had it comin’! He had it comin’! He only had himself to blame! If you’d have been there, if you’d have seen it, I bet you you would have done the same!

#grave #archer flynn #arobynn hamel #rourke farran #ioan jayne #vernon lochan #the overseer from endovier #probably more that i forgot #throne of glass #incorrect tog quotes #tog shitpost #aelin galythinius #aelin fireheart #elide lochan #lysandra #source: chicago #cell block tango

[bookishherondales]

I wonder how many times Sam said to himself, “My name is Sam Cortland, and I will not be afraid” when his body was being taken apart by Rourke Farran, and how many times he thought of Celaena before his soul left him.

#sam cortland #sam #celaena #celaena sardothien #arobynn #rourke farran #torture #murder #soul #life #sad #cry #ouch #unfriendly reminder #tog #the assassin’s blade #tab

[throneofglassravingsandreviews]

Villains in Kingdom of Ash

Vernon should be killed by Elide

Iskra should be killed by Petrah

Blackbeak Matron should be killed by Asterin (or Manon)

Maeve should be killed by Rowan + the Cadre

Erawan should be killed by Aelin + anyone/everyone else

EDIT: Just finished reading The Assassin's Blade...and I need Aelin to brutally murder Rourke Farran

#kingdom of ash #koa #tog #throne of glass #aelin ashryver galathynius #rowan whitethorn #asterin blackbeak #manon blackbeak #elide lochan #iskra yellowlegs #petrah blueblood #lorcan salvaterre #rourke farran #the assasin's blade

[historygeekqueen]

To Sam Cortland

Imagine x reader

Warnings: none, just prepare to have your heart broken... oh and angst. Can’t forget the angst.

PS: why am i doing this? Ohhh right because i like heartache

shoutout to: @hunt-godsdamn-athalar​ for challenging me to cause her pain. 

Creds to owner of the beautiful fanart! 

To Sam Cortland... (imagine x reader) 

I remember the day I met you. It was a cloudy day, the sun too shy to make an appearance. I was in the market looking at some spices when I had run into some trouble. They thought I was stealing, and although I won’t admit it, I was. But then like my very own knight in shining armour, you swooped in claiming that I was your wife and that I shouldn’t have wondered so far. I was beyond pissed at you. Why was this man saving me? This stuck up- privileged man claiming me as his wife. 

Once we had rounded the corner, I stomped on your foot and told you, in my blazing heat of anger to, “Never touch me again, if you’re fond of that hand.” You had looked at me like you were finally seeing clearly for the first time. There was a spark of mischief in your hazel eyes and you’re lips were quirked in a smirk. You asked me out for a date that night and of course I said no, but you were a stubborn mule and persisted and maybe having a bit to much to drink on the fifth time, I relented. 

That night you had taken me to a rooftop, it was The Assassin’s Keep at the time, and had shown me to a lovely dinner filled with all my favourite food. I was shocked. Shocked at the fact that you knew what they were and the fact that you had put so much of effort into it. That night was also the first night you kissed me and was the first night I realised I was falling in love with you. It was slow at first, almost like falling asleep and then I was tumbling so hard and fast that I thought I wouldn’t be able to stop, but there you were at the bottom ready to catch me and place me back on my feet. I remember the days after. They were pure bliss. We went everywhere together. Down the river, to the market where we first met and to rooftop where we first kissed. That became our spot.

And then afterwards, we found an apartment looking over the river and into the market below and you had brought up the idea of moving away and starting afresh. I thought you were crazy we didn’t have the money and we had no place to go, but all you did was kiss my forehead gently and told me to leave the rest up to you. “Just have our bags ready to leave, that’s all.” That’s what you had said. And I remember the last day and night I saw you. 

The sun that day was dazzling, no speck of clouds seen for days. We had taken a stroll through the markets and you had told me that today was our last day in Adarlan. I was excited and scared, but I knew I would be okay because I would be with you. That night, I had laid myself in your arms and listened to the strong beats of your heart. Hearing each beat like it was a song. Then you got up to leave. You strapped on your gear, took me to the lounge and played a soft song and danced with me. Slow and steady. You told me to watch the clock and when it was past midnight to meet you at the docks. You had left a ring for me with a note to tell you my answer when you came back.

I remember the last kiss I gave you. I was starving for oxygen and you were my oxygen. I remember the kiss being passionate and slow and every bit of love was flowing between the both of us. I think we both knew what my answer was to your question, but you left. The time seemed to slow down, seconds turned to hours, hours turned to days etc. and you never came back to me. I waited at that dock for five hours before word came. Rourke Farran has caught an assassin and the assassin was dead and Arobynn had done nothing. He had let it all happen. I remember going to The Keep and seeing you there. You looked peaceful, but your body was not yours. They had tortured you and all I could think was for how long do they do it? How long did he have to suffer?

And now I’m here, sitting in this graveyard surrounded by a thousand other stones and with names that have long since been forgotten and a freshly embedded stone with the words: ‘Here lies Sam Cortland.’ That’s it. That’s all they had written. I’m here in one of your shirts, tucked into my pants with your ring on my finger. You didn’t deserve to die. And now you’ve left me all alone with no one to call home. The apartment is lonely, there’s no sound or music or the rustling of a book’s pages being turned. It’s sounds empty, haunted and I’m the ghost. I’m a hollow of the person I was, Sam. But I know what you would say to me if you were here: You can be your own happiness. But Sam you were my happiness, my everything and maybe one day I’ll be able to move on and continue with life, but right now I’m just missing my other half.

I miss hearing your morning voice and your morning kisses followed by the cuddles. I miss hearing your deep and low laughter that seemed to float it’s way out of your chest. I miss your dazzling smile and the sparkle of mischief in your eyes and I miss hearing you say “I love you,” and dancing around the apartment together until we were too sore to move anymore and slept on the floor in each other’s arms. I miss you, Sam. Everything about you, and I promise I will avenge you. I will bring hell down on the people who did this to you, make them suffer. I will always remember and I will always love you. My name is Y/N Cortland and I will not  be afraid.

#throne of glass #sam cortland #sam cortland x reader #sam cortland imagine #tog #aelin galythinius #sarah j maas #sjm fandom #sjm fanfic #fanfiction #the assassin's blade sam x reader fluff

[knittingdreams]

Fireheart - Chapter 9

I’ve finally made the masterlist! :D 

If you’re not up to date with the story, head there to see what you’ve missed, otherwise, keep on reading!

WARNING: As always, there’s physical violence involved. Wouldn’t expect less from Sam and Aelin xD

CHAPTER 9

I will not be afraid

He had to admit, Rourke had a strong punch and was decently fast. Sam’s head snapped to the side as the fist collided with his jaw. He turned back around to face Rourke, and the fist found him again, hitting the cheekbone right next to his eye.

He noticed the little crowd forming around them, and heard Lysandra’s pleading scream, but Rourke didn’t let go of his shirt, and his two friends were keeping an eye on both ends of the hall; probably ready to tell them if any teachers were to come around. Sam’s senses were on high alert, and he clenched a fist as he tasted blood.

“Not going to fight back?” Rourke growled as he took a quick jab at Sam’s stomach.

Sam doubled over, his breath coming out of him in one fast burst. He could so easily break this guy’s jaw, but no, he couldn’t. The crowd around them had grown too big, and he couldn’t risk it. He unclenched his fist as he tried to take a deep breath and steady his mind. My name is Sam Cortland, and I will not be afraid, he thought as he stood back up, his back straight.

With anger flashing in his face and a clenched jaw, Rourke knocked the air out of him again. He punched him on the side, letting go of his shirt. Then again on his chest as Sam looked up. He lifted his knee to Sam’s stomach as he pushed him down with both hands, getting him right on the sternum. 

Sam could taste the blood coating his mouth and feel it dripping down his chin. 

Rourke struck against his ribs again, making Sam tumble down. He curled up as soon as his body touched the floor, protecting his head with his hands, and his vital organs with his knees. 

Sam took a kick to the side, and then another one. Everything hurt, and he could imagine the bruises already spreading on his skin. A fist collided against the back of his shoulder, and a boot to his kidneys made him arch back. He had been through worse, he told himself. He could take a beating from a school bully. My name is Sam Cortland, and I will not be afraid, he repeated his mantra inside his head.

As another kick hit his lower back, he looked at the crowd between his fingers. He found a pair of dark eyes staring down at him within a face that almost looked concerned. He must have gotten a blow to the head because there was no way Celaena was worried about him. He managed to wink at her quickly before covering his head again as he saw another kick coming his way.

“Hey!” A voice yelled from somewhere close, and Sam heard a loud metallic bang before the foot hit him. 

After a moment of lying still and no more blows coming his way, he assessed his injuries by taking a few deep breaths to make sure nothing was broken. No punctured lungs or broken ribs, he thought as he tried to sit down and looked around. 

“What in God’s name is going on here?” Principal Allsbrook’s voice reached him in between the crowd.

Sam looked perplexed at the four boys holding back Rourke’s bulky friends. He didn’t know any of them, but he knew they were on the football team. He looked to his side, to the place from where the metallic bang had come from, and he almost gasped as he saw Aedion holding Rourke against the lockers. His forearm was pressed hard against the bully’s throat. The skin around Rourke’s eye was already turning purple, and he had a cut on his brow.

“Ow, fuck.” Sam winced as he stifled a laugh. He couldn’t deny it, deep down he was glad someone had made that dickhead bleed.

“Are you okay?” Lysandra sounded so worried as she reached his side and kneeled next to him.

“I’ll be 'right,” he said with a wink, and then winced again as the pain in his brow made his head spin. 

“Rourke Farran, why am I not surprised?” Principal Allsbrook said with a stern and loud voice as Lysandra rested a hand against Sam’s shoulder. “To my office, now!” The principal barked as Aedion let go of the bully. “Ilias Mesterson, Ress Brulleman, Nox Owen, and Ren Allsbrook,” he said as he turned to the rest of the team holding back the other two bullies, his tone dropping lower as he said the last name. “I would like to believe that you were only interceding to stop the conflict. So let those two go, and all six of you, to my office as well. I will hear all of your explanations of what happened as soon as I deal with this.” He cleared his throat as he motioned for the crowd to disperse. “Ashryver, please help Cortland to the infirmary straight away, then come around to my office for a chat after class.” 

Principal Allsbrook gestured again for the crowd to keep walking. “To class, everyone, now!” He barked before walking towards Sam. “Are you okay, son?” He asked as he leaned down.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be ‘right,” Sam said one more time.

The principal seemed happy enough with the answer as he walked away, shaking his head as if annoyed to have to deal with the bullies. Sam’s heart started beating faster as Lysandra and Aedion stood one to each side of him and helped him to his feet.

“Holy fuck,” he said as he pressed a hand against his side. “That guy has a decent punch, I reckon he would’ve killed me if you didn’t intercede,” he said as he half-smiled up at Aedion.

The team captain just looked at Sam, his lips pressed in a tight line, and then started walking towards the infirmary, his arm holding Sam from under his armpits.

“We’ll be fine, Lys,” Aedion said after a couple of steps. “You should go to class, you wouldn’t want to be late.”

“Yeah, okay, you’re right,” Lysandra gently let go of Sam’s waist from the other side and looked at him for a moment, her eyes full of unshed tears. “Take care of yourself, Sam Cortland." There was a sad smile on her face as she said his full name again.

“I’ll be right,” he repeated one more time, telling himself it was true. 

The walk to the infirmary was slow, and Sam felt relieved once they finally made it and he could lie down on the bed.

“What in Hell happened here?” The nurse yelled as she came in running, holding a hand against her open mouth.

“I got cocky,” Sam said with a small smile, only half of his lips curving up as the other side of his face was already too swollen to react. Aedion flinched at his answer, and Sam couldn’t help but wonder why. The team captain was awkwardly standing by the wall as if trying to stay out of the nurse's way.

“Ashryver, what was your involvement in this?” The nurse asked as she snapped her eyes up at him. She was fumbling around Sam as fast as she could, checking his pupils and cleaning his face with a piece of gauze with antiseptic.

Aedion lifted his hands as in surrender and pressed himself harder against the wall. “Not a thing,” he said, speaking fast. “I wasn’t involved, I only helped Cortland here.” 

“Not entirely true,” Sam said as he glanced at him sideways. “Aedion saved me from ending up even worse.” 

“Always such a knight in shining armor, Ashryver,” the nurse smiled fondly to herself as she kept cleaning Sam's wounds. Aedion paled at the comment, and looked to the side, making Sam even more curious.

“What do you mean?” Sam asked the nurse as she started patching up the cut on his eyebrow. The nurse smiled warmly, and Sam felt such a motherly feeling coming from her. 

“Mr. Ashryver is often breaking fights around here, wouldn’t be the first time I see him in this room,” she said as she finished patching him up. “Now Mr. Cortland, I’m not happy with the way you look and how much damage you sustained, I’m scared you might have a concussion with so much bruising on your face. I’m going to go over and call an ambulance, I want you in the hospital overnight for monitoring.”

Sam’s eyes opened up wide, and he was about to protest, but the nurse just shook her hand in front of his face. “No complaining, my decision is final,” she turned around and walked to the back room where Sam assumed the phone was.

“Fuck,” Sam mumbled under his breath.

Aedion was shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and Sam wanted to tell him he’d be alright, to go away, but he was actually glad for the company. It helped him keep his thoughts from rambling away. Arobynn was going to be pissed off about this.

“I think I should thank you,” he said looking at Aedion and trying to make up a conversation. It was not a good time to think what Arobynn must say or do, he needed to recover first.

“It’s alright, mate,” Aedion said as he chuckled, his normal confident self returning to the surface, even if he still looked somehow uncomfortable. 

“Nah, for real, you saved my damn life.” 

“I can’t believe that dickhead beat you up badly enough to send you to hospital,” Aedion took a step towards him, sounding angry all of a sudden.

“Is he usually like that?” 

“Let’s just say, you’re not the first one, and you won’t be the last… May I ask you something?” 

“Sure thing,” Sam was curious about what the team captain would want to know.

“Why didn’t you fight back?” Aedion took another step forward, standing almost next to him.

“What do you mean?” Aedion wasn’t even there when the fight started, how could he know?

“I heard the chatter in the hall, that’s why I went over. They were saying you weren’t even trying, and… why wouldn’t you? I won’t believe you don’t know how to fight, you’re taller than Rourke, you look fit enough...” He trailed off and looked to the side, his cheeks slightly flushed. 

“I don’t like fighting,” Sam said, surprised by the truth slipping from his lips; he had never admitted it out loud. 

“But you could have at least defended yourself,” Aedion replied, his voice rising. “What is your father going to say when he has to go pick you up from the hospital looking like this?”

“No one will go pick me up,” Sam said with a sad smile. “I’ve… got no parents; they both died when I was young.”

“Oh, I’m. Fuck. So sorry,” Aedion muttered, coming closer and resting a hand over Sam’s shoulder. “I had no idea.” Sam saw the sadness in his expression; he knew well that Aedion understood the pain of losing a loved one, and he felt guilty as the realization hit him. He shouldn’t have brought up that subject.

“It’s okay, my guardian will pick me up,” he said, trying to sound confident and making an effort not to flinch at the thought. 

Before Aedion could reply, the nurse walked back into the room. 

“The ambulance is on its way to pick you up,” she said with a kind smile. “Mr. Ashryver, you can head back to class, I’ll look after Mr. Cortland until his ride arrives.” Aedion nodded once as he took a step back.

“Well… Get better,” he said before walking out the door.

“He is such a good kid,” the nurse said as she watched him walk away. “The other kids think he’s a bit of a bad boy, but I’ve seen him looking after people in here. That kid has a kind soul,” she was talking almost to herself as she checked Sam’d bandages. “Okay, let’s get you up, I’ll help you to the door, I don’t think you’d want for them to carry you out on a stretcher,” she said, and then laughed.

“You already know me too well,” Sam replied with a huge smile. “By the way, I never caught your name,” he asked as she helped him to his feet.

“I’m Silba, and thanks for asking, you’re probably the first to do so in such a long time.”

***

When Sam woke up in the morning, it only took him a second to remember he was still at the hospital. The smell of antiseptics was lingering in the air and there was too much light in the room as he opened his eyes. 

“Morning, sleepyhead,” a sweet voice said by his side.

Surprised, he turned around and smiled at the girl grinning back at him.

“What are you doing here?” He sat up, and pain pinched him on the side as he moved.

“How did you put it yesterday? ‘You shouldn’t be alone while you're in pain’,” Lysandra quoted him with the biggest smile.

“That smile suits you,” he said without thinking.

“Thanks, how are you feeling? Do you want to talk about it? Or do you rather we speak about the beautiful weather outside?” She leaned back in the chair she was seating on, looking confident and comfortable in the little room. 

Sam couldn’t help but smile back at her, he was so glad to have someone that cared by his side. It was nice for a change.

#tog fanfic #sam cortland #lysandra #aedion ashryver #celaena sardothien #fireheart #throne of glass fandom

[obsession-queen]

Friendly reminder that Sam and celaena wanted to spend the rest of their lives together and they only get to spend a few short months together in a loving relationship before Sam was brutally murdered by rourke farran

[tiarae66]

Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien/Sam Cortland Characters: Sam Cortland, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien, Rourke Farran, Arobynn Hamel Additional Tags: Death, Celaena saves Sam, Sam doesn't die, Scars, Brief talk of torture, Mentions of Blood Series: Part 1 of Sam Lives Summary:

She was about to head back to the apartment to wait for Sam like agreed, but a feeling in her stomach made her stop.

There was something off about this.

It took a few minutes to decide what to do, but eventually Celaena decided she needed to check inside. Glancing around and making sure no one was looking, she went up to the door and gently wiggled the handle. She was surprised to find it unlocked and her hand dropped to the blade in her hip before slowly pushing open the door.

#sam cortland #throne of glass #sam lives #sarah j maas #aelin galythinius

[aelinbitch-archive]

some of u are like pleased to announce that i headcanon sam cortland, gavriel, and all of the 13 except manon as poc of people of color ❤️ and that i definitely get kweer vibes from arobynn, rourke farran, cain, the king of adarlan, archer finn, manon’s grandmother, maeve, cairn, and erawan 😉

#greatest hits: hot takes