demi fae

The Mate Rules

Each of Maas’ series, “Throne of Glass” and “A Court of Thorns and Roses” contains half the rules that apply to Mates, so if you hadn’t read both, or didn’t catch the rules (some are throwaway sentences), you’d be confused. I’ve seen a lot of people who’ve read one series but not the other wondering about it lately, so I figured I’d gather all the “Rules” in one place :)

  1. There is only one Mate for everyone (ToG).
  2. Even Demi-Fae (one parent Fae, one human) have a Mate if their Fae side is strong enough (ToG).
  3. The Mating Bond takes a while to click into place, a couple or few months isn’t typical but is hardly a-typical (ToG).
  4. The Mating Bond has a strong pull, even if you are rejecting it (ToG).
  5. Once the Mating Bond is recognized and the bond is consummated (sex), it grows exponentially in strength (ACOTAR/ToG).
  6. Mates don’t have to like each other necessarily, as Rhysand pointed out- his parents strongly disliked one another (ACOTAR).
  7. You can kill your Mate. Like, physically murder them (ToG).
  8. If your Mate dies (and you weren’t the one that killed them), it can send you into an epic downward spiral of grief that apparently lasts a minimum of 10 years (ToG).
  9. The mating bond can be faked by a bitchy Fae Queen with hidden agendas. (ToG)
  10. A Mating bond, under the right circumstances, can exist between a Fae and a Human, when this happens a Fae can reject their Fae-ness and become mortal (ToG).
  11. Traditionally, a sign of the mating bond being accepted is the female providing the male with food they’ve made (Rhysand at least specifies it’s the female to the male, but that’s just traditional, as in ToG there is a homosexual Mated couple, so males can do it too)
  12. Mates don’t have to be opposite sexes (ToG)

If I’m forgetting any, let me know! 

Thanks to @Noonesjob , and @gail1012 for adding #11.

And as @crochanblackbeak pointed out, the rules of magic between ACOTAR and ToG tend to differ (iron being harmful, Fae all having a second form vs just high lords, etc), so it’s possible the Mate rules do too!

ACOMAF Demi-fae

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you my crack pot theory.

There are Demi-fae in ACOMAF. I am not sure how I missed this, over and over and over again. Actually I do, I just finished the TOG series, so the connection never lite up in my brain until @propshophannah​ pointed it out.

I’m going to start with Mama Archeron. I have the hardest time believing that she died of typhus. The idea never settled with me from my first read. I just cannot see this lady of the house slumming in camps or hanging out with wildlife where she would have been infected by louse. If the house was infested the family would have been infected. I will admit that I could be reading too much into this, but it has always nagged in the back of my mind. (313, TAR)

Mama Archeron died when Feyre was 8, Nesta is 11. Let’s say she had Nesta in her mid-twenties. She should have been about 35 when she “died”. What if she faked her death? What if it came to her attention that she was not aging as a human should be. With that said, what if Mama Archeron decided it was a good time to fake her death?

Stay with me here. If Mama Archeron is a Demi-fae, that means the girls are. Which would solve so many of the thoughts tugging in the back of my mind, such as:

1. Nesta is immune to glamour because of her strong will?  She is somehow immune to both Tamlin and Cassian’s glamour? Sorry, no. Tamlin was able to Glamour his entire supporting household from Feyre, Tamlin was able to keep Feyre hidden from Rhys until he noticed the third place setting at the table.

2. Feyre’s Prescience. I have a whole post that you can read about it but to sum it up Feyre has a bit of foresight. This is a girl that painted the Attor, although she had never seen him (182, TAR). Her visions of the moonstone palace (375, TAR). Those two little faeries in the garden (76, TAR), the bad feeling she gets from the queens (389, MAF). Feyre can also taste magic, since we only have Feyre’s view this could be something or nothing (45, TAR).

3. Elain, now I have comb these damn books and the only thing that came up Elain can talk anyone into anything it seems. It does not seem like much of a power to me, but it could lead to something greater.

4. The three sisters are mated to not just any fae, but powerful ones.

4a. Feyre was mated to Rhys, two years before UtM. She was a half-starved girl painting flowers on a table and her equal is the most powerful high lord in Prythian. I’m sorry, what?! Unless there was something more to the Feyre.

4b. Elain is Lucien’s mate. I know some of you will disagree with me, but I do not believe Lucien is as weak as he appears. He is a son of a high lord and I have a feeling that his family sensed that he was going to be heir.

4c. Wings and Embers hints that Nesta is mated with the strongest Illyrian, the commander of the Night Court armies. In this scene I also think that Nesta feels it too, when she accuses him of using some sort of fae magic.

5. The mortal queens. The sixth queen did not even show herself in Hybern. The sixth queen seems connected to the sisters. She is not ill and also not present to gain immortality from the Cauldron. What if the sixth queen is of a demi-fae realm?

7. The Suriel has one hell of an interest in Feyre.

The moment I became obsessed with Elorcan:

“Elide (…) found herself not afraid of anything as he did it again, kissing one corner of her mouth, then the other. Such gentle, patient kisses- his hands equally so as they stroked the hair back from her brow, as they trailed over her hips, her ribs.” 

Why? Why THIS exact moment? If this was a description of Chaol or Dorian or even Rowan, I would probably not freak at all. But we are talking about LORCAN SALVATERRE, the dude that’s been in love with a crazy bitch for centuries, the dude that’s been described as cold and ruthless and always getting what he wants. From these descriptions alone, I would have guessed Lorcan to be really really forward when it comes to sex (which he is), but also a little impatient- someone who just goes for it without really considering his partner’s wants and needs. 

Lorcan is described as having “unending cold rage”, caring only for himself and maybe Maeve. Why should he be a considerate, attentive guy in bed????? Wouldn’t fit the character he’s being described as. Logically, you wouldn’t put Lorcan into the cute/fluffy/ perfect fae boyfriend box.

But. BUT. When he’s getting it on with Elide, he’s described as gentle and patient. He’s not pulling her clothes off after a few seconds, he’s not violently kissing her or being urgent in any way. He doesn’t even seem to restrain himself. He’s just…enjoying that they are taking it slow for now. 

AND THATS WHAT MAKES SUCH A DIFFERENCE TO ME!!!!! Because Lorcan is NOT a gentle and patient person- look at his feud with Aelin, Rowan, the Carde, basically the whole world. He manages to pick a fight with everyone after a few seconds. But with Elide, he forgets all of that- he’s knows how precious Elide is and that he can’t pull any of that bullshit with her. I bet if she told him that she wanted to wait 5 years before sleeping with him, he wouldn’t even BLINK and just accept that. 

And I also bet Lorcan would NOT do that for everyone. He’s not considerate like  Dorian, or trying to do the right thing like Chaol. I bet Lorcan has pissed a lot of his lovers off. I bet he’s grown annoyed and impatient with a lot of them, and I bet all those years of pining after Maeve also made him really cold hearted and bitter. I bet there have been more than a few times where he didn’t care about how things felt for his partner. 

But with Elide, he is suddenly gentle. He is patient. That centuries- old demi-fae, who has slaughtered and schemed and betrayed, who had probably slept with hundreds of women and who is described as muscular and hulking and honestly a little scary- that man transforms into someone else entirely. 

That quote just made that so obvious to me. And that, my friends, was the moment I became utter, desperate Elorcan TRASH. 

How It Went Down
  • Lorcan: Okay everyone, Maeve says we need to train some lost Demi-Fae princess from who cares where and someone has to deal with her.
  • The Cadre: ...
  • Lorcan: ...
  • Lorcan: Not It
  • The Cadre: Not IT NOT IT NOT it Not IT
  • Rowan: Hey guys, so-
  • The Cadre: YOUR IT
  • Rowan: Wtf no?!??

anonymous asked:

64. Elorcan please☺️

64. “Are you ticklish?”


Elide laughed as Lorcan tossed her onto their bed, making sure her ankle didn’t hit the bed frame. He had a smile on his face, something that was only for Elide, as he crawled forward and hovered over her. He stared down at her onyx eyes and her unruly hair all around her. He carefully pushed back the strands that were covering her face before leaning down and kissing her cheek softly. Her laughter quickly faltered as she turned her head and stared into his eyes. 

Lorcan gave her another smile as he leaned in and pressed his lips against hers. Elide shifted over so she was laying on her side and cupped his cheek softly. She felt his hand rest on her waist as he pulled her front closer to his. He gently stroked his thumb against her waist which cause a sudden laugh to leave Elide’s lips. He did so again, an amused look on his face, as Elide jumped away from this touch with a small laugh.

“Stop, Lorcan.”

He pushed himself up using his elbows and raised an eyebrow at her.

“What was that?”

Elide just shook her head, scooting herself closer to him but not as close as before.

“Wait,” a mischievous smile grew on his face, “Are you ticklish?” 

She only shook her head once more, but a small smile was growing on her face. Lorcan let out a laugh as he pulled her closer by her good ankle and buried his fingers in her waist. Elide’s soft laughs sounded throughout the room as she wriggled underneath him, trying to get out of his hold.

“L-Lorcan!” Elide tried to say between her laughs.

He finally let go of her when he saw that she was out of breathe. He dropped himself beside her before pulling her closer against him. Elide was panting as she tried to regain her breathing, but she had a small smile on her face.

“You can never tell anyone I’m ticklish, Lorcan.”

He laughed, “Promise.”

No more for now, please. Thank you!

anonymous asked:

"I don't regret this and I never will."- for Elorcan please and thank you :)

My heart aches for these two and how they will come to terms with what happened on the beach! So without further ado here is the fic~!

A war cry bellowed over the sounds of metal clashing and screams of pain. Lorcan strode through the carnage. Blood dripping from his broadsword as sweat ran down his muddied face.

Without hesitation he cut down valgs, wyverns and any enemy that dared entered his path. Hellas’s power coursed through him – death and thought and destruction. A dark warrior who thrived on the dark gift. That was what Lorcan was.

A wild smile danced on his lips as he let current of power rise to its potential.

He crouched low and avoided needle-sharp teeth and flesh-shredding claws before cleaving the head off the beast that dared to face him. In the distance he saw flames and wind answer the call to their wielders. Aelin and Rowan had once again found each other.

Lorcan had not time to celebrate for his friend finding his wife – his mate. Not when there was a war to be won.

In the midst of his killings Lorcan had lost track of the one thing he had vowed to protect no matter how this battle turned. It wasn’t until he heard a familiar scream that Lorcan’s heart plunged in fear. Something he rarely felt, but his panic propelled him to bound over the fallen bodies of both human, fae and monsters alike with blinding speed. 

“Not her,” Lorcan whispered to the air that reeked of decaying flesh and smoke. “Anyone, but her.”

“LORCAN!” Elide cried out. Her tone pushing Lorcan to greater lengths to find her.

He would always find her. That was what he promised.

He followed her scent until he leapt several yards away from where she was held captive. In the hands of his previous queen. Maeve.

“My traitorous dark warrior has arrived. How have you enjoyed your time being free of the blood oath?” Maeve said with ease. Even as her fingers held a dagger to Elide’s throat.

When Lorcan didn’t answer with anything but a glare Meave simply tsked in disappointment. “I figured you – a demi fae – would steer clear away from human females. Let alone one that is crippled and holds no beauty compared to your previous lovers.”

Lorcan continued shooting Maeve with a hateful stare that would have sent most warriors on their knees in fear of his wrath. 

“Have you nothing to say?” Maeve asked. “Perhaps the pitiful female would like to speak.” Maeve dug the blade deep enough that a small trickle of blood streamed down her throat.

 Elide was silent, but her dark eyes looked at Lorcan. But her eyes spoke loud enough for Lorcan to understand that she needed him. Elide was no match for Maeve, but Lorcan could at least help her escape from the queen’s clutches.

But Lorcan couldn’t move. His whole body was frozen.

 “I should kill you now Lorcan,” Maeve mused. “The severed blood oath has probably made you terribly miserable. Killing you would be a mercy wouldn’t it?”

Against Lorcan’s will he nodded his head. Elide’s eyes widened in terror.

“Leave him alone,” Elide snarled. Meave’s blade cut deeper into her throat in warning.

Dirt and blood mixed on Elide’s face from the fights she had previously been in. Her mangled ankle barely supported her body as she trembled from exhaustion. But Elide would still go down fighting until her dying breath.

 “Tell me Lorcan,” Maeve eyed him disdainfully. “Do you want to live?”

Lorcan said nothing. His voice wouldn’t rise at all due to whatever magic Maeve held against him. His blade hung uselessly at his side as he scowled at the Queen of Doranelle.

“He does want to live,” Elide said quickly. “Lorcan’s life is not one to be tossed away at your whim.” Elide spat the last part out.

 Lorcan winced. Why didn’t he force Elide to stay off the battlefield? Sure she would have loathed him for it, but at least that meant she was away from danger. He wished that she was safe in Perranth. Her home…where she belonged.

Maeve raised a brow at the human in her grasp. “You have quit the tongue don’t you? Not many humans would dare speak to me in such a tone… for that I will spare him on your ill-placed passionate words on this dishonorable warrior…but you little human” Meave ran the blade higher on Elide’s neck. “If Lorcan does not wish your life to be spared then you shall die.”

Elide looked to Lorcan with eyes full of hope that it almost brought him to his knees. He tried to speak and to his horror no words left his mouth.

 In that instant the hope in Elide’s eyes cracked. And shattered when Lorcan couldn’t say the words he desperately wanted her to hear.

Elide I want you to live. I want us to live together. In Perranth. Forever.

“Will you not beg me to save her Lorcan? Like you groveled on your knees and pleaded with me to keep you as one of my blood oath warriors?” Maeve smiled faintly. Taking in the internal agony that Lorcan fought from within.

“Lorcan?” Elide’s voice was raw with unshed tears. Her pale face that previously was filled with unrelenting rage to fight shifted into disbelief and finally despair.

“Lorcan please,” Elide said louder even as the blade began to cut into her throat.

Lorcan could smell her blood just as clearly as he could smell the emotions that radiated from Elide.

“Nothing?” Maeve said. “Then let this be a lesson Lorcan. Those that are gifted by the God of violent deaths – Hellas himself – then those you hold closest to your heart shall face violent ends.”

 The blade flashed in one quick motion followed by a spray of blood. Elide’s life poured from her wound. One that did not mean a quick death, but instead one that would be drawn out.

 Darkness pushed Lorcan forward with a roar. He dropped to the ground and cradled Elide to his chest. His leather armor became soaked in her blood within seconds. He pressed his scarred hand to the wound. Yet red seeped between his fingers no matter how much pressure he used.

 “Elide stay with me,” Lorcan begged. “Please don’t leave.”

 Elide choked and her cough brought up blood. The ruby color contrasted darkly with her pale lips.

 “You…betrayed me…again…” Elide brokenly said.

 “No! I love you Elide. I swear it.” Tears rolled down Lorcan’s cheeks.

 “Your promises,” Elide wetly coughed. Words barely understandable. “Are worth nothing to me.”

“You don’t mean that,” Lorcan held her gently. “I worked every day to earn your trust back after Aelin was taken. I love you so much and you said you loved me as we walked onto this battlefield together.”

With her final breath Elide looked directly into Lorcan’s eyes. N warmth could be found in her stare. “I hate you.”

And Elide Lochan’s heart ceased to beat in the midst of war being held by a fae whose soul had died with his mate’s last words. A mate she didn’t even know she was.

 Lorcan must have been screaming. He fought off the hands that wrapped around him.

Please not Elide. Hellas could take anyone else, but not Elide.

Elide who he loved.

Elide who was his mate.

Elide who –


Lorcan jolted awake and his eyes registered darkness. But this was not Hellas’s darkness coming to claim him. No this was night that cloaked the room.

“Lorcan?” A gentle hand reached for his bare arm that was without braces that usually held hidden knives. It was then that he realized he wore no armor. Only a blanket covered his chest save for the small hand that made it’s home above his pounding heartbeat.

His eyes followed that hand until he was met with the sight of Elide. She was nestled against his body in a nightdress and her eyes blinked drowsily from being awoken suddenly.

“Elide?” Lorcan reached for her shakily. Afraid that this moment would shatter.

“Was it a bad dream?” Elide asked.

Lorcan swallowed. “Yes.” His hand hovered above her cheek. He knew that his nightmare had been a fabrication of his mind. It had been years since the war. He and Elide were married now. Living in Perranth no less.

What if she had chosen someone else instead of him? She wouldn’t have suffered through seeing him betray her Aelin and her court to Maeve on that beach. Wouldn’t have known what a damn mess of a fae he was and that he had no right being in this bed beside her. Elide, the light to his darkness, deserved better.

Elide blinked and clearly heard the thoughts through the mating bond. Her fingers interlaced with Lorcan’s hesitant hand. She brought his knuckles to her soft lips.

I don’t regret this and never will,” she whispered across his jagged scars. “I love you Lorcan. And I would do it all again – the good and the bad – if it meant being with you.” 

Lorcan eased his other hand to Elide’s cheek and gently raised her face toward his. Slowly he kissed those lips that knew just what to say when he needed them most. 

“I love you Elide.” He said into her lips.

“I know,” Elide smiled and deepened the kiss. Earning a pleased growl from her mate.

think of me

Here’s to you, @elnabu this is the fic that accompanies the shitty sketches i did back for ur bday, woman. I hope you like it xD

On an unrelated note, please tell me what you think of this, y'all (yes me and puns oops)

oh and I *am* in fact working on requests. this has been sitting in my phone for so long i just had to finish it xD

Kiss me.”

Cassian cannot hope to have heard her right.

Keep reading

I’m rereading Acotar at the moment and it’s got me thinking about Feyre’s father. His character is made to seem completely out of touch with reality, always spaced out, unfocused, in his own little world ect. But there are moments when he looks like he’s going to say something deeper, and in those moments Sarah quite specifically mentions things like his eye’s becoming clearer, more focused ect. And I was thinking that maybe he’s glamoured in some way. I mean I know he and Elain were glamoured by Tamlin when they moved to the Manor but I’m thinking maybe he could have another stronger/deeper glamour on him? And those moments where he seems more clear and focused is his true personality trying to fight through the glamour?

This could also tie in with the theory of Feyre’s mother being Demi Fae? And of the family having some kind of fae connection. Maybe around the time their mother “died” he was glamoured? So we’re not seeing his true personality? I’ve always found it strange that their cold, serious mother could have been so in love with a man who is so spacey and disconnected?

Also slightly unrelated but Feyre mention’s that on occasion their father would tell them “MILDER” stories of the Fae. Which seems strange as the general consensus of the humans and the stories passed around the village are that the Fae are evil, dangerous, killers ect. Her father also encouraged her to go and not come back when Tamlin took her. Which is strange, when like I said above the reputation of the Fae is of dangerous killers. Yet he thinks she’s better off there? Why is he not as scared/hateful of the fae as others humans? This just reinforces the thoughts that the family have fae connections somehow. And maybe it’s a possibility he’s been glamoured to forget but little bits break through sometimes?

Lovely smart people of the fandom any thoughts? @propshophannah @sparkleywonderful @sarahviehmann @paperbacktrash and any others who have thoughts

The Future Looks Good: Chapter 6 - Together At Last

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Summary: Nehemia notices a hickey, Sam and Lysandra reunite, discussions are had and decisions are made.

Word Count: 2394

Read on AO3

Everyone who wanted to be tagged: @deziremyacotar @bestmelle @rebornasqueen @aelin-galathynius-whitethorn @shadowwolf777 @huntress-of-velaris @carrannam @illyrianbookdragon @pineandsnowandstars @venisenvy @dacowluva @sugarcoated44 @igniscorde7112

Big shoutout to my sister @9803ann for giving me the headcanon that Fenrys was the flowergirl in Rowan and Aelin’s wedding :)

Anyone else who wants to be tagged, just let me know!

Sorry for the delay in posting this! It’s the last chapter before the epilogue, but after the epilogue I’ll be posting a few other oneshots over the summer about the lives of everyone in this series as time goes on.


The euphoric moment is interrupted with a small, strangled laugh from Nehemia. Aelin’s grin falters and she glances over at her recently-returned friend. Nehemia seems flustered, and she quickly looks away from Aelin. But not soon enough for others to notice where her gaze had fallen.

On Aelin’s neck. 

Oh. Oh.

The spot on her neck where Nehemia is now pointedly not looking at…is exactly where Rowan’s teeth had latched onto during certain activities less than an hour ago. Aelin shoots a glare at Rowan from across the room. It seems you may have left a mark.

Rowan blinks and then grins deviously. I won’t apologize.

Evalin is hiding a smile behind a slender hand, but Rhoe is flushed red and frowning uncomfortably. Aelin glances back at Sam. Behind an indifferent mask and blank expression, Aelin can see a mix of sadness and anger whirling in his eyes. 

Suddenly, Aedion snorts. “If any of you are planning on staying, you’d better get used to this kind of thing. Let me tell you, just last week I walked into the kitchens at midnight, hoping to steal a quick snack, and the two of them were–”

Aedion,” Aelin warns, sending him a withering glare. He shuts his mouth abruptly, trying to hide a mischievous smile. And that’s when the door opens. 

“Aedion, can I – Oh. Hello?” Lysandra, still in her beautiful gown that she wore to the ceremony, bursts into the room without hesitation, addressing her demi-fae lover, but stops when she notices that there’s other company in the room.

Sam chokes on air. “Lys-Lysandra?!”

Oh no. 

Lysandra, still standing by the door, turns pale as snow. “Dear Gods,” she whispers, “Is this a dream?”

“Lysandra, darling,” Aedion begins, stepping forward to grasp Lysandra’s hand, “Would you step outside with me for a moment?” She nods slowly, her eyes still fixed on Sam with shellshocked expression. Aelin notices that the hand that Aedion isn’t holding is shaking slightly. Lysandra and Aedion disappear into the hallway and their footsteps fade as the two of them move further into the castle. Leaving Aelin, Rowan, Evalin, Rhoe, Sam and Nehemia alone together. 

The four guests watch the King and Queen of Terrasen expectantly, obviously hoping that one of them will say something, or at least lead them to their rooms for the evening. The setting summer sun gives the room a warm orange glow. 

Rowan is the first to take action. He steps towards Aelin’s parents, and she inhales sharply. But Rowan doesn’t say anything. He places one hand over his stomach and one over his back, and bends at the waist.

Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius bows before Evalin Ashryver and Rhoe Galathynius, the parents of his wife, mate, and Queen. “Prince Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius, at your service,” he says. “I…will be forever grateful for the beautiful daughter you raised. She’s changed my life. In more ways than one.”

When Rowan finishes speaking, Evalin smiles warmly at him and steps forward, wrapping her arms around Rowan’s large frame. Aelin can’t help but smother a smile behind her hand at the look on her husband’s face when Evalin hugs him. He looks positively bewildered, mouth gaping and eyes wide, too frozen to return the hug. “Thank you,” she whispers in his ear, “For taking care of her. For loving her. For standing with her.”

While he’s fairly open with Aelin and their court, Rowan has never been a very warm or inviting person and, as a result, rarely receives hugs. He doesn’t quite seem to know what to do with himself when Evalin withdraws, but Rhoe, a portrait of fierceness with his brows close together and his arms crossed, draws Rowan’s attention away.

Rowan is never the one to let himself be intimidated by others, and he faces his mate’s father, stretching his arm forward for a handshake. Rhoe hesitates for a moment, searching Rowan’s face for something. He seems to find it and his body language loosens as he reaches out to firmly shake his new son-in-law’s hand.


A little while later, Rowan and Aelin are making their way through the castle halls with Evalin, Rhoe, Sam and Nehemia to show the guests to their rooms for the night. But, before they arrive at the first set of rooms, they notice a head of light hair popping out from a room in front of them down the hall. Fenrys.

“Fenrys, my boyo!” Rowan calls after him. “I have to say, your performance during the wedding was most spectacular.” Fenrys turns, startled.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replies with a scowl. 

“Oh? Are you sure?” Rowan asks, “Does the word flowers ring a bell?”

Don’t,” Fenrys warns, pointing his finger at Rowan. With that, Rowan loses his composure and lets out a booming laugh. 

The four guests look around questioningly – they’d been paying too much attention to Aelin during the wedding to notice much else. 

“Fenrys lost a bet with another member of my court, Lorcan,” Aelin explains, “And he was forced to act as the flower girl, or flower guy, in this case, at my wedding.”

“He had to carry a basket of flowers down the aisle and sprinkle them across the ground as he walked,” Rowan continues, still chuckling.

Fenrys grumbles angrily. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” He asks pointedly. 

“Yes, yes. We’ll let you be,” Rowan says. The group of six start to walk again, leaving Fenrys behind, but not before Rowan can make another comment. “I think I see a flower petal in your hair!”

Fenrys sends a rude gesture after his friend.


They reach the rooms meant for Aelin’s parents first, and Aelin follows them, leaving the others out in the hall. 

As soon as they enter the sitting room, Evalin takes Aelin’s hands in her own. “Your…your hands,” Evalin says. Her eyes well up. “They’re the same size as mine. The last time I saw you, your hands were so small…I could fit both of them in just one of mine.”

“Mother, I…” Aelin chokes up before she can finish her sentence.

“Oh, Aelin, you’re so strong. So beautiful. We’re so, so proud of the young woman you’ve become. No matter how many scars these hands have now.” As Evalin speaks, the tears that have been building in her eyes finally spill over her cheeks. And yet, those same cheeks are nearly split in half with a brilliant smile. “And, of course, you’ve done quite well for yourself, in terms of your handsome gentleman.” Her fingers brush the bruise on the side of her daughter’s neck. Aelin blushes but grins.

Her father clears his throat uncomfortably at the reference to the activities Aelin had been partaking in with her husband earlier, but nevertheless, he steps forward and shares words similar to those of his wife. When he finishes speaking, he takes a large step forward and wraps his arms around Aelin, lifting her clear off the ground. 

“Are you…will you both be staying in the castle? With me?” Aelin asks after her father places her back on the ground. Her parents smile.

“If you’ll have us,” her mother replies. And the matter is settled.

When Aelin re-enters the hall, Rowan is bright red. She gives him a questioning look. Do you enjoy being ravaged in broom closets? He asks.

Aelin nearly stumbles. What?

Nothing… Rowan’s eyes are twinkling. Nehemia was just telling me some interesting stories. 

Oh Gods.


Nehemia’s room is just down the hall from Rhoe and Evalin, so they stop there next. Aelin opens the door into the sitting room and follows Nehemia in. Her heart is pounding. 

The two friends stand across from each other, staring for a few moments, unsure of how to begin. 

“Aelin, I–” Nehemia starts to speak, but is interrupted by a fierce punch to the shoulder from Aelin, nearly knocking her to the ground. 

Never,” Aelin growls between her teeth, “Never do that again.” Nehemia stares back at her, eyes wide. “Never keep me in the dark like that again. You were…” Aelin’s voice breaks with emotion. “You were there for me, and then you weren’t, and I saw your body, and…” She straightens suddenly. “That hurt. When you didn’t tell me what was going on, when I found out you were hiding things. I know…I know that that was how it was supposed to happen, that Elena was behind a lot of it. I love you, but if we are to remain friends, you must promise never to do anything like that again.” Aelin’s expression is solemn. There is a moment of pause, and Nehemia nods.

“Will you…will you be staying here? Would you like to? With me?” Aelin asks. 

Nehemia hesitates, but shakes her head. “No…I’ve missed you dearly, but I also miss my parents. My siblings. My home. I’ll stay here for a few more days, but soon I should be heading back to Ellywe.”

“You’ll come back to visit, though? You promise?” 

“I swear it.” 

Aelin, no longer able to restrain herself, jumps forward and throws her arms around Nehemia, trying not to cry. “If you die again, I will resurrect you myself and murder you again.” Nehemia simply wraps her arms around Aelin in turn. Aelin can smell her. That familiar scent that goes along with her friend, reminding her of mornings of chocolate, giggling conversations, and a warm dog. 

As if sensing her train of thought, a lump in front of the fireplace awakens and begins to move. The shape rises, sniffing the air and turning towards the two girls. The air is filled with barking and whining sounds as it races towards them.

“Fleetfoot!” Nehemia shouts.


The rooms that have been prepared for Sam are one floor down, but it’s not a long walk. The three that are left – Sam, Aelin, and Rowan – reach the door within a few minutes. 

Before following Sam in, Aelin squeezes Rowan’s arm. I’ll be right out.

He nods. I understand. 

Aelin’s heart eases at this. Rowan knows she would never do anything to hurt him or to damage their relationship. He trusts her to act on her own wishes while alone with her former lover. He seems slightly unsettled and shifts on his feet as she turns to open the door, but he pushes back his territorial instincts. Aelin couldn’t love him more in that moment. 

As soon as the door closes, the awkwardness sets in. Neither Sam nor Aelin are quite sure where to look. Aelin moves, as if to take his hand, but thinks better of it. She lets Sam take the lead. She knows he’s uncomfortable – he recently returned from the dead to find that the girl he loves is an immortal Fae Queen who is married and has a mate. She remembers the conflict she saw stirring in his eyes earlier.

After a few moments of awkward silence and not meeting each other’s eyes, Sam speaks.

“Are you…are you happy? With him?” He asks. His voice is quiet and unsure, but he meets her eyes now.

“Yes, very much so,” Aelin says, smiling.

“So there’s no chance? For us, I mean.” 

“No,” Aelin replies softly. Now, she does take his hand. “I loved you Sam. I loved you with all my heart. There were times, after your death and before I realized what Rowan was to me, that I wondered if perhaps you had been my mate. Thank you, for giving me the chance to love and be loved, after my parents died and Arobynn shaped me into a killer. And I want you to know, I missed you so much after you were gone. But the memory of you was what kept me strong while I was in Endovier. I would tell myself, over and over in the darkness, my name is Celaena Sardothien. And I will not be afraid.”

“I missed you when I was gone too,” Sam chokes out, “I had hoped that…there would be room for me in your heart when I reunited with you. Now I see that there isn’t. But, as long as you’re happy, as long as he treats you well, that’s okay.”

“Oh, Sam. There is room in my heart for you. I do love you. Just…not in the way that I love Rowan. I love you like I love Aedion, and Fenrys, and Nehemia, and Lysandra. And know that you will always have a place here, in this castle and in Terrasen, for as long as you would like.”

“Thank you,” Sam replies, “But I think perhaps I won’t be staying here. At least for a while. On the way here, Nehemia invited me to come with her. To travel the continent and see Ellywe. I think I might accept that offer. I’ll stay for a few days and I’ll leave when she does. I’ll visit later, but I think I need time. To move on, and to find out where I belong in this new world.”

Aelin nods. “I understand,” she says.

Before long, she is wishing Sam and good night and shutting the door behind her.


Just minutes later, Rowan and Aelin are in their nightclothes – Aelin in a scandalous gold nightgown and Rowan in nothing but a loose pair of pants – and settled in their bed. The sun has set, but the moon shines into their open window, lighting their room alongside the lantern by their bed.

Aelin is sitting up and leaning on a pillow, entirely focused on the book in her hand. Rowan has his head on her stomach and his arms wrapped around her. His eyes are closed and he lets out a soft sounds of contentment, similar to a cat’s purr, as Aelin’s free hand runs through his hair and scratches at his scalp.

 Soon, minutes turn to hours, and Aelin is forced to put her book away as her husband’s soft snores and the weight of her tired eyelids interrupt her focus. She slides down in her husband’s grip and burrows under the covers, resting a hand on his bare chest and closing her eyes.

And as she drifts away into the oblivion of sleep, all she can think is the future looks good.

The Commander’s Order

Nesta has made a reputation in the Illyrian camp. Her cutting words and fists have brought forth both respect and loathing from the soldiers. But she is about to meet the one opponent who is to be her match.

Lines of Love and War : Chapter 2

A gust of wind beating against the small tent roused Nesta from slumber. She grit her chattering teeth and tugged the threadbare blanket tighter around her shoulders. Outside the wind continued its onslaught against her small tent. Nesta wouldn’t be surprised if a strong draft carried herself and meager tent over the cliff.

“Why the hell would anyone live on this forsaken mountain,” Nesta grumbled wishing sleep would return.

A male laughed in the distance, but it sounded more like a braying donkey. Nesta groaned and rolled her eyes at the sound.

Right. Illyrians were the insane fools who decided to train, eat and sleep on these wretched cold mountains. And now she was stuck to join their ranks in the war against Hybern.

Slowly Nesta sat up from her bed pallet and moved the blanket from her body. She swiftly changed clothes in the enclosed space. A difficult task, but she knew it was better than seeking other shelter in case any of the males decided to follow her for a peek. The Illyrian females had warned her how the majority of the males treated them. Females were seen as weak, compliant breeding tools and nothing more.

Nesta noticed the leering gazes herself when she would walk through camp. At first she assumed it was because she was a new war recruit, but their stares were hungry. And Nesta did not take lightly to being considered a piece of meat that others wanted to taste.

She made a reputation for herself the first week at camp. Nesta imagined she must have lashed out toward half of the camp’s males with her viper tongue. The insults and fast remarks flew from her mouth just as often as Illyrians flied across the sky with their wings. Which was almost every moment.

And if words didn’t work then her fists did. The look of surprise on all the hardened Illyrian warriors’ faces was priceless when Nesta, a girl from the human side of the wall, broke the nose of a soldier who had tried to grope her.

That was the day she had gained a fragment of respect from a few Illyrians since they could see she would retaliate any unwanted attention. But she also received more taunts from those who couldn’t control themselves.

Each new dawn meant a new challenge. Most of the males still didn’t respect her. She doubted that they ever would considering the centuries of tradition they grew up on made them believe that females were to be used at their convenience. Still that didn’t mean Nesta was giving up.

She stepped out of her tent and began stretching her tight muscles. A yawn broke free from her lips and her empty stomach growled. At least Nesta could easily dismiss the hunger considering that most of her life consisted of meager meals that never completely sated her appetite.

A dark shadow drifted beside her tent.

“Do you plan on playing nice today or are you going to get into another squabble?” The Suriel asked. Its form cloaked in magic causing it to be unseen by any passerby.

“When these beasts learn some damn manners then perhaps I won’t need to give them a rude awakening with my fists.”

The Suriel chuckled. Or at least it sounded like it, but the rasp made it unclear to Nesta.

“I wouldn’t expect any less from the eldest Acheron,” the Suriel said. “You are adept at verbal sparring and have potential to hone your physical skills, but today you will be tested.”

“Isn’t everyday a test of sorts?” Nesta narrowed her eyes. “Each day my patience is tested with these Illyrians. And why is it that there are no humans here? How come I appear to be the only one summoned to this army?”

“Because it takes a specific soul to withstand the conditions this mountain presents. A number of Illyrians who are born and raised here do not always survive to adulthood,” the Suriel replied. “And humans have a far greater difficulty as it is with their weaker bodies.”

“Then why was I sent here?” Nesta asked in confusion.

The Suriel smiled. Its yellowed teeth revealed. “That is a question for another time.”

Nesta released a frustrated breath. A drum beat in the distance signaled that all soldiers were to report at the center of camp.

Nesta followed the drumbeat along with the other soldiers who were making their way out of their tents. She didn’t glance back knowing full well that the Suriel had already vanished.

When she arrived at the camp’s center the majority of soldiers were already lingering around. Females talked amongst each other while the males did the same. An obvious segregation between the two had been made.

Nesta made her way to a few females she was familiar with, but an Illyrian male blocked her path. He was almost her height if only a bit taller. He was flanked by two other Illyrian warriors. They each wore one siphon of varying colors on the back of their hands. A sign that these warriors were powerful enough that the stones were needed to regulate their energy.

“And what are you doing here?” Devlon asked. His tone clearly demeaning.

Nesta arched a brow. Leave it to Devlon to already find her. He was one of those males that sought to bring her down constantly, because she refused to cower at his words.

“Unless I’m mistaken the drums mean that all soldiers are to report,” Nesta replied evenly.

“Yes. Soldiers,” Devlon looked Nesta up and down. “You are no soldier. Why don’t you go clean laundry as a good female should?”

“Why? Were you so frightened to see me approaching that you soiled your clothes?” Nesta sniffed the air. “That must be why your stench is worse than usual.”

Fury filled Devlon’s eyes and his hand reached for one of his many weapons.

“I will not stand for such insults by a weakling,” Devlon snarled. “Perhaps a lesson is required before the Commander arrives.”

Commander? Nesta hadn’t seen the Commander of the Illyrian armies since her arrival. Then again she had heard that his time was occupied by strategizing with the High Lord of the Night Court back in the city of Velaris.

“Teach her where her place is!” A male Illyrian from the crowd shouted.

Murmurs rose up and suddenly Nesta found herself pitted against Devlon.

She barely had time to react before he charged her. His wings flared out and Nesta ducked to avoid being clipped by the appendages.

There was no way she could stand a full-blown fight again Devlon. He had years of combat training compared to Nesta’s meager month. Even with her demi-fae powers it would be a challenge unless she completely unleashed what she kept caged inside. But that would mean destruction she was not ready to face. Her powers frightened her more than any adversary that approached her in this camp.

She dodged and moved to avoid most of the hits Devlon threw at her. Nesta didn’t look back to see that his punches usually struck someone in the crowd resulting in a chain reaction that brought forth an all out brawl among the Illyrians nearby.

Nesta now focussed on not being struck by the stary swings of the other males. Her brief moment of distraction resulted in Devlon smacking her across the face. A furious rage washed over Nesta as her cheek throbbed in pain.

Instinctively her powers seeped in her veins. Responding to a call Nesta did not voluntarily ask for.

Lightening crackled at her fingertips. Devlon realized too late the ability Nesta harbored secretly. Her hand caught his wrist before throwing him in a blinding flash that sent him falling – no flying – backwards into a group of unsuspecting Illyrians who also fell to the ground in a stunned heap.

“SOLDIERS!” A deep voice boomed across the camp.

Immediately the fighting came to a halt. All faces turned to where two Illyrian males stood. The duo radiated power unlike anything Nesta had encountered among other Illyrians. One that resembled shadows and mystery while the other blazed with energy that crackled like fire.

A slight tug pulled her attention to one of them in particular. It was as if she felt drawn to him. An absurd idea considering she had no idea who he was.

And yet I feel as if I’ve known him for so long.

He wore standard leathers meant for training. But that was the only normality he possessed. His dark skin rippled from muscles in his arms as he crossed them to survey the troops. His assertive stance displayed a sense of authority that made Nesta pause.

But those eyes. Even strands of his long black hair could not hide the burning spirit of his hazel irises. Those same eyes that were currently staring directly into her own.

Nesta blinked.

And the male smirked at her.

He strode through the warriors who parted without a word. They watched in silence and curiosity.

“You’re the one causing trouble in my camp?” the male asked. A faint smile played on his lips. His wings tucked in tight, yet his broad shoulders took up enough space that the others gave him a wide berth as he approached Nesta.

She didn’t respond. Her eyes assessed the situation she now found herself in. That was when she noticed the seven red siphons.

If one siphon was what most Illyrians needed to handle their killing power…

For the first time since Nesta arrived at this camp she felt uneasy. But she stood firm as the male stopped in front of her. His gaze ran up and down her body. Sizing her up.

Her fists clenched and the male’s hazel eyes took note of her reaction. Another smile tugging at his lips.

“What’s your name?” He asked in a low voice usually reserved for the bedroom.

Nesta narrowed her eyes. Apparently his manners were lacking if he wouldn’t introduce himself first. She was about to tell him as such, but a voice broke out over the silenced gathering.

“Bitch,” Devlon growled and strode toward her.

“I hardly think that’s her name,” the other male drawled. He shrugged at Nesta as if Devlon could not be helped in his rude behavior. His siphons glinted like rubies in the morning light with the motion.

“Suits her well enough,” Devlon sneered. “This is why females are better off away from the training grounds Commander.”

Nesta tried to reign in her surprise as she gave the man beside her a second glance. So this was the Commander of Illyrian armies.

“Every able body will be trained Devlon,” the Commander said. “And if you dare go against my orders again by having them only doing chores we are going to have a discussion in the training pit where my fists will do the talking.”

Devlon remained quiet even as his hands tightened with hatred simmering in his eyes.

“Now that we have that settled,” the Commander dismissed Devlon without another word before returning his gaze to Nesta. “Care to tell me your name?”

For a few seconds Nesta remained silent, before finally giving him what he asked.

“Nesta,” she said. “And you’re name is…?”

The Commander leaned closer to Nesta in a smooth motion that caused her to lean back a fraction of an inch in surprise. And then he smirked with cockiness that won women over and brought them to his bed. “Whatever your heart desires sweetheart.”

“How about egotistical bastard?” Nesta snapped without a second thought.

The Commander looked slightly stunned her words. He was not expecting that much of a vehement refusal to his flirtation. He recovered quickly with eyes gleaming in a challenge before straightening his stature and addressing his troops.

Nesta could tell he was up to something with the way his lips quivered in restraint from laughing.

“Soldiers! Thanks to Nesta,” The Commander grinned at Nesta with humor in his eyes. “You will all be running through our most grueling drills today. And tomorrow. And the next.”

A symphony of groans rose up from the crowd along with a few glares pointed at Nesta.

“Is that understood?” The Commander’s voice carried over the troops.

“Yes Commander!” The soldiers said before heading off to their drills.

Nesta grudgingly began following the others. Intent on getting the day over with since she was sure to be getting glares and spiteful remarks from the Illyrians. A large hand clasped her arm halting her stride. The fingers easily wrapped around her narrow wrist. She turned to see the Commander with his head cocked slightly to the side. As if trying to figure Nesta out.

“What?” Nesta bit out.

That one word shook him from his trance.

“You used lightening power earlier,” he began. “Have you been testing your skills with it?”

“I’ve never had to use it before,” Nesta admitted. “And I don’t ever want to again.”

At this the Commander looked confused. “But you need to harness that power.”

“So I can use it in the war?” Nesta chuckled darkly. “I’d rather win with my own strength then rely on something I despise.”

“It’s not a matter of the war, but it’s your life that’s at stake,” the Commander explained. “If you don’t learn how to release that magic then you’re only going to harm yourself and those around you. Which means I am effectively putting you on a special routine so we can better evaluate your abilities.”

“No,” Nesta ripped her wrist out of his loose grip. “I’m not like your kind. I don’t need fae magic.” Nesta spat out those last words.

“My kind?” He stepped forward. He tempered down his fiery outrage at the insulting tone of her words. How could this human – no this demi-fae – think that they were so different. Did she not understand the gift and potential she harnessed? Could she not see that he was trying to help her?

“All you fae-” Nesta began, but was effectively cut off by the Commander.

“You yourself have fae blood,” he said and sniffed the air as if to prove his senses were correct. “And I suggest you get over whatever prejudice or fear you have, because right now we have a war to deal with and there is no meaning in fighting with yourself over this delusional matter of ignoring your powers at the risk of your life and my troops.”

“You bastard,” Nesta bit out with fists shaking in anger. “You don’t know anything about me.”

He stepped closer into Nesta’s personal space. He towered over her with his height as his wings flared out a bit in a display of dominance. “I can easily change that.” He quirked a suggestive brow.

Disgust laced Nesta’s features. “As if I would ever be with a brute like you.”

“Better get used to it sweetheart,” the Commander smiled. “Because for the next couple of months we are going to train together. You and me personally to gain a better understanding of your powers.”

Nesta opened her mouth to disagree, but knew in the end that if the Commander ordered it then she was bound to listen or else face penalty. She could rage against it, but she had no clue just how strict this man was with his soldiers.

Would he send her to get lashings like they did with the disobedient children? Or would it be far worse for disobeying an order from the Commander?

She shook with resentment toward these beasts called Illyrians. And now she had to deal with the most pompous one of them all.

When Nesta didn’t argue the Commander took that as a sign that she would be learning how to harness her power.

“Oh and by the way,” the Commander leaned back with a grin lighting his face. “Call me Cassian.”

Previous Chapter

Masterlist of Chapters

anonymous asked:

“jealousy isn’t cute on you.” for elorcan please!!! :)

Hi anon, I’m sorry this is so late!! I had so many exams, but i’m done now and have some free time to work on prompts!! I just wrote this out, so I’m sorry if it has a few mistakes. I hope you like it, thanks so much for submitting the prompt~ I love elorcan heh :)

also, there are a couple of ACOTAR-related prompts in my inbox, I will write those after I finish reading ACOWAR!! <3 thank you for being patient~

Feel free to submit this or your own prompt!

Word Count: 2191
[ read on fanfiction ] [ read on ao3 ]

Jealousy Isn’t Cute On You

“Come, wife,” Lorcan said, in the most neutral tone he could muster. He struggled to keep the bite from his voice, the seeping irritation. The ruckus surrounding them gradually died down as wisps of Lorcan’s dark magic subconsciously permeated the air.

Elide paused and then casually flicked her impassive gaze over him. Trying not to grit his teeth, he stared down at her as she clutched a tankard probably filled with beer that tasted like piss.

It had been weeks since Maeve whisked Aelin Galathynius away in an iron coffin. Weeks since… the Stone Marshes. And Elide had been like ice, this whole time. At first, he thought she might thaw out after a few days, but days turned into a week, and one week turned into several.

Elide had barely acknowledged or reacted to his presence, except when they were out scouting for information on the whereabouts of Aelin, where she had no trouble playing the part of a happily married wife.

Lorcan was nearing the end of his patience, and he didn’t have much to begin with.

Lorcan and Elide had been wandering from tavern to tavern in this relatively large plains town, and after they reached the third tavern, Lorcan had gone to use the bathroom. And to try and clear his head.

His head pounded and beat with every stroke of irritation that crossed his mind. The faucet squeaked, and Lorcan splashed cold water on his face. He quickly checked his reflection in the mirror and tried to look unthreatening, before facing the tavern crowd. Perhaps pleasant, even…

He settled for a look of cold neutrality.

As he stepped through the bathroom doorway, he immediately registered that Elide had moved from where she’d been sitting originally. His keen eyes scanned the room and deftly picked her out of the crowd by her raven-dark hair, neatly done up in a bun. For a moment, Lorcan entertained the notion of dragging Elide out and burning the whole, wretched place to the ground.

Instead, he stalked over to where she was perched.

She was sitting at a nearly-rotting wooden table with a bunch of worthless soldiers who took every chance they could to try and leer down her shirt. Elide just laughed demurely, exchanging witty banter and lightly smacking at their wandering hands.

“Come,” Lorcan repeated, “I need to speak with you.” His carefully restrained irritation had seeped into his clipped tone, and Elide’s back straightened. The rowdy soldiers around the table hushed, as well.

One of the soldiers dared to speak. A young, human man, of average height and average build. He gripped his sword for courage. “Hey pretty girl, is this guy giving you trouble?”

Lorcan ignored him like an ant, staring at Elide as he waited for her response.

The dark-haired woman just sat there smugly. She held up one hand to the soldier across the table who spoke, but she kept her eyes on Lorcan.

“I’m fine,” she emphasized, her gaze unwavering as she delivered her next blow. “And, I’m still your fiancée, the marriage isn’t for another couple weeks.” Elide’s eyes flashed dangerously, and Lorcan’s temper nearly snapped its leash then.

He forced himself to take a steadying breath. And then another one. There was no point, no point in getting angry here. Not when the confrontation was drawing so much attention; the whole tavern floor had quieted, anticipating a fight. The old bartender was innocently drying glasses, pretending not to eavesdrop.

Lorcan was reaching the end of his rope, and Elide was still sitting there, staring him down.

“Hey man, you heard the lady. She said she’s fine, so back off.” The same, irritating soldier who had spoken out before spoke up again.

Lorcan’s gaze finally flickered to the soldier, who at least had the good sense to look a little nervous while the most powerful demi-Fae male stared him down. Harsh lines promising cruelty were etched onto his immortal face as he stepped forward and leaned towards the soldier, who couldn’t help but lean away. The rest of the soldiers at the table shuffled and muttered, slightly uneasy.

Lorcan lowered his voice to a deadly, lethal quiet. “If you want to keep your vocal cords, don’t ever speak to me again. Otherwise I’ll rip ‘em out and feed them back to you.”

In his deathless, onyx eyes, he held the promise there for the soldier to see, to feel the weight of the truth.

Elide, it seemed, had had enough. She abruptly stood up. “On second thought, I’d better talk to my future husband about conduct in public, hmm?” She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Let’s go. Now.”

Without waiting for his affirmative, Elide grabbed his hand. Lorcan cringed inwardly at the contact but allowed her to lead the way through the tavern, storming between the tables and dodging drunks.

Finally, they got outside. Elide looked around and pulled him behind a corner, making sure no one was near enough to hear them.

“What in Hellas’s realm has gotten into you?” She hissed, jabbing a finger at his chest.

He refrained from rolling his eyes. Instead, Lorcan crossed his arms. “There was no information that was worth getting out of those worthless fools.”

Elide narrowed her eyes at him. “That’s what you think. They were Rifthold soldiers. I was going to ask about Morath again, ask if they’ve heard anything suspicious regarding my uncle or Duke Perrington. Perhaps let slip information about the horrifying things that have been sighted around Oakwald Forest, these days. Since they have to protect Adarlan from all sorts of threats you know.” She widened her eyes at him in mock horror.

“Anyway, I don’t have time to be getting into it here with you, behind this stupid tavern.” She turned her back on him to walk away. “I’m going to find my damn Queen, and you can do whatever you want.”

Lorcan just stood there for a few moments as he watched Elide walk away, her long skirt swaying behind her as her hips swung.

He silently followed behind her as she stalked down the river a little ways before entering yet another tavern. Across the road, Lorcan watched her disappear through the entrance, and he debated what to do.

As spurned as he felt, Lorcan knew he couldn’t leave her alone. Clever as she was, she’d be defenseless against multiple aggressors, like those preying soldiers from before. Plus, Rowan and Gavriel would kill him if they found out he left the Lady of Perranth alone.

So he made up his mind to go inside and just observe. He’d just keep watch. That was all she needed anyway, a bodyguard. She had said as much before they’d met the carnival troupe. He didn’t know why he expected so much from her, anyway.

Lorcan ducked his head and entered the dimly lit tavern; this one a tad nicer than the last one they had been in. And it was emptier, too. His eyebrows raised as he spotted her at the bar, swirling a glass with her hand. He didn’t understand her intentions, so he hesitantly went to sit at a table wedged in a dark corner.

He said he’d observe, after all.

But some time passed, and all Elide did was keep ordering drinks at the bar. A couple fruity drinks at first, from what Lorcan could tell. Then a glass of wine. Then a shot.

And another shot.

And another.

And finally, Lorcan got up to approach her.

“Jealousy isn’t cute on you,” Elide slurred, tracing a finger along the wooden countertop. She looked up at Lorcan through heavy-lidded eyes, tipping over slightly on the stool. Lorcan nearly snarled an answer at her, but he sensed the bartender was watching them. He looked up to see the bartender’s eyes narrowing at him suspiciously.

“This is my fiancée,” Lorcan explained loudly, in a long-suffering tone. At least his voice sounded natural. The bartender shifted his gaze to Elide, who tipped her head in an approximation of a nod. He relaxed and shrugged, like he understood. Ahh, relationship problems.

Lorcan returned his gaze to Elide, slumped over on her right arm. She pursed her lips at him in annoyance, her eyes half-shut. He tried not to think about how beautiful she was, when she wasn’t being a frigid ice queen.

“Jealous? Who’s jealous?” He asked in a low voice.

“You. You were jealous I was flirting with those soldiers. I saw the look on your face.”

“They weren’t worth your time,” Lorcan growled lowly. A little knowing smile danced on Elide’s rosebud lips.

“I’m flattered… you were jealous,” she said, stumbling over her words a bit.

She’s drunk, Lorcan thought to himself. She won’t even remember what she’s saying… I’ll just bring her back to the inn.

“Elide, you’re drunk,” he calmly stated. Even though she was seated on a high stool at the bar, he towered over her at 6'4". But it didn’t matter, since she didn’t even bat an eye at him anymore; he didn’t intimidate her. Sure, he could kill her, but that wouldn’t be any worse than what he had done to her queen. To Queen Aelin Galathynius of Terrasen, who was still alive and now grown.

It was the reason why Elide had started slamming drinks back at the bar, downing shots like candy.

Because gods-damned Lorcan kept hanging around her like a puppy, waiting for her to forgive him. And Elide wasn’t ready, she wouldn’t do it until Lorcan… No, not Lorcan, she wasn’t thinking of Lorcan, she meant Aelin… Until Aelin came back, she wouldn’t forgive Lorcan.

Elide sat up and opened her mouth to tell him that, but the room started spinning and she screwed her eyes shut.

All of a sudden, she was scooped up into someone’s arms. Tan, muscular arms. Lorcan’s.

“This is your fault,” she slurred. I’m drunk because of you, she added in her head. Lorcan just shook his head in bewildered amusement.

“Come on,” he murmured, “Let’s get you into bed.” She squinted at him and… Was that… was that a glimmer of kindness she saw in his eyes? She must be drunker than she thought. Her head rolled to the side, so heavy…

In what felt like no time at all, Lorcan had her tucked into the bed at the inn they were staying at. He brought her a glass of water.

“Drink,” Lorcan instructed, holding the glass out to her. Groaning, Elide sat up and reached towards it. She tentatively sipped.

“Thanks,” She said gratefully. Elide trained her gaze on the white scar she saw peeking from the collar of Lorcan’s shirt.

He looked reproachful, like he was about to say something, so Elide opened her mouth to cut him off. “Don’t. If you think me getting drunk gives you the right to give me a rutting lecture, just don’t. Just leave.” She bid her voice not to waver, bid her heart to hold strong. It was exhausting holding this much anger and resentment in her heart, but she couldn’t seem to let it go.

Lorcan’s onyx eyes were unfathomable, his hands clenched at his sides. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry about what I did, about getting your queen captured. I’ll keep saying it, if you need me to. Just don’t- don’t look at me that way anymore.”

Elide closed her eyes and sighed. She was still drunk, her mind was still hazy, so she held out her hand to him and he grasped it. Lorcan slowly sat on the edge of the bed.

“I’m so tired… So tired of being angry, Lorcan… I wish you hadn’t done what you did,” Elide mumbled tiredly, her head rolling to the side. “I wish I knew how to get her back…”

Lorcan’s gravelly voice was surprisingly gentle. “I know… I’m sorry. I’ll keep saying it if you need me to, and I’ll do anything to make it up to you.”

Elide perked up slightly at that. “Anything?”

He hesitated. “Well… within reason, of course. I want to make it up to you. I meant to protect you before, but I fucked it up, and I know that.”

Elide’s dark eyes opened and found his, searching his eyes for the answer before she asked her question. “Why did you want to protect me?”

“I promised I would.” His tone was evasive, and Elide’s eyes fluttered shut again, as if she were too exhausted to hold her eyelids open.

“Okay,” she said simply. “We’ll figure it out… This all out… Right?”

Lorcan tried to let down his guard, recognizing that Elide was giving him a chance, a chance to make it up to her… So he squeezed her hand and nodded, before remembering that Elide had closed her eyes again. He licked his lips to wet them. “Yes. We’ll figure it out… together.”

“Together,” Elide murmured, right before she slipped into the dark folds of sleep.

Elorcan Fan-fic; angst and slight smut

Elide stood quietly in the ballroom, the stained glass windows bathed the room in hues of green. Victory was bittersweet, the war against Erawan and Mave was hard won and the road to normalcy would be difficult, the court had much to reconstruct for Terrasan and for themselves. She sucked in a sharp breath to steady herself. Would things be easier if she had the guiding hand of her mother? Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, what would her mother say today; the day of her daughter’s coronation? The wooden double doors of the ballroom swung open wildly, the Queen of Terrasan marched hastily towards Elide. She nearly jumped out of her skin, the grin on the Queen’s face was as wicked and beautiful as she was. It had taken weeks for the court to fully recover, King Rowan insisted that Aelin remain in bed resting. At first, it very clearly did not befit Aelin, but after much yelling from both parties she consigned. “Majesty! Be careful with your woun- “. Aelin took Elide into her arms, “Cut the ‘Majesty’ bull. Today is your special day! There is just simply, no way I am going to stay in bed.” The Queen beamed, the light that glowed from her Queen nearly made Elide want to cry, the sacrifice her mother made all too much sense.  Aelin’s face fell, “Elide, why are you crying? “Elide stepped out of her arms shaking her head and giggling, “You are absolutely right Aelin, this would not be a true celebration without your extraordinary taste.” The Queen grinned and took Elide by the arm, “Come I’ve made arrangements for the maids to draw you a bath and primp you for the ceremony. Everything else consider it done. The only thing you need to worry about is having fun.”

A sick panic welled up in Elide’s abdomen, suddenly everything was too fast. She was whisked away from her Queen’s side by the maids. They made quick work of undressing her and unbounding her hair from the tight knot it had sat upon her head. Steam swallowed the bathing room, a sweet smell of vanilla and elderberries peppered the air. Elide sunk into the bath with a groan, the muscles on her shoulders slumped as the knots melted off. These weeks had consumed her mind with worry so thoroughly she could not recall the last time she had a restful night of sleep. A night where nightmares were not there to shake her from her slumber. One of the misses combed Elide’s long black hair with cinnamon and elderberry oils, lathering it into her roots and massaging her scalp. The maids washed the oils from her dark locks and left the warm water running as they exited the room allowing Elide a moment to herself.

Silence was not always the best company for a racing mind. She brought her knees towards her chest and rested her cheek a top her knees. For a moment she closed her eyes and submerged her face in the warmth of the water. Dark eyes stared at her nakedness, unforgiving and calculating. But when they turned to her face they softened, his words caressed her ribs, beneath her breast, and her hips. Goosebumps speckled her skin as he moved towards her a sadness churned in his eyes, “I am sorry Elide. Please forgive me.” The roughness in his hands was tender as he stroked her shoulders making lazy circles, the heat of his breath on the crook of her neck made her knees wobble. Lorcan kissed a gently path down her collarbone as Elide tipped her chin higher lust filled hunger and heat flickered her stomach a small sigh escaped her lips. Pulling away from her neck Lorcan ravaged her with his onyx eyes as he drank in her peaked breast and shallow breath; until he gripped her wrist, tears welled in his eyes; “Please, Elide.” Pain seared her arms as he twisted harder the angular face melted into a familiar face older and sinister, a voice like venom dripped from thin lips and Vernon screamed with laughter.

Elide shot up from the bath heaving, nausea filled her. She looked around hastily; no Vernon was dead; he would never escape Hellas. At the thought of the God a certain demi-fae also crossed her mind. She shook her head furiously, Absolutely not. Lorcan was a traitor regardless of the help he provided in the war, if she never saw him again it would be too soon.

Elide sat still has the maids brushed her face with cosmetics and braided her hair into a crown on top of her head. Kohl was swept above her lashes forming a cat eye, her lashes curled and darkened, and her lips painted ruby red. Surprise danced in her eyes as she looked at the woman in the mirror. The olive of her skin was polished bringing out the light of her onyx eyes, she appeared older perhaps this façade was better fit to be Lady of Perranth then she felt. “My lady, you have a visitor.” She arched a groomed brow when the maid stepped away from the frame of the open door to reveal a different body. Elide bristled like a cat as Lorcan stood at the door with a dozen white roses in his arms. “What. Are. You. Doing. Here.”, she gritted through her teeth her eyes narrowing. Lorcan cleared his throat, “Today is your corona-”” I gods damn know what day it is. I want to know what made you think you were invited.”, Elide spat. She uncoiled to her feet and approached Lorcan, taking the flowers from his arms, “You can shove these right up yo-” The chambermaid cleared her throat and made a hasty exit, Elide pressed her lips into a hard line and turned towards her bed lying the bouquet sloppily on the bed. Lorcan concealed a grin behind a hand. She turned back to the chair facing the mirrored vanity and mumbled, “Insufferable bastard.”

He was towering in the, suddenly, small room and roguishly handsome in the elegant white tunic, his black hair pulled into a low pony tail. But she could not deny herself a chance to exam the thunderous rolls of muscles on his body in the mirror; she gulped. Lorcan prowled closer to Elide, she tipped her chin up in disgust, “You look lovely. Perranth will have a beautiful lady.” Her lower spine tingled as he stood behind her, so close but yet she hated the space that still separated them. Hated herself for ever admitting she wanted him closer. No, instead she rose from the chair and turned to the male with an icy smile a crude remark on her lips until, “My lady, it is time.” Mika announced. Elide allowed herself to exam his body openly, convincing herself it was to belittle him, but the predatory smile on the male’s lips told her Lorcan was not convinced with her act, something on his face was different, not quite right perhaps gaunt from whatever nightmares haunted him; she stepped around him to reach Mika.  

The gown was made with heavy silk, draped taffeta on the skirt, the bodice tight charmeuse like a second skin with a bateau neckline; oh but it was the color of the gown a deep shade of jade.  Elide wore slippers instead of the traditional heeled shoe to ease the pain in her ruined ankle. The orchestra played a playful twinkling piece as she walked with ease towards the temple grounds of the Three-Faced Goddess. A woman in an abysmal red dress stood off to the side her long silver hair whipping in the wind her yellow sharp eyes lined with silver alight with pride; Manon; Elide’s eyes watered but she held her head high. Beside the wing leader was the King of Adarlan both dressed in red although the King bore his crown. The priestess in the temple quietly sang hymns to Elide, hymns of powerful futures for Terrasan, for Aelin’s court, the hymns told of the magic that simmered quietly in Elide’s veins, and finally; the last hymn spoke of being the blessed of Anneith and ever favored object of Hellas. Her face warmed at the mention of the Goddesses’ consort but the resumption of the orchestra told Elide it would be time to for her crowning.

Elide held her breath as a silvered box marched toward her, the bearer was Chaol Westfall, the King of Adarlan’s right hand man. His brown eyes shown with pride as well, the war had brought about an unlikely friendship between the two. A silvered parure with green opals was revealed and Elide bowed as deeply as her ankle would allow her. The parure heavy with jewels and responsibility; she felt the weight of her people on her heart. When Elide coiled to her feet in front of her stood Queen Aelin and King Rowan in meek finery. “Rise, Lady of Perranth and welcome home.” Tears shone in the Queen’s eyes and both of the monarch’s bowed as she straightened to her feet. Turning to face the crowd the entire procession erupted into thunderous applause. Elide smiled a warm gentle hand squeezed her exposed shoulder and whispered into her ear, “Lady Marion would be so proud.” She swallowed the want to explode into tears and instead straightened her back; she will be strong for Perranth, like her mother was strong for her.

After the ceremony Elide strolled into the garden for a moment alone with her thoughts. She hadn’t spotted Lorcan with the other cadre during the ceremony, perhaps the weight of her words did cause the demi-fae to disappear like some genteel warrior. A knot formed on her chest, and Elide shook her head against that feeling as her eyes stung from the emotions building behind them, No, it didn’t matter she didn’t want him there to begin with not after what he had done to her queen. “I made a promise to protect you. I will not break it, Elide.” “I will always find you,” he swore to her. A sob built in her throat, naive and stupid that’s what those thoughts placed her in the shoes of a little girl.

“Elide?”, a female voice sounded from behind her and Elide straightened her spin at the cool command of the voice. Impulsively, she wiped the tears flowing down her cheeks but too late Manon turned her around and concern wrinkled her beautiful features, “What’s the matter, witchling?” Elide quivered, “Nothing, Lorcan, he … I did not…” She halted her sentence at the sight of Manon’s expression of anguish, “Oh, Elide. Lorcan he didn’t… Remember in the war he.” Elide’s world tilted,

oh yes

, a hole punched through her chest. Pain, the likes of which she had never endured, gaped below her like a sinkhole. Her soul guttered, her frame shuddered viciously.

The court had lost so many, Mave, she did not die without someone to take with her into the darkness.

Lorcan couldn’t be dead he had been in her room; by the Gods he had delivered roses!

Unrelenting screams rattled from Elide’s throat at the sight of Lorcan burning from his powers. Magic sucking the life from him, but strong hands held her fast; Choal shuddered against her thrashing.

Elide stared beyond Manon to see her court there, lips pursed, eye avoidant, and faces sullen.

“Please no, Lorcan!”

, she had screamed until she was hoarse. She had held him as the healers attempt to save him from that darkness. Tears stained her dirty face. Her nails broken and bleeding as she held him. His frame too big for her to completely engulf him with her warmth.

They had heard her conversation with Lorcan, no, the conversation she thought was Lorcan in her chamber but it had been Manon. The tears lining her eyes was not only for pride, no it was also from the pain.

Her body rattled from holding him against her, she had kissed his cold lips over and over. Not again, not another person to rip away from her. “I think… I think I loved you.” She whispered to him but he was impossibly cold, she would not release him.

No one moved for a long moment and Elide strained to still her feverish fluttering heart. She was going to combust, her bones melted as she sank to her knees. The beautiful skirt of the emerald dress puffed around her. Rowan approached her slowly, as if she were some prey but she could not find the strength to fight against the horror that washed her world.

“I wanted to go to Perranth with you.”,

they had been close to death once and he had whispered that to her. “I wanted you to come with me, to Perranth.”, Elide whispered as she bowed her head, a pray on her lips as she sent that message to Hellas himself.

–Set in EoS, before Maeve came and fucked shit up–

For @freshtacoes426

Prompt : How about a fic where Elide is hurt or something and Lorcan goes all territorial fae?  

Hope you like it!

Lorcan was tired.  He was tired, sore, hungrier than a Wyvern, and just wanted to leave the stone marshes behind and never look back.  The fire breathing bitch queen had found her lock—or whatever it really was—and they were heading back to the sea to regroup.  The Hellas favored Demi Fae male didn’t want to regroup, though.  He wanted to grab Elide, throw her over his shoulder and high tail it out of there.  Just because Whitethorn had delayed Gavriel and Fenrys’s kill orders for the time being didn’t mean he’d be safe for long.  And without him, how much longer could Elide survive?  True, she’d grown much since their first encounter several months ago—she’d even saved him from an  ilken once or twice—but besides her cunning wit she didn’t have anything to defend herself with.  A shudder rolled down his spine, starting in his neck and quaking all the way down to his pelvis, at the thought of another ilken army attacking.  

A breath caught in his throat and he just barely stopped himself from searching the sky for any signs of the monsters.  He knew there were none.  Aelin and her fire had destroyed the bulk of them and had left the survivors to her court or to the wild animals of the marshes.  A muscles twitched along side his jaw.  He understood that to defeat the ilken Aelin had needed to unleash her full power.  He understood that she didn’t now where he’d be located in regards to that unleashing of power, or that he had Elide with him, but dammit it all to Hellas if he wasn’t frustrated that he’d burned through his own reserves just to keep Elide and himself safe.

It drained him, made him tired, and that made him careless.

“Elide!” Aelin shouted after the dark haired girl suddenly yelped and collapsed in the marshes.  Exhaustion forgotten, Lorcan was at her side in an instant.

“What is it?”  he asked, his dark brows furrowing together as he tried to find what had caused her fall.  

Tenderly she rubbed the glossy scar tissue of her ankle and hissed through pursued lips.  Tears had welled up behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.  Shaking her head, she tried to brush it off, “I’m fine.  My ankle—” she stopped herself, took a deep, shaky breath, and continued, “my ankle just hurts.”

Guilt washed over Lorcan like the midnight tide and silently he cursed himself for eternity.  He’d been so wrapped up in his own head, his own emotions, that he hadn’t felt his magic bracing her ankle slip away.  Uselessly, he glared at her decrepit ankle in lieu of anything else.

There was a shuffling behind him and then a pale hand reached over his shoulder towards Elide, “Come on, Witchling, the time for rest is—”

With a snarl that echoed through the marshes, causing an uproar with the wild life, Lorcan, quick as a snake, twisted and thrust the Ironteeth Witch backwards.  Manon’s iron teeth snapped down and she barred them at the dark haired Demi-Fae.  Her nails extended and she shifted, preparing herself for a counter strike.

Snarling, barring his own, blunt teeth, Lorcan crouched in front of Elide protectively.  His well of magic was all but depleted, and he’d need several days of rest before he could properly tap into it again, but he still had his killer instincts and determined body.  He’d faced down many opponents over his centuries, defeated legions and armies without batting an eye.  He could take down one lone Witch.

Before he could even pull out a fighting dagger, though, Elide had pulled herself off the ground and hobbled to stand between the two.  Breathing heavily and placing all her weight on her uninjured ankle, Elide stared between her two protectors with wide eyes.  Her stance stopped the two from immediately clashing, but it didn’t stop them from taunting, “She doesn’t belong to you, Fae,” Manon growled, her iron teeth clinking against each other.  Her lips pulled back into an almost smile, “Get in line.”

Lorcan didn’t respond verbally, his ear splitting roar of fury was answer enough, but Elide, tired of all the territorial nonsense, yelled, “Lorcan, enough!”  Immediately, Lorcan quieted.  His face was still twisted in a snarl, and his fingers itched to reach for a blade, but, looking into Elide’s dark eyes, he understood.  Nodding, he slowly eased out of his crouch.  Nodding her approval, her lips flickering up into a faint trace of a smile, Elide turned her gaze to the white haired Witch, “I choose this, Manon.”  She’d said so earlier, but she repeated herself again, not breaking eye contact.  “I choose him,” she emphasized.   

Manon didn’t look impressed.  She scowled, and her golden eyes fitted between Elide and Lorcan, until finally she nodded as well.  Sneering, Manon shrugged the tension out of her shoulders and turned away.  Not wasting another moment, Lorcan stepped beside Elide and gently placed his hand on her shoulder.  Looking down into her dark eyes, he asked quietly, “How is it?”

Releasing a breath of air, and the remnants of her courage, she smiled up at him while unconsciously leaning into his touch.  “It’s been worse,” she told him truthfully.

Frowning, his eyes flickered down for a moment before his magic returned to support the ankle.  Dragging his hand down her forearm, he gave her a reassuring squeeze and promised, “It won’t happen again.”

Placing her hand atop of his, she nodded, “Thank you.”

Unlikely Meeting

I’m sorry you guys haven’t gotten anything knew from me lately (aside from the Feyrhys Secret Santa, and even that’s been a while). I just finished testing this week and when I saw  this headcanon by @denielapple for a crossover with Rowaelin’s and Feysand’s children I couldn’t resist. I have to admit it’s been on my writing list for a while, but now it’s finally here! I seriously love crossovers so I goes my interpretation of it.

I hope you guys enjoy!

 Part II   Part III


Part I

Being the youngest sibling was never easy. But being the younger brother to the two most powerful magic-wielders in all of Erilea, who were in addition to that also Princesses, was something Rhoe Whitethorn Galathynius wouldn’t wish on anyone. His two older sisters were driving him out of his mind.

“Come on Rhoe, can’t you hurry up?” Nikea called back to where he was riding. “If it were only us we’d already be done with this mission,” she quietly muttered to Mia - not quietly enough to escape Rhoe’s sharp ears though. Mia sighed dramatically in response and nodded.

Rhoe’s hands clenched into fists. 

He had no idea why his parents had thought this trip was a good idea. Only him and the twins.

They were supposed to bring a witch-mirror from the Wastes to Adarlan. For some reason the Crochan Queen Manon Blackbeak, one of their parents’ friends and allies back in the war, and who now ruled over the witches, wanted to give it to Dorian, King of Adarlan, who also happened to be one of the best friends of his parents. Which was why he and his sisters had gotten the job of transporting that thing. Which was just great.

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The Stars We Sew pt. 5

Chapter 1:

Chapter 2:

Chapter 3:

Chapter 4:

Vaughan stood in front of Maeve’s throne, quietly giving his report of rebel activity in the South. Mina sat at the foot of the throne, feet braced on the stair below her as she played with a dagger. V looked weary and tired, and there was dried blood on his cheek, but she was just glad he had gotten back in one piece. 

Maeve turned to her and opened her mouth, probably about to tell her she wanted her to winnow to the South and weed out the rebels herself when the sentry spoke up as the doors swung open. “Lady Remelle of Abaddon." 

Mina didn’t even attempt to keep her eyes from rolling back into her head. Remelle had, once upon a time, tried to become friends with her to gain favor with Rowan. She and Whitethorn weren’t friends, but they had mutual respect for each other and drank together often, and Remelle had figured that if she could garner Mina’s approval, she could gain Rowan’s back. Except, other than her beauty, the bitch had no redeemable qualities. She was catty, she was petty, she complained too much, she dared look down her nose at Lorcan and Vaughan for their backgrounds… the list went on and on. 

Vaughan looked heavenward for patience as he moved to Mina’s side and Remelle stopped in the middle of the floor and curtsied deeply. Ire and irritation rolled off her in waves, indicating she was about to start complaining. "Remelle,” greeted Maeve. “How went your mission?" 

"Very well, Your Majesty, but-” Remelle paused, sniffed, and continued, “I have to say, that girl you have poor Rowan working with, Elentiya, does NOT EVER deserve to enter Doranelle. She attacked me for no reason!” A glance in Kosmina’s direction, because Mina could scent her lie. Mina chuckled low, but did not comment on it. Not when Maeve’s fingers were suddenly playing with her hair, a warning to not call Remelle out on the lie. The Queen would use this to her advantage-probably use it against Aelin Ashryver Galathynius. 

It was curious that Remelle had not been burned to ash. Either the princess still was not in complete control… or she was so controlled that she could warn Remelle without fatally harming her. Or she’d physically attacked her. It wasn’t like the Lady of Abaddon knew how to fight. 

“Did she?” mused Maeve. “With her power?" 

"Yes. She could have burned me!” That settled that, then. 

“Yet she did not.” To Remelle, it might have sounded like Maeve was defending ‘Elentiya,’ but Mina knew that gleam in her Queen’s eyes. She also knew there was something she wasn’t being told, some reason why Rowan specifically had been picked to train the princess, some reason why Maeve had sent Remelle and her party through Mistward. “Well, I cannot have her hurting my subjects, can I?” She turned to Mina. “Check it out. Now." 

There it was: a reason for Maeve to blatantly investigate Aelin’s progress. A reason to investigate Rowan. The idea was laughable. What did the Queen think, that Rowan was forming an attachment to the bratty princess? He didn’t do attachments. Still, as soon as Maeve’s fingers withdrew from her hair, Mina rose. "As you will it, Majesty.” She bowed low, and Vaughan did too, which didn’t seem to surprise the Queen. She’d known Vaughan would follow her. 

Mina gave Remelle a nasty smile as she stalked down the stairs, Vaughan at her heels, both of them leaving the Lady to continue her whining to their Queen. 


“Sorry I’m late Emrys, Rowan and I-” Celaena stopped short as she entered the kitchens. Emrys was washing potatoes, slightly tense, but not as much as she would have guessed when she saw the strange woman currently cutting up onions so fast it was hard to follow her movements. Her back was to Celaena, but that did not disguise the osprey perched on her shoulder. 

Rowan immediately tensed next to her, but the woman did not look up from her task. After a few moments, the bird squawked, and she at least lifted her head. “If you’re going to complain about the smell,” she drawled to it in a voice wrapped in midnight, “then go sit on that perch, you big baby.” She moved to the pot where Luca gaped at her, blushing crimson, and finally said over her shoulder, “Hello, Whitethorn." 

Rowan gritted his teeth. "What are you doing here.” It was not a question. 

The woman finally turned, revealing both herself and the osprey. The bird was more white than brown, with a hooked beak and a fathomless gaze already fixed upon Celaena, but the woman… she looked like she’d crawled out from the darkness between the stars. She had golden brown skin and wild curly hair plaited intricately away from her face, and she was all carved lines and smooth features. Sharp, like a statue. Celaena blinked at the violet eyes framed by thick lashes, then at the deep dimples prominent in her cheeks, before the woman flashed her teeth. 

She didn’t have long canines. And there was something in the points of her ears that was sharper than any of the Fae. “We’ve been sent,” the female said, and Celaena was so busy trying to place her light accent that she almost missed the 'we.’ She was referring to the bird as well, which meant it must be Fae. 

The woman’s violet eyes slid Celaena, and the cruel amusement there immediately put the assassin on her guard. She smiled again, all white teeth. “Is this who Maeve’s got you slumming it over here for?” Emrys stopped washing the potatoes, and Celaena stiffened, about to pull her lips back to snarl when Rowan caught her arm. There was a warning in his expression. Do not. Not her. Then he looked to the woman and the osprey, face hard as he jerked his chin and turned without a word.

The female was still grinning as she wiped her hands on a rag. “Thank you for your time,” she said to Emrys, voice a purr, and the Demi-Fae only nodded dumbly as she stalked around the side of the counter. 

Celaena could have sworn, as the stranger disappeared up the stairs after Rowan, that a tendril of night slipped from her dark hair. 


Mina liked when Rowan got pissed. At least he wasn’t staring at her with that complete bleakness this way. At least there was a little bit of life in his eyes again. 

He led them out past Mistward into a field, softly snarling to himself, before finally turning on them. “Why are you here." 

Vaughan screeched, then dove off of her shoulder, shifting at her side. "Interesting that you’re on a first name basis with the princess,” he said.

“Sorry I’m late Emrys,” Mina taunted, “Rowan and I-" 

Whitethorn was immediately in her face, snarling. Vaughan tensed, but did not intervene. He knew she was more than capable of handling Rowan. "Cease. Speaking." 

Kosmina grinned, brows lifting on her head. "But I thought you wanted to know why we were here?”

A flash of teeth. “Good thing Vaughan has a voice box.”

Just to piss him off further, Mina ignored that comment and spoke anyways. “Remelle came crying. Naturally, Maeve was curious. And by curious, I mean she was thrilled the princess is coming into her gift." 

"Unless we left before Remelle got to shrieking about any burns,” added Vaughan. 

“No, she certainly would have mentioned that first." 

"There were no burns,” Rowan ground out. “It’s been handled." 

Mina had a feeling that meant he’d done nothing. "What exactly happened?" 

"Remelle was being Remelle. Aelin did not appreciate it." 

Mina wasn’t sure if that meant that Remelle had just been a bitch, or if it meant she’d been overly handsy with Rowan, or both, and she didn’t really want to know. If Aelin had made a claim on Rowan, on someone who belonged to Maeve… it would get ugly. And he may have been a pain in her ass, but Mina respected Rowan, had a feeling she’d respect the princess as well. She exchanged a glance with Vaughan, knew he was thinking the same thing, and let it drop. "We went for a little stroll around Mistward before we found the kitchen. There are an awful lot of female things in his room, don’t you think, Feather?" 

"It was curious,” said Vaughan shortly. 

“If that’s all you need, then leave,” snapped Rowan. 

Mina’s brows rose again. “Not going to let us stay for the lovely meal I had a hand in preparing?" 

A snarl. "Go.” And then he turned, striding back towards Mistward. End of discussion. They could have followed him so Mina could annoy him more, but they’d gotten the information they needed. And if they saw something between Rowan and the princess, something they’d most likely be forced to report… Mina held up an arm, and Vaughan shifted again, retaking his perch. With that, she turned and winnowed them into the darkness she was so familiar with. 


They didn’t hear from Rowan again for weeks. Neither did any of the rest of the blood sworn. But finally, as Kosmina prepared to go to sleep-in her own bed, for once- there was a frantic knock on the door. A nervous page stood rocking back and forth on his feet, and after a low bow, he handed her a letter. “For you and the rest of the blood-sworn, General." 

She was already winnowing for Lorcan.

~Manon and Dorian go on a Holiday~

Title: When Iron Melts
Pairing: Manorian

Dorian tapped his foot impatiently as he looked over the vast gardens along stone paths, the morning sun reflecting upon clear water, birds singing as they began their early routine. This was a holiday, the King thought to himself. So why was he feeling like a straggling ilken was going to pop up at any second and start beheading things?

He took a step back from the view, turning around to the more heavenly sight on the bed, still wrapped in silk sheets and breathing evenly. His magic lazily strolled over to the mattress, blanketing the tether to his heart in an invisible sheen, counting breaths and feeling as her own budding magic-free of the iron that bound it-tentatively grazed against his own without disturbing her sleep.

That’s how connected they were now, he mused, as his heart calmed and his anxiety died down. There was no war, no Valg or gods dictating what they would do. It was just them now. Dorian should enjoy it.

Especially because it was a rare treat to catch Manon sleeping in.

With a smile, he headed to her side, loving how the sheets pooled across her naked waist, how her hair made the white of the pillow look dull, how just her presence made him feel complete and tethered and so in love he sometimes felt the romance books he read growing up were nothing but speculations and assumptions about something the authors couldn’t grasp. Something words couldn’t describe.

He sat next to her softly, even when he knew she wouldn’t wake. His eyes took the intricate iron armlets on her upper arm, glinting even when there was no light shining upon them. Despite the fact that the rings were beautiful, he hated the darkness lurking underneath the shiny stones adorning them. The purpose they had.

He thought he could finally give a sigh of relief when Erawan was defeated, thrown into the portal along with the gods, the Valg disintegrating as soon as their master vanished into another dimension. Dorian had turned to look across the battlefield, his ears still ringing and had felt lucky. Lucky that most survived, that his closest friends had made it.

Aelin, despite the blood and gore on her, had given a hint of a smile as her two-toned eyes took in her mate-torn up in a similar fashion-but alive and breathing.

Dorian wanted his own reunion. The realization that the war was over, that he could finally have a life without violence-

His magic, what little was left, felt it before he did. The hair on the back of his neck sticking up at the build-up of something powerful and old.


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anonymous asked:

Rowaelin, 16

16: Person A is sick and Person B takes care of them.

(Isn’t really an AU but yeah :p Hope you like!)

Aelin frowned at her mate, curled up on the bed and his face buried in her pillow. She hated seeing him like this. She walked forward and sat on the empty space beside him. She kissed his forehead softly.

“Hey,” she pushed away the silver pieces of hair that has fallen on his forehead, “You feeling better?”

He turned his head to face her, shaking his head slightly. Rowan had caught something from their recent trip to Adarlan. Aelin had contacted Dorian about what it was but his only reply was that it was a flu and that he had had it before. He said he should be fine within a week, as long as he ate and got some rest.

“Do you want to eat something?”

“Yes,” he paused closing his eyes before adding, “Please.”

Aelin nodded, getting up and making her way to the kitchens. She quickly asked one of the maids to make some food for Rowan before rushing back up the stairs. Rowan was sitting now, his head leaned back against the large wooden headboard of their bed and his eyes closed. 

“Here,” she said as she shut the door behind her with her foot. She set the tray on his lap and kissed his cheek.

“Eat up.”

He opened his eyes, smiling down at his Queen before eating what she brought for him. She leaned her head against his shoulder as he ate. 

“Thank you, Aelin.” He mumbled between his bites of food. 

“Anytime, buzzard.”

He chuckled softly before continuing his eating. She faintly heard him shift the tray over to his night stand before he put his arm behind her shoulder and pulled her closer against him. Aelin curled herself against him as he leaned his cheek against her head. 

“If I knew getting sick would get you like this I would’ve gotten sick more often,” he teased.

Aelin elbowed him lightly on the stomach, causing him to laugh. 

“I’m kidding, Fireheart. I don’t like getting sick. I can’t kiss you.” 

She leaned back and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Who said I can’t kiss you.”

“You’ll get sick too. So, no.”

She shook her head with a smirk. Before he could retaliate she leaned in and pressed her lips against his. Rowan didn’t bother to fight, knowing that she would win in the end. So he kissed back, wrapping his arms around her waist and pushed them both down so they were lying side by side on the bed.

It was Rowan’s turn next week to take care of her. But she didn’t regret it one bit. 

Pale Skin and Onyx Eyes [10]

[Throne of Glass] [Elide x Lorcan] [W.I.P.]
Chapter Word Count: 2849 words

Summary: Set after Empire of Storms, Elide Lochan and Lorcan Salvaterre are traveling with Rowan and Gavriel in search of Queen Aelin. Will Elide ever be able to forgive Lorcan for betraying her and her Queen? Where will they go next?

Part I: The Search - Chs. 1-8
Part II: The Journey - Chs. 9-???
Part III: The Mission

Chapters: [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ] [ 4 ] [ 5 ] [ 6 ] [ 7 ] [ 8 ] [ 9 ] [ 10 ] [ 11 ] [ 12 ] [13 ] …
Read it on: [ ] [ archive of our own ]

While she had been asleep, Lorcan had quickly chopped down some firewood and hunted down four rabbits. After they reached the cave, he began skinning and skewering the rabbits to roast over the fire pit. Elide untied her packs and rolled out her sleeping mat. Night had fallen, and innumerable stars flecked the sky. She immediately found the Lord of the North, the stag of Terrasen, shining bright so that she could always find her way home… The smell of the roasting rabbits wafted to her nose, reminding her that she was ravenous.

Lorcan almost laughed when he handed Elide the stone plate with a perfectly roasted rabbit. Her eyes were like dinner plates as she stared fixedly at the meat, waiting impatiently for it to cool enough to eat.

Elide devoured both of her rabbits unashamedly. She licked the juice from her fingers and sighed, sated and content. Lorcan was watching her from across the fire. As night fell a cool breeze picked up, a direct contrast to the beating sun earlier, and Elide was sitting right by the cave’s entrance. She shivered.

“Come to this side,” Lorcan suggested, his expression unreadable. He was sitting towards the back of the cave. Elide cocked her head at him, but complied wordlessly.

Oh, it was warmer on this side! She let the delicious warmth of the fire lick her toes for a moment, and then she hugged her knees to her chest. They sat there silently for a few moments as the firewood crackled and creatures of the night rustled and chirped.

She was thinking about earlier, about when she had been meditating… She still wondered what compelled him to go on this near-suicidal mission with her. It feels like… that time Lorcan stole the barge and we set forth for Eyllwe together…

Elide pursed her lips and blew air from her nostrils. So much had happened since then.

Lorcan was thinking about her damned lips again, about that time they were painted blood-red when she was dressed up as a fortune-teller. Gods, everything about this nearly-human woman was so distracting, he would make sure to take his time learning and appreciating every, fucking –

“Did you ever have a mate?” Elide asked unexpectedly, refusing to look at his face. Her cheeks flushed as she inspected her toes closely instead.

Lorcan snapped to attention, replaying her question in his mind.

“Where did that come from?” His growl was defensive. Once again, she had caught him off-guard. He couldn’t forget that those soft lips hid a razor-sharp tongue. Lorcan tried not to let his mind wander back into the gutter as he trained his gaze on her.

“I- I was just wondering,” she replied softly, her voice barely a whisper. Lorcan wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard a faint longing in her voice.

No one had asked him about a mate in a long, long while… And if she had asked him that question a couple of months ago, he would have snorted and simply answered, “No.” It wouldn’t have been a topic up for discussion.

But now… He had thought it was possible, once, lifetimes ago… Gods, when was the last time her name had even floated into his head?

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