ladies under the mountain

That moment we begged for A Court of Wanting a Rhysand

**meanwhile in ACOTAR**

“What do you want?” I demanded

“A moment of peace and quiet,” he snapped, rubbing his temples.

I paused. “From what?”

He sighed. “From this mess. That damned bitch is running me ragged,” he went on, and dropped his hands from his temples to lean his head against the wall.

Like, can we all appreciate how depressed and drained Rhys is? He has no one to turn to Under the Mountain because pretty much everyone hates him and all his friends are keeping Velaris safe and Rhys has anxieties about them every day and he’s keeping the weight of every member in his Court on his shoulders doing too much, too much, too much…and the only way he feels like he can console himself is to go to this girl who he feels a connection with, who he might suspect is his Mate and be so open and vulnerable with her, on the verge of fucking tears. Rhys was so lonely in ACOTAR, but he found a way.  He found a way. <3


Amren: These blood rubies are the best paper weights

Cassian: *probably brings in some sort of stray cat smiling idiotically* OH MA GOSH GUYS LOOK

Mor: *singing counting stars while dancing frantically* LATELY I’VE BEEN I’VE BEEN LOSING SLEEP, DREAMING ABOUT THE THINGS THAT WE COULD BE

Azriel: *plays pattycake with his shadows before Mor eventually joins*

//yep, definitely sadistic killers

You were right,” Lucien declared at last. “That girl I knew did die Under the Mountain.
—  A Court of Wings and Ruin by Sarah J. Maas

Best “New-To-Me” Films - 2015 

(excluding new releases, in alphabetical order)

  • Braking the Waves (1996, dir. Lars von Trier)
  • Enter the Void (2009, dir. Gaspar Noé)
  • Fallen Angels (1995, dir. Wong Kar-wai)
  • Fish Tank (2009, dir. Andrea Arnold)
  • The Holy Mountain (1973, dir. Alejandro Jodorowsky)
  • Me and You and Everyone We Know (2005, dir. Miranda July)
  • Paris, Texas (1984, dir. Wim Wenders)
  • Safe (1995, dir. Todd Haynes)
  • Sympathy for Lady Vengeance (2005, dir. Park Chan-wook)
  • A Woman Under the Influence (1974, dir. John Cassavetes)
Tamlin/Gaston parallels

Ok…. I was rewatching Beauty and the Beast and I found incredibly fitting parallels between Gaston and Tamlin. Here the scenes that made me think of ACOMAF:


“You’re going to be a High Lord’s wife,” Rhys said. “You’ll be expected to maintain your own correspondences, perhaps even give a speech or two. And the Cauldron knows what else he and Ianthe will deem appropriate for you. Make menus for dinner parties, write thank-you letters for all those wedding gifts, embroider sweet phrases on pillows … It’s a necessary skill.”

Chapter 6


“I’m sure there are things to help with around the house. Or you could paint. Try out that new set I gave for you for Winter Solstice.”

There was nothing but wedding planning waiting for me in the house, since Alis refused to let me lift a finger to do anything. Not because of who I was to Tamlin, what I was about to become to Tamlin …

Chapter 2


Save me—please, save me. Get me out. End this. 

Tamlin took a step toward me—concern shading those eyes. I retreated a step. No. Tamlin’s mouth tightened. The crowd murmured. Silk streamers laden with globes of gold faelight twinkled into life above and around us. 

Ianthe said smoothly, “Come, Bride, and be joined with your true love. Come, Bride, and let good triumph at last.” 

Good. I was not good. I was nothing, and my soul, my eternal soul, was damned— I tried to get my traitorous lungs to draw air so I could voice the word. No—no. 

Chapter 4


Tamlin’s face contorted with wrath. “They’re monsters. They’re—” He didn’t finish as he stalked across the floor to grab me. To drag me out of here, then no doubt winnow away.

Chapter 64


Tamlin snarled at him, “I don’t give a shit if she’s your mate. I don’t give a shit if you think you’re entitled to her. She is mine—”

Chapter 66

A Different Perspective

I looked at Rhys and Feyre, a pang of jealousy ran through me. I had experienced a love like that once, if the world would have been kinder, I would be like them. Blissfully happy. But instead the world was cruel and to remind me of such a fact my gaze changed from the happy couple to her son.

“You’re not your normal flirtatious-self tonight, is something bothering you?”

“He looks so much like her,” and because it was Feyre, I wasn’t afraid to admit, “when I look at him, I wish he was mine.”

She followed my gaze and was not the least bit shocked when it fell upon Lucien.

“You told me that she chose and you added that not all were as lucky as I was, what did you mean by that?”

“It saddens me to say, the majority of Prythian has misogynistic views. Even though the Day Court has long recognized the equality between genders, many of the other courts have not. She was his possession, his bride. It would have been an act of war to give her sanctuary, to call her my own. I know Rhys would have been an ally, but in the end she chose to stay. She chose Beron over me.”

It broke my heart when she chose to stay. I would have done anything to keep her safe, to help her find happiness, even if it was not with me.

“I think that is a matter of perspective.”

Of all the responses I expected from Feyre, that was not it. It was very clear to me that she had choose Beron over me. Why else would she have stayed?  But over the years I had become friends with Feyre and I had learned that she always noted things the rest of us could not see. I was unsure if it was her mortal heart or her artist soul that allowed for her to see what others could not.

Curiosity getting the best of me, “Oh, and what is your perspective on this matter.”

“What would have happened if she would have become pregnant during one of your affairs?”

The look on Feyre’s face told me that she knew more of this story then she was letting on, or maybe that artist soul picked up on something the rest of us could not. She was friends with Lucien. The son that she kept closest, the son that was the most like her.

“Beron would have killed the youngling. It would have been against our laws and in-turn I would have declared war on Beron.”

Feyre stood there looking at Lucien, not at all surprised by my declaration. I could tell she was analyzing the history, the tidbits I had given her and maybe tidbits others had given her.

“So maybe she didn’t chose Beron over you. Maybe she chose something else, someone else. Maybe she made the one call that would have been the safest, even if it meant she had to sacrifice her chance at true happiness.”

“What are you saying Feyre?”

“Did you know that the first time I met the Lady of Autumn it was Under the Mountain?  I recognized her right away for who she was. It was easy to spot the similarities between her and Lucien. She helped me, kept me from getting roasted or being the nights entertainment. I’ve never had the chance to ask if Amarantha punished her for her kindness. If that was the reason she did not attend my second trial.”

It had been years ago, but the second trial stuck in my mind. I remembered feeling remorse for Tamlin. If she did not win that trial he would have lost both his best friend and his lover.  Part of me wondered if it would have been easier for him to have lost them both that day, instead of over time. I also noted that my love had not been in attendance of that trail and often wondered if seeing her youngest die would have finally broken her.

“I’ve always wanted to thank her for her kindness, but Beron keeps a pretty tight leash on his family and I have never had the chance to learn from her what I could do to repay that kindness.”

“And what does this have to do with perspective?”

She gave me a warm smile, the smile I am sure Rhys fell in love with, “Look at Lucien, look at the parts that are not her. What do you see?”

I didn’t even look before I responded, “Beron.”

Feyre gave me a look that told me that she knew I did not take her request seriously, “Look again.”

And so I did. The nose was different and oddly familiar. His skin was golden, much darker than his mother’s. And as if on cue Lucien laughed. His smile.

“Holy hell!” I could barely breath, it was taking all my effort to not fall to my knees, “How long have you known?”

“Since the first time I met you.”

She had been shocked by something, I could read it on her face. I remember that night well, because only a few moments later Rhys was also shocked.  I knew they came to a realization about something, but our conversation that night had not been shocking.

“Does he know?”

She shook her head, “Not that I know of, I’ve been waiting for him to use powers he inherited from you to break the news or at least hint at it. Though I could probably get Elain to blurt it out, she owes him one for blurting shocking information.”

I raised a brow at that very specific comment, Feyre chuckled, “Lucien blurted out right after she was made into a High Fae, ‘You’re my mate.’”

I chuckled, “are we sure he is my son?”

Feyre didn’t bother to respond, instead she squeezed my shoulder and walked away.

I have a son, a son with the woman I have loved for centuries. A woman who if she asked me, I would tear the world apart for. Instead she had sacrificed herself, to protect both our son and myself.

Sansukh Re-read Ch.1

Okay, first, FlukeofFate and a-sirens-lullaby did amazing art for this and it always reminds me of the cover art on certain books, fancy and giving you hints of what the book’s about but not spoiling anything. That really doesn’t have anything to do with the writing, but it’s amazing! Also, all of the art people have done for this? Amazing!

This is also probably a good time to admit that I read this before I had finished reading The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings books and before I’d watched all the movies. I knew that Thorin, Fili, and Kili died, it was impossible to avoid those spoilers on tumblr, but I’d put off starting this (despite how cool it sounded) because of that. I caved, however, and thus there were a few things that I read here before I was able to read them in the books (I think there were fifteen or twenty chapters of Sansukh by the time I finished reading both books).

Where was the Hobbit? Where was the frozen lake? Last he recalled, he had been bleeding to death at the edges of the silent battlefield. His madness had passed, but it had exacted too high a price. His family was spent and gone, his nephews cold and stiffened in death and rent with many wounds. Their soft-handed and great-hearted Burglar had forgiven him, even as he wept over Thorin’s broken body.

He did not deserve such forgiveness.

Poor Thorin, he’s got so much guilt and it takes him so long to work through it :’( I really just want to wrap him up in a soft blanket and tell him that he’ll be okay.

Thorin opened his new, useless eyes and glared into the darkness. “Then why, may I ask, did you make me so flawed?”

Thorin yelling at his Maker is both heartbreaking and a bit funny. Heartbreaking, because everything that he says, he believes. He really thinks that Mahal made a mistake, that he was flawed, that he was the reason things had gone wrong and that nothing else contributed it. A bit funny, though, because Thorin is literally yelling at a supremely powerful being who can’t even touch Thorin without him feeling the amount of power Mahal holds. And Thorin literally doesn’t care, he’s speaking his mind and Mahal just lets him vent.

“I lived less well. And amends are not of use,” Thorin spat. “That is not the point of them!”

Thorin understands this better than 90% of people I interact with on a daily basis.

“Everyone, this way! Found him, finally, how many sepulchres are there in this place?”

“Mahal only knows. Actually, he probably does. We should ask.”

As soon as I read the summary for this story, I was honestly hoping that someone would make a ‘Mahal only knows’ 'Well, then why don’t you ask him’ joke, and it happened in the first chapter!

“Best move out of the way,” Thrór muttered, and Thráin chuckled again.

“Aye, she won’t be patient much longer.”

“You mean she can be patient?”

“Don’t insult my wife, you old coot.”

There’s a lot of feels in this chapter, but it’s the funny bits like this that help me keep from breaking into tears so soon. I need to pace myself, after all, or there’ll be none left by the time I get to Dís and Dísith.

“By the way, Grandma is kind of terrifying,” Kíli said, and then he yelped as the lady Frís, daughter of Aís, Princess Under the Mountain and wife of Thráin, presumably pinched him.

“Behave, young one,” she said sternly, pulling back to stroke Thorin’s face again and thread her fingers through his close-cropped beard. “I’ll get to you two in a moment.”

“Terrifying,” said Fíli admiringly. “I kinda see where Mum gets it from, now.”

“Our grumpy little Dís as a mother,” said a young, laughing voice, a voice that rang like bells. “Let Middle-Earth tremble.”

Have I mentioned that I love Frís? Because I do, so much, and it’s things like this, as well as how compassionate she is, how organized she is, how loving…okay, there’s a lot to love about Frís. She’s one of my favorite Sansukh OCs.

“Shut up,” Thorin choked, and Frerin threw back his head and laughed his silver laugh and oh, Thorin had missed him, missed him so much.

“You shut up,” he said gently, and then Frerin was pulling his braid and abruptly Thorin was struck with a memory so vivid that he reeled with the strength of it, sent back to a hazy, golden time when he was five years old and the new baby kept chewing and tugging at his hair.

How every sibling reunion ever probably goes, minus the hair pulling. Or with more of it, depending on who the siblings are.

“I’m dreaming, yes?” he asked of no-one in particular. “Thorin doesn’t tease. He got brought back wrong. Mahal made a mistake.”

“Oh, you think you two were bad?” said Thrór archly. “These two had you beaten.”

“Why do you think he already knew most of your tricks?” added Frerin. “We thought up that stuff a century before you two.”

“It was always your idea,” Thorin muttered.

“And you always led the way,” Frerin said, and nudged him. “Such a dutiful Prince!”

Kíli wailed aloud, and Thorin could just picture the look of betrayal on his face. “Everything I knew is wrong,” he moaned.

Thorin smiled through his tears and Fíli chuffed a laugh. “Poor Kíli. He’s pulling at his hair again.”

“Tell him to stop. He doesn’t have hair enough to spare,” Thorin said, and Kíli’s outraged yelp made him smile all the harder.

Poor Kíli, he doesn’t know half of the things Thorin and Frerin got up to before he was even thought of. His pranking title is in serious jeopardy in light of this new information.

“I have a bone to pick with you,” said Fíli into his ear. “Why didn’t you or Mum ever tell me I looked like your mother and brother? I always thought I was the odd one out!”

“In this family?” Frís snorted. “When it comes to odd, we are rather spoiled for choice.”

I’ve said something similar to this so often in real life, that I actually laughed when I read this bit for the first time. My dog looked at me funny, apparently I’d woken her up from her nap.

“You weren’t so nice to us,” accused Fíli. “Mobbed us, you did! I thought we were under attack at first! I punched my own father on the nose!”

That surprised a true laugh out of Thorin, thought it hurt his chest. “You hit Víli?” he said.

“He did. And I stamped on Grandfather’s foot,” said Kíli.

Thráin cleared his throat. “And bit my hand,” he added sternly.

“Well, you try being blind as a bat and naked as a mole and having your dead grandfather commenting on your lack of beard, see how you like it,” Kíli grumbled.

Poor Víli, that’s probably not how he expected his reunion with his sons to go.

“Oh, it’s Thrór all over again, someone stop him,” groaned Frís. “We’re going to drown in the combined guilt of the Line of Durin before we ever lay a stone of Arda Remade.”

If all of the Durins are like Thorin, then Frís is probably right about that.

The Aim of Elves

Overall Summary: You disobey Thranduil’s orders and decide to help the dwarves which has a better outcome than you expected.

Chapter Summary: Thranduil tries to coax the other elves to return to Mirkwood; Gold talk; and more baby Dis 

Previous Chapter: Chapter 2

Next Chapter: Chapter 4

Keep reading

High Lady Of The Night Court

You know what I want, I want the slow demise of Tamlin. Not the death of him, no I want his downfall. I want Feyre to take all that Tamlin has and tear it to the ground. I want Feyre to work with Lucien to get him and Elain back togeather. For Tam to loose his best friend. Then I want Feyre to become the love of all of the Spring court, to take Tamlin’s subjects and turn them against him. Then I want her to burn his family’s home, to burn all of the memories he had there, with his loved ones, with Feyre. I want his demise not his death because I want him to see the High Lady of the Night Court in all her glory, to see how he hurt her but she rose above it. I don’t want it like that to hurt Tamlin (though that’s nice) I want it for Feyre, because she deserves it.

tauriel on the banks of the anduin, bidding goodbye to legolas (this is as far as he would come, too afraid to further defy his father)

tauriel stopping for rest in rivendell, and being welcomed by arwen undomiel herself, feeling very young and clumsy and wild around her noldor cousins. but there are men of the west there, and a child called estel whom admires the sheen of her hair and follows her like a pale shadow for days. she only draws him out with stories of spiders and dwarves and dragons, and he repays her by calling her naurfinel, the flame-hair, and making her feel less like a child herself.

(there is starlight on the bruinen when the lady arwen comes to her, and asks about the stone she carries. starlight is memory, the lady says, and tauriel feels an ache so deep her bones could shatter of it)

tauriel on the east-west road, staying again in bree–she likes the children of Men best, she discovers; something about their wild innocence, the untaught strength of them. (the elves of mirkwood have been at war too often, too long, for any children to have been born since legolas greenleaf came of age. watching bree’s children play in the street, tauriel mourns.)

tauriel first stepping in eriador, and thinking on the stories of the war of wrath, and how she walks in the lady galadriel’s footsteps.

tauriel coming to the dwarven stronghold in the blue mountains and pleading with the guard–dis the lady dis sister to the king under the mountain and mother of its princes I must speak with her I have sworn a promise.

tauriel told to wait, told that she may not enter without leave of the lady dis, and going to sit on a rocky outcropping–sitting there still as the stars come out above her, stars from the other side of the world, and she wonders if kili might have told her their dwarfish names, if it is not elwing’s wings and the anvil of feanor that he looked upon, if his had been an entirely different sky.

what do you call that cluster of stars, near the northstar? she asks, when a dwarf comes to sit beside her on the stone.

those are the seven fathers, the lady dis says. (she is of such a likeness to thorin oakenshield that she can be no other–but there is something soft about her mouth that reminds tauriel more of kili than his uncle.) why, what is your name for them, elf?

and tauriel holds the promise-stone, thinks of the starlight of other worlds and who walks in it now. says, we call them–we call them the tears of nienna.

she uncurls her hand, and offers out a stone.


There was such a great and terrible beauty to this moment. That Feyre at last speaks of Under the Mountain (Albeit the fact she needed to do so in order to gain information) and is able to confess how broken she had become. I feel that this was the moment that she began healing. At last she admitted out loud to her brokenness, guilt, and the extent of her grief. Even though she needed to give information to receive info she still chose to say this; she could have refused or left, but instead she chose to purge that troubles that had plagued her since Under the Mountain. *on a completely different side note: poor poor Rhys. I can’t imagine the guilt and pain he feels regarding this! Also he loves her so desperately but cannot truly comfort his mate in this moment- side note over*

Bravo @sjmaas for depicting how healing it is for someone to talk about suffering and brokenness!

Originally posted by yourreactiongifs

I was rereading acotar and I realised how much they both were broken under the mountain. There are lots of other parts of the book where he’s a tool but this moment is so sad because after he lost this part of him he became a monster to Feyre.

anonymous asked:

if chiara had lived and became High Lady. would she have been Under the Mountain to protect her brothers + Mor and Amren?

“There are no High Ladies”

“Someone has been looking for you for a very long time,” The female whispered in her ear. She tilted her head up, raising her eyebrows at the males. “Thank you for finding her for me. You can go” The Fae snarled, a devil worthy smile springing across her face. 

Feyre had never seen males run faster. “You- You…thank you” Feyre swallowed. The High Fae spun around, grabbing her wrist. She pressed Feyre’s wrist against her nose and her eyes widened just a fraction. 

“You could have gotten yourself killed. Go home,” She said flatly. Feyre wasn’t sure if she meant the Spring Court or her actual home, a worn down cabin. 

“Who are you?” Feyre asked as the girl slowly began to walk away. She spun around and spread her arms a bit. 

“Your Savior,” She winked before disappearing. Lucien was running towards her in the next moment, Feyre didn’t have time to compute what she said. 


“Ever Amarantha’s whore, Chiara,” Lucien said cooly, pressing Feyre tighter between the wall and his back. Feyre wheezed gently as Chiara walked into sight. Her dress traveled behind her, both her thighs bare. Her dress dipped down her chest and a pendant rested against her skin. 

Feyre saw the female who had saved her on Calamnai. She gasped and covered her mouth tightly. 

She gave a cool smile, walking closer. Tamlin froze at the table and Feyre gripped onto Lucien without even thinking about. “That is what they say these days. Is that a human I smell?” Chiara rose an eyebrow slowly and she tilted her head to the side. 

“She’s my betrothed,” Lucien lied smoothly. 

“Moved on so quickly, Lucien? Who have guessed,” Chiara laughed, her throat bobbing. Feyre winced. 

“Get out,” Lucien said tightly. “You have no right here”

“We both know that’s a lie.” There was a soft laugh on her tongue. And Feyre couldn’t help but observe how beautiful she was. Her bronze skin seemed to sparkle under her black dress, her hair pinned on top of her head, showcasing her neck. Bold. “I belong here more than you” 

Her hand snapped out and Lucien went sliding across the room, the glamour falling from Feyre. Lucien grunted as his back hit the wall. Feyre grabbed the curtain tightly and she pressed herself tightly against the hard surface behind her. “Leave her alone, Chiara” Tamlin finally spoke up. 

She was already inside her mind. Feyre felt as if a thousand pins were poking at her brain and she nearly screamed. No one should have that kind of power. The poking ceased and Chiara grinned, her red lips pulling back. “Such wicked fantasizes you have. Maybe I should tell Tam-Tam how much you dream of him at night. How much you whisper his name and how much you fantasize him whispering your name in between those sweet thighs of yours”

“That’s enough,” Tamlin said tightly. Feyre flushed and she hugged herself, feeling suddenly cold. 

“You’re running out of time, Tamlin,” Chiara swallowed and she licked her bottom lip gently. “Tick, tock, tick, tock,” She mocked the High Lord before disappearing 


“You’re a bi-”

“Ta ta ta, us women have to stick together,” Chiara smiled cruelly. Feyre groaned and she held her arm, panting harshly. Sweat trickled down her face and her neck, her breathing growing shallower and shallower. “You should really get that checked out”

Chiara laughed and she stood up in Feyre’s cell. She pushed her red dress behind her, walking around. The dress was really only a few strips of fabrics. Feyre avoided her gaze quickly. 

“All this for Tamlin?” Chiara whispered. Feyre gulped and she spat at the High Lady. No High Ladies. She wanted to slap Tamlin for the lie. Why would he lie? “Interesting. You really do love him”

“Sorry it’s not something you can comprehend” 

In a moment the High Lady was towering over her. Chiara yanked her arm and Feyre screamed in pain. Chiara dug her thumb into the large gap in her arm, flicking the bone a few times. Feyre vomited, wanting to pass out from pain.  

“Looks like you won’t be around long enough to love him,” Chiara winked. She let go of Feyre’s arm and rubbed her blood in between her fingers. “Beg me Feyre Darling. Beg me to save your life”

Feyre opened her mouth and Chiara tilted her head back and she chuckled. “Begging is not attractive. One week out of every month you come to the Night Court. Experience true nightmares,” Chiara grinned, her white teeth blazing. 

“Fine, whatever” Feyre choked out. Chiara kissed Feyre’s cheek and grabbed her arm gently. Her arm began to feel better but it felt like thousands of bee stings at the same time. Feyre groaned and she watched a mark grow. “Branding me? Doesn’t seem your style”

“Oh this is not my mark,” Chiara clicked her tongue before Feyre passed out in her dank cell


“You two puppies just can’t keep your hands off each other,” Chiara shoved Tamlin away. The High Lord cringed and looked away from Feyre. Feyre whimpered and Chiara waved her hand, fixing the paint on her body. 

“Get out of here, Tamlin” She said tightly, not looking back at him. “And fix your belt” Chiara looked away as Tamlin stuffed his shirt in his pants, fastening his belt quickly before leaving. 

“Hold your breath,” Chiara warned. Feyre’s eyes widened and she tried to shove Chiara away but the female’s lips were already on her own. Feyre’s eyes widened and she gripped the back of Chiara’s silver dress. Feyre jumped when her fingers met Chiara’s bare back.

Chiara grinned and she tugged Feyre’s hair, kissing her deeper. Chiara grabbed her face gently and pulled Feyre closer, purposely messing with the paint on her body, getting it on her own dress. 

Amarantha walked in five seconds later and Chiara slowly pulled away from Feyre. Feyre gulped down air and she stared wide eyed at the High Lady of the Night Court. 

Chiara wiped Feyre’s lip slowly and Feyre choked down a gulp. Chiara laughed and she walked over to Amarantha, forcing herself to link arms with the queen. “Don’t look so down, Amarantha. I enjoy new company sometimes” 

Chiara forced a smile onto her face and she kissed Amarantha slowly. Feyre adverted her eyes and she pressed her hands against her stomach, trying to hold back her vomiting. 

Chiara left with Amarantha, but she turned around. She winked at Feyre and her cheeks flushed a bright red. The eye on her palm began to burn and Feyre touched her lips, smiling. 


“She broke the riddle,” Chiara walked through the crowd. The Fae jumped away from her as if she were the Plague and she bit her tongue. “Let us go, Amarantha” 

Amarantha gave a cruel smile and she turned to Feyre. “No!” Chiara screamed. She jumped forward but Feyre was already screaming and Chiara heard the first break of her spine. Gods, no. Her eyes widened and she rushed forward, but Amarantha’s magic grabbed her tightly. 

“It’s not as if you love her, Chiara. I thought you’d be happy to get her out of the way” Chiara began to grind her teeth and she snarled at the Queen. Tamlin struggled against her magic as well and their eyes connected. 

Tamlin looked away first. 

“Let her go. Let them all go. You can keep me” 

“Not enough,” Amarantha grinned coldly, but she let Chiara go. Chiara glared and she looked at Feyre. She watched as the human spasmed and she tried to reign in her face, keeping a neutral expression. But her hands were still coated in blood. The blood of innocents. 

Chiara could only imagine Cassian. The way he would always find her and know it was okay to throw up in her presence. The way Azriel would always curl in on himself when he remembered what her father had done to him. The way Rhys tried to be stronger than she was, because he didn’t want his little sister to suffer. 

She would suffer tenfold to keep them safe in Velaris. 

“Feyre,” Chiara whispered. Chiara crawled slowly and she lied down, grabbing Feyre’s hand. She looked up and saw Amarantha grinning cooly. She would be trapped down here forever. Chiara looked back at Feyre and she closed her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Rhys”

There was a flicker. A flicker down a bond she hadn’t felt in fifty years. 

That was what caused her to finally fight back. 

Chiara spun around and she threw the entire might of her magic at Amarantha. The Queen went soaring through the air. Chiara grunted, waves and waves of darkness pouring out of her very essence. Her back arched forward and she saw Tamlin’s beast fly through the air. 

She was reminded of implied, sweeter, happier times. 

A heart of stone, indeed

Chiara blocked the thought out of her mind and she turned away as Tamlin finished Amarantha off. Chiara swallowed and she looked back up, watching Tamlin walk towards her. “Tamlin-” 

The High Lord of the Spring Court side-stepped her and Chiara shuddered. Tamlin fell to his knees next to Feyre and he scooped her up slowly, brushing her hair. Chiara held her breath for a moment. 

She turned around and saw Lucien sliding down his fox mask. She had forgotten what his face looked like. The scar stood against his replacement eye and Chiara forced herself to look away. Tears slipped down his cheeks. Chiara squared her shoulders and she walked towards Feyre. 

She knelt down beside Tamlin, ignoring the green eyes that used to see through her, that could see her, really see her. But now she was High Lady, Amarantha’s Whore, most feared Fae in all of Prythian, and he was in love with her brother’s mate. 

Chiara pressed her hand against Feyre’s chest and she bit her lip gently. “Remember our deal,” Chiara whispered barely audibly. She slowly stood up and fixed her golden dress. She glared long and hard at the High Lords until their magic was flowing through Feyre. 

Feyre’s eyes fluttered open and Chiara gave her a painful smile. “Thank you, Feyre Cursebreaker”

Chiara was slipping through the crowd before Feyre or god forbid Tamlin could say something. She ran through Under the Mountain until she reached her chambers. The High Lady fell to her knees and started to vomit, gripping the floor. Her wings shot out from her back and she screamed, arching. 

Her roars shook her room, but she continued to roar louder and louder until her voice cracked. 

Tears streamed down her face and she curled in on herself, her wings comforting her. She was free. She was finally free. She could fly, fly far away. But even if she was free from this mountain, she had to go back to the Court of Nightmares. 

She had to go back knowing she had lost everything. 

But had saved everything for everyone else. 


Hope you enjoyed that! Leave your thoughts please <3

anonymous asked:

I always see fem bilbo but I have never seen lady thorin, do you know of any fics featuring the queen under the mountain?

yes, uh, actually i know some like

Jewels in Her Hair by diemarysues (also with cisfem!bilbo.)

Hands series by diemarysues(cisfem!bilbo too.)(with asexual!cisfem!Thorin)

and many a song (cisfem!bilbo too.)by alkjira

Not Without You by Lady_Juno

also if you’re into smutfics

the lying sense by dualce(with cisfem!bilbo)

and Don’t You Dare by Fili_sexbeard(with trans!fem!bilbo)

but you’d do better in asking my friend kurosmind because she’s really into the cisfem!thorin thing and she probably knows about it a lot more than i do :) she also knows a lot more of cisfem!thorin/bilbo which i don’t know a lot of at all.