*Rowan, Fenrys and Lorcan howling with laughter* Aelin: what are you fae bastards laughing at? Lysandra:*sitting down sipping her tea* I told Aedion to spend some quality time with his father *Aelin stares out the window*
SJM: so you know how I intended Chaol’s story to be a short novella? I may have written a little bit more than what I was supposed to SJM’s Editor: ok how long are we talking about here? I need an idea SJM: it’s pretty big SJM’s Editor:
Who Else Just Knows that Rowan Whitethorn can sing?
I mean imagine:
- Aelin sometimes walking in on Rowan humming as he goes over tax plans, or sharpens his knives.
-Aelin idly wondering if her big man can sing
- But Aelin doesn’t push it on him, not yet at least.
-Aelin doesn’t push it on him until one night, when their baby wakes up, crying and shrieking, and Rowan goes to go calm her down
- Aelin dozes off, but when she wakes up, Rowan’s not next to her. So she decides to go into the nursery, figuring Rowan probably fell asleep in there (again).
- But when she gets there, Rowan’s not asleep.
- He’s singing!
- Aelin nearly sobs as she watches her mate rock their daughter as he sings, the song clear and beautiful
- She waits for him to finish before entering the room, and when she does, Rowan blushes for like ten solid minutes.
- Aelin begs Rowan to sing for her, just one song, but he declines.
- Rowan has never really sang in front of any one, and was not about to start then.
“Please, Rowan!” She begged, a grin playing at her lips.
Aelin watched as Rowan turned towards the bed, and even through the dark, she could still see his flush.
Rowan flipped back the covers and slid in, the only sounds in the room the rustling of the sheets as he settled in. Aelin sighed, but walked towards the bed. If he was this adamant about this, she’d let it go. But at least she was right. Rowan Whitethorn, King of Terrasen, Warrior of ice and snow, could sing.
- Rowan doesn’t sing for Aelin until one night, when she awakes shaking and sobbing, the darkness too much for her.
-Rowan calmly lights a few candles, then wraps his arms around his mate and begins.
- His voice certainly is beautiful. And Aelin wonders how he’s kept this from her for so long. The song is in the old language, so she can barely decipher the meaning but she decides she loves it.
- Aelin falls asleep with his voice in her heart, and his kiss on her brow.
-But all sweetness aside, the songbird jokes begin.
“Listen to me, Aelin will be fine, she’ll escape that coffin, she’ll slay Meave and she deffs won’t die for the lock. In fact, Rowan and Aelin are both going to live, and so will Dorian and Manon and Chaol and the Cadre and Aedion and Lysandra and the Thirteen. No. One. Will. Die. It will be smutty pairings and rainbows everywhere.”