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booklover-2002 · 3 years

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SO GOOD! I loved it. And finally Edward and Aelin meet sgsuejrken I'm so proud of you, I feel this very inappropriate urge to shout loudly 'THAT'S MY GIRLFRIEND!'

𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐭 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫

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The next morning found all the townhouse residents asleep, Celaena decided to take her leave of her brother—how she marveled at the word—through a note, citing prior obligations that needed to be attended though he was welcome to visit her in the evening if his duties could spare him, which she left with the efficient butler, who assured her the message would be delivered. The ride back home was unexpectedly short considering the roads were teeming with entourages of families returning from their country estates for the London Season or ladies running off to modistes to have their wardrobes updated with the latest fashions before the invitations started rolling ko in.

Her relief at returning was great, though she purposefully hid from her parents—or her elder sister, Eleanor—attending diligently to her correspondence. It was a miracle the stack of letters thinned at all, considering how preoccupied her mind was. Two hours after the torment of trying to focus on her letters, Celaena gave it up in favour of returning Countess Lieven's visit from last week. There was a considerable difference in age, personality and social ranks between them but both enjoyed each other's conversation, and the russian ambassadress was excellent company. Celaena did not expect to find the woman alone—the countess' drawing rooms rarely ever were—but she did look forward to sensible conversation about politics and such and was thoroughly displeased to find that esteemed lady attempting to look interested in Lady Jersey's—another lady patroness of the Almack's and a social leader whose favourite pastime was gossip—rants about the latest love affairs of Lady Caroline Lamb, and Mrs Burnwell among other ladies, who though a sensible lady did not look much pleased with Celaena, though she could not tell if it was because of her rank or her public insult to the lady's beloved niece—Lady Perrington—at the dinner party the other day. Despite the former's thrice professed hatred for the topic, Lady Jersey lament about Caroline Lamb extensively and with all the knowledge of one well-informed of her activities. The other ladies listened keenly and with interest, and by the end of their visit, Celaena felt she knew Caroline's social life better than her own and the countess looked ready to pull her hair out.

"I cannot stand her hypocrisy," said Her Ladyship once they were alone, "condemning Caroline—as obnoxious as she is—for her 'love affairs' when her own mother-in-law is so infamous a mistress to the Prince of Wales. If she thinks it is different just because the Royal House of Hanover is involved—oh, I cannot countenance her. It is a pity she should be such a public figure that I cannot avoid her, or I should happily see the back of that one. Come, my dear," said she, noticing her friend smile behind her teacup, "you came looking for an enjoyable half hour and were instead subjected to gossip and derision. You cannot have anything to say in Lady Jersey's defence?" this said with a tone that indicated she did not know how anyone could have anything to say in Lady Jersey's defence.

"I cannot defend her, but I can understand why she thinks the situations are different—it's not because the prince regent is involved, but rather Caroline's utter lack of discretion. I could easily forgive her affairs if they caused harm to no one but herself, but alas, as it is, her husband's standing in society is affected by her behaviour." This was said in reference to Lady Heathcote's ball in July, 1813 where, after being publicly insulted by her—former?—lover, Lord Byron, she had slashed at her wrists with a broken wineglass and only her mother-in-law Lady Melbourne's prompt thinking and quick intervention had kept her from serious harm. When it became clear she had no suicidal tendencies, the whole affair attached such a ridiculous air to all the parties involved, it could not have been in anyone's favour.

"You would condone her actions if she were only being discreet?" asked Countess Lieven, surprised.

"Perhaps not condone, no," said she, "but I would not object to them. Really, she and her husband are both adults in a marriage that is less a marriage and more a business contract based on terms and conditions. If both decide between themselves that the other can look for love—or rather, a lover—outside their household, and if they can manage it discreetly, what is the harm in it? Viscount Melbourne admits himself he does not care for his wife, nor she for him. If they must remain in a marriage neither wants, I do not see the harm in looking for satisfaction outside with both spouses' consent."

"But you would not act in the same way in her place," accused she.

"If my marriage was more like hers?" she wondered aloud. "I would hope to reach an understanding with my husband we can both be happy with." Seeing her friend look unconvinced, she said, "Really, I strongly believe that if something makes you happy, you must ask yourself if it harms someone? If it does not, I would not hold myself back out of respect for society's ridiculous edicts; not at the expense of my happiness."

"Adultery would be a disrespect to one's marital vows."

"Oh, certainly," agreed she, "but are they not already disrespecting their marital vows by vowing to love each other? I would rather a husband and wife live by an arrangement that keeps both happy than be miserable trying to respect marriage vows they never truly meant."

Countess Lieven who herself was faithful to her husband—a rarity among the upper ten thousands, whose own marriage was arranged and who lived—if not happily, than in a content state of harmony with her husband, could have nothing more to say on this subject, so she steered the conversation away from it. "I suppose you are thinking of the Whitethorns when you mention that example? I admit I was surprised to hear from Mrs Burnwell earlier Mr Whitethorn appreciated your company so—oh, do not be offended, dear—it is only that I have never seen him appreciate anyone's company at all, though I say he has fine taste if he does indeed show you preference."

Celaena had been thinking of him in relation to the subject, but denied it. "I do not think their troubles can be solved simply by taking lovers." Celaena put her teacup down and leaned forward, more to stop drinking the overly sweet concoction than to show interest in the subject. "I had the impression those two do not get on because she is not suited to the duties his rank and station entails and he is not equipped with enough knowledge or patience to know how to guide her in it. They are bound by constraints of society in a marriage that makes both miserable."

Countess Lieven looked at her speculatively before the subject was dropped.

A perverse curiosity drove her to mention meeting Mr Galathynius and Lord Fenrys, which had the happy effect of inducing the countess to volunteer information about that family.

"The House of Galathynius," said she, "has been suffering from a lack of inactivity. Lord Rhoe lost a child some years ago and has not been the same since. His father abdicated his title after a severe bout of influenza in their county, but he soon recovered. The damage was done; Rhoe, the poor man was not prepared for the title and his estates and position suffered for it; now his sons take care of the properties while he pursues politics. The grandfather constantly battles them for power but he does not have half the influence as Viscount Layton—that is the elder brother, hardly social at all, so solemn and reserved but he is a responsible man. Far better than the rakes and dandies of town spending their days in the club, neck deep in debts of honor."

"Viscount Layton? I have not heard much of him at all, aside from his fondness for the written word."

"So you would not, for Galathynius is a name that does not appear in the tabloids often. The younger son does not have the trademark grave countenance of his forefathers—he inherited the ashryver charm from his mother and the elder is so antisocial, he hides himself in the country. For two boys who lost their sister and mother at an early age and were brought up by an uninterested father, they grew up to be fine indeed."

"The Countess of Narrowcreek, yes. Mrs Burnwell told me she was a fine lady."

"Lady Helen was, not pretty but so well-mannered and polite! She died of fever an year after her daughter, though some say it was the heartbreak that killed her."

"They are a big family, are they not? You said something about the ashryvers? I met one of them."

"Yes, the cousins," said she, "fine young men, all either determined bachelors or trapped in poor marriages. The ashryvers don't have their Galathynius cousins' impeccable reputations but the natural ashryver charm easily accounts for that." The Countess smiled knowingly and she shifted in her seat at the silent implication that she was interested in one of them—god forbid—and not wanting to further this idea, Celaena was obliged to put an end to this line of inquiry and introduced a generally neutral topic of conversation. Though Celaena was far too aware of the speculative look on the countess' face everytime she looked at her, the visit ended pleasantly on both sides, with one party anxious and the other intrigued with the subjects of conversation introduced.

That afternoon, Celaena was admitted into Lysandra's modest apartments by a housemaid who bade her to wait in the drawing room. Impatient to her own detriment, she thought nothing of barging into her friends' room and was wholly unprepared for the sight she was met with.

"Oh, no," said she, stupidly, "I-I came to talk, I didn't know—Captain Ashryver, I-I-oh."

Celaena flushed, prompting the colonel to fish for his clothes while he clutched the bedsheet in an attempt to cover his lower-half. The poor man looked ready to fling himself off the nearest cliff, which soothed her mortification somewhat. Like all englishwomen of respectable birth, Celaena had a suppressed but prurient curiosity that was only encouraged by the books available in her father's well-stocked library. Her odd fascination with the ladies of the demi-monde had been one of the initial reasons she extended an acquaintanceship with the courtesan who was now her dearest friend, though she soon learned to love the lady for her own merits. However, all education in that area did not prepare her for exposure to such a sight. She colored, gaped, stammered an incoherent excuse about needing air and fled the room. Her distress increased when Captain Ashryver stepped out of the room first, properly dressed to the boot.

He bowed formally, which seemed absurd given what had passed before.

"Captain Ashryver."

He flushed. "Miss Sardothein. It is—it is actually Colonel Ashryver now."

Celaena murmured vague congratulations, studiously avoiding his eyes. "I thought you were still with the army, sir, in Brussels—I am surprised to find you here. Do you know yet how long you will stay with us?"

"Six months," said he, looking away.

"Aedion," called she, startling him with her address of his given name, "I hope you know you are as dear to me as a brother. If there is anything you wish to talk about, I would happily listen to you."

Hesitation warred with trust in his eyes, and he looked cautiously towards the bedroom.

"I will not betray your confidence to anyone," she assured him firmly.

Aedion looked at his hands, blonde strands of hair falling in front of his eyes. "I was offered a posting here in London and—and I am not sure if I can accept it."

"It must be hard," she observed, "to give up a career you spent half your life pursuing."

"It is, and yet, it is not the only reason. I didn't choose to go to the army—I—when my grandfather found out about my inclinations," this word was spat out with enough venom that she knew what he thought about the man, "he sent me there and I accepted it as my lot, as if I were a second son. I don't know if father knows why I insisted on joining the army but, gods, I did belong there, with my men—there were some others from aristocratic families like mine who hoped any unusual proclivities would be beaten out of us there. It was just part of a job—killing people was not a good thing or a bad thing—it just was. But I was at Hougomont, Celaena," this being one of the chateaus in the village of Waterloo, "and by God, I never saw so much death as I saw there, so many friends dead, their wives widowed, their—their children orphans. I did not—if I have to see a war half so drastic as that again, I do not think I will survive it."

Celaena reached for his hand, frowning. "Then why hesitate?"

"I did not go there by choice; he—my grandfather, that is—forced me into it and he will not be pleased if I am against him. If he decides to cut off my allowance, on a colonel's payroll alone, I will not have nearly enough to pay off Lysandra's debts."

"I can help with that—"

"No." His voice was soft, but firm.

"Aedion, don't be foolish. You haven't much choice. You said yourself you could not survive another war and I could—"

"I said no."

"Pride goeth before a fall, colonel."

"Pride!" exclaimed he, looking resentful at the implication. "It is hardly that. You know what Arobynn did the last time you tried to pay off those debts—and whatever you can spare from your allowance, you need to save for your own future. Lysandra is not the only one bound to a monster by law."

She did know, but because she felt like being difficult, Celaena scoffed. "Say what you mean, sir. You do not wish to have help from a woman. If it had been a male friend offering instead, you would have jumped to accept—"

He threw his hands up. "You are putting words in my mouth."

"I am saying what you are too proud to admit out loud."

Aedion did not take the bait, replying calmly that he would not save one of his ladies from the Hamel's fire only to throw the other in it. Celaena could find nothing snappish to say to that, but having gotten over her own embarassment, she was determined to be difficult. "This is all well and good," said she, "but I hope the next time you will lock your door."

"The maid knew to leave you here," argued he. "If you had followed the instructions—"

"Instructions!" cried she. "This is not an army camp, colonel, and I am not a fellow soldier under your authority."

"I say, a good thing you are not. You have not the discipline for a soldier's life."

"If all your men are as disagreeable as you, I am happy to have missed the chance." Clamping down on the very inappropriate desire to stomp her foot on the ground, she turned her face away. "At least I am well-mannered enough to not lay blame on others for my own faults."

"Fine manners you have indeed, walking into someone's bedroom unannounced."

"The door was open," argued she, weakly.

"The latch broke last night," he flushed and she decided she did not wish to know how. Celaena felt a pair of accusing eyes fixed on her. "But the incident was a fitting punishment for you—I hope you will think twice before doing that again."

To no one's surprise, they retreated into a calm silence while their tempers cooled off. Both were impulsive and hot-headed, too similar to never fight and too prideful to give in, and they had surprised everyone—including themselves—by striking up a lasting friendship that had suffered through time and distance. Propriety dictated an unmarried woman could not write to a bachelor, so she had her father address it for her; society said they would be ruined if they were found together without a chaperone, so they started meeting in each other's homes, where they could not be found at all; decorum demanded they speak not a word of love untill the gentleman offered marriage—and that the lady should not at all say anything but a polite yes, so they talked of everything but marriage. Their showdowns with each other were frequent something to watch—and friend was not at all an ideal title to assign to an eligible gentleman; it raised many an eyebrow at balls and dinner parties where the Colonel was so attentive to her, and all felt certain a marriage proposal was not far away. Speaking materially, it would be a splendid match—with his rank as the penniless second son of an earl—and her, an accomplished society woman with an inheritance big enough for all to overcome the worst of their prejudices about trade. It would have been a splendid match; if he wasn't taken and if she was more amicable to the idea of marriage, that is. Celaena thought guiltily of all he had done for her, fending off suitors determinedly like a dutiful elder brother all the while pretending to be one, and she wondered shortly what he would say if he knew who she was. Did he know her brothers, or Lord Fenrys perhaps? He would be sceptical at first, she knew, and then he would be pleased she was close to being free of Arobynn's shadow. Celaena looked up to do something—to tell him perhaps or to apologise? But there, he had his eyes fixed on her already—his eyes, thought she, were turquoise blue ringed with gold. Oh.

Celaena rose from her seat, saying unsteadily, "Forgive me, but I just remembered I have an appointment at my modiste."

"I can drop you—"

"No, no," she was already out of her seat, donning her cloak, "I came in my carriage. Pray, tell Lysandra I will return tomorrow."

The carriage ride back home was so short, she hardly felt it. Celaena had not much time to ruminate on her present realisation, but she felt stupid at her distress a few minutes ago. Her new family—a reality which had seemed like such a surety this morning—was now shrouded in doubts. Aedion had not recognised her as his cousin for years, and if he who was practically her mirror image by all accounts, did not, no one else could be expected to believe her claim by one look at her face. But what other proof had she? It was with near trepidation that she entered her house, and was happily recieved by her brother who had been waiting in her parlor for a half hour.

"I thought," said he, "I should personally come to you with an invitation to a dinner party tonight at my home—our home, rather. I should like to reintroduce you to relations who are already in town—they have all been waiting so long, Aelin, if you like? You are acquainted with most of them already, and I know father wishes to apologise."

"He does? I hope he is feeling better after that—that attack." Celaena thought ashamedly how little consideration she had given him except to worry the others might follow his lead, believing her to be a fortune huntress.

"He is," assured James, "He refused to believe me when I told him—and then to see you, looking so much like mama, he was overset. But he is fine now, and very remorseful, dearest. I hope you will not hold that first impression against him for long—we had all quite lost hope, and it seems fragile still, like I would look away from you for a moment and you would disappear into the mist, he was being cautious."

"I will try my best," she promised in an attempt to appease.

Celaena knew she was blessed with a handful of attractive features that compensated for the majority of average ones; and, by early adolescence, she had discovered that with the help of cosmetics, these average features could easily match the extraordinary assets. Vanity she had always acknowledged freely to be her chief sin after pride, and she felt her nerves ease at the familiar ritual of having herself pushed into a pretty dress, her hair tugged and pulled before an event. By the time she was dressed in a fine evening gown of soft pink muslin, golden curls pinned atop her head with diamond pins gifted by her brother—a family heirloom, apparently—she was almost beaming on her brother's arm. In the carriage, she distracted herself by asking him questions about his involvement in the House of Lords, their father's health and had the immense pleasure of hearing him talk about meating Madame d'arbley who wrote Cecilia, which had been her favourite novel since she first read it. The talk soon turned to the night's guests and she inquired after their identity.

"You already know Fenrys and the younger Mr Whitethorn; Fenrys' parents will be there, as will our father and Rowan's parents, his elder brother is out of town and his younger sister, Mrs Parkinson and her husband could not attend, and the little Whitethorn boys will come too; though their mother holds the traditional belief that children should eat in the nursery until they are fifteen, so I do not know if they will be present at dinner."

"Rowan—that is Mr Whitethorn's given name, yes? I met his children before," said she, "in the park yesterday. They were sweet, well-mannered boys."

Her brother allowed it to be so, regaling her with anecdotes of their youth and Celaena felt she had never spent a half hour half as entertained before.

"Really, Rhoe," said Lady Meave, rising from her seat, "you are being absurd. I would think thirteen years of grief would make you accept it, but you are starting to grow more deranged with time."

The family members had all arrived a half hour ago when Rhoe explained the purpose of the meeting. James believed that the family would be informed of the situation before meeting Aelin so the element of surprise would not bring out ill-mannered reactions and accusations like this one and Rhoe had agreed to do it himself as the head of the household, though whether he did out of obligation or out of a desire to redeem himself in Aelin's eyes, Fenrys could not tell. Their cousins had more or less recieved the news with good grace, curious but tentatively delighted. The Whitethorns were curious, though Lady Mora expressed her delight at the news repeatedly and tearfully. Lord Jared was more reserved in his congratulations—a reserved disposition was a Whitethorn trait—as was his son, Rowan, who seemed more curious than anything else. His wife made incoherent noises about how nice it must be to be surrounded by all of one's relations, which made her husband stiffen. It was public knowledge Mr Whitethorn's relationship with his mother-in-law was contentious. She was a widow who lived in her father the earl's home, infamous for her very public affairs with Lord Shuttleton and the Marquess of Mowry, and did not have much regard for propriety or morals. The Earl had recently sent her back to live with her relations in Scarborough, prompting Mrs Whitethorn to insist her mother be invited to stay indefinitely in her home instead, an idea which Mr Whitethorn did not approve of. This served to increase the tension between the mismatched couple, and that Mrs Whitethorn seemed wholly unaware of it only served to aggravate her husband more. Fenrys was saved from replying when Lady Meave having finally processed the news, loudly and fervently denied it.

Rhoe did not look at all perturbed. He said, "We thought Aelin died, because we found a girl's dead body—which was unrecognizable—and an anklet near it. I am now ashamed I did not once consider it might not be her, for if I had, perhaps she would have been with us—but I do intend to make up for the lost years, cousin. I believe the anklet we procured was either circumstancial evidence or a delibrate cover-up. I have hired private investigators to look into the matters, though we have not much hope, but as it stands, I believe—no, I know—Aelin is alive and will be joining us all for dinner. Oh no," he added quickly, holding up a hand to forestall their aunt's objections, "This is not a discussion where Your Ladyship can pitch in her own two cents. If you are not prepared to acknowledge Aelin, you may see yourself out."

"You are putting a lot of faith in a fortune-hunter."

"Really, my lady," interrupted Fenrys, bemusedly, "I have met the lady on three occassions before; I can assure you she looked like an ashryver—"

"That proves nothing!" cried she, acerbically. "How do we know she is not one of your father's by-blows, hoping to extract a fortune? You are the one who put this whole idea in James' head—so perhaps, perhaps you are in cahoots with her."

"Sister!" exclaimed Mora, wide-eyed at the acid spewing from her mouth.

Poor woman—bless her gentle heart—looked scandalized her sister would even think those accusations, let alone voice them out loud. Rowan patted his mother's arm, looking pained while his father turned all sorts of blue and red. Lord Jared was offended on the behalf of his dearest friend—Fenrys' father, the Earl of Bedford. To Fenrys, the idea that his noble, stuck-up, proper and prudish father would have a mistress—let alone a bastard child—was laughable.

"Hold your tongue there, Meave," chided Lord Jared disapprovingly. "This childish petulance does not become you."

"You believe him?" Seeing none of them deny the accusation, she said, "If you are determined to fool yourself, please do. I will have no part in the downfall of this family." And so saying, she turned on her heel and left.

"If anyone else has grievances with this new discovery," said Rhoe, "they may join Meave in her self-inflicted banishment from my homes."

"Oh, Rhoe," said Lady Mora, defending her sister. "I hope you will forgive her. The news was very much surprising, and I think she was much surprised. I am sure she was only being cautious to save you from one she thought was a fortune hunter. We are all very happy little Aelin is back." Fenrys thought he would not assign so pure a motive to his other aunt's outburst but Mora was a compassionate soul, incapable to think meanly of others so he let the statement go unchallenged. Before the silence could turn awkward, he heard Colonel Ashryver say dryly, "Well, at least when Aelin comes, we can assure her there is no lack of entertainment here."

"If I recall, she was rather fond of drama as a child," agreed he.

"No, no, that was Fenrys," said a voice in the doorway. "Aelin just liked to follow him in whatever he did." James looked affectionately at his sister, escorting her inside.

Aelin smiled at Fenrys who kissed her cheek. "Welcome home, Aelin."

"It's Lady Aelin now, sir."

Two different voices called 'Miss Sardothein?!' though no one paid them much attention as Lord Rhoe stepped forward tentatively in front of his daughter.

"Aelin," he said.

Fenrys tried instead to look at Rowan and Aedion, both of whom were gaping inelegantly but failed, eyes repeatedly snapping back to Aelin who was watching the old man warily. She returned his bow with a curtsy, then rose on her toes to kiss his cheek. "Father."

Lord Rhoe said tearfully, "Oh, Aelin."

"It is all forgiven," said she quietly, in response, "I was surprised too."

He was almost disappointed when Aedion interrupted the father-daughter reunion. "You," said he accusingly, turning to the lady of the hour, "You knew the truth this morning?"

"Yes."

"You didn't tell me."

"With all the commotion of the morning—which by the by was your fault—I did not realize," said Aelin. "And when I did, I was too surprised to do anything more than flee."

"Wait," said James, suspiciously. "This morning? I thought you were to attend your business affairs this morning, Aelin."

Aedion's face flushed, matching Aelin's in it's hue. "Yes, well," she said, "I had, uh, some calls to return."

"You called on Aedion?" asked Fenrys, surprised.

It was terribly improper for a gentlewoman to call alone on a bachelor, but with her formerly a tradesman's daughter, Aelin did not bother to stick with the more ridiculous edicts of society; she would not have accepted their dinner invitation if she had. Besides as far as he was concerned, Aelin could grow two heads, murder someone or dye her hair lavender and he would still consider her perfect. Fenrys did not know about the others but he had missed the little spitfire terribly; pranks were not nearly enough fun without her trying to stifle her giggles by his side.

"I did not call on him; rather, on a friend he too was calling on," she defended herself. Her face was red.

James narrowed his eyes, looking between them. "You are courting each other!"

"Heavens no!" said Aedion. "Believe me, you have nothing to fear on that account." At the look of mock-offense on her face, he smirked. "You are not half as pretty as you think you are, Cel—Aelin."

"Did I permit you to address me so informally?" she asked primly. "Considering I look almost the same as you do, my appearance is not something you should be disparaging, colonel."

Rhoe huffed in amusement, "Yes, well, come along, children, there are others waiting to be introduced."

And so they did, though Fenrys could tell James was not yet convinced there was nothing between the two. Lady Mora was every bit as pleased as she had claimed, greeting her cousins' daughter with pure delight. Lord Jared was more formal, though not at all unkind. Mrs Whitethorn had a distracted air towards her, though she did smile pleasantly and Fenrys could detect no animosity in her. It was Mr Whitethorn—Rowan—whose reaction surprised him the most. He looked—pained, almost—which did not quite make sense, though perhaps that was just his discomfort with strangers shining through. The civilities were only just exchanged when the butler announced dinner was ready and the whole party proceeded inside in an informal order, Rhoe ditching the normal propriety edicts in favour of leading his daughter into dinner. He seated her at the opposite end of the long, mahogany table as himself, in the seat reserved for the mistress of the house.

Aelin's answering smile was a lot more genuine than before.

Dinner passed almost pleasantly, the seven course meal enough to sustain the conversation for some time and if the silence ever stretched, it did not stay long. With fine conversationalists like Fenrys and James at the same table, and with Aelin's lively manners the atmosphere was merry enough to overcome even the infamous Whitethorn reserve, Lord Jared expounding passionately on the fine horses in his stables on such occassions when provoked. Mr Whitethorn talked animatedly of books—but only with Aelin and only when she delibrately directed her statements to him—and even Mrs Whitethorn ventured a few shy remarks here and there. They were in the best of spirits when in the middle of the dinner by the end when the men stood up to retire to the study for port—a traditional seperation of sexes following dinner—when the door opened. The poor butler hastily entered the room behind the new addition, struggling to keep up with the man's but determined to follow the protocol, announcing to the room between pants, Viscount Preston, Lord Edward Galathynius of Graceview.

Celaena's fork clattered on the floor; her eyes were fixed on the dark-haired man, curls just barely pushed away from his face. A light pink tinted his cheeks and the tip of his nose—a result of the biting wind outside—and dust clung to the lapels of his overcoat, white cravat almost coming apart. Edward's eyes so identical to her own were entirely cold; he bowed formally to the dinner guests and she had the impression he had stormed inside unaware of them. He did not see me, she thought, embarassed as he was at having the attention directed at him. Edward's eyes went over the crowd in a quick movement and he murmured polite greetings—until they caught on her and her heart thumped wildly inside her chest. Edward's noble mein was intimidating and his features arranged neutrally and she worried the boy whose memory she had clung to for years was but an illusion until he whispered her name 'Aelin' with a quite awe and muted wonder; for the first time, it felt like hers. Then he choked on a sob; Aelin was running at him and he had his arm around her, a movement so natural like he had been doing it all his life.

Aelin buried her face in her brother's neck, trying to commit his scent to memory.

"Shh," said he, lovingly, caressing her cheek with one hand, "Please don't cry, dearest."

"You smell like horses," said Aelin, tearfully. "It's making my eyes water."

Edward threw his head back and laughed, a sound rare enough, she could feel her cousins' surprise from behind them. He sighed quietly, a small, contented noise that made her smile. "I missed you, Aelin, though I know I have no right to say that. Had I done something differently—"

"Ridiculous man," said Aelin, tenderly wiping the tears from his cheeks. "James told me you were not four and ten; what could you have done? I have long since learned not to regret what has passed and make the best of my lot. I had a good life, brother," she told him, squeezing his hands, "if not a perfect one. I—I was brought up with an education no lady recieves. It suits my disposition perfectly and you may call me selfish but I am happy I had that chance—though I wish we had more time together."

Edward smiled softly, "We have all the time in the world now."

"Perhaps not all the time," she teased with an imp-like grin, seeing the whole table's attention fixed on them, "After all, you are in dire need of a bath and if I am forced into your vicinity for another half hour, I shall faint from the horror of it." Edward too stiffened, and she realised the extent of his shyness. "Refresh yourselves, sir," ordered Aelin, in her best haughty tone, and had the desired effect of making him laugh, "and when you are ready, you may call for me. I will bring a dinner tray to you and we may talk all we like."

Edward bowed gallantly. "I am but your loyal servant, madam." He kissed her cheek and she detected in him a hesitation to leave.

"I will not go anywhere," assured Aelin, smilingly, "I promise I will not."

Edward formally took his leave of the dinner party and retired to his rooms. Aelin collected herself, joining the ladies with an enthusiasm she did not feel.

No one commented on the happy tears that flowed from her cheeks.

tags: @thesirenwashere // @courtofjurdan //@little-crow-corvere // @the-dark-swan // @queenofgreenbriar // @clockworkgraystairs // @julemmaes // @rowaelinforeverworld // @mymultiversee // @queen-of-glass // @strangely-constructed-soul // @mijaldraws // @http-itsrebecca // @aesthetics-11 // @lord-douglas-the-third // @flowersinvegas // @towhateverend17 // @aelinchocolatelover // @justabunchoffandoms // @cool-ish-nerd // @faerie-queen-fireheart // @sad-book-whore // @didsomeonesayviolin // @atozfantazyxx // @hizqueen4life // @the-gods-killer // @booknerdproblems // @annejulianneh111 // @firestarsandseneschals // @b00kworm // @mysweetvillain // @moondancer-204 // @thesurielships // @witchling-leonor // @ladywitchling // @amren-courtofdreams // @ifinallygavein // @jlinez // @faequeenaelin // @df3ndyr // @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato // @bitchy-knees // @superspiritfestival // @xx-fiona-xx // @stardelia // @maastrash // @miihlovesnoone // @totenhamboys20 // @sanakapoor

#throne of glass #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfiction #throne of glass fanfiction #tog fanfiction

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booklover-2002 · 3 years

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I am literally in love with this fic, like every new chapter is so fun to read and I just—like, wow. You're a goddess, sweetheart. 💖😘

𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐭 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

full masterlist - fic masterlist

The day after the dinner party in the late afternoon, Celaena was whiling her time away by flipping through the pages of the latest monthly issue of the fashion magazine La Belle Assemblée when she recieved a note of invitation from Lady Towper, one of her recent acquaintances, to a walk in Hyde Park later that afternoon with her and Mrs Burnwell, another society lady Celaena had befriended. The wording made it quite clear it was more a summons than an invitation and having spent the morning by herself, Celaena was eager enough for company that she happily put down her magazine and called for her pelisse and outerwear with alacrity. Twenty minutes later she was roaming around the park when Lady Towper spotted her, gliding across the path—there really was no other way to describe her graceful movement—with an elegant swish of her skirts and a look of exaggerated distress on her countenance, followed by Mrs Burnwell who looked rather piqued. “Dear Miss Sardothein,” cried the former, looping an arm around hers. “How glad I was to hear you accepted my invitation. I wanted to take a walk around the park, refresh myself and Mrs Burnwell recalled you were rather fond of exercise and suggested we take you along with us.”

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#throne of glass #rowan x aelin #rowaelin #rowaelin fanfiction #throne of glass fanfiction #sarah j maas #aelin ashryver #rowan whitethorn #valiant #aelin-queen-of-terrasen

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booklover-2002 · 3 years

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Everytime I think 'this is her best work yet, there can't possibly be anything better,' she goes on and writes an even better story and proves me wrong! Honestly, we joke around all day but I hope you know how proud I am with all the improvement evident in every work, you know? I absolutely can't wait for the next chapter (and that means chapter four, because you know I read chapter three already) 😜

𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐭 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐓𝐰𝐨

full masterlist - fic masterlist

February 13th, 1811

Galathynius Townhouse, London

After her successful debut into the ton, Celaena Sardothein was much in demand.

The Hamel townhouse saw a constant stream of callers; many a gentlemen fawned over the charming, eligible heiress and many a visiting lady came with the intention of recruiting this new addition to their circles as a prospective bride to their own brothers and sons. Despite her determination to laugh off compliments and insults alike - or perhaps because of it - it was not long before she was declared at par with the most eligible debutantes of the season. How this distinction pleased the lady herself could not be discerned but regardless of whether or not she liked it, she was the talk of the season and invitations to exclusive events poured in. When she accepted an invite ti the Stanhope's dinner party, the rumor mill worked and it was not long before word reached Lord Fenrys Ashryver.

"This is all pointless," muttered James Galathynius to his cousin with a pinched expression on his face.

Lord Fenrys stared at him through the mirror, sprawled as he was on James' bed.

"Really, Fen," the incensed man tried, "I know how you miss my sister—we all do but I wish you would not raise your hopes again. It is simply not possible—"

"I know the last time we found a lead, it turned out to be a dead end," said Fenrys sharply, "but it's different now. I saw her. I am not so far gone in my grief that I won't recognise the girl whose portrait I see in your father's study every day, even if she has grown up quite a bit."

"She died in the fire."

"How do you know?" The familiar arguement from last week rose to the surface. "It could have been anyone! The anklet we retrieved from the little girl's body was the only evidence of her identity."

"The anklet, a man's body beside the girl's, the warehouse's distance from our estate, it was all too coincidental."

"I think our parents might have been wrong, Jem - it could have been a misunderstanding for all we know," he tried patiently, attempting to keep the frustration with his cousin out of his voice or expression. "There can be no harm in meeting her anyway, she still is the Hamel heir after all and I know you wanted an introduction; once you see her, you will know why I am so sure."

"If you insist, I will meet her," said James. "I fear you are setting yourself up for disappointment."

"I think you will be pleasantly surprised."

James regarded his cousin. "I hate to say this, Fen—"

"Then don't."

"—but it could be an impostor too. My sister had a significant inheritance, and father recently changed his will. Aelin's assets—"

"Aelin's assets, whatever they are, can be nothing compared to the Hamel fortune."

James frowned, knowing he was backed into a corner. "If we are, I should like to inquire into her background as evidence."

Evidence.

Fenrys wondered if he meant evidence against his claims or to support them but he readily agreed that it was the wisest course. Promptly, a note was sent to his solicitor to make discreet inquires about the Hamel business, the owner and his adoptive daughter. The solicitor, Mr Stone, was a competent man and it took less than two hours to provide the basic information: the Hamel's townhouse address, their rumoured income, her dowry and the stories around Miss Sardothein's 'adoption.'

"She isn't Arobynn's adoptive daughter like everyone assumed then?"

Mr Stone said, "Arobynn did adopt her, to be sure, but only on papers. Arobynn found her in the slums of London when she was but five, and persuaded the Rhunns—who have long been his dearest friends and loyal clients—to take her in. By all accounts, it looks like he took an active interest in her education but it was the Rhunns who raised her until Arobynn amassed for himself a big enough fortune, bought an estate or two in the countryside and took her in."

"How old is she now, do you know?"

"The young lady is eighteen or around, sir, though no one can be sure."

Fenrys shot a look at his cousin.

"And what can you tell us about the Rhunns, Mr Stone?" asked James.

"Nothing good, sir."

The cousins shared a look.

"Thomas Rhunn was a country gentleman until he lost his estate in gambling and like. He has been the Hamel Corporations' prime investor since it was founded some twenty years ago—that's where his fortune comes from," said he. "You will be interested in the bank records, sir, I think—he, uh, he gets an yearly sum of five thousand pounds every year from an anonymous account since 1798."

"The year they adopted Miss Sardothein?"

Neither cousin mentioned it was also the year Aelin had 'died.'

Mr Stone went on. "It is my belief, sir, that the money was for raising the young lady - the timing certainly matches - but it is not one of Arobynn's shell accounts."

"So you think someone else is paying the Rhunns to raise her?"

"I am."

"Their financial situation," James wondered how he should broach this, "Do you think they might employ deceit to secure wealth or position?"

Fenrys gave him an annoyed look.

Mr Stone, thoughtfully said, "Thomas Rhunn is a clever sort of man, sir, but too lazy for something so devious and his wife—a more insipid, unintelligent creature doesn't exist. The daughter, though, she is an ambitious one like her godfather." He hesitated, but the gentlemen looked so interested, he continued. "But I—I think, from what I heard, she is devoted to her trade and quote adept at it. I could not believe her capable of deception to achieve that."

The gentlemen sincerely thanked him for the information and he departed.

Fenrys turned to him. "So?"

"So?"

"So did you see the many proofs?"

"I didn't see any proofs, Fen. So she's the same age as our Aelin and she was adopted."

"The same year as Aelin disappeared!"

James frowned. "That doesn't mean—"

"Yes, it does." Fenrys huffed, more hopeful than ever. "To quote your own words, 'tis too much of a coincidence.'"

He fell silent, eyes shut and took a deep breath. "It's too much. If she is—If she didn't die, you know what it means? Edward has been a shell of himself all these years, my father—he is, he is on his deathbed and Aedion joined the army—he is on the continent somewhere and we might never see him! All those years we lost grieving, and she might never have been dead. None of us even thought to look! If we had, If I had... perhaps she would have been found sooner? But no, I wish to see her first. I will not worry about all that until I am sure."

Fenrys placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I know it will be hard and I am sorry for the years you wasted," said he with a calm, reassuring smile, "but all is not lost. If tis really her, your father could see her and know she is alive before he passes, Edward could finally let go of his guilt and have his sister back—he might even die of happiness—and we will call Aedion back; he will come once he hears she is back. Tis not too late to fix everything and save the years we all still have left."

"If it is her."

"I hope, that is, I really hope that it's her."

"Indeed." James nodded. "I hope so too."

February 13th, 1811

Stanhope House, London

"You said she is here?" Lady Perrington looked faintly scandalized.

James rolled his eyes as the crowd turned to look at the doors where a tall, blonde woman stood on the arm of a red-haired man. The room broke into furious whispers.

Beside him, a lady—Mrs Evans, perhaps?—tittered with a companion. "My George said she is not even legally adopted, you know? You don't stand that close to your godfather." This was meant to be a whisper but her voice was too nasally, the words carried over the room and people shared alarmed looks as the object of this conversation walked towards them. The woman kept talking, entirely unaware, "I could never countenance the very thought that she is to inherit a trade empire. All of her dowry will not find her a suitor if she acts like a man."

Miss Sardothein stopped in front of them. "My dear Mrs Evans! I am so grateful for your concern for my marriage prospects." Both ladies tilted his head curiously. She pressed on. "You of all people will understand the importance of caution, I am certain." Her back was towards him but he heard the smile on her face as she spoke. "Is dear Mr Evans' gout any better now?"

James choked on his drink and sputtered. Fenrys winked at him from across the room.

Mrs Evans' face turned red.

Lady Perrington jumped to her friend's rescue. "Miss Sardothein, why, it is such a surprise to see you here! Lady Stanhope has certainly been," here, she pursed her lips and then, commented in a suggestive tone, "liberal in her choice of guests. Your godfather," she nodded towards that gentleman, "is in trade, I hear. Pray, what kind of trade, can you tell?" The guests had all abandoned their own conversations in favour of eavesdropping on this one. Lord Stanhope looked torn between amusement and alarm while his wife openly and unattractively gaped at the spectacle.

Miss Sardothein lifted a hand to dismiss the enquiry. "Oh, I can never talk business on social events but you may ask your husband at your leisure. Lord Perrington regularly invests in many of our ventures." Though the lady's back was turned to him, her voice was fierce.

"Such a devious creature," a familiar voice remarked.

Rowan greeted his cousin with a nod before fixing his eyes back on the drama unfolding in front of them.

Lady Perrington was looking around in search of allies among the onlookers but when no one stepped forward, she inclined her head, her face colored. "Indeed, I shall," she said and hastily excused herself.

Mrs Evans followed suit, eyes firmly on the floor and James almost felt sorry for them. Almost.

Before his apparent sister—how he scoffed at that notion—could turn, Rowan approached at her side. It was rare indeed that the dour man approached anyone first and never so readily. The novelty of that alone occupied his attention.

"Miss Sardothein." He bowed.

She curtsied with a smile. "Mr Whitethorn." Another man approached with a lady on his arm. "Lord Fenrys! I did not know you would be in attendance."

Lord Fenrys bowed over her hand. "I came as soon as I heard you were attending." She laughed at the gallantry—a sweet, tinkling laugh that caught his attention and he again ignored his heart's nagging— and he turned to introduce his companion. "Allow me to introduce my cousin, Mr Rowan Whitethorn of Harcomb, Doranelle and his wife, Mrs Lyria Whitethorn." Fenrys' dark eyes glinted and he smiled charmingly, letting a loose lock of hair fall on his forehead.

"I have already met Mr Whitethorn." Celaena smiled at the woman, then with a less pleasant expression towards the woman. "Mrs Whitethorn, it's a pleasure to meet you."

James had met Mrs Whitethorn barely once or twice in his life and only in passing. He had expected a genial creature, if perhaps a little reserved like her husband but she looked like a simpleton.

Though the fabric of her clothes was expensive and the stitching perfect, but the colour was dull and did no favours to her sallow complexion. Her neck remained unadorned and she wore no necklaces, bracelets or earrings, a fact made more pronounced by the tight modest bun she wore her dark hair in. By her appearance, she seemed more suited to a nunnery than to a fancy dinner party as the wife of a gentleman of rank. She exchanged curtsies and shared greetings but otherwise showed no inclination to converse and hastily excused herself as soon as was polite.

Rowan stood where he was, brooding, stiff as a board when the tradesman's daughter addressed him. "I thought you would be happy here, at least, for you detest balls but you are scowling still."

Rowan said stiffly, "I detest social events."

"Even when you don't have to dance?"

"Even then."

"I should like to hear why."

"I doubt you would understand."

"Come now, sir," said she smilingly, "Do not insult my intelligence by assuming that. Tell me and I might."

"It is not that. I—I do not—you will laugh but I hardly ever know what to say and often give offense where it is not intended." He turned to her. "You cannot have any such problem."

She arched an eyebrow in question.

He said, "You are too lively and charming, you could not possibly manage it."

"And people are too apt to forgive a pretty face in general," she agreed.

His lips twitched. "You claimed you were not a fan of convention earlier but I see you have no love for modesty either."

"For false modesty, I do not. I freely acknowledge vanity to be my chief sin." Then, she paused, "Your wife is, she is terribly shy, I think, but I hope you will not trouble yourself so much on her manner."

"I would say she is more unwilling than shy," said he with uncharacteristic openness. "I hope you were not offended."

"Oh, not at all—"

"Dear cousin," an enthusiastic voice cut through the din of polite conversation in the room, "You must stop monopolizing the lady's time. There is someone I should like to introduce her to—James. James, man, she's here, look. Allow me to present my favourite cousin, Mr James Galathynius of Graceview, Orynth."

James turned to them and bowed politely as she turned.

Then his face paled.

"Aelin." He forced a smile. "Forgive me, that is, you look exceedingly like—"

"Like five-year-old Miss Galathynius? So I've been told before," said she good humoredly.

James blinked disbelievingly. His vision blurred. Blonde hair. Ashryver eyes—that damning feature he thought Fenrys had been exaggerating about and the button nose that both, Aunt Evalin and his mother had shared. His cousin, noticing his preoccupation, engaged Miss Sardothein—nay, Aelin—into animated conversation as one thought after another crashed into his mind.

Thirteen years.

Thirteen years lost in grief and regret.

Thirteen years of seperation when they should have been searching for her.

Aelin grinned triumphantly from atop the maple tree down at her brothers, cousins and friends, dress torn and muddied. Her expression had the tiniest hint of pride as she placed herself on a sturdy branch.

"You shall fall down hurt yourself if you do not climb down, Aelin!" exclaimed Elide fretfully, twisting her muslin dress in evident distress. "And then what will we do?"

"No, no, I never shall," she insisted with a pout. "I can make this my home and you may visit me whenever you would like."

"But you cannot stay up there forever! You would feel hungry," reasoned the ever-responsible Chaol, biting his lip. Barely nine-years-old, he was the first to tattle on his friends when mishaps occured between children as they often do.

"James can bring me food," she declared haughtily, pushing one braid over her shoulder.

James grinned. "And whyever should I? You never do anything for me. I will let you starve a little perhaps. It may teach you a lesson."

"May the devil take you!"

Edward, ever the polite elder brother, reprimanded, "Aelin! That is not the language we may use." He was alarmed when her eyes teared up. "I am sorry, Aelin, love, will you not please come down?"

Aelin sniffed. "You are being mean and I will never talk to you."

"But will you not calm down before our father sees you? You would be punished." He frowned when the little rascal stuck her tongue out. He added, "If you come down, I will convince father to give Mrs Norris a leave for today."

"You promise?"

Edward nodded. "A gentleman's word."

She nodded uncertainly, then looked down and whimpered. "I can't."

Edward groaned, prompting the others to snicker at his expense. He extended his hands towards the tree.

"Climb down," he said, "James or I will catch you if you fall."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "How do I know he won't let me fall?"

"You are our little sister, Aelin," Edward said resolutely, extending his hands further as James did the same. "He will never let you hurt, I promise."

"A gentleman's word?" This time, her bright eye were trained on James.

He nodded. "A gentleman's word."

But had he not broken his promise? She ended up in a tradesman's family so far from home while everyone thought her dead. A five-year-old alone in the streets of London with no family whatsoever, thought he with growing unease. How terrified she must have been! He turned towards her now.

Her eyes had always been bright and her disposition lively but it was all tempered with a quiet dignified sort of grace. She looked beautiful now, the roundness in her face gone and her sharp features accentuating that inner fire.

His little sister.

As impulsive and easy to provoke as ever and every inch the little terror he remembered, down to the sneaky smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. He blinked the tears back into his eyes.

"You would not object, would you, James?" asked Fenrys.

He startled. "Huh?"

"Miss Sardothein here expressed her interest in chess and I thought to invite her for her a game tomorrow in your house." He raised an eyebroe. "Unless you have any prior obligations?"

He did have prior obligations but he would cancel them all. "I would be pleased to have you there."

Rowan frowned, looking between the three of them as if he was missing something. "Is that not... nevermind, but perhaps you should consider bringing your mother along, Miss Sardothein, for propriety's sake?" James cursed the man for his caution. A private visit would be an ideal time to reveal all to her but not if she brought someone along.

Thankfully, she dismissed the idea herself. "I will see if I can get papa to come along but I am a tradesman's daughter, far too involved in the business myself. I am certain my reputation will not suffer for it, unless you mind." Both he and Fenrys assured her that they would not mind at all and James reiterated how sincerely pleased he would be to have her there.

"We will see how pleased you are when I make you eat your dust, Mr Galathynius," she teased with a grin.

James grinned back. "I wouldn't be so sure."

Dear Edward,

I know we are not in the habit of exchanging correspondence as brothers ought but I hope you will forgive me for the presumption. Certain events of note have taken place here recently, such that it necessitated that you be informed immediately. I have a shocking good news to impart:

Our dearest Aelin did not die in the warehouse fire. She is very much alive and well.

By some stroke of luck, cousin Fenrys came across her at a ball and you will be shocked to hear she is the sole heir to the Arobynn Hamel, currently known as Miss Sardothein. He insisted she was our cousin since his first meeting, though I refused to believe him but I met her today and there can be no doubt to her identity. Fenrys invited her to a chess match in the evening tomorrow, where we plan to disclose everything to her. Father has not been informed yet.

Make haste to London, brother.

Yours,

James

February 14th, 1811

Graceview Estate, Orynth

Edward Galathynius, the Viscount Milton sat in his armchair, stunned.

He had been the last person to see Aelin. He had stupidly left her alone on the estate grounds that awful day. He remembered his father's panic, his mother's disinterest and his little brother's distress. He had been thirteen years old, back home from Eton for the duration of the summer. He envied James who could look at their childhood—her childhood—with the rose-coloured veil of forgetfulness. James was four when she was born. He would not remember her first steps, her first words, the nights she spent in his bed when she escaped the nursery, her favourite haunts and mischiefs. James would be able to look at their time together without being wrecked with agony because of his grief, the guilt for his blunder, the irrational desire to have her back. James would not dream up variations of that cursed day repeatedly over the years.

"Aelin! Aelin, love, slow down, no, not there, yes, gods, Aelin!" Edward shouted behind her. "Your frock! You look wild—no, stop that, Mrs Norris will faint of horror if you are any more muddied."

Aelin stepped into one mud puddle after another. She sent dirt flying back at her proper, dignified elder brother who pinched his nose in distaste. "Now we are both muddied," said she, grinning over her shoulder. "You can tell her that we didn't see the mud and both slipped."

"And lie to her?" He looked horrified.

Aelin tilted her head, fussing over her hair matted with mud. "Is it a lie if we do it for the greater good?"

"The greater good?"

Aelin nodded, pleased with herself. "Of not letting her faint. She is so thin, I sometimes fear a strong gust of wind will blow her away."

She ran further, bursting into giggles every few minutes and by now, had both of them looking no less than two street urchins. He tried to be stern with her but it was awfully hard to remain angry at someone so determined not to pay attention to a word. He knew better than to scold her, lest she summon her tears. That never failed to make him comply with whatever she asked.

"Aelin, there's a hole there, be careful. Stop running, will you—Aelin!" It was too late.

Her right hand gripped her ankle while the other was on her mouth in a poor attempt to stifle her sob.

Edward frowned as she whimpered in pain. "I told you not to run, no, no, don't cry, darling, it will be fine. I shall call for someone." They had been out on the grounds for a while now and the manor house was far away. She was too heavy for him to carry so far and he did not want to hurt her further.

He patted her cheek affectionately. "There, now, you are a brave girl, and I need you to wait right here. I will run back to the manor and bring help, yes?"

She promised she would not and he hurried back to the house.

The rest of the day remained hazy in his memories. He had arrived back at the spot with his father, a growing sense of dread in the pit of his stomach to find her gone. Search parties were organised and the merchants, locals and servants were all on alert for the beloved little spitfire. Day faded into night, then night into dawn when an express rider came with a letter from the magistrate and his father left the house in haste. He had chanced a look at his father's letter, his concern for her too great to worry about the impropriety of reading another's letter without permission. The contents read:

Dear sir,

I am afraid I have sad tidings to depart. One of the warehouses outside the town had caught fire the previous night and two lives were lost as far as we can determine. The first—a grown man, in his thirties or forties, has been determined as a local thief—and the second, a little girl, perhaps five or six years old. Her identity has not been confirmed but we retrieved a silver anklet among the remains. I beg for your assistance in identifying the girl's family. Do come as soon as you can.

Yours

Sir Arthur Renard

His heart pounded too loud in his ears. He felt hot and cold at once. He knew why only one ankle was retrieved from the corpse, because he had the other. It had fallen off her leg earlier that day and he had retrieved it with the intention to fix the loose lock on it.

His knees buckled.

"What happened?" James asked.

Edward shook his head, about to tell him not to worry. His words choked up in his throat and he excused himself from company, pale and ashen, his head throbbing. He ran up the stairs to his room, dismissed his valet for the night and slumped onto bed. The same bed he had shared with her on nights when she was spooked by thunder or some horror story Fenrys had related to her earlier that day.

Edward had left her there alone.

He buried his face in the pillow and wept.

Rhoe withdrew into himself after the funeral. Edward found comfort back at university, where no one or nothing would remind him of his loss, where he could avoid his guilt and pain.

Then mother died.

The summer visits to family became rarer and rarer. Father never insisted, retiring into his library, the one place where her presence was most patent and he was all too happy to remain where he was. The distance increased after he left university. His father preferred James' company, who was lively and good-humored and as James preferred the society to be found in London, they made the townhouse their home while Edward ran their country estates.

But now,

She is very much alive and well. His heart would not be satisfied.

He ordered for his horse to be saddled and riding gear prepared. The best of the family suites were to be prepared and aired out. She was alive and well, and soon, she would be back home.

Feeling happier than he had in months, Edward Galathynius spurred his horse onwards, fast as he could, to London.

I know I was supposed to update Cinders first but my brain insisted on rebelling and this is what happened. I will update that one soon tho, and I think you'll like it. 💖

tags:

@thesirenwashere // @courtofjurdan //@little-crow-corvere // @the-dark-swan // @queenofgreenbriar // @clockworkgraystairs // @julemmaes // @mymultiversee // @queen-of-glass // @strangely-constructed-soul // @mijaldraws // @http-itsrebecca // @aesthetics-11 // @lord-douglas-the-third // @flowersinvegas // @aelinchocolatelover // @cool-ish-nerd // @faerie-queen-fireheart // @sad-book-whore // @hizqueen4life // @the-gods-killer // @booknerdproblems // @annejulianneh111 // @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln // @b00kworm // @mysweetvillain // @curlyredqueen06 // @moondancer-204 // @thesurielships // @witchling-leonor // @ladywitchling // @amren-courtofdreams // @ifinallygavein //@jlinez // @faequeenaelin // @df3ndyr // @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato // @superspiritfestival // @xx-fiona-xx // @stardelia // @maastrash // @miihlovesnoone // @sanakapoor // @abookishfreak // @ireallyshouldsleeprn // @morganofthewildfire // @bellamyblakru // @theilliumbluebell10 // @jesstargaryenqueen // @woollycat22

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged.

#throne of glass #rowaelin #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfiction

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booklover-2002 · 3 years

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oh, thank you too! You have been funny, awesome and supportive too. And you know, you ship lavyush (yes, yes, that's a thing) and you're there to listen to me talk nonsense or when I'm you know, talking about a certain someone repeatedly and you listen patiently? Yeah, I appreciate you too. Thank you.

Appreciation Post!!

right, okay, so this is going to be a long ride. you’ve been warned. this year has been a roller coaster from start to finish, and there are so many of you here who have helped keep me sane (relatively), and keep me from falling off of cliffs of utter mental breakdown. this post is for all you lovelies, so before I start actually crying, here goes.

Keep reading

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booklover-2002 · 4 years

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worry not, at least you don't make too many unreasonable requests now 😏 thirteen years old Lavanya was in the habit of horrifying my sensibilities.

Dorian: Please? For me?

Chaol: Don't do that.

Dorian: What?

Chaol: You think everytime you say "Please? For me?" I'll do whatever you want. Well, not this time.

Dorian:

Dorian: Please? For me?

Chaol: Okay.

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booklover-2002 · 4 years

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I'm so sorry for being eight days late??! But at first I didn't see it at all, and then when I was supposed to reply, my mother confiscated my phone. (You can thank lovie for that, I'm convinced the girl is trying to kill me.)

thank you so much tho! 💕 For the hug, the cake and the wishes (in that order 😜) I did have the greatest day ever, thank you.

first things first:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BOYO!!

and now I'm going to rant about your amazingness, so sit back, and get flattered (and a little embarassed, I hope)

we've been friends for, what, a few months? I cannot believe how lucky I am to know you. you're literally the sweetest, most sarcastic idiot ever. not to mention a grade-A dumbass. I mean, the first thing you said to me was "you don't know me, but I know you".

BITCH THAT WAS SCARY.

(for like two seconds. I figured you out pretty quickly)

I can't be there to physically congratulate you on becoming older (older than you already are, of course, you poor old soul, with all that stress courtesy of wifey and me) (no regrets)

so, as a gift from me to you (I don't know if it's a gift – maybe it's just punishment? either way, this is what you're getting because I wanted to do a whole celebration but I'm stuck studying) you can request two prompts for any two of your favourite pairings, and I will write whatever you want, specially for you. you have free reign over every prompt list on earth. knock yourself out. choose two prompts, send 'em in through asks or however, and I'll write for them as soon as my exams end.

once again, happy birthday, and lots of hugs from yours truly! I really hope you like the gift (which isn't here yet, but...oh well. you get me)

you're the best boyo there ever was (aside from Fenrys, the original boyo, but nevermind).

lastly,

tagging a few of y'all and the birthday boy himself: @booklover-2002 @aelin-queen-of-terrasen @heydemonsitsyoboy @bazsnow @julemmaes @goddess-of-writing @jurdanhell @pansexual-booknerd

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booklover-2002 · 4 years

Text

Sarcastic? Idiot? Dumbass? I thought I was supposed to be flattered. 🤨

Thank you, I'm lucky to know you too! Our acquaintance did start with a creepy text message, I suppose, but I see no cause to repine. I feel like the bestest of friendships have the weirdest starts. 😂

Yes, yes. If my hair starts turning gray, you have your wifey to thank. The woman is going to scare the shit out of me until one day, my poor heart can take her surprises no more. 😜 It's definitely not punishment, I'll drop in prompts as soon as I can. Thank you!

Nah, I feel like I should say but I'm a better boyo than the original boyo shhh

first things first:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BOYO!!

and now I'm going to rant about your amazingness, so sit back, and get flattered (and a little embarassed, I hope)

BITCH THAT WAS SCARY.

(for like two seconds. I figured you out pretty quickly)

I can't be there to physically congratulate you on becoming older (older than you already are, of course, you poor old soul, with all that stress courtesy of wifey and me) (no regrets)

once again, happy birthday, and lots of hugs from yours truly! I really hope you like the gift (which isn't here yet, but...oh well. you get me)

you're the best boyo there ever was (aside from Fenrys, the original boyo, but nevermind).

lastly,

tagging a few of y'all and the birthday boy himself: @booklover-2002 @aelin-queen-of-terrasen @heydemonsitsyoboy @bazsnow @julemmaes @goddess-of-writing @jurdanhell @pansexual-booknerd

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booklover-2002 · 4 years

Text

"Kids these days are always on their phones" As opposed to literally what else? Reading a magazine? Staring blankly at my surroundings? Arguing with my parents? Why does your generation cling to this rabid shaming of people for using interpersonal communication devices to stay in touch with the world? What do you want from me

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booklover-2002 · 4 years

Text

Jane: what’s the first thing you notice when a man proposes to you?

Lizzie: the audacity

#classic literature #literature #dark academia #light academia #classic lit memes #pride and prejudice #elizabeth bennet #mr darcy #jane austen

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booklover-2002 · 4 years

Note

A new fic from my favourite writer. I could never want for more. 😍 I'm now equal parts anxious and excited. Lorcan-Aelin brotp is awesome, and the reunion between Nox and Aelin was so sweet, can't wait for the next chapter. 💕

Hi! I feel like we were robbed of a reunion between Aelin and Nox in KoA so could you write it, please?

Sorry for the delay, nonnie! Hope you'll like this! 💖

cinders : chapter one

post-koa rowaelin fanfic • fic masterlist • full masterlist

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Honor among thieves, Aelin remembered the phrase with wry amusement as she was kicked out of her seventh tavern that night. Thief or not, she had no qualms about her honor or the lack thereof, not when she was drunk out of her mind with not a copper in her pocket to spend.

All night, she'd cheated at cards, started four brawls and failed to pay for the ale she consumed at most establishments she'd graced with her presence. Come dawn, there would be no tavern left that she hadn't been banned from. Idly, she wondered what would happen if the barkeep found out he was kicking out adarlan's assassin—or the queen of terrasen, for that matter. He probably won't believe her, considering she looked worse than an average drunkard roaming the streets of orynth in middle of the night with a swollen eye and a busted lip. Her wrist hurt from where she'd fallen down and landed on it during one of the aforementioned brawls but she paid it no heed, already looking for another place she could waste her night away in.

Aelin steadied herself with the support of a nearby wall, head spinning and her knees buckled.

She pressed her cheek against the cool surface of the cemented wall, wondering how long she had before someone in her court would notice her absence and drag her back to the palace like she was an invalid in need of protection instead of mala's heir and the queen of one of the most prosperous kingdoms since the rebuilding finished months ago.

The scrape of boots behind her made her turn, hands already positioned in easy reach of the daggers hidden beneath her cloak.

"So this is how our queen passes her time now?" a familiar voice drawled out behind her, amusement in his tone.

That voice—her head spun as she tried to place it. Aelin turned towards him, the movement too fast for her inebriated state and nausea rose in her stomach. She squinted her eyes at the figure standing a few steps away, his own hood covering a better part of his face. The figure looked tall and lean, dressed like one of the common folk. Maybe she could outmaneuver him—

He threw his hood back and her heart stumbled. "Nox?" her voice was slurred, wonder and disbelief warring within her.

"You caught me," he said, voice filled with amusement. "When I imagined us meeting again, this is not what I had in mind."

Her eyebrows rose to her hairline. "You say that as if it was a sure thing we'd meet again."

"I had to. Do you know how awful it is to claim friendship with the saviour of Erilea and have them dismiss your words as a lie?" Nox said, sketching a mocking bow.

He pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. Her lips twitched up in amusement as she said, "I apologise for the inconvenience my popularity may have caused you."

Her head still spun, and she cautiously took a step forward, the moonlight illuminating her old friend's face completely. He looked just like she remembered, moderately handsome with those dark hair framing his face and a lean figure. He grinned, though there was something subdued about it now—some weight that hadn't been there before, no doubt a product of the war they'd all been a part of. When he said nothing, she added: "Lysandra told me she met you," Aelin said. "I tried to find you, after the war—but you'd vanished."

His grin widened into a wolfish one—too reminiscent of her beloved cousin's, "I helped drug the lords of terrasen—Lord Darrow would've sent me to the gallows." He stepped forward to provide support when she almost tripped over her own two feet.

Aelin let him wrap his arms around her, leaning into him. God, she'd missed the former thief and his troublesome grin, the friendship he'd offered her in a competition filled with enemies and a palace teeming with insincere people, the lighthearted air he carried with him.

"Lord Darrow needs to remove that stick shoved far up his ass," she said when she'd steadied herself again somewhat. "I tried to find you."

"I know. Thank you—for saving my life." Nox squeezed her shoulder gratefully. "You didn't have to warn me, you could've just let me stay but you didn't."

He pulled away when he smelled the ale on her breath and frowned. "You shouldn't be out here alone. I think we should take you home." Her stomach sank at the thought of the towering palace, images flashing inside her head one after another—a kitchen, low voices, blood on the bed, the healer's face, a figure clutching her abdomen in pain. Home. Home shouldn't be a place she'd be afraid of.

Her stomach churned at the thought of having to return. Aelin frowned. "I don't want to go back."

"I think you should," he said. "I saw two search parties roaming tonight."

She didn't dare look at his face, lest she might snap at him. He was yet another person who was so interested in telling her how to act. She wasn't an immature who needed instructions from others. "Fine, I should go," she conceded. "You could come with me, you know—there are a lot of open jobs around the palace—"

"I think I will," he nodded. "I don't think you should be out here alone, whatever prompted you to come here."

He looked at her expectantly, waiting for an answer. When none came, he shrugged but the offer hung in the silence between them until she answered, "It's not so simple." Then needing to change the topic of the conversation, asked, "Where have you been—back to the same former profession?" The world spun a little, and her vision grew blurrier. Her voice sounded like a garbled mess, even to her own ears. It was a wonder Nox could make sense of her words.

"And if I did? Not all of us are secret heirs to enslaved kingdoms with kick-ass powers," he grinned.

Aelin tried to answer him but her mouth wouldn't open, her eyelids felt so heavy, half drooped and her legs gave out beneath her. Nox, as if he hadn't noticed the real extent of her inebriated state before, shifted her so she was leaning on him for support but it was a struggle to keep her upright. The palace of Orynth was only streets away now when someone—one of the guards, perhaps?—shouted something, though she couldn't make out the words.

She looked up from her half-asleep state minutes later to the sound of a familar pattern of footsteps.

Nox stiffened, two daggers identical to the ones they'd practiced with in Rifthold sometimes in his hands.

"Relax," she told him, though the words were so slurred, she couldn't be sure he understood. "Lorcan is one of the bloodsworn of my court."

Said bloodsword had his own sword out, looking furious, if not somewhat tired, though the determination shone on his face—he looked like a man on a mission. He walked towards them, movements rigid as ever, every muscle in his body tensed. Nox sheathed his daggers, though he positioned himself in front of her. Aelin rolled her eyes, wondering why everyone she befriended acted had to be a protective bastard?

"Step away from her," said Lorcan through gritted teeth.

The thief of Perranth did no such thing and she barely refrained from another eye roll. Stubborn, overprotective mother hens. "Really, Lorcan, this is one of my friends. You can put your sword away; no one is about to murder me here, I think." Her bloodsworn didn't look so amused at her attempt at humor and this time, she didn't supress her eyeroll.

If Fenrys were here, he'd have teased Lorcan for being the overbearing mother hen Elide claimed he was. Lord Lorcan Lochan—the name was a constant source of amusement for her—may not like her, but he was loyal to his queen and diligent in his duties.

And Fenrys wasn't here—seperated from her for the first time since the two of them had escaped Doranelle months ago—he was looking over the preparation of the last few details of the peace treaties in Rifthold and helping Dorian settle into his position, assisting in the rebuilding efforts there. Elide and Lysandra were at their own estates, looking over their own territories. Her cousin had accompanied Lysandra to Carraverre with a promise to return as soon as she had a routine in place. And Rowan was the farthest—in a different continent, in the city which had caused her so much pain and suffering, Aelin was still haunted by it's memories.

So it was that Aelin was left to spend time with the least favourite member of her court—Lorcan.

She wondered when her mate would be back, wondered what he'd say if he'd found her here tonight instead, wondered if she could hide what she'd heard from him—how he'd react if he found out. He won't leave her, not him. He'd tell her servants' gossip was nothing to be worried about, he'd comfort her the best he could. But over the years, he'd realise how right they were and he wouldn't say a word of his disappointment—no, he loved her too much to hurt her like that. He'd come to resent her for it though, and then immortality won't seem like the blessing it does now.

Aelin's thoughts were steered away from the dark direction by Lorcan's words. "Been dallying with the commonfolk, have you?"

"Don't be an ass," she snapped at the implication. "He's a friend from Rifthold. I won't hurt my mate like that."

Lorcan had the good sense to look apologetic as he rubbed at his face. "I know you won't—I didn't mean to say it." It was as good an apology as she'd ever receive from him.

Poor Nox had turned pale at the sight of a tall, brooding fae but he said with all the nonchalance he could muster, he said, "I saw her outside one of the taverns I frequented and I recognized her. I offered to escort her back."

Lorcan extended his hand, and the scowl on his face made her decide she'd be better off not pissing him off more. He scanned her head to toe, jaw clenching at the sight of the bruises on her face. "You're hurt," he didn't wait for a confirmation. His fists clenched and unclenched repeatedly, "Right now, you'll come with me to the palace, you'll go to your room and you will sleep, like you should've been doing. Tomorrow, we'll talk about this."

His features were schooled into a cool mask of indifference. She almost snapped at being ordered to bed like a child but the concern in his voice made her reconsider her words. Still, she couldn't help it when the words escaped. "I'm not some petulant child," she said in quiet voice.

"You're certainly acting like one now," then his features softened a little. "Let's go home."

Neither said a word until Lorcan had escorted her into her chambers. At her behest, Nox was given a guest room to stay in (much to Lorcan's displeasure) while one of the healers from the royal wing tended to her. She wondered if it was this woman she'd heard talking with the cook, or if she'd even heard anyone at all. Maybe it was all some horrible nightmare she'd dreamed up? She wished it had been some nightmare—or if not, then at least that she hadn't heard the words at all and lived in blissful ignorance for however long she could.

He turned to leave and Aelin started, "I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have—"

He snapped. "Tomorrow. We'll talk about this tomorrow. This—" he pointed towards the bruises—"is nothing to what could've happened if someone had recognised you. You have no idea what you risked!"

"I know what I risked and what could've happened," she bit back. "This isn't the first time I've wasted my night away in tavern after tavern." Her head hammered with pain at the volume of their words but she paid it no heed in her fury. He had no right to call her out; she didn't need his permission or someone else's. What did he care if come dawn, she was found dead in a ditch somewhere? He would be able to live with Elide and still be free of the blood oath. It could be no loss to him. "I'm under no obligation to answer to you," she said.

"I'm a part of your court. If you put yourself in danger, you will answer me," he said.

"I was in danger long before I took the throne. I can handle myself."

Lorcan had either noticed how drained she felt and decided to postpone the conversation or he saw no benefit in arguing with an unreasonable drunkard further because he nodded with a terse nod and an omnious: "We're not done here," and left her room, closing the door behind him softly. She wished he'd slammed the door shut instead, yelled at her or left her on the steps of the palace to the care of some maid—almost wished he'd drawn out his sword on her instead of leaving her alone to the silence of her chambers.

Involuntarily, she recalled the sudden, sharp pains in her abdomen last week. Her cycles had been a little irregular since the war but she hadn't given it much thought until she'd stumbled upon the two gossiping servants—those cursed words she wished she'd never heard. She had come back and tried to sleep, tried to discredit the rumours as speculation but those words had haunted her until she'd escaped her room for fresh air and found herself in a cheap tavern. Those horrible visions had flashed in front of her eyes until she was too intoxicated to remember her own name. Sleep offered no solace at all, and everytime she shut her eyes, she saw a stillborn child, a bed covered in blood, an empty cradle and she'd woken up covered in sweat and her breathing harsh, heart beating wildly against her ribcage.

The bruises on her face turned darker by the morning, but the salve she applied brought her some relief from the pain. Aelin left her chambers only when necessity called for it, the bruises cleverly hidden under her golden curls arranged tactically. The third meeting with the lords of all great houses was dreadfully boring. Lorcan's piercing gaze and Darrow's inquisitive look when she didn't greet them with her usual aplomb did nothing to ease her anticipation for her confrontation. He made no allusion to it as she attended to her duties, though she wasn't naive enough to hope he'd forget. Thus, it was with no surprise that she welcomed him into the sitting room of her private chambers that afternoon when she retreated for a small break. Indeed, he looked comically out of place in the ornate, colourful chamber with his black tunic he wore.

Lorcan's dark eyes upbraided her bruises, then satisfied with the healing progress, sat down and fell into silence. She didn't dare break it—he wanted to have this conversation. She was determined not to give up.

"We need to talk," he said when he realised she won't initiate the conversation.

"We do," she agreed to his surprise, until she added: "How is Nox?"

"Nox? Made drinking buddies with the thief, did you?" he asked. His lips curled in disdain—at her actions or her choice in friends, she couldn't tell.

"Dark hair, pretty face, smiles too much?" she asked. "I'd like you to find him a job 'round here. He has skills we could use, and I'd like to have more friendly companions here."

He looked tempted to retort, but stopped in time to recognise her attempt at distracting him. "I'll see to it. Now, will you tell me why you thought sneaking out of the palace, disappearing for hours and then showing up drunk and half passed-out, with a known local thief, bruised and battered was a good idea?" It didn't sound like a good idea when he said it like that, but she hadn't planned most of it, had she? Finding Nox had been a coincidence, and she hadn't foreseen running out of coins, getting kicked out of taverns or starting those brawls.

"I survived for years in much unsavory conditions than this," said she. "I don't need you to be an overprotective mother hen to me."

He arched an eyebrow. "So you want to be difficult about this?" he leaned back in his seat and relaxed his muscles, "I know you didn't just leave because you wanted to get drunk. Something happened, and you can choose to tell me now, or we can wait here until you confess. I have infinite patience and nothing better to do." She was tempted to walk away from this conversation, little good though it would do her. He pressed, "I'll wait for your answer right here, Aelin. If you want to—that is, if you think it'll help, I'll listen." And he looked so awkward, so uncomfortable, had Aelin looked up at him then, she would have been amused to see one of the most powerful fae warriors squirm in his seat, looking alarmed at whatever it was he saw in her face.

"I'm sorry! I told you I am," she asserted. "I wish you'd leave me alone."

Lorcan didn't think she was apologising for sneaking out without telling him—hell, it seemed like she wasn't apologising to him at all. He didn't know what she meant. Maybe she didn't know either.

He awkwardly patted her arm in an effort to comfort her, though he failed miserably. He hadn't seen that haunted look in her eyes since that first month after she'd escaped that iron coffin. It had taken months of careful manuevering from Rowan to coax that light back into her eyes. He wondered what haunted her now, what bothered her so. How long would it take for her to recover should she break again—this woman who had accomplished the very impossible, turned the tide in many a war, who had defeated armies through sheer will alone? How many times could she break before it would be impossible to put her back together? He wished Rowan were here to console her—or even Fenrys or Aedion. They won't do such a lousy job at it and she certainly won't confide in him. He shouldn't have thought otherwise—

"Pardon me for the interruption, Your Majesty, Your Lordship," the maid said, "but you have visitors."

Lorcan was disinclined to allow Aelin to present herself to company now when she looked one word away from shattering but he knew better than to try to stop her. The wilful woman hardly ever listened to him though, and she was walking out of her chambers before he'd even risen from his seat. He grumbled under his breath, following after her until a sharp squeal erupted from her mouth.

Lorcan was running towards the throne room, already drawing out his sword. It was pure relief that greeted him when his eyes fell on the grinning visitor, his sharp canines gleaming under the sunlight filtering inside through the windows. He nodded in acknowledgement towards the fae warrior and he returned with a look of his own before a noisy storm of gold and green flew past him and slammed into the still awaiting arms of the warrior. A lesser male might have fallen from the force of the collision, but he wrapped his arms around her waist, as unwilling to leave her as she was.

"Welcome back, Your Majesty," Lorcan said wryly as the squeals of delight from his queen grew louder.

King-consort Rowan Whitethorn swept his mate into his arms. "Missed me so much, did you?" he chuckled.

"Understatement," she mumbled into his chest, pulling herself closer. "Tomorrow, I'll pass a decree that you're not allowed to leave me behind ever again."

Rowan mumbled promises to not go anywhere without her anytime soon. Without a care for everyone else in the room, his lips pressed hers with an incessant need, though he drew back when she winced. It was with no small amount of horror that Rowan looked at her, reallylooked at her, memorising every line on her face, the width of her grin and the delight suffused in her brilliant ashryver eyes and stopped short at the busted lip and the bruise around her eye, brushing it with a featherlight touch of his fingers.

Aelin stiffened, and he saw in her expression that she hadn't planned to inform about this misadventure of hers, whatever it was.

He shut his eyes, attempting to regain some measure of composure. "Explain," he demanded, a lethal calm seeping into his voice.

Rowan didn't miss the way his wife stiffened further at his voice, and he noticed her eyes. The emptiness in them was almost too much to bear, too painful a reminder of what she'd endured the previous year and he looked away, though his voice softened.

"Fireheart, what happened? Tell me," he urged in the softest tone he could manage, "Please?"

It was the last word he spoke—the one filled with so much concern, love and devotion that she failed to keep her tears at bay. It was a valiant attempt she made, to blink the traitorous evidence of her grief back into her eyes but then she looked at him again—her mate, her husband, her best friend.

She let Rowan pull her into another embrace; and then, Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius came undone in his arms.

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soooo new fic. hope y'all liked it!

tags: @little-crow-corvere @abookishfreak @louisleblancdiggory @courtofjurdan @queenofgreenbriar @clockworkgraystairs @julemmaes @mymultiversee @queen-of-glass @strangely-constructed-soul @mijaldraws @http-itsrebecca @aesthetics-11 @lord-douglas-the-third @flowersinvegas @aelinchocolatelover @faerie-queen-fireheart @sad-book-whore @hizqueen4life @the-gods-killer @booknerdproblems @annejulianneh111 @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @b00kworm @mysweetvillain @curlyredqueen06 @moondancer-204 @thesurielships @witchling-leonor @ladywitchling @amren-courtofdreams @ifinallygavein @jlinez @faequeenaelin @df3ndyr @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @superspiritfestival @xx-fiona-xx @stardelia @maastrash @miihlovesnoone @sanakapoor @maddymelv @rattlethestarsdarling @ireallyshouldsleeprn @morganofthewildfire

let me know if you'd like to be tagged.

#throne of glass #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfiction #sarah j maas #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #lorcan x elide #lysandra x aedion #dorian x manon

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