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my bby updated!!! READ IT OR ELSE!!! (i promise this is worth the read)

Blood & Bones -

prelude: the encounter

Masterlist // Chapter 1

a/n: hey all.. long time little writing. Here is the first part of the newly revised version of my Blood & Bones au, the A Night Out drabble with a new name and some details changed. If anyone still cares 😅

Warnings: canon typical violence, language.

Rowan Whitethorn must have been feeling particularly sorry for himself. He could come up with no other plausible explanation for why he had accepted Fenrys’ reckless invitation to visit the Pits, Rifthold’s sordid warren of sin, to watch Fen’s brother beat men into a pulp.

His self-proclaimed best friend had been adamant that Rowan was in desperate need of a distraction. To take his mind off of “things”.

It wasn’t difficult to surmise that by things, Fenrys had actually meant Lyria.

Despite the fact that it had been nearly three months since Lyria had broken off their relationship, Fenrys was convinced that Rowan was still sulking about it.

Regardless of how unwise the decision might be, Rowan found himself wandering the dark tunnels and cavernous spaces that made up the Pits.

Dressed head-to-toe in black, with his easily-identifiable silver hair tied back and well hidden beneath the hood of his dark gray cloak, he looked like a storm cloud given human form. He supposed his appearance matched his mood; made even more miserable by the oppressive heat.

The scant night breeze provided little in the way of relief, despite it only being a few days past Beltane the weather was unseasonably warm. The scarf he kept pulled over his mouth to prevent himself from being recognized clung to his sweat-dampened skin; a necessary discomfort, since Rowan had no desire to be arrested for attending the illegal brawls.

Rowan would much rather have been at home. Where he would be left alone, to brood over his most-recently rejected application from Rifthold University’s historical department and the utter failure that his life had become…

Alright, so maybe Fenrys did have a point.

Releasing a long-suffering sigh, Rowan stood waiting a few paces away as Fenrys delt with the match’s bookmaker, placing bets on his brother. He let his gaze drift over the empty stalls surrounding them, over to the men seated at the open-front bars, drinking and making more lucrative wagers before the matches began.

Rowan was just contemplating if a cold ale from one of the seedy establishments was worth the risk when a dark blur crashed into him.

“Cac,” he barked, staggering back a step at the force of the impact. His hood slipped dangerously far back from his face. Yanking the wool back into place, Rowan’s eyes dropped to the smaller, dark-clad figure next to him. “I-,” he began, but his apology was cut short as a distinctly female voice began uttering a string of curses so crude and unexpected that he choked on his own words.

The hooded figure, the owner of that distinctly female voice, quickly straightened her own black hood. Though not before Rowan caught a glimpse of vivid blue -or was it gray? green?- eyes glaring up at him. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going, you lumbering buffoon?”

A startled laugh escaped Rowan at the insult, but before he had half of a chance to respond, the woman shoved by him, her shoulder brushing his arm, before she vanished once more into the crush of bodies. Leaving Rowan standing there dumbfounded.

A heat that had nothing to do with the oppressive warmth of the Pits crept slowly over his face.

He was still staring after her when Fenrys finally extracted himself from the betting pool to join him, dark eyes bright with excitement as he declared the fights were about to start.

“What’s wrong with you?” Fen asked curiously, noting his lack of attention.

Rowan blinked, tearing his gaze away from the spot in the crowd where the woman had vanished, and turned to his friend. He was still so stunned by the run-in, and that very un-ladylike outburst, that it took him a moment to understand what Fenrys had said.

In that moment, Rowan had never been more thankful for the scarf covering the lower half of his face; he’d never be able to explain the flush that he could still feel coloring his cheeks without telling Fen about the woman who had nearly knocked him on his ass and then cursed him a buffoon. Fenrys would never let him hear the end of it.

“It’s nothing.” His friend still eyed him strangely, but Rowan ignored the look and nodded towards the people gathered around the fighting pit. “Lead the way.”

They quickly wove their way though the gathered onlookers until they were close enough to see down into the pit, arriving just as Connall Moonbeam was stepping up to the edge for his first match.

Connall was dressed in all black, with only the slash of bronze skin and dark eyes visible beneath his hood and face covering.

The announcer hailed him by his fighting moniker, the Black Wolf, and the crowd roared with excitement as Connall merely stepped off of the ledge, landing in the sandy hole that served as the ring, to meet his first opponent.

The roar around them was so loud that Rowan could hardly think straight as the fight began. Two combatants trading blow after blow.

Befitting his name, the younger Moonbeam twin moved like a wolf on the attack; quick, relentless and cunning. In what seemed like no time at all, Connall had incapacitated his opponent and was declared the winner.

If Rowan had thought the crowd was loud before, it was worse now as Connall soaked in his moment of victory. A cacophony of thumping and cheering and jeers. It was deafening, and Rowan’s heavy hood did little to muffle the noise. But as the minutes passed, it quieted to a rumbling hum as people began shifting about. Placing new bets and refilling their beers before the next tilt began.

Round after round passed with Connall easily besting every man who dared to challenge him. Fenrys had raked in a small fortune on his brother’s success, having already doubled his money at least five times over. Connall was in the midst of yet another brawl, the crowd a rowdy drunken riot of excitement as they teetered dangerously close to the edge of the pit.

And Rowan was beyond ready to call it a night, whatever recklessness had led him to the Pits had now deserted him.

It wasn’t that Rowan didn’t appreciate Fenrys’ good-hearted attempt to distract him from his problems, he simply was no longer in the mood for this brand of entertainment.

Rowan was in the midst of trying to think of a reasonable excuse that would convince his friend to let him leave when a movement across the pit caught his full attention.

A familiar dark-clad figure weaved between several large, barrel-chested men before dropping into a crouch at the lip of the ring to watch the fight with great interest.

He blinked in surprise; it was the woman from earlier.

Rowan took that moment of stillness to study her since he hadn’t the opportunity earlier; no, he had been much too surprised by her… colorful vocabulary and the fact that she was a woman to really notice much about her.

It was clear she was attempting to conceal the fact that she was a woman; dressed in what appeared to be a scuffed leather breastplate over a black tunic and loose-fitting pants. Even her posture and movements affected a boyish air as she made a show of studying the combatants.

To say that she had piqued Rowan’s interest would have been an understatement. He wanted to know what she was up to. Wanted to know what color her eyes truly were…

The match in the pit came to an end, with Connall yet again the victor, but Rowan scarcely noticed. He was still too busy observing the woman. She tilted her head, the motion shifting her hood slightly and giving Rowan another glimpse of her eyes; wide with excitement and what looked like amusement.

There was something strangely familiar about those eyes, even though from this distance, Rowan still could not tell their actual color.

One thing he was certain of, however, was that she was planning something. And Rowan found himself holding his breath in anticipation of whatever that might be.

“Is there anyone else?” the announcer’s exuberant voice boomed through the cavernous room. “Would anyone else like to challenge our champion?”

Wisely, no one volunteered.

The man grinned, a flash of crooked teeth. “No one?”

Rowan saw the shift in the woman’s body language. A little tilt of her head, her shoulders squaring. And then she was rising to her feet, a wicked glint in her eyes.

No. Surely, she wasn’t about to-

“I’ll have a go at him.” Her voice cut through the clamor of the crowd as easily as a knife, her tone pitched deeper to maintain her deception.

The crowd went utterly silent. Staring in wide-eyed disbelief at the new challenger. Rowan felt his stomach drop with something akin to dread, even as Fenrys huffed an incredulous laugh next to him.

Without waiting for acquiescence, she leapt nimbly down into the pit with Connall. Sauntering towards him at an almost lazy gait.

After another moment’s stunned hesitation, the announcer stammered out that the next match would begin shortly. The audience began to hum with hushed speculation as the bookies quickly wove throughout the throng to take new bets. Men laughed as they cast amused looks into the pit, taking in the newcomers much smaller stature compared to the Black Wolf’s superior brawn, clearly believing this would be yet another easy win for the night’s undefeated favorite.

Connall was also giving his new adversary a slow perusal, his brows drawn in a curious furrow. The woman merely rolled her shoulders in a show of limbering herself up, uncaring of the audience’s scrutiny.

In what felt like mere seconds, the betting concluded and the announcer moved back into place, raising a hand into the air. The crowd fell silent, it was so quiet one might have heard the drop of a pin on the other side of the ring.

Anticipation and, to Rowan’s surprise, concern warred in his chest, stealing the breath from his lungs as he stared at the woman in the pit.

“Begin!”

Connall began to prowl the pit, slow and calculating. A wolf circling its prey. To the champion of the Pits, that was all this opponent was. Another obstacle to be defeated.

A steady thumping began to echo though the hall; the sound of the tavern’s patrons pounding their tankards on the roughhewn counters at the bars. The men surrounding him, and even Fenrys, began to stamp their feet. The two sounds melding together in a rapidly building clamor and joined by a chorus of monosyllabic grunts to form a jeering chant that was meant to intimidate. A demand for action. For amusement.

Genuine fear gripped Rowan, for what Connall might do to this woman, or worse, the mob surrounding them if things did not turn out in a way that pleased them. But to his utter dismay, she had yet to move. Simply watching her much larger opponent with a look akin to indifference.

As the crude battle hymn reached its peak, Connall lunged.

And the woman moved, easily sidestepping Connall’s outstretched hands that snapped for her like a wolf’s maw. She spun, sand flying out from beneath her boots as she aimed a punch for his unprotected flank.

The blow connected, the impact an audible thump that brought the room to stunned halt. But the woman was still moving and in the blink of an eye, she was several steps away, not giving Connall an opportunity to recover and retaliate.

Holy gods, she was fast. Faster than anyone had a right to be.

In the pit, Connall was glaring daggers at his opponent, but Rowan didn’t need to see the entirety of her face to know that she was grinning indolently back at him. Her indecipherable eyes were practically glowing with delight.

She lifted a hand and flicked her fingers at Connall in a taunting gesture. Come and get me.

Connall let out a frustrated roar that was easily heard over the sudden uproarious din of the audience as he flung himself at the woman.

Rowan could only watch in wide-eyed awe as the woman and Connall clashed. Their movements were like a vicious dance, one that the woman was clearly leading as she near-effortlessly evaded each attack while still landing several of her own. Always in spots that Connall had mistakenly left open. As if she had anticipated them… or perhaps memorized them from his pervious fights.

Perspiration gleamed on Connall’s forehead, his dark brows knitted in frustration as he attempted to keep pace with his nimble opponent. He was unsettled, deeply so, as he had slowly come to the realization that he was the one at a disadvantage.

Against his better sense, Rowan found himself smiling and enjoying himself as he watched their tilt. Though he would never admit that to anyone.

Certainly not to Fenrys.

A whisp of golden blonde hair escaped from under her hood, but her eyes were still bright and lively. Fun. She was having fun toying with Connall.

And the way she moved… Gods.

Rowan didn’t understand it; how no one else had noticed that a woman battled in the pit. Maybe it was his knowing the truth that made it so obvious. Or perhaps he might have been paying entirely too much attention to her. But he honestly thought that her disguise did little to hide how svelte her figure was. The trimness of her waist as she twisted her body around to avoid a hit. The curve of her hips, and her…

He swallowed, feeling his face warming again. This time for an entirely different reason.

Almost as suddenly as it had begun, the fight was over.

The woman slipped beneath a kick Connall aimed at her midsection, and spun, slamming her elbow gut. When he stumbled back from the blow, she delivered two quick punches to his face.

Connall went down hard, and she was on him in a heartbeat, pinning him face down in the sand, his arms wrenched painfully behind his back and her legs locked around his shoulders and neck.

The roar of the crowd was almost deafening, so loud that he could barely hear Fenrys next to him crying out in dismay. “No!” His hands gripped his hood in disbelief. “Gods damnit!”

For the second time that night, Rowan found himself glad for the scarf covering the lower half of his face. This time because it hid the grin that tugged at his lips as Fenrys proceeded to curse the man who had just bested his brother and caused him to lose all of his night’s winnings.

It was likely best that Rowan didn’t mention that Connall’s opponent was really a woman. Fen might actually murder his brother.

The woman stood from where she had been kneeling atop Connall’s back, lifting her arms above her head in victory as the completely bewildered announcer declared her the winner.

Slowly, Connall pushed himself up into a seated position, rubbing his jaw as he eyed his adversary, who was currently strutting around the pit with the most pronounced swagger Rowan had ever witnessed. He couldn’t help but laugh softly at her display.

The rambunctious men around them chose that moment to rush the pit, some cheering and some cursing the new victor of the Pits, the Assassin they were already calling her, and Rowan lost sight of her. He lunged forward, elbowing and shoving his way though the throng to peer down into the pit, his heart rising into this throat… but she was no longer there.

Rowan’s eyes darted frantically around the crowd, the edge of the ring, searching for that familiar figure in black. He saw her there, amongst the men mere meters to his left, weaving unnoticed between the riotous spectators.

And then she was gone.

~*~

Aelin Galathynius slid into the darkness between two empty stalls in the deserted market aisle of the Pits, an acceptable, safe distance away from the fighting ring, to catch her breath.

Adrenaline still flowed though her veins, her heart racing from the thrill of the victory.

Gods, she had pissed off a lot of important patrons tonight. And it delighted her to no end.

With a heavy sigh, she hooked a gloved finger under the edge of the cloth covering her mouth and tugged it downward, letting fresh air fill her lungs. It was so much cooler here compared to the sweltering heat near the pits, where so many tightly packed bodies and the flames from the hanging lamps had made the air as hot as a desert.

It was ironic, really, that in little more than a week’s time, she would find herself in the actual desert. Just as summer would be tightening its grip over the whole of Erilea.

She should probably start getting used to it.

Even from rows away, she could still hear the mob clamoring over her victory over the Wolf. The formerly undefeated champion of the Pits.

A lazy grin tugged at her lips as she thought of the looks on all of their faces. She hadn’t even bothered to wait and collect her winnings. Secretly she fancied that that knowledge would rankle the Wolf even more than her defeat of him had. Though she doubted even that would compare to the revelation that he had just had his ass handed to him by a woman.

How would the lot of them react if they knew her identity? Not Aelin Galathynius, no. That name would mean nothing to no one. But Celaena Sardothien… the greatest treasure hunter in all Erilea?

She would be lying if she said that the thought hadn’t crossed her mind. To return to the fighting pit and reveal herself as her secret counterpart. Just so she could preen at the disbelief and chagrin she knew would find on their faces.

But… she had more sense than that. And, extracurricular activities and perilous career aside, she did not have a death wish.

The sounds of someone approaching had Aelin crouching deeper into the shadows of the stall.

Silent as death, she listened as they moved closer. There were two of them. Both male. One was complaining about the outcome of the final match, as the other spoke in a low placating voice that she couldn’t make out.

“- all that money… Gone!” the louder of the two bemoaned. “I can not believe that Con lost to that, that- that cocky little-” he spluttered in obvious frustration. “That boganach!”

She blinked at the unfamiliar word, though she couldn’t help the way her mouth curled into a self-satisfied smirk at his bellyaching. But then she arched a brow. Con? Was that the Wolf’s name? She found it curious that someone should know it, given that most of the fighter’s kept their identities a secret to prevent any unfortunate incidents from occurring.

Aelin leaned forward slightly, carefully, to peer though the small part in the sheets covering the stall, just as the two men stepped into her view. With a start, she realized that she knew one of them. Sort of.

The taller of the two was the very man that had bumped into her earlier in the evening.

The man in question laughed softly at whatever insult his companion had called her, shaking his head, and the sound of it caused a warmth to bloom in Aelin’s belly. “I’m not so sure that they would appreciate being called boganach. If they heard you, you might just find yourself face down in the dirt.”

His voice was deep and rumbling, and possessed a lilting accent that was really quite lovely, and his words caused a smile to tug at her lips.

Aelin almost felt guilty for how she had startled him earlier during their run in. And for insulting him.

As the two continued on their path, their voices fading with the growing distance, Aelin stood; still concealed well within the safety of the shadows, as she watched their retreating backs.

She had only gotten a fleeting glimpse of his face, of tan skin and green eyes, when his hood had slipped during their collision earlier. But it was enough to discern that he was young, not much older than she herself. Now, she let her eyes sweep appreciatively over the wide breadth of his shoulders, his height.

For a moment, Aelin seriously considered going after him and asking if she could buy him a drink. As an apology, of course. And if it happened to lead somewhere else…

But…

With a groan, she dismissed the idea. As regretful as it was, she was already short on time. And she had stayed out far later than she had intended. Tomorrow was going to be a very, very long and busy day, full of preparations for the expedition she had been hired to lead. Tonight was only meant to be a quick bit of fun before she was packed off to that rutting wasteland of sand halfway across the world.

Aelin cast one last rueful glance after the man, just as he vanished up the old stone stairwell leading back up to the city above, and cursed her bad timing.

With another huffed breath, she pulled her face covering back into place over her mouth and. She quickly checked to see that no one else was headed her way before slipping out from the covered stall and then made her way towards the stairs herself.

Thunder rumbled in the distance as she stepped out into the warm night air, a sign of an impending summer storm and the promise of rain and cooler air that would be much welcome.

Of their own accord, her eyes scanned the length of the street, landing on the fluttering cloaks of two figures as they passed beneath a dim streetlamp further down the way. But instead of following as she very much wanted to do, Aelin turned left.

And as she made her way back home to her warehouse apartment, she thought again how it really was a shame that she didn’t have time to buy that man a drink.

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