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ichoosechoasandbeingqueer · 2 years

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Faceless Memories And Broken Promises

This is Day 31 and the last day of Fili whumptober!

Warnings: death, mentions of war

Word count: 1281

Fili is reunited with his father in the halls of Mahal, he just doesn't realize it at first.

Please refer to the warnings of this story. If you go past this point you are consenting to reading this content.

Fili no longer remembered his fathers face. That was the revelation that had come to him on his sixtieth birthday.

He could not remember the colour of his eyes or the curve of his smile. He could not remember the way his father’s voice sounded as he sung him to sleep through the noise of a thunderstorm or the way his thick fingers felt combing through his hair, carefully braiding the golden strands away from his eyes.

He did remember the way his mother wept when he didn’t come home from the war, the candle they lit in his name, the hair that was cut in their mourning. So many memories with his name on their tongues, yet his face remained a blur to Fili.

Occasionally he would be stopped in the markets or in the tavern by the older darrow, or a gentle old dam who would tell him how much he looked like his father, that he held the same kind eyes or the strong stance. Every mirror or lake he would gaze into left him feeling empty and confused, wondering who was staring back at him in his reflection. He didn’t look like the rest of his family with dark hair and sharp features. His face was soft and his hair as bright as the sun that shone down upon the mountain, but all the stories he had ever heard about his father told him to have dark hair and a strong grin, neither things Fili carried.

It was his mother that had first braided his mustache the way it hung now, her fingers mindlessly working to braid the strands the way her fingers had done so for years. He remembered the way she had froze, her eyes going wide and her nose scrunching up in pain as she gaze at her son, the braids of his father in his beard. He had held her sobbing frame for hours that day, yet neither one of them was strong enough to take out the braids.

On days he snuck away from his busy life to think, he would spend hours thinking, recalling, and racking his brains for a single image. Did they share the same dimples that appeared on his cheeks when he smiled? Did he grip his sword in the same hand his father had?

It was a question he could never answer. That is why he was so confused when he closed his eyes, a blinding white light encasing him, only to open them again met with a face that held his soft cheekbones, his crocked nose, and his mustache braids. The darrow’s eyes were different. They looked like Kili’s, a soft warm brown with thick black lashes that battered against his cheeks. He held Kili’s grin too, the cat like smirk so familiar to Fili, yet adorning the features of a stranger.

It took Fili a moment to understand, to remember the horrific death he had faced by his enemy’s hand, and he rushed to check his body for wounds.

“Easy now little one, you are safe here. No one can hurt you again,”

Fili looked up at the voice, so gentle and deep it remined him of deepest cavern of the mountains where the darkness would cover you like a blanket and keep you safe. The stranger held a knowing glimmer in his eyes as he kneeled down to sit next to him.

“But- but Kili, uncle Throin?”

“I know, I know,” the dwarf hushed him, “I’m so sorry you had to live through such perils, that you did not have someone to protect you,”

“But- that’s my job. I’m meant to be the one to protect them,”

“So young, so brave,” he murmured to Fili, brushing his fingers against the braids on his crown. Curiously, Fili made no attempt to stop him, “You have served your kin honorably little one, but sometimes life can be cruel. Sometimes you can not protect the ones you love they way you want to,”

The smile that sat on his lips held sorrow as he pulled Fili closer.

“You know what that’s like?” Fili asked, “To try so hard yet still fail? To break the promises you made?”

“Aye, that is something I know all too well,”

The blond Durin sniffed and pulled his knees to his chest, “What did you promise? If you don’t mind me asking,”

The stranger thought for a moment, watching him carefully, “I promised the most beautiful dam in the world that I would see in her a few months. I never made it back to her,”

“Oh,” Fili frowned, his lips settling in a pout, “was she angry?”

“Angry? No. She was hurt and broken and lonely, but I don’t think she was ever angry at me. That fell onto someone else’s shoulders I’m afraid,”

“Who-”

“My son. My beautiful, crazy, brave son. He had to grow up without me, all because I broke my promise to him too,”

A small memory tugged at Fili’s mind.

The sounds of dwarves marching outside echoed through the mountain and the smell of a freshly polished blades hung in the wind like an omen. A small pebble with messy blond hair raced through the living room and wrapped himself around his father’s legs, his voice muffled through the fabric but begging him not to go.

“I took up my sword to join the fight,” the darrow continued, “and my son begged me to stay. He kicked and screamed and begged me not to go, so a made him a promise,”

The older darrow gave a chuckle, kneeling down and lifting his son’s jaw to look him in the eyes. They were kind and understanding, but still, they could not give the child what he sort. The war had started, and all would stand and fight for their king and ancestral home.

“I looked my son in the eyes and showed him my sword. I made a promise that when I got back, I would teach him how to use it. That next time, we would fight together,”

The child still held on to his father, his little hands gripping the fabric with all his might. His sniffles died down and he nodded weakly at his father’s promise. He had always wanted to wield a real sword after all, and if his adad promised he could use it, he would. His adad never broke a promise.

“Yet no matter how hard I fought, no matter how hard I tried, I didn’t come home. I never got to see my wife again and I never got to teach him how to use his swords. It was his uncle who had to teach him that, and I don’t think he ever forgave me for it,”

The little pebble was lifted into his mother’s arms, his hands waving franticly at his father who had joined the march. His eyes had become harsh, his lips set in a line, yet when he turned his head to glance back at his family, the softness shone through his brown eyes. He sent a sneaky wink and cat like grin back at them, one last promise that everything was going to be ok before he disappeared into the distance.

Fili looked the stranger in the face, and suddenly he could remember it all. Every wrinkle around his eyes when he grinned. The sound of his voice as he laughed. The smell of coal and steel one every one of his tunics.

Fili pulled the old darrow towards him and tucked his face into his neck, the tears running freely down his face.

“I missed you adad,”

“Aye little one, I missed you too,”

✨ ✨ ✨ ✨

See full 31 day whumptober Master List here

#whumptober2022 #no.31 #a light at the end of the tunnel #the hobbit #fili #fili durin #writing #death #mentions of war #my writing #the hall of Mahal #Vili #fili son of vili #closure

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safety-frog · 2 years

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Your Weekly Tunes: Softy

This week, we’re kicking it off with our resident teddy bear, Virgil! Expect lots of acoustic songs that scream coffee shops, flannel, and warmth to celebrate the start of autumn here in the Northern hemisphere. Also, if you have any song recommendations or would like to share your thoughts/favorites, you are more than welcome to! 💚

YouTube

Spotify

Songs below the cut are the ones we’ve deemed the top five from the playlist for Virgil:

Free: Florence + the Machine- “ But I hear the music/ I feel the beat/ And for a moment/ When I'm dancing, I am free” and “Is this how it's always been?/ To exist in the face of suffering and death/ And somehow still keep singing”

Between the lyrics and the tempo of this song just feel so right with Virgil. The idea of being so weighed down by emotions but feeling the lightness of music despite it all is so reflective of him. It’s one of the more upbeat songs on the playlist!

Surface Pressure: Jessica Darrow- “ I'm the strong one, I'm not nervous I'm as tough as the crust of the Earth is” and “Under the surface/ I hide my nerves, and it worsens, I worry something is gonna hurt us/ Under the surface/ The ship doesn't swerve as it heard how big the iceberg is/ Under the surface/ I think about my purpose, can I somehow preserve this”

This one might not even need much of an explanation, ha! Out of all the brothers, Virgil embodies Luisa the most from his physique to the emotional burden he takes on more than Scott (or John, for that matter). And as we imagine Virgil as the middlest brother with John and Scott older while Alan and Gordon are younger, he ends up in this in between where he has to be the gap between the two sides of their brother unit.

It Takes a Lot To Know a Man: Damien Rice- “It takes a lot to give, to ask for help/ To be yourself, to know and love what you live with” and “What are you so afraid to lose?/ What is it you're thinking that will happen if you do?”

This song. Enough praises cannot be sung about Damien Rice and this song is one of his best. It’s an emotional call out, especially when the climax of the end hits with multiple lines being sung over each other in mimicry of that little nagging voice in the back of your head finally becoming too loud. For Virgil, it’s something representative of the trials he’s been through to learn others but perhaps not himself. Here is an incredible live version of this song that Damien Rice does with a choir, which you all should really really really watch.

They Call Me Doc: Aaron Lewis- “ 'Cause I've seen it all, helped heroes who fall/ Picked them up 'til they stand tall/ And I've been in the field and worked down to the bone/ To make sure all my brothers get back home” and “You'll never know the heartache/ Of lookin' a grown man in the eye/ When he asked you, "Am I gonna make it?"/ And you've got to lie”

Try not to imagine Virgil being the narrator, out in the field during a rescue, playing medic to strangers and brothers alike. Trust us, try not to unless you want to end up bawling.

3 a.m.: Gregory Alan Isakov- “Give me darkness when I’m dreaming/ give me moonlight when I’m leaving/ Give me shoes that weren’t made for standing/ Give me tree-line, give me big sky, get me snow-bound, give me rain clouds give me a bed time…/ Just sometimes” and “Well now i just walk, well i don’t mind the rain/ But I’ve been singing so much softer than i did back then”

If it wasn’t mentioned before, Gregory Alan Isakov is another artist that will be popping up a lot. His vibes are pretty much Midwestern USA paired with astronauts, satellites in cornfields, and quiet nights with a dash of folk. This song specifically in relation to Virgil feels like a testament to young Virgil making his way in the world. And now that he’s older, reflecting back on it in some off-spoken way

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2015 #virgil tracy #thunderfam #music #playlists

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soulsxng · 1 year

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"About time I get to have a real rematch against you. Just you wait-- I'm not going down as easy as I was for our last challenge."

"In that case, maybe we should make a bet, little kit. A gift of power to the winner should be fair, I think."

Darrow: Very much a physical fighter, though he does have his fox fire that he can use to cover his weak spots, as well. Favors a longsword and shield-- both gifted to him by the same witch that named him, and is exceptionally skilled with parrying, as well as reflecting attacks (particularly magical attacks) back at his opponent. If he's disarmed, or riled enough, he'll fight with a far more instinctual, animalistic style. Rushing enemies with teeth and claw and tearing away in a near frenzy. Like this, though he can't fully shift into his any larger animal forms like most Inari can, he can temporarily specific body parts into what they would be if he assumed the typical giant fox form. That's usually going to be his arms and legs for the claws, enhanced movement and jumping ability, or his head, for the enhanced bite strength. Only lasts a few seconds-- enough for an attack or two, before returning to normal again.

Has an exceptionally high pain tolerance when he's in that mindset, so it's best to try to restrain him, knock him out really quickly, or keep distance until he's exhausted himself enough to collapse.

Eleare: Unlike Aro, he can shift forms between different large animals-- most typically is going to be a large, monstrous fox form that Inari are most known for using. Other forms for him, however, include a snake, a dragon, and a spider. They can change between these forms at will, to suit whatever needs they have in the fight, though they can only use their fox fire in their humanoid or fox forms.

This does, however, make a rather large target out of them, in a lot of cases, so when fighting, Eleare spends a lot of time shifting forms to keep his opponent on their toes. When in his humanoid form, he fights with a somewhat shorter version of a scythe, whose blade can extend to become a particularly nasty whip. This is enchanted with some of his fox fire, so lashes from it will leave burns on most opponents. Like Aro's usual fighting style, they are very calm and collected during a fight, and have a focus that isn't easily broken and makes it difficult to rile them.

#[Let's get it started -memes & games-]#(Eleare doesn't have the pain tolerance Aro does #so if their life isn't in danger they'll back down if hurt enough #Aro is also able to use a healing wish sort of ability here and there that...essentially restores health and stamina #usually only works once or twice a day though so he'd probably only use it once at most just in case #it's a master vs student sort of thing though since after stealing the elven realm from Aro #Eleare became something of a teacher to him along with the witch that Aro was really close with #and while Aro has been able to best Eleare a handful of times in practice #they haven't fought all out since that first time #so idk how this will go #but it'll be fun regardless!)

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gunkreads · 2 years

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So last night I was thinking about Red Rising, as I'm often wont to do, and it occurred to me that Pierce does something a little disappointing when it comes to death. There's almost no indication that Darrow ACTUALLY gives a shit when unnamed characters die, which seems to me like a reflection of the kind of person Darrow is. He notes their deaths solemnly, but by like halfway through Golden Son, he doesn't really care.

To be a little optimistic, I think this is a deliberate choice on Pierce's part to further illustrate how fucked up Darrow gets. Darrow is, unequivocally, someone who sees violence and death as something beautiful. This is a product of Pierce's writing style. Darrow knows, academically, how bad and gross and evil the things around him are, but in his heart he loves it.

A great example of how this feeds in to his relative lack of care for others' lives is when he leaves Phobos. He sets up his plan there, leaves, and looks back at the moon thinking "Well. About half of those Reds are going to die." I'll grant Pierce that a major point in Morning Star is that Darrow is just as monstrous as his enemies if you take up the contemporary Gold perspective, but I feel like Phobos would have been a great place to give Darrow a major crux he never had to wrangle: he's willing to die for the cause, but is everyone else?

Pierce generally focuses on the fact that life sucks and literally everybody outside of Gold, Silver, and White understand that life will be better with the Society demolished. It's a vast oversimplification that's somewhat expanded on via Lyria in the second series, but most importantly, it's Darrow's greatest flawed assumption. He never really stops to think for more than a few seconds (in general, but also specifically) about the fact that he's very much asking and forcing normal, everyday people to start killing and dying for him. This gets explained away as the Reds all being full of seething rage when they find out how they've been treated, but I really think Pierce should've taken the time to have some dissenting opinion here; someone to challenge Darrow on his "some of you may die" attitude.

I think the simplified morality works well in the first trilogy, but I'm glad it's being expanded upon in the second one because there are some weird, if small, holes in the morals of the story that kind of have to be plugged by assuming unreliable narration from Darrow when he sees everyone as being just as suicidally dedicated as he is.

#red rising #darrow

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tanaleth · 3 years

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First line meme

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line. Then tag some of your favourite authors!

Tagged by @mars-colony. Thank you! Per previous posters, I’ll include some chapter openers too.

Fallout 4

Stress Response (Danse’s POV on Blind Betrayal, mentions of Danse/f!Sole)

1. “Ready, Paladin?"

2. The clicking of the Geiger counter stopped.

3. Danse snuck past a raider encampment. It made him sick to just move on, to leave them to prey on innocent civilians, but alone—without his armor, without his team—he was nothing. The helpless, worthless feeling he'd spent his whole life trying to escape had finally caught up with him.

Small Fires (Danse/f!Sole)

1. Her companion was watching her through half-shut eyes, fatigue evident in every line of his body. The remains of an unappetizing dinner littered the ground and his undershirt was dampened with sweat and Cecily wondered, again, how he could be anything other than human.

2. Cecily had thought the night couldn't get any darker, but it did. The thin clouds cleared and their faint glow faded only to be replaced by a panoply of stars. She was five miles from downtown Boston and she could see the Milky Way.

Sanctuary (Sole & Nick do Far Harbor, mentions of Danse/f!Sole)

Before the Great War, Nick Valentine had been about the farthest thing from a morning person there was. But the synth that called itself Nick Valentine liked the mornings. Standing at the rail of a guard post and watching the sun rise over the Commonwealth gave him a flicker of something… something short of optimism, but a warm feeling nonetheless. Contentment, maybe. A reminder that there was still good in this world worth fighting for.

Systems Theory (Danse/f!Sole)

Danse caught a glimpse of the date on the terminal and was mildly surprised by it. Had it really only been two weeks since his life collapsed in on itself?

What We Already Know (Danse/f!Sole)

The kitchen floorboards were bright with the sun, mostly because the windows hadn't seen shutters—or glass—since the War.

Fallout: New Vegas

Company (Craig Boone/f!Courier Six)

Boone had promised to watch the courier’s back. And he did. He watched it a whole lot more than he meant to.

Dragon Age

See Fire and Go Towards Light (Lysette/Adan + some background Cullavellan)

1. Despite years of specialized training in combat against demons, Lysette had never seen one in the flesh before today.

She seemed to be making up for lost time.

2. "Quiet!" barked Adan. "Unless you want to kill her with your hovering, you'll get out of this bleeding cabin and keep any other busybodies as far away as you can get them."

The door to the makeshift infirmary clicked shut, busybodies thankfully on the other side of it.

Her Foundation and Her Sword (Lysette/Adan, sequel to previous)

1. Lysette couldn't sleep. That wasn't unusual these days. Lyrium had a way of making your dreams vague and forgettable: less frequent, more distant when you woke.

2. There was the slightest tinge of gold to some of the leaves of the trees in Skyhold's garden. A faintly biting breeze blew a few of last autumn's dry leaves over the empty courtyard, and that was it. No Orlesian nobles, no aggravating chanters, no runners tugging at sleeves or assistants quarrelling over chores.

Adan straightened, twisting a dry stalk between his fingers, and studied the empty beds before him.

And Be Forgiven (Delrin Barris/Belinda Darrow)

Belinda Darrow was a woman of faith.

It was the foundational truth of her existence. She knew the Maker was real, and she knew He was good; she knew Andraste was their savior, and she knew that somehow, someday, everything would be all right. And yet, when she saw the sky tear itself open...

That flicker of doubt hadn't even put a pause in her step. Not when there was so bloody much to be done.

Exsoporata (non-Warden Surana/Fenris)

Neria watched Ferelden recede over the stern until it was little more than a gray cloud on the southern horizon, indistinguishable from the clouds above.

History (Cullavellan gift fic for @fourletterepithet)

Cullen stared down into the drawer of his new desk. It held the scraps that had been in his pockets at Haven: a battered copy of the Chant, a singed handkerchief. And his philter.

The School of Negation (Alistair/Warden gift fic for @allisondraste)

"Do you believe in ghosts?" asked Alistair one night.

Graceless (A short and dreadful Awakening play for @theredshirtwholived)

THE WARDEN: I’m your commander and if I say we’re playing cards, we’re playing cards.

⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯

THOUGHTS:

It’s tough to choose a favorite, although some are definitely more effective than others. The most common pattern seems to be [statement]+[ironic reflection upon statement by POV character]. I think the one I’m fondest of is the opening to See Fire and Go Towards Light, because that fic was/is my baby.

I also describe the lighting a lot. It is a thing I do.

TAGGING:

@ellenembee, @laurelsofhighever, @theggning, @red-hot-chili-tiefling, @ravenqueen89, @gingerbreton, @electriicfleur, @asaara-writes, and @chaotic-good-hawke!

#fallout 4 #dragon age #paladin danse #cullen rutherford #craig boone #yes I'm tagging the dudes because those are the tags people follow :p #my writing #see fire and go towards light

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sassyhobbits · 4 years

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One Night Standards, 2

Masterlist

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There was incessant, impatient knocking at Aelin’s door. There was only one person with the audacity to do such a thing.

“I’m getting ready, Aedion!” she snapped, sliding the little diamond studs into place.

“Are you decent?” her cousin called, voice muffled slightly by the door.

“Yes,”

She heard her door open and shut quickly as Aedion stepped into her room. She glanced at him briefly in the reflection of her vanity. His hair was brushed and he wore a crisp button down, something that only happened when they had an important guest.

Aelin supposed her future husband was considered an important guest.

She watched out of the corner of her eye as her cousin glanced around her room critically. There was a lump in her throat as he took in her bed. It was still made, but crumpled. Aelin had snuck back so late last night it was nearly early and had collapsed on top of the duvet, too tired to worry about getting under the covers.

She supposed the thorough night of passion was to be blamed for the state of her room and the incriminating evidence scattered around it.

Aelin and the mystery man had gone a few more rounds last night, using up every minute they could. It had been good. Really good. The best sex Aelin had had in a long while. But, eventually, the dream had to end. He had fallen asleep, tangled within the sheets. The only thing that had stopped Aelin from following him into oblivion had been the knowledge that she had to return home that night.

So, she had shimmied back into her dress, scooped up her heels, and allowed herself one last glance at the massive man sprawled across the bed, slumbering peacefully. She had hoped that whatever awaited him the next day would be better than what Aelin had to endure.

Her eyes skipped to the foot of her bed, to where her towering heels sat beside her skimpy dress, crumpled carelessly on the ground. Aedion followed her gaze, eyes that matched her own narrowing when he put the pieces together.

"Where the hell were you last night?" he demanded.

Aelin pursed her lips, looking away from the fury in her cousin's face back to her own reflection. "Out,"

"Are you serious right now?"

"Does it look like I'm joking?"

Aedion’s eyes were nothing but burning anger. “Are you out of your mind, Aelin? I thought you were past all of this. Did you take anything?”

She looked sharply over her shoulder and narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t take anything. Just some shots. Vodka,”

Her cousin shook his head disapprovingly. “What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking,” she worked out through clenched teeth. “That in half an hour I will be engaged to a stranger. I was thinking that I wanted to enjoy my last night of freedom,”

“And you spent it drunk and partying?”

“I spent it in a hotel room with the hot guy I hooked up with,”

Aedion made a loud noise of disgust before cautiously eyeing the dress that Aelin now wore. Heather grey, with capped sleeves. It fit her body nicely, showing off her curves in the most conservative way possible, hitting just at her knees. But the detail that her cousin was focused on was the thick, draping turtleneck.

He hooked a finger around it and tugged to the side, revealing the line of tiny bruises scattered along her throat. Aelin batted his hand away testily.

“Gods help us,” he muttered.

The rude response resting on the tip of Aelin’s tongue faded away at the polite knock on the door, the only warning before it opened. Lysandra swept in, looking as beautiful and put together as ever in a deep green dress, raven hair flowing down her shoulders.

“Are you two getting at it already?” she tutted.

“He started it,” Aelin grumbled.

“You deserved it,” he replied.

Lysandra shook her head. “You two are insufferable,”

She walked up behind Aelin, running an expert eye over her from top to bottom. Lysandra, besides being the princess’s closest friend, was also her stylist. She had an excellent eye and Aelin trusted her wholeheartedly, both with her closet and, in turn, with her life.

“You need a bracelet or something,” Lysandra muttered. “Silver, to go with the earrings,”

She went to Aelin’s jewelry box, rummaging around her jewelry box for a few moments before taking out a shining chain. A Tiffany bracelet, with a specially made charm bearing her family’s crest hanging from it. Aelin held out her wrist, allowing Lysandra to clip it into place. Her uncle had given it to her on her birthday years ago.

Aelin stood, sweeping into her stuffed closet and grabbing a pair of pointed-toe pumps. She stepped into them before giving herself a once-over in the mirror.

It was a stark difference from the woman she had been last night. That woman had been wild and free. The one that looked to her now… she was calm and collected and put together. Aelin’s hair was neatly twisted back into a bun at the back of her head, two strands resting on either of her cheeks to frame her face. Mascara coated her lashes, making her turquoise eyes even more vivid. A simple, shining gloss painted her lips. The perfect image of a princess.

She breezed from her closet, finding Lysandra and Aedion murmuring between one another. Lysandra’s bright green eyes snapped to hers, raising a perfectly groomed brow playfully.

“Aedion tells me you had a full night,” she said. “Was he good?”

“Very. Not to mention hot,”

It had been the best way possible to end her time as a single woman. Aelin didn’t know the next time she would be intimate with someone. Her future husband could very well want nothing to do with her. Or, conversely, he could want her very badly. Aelin knew she was an attractive woman, many men would give their left eye for a single night with her.

Aelin held back the uncomfortable shiver that threatened to race down her body. Engaged or not, the prince wouldn’t get anything out of her she didn’t want to give.

She had been pondering her potential future for the past few days. This marriage was nothing more than a business arrangement. Aelin didn’t have much faith in men. She knew the chances of her future husband having an affair were high. She was sure it would be discrete but… it could very much happen. She didn’t know if she herself would one day be desperate and lonely enough to do the same but…

She would think about that later.

“Do I look alright?” she asked.

“You look beautiful, Aelin,” Lysandra said. “Prince Whitethorn is a lucky man,”

Yes, Prince Rowan Whitethorn of Doranelle. Her future fiancé. Aelin hadn’t thought his name since the first time she had heard it.

“He’s even luckier that he doesn’t even have to work for me,” Aelin said. “I’m being offered up on a silver platter,”

Aedion’s face fell at her words. “Aelin…” he whispered. “You know Orlon doesn’t mean-”

“I know,” she cut him off, voice soft but firm. “I didn’t mean it like that. I will do whatever I need to for Terrasen,”

Her cousin reached out and took her hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. The thick silence between them said enough.

Another knock at Aelin’s door. If they kept going at this rate, all of Orynth would be in her room by noon.

“Come in,” she called.

The door opened a crack, and Ren Allsbrook, the son of one of her uncle’s closest advisors, peeked his head in. His mouth was set grimly, face devoid of any playfulness. He opened his mouth and uttered two words that sent Aelin’s heart plummeting to the bottom of her gut.

“He’s here,”

The breath was stolen from her lungs, but she managed a stiff nod.

“Right,” Aelin said. “Well, best not to keep him waiting,”

Lysandra quickly embraced her, kissing her cheeks and promising to see her later that night. Aelin then looked to her cousin and nodded. It was finally time to take that final step.

They didn’t speak as they walked down the familiar halls that Aelin had grown up in. They were quiet today, no staff or guests fluttering about. The sound of her heels against the marble floor was nearly deafening, but it drowned out the thump of her pounding heart.

They grew closer and closer to the grand front room in which Aelin was to meet her future husband. She would assume her uncle was already down there, could hear voices echoing from down the hall. She could see the top of the grand staircase that would lead her down to the front room, but her sure steps faltered in front of a familiar painting.

It was a portrait of her parents, painted soon after they had married. They looked so young, so happy. Her father’s hair had been a deep brown, not streaked with grey as it had been the last time she had seen him. Her mother looked more or less the same, face perhaps a tad smoother, but her eyes, eyes that matched Aelin’s, were the same. Most importantly, they looked happy.

It had been three years since she had lost them. Three years since they had been assassinated at a charity event they had been hosting. Aelin had lost much that day, too many people she had loved.

Aedion noted that she had stopped, coming to her side. She knew he missed her parents just as much as she did. They had raised him alongside Aelin after his mother's passing.

“They would be proud of what you’re doing for your country, Aelin,” he said softly.

Proud, perhaps. And maybe just a bit sad. Aelin’s parents had loved one another immensely, supported one another through whatever troubles they had faced. She knew they always hoped that she would find that kind of love. It seemed the gods were not on her side.

Aelin couldn’t find it within herself to respond, simply turning heel and making that final march towards the staircase.

At the precipice, Aelin glanced down at the room before her. She saw her uncle’s back to her, Darrow, his husband and head of their PR team, beside him. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, carefully taking the first step down. Her uncle was speaking to two people, both men. One had bronzed skin and wild, golden, curly hair he clearly had tried to tame to the best of his abilities. He was dressed too casually to be the prince.

Her uncle and Darrow turned when they heard her heels clicking against the stairs. The golden haired man looked up too, but he wasn’t the one that Aelin had eyes for.

Aelin could have sworn that time stopped as the fourth man tilted his face up towards her.

She wondered if the gods had always had a cruel sense of humor, or if they were stepping out of their comfort zone for her.

The stranger she had been prepared to marry wasn’t, in fact, a stranger.

She recognized the strong, elegant planes of his face. The short silver hair, the pine green eyes, that powerful body partially hidden under a perfectly tailored suit. It seemed Aelin had worried for nothing. She wouldn’t be marrying a stranger.

She would be marrying her one-night stand.

The man she had shared the passionate night with, who she had danced against in the crowded club, was Prince Rowan Whiethorn.

Aelin quickly mastered herself, not wanted to falter and go careening down the stairs. Her eyes were trained on the prince, watching as his gaze trailed over her. For a moment, she wondered if he would even recognize her. She had looked like a different person last night. He had also been drinking. She remembered tasting the tang of whiskey when their tongues had tangled. Maybe his memory of the previous night was too blurry to place her.

Even from the steadily shrinking distance, Aelin saw the prince’s brows furrow, as if trying to remember how she was familiar. He studied her for a few more heartbeats before Aelin saw recognition spark in his eyes.

Her stomach dropped as Rowan Whitethorn’s eyes grew a fraction of an inch, lips tightening almost imperceptibly. But she noticed.

He remembered her.

The trek down the stairs took far too long, her eyes not leaving Rowan’s the entire time. Maybe she should have googled him once she knew they would be married, then they wouldn’t be in this damned fiasco.

But clearly he hadn’t recognized her last night either.

Aelin barely noticed as her uncle smiled brightly at her. “Ah, Aelin! There you are,”

She forced her eyes from Rowan and looked towards her uncle, offering a tiny, pleasant grin of her own. “Good morning, uncle. Darrow,”

She smoothed her skirt as she came to a stop before them, trying to keep herself from fidgeting in place.

“Aelin…” her uncle said. “Allow me to introduce Lord Fenrys Moonbeam and Prince Rowan Whitethorn of Doranelle,”

The golden-haired man, Fenrys, bowed respectfully at the waist. Aelin dipped her chin in response, barely noticing how handsome he was. Instead, she looked towards the prince. He reached out respectfully and took her hand within his.

Aelin hoped he didn’t notice how her breath caught in her throat, remembering how those hands had felt on her body last night, how they had made her gasp and moan.

Rowan bent at the waist and placed a kiss that was little more than a peck on the back on her hand.

“It’s an honor to meet you… Aelin,” he murmured.

“Likewise,”

The prince straightened and looked her in the eye again. They both barely dared to move, staring unblinkingly at one another. She wanted to say something, but any proper words seemed to elude her.

She didn’t miss as Fenrys nudged Rowan with his elbow, making the prince blink rapidly as he started.

“You look very beautiful,” Rowan said a tad too quickly.

Aelin tried not to roll her eyes. He had said as much last night, but it was more along the lines of incredibly sexy, which was also true.

“Thank you,” Aelin said, offering up a terse smile.

“We’re honored to welcome you to Orynth,” Orlon said. “I hope your journey was pleasant. We apologize that we were unable to receive you last night,”

“It’s perfectly fine,” Fenrys said with a charming grin. “Our flight came in late. The hotel you booked was perfect and we were able to keep ourselves entertained,”

Aelin saw Rowan’s fingers curl into fists. To anyone else, the last phrase was nothing but innocent. But it seemed Fenrys was savvy to what Rowan had done last night. She assumed he wasn’t aware that the woman his prince had brought back the night prior was standing right before them. Aelin didn’t remember seeing him last night.

“Well, I’m sure you must be famished,” Orlon said. “Why don’t we take lunch?”

Aelin tried not to cringe. Gods, would this be an awkward meal.

She looked once more to Rowan, only to find he was already looking at her. They both looked away nearly comically quickly.

Aelin sucked down a sharp, bracing breath. She would survive this.

…

Rowan Whitethorn was screwed.

He was screwed because he had screwed the woman sitting across from him, who was currently sitting as stiff as a board.

Maybe it was his fault for not researching his future wife upon agreement of the engagement.

When his aunt had come to him with a preposition, Rowan found himself without much room to refuse. He was an unessential prince, not heir to anything. His family had been serving Doranelle for generations. If Rowan had tried to refuse, his uncle would have found a way to force his hand anyway, if Maeve didn’t first. His queen had wanted to build connections with Terrasen for as long Rowan could remember, and she had found a way in through him.

So Rowan had made it easier on himself and everyone else and agreed. Apparently, he was already self-loathing enough that it barely bothered him. He wasn’t in love with anyone, hadn’t been for years. He didn’t know if he would ever be able to love anyone again. Not after Lyria.

Rowan had been unfeeling enough after agreeing to the arrangement that he hadn’t bothered to think much about the woman who he would be wed to. He had heard her name before, as heir to a kingdom, it was impossible not to. He supposed he had seen photos of her here and there, in magazines, online, but nothing that had stuck in his head.

Besides, last night, she had been an entirely different woman.

Rowan remembered seeing her across the bar, her hair messy in an enticing way, falling down the open back of her skin-tight dress. She had moved within the center of the dancing mass as if she were the only person there. He had observed her from his perch in the bar longer than he cared to admit as he nursed whiskey after whiskey.

He and Fenrys had gone to the club the moment they had stashed their belongings in their respective hotel rooms. The lord had come with him partially for politics, partially to make sure the prince didn’t go batshit before the wedding.

Rowan hadn’t gone to the bar expecting to go home with anyone. He had been tired and resentful enough of his situation that he wanted to drown his woes in amber liquid.

But then he had seen her.

Aelin. He had seen Aelin.

It seemed he and the princess had a similar idea of how she desired to spend her last night of freedom.

Rowan couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment his inhibitions had flown out the window, but he remembered knocking back the rest of his drink, telling Fenrys not to wait up, and striding into the crowd towards the woman who had held his eyes.

He couldn’t believe that the fine lady sitting before him, taking dainty bites of her salad, was the same woman who had pressed her body against his last night, whispered obscene things against his ear, had begged him not to hold back.

And now she was rather quiet. So was he, to be fair.

Aelin’s uncle helped fill the silence, Fenrys doing his fair share to keep the conversation going. Aedion Ashryver, Aelin’s cousin, simply looked at him as if he could see all the way through his skin. Clearly, he wanted to know about the man that would be marrying his cousin.

Rowan thoroughly ignored the pointed looks Fenrys kept throwing his way, trying to prompt him to say something, to ask the princess something about herself. Even if Rowan wanted to, he didn’t know what he would say. Was that your favorite club? How often do you sneak out and hook up with strangers?

He couldn’t ask any of that. So he stayed silent and let his companion drive the conversation.

Rowan barely remembered eating, mostly running on muscle memory to force the food down his throat. Their plates were quickly and quietly cleared away by the staff until they were all alone again in the pleasantly lit dining room.

Rowan noted as the king looked to the man on his right. Weylan Darrow, the king’s husband and PR director. They shared a quick, meaningful look before Darrow laced his fingers together and leaned forward.

“There are a few matters to discuss regarding the engagement,” he said, glancing between Rowan and the princess a few times.

Rowan nodded. He had expected this talk upon arrival. They were at least courteous enough to wait until after they ate before getting into it.

“Now, although this marriage is arranged,” Darrow began. “It would be best to display it as a real relationship to our people. Arranged marriages are… tricky in the public’s eye. We want this to be as peaceful a transition as possible,”

Rowan noted Aelin’s lips press themselves into a tight line. “How do we explain this sudden engagement, then?” she asked.

“We’ve thought that through,” Darrow said. “I was thinking somewhere along the lines of a summer romance, kept on the low to keep out of the spotlight. Say something about Prince Whitethorn valuing his privacy, since that already follows with what most of the public knows of you. That is, if you are both alright with that,”

Rowan looked towards Aelin at the same moment she looked towards him.

“It’s fine with me if it’s fine with Prince Rowan,” she said.

“I have no qualms with it,” he said.

“Very well then,” Darrow said.

“The announcement will be made tomorrow,” Orlon explained. “And from there… you two will be very busy, I’m afraid,”

“Busy?” Rowan asked, raising a brow.

“Interviews, statements, planning,” Aelin said casually, tracing shapes on the tablecloth before her with a well-manicured finger.

Rowan had forgotten that in Terrasen, and in some other places, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius was somewhat a celebrity. He was sure cameras and press had been following her around since she was born. A beautiful, young princess. It was no wonder the public would be enamoured with her, why they may dislike the idea of their precious princess giving her hand away in marriage, despite the fact that it was done in their best interests.

And now that Rowan would be getting married to her, he would have to get used to being in the public's eye as well.

“We can finish particulars about… everything tomorrow,” Darrow said, pushing to his feet alongside the king. “We shall give you two time to settle in,”

“Thank you,” Rowan said, rising as the others around the table did as well. Then, he spoke before he could truly think, “Allow me to walk you back to your chambers, princess,”

Aelin paused and blinked, the most surprise she would let herself show. She mastered herself quickly, smiling politely at him.

“Of course,”

Rowan rounded the table, holding out an arm for the princess to take. She placed a delicate hand on his forearm, but was barely able to meet his gaze. He allowed himself a quick glance down at her, noting the high neck of her dress. He knew it was to cover the bruises he had left scattered over her throat last night. He hadn’t thought twice of it then.

“I’ll see you this evening,” Aelin said to her family in farewell.

Rowan tried to ignore the stiffness in his limbs as he walked the princess out of the dining room.

“Which direction?” he asked.

“To the left,”

They marched side by side in a tense silence until the voices from the dining room faded into faint rumbles. And then, it was simply a waiting game to see who spoke first.

It was Aelin.

“So,” she spoke softly, but didn’t seem to have anything else prepared.

“Yeah,” Rowan agreed.

She wet her lips and looked up towards him. “This was… unexpected,”

“That’s a bit of an understatement,” he sighed. “You, uh… you didn’t know what I looked like?”

“No,” she admitted. “I hadn’t wanted to make any expectations, I suppose. But, you didn’t know what I looked like?”

“Even if I had, you do not look like the same person you did last night,”

Aelin shook her head, looking at him in bewilderment. “How could you not know what I looked like? My photos are everywhere. News sites, magazines, social media. You can't go to the damned grocery store without my seeing my face on those trashy tabloids surrounded by pregnancy rumors,”

Rowan could only shrug. “I don’t pay much attention to those sort of things,”

“Right,” Aelin breathed, letting her head droop. “Well… I’m not quite sure what to say,”

Neither was Rowan, but he spoke anyway. “Do you often sneak out to clubs and go home with strangers?”

The moment the words left his mouth, Rowan knew they were the wrong ones. He didn’t even have time to hang his head in shame, to try to apologize, before Aelin had skidded to a stop and whirled towards him, face alight with a bright fury.

“Excuse me?” she hissed in indignation. “I distinctly remember you doing just the same! When you were due to be engaged the next day!”

All ideas of a swift apology flew from his head at the insinuation. Rowan narrowed his eyes. “You did just the same, princess. Don’t throw stones,”

She took a belligerent step forward. “I’ll throw whatever I damn well please! Did you even wait five minutes before leaving your hotel and looking for someone to fuck?”

“You have a filthy mouth,”

Said filthy mouth curled into a cruel smile as she took another step forward, close enough so they could share breath. She placed a finger on his chest.

“You sure as hell didn’t mind my filthy mouth last night,” she drawled. “When it was all over you,”

Rowan took a sharp step back. “Is this a joke to you?”

He was practically getting whiplash from the different facets of the princess, trying to figure out who she really was. From the wild, desperate women she was last night, the prim little princess this afternoon, to the infuriating, sour person before him.

Rowan had expected to tie himself to a polite, perhaps a bit pretentious, princess. It hadn't been his ideal woman, but he would have managed.

But Aelin Ashryver Galathynius was not what he had expected.

That wasn't necessarily a good thing.

The princess let out a bitter bark of laughter, shaking her head. “Kinda, yeah. You don’t find this whole situation a cruel sort of irony?”

“I think marriage is rather serious, no matter the circumstances,”

“Please,” she scoffed. “This marriage is nothing more than a business deal. Terrasen is broke and I’m whoring myself out so my people don’t starve,”

“That’s a rather astute comparison, actually,”

The resounding smack echoed through Rowan’s ears before the burning stinging on his cheek registered. He blinked once, looking at the princess before him, eyes alight with a fiery rage unlike the which he had ever seen.

And she had slapped him.

Aelin’s nostrils flared, her chest rising and falling deeply, as if she were trying to reel in her emotions. Surprising. She had a temper.

“Fuck you,” she spat.

Rowan had no response to the venom he found in her voice, only holding her gaze for a heartbeat longer before she swiftly turned and swept away, the clicking of her heels fading into the distance.

He ground his teeth, his glare nearly burning a hole into the spot where his future wife had just stood.

Gods help him.

~~~

a/n: here’s the next chapter! still getting used to posting on tumblr so please let me know if your tags worked or not! let me know what yall think!

tags: @b00kworm @tswaney17 @the-dark-swan @superspiritfestival @rowaelinforeverworld @giorgia-the-trashpanda @http-itsrebecca @minaidss @randmfandms16 @lissak03 @i-love-all-books @amren-courtofdreams @bamchickawowow @faerie-queen-fireheart @fictional-horan @chemicha @keshavomit @iliketoasterstrudels @aknymph @rowaelin-cressworth @westofmoon

#one night standards #rowaelin #rowaelin au #arranged marriage #modern royalty #my writing

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lumosnoctem · 3 years

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for whatever reason (I guess the imagery you depicted... duh), it made me think/reflect more on him as The ‘Morning Knight’ and like what that means? Idk. Anyway.

I think so much about him and his position as the morning knight. His friendship with Darrow went so deep that they called eachother ‘Brother’. I’ve been thinking a lot about how it must have been for him, a perfect gold of a very recognized house basically born into glory, seeing Darrow, a ‘gold’ with nothing to his name who murdered his actual brother rise to such great heights only to then find out that he isn’t even a gold.

In this essay I will-

#my asks #red rising

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darrowsrising · 1 year

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I am kinda tired of the 'Darrow is too perfect' discourse. In Red Rising, the point of his physical attributes and the attitude he uses upon the outside world are meant to contrast the fact that this kid is extremely fucked up. I mean, at least that's what made sense and resonated with me.

That is why he fails for most of the first book and he has to learn from mistakes and look inside himself and become a person people would actually follow. And the reason his first attempt lasted for a hot second was that - he is caring. So he capitalizes on that to pull him through. And then he is given the win, because he was a good person and built something with people.

He is a boy forced to become an adult way too soon, then thrown in an undercover mission as a weapon, not a human being. He is expected to be perfect, yet that mostly works on the outside via his physical attributes and his imposing aura, because that is the manifestation of providing for him. He is doing something actively towards what he's supposed to achieve.

Yet, he tells you time and time again how scared he is, how plagued he is, how he wants to curl up in a ball, how he misses the old air of the mines, how much he regrets not being enough for anyone or anything and how he cannot do this.

Don't get me wrong, Red Rising is a 3.5 read. But the idea that Darrow is flat is smoked even with the debuntante writing of Pierce Brown. It reflects the place he comes from quite well if you think about it - outwardly, he's doing everything expected of him and he does it perfectly. Inwardly...he's stitched together with his guilt complex by a very shaky hand. He rages forward, because he loses himself the moment he stops.

His good traits become hia greatest weaknesses and vice versa. Which is the basically the shortest way to say he's a dynamic, well-rounded character.

The writing comes into its own better with Golden Son and Darrow gets more in touch with the reader, but I still think it's unfair to say the first book flattens the MC.

#red rising #astrea rants #how cool would it be for pierce to re-write red rising for its 10th anniversary tho #would spare me the stupid stuff

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happy-shitting · 4 years

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Red Rising Saga: lots of action, little feeling

Spoilers for the entire RR saga.

I think I know why DA left me unsatisfied. These are my opinions only! When I say “reader”, I really mean *me*. Listen, I love the RR series, it’s my favorite. I read Red Rising and thought, “finally, I’ve found the perfect book”. Pierce Brown wrote a story where the main character won, and won, again and again, defeating all odds. Even in Golden Son and Morning Star, where the protagonist was challenged and lost allies, he still defeated his opponents in powerful ways. I finished the saga feeling accomplished, satisfied. The heroes were strong, clever, and they won. Sure, they lost a few friends along the way, Eo, Quinn, Ragnar, Trigg, Tactus, Roque. Despite the violence, the trauma, the horror the characters are put through, Darrow climbed to the top nonetheless. I watched the entire Hunger Games saga the other day, and as I finished Mockingjay part 2, I remembered reading the books. At the end of the movie and the book, I felt incredibly hollow despite the happy ending. Katniss lost Prim, sure, but she didn’t lose Peeta, and they got to form a family. Just like Darrow and Virginia. But the difference is that…I didn’t feel a lot at the end of Morning Star. I thought, “great! they won! they’ll get to raise their son together! yay!”. I felt fine. There’s no trauma, no PTSD, no scarring from the violence the characters went through. It gets particularly noticeable in Dark Age, where literally every character is put through some sort of test, where one way or another they face some kind of horror. May it be war, body mutilation, or pinning a newborn baby to a tree. None of the characters think back on these scenes with any scar, it’s all actionactionaction. They’re all so mentally strong and always in the process of thinking of the next step. It’s all tell and no show. And I think this is PB’s weakness. DA is an overload of horror, and by the time a damn baby is pinned to a tree, the reader pratically doesn’t budge. It’s normal. The characters are said to be sad, and angry. PB expresses his characters emotion through actions, Victra goes on a muderous rampage, Lyria takes down and wraps the baby instead of leaving it there. Ephraim rarely thinks of Trigg. He’s a drug addict, okay, but we rarely see him reminiscing of his time with his partner, we rarely get to see the past he had and the trauma he went through when he lost him. When he sees Trigg’s statue with Volga, we just see it. When Virginia is, huh, tortured, she thinks of the ways she’s protected by this or that technology advancement. There’s no feeling. Darrow going through Sevro’s stuff should leave me in puddles, but it’s all action. He thinks for a second about how Sevro was right, and then moves on. When Darrow is about to die on Mercury, bald and starved, we barely get a glimpse into his mind. It’s all about tactics, strategy, and how he deals with his men and the people of the planet. We know that’s one of Darrow’s flaws, always thinking about the mission first and his family and friends second. We clearly saw that in the first three books. But, at this point, it’s clear that it’s PB that has a hard time conveying and evoking emotion in his readers. PB thinks of the plot and action first, and the feeling second. And I think he had a hard time with that in both IG and especially DA. DA should’ve left me defeated, hollow, dreading what comes next. But I don’t. I just feel tired. It’s too much horror, and the characters barely have scars, barely reflect on their trauma, they don’t let the readers in their minds, really. The characters are fine, mentally. Where I think PB did a good job is with Cassius, there’s potential there. Through Lysander we see how broken Cassius has become vs. when we saw him through Darrow in the first three books. We see that Cassius has suffered, went through hardships, and he evokes feeling by the way he talks, the way he looks, the way Lysander sees him watch people/his surroundings and the way he navigates his new life. Which is the only reason why, at the end when Cassius comes in and saves Darrow, did I feel a damn thing. Not because of Darrow, while his speech with Harnassus was *something* I wish we had seen more of, it’s of because Cassius. We saw him fight tooth and nail in the Rim despite knowing and seeing how broken he was. PB, I need more of *waves hands* whatever it is you’re doing with Cassius. He has trauma and we get to see it, feel it. All these characters have trauma, but we feel none of it.

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wat-the-cur · 5 years

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A very long time ago, I said that I would recount the absolute blast I had at Maximum Power. There is not really an excuse for how long it has taken me to follow up on that promise, but doing in now feels right. I hope you will forgive me for writing this in bullet points, but I think it would be the best way to tell you all about my favourite memories, without waffling. Please note that I may add anything I have forgotten, as well as pictures, later on. So, here is a recollection of all the cool things that I remember from Maximum Power.

- Seeing Jan Chappell at hotel reception was just about one of the most surreal moments of my life. My Mother and Father were checking us in, I was gazing wearily around the reception area, I looked over my shoulder and there she was! At the time, I was not even sure it was her. I thought I might just be delirious from the four hour car journey. I was so washed out that I forgot my manners and just gawped at the poor woman, until I had to follow my parents upstairs (she never met my gaze, which is probably for the better). When we got to our rooms, I kept saying: ““Did you see that lady behind us? I think it was Jan Chappell. I’m pretty sure that was Jan Chappell, behind us.”

- I was right, that lady was Jan Chappell. Later, at dinner, my parents and I got to watch all the guests gather at their table. It was I never the dining room that I also me the lovely organisers. I am sorry to say that I do not remember all their names, but I believe one of the women was called Sharon. Sharon was the first one to speak to us. She saw me pointing at Jan Chappell and confirmed to me that she was, indeed, her. Sharon was a treasure! The Blake’s 7 fanbase seems to have a closeness, that fanbases as huge as Doctor Who’s, or Star Trek’s can never quite have for their size. Everyone seems to know everyone in the B7 fandom. I think Sharon was pleased to see some new faces, as she asked me about how I got into B7 and if I would come to another convention. She could tell my interest in Jan Chappell and urged me, throughout the convention, to go and talk to her. She was so pleased when I did. She and her friends were all so kind and helpful all the way through, and so cheerful! Sharon and her husband were thrilled to hear that I got into Blake’s 7, through watching Deep Space Nine. They actually named their daughter Jadzia, which is just about the best thing I’ve ever heard.

- Sharon and the crew were not the only cool people I met at Maximum Power. I was also fortunate enough to meet the marvellous @ruth-dw and @mrs-underhill22. As the guests gathered on the main stage, they both waved my Mother and I over to some spare seats. It was so great to finally meet these two! My Mother and I got to have some good chats with them, throughout the day.

- Speaking of @mrs-underhill22, I cannot write this account, without mentioning her cosplay. As you may have seen on both her, and Ruth’s blogs, she dressed up as Shivan and she played him, too. Shivan came to greet Blake (Mother) and he was laughing so much, he could not remember any of his lines. All he could do was contact the ship: ““Blake to Liberator, this is hilarious!”

- The convention began with two really beautiful tributes. The convention was in honour of Jaqueline Pearce, who passed last year. As if that was not sad enough, Paul Darrow also passed around three weeks before the convention. According to (I think) John Ainsworth, Paul had requested that the focus remain on Jaqueline and it was, but a small tribute was made to him, nonetheless. The guests’ stories about Jaqueline were all really quite adorable. My favourite was Jan Chappell’s recollection of being in the same health farm as her, before they ever worked on Blake’s 7.: “I’ve had enough of this dieting. Do you know what I’m going to do? I’m going to catch a bus into town and I’m going to get a cream tea!”

- I shall go through all my encounters with the guests individually. Jan Chappell, as you can guess, was the first guest I approached for an autograph. She was just a ray of sunshine the whole way through the convention. When I scuttled up to her in my Avon costume she greeting me with this open mouthed smile and said; ““Oh, don’t you look brilliant!” She was so cute and lovely. I told her, rather nervously, that Cally had made me proud of my curly hair. She was pleased and told me that her hair had, at the time, been permed. It was dead straight when she was younger, but she said that since she hit the menopause, it went curly all on it’s own!

- Stephen Grief, let me just say, was an absolute dream. He just seemed so happy to be at the convention, feeling the love from all the fans. Whenever he was onstage, he blew kisses to the audience. I was rather surprised, as I expected him to be a bit unapproachable. I must note, that he has just about the bluest eyes I have ever seen. They are a light blue, with silvery rings running just around the pupils. Very striking! I am proud to say that I actually had prepared something to say, before I met him. I asked him about his role as Polyakov, in the radio adaptation of “Tinker Taylor Soldier Spy”. He told me that all he was told about the role, was that they wanted someone with a lovely voice. He then ordered me to watch the Tinker Taylor, as well as the Smiley’s People series, starring Alec Guinness (I have almost completed that order). When I put my hand out to shake his, he took it with both of his hands.

- When I met Michael Keating, all I could think was how similar he seemed to Vila, in real life. He had that same sing-song lilt to his voice and he was very funny. Though I must say, he almost seemed a little nervous to meet people, but I could be wrong. It was almost a comfort, as I was nervous too, I had no idea what to say. He said he recognised my outfit, which I was really pleased about. When he signed the photograph I chose, he asked if his handwriting was okay. He said he never did very well in English, at school, but he was always very good at geography, so he always knew where he was going. My Mother actually got into a conversation with Michael, while he was away from the autograph table. I think he told her that he had a sister with the same name as her! Before he left the convention, both he and Jan shook my hand before leaving. I was over the moon.

- June Hudson is just about the cutest little cupcake to ever live. Both she, and the lady who sat with her at her table, were just the kindest, most approachable people. June took pictures of all the cosplayers who came to see her, my Mother and I included. She was so complimentary about out our costumes, which really made me happy, because my Mother had been really nervous about her seeing them. @mrs-underhill22 @ruth-dw and I all had long chats with the two ladies about the costumes of B7. June remarked, a little angrily about how some of her outfits had been altered later on, without her consent, or knowledge. Avon’s famous silver tunic, for example, had extra length added to it, which looked very conspicuous and unnecessary. Mrs-underhill22 had actually made a photoshopped interpretation of what one of June’s outfits was originally meant to look like. June stated in an interview, that Avon’s red leather tunic, was originally made with red leather spikes around the collar. This was supposed to reflect his hard and confrontational personality, like the spiked collar of a vicious dog. While June had been away from the programme for a short while, she was called up and informed that the spikes had been removed, as they were deemed a hazard. She was furious. When we all looked closely at Avon’s red outfit, on display, we could see where the spikes had been. June loved Mrs-underhill22′s photoshopped picture, say it was just what the outfit had originally looked like. She even wrote that on it, when she signed it.

(This is going to have to be a part one, as I have a lot more I wish to share, but it is getting rather late. I shall update this account, soon! It really cheered me up writing this, so I hope all you guys enjoy reading it.)

#Blake's 7 #blakes 7 #maximum power #convention #cosplay #Jan Chappell #michael keating #stephen greif #matt irvine #june hudson #ruth-dw #mrs-underhill22

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ruby-grapefruit · 5 years

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The Erilean Empire | Chapter 2

AU: The Vlag never came to discover their world. Maeve and her three Kings stayed trapped in their dark realm, never knowing the terror and near destruction they could have caused in the land in which a fire-bringer lived. Though their darkness stayed away, the greed of men could never be truly staunched. True peace is only a figment of the imagination. War shattered Erilea anyways and without the might of the Wyrdkey to strengthen the Kingdom of Terrasen, the King of Adarlan and his armies swept across the land, invading Melisande and Fenharrow. Only the combined might of Terrasen and Eyllwe managed to keep them at bay. Yet fighting a war on two borders could only be sustained for so long and Eyllwe has at last fallen to the might of Adarlan. Only the Aelin, the fire-bringer, stands a chance of stopping the King and uniting Erilea.

A/N I had this idea for a rowaelin AU and I just had to start writing. I’d love to hear what y'all think so far.

FF.Net & A3O

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Rating: Mature

“The King paused and looked over his shoulder at her. She smiled, a wicked, wild thing.” – Sarah J Maas, Assassin’s Blade

Soft and cooling, the wind rushed through her lace nightgown sending a cascade of shivers across her skin.

Ahead the ocean spread wide across the horizon, its reflection twinkling in the morning sun. She dipped down towards it; fingers splayed wide as she trailed a hand through its smooth surface.

Laughing at the freedom of it, she twirled, golden hair spinning outwards. In a smooth arch she lifted upwards, towards the sun, enjoying the warm touch of its hands on her bare skin, its pressure sending tingles up her spine and with a delighted shout she—

Launching herself upwards off the bed, Aelin clutched a knife between bone white fingers.

Blinking quickly, she groaned as she beheld the frightened maid whose small hands were up in the air at the foot of her bed. Behind her stood a second maid carrying a tray of steaming food.

“Sorry princess!” The first maid apologized nervously, “You have to be at the signing of the treaty in two hours. We’re here to help you get ready.”

Falling backwards Aelin sighed and brought the heels of her palms to her eyes,

“Ugghhh.” She groaned, “I’ll be up in a minute. Can you start a bath? And leave the food please!”

“Yes, Highness!” the first maid curtsied before she shuffled away.

Once they were around the corner the second maid began giggling and Aelin couldn’t help but smile as she chastised her friend, “I told you that would happen if you tried to wake her!”

Despite the grim events of the day, Aelin felt lighter. She’d dreamed she was flying again.

These dreams had been gracing her since she was a child and regardless of their peculiarity, they always seemed to make her feel better. Alive.

It was a gift, in fact, for the dream to arrive the night before the treaty signing. Though she wasn’t Queen yet, she’d have to make an appearance. And since the most important agreement in the treaty was the engagement of herself with prince Dorian, Emperor Havilliard and King Galathynius had agreed that they should both sign as well.

Two weeks.

It had been two weeks since she’d agreed to go along with Orlon’s plan, and they had yet to sit down and discuss the intricacies of what her ‘mission’ would entail. She’d been waiting and waiting for the opportunity, eager to have something else to put her heart and soul into. But Orlon had been busy.

Instead, unable to avoid it, Aelin had spent the last two weeks mourning. She’d mourned Ren, she mourned the soldiers she’d killed, and though she didn’t dare admit it, she mourned for herself.

Sighing she made her way out of bed and allowed the maids to help prepare her for the day.

Not a second sooner, she was out the door and striding down the hall in strong, confident strides.

Aelin’s hair was wrapped around her head in large braid. Small bits curled to frame her slender face. Her makeup had been done subtly, only enough to emphasize her unnatural Fae beauty. Her pointed ears arched delicately beneath the braid.

Though she didn’t often utilize her Fae form she couldn’t help but appreciate the grace, and frankly, royal appearance it gave her.

She was dressed in a floor-length gown of various shades of green, starting from an almost white at her collar bone and fading to an almost black down at her feet. It was fitted across her torso before softening to an elegant flowing material at her waist. Embroidered along its entire length was a gold thread forming various branches and leaves. She wore no jewelry apart from the small crown gracing her head. On its peak a beautiful green emerald twinkled.

“You look nice.” Aedion said, as he met her just outside.

Though neither of them wanted to acknowledge it, their relationship had been strained during the past two weeks. He tried to hide it, but sometimes she found Aedion staring at her hands, and she wondered if he too saw the blood she couldn’t seem to wash away.

Aelin glanced at him quickly and raised an eyebrow.

He was wearing his decorative armor, the gold pieces strapped across his chest, arms, and legs, shining in the morning light as he walked.

“So do you.”

“Special occasion, you know.” He grinned, cocking his head to the side.

She looked away before he caught her eye.

That was one thing she couldn’t seem to do anymore. His eyes held too much of his heart and she didn’t let dare allow herself to see just how deeply she’d failed him.

“Mhm… Special, riiight. That damned Empire making so much fuss.” She mumbled incoherently.

Aedion grabbed her arm harshly, his grip tight, as he pulled her up to him and forced her to look into his eyes. They sparked with frustration.

“Aelin…” He warned, his voice low, coming out roughly between his clenched jaw. “Be careful what you say in front of the Emperor. We’re walking on thin ice here. Everyone just wants this to be over!”

Hissing, Aelin spun, glaring up at his stern face, “I know Aedion! Don’t you think I know that! I’m the one that has to marry that killer’s son so that we can all move on!”

“If you know how important it is then why are you saying things like that!” He almost shouted, before catching himself and lowering his voice to just above a whisper, “There are eyes everywhere!”

“I know how politics works!”

“Well then, think before you speak! You’re going to have to live in his house soon! You better learn how to keep your mouth shut or else you’re going to be killed.”

“Heh... They can try.”

“Aelin! This is serious.” He urged.

Sighing, she pinched the bridge of her nose, and closed her eyes briefly, “I know. It’s just, don’t you think I understand all that’s riding on me… I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Aedion took a deep breath before stepping back from her, “Sorry for snapping at you. I guess we’re all just a little tense.”

She forced a small smile to her lips, as they began walking again, “You don’t say.”

He tried to laugh lightly, but it was forced. They fell into silence and neither said a word the rest of the way.

Outside the small keep that they’d been residing in the past two weeks, Aelin and Aedion found horses awaiting them and the rest of their party.

A group of the kings’ advisors who Aelin had never bothered to remember the names of were already waiting in the courtyard. King Orlon and Lord Darrow didn’t take long to join them on their own horses. Gavriel, Aedion’s father, was the last to arrive. He nodded to Aelin as he mounted his own horse, and they at last rode out of the gates and began to make their way back towards the desiccated battlefield.

Her mother had been invited to come as well, as a representative for her late father, but had decided to stay in Orynth. She was much more helpful there anyways as they’d been an influx of delegates from across the world arriving to join in the festivities of the upcoming wedding, now only two months away.

That had been one of the conditions of the treaty, not only had they agreed to marry, but they’d even selected a date and begun preparations in Rifthold. She’d be leaving for Rifthold in month. Aelin tried her best to forget that, forget that she’d be leaving her home for only the gods know how long.

She knew her mother was better off staying in Orynth, anyways. Aelin didn’t doubt that her mother and aunt, Aedion’s mother, were having a great time with the Wendlyn and Doranelle delegates that had arrived two weeks ago. She’d heard that the Faery Queen Sellene Whitethorn herself was here, and hoped she’d brought along Endymion.

When her parents had sent to Doranelle two years after the beginning of the war she’d been trained by Enda. During the two years she spent prowling the mountains and fields of Doranelle they’d grown close and she considered him like an older brother.

They hadn’t seen each other since she was 17, when she’d come back home in an effort to help the war effort after her father had been killed. Stabbed through the back on the battlefield by the Emperor’s favorite Fae dog, Cairn.

Rumor had it, that he’d been the one to train Dorian. And Aelin’s blood turned cold at the thought.

Straightening her back she banished all thoughts and looked to the large tent that had been set up in the middle of the barren land.

When they entered the tent, Gavriel hovering over King Orlon’s shoulder and Aedion hovering over her own, the Emperor was already comfortably seated and sipping on a glass of wine.

Aelin’s eyes narrowed and she felt Aedion tense up behind her as Prince Dorian’s sapphire eyes swung to her immediately. When he noticed her gaze, his lips curled into a brutal, coy smile, that only made her frown deepen.

It took Gavriel giving her a stern look from across the room for her to reign in her emotions. She plastered a fake smile across lips, which seemed to only make Dorian’s smile widen, his eyes twinkling.

Distracted by Dorian, it took her a second to notice the other set of eyes that hovered across her face.

Cairn.

Struggling internally, she barely stopped the snarl that attempted to escape her lips as she noticed him sitting just behind Dorian.

Cairn leaned forwards, placing a hand on Dorian’s shoulder, and whispered something in his ear. Frowning lightly, Dorian nodded, before he tore his gaze from hers and began to assess the rest of their party.

Aelin took the seat to Orlon’s right, as Darrow took the one to the left.

“Welcome Majesty!” The Emperor grinned. Raising his glass, he gestured to the troupe of servants who hovered at the edges of the tent, “Refreshments?”

Nodding, Orlon lifted his hand as Darrow did the same, “Thank you.”

Around the party, advisors received glasses filled to the brim with wine. At their satisfied smiles, Aelin couldn’t help but wonder if this was all just a party for them.

After everyone had been serviced in wine and food, everyone except herself, Aedion, Gavriel and it seemed Dorian, the Emperor raised an arm to silence the room.

“Shall we get to the official stuff?” His voice was deep and boisterous. Despite his large rotund body and big smile, Aelin sensed an altogether different kind of creature prowled beneath his skin.

Some might mistake his dark eyes to be warm and inviting but their lack of colour speared right to her bones. Shivering she tried to keep her body relaxed as the emperor smiled and all Aelin saw was a blindingly cruel curl across his lips.

To her right, she saw Orlon give her a quick glance, before he put down his wine glass, now almost empty. “Yes, let’s bring out the treaty.”

“I had my advisors prepare a new copy, special for the occasion.” The Emperor explained as he waved over one of the advisors in the back of the room, “Why don’t you take a quick read, before we begin.”

A mousy advisor bowed before King Orlon, before presenting him with a large piece of paper.

Even from afar, Aelin couldn’t help but appreciate the quality of the paper and penmanship of the treaty as Orlon glanced down the sheet.

“Aelin.” Orlon said, as he passed her the treaty.

Though she already knew the majority of the agreements to which King Orlon was agreeing to she read through the treaty again:

All parties hereby agree to uphold the following agreements:

The formal union of the Erilean Empire and the Kingdom of Terresan through the marriage of Crown Prince Dorian Havilliard and Crown Princess Aelin Galathynius.

Until Aelin Galathynius takes her place as Queen of Terresan she will be considered a princess of the Erilean Empire as well as the Kingdom of Terresan.

Once Aelin Galathynius takes the throne of Terresan, formal nationhood will be dissolved and Terresan will join the Erilean Empire.

Until point 3 takes place the following regulations will be placed upon the Kingdom of Terrasen…

All new trading routes and partners must be approved by the Erilean Empire.

Every year a predetermined rate will be paid to the Erilean Empire, payment types include jewels, gold, cattle, wheat, etc…

….

…..

The Erilean Empire agrees to comply to the following regulations:

To provide land, air and sea protection to the Kingdom of Terresan.

To allow ease of access for Terresan citizens to all regions within the Empire.

….

…

…..

….

Should any of the previous agreements fail to be upheld immediate physical force will be authorized upon the party at fault.

Aelin handed back the form to Orlon, refusing to meet his gaze. Though she didn’t dare voice it she knew they’d conceded much, much more to the Empire than many would approve. Swallowing shallowly, she tried not to think about how they’d been forced to this because of her. Only the thought of her task kept her grounded. A task she refused to think too deeply of in the presence of the enemy.

You never know who might be listening in, a lesson she’d been imparted by Enda.

The Emperor was the first to sign. Then Dorian before it went to King Orlon, who after signing, passed the paper to her.

She held the thick material in her hands, fingers resting lightly on the surface. Reaching forwards, she grabbed the pen being presented, lowered her hand and—hesitated.

Across the room the gazes of everyone settled onto her, heavy and burning.

Aelin took a deep breath. Then another. The fate of her country was residing heavily on her shoulders. It was up to her. Exhaling deeply, she leaned forwards and hovered the tip of the pen above the sheet, right below King Orlon’s name.

Unthinking, she glanced upward. Looking for a friendly face? A soft gaze? She met Dorian’s ice-blue eyes. The side of his lips curled upwards as he saw her terror. Reveled in the fear she stuffed deep inside at the thought of failing her family, her friends and her people.

Her face twisted as she locked gazes with him. She smiled a wicked, crazed smile. And with flourish and a wild look on her face, Aelin signed the treaty.

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