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shadowdaddies · 4 months

Note

I'm going to self project here, but can I request Fenrys beating the living sh*t out of reader's abuser? I need this... as self-care ngl

I'm not sure why I spent so long building the backstory for Reader but it was fun and I kind of want to write a series based on it now? Anywho, Fenrys does a little more than beat up the abuser👀 I got carried away oops

Hope Reborn

Fenrys Moonbeam x Reader

Warnings: mentions of violence, slavery, just very canon-typical trauma beware

During Adarlan’s conquest of Terrasen, you tried to escape to the Southern Continent with the man you had been in a relationship with, following his lead on a path he had charted for the both of you through the Perranth Mountains to head south.

It was outside the city of Perranth when Adarlan soldiers stopped you. Knowing that your attire immediately gave you away as Orynthian, you took your partner’s hand, ready to flee for your lives back into the forest. The pain of losing your home, your family, your culture, hadn’t broken you yet. But as the man you loved held out his hand for a couple coins, yanking you toward the soldiers’ waiting arms, you shattered.

The one person you had left in this world, who you believed that you could trust, had sold you for a couple pieces of silver. He walked into the forest, never turning back. Never seeing the beatings, the unspeakable things the Adarlan soldiers did to you on the way to Endovier.

You became a slave in the salt mines, learning the language of Eyllwe from those imprisoned alongside you. One girl, a few years younger than you, was also from Terrasen. The two of you would talk and reminisce on the fields of pine trees and memories of Orynth. Her name was Celaena, and when she was taken from Endovier to the king’s castle, you weren’t sure that you could handle losing one more person in your life.

Months passed as you labored away in the salt mines, reflecting on the family and friends you’d lost, and the man who betrayed you. As you dared a look around the dirt yard, eyeing the guards as they taunted the other slaves with their whips, you became resolute in your plan for vengeance - against your former lover, against the guards, against the king.

So when you woke up that fateful morning to see the riots had begun, you grabbed your pick axe, cutting down any guard who dared to stand in your way as you ran for your freedom. You were one of the few who survived the riot, but at this point you were a shell of the human being you once were. You didn’t know light or love. You only knew survival.

Learning your lesson from before, you stole drying clothing from a nearby village and began your journey southeast towards Rifthold. You found a life in the city as a barmaid in a tavern while you slept in an abandoned apartment, biding your time while you created a plan.

The perfect opportunity fell into your lap one rainy night, that you had no idea would change your life forever. You were leaving the tavern after a long shift, your cloak tugged over your head moreso to avoid any men approaching you than to keep your hair dry.

A woman running down the street caught your eye, and you stopped to watch as she leapt into the arms of a man. Her own hood fell down, revealing reddish-blonde hair as the couple embraced for a long moment. You were about to turn away, eager to escape the rain when the woman turned, locking eyes with you.

A choked sob escaped you as you recognized her. Tanner, healthier, happy - but you would know those distinct golden-turquoise eyes anywhere. She must have recognized you too, for Celaena bolted towards you, pulling you in as you were hugged for the first time in years.

“How are you here?” she said through tears, glancing over her shoulder as three other people slowly approached behind her.

You smiled, sniffling as you wiped happy tears from your eyes. “I got out during the uprising. How are you here?”

Celaena looked towards her friends, giving a slight nod to the two males in particular before turning back to you. “Will you come with me?”

That small piece of hope inside of you sparked at her offer, and you found yourself nodding, letting yourself be led into yet another unknown. You followed the group up to an apartment, where Celaena sat you down and explained who she really was.

Your world tilted on its axis as you were filled with more hope than you had since the conquest of Terrasen, immediately swearing allegiance to Aelin, your queen. You traveled with her group to Skull’s Bay, finding your purpose in preparing Terrasen for war against Erawan, and to reestablish your home.

It was in Skull’s Bay that you met Fenrys, the most beautiful male you had ever seen. You formed an instant connection, drawn to his jovial nature. He was incessantly kind and positive despite everything that he had been through, the perfect balance and glimmer of light that you had been searching for your entire life.

And yet, all good things seem to be ripped from you. Fenrys and Aelin were taken from you, leaving a hole in your heart that could never be filled, never be rebuilt. If not for Rowan’s determination, his drive to find his wife, you might have been broken completely. But your new family gave you the strength you needed to find Aelin and Fenrys.

As a human, you didn’t know if you were capable of having a bond, but what you felt for Fenrys - how you swore you could feel his pain, how he missed you while he was with Maeve - was as close to a bond as you could imagine. It wasn’t a spark of hope that flared in your chest when you reunited with Fenrys when he escaped Maeve, it was an eternal flame. You knew that you would marry this male one day.

When that day came, and you stood beside your husband as part of Queen Aelin’s Court in front of all of Terrasen, the last person you expected to see what the man you once loved. The man who sold you into slavery, standing to the side with the rest of the courtiers.

Rage filled you, at him, at Adarlan, at yourself, at the world for allowing a man so vile to not only survive, but seemingly thrive. You hadn’t realized how much your grip on Fenrys’s hand had tightened until your husband winced - but instead of pulling away, he lifted your hand to his lips.

Pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your hand, Fenrys’s onyx eyes found yours, drawing you from those dark thoughts. “What is it, my love?” he asked, voice so soft you could melt into it.

You swallowed thickly, forbidding yourself from giving that spineless excuse for a man another look. Taking a deep breath, you pulled Fenrys in for a hug as you murmured your confession into his shirt. “You know my first love? Who sold me to Endovier? He’s here. In the blue jacket.”

Fenrys stiffened under your touch, fae instincts taking over as a low growl formed in his throat. You swore you felt the temperature in the room rise as your husband honed in on the man like a predator.

“What do you want me to do?” he whispered, voice lethally quiet as he held you close.

Looking up, you couldn’t help the genuine smile that brightened your features as you savored the feeling of this male, who you knew would do anything for you. This male who gave you the love you never dreamed was possible.

“I don’t want you to do anything. I have everything I need, and more,” you whispered back, standing up on your toes to pull him in for a kiss.

Fenrys gave you a wolfish grin, seemingly satisfied with your answer before he dared to look back into the crowd. His gaze flicked to where Rowan stood on the dais, the two in silent communication, before Rowan declared court dismissed.

“I have some matters to take care of with Rowan, and I will be back shortly. Alright, my love?” Fenrys questioned, a kiss to your temple before you nodded, heading back to the sitting room where Aelin and Lysandra shortly joined you.

Time passed as you relaxed, enjoying chocolates and discussing books with your friends when Rowan stumbled through the door, Fenrys behind him. The two males had blood staining their shirts, busted knuckles quickly healing as they noticed your concerned expression.

Clearing his throat, Fenrys brushed his blonde hair from his face as he strode towards you in an attempt at acting nonchalant.

“Fen, love, what did you do?” you drawled, arching an assessing brow as you sipped your tea.

“Nothing. Rowan and I had some matters to attend to, as I said,” he shrugged, reaching for a chocolate from the table in front of you. Understanding dawned, and you gasped.

Reaching for his bloodied hand, you pulled it towards you as you examined the wounds. “Fenrys Moonbeam! You did not hit that man, did you? I don’t need to worry about him anymore, love.”

Rowan snorted from where he lounged on the arm of Aelin’s chair. “He didn’t just hit him,” Rowan paused, green eyes focusing on you with sincerity. “And trust me, you will not have to worry about him ever again.”

Alarmed, you glanced to Lysandra in disbelief, your friend shaking her head as she lifted a chocolate to her mouth. “I wouldn’t ask them to elaborate if I were you,” she muttered, popping the dessert with a satisfied moan.

Rubbing your temples, you stood, wrapping Fenrys’s arms around you as you buried your head against his warm, toned chest.

“Are you mad?” he whispered.

With a deep sigh, you looked up, brushing back his blonde curls behind his ear as you admired his glittering black eyes, all anxiety leaving your body. “Officially speaking, I don’t condone your actions. But I love you, and whatever I did in some past life to deserve someone like you...” You trailed off, drawing the back of your hand down his cheek. “Thank you for giving me hope, Fenrys Moonbeam.”

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throneofsapphics · 5 months

Text

old faces, part two

Rowaelin x f!Reader

Summary: you and Rowan meet again after seven years, and deal with the fall-out of a secret.

Warnings: mentions of drinking, death, and grief

Word Count: ~6.4k

A/N: I'm hesitant about this one, but I’m going to throw it out here anyway. feedback is more than welcome :) thank you to everyone who gave me the idea for this! the next two parts will be coming soon!

series masterlist

Rowan counted the whirls in the ceiling, the delicate and detailed decorations of their assigned suite in the palace. A window propped open, letting a dry summer breeze in. Aelin’s taste for luxury couldn’t compare to here. A few centuries of relative peace could accomplish that. She squealed in delight at the sunken bathing pool, filled with aromatic oils, candles lighting the edges, a window showing greenery beyond. Rose petals. There were gods-damned rose petals floating on top.

Despite his best efforts, his mind drifted to you and his daughter, Ceri. He fought the ugly resentment at your secret. Your actions were justified, but If he hadn’t caught sight of you, he could’ve lived the rest of his immortal life with no idea he had a child out there. Rowan ruminated on the fear that he’d somehow failed both of you - although realistically he knew there was nothing he could’ve done. He debated how he’d make up for lost time, how to convince you to move closer, how to gain his daughter’s trust.

“What’s on your mind?” Aelin asked, turning over to prop herself up on her forearm.

“Ceri,” the words came easily, but he hesitated to say you were on his mind as well. Aelin hadn’t given him any indication she was jealous, or that this would pose a problem, but it was foreign territory for both of them.

“They should both come to Terrasen,” Aelin murmured, catching his attention. Rowan’s head snapped, eyes widened. That’s … not what he expected her to say. Maybe that Ceri should come, at least for a few months a year, but certainly not his former … lover. His wife’s lips were curled into a smile, “I enjoy her company.”

He raised his brows. Considering how she’d treated Remelle, “She’s nothing like her,” Aelin scoffed, reading the words in his eyes.

It could be merely that Aelin enjoys her company - or that she wants to keep an eye on her. As usual, he wouldn’t know until Aelin decides to tell him.

‘In another world, I could’ve built a life with her,’ the thoughts of his past echoed. It was another world now, a better world. Building a life with you didn’t mean romantic, but a life where he could co-parent his child, where he could keep both of you safe and happy. It might be a better world, but there were still threats. Still people who would take the two of you, if only to have leverage over him and Aelin. A fist clenched in his chest, pressure building, squeezing, suffocating him - if anything happened to the two of you -

“We’ll keep them safe,” Aelin shifted and ran her hand up and down his arm.

‘We can figure it out tomorrow,’ Rowan had said. Tomorrow came in the form of a ghost from your past.

“It wasn’t wise for them to come again,” the blonde-haired emissary explained. Now bloodsworn to the Queen of Terrasen. Aelin, she insisted you call her.

You recognized Fenrys instantly. The two of you used to frequent enough of the same taverns and circles to know each other by name. The same recognition had flashed in his eyes, mouth turning up at one corner as he greeted you.

You blinked, dragging yourself back into the present. “So they sent you as a messenger?”

He snorted, “something like that,” and paused, onyx eyes assessing you as you fought the urge to squirm in your seat.

“And the message?”

“They want you to consider … relocating, for your safety. For both of you.”

His eyes flicked to the glass door, where your daughter played in the small garden beyond. There had already been murmurs, more inquiries about your daughter, more curious gazes.

“I’ve considered moving to Eyllwe.” You already spoke the language, and the climate was similar. It would be an easy adjustment, and closer to Terrasen.

Fenrys’s mouth parted, you’d surprised him with your answer, and it took him a few moments to reply. “We were hoping you’d consider moving to Terrasen.”

Exactly what you suspected. But, you had your daughter, Ceri’s, best interests in mind. Would she want to grow up under constant surveillance, for her every move to be watched, the pressure of her relation to the crown - even if she’s not in line for it. Possible slurs and taunts about the circumstances of her birth.

“Anywhere you go, she’ll eventually be recognized,” Fenrys said, as if he was reading your mind. Your knuckles whitened as you clenched your fists. He eyed you warily, sensing the protective instincts flaring inside you. “We’re not saying you need to move to Orynth, there’s other places if you want some distance from …”

Fenrys didn’t need to finish the sentence.

“Right,” you cleared your throat and stood. “I need to think about it.”

“Of course,” he recognized your not-so-subtle dismissal, and stood with you, depositing a roll of paper on the table. Your eyes narrowed, flicking between the scroll and him. Fenrys shot a wink at you, motioning for you to lead the way to the exit.

You paused at the gate, fingers curling around the latch, turning over your shoulder to look at him. “It’s good to see you.”

Fenrys understood the unspoken word, free.

“And you,” his throat bobbed, “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

The gate swung open, and he disappeared, footsteps silent as he rounded the corner. You took up a position on the bench, watching as the sun lowered, leaving a beautiful array of gold and pink hues, absorbing remaining warmth. Would Terrasen have sunsets like this? Gods, it sounded like you already made up your mind.

“Who was that?” Ceri chirped. She’d chosen to stay out of his way after the brief introduction, sending shy glances from the garden, and retreating when he left. You wouldn’t push her to spend time around someone if she didn’t want to.

“An old … acquaintance,”

“What’s an acquaintance?” She asked, the word foreign on her tongue as she drew out the syllables.

“Someone you know, but not a close friend.”

She nodded solemnly, as if this was crucial knowledge, and you couldn’t fight your smile.

“The Queen said we’re her friends now,” she bounced on her toes. We’re. Not just her, but the two of you. A small warmth bloomed in your chest, sobering as you realized the extra dangers of a friendship like that.

“That’s lovely.” She paused, remembering something, and sprinted inside without another word.

Ceri returned, holding a paper out for your viewing. “I want to give this to her.”

A drawing. Gray jagged mountains, dense forests, little rivers and valleys. The landscape had surprising detail, and nothing like Antica or anywhere you remembered showing her.

“I saw that in my dreams,” her small finger traced the outline of the mountain. Terrasen, the place popped into your mind, based on descriptions you read in books. Dreams, she was dreaming of a place she’d never seen.

“We’ll find a way to get this to her,” the words came out gently. At a young age, you lost faith in any kind of divine intervention, but this … this was too coincidental to ignore. A chill ran down your spine, only partially from the breeze. The sun had fallen, a gray sort of dusk replacing the orange hues from earlier, and you made your way back inside.

Your hands shook as you cut the seal on the scroll Fenrys left, unfurling the message. A list of different places in Terrasen; Perranth, Caraverre and Allsbrook. Promises the two of you would be taken care of, that you’d be able to find work, that there would be other children and day schools for Ceri.

But, this wasn’t a demand or order, it was a plea and offer. Even extended to your friend, Reya and her daughter Ani - Ceri’s best friend, if they showed desire to relocate as well. Ani would follow Ceri if her mother let her, and Reya expressed desire to visit Terrasen before. Reya’s family that had taken you in over the years. The day you arrived in Antica, just hours after you’d brushed the dust from the gate, an equally pregnant Reya sought you out, informing you your mothers had been friends - and because of that you were obligated to as well.

The Queen and King were practically bending over backwards to try and get you to come … or, they were genuine and wanted both you and your daughter somewhere safe.

Silver hair swished back and forth as she sat at her desk again, pencil already in hand - sketching out another drawing. If this was going to happen, you needed her to agree first. After you spoke to Fenrys tomorrow you’d bring it up, and the two of you would make the decision together.

“I don’t want to go,” her small foot stomped on the ground.

“Ani would come with us.” You weren’t surprised your friend agreed easily. “Your father lives there as well.”

Ceri put the pieces together quickly, asking for confirmation the day after they showed up on your doorstep.

“You said my father was a Fae warrior and royal,” she planted her hands on her hips. You nodded, pulling two chairs out, motioning for her to sit. Before now, she’d accepted your explanation - not asking for a name. The day would come eventually, but you thought you had a few more years. “He’s the King of Terrasen.”

“Yes,” you said slowly, letting her carry out her train of thought.

“Does that make me a princess?” You frowned as she spit out the word.

“Do you want to be a princess?” Her head shook rapidly and she scrunched her nose. Your mouth indented at one side. “Then you don’t need to be a princess.”

“If we move there, I have to be a princess, that’s what Ani said.” Her green eyes filled with tears, and you gently grasped each of her shoulders, crouching to be at eye level.

“Ani was wrong,” and you need to tell her mother to keep her daughter’s mouth shut, “you don’t have to be anything you don’t want to.” You brushed away one of the stray tears, opening your arms up to let her launch into you, running your fingers through the silver strands.

“But,” you murmured as she dug her face into your shoulder. “It’s not safe here for us, anymore.”

The words sliced into your chest - breaking away a small piece of you. The sanctuary you sought years ago, no longer a safe place to be. Just this afternoon you’d spotted two lurkers across the street, watching your home and the surrounding street. You tugged Ceri beyond the gate, slamming the wards in place, re-examining the marks etched in stone for any weaknesses or fading.

“It’s all his fault.”

No, no, no. This is not how you wanted the conversation to go. “It’s not,” you whispered, pulling her back. Her face was red, cheeks flushed in anger. “It’s not your father’s fault there’s bad people out there.”

“Why didn’t he stay with us?”

The animosity in her tone made your stomach turn. This conversation was coming, you knew it, and possibly long overdue.

“Your father used to serve a bad Queen, Maeve,” you started the hair on your arms standing up, “and I left, when I knew I was pregnant with you. To keep both of us safe. I didn’t tell him,” Her mouth parted to ask ‘why,’ but you held up a hand. “If he knew of us, he could have been forced to tell the Queen, who could do bad things to us or make him do bad things.” Her brows furrowed, and you wondered if you were butchering this explanation, but you were already started - you might as well keep going.

“I know he would have done his best to protect us.” You did know that, you knew the sense of loyalty Fae held to their children, the fierce protectiveness - you had it yourself. “But he was … bound to do her bidding, and if she ordered him to hurt us, he would have no choice. She may have been able to use you through him, and that’s a risk I'll never take.”

“Maeve is dead,” she stated, more to herself, but you nodded anyway. All of the children knew the story of the battle of Terrasen, of the war fought in Erilea. Reya was a widow, her husband died in Orynth, along with her brother. “Good,” her little fists clenched, shoulders rolling back. Maybe that protective sense extended to her Rowan, whether she knew it or not.

You cautioned her not to bring Maeve up to either of them, to any of the people from Terrasen, and that they would tell her if they wished to. There wasn’t a need to dig up fresh wounds.

One week left of the Royal visit. One week to try and figure this hellstorm out. Ceri’s reluctance transferred into your own. Perhaps Eyllwe would be a better option.

Fenrys came by in the early hours, letting you know Rowan, Aelin, and he would stop by later that night, after the sun had set. You promised a late dinner, and now grew to regret that promise considering how much you were panicking over the food. Keep it simple, your mothers words echoed in your mind as you put together the few heritage dishes she taught you, squinting to read the scribbled recipes, worn down by time and travel.

You felt more than heard their approach, the old magic swirling in the air, and the small ring of the ward’s alarms. Ceri followed you through the garden, less shy than last time, but still reserved as she half hid behind you.

The wards were up. Directly after the royals visited your home, you activated them. Only those you wanted to see the house or its inhabitants could.

Your eyes scanned the street beyond them, spotting two figures watching your house intently. They couldn’t see anything beyond the normal facade, the garden exactly as it’s supposed to be. Magic hid your figures, and the ones right before the gate. Did they catch their approach?

Still, you let out a low breath, focusing on keeping your panic down as you willed the magic to bend enough to let them inside.

“Those are clever wards,” the Queen commented, fingers tracing over the wyrdmarks carved in the pale stone walls.

“Thank you,” you forced a smile on your face as your hand shook lightly, gaze still on the figures across the street. This was the first time they stayed past sunset.

“Have they been bothering you?”

Aelin’s voice was low, but you recognized the edge of danger as she followed your gaze.

“They can’t see us.” A non answer, but before she could question further, you waved them inside. Rowan pinned you with a look that said he had more questions. Later, you mouthed. When Ceri was sound asleep.

Rowan watched you and Aelin go back and forth, discussing books - he’d forgotten how much you loved to read, debating who the better romance author was, the best and worst tropes. Things like; third act break-up, miscommunication, enemies to lovers, love triangles.

His attention switched back to his daughter, who had alternated questioning both him and Fenrys about everything, and especially magic. Each question she asked, he answered the best he could, and asked her more in turn. Rowan wanted to know it all, wanted to catch up on the seven missed years, and to catch up with you as well, to learn how your life had been, what raising Ceri was like, and how to be a worthy father.

“How did you learn Wydrmarks?” Aelin asked.

“My mother taught me,” you smiled at her, like Aelin was dredging up a pleasant memory. “I still have the books. She lived in Eyllwe for a while.”

Aelin asked her a question, in what he assumed was Eyllwe, and you joined in. Then, Ceri did, already speaking another language this young. That makes three he knows of; Eyllwe, Halha, and the common tongue. She inherited her mother’s intelligence, that’s for certain.

The three of you had a language you could speak in - one he couldn’t understand. Something told him that could lead to trouble. Fenrys caught his gaze over the table, smirking.

After dinner, he was informed his daughter had a gift for him and Aelin. Two drawings - of Terrasen. She was talented, especially for her age. The detail is what surprised him - vivid, as if she’d seen it with her own eyes.

“They’re from my dreams,” she piped up - and answered his question.

Behind her, your eyebrows drew together, teeth chewing on your bottom lip. Catching his gaze, you offered a half smile. An attempt at nonchalance, one he saw right through. You may have changed, but you still wore your emotions for everyone to see.

“They’re wonderful, thank you.” Aelin reached out, squeezing her shoulder.

He looked back down at his drawing, and spotted four stick-like figures, hastily added in a corner, the wax of the pencil fresher. She’d added them recently, maybe even an hour ago. The heights and hair colors made them easily recognizable, and filled him with some hope.

“It’s beautiful,” he finally looked up at her - into eyes identical to his own, but unburdened and radiant with joy. Gods, he’d do anything to protect that.

Ceri yawned, attempting to muffle it with her fist, blinking rapidly to try and keep her eyes open.

“Time for bed,” you announced, and she turned to you - a small pout forming, but yawned again and her shoulders drooped in resignation.

“Goodnight,” she said to the three guests, and dragged her feet down the hall. Five minutes later, you tucked the thin sheet up to her shoulders, making sure the window was propped to let in the breeze, pressed a small kiss to her forehead, and snicked the door closed - her breaths already evening out into a deep sleep.

They remained right where she left them - at the table. Rowan looked up from where he’d been studying his gift. “She’s talented.”

You nodded absentmindedly, sliding back into your seat next to Aelin. It had surprised and intimidated you when she claimed the seat by your left. But, she’d put you at ease quickly, easily guiding the conversation between your mutual interests.

“I never showed her pictures,” you cleared your throat. “But .. I'm assuming they’re of Terrasen.” Three nods.

“Have you made a decision about moving?” Fenrys braced his forearms on the table, getting right to the point. The others stiffened, but brimmed with anticipation.

“We’ve discussed it,” you tapped your fingers against the table. Honesty is the best way to go. “My friend said she’d go, but Ceri is … reluctant.”

“Have you tried to convince her?” Rowan replied harshly, a shadow of guilt following; as much of an apology as you’d get for his tone and implication. Not that you were owed one, you’d probably feel the same in his situation.

“This is her home, this is where her friends are, it’s not surprising she’s reluctant to leave,” you ran a hand over your face. And … you knew Antica was safer, but generational prejudices took time to undo. Terrasen used to be a safe place for Fae, interrupted by a decade of terror. It would take time to rebuild that legacy.

“She’s … open to the idea of a trial. To go for a few months, and see if she likes it. I promised her I won’t force her to stay if she doesn’t.” Years of building an iron will kept you from cowering under their stares. That was the only compromise you managed to come to. The next barb shot at Rowan before your filter caught up with you, “she inherited your stubbornness.”

That little comment lightened the mood, because Fenrys laughed, Aelin snorted, and you could’ve sworn a small smile graced over Rowan’s face. In all honesty, your daughter was a mini-Rowan in female form.

“I pity you,” Fenrys murmured, ignoring Rowan’s glare.

“I heard that,” a small voice chirped from the corner, and you groaned.

“She’s also quite skilled at faking her sleep, and eavesdropping” turning over your shoulder, you fixed her with a glare, and she looked completely unapologetic. You noted the natural breeze flowing through the window, strong enough it would’ve blown away her scent - and she managed to get close enough for her immortal hearing to let her eavesdrop without detection. “Did you hear everything?”

“Only about the trial visit.” You couldn’t scent a lie, and motioned for her to come to the table. If you’re speaking of her, she may as well be invited, and now that she knows - you doubt she’ll go back to sleep anytime soon. She slid into the chair next to her father, and you gave him a look to say; your turn. You did your part, he can do his best to convince her now.

Aelin and Rowan patiently answered all of her questions; is it safe? - yes, is it cold? - yes, are there ghost leopards? - yes, are they friendly? - Fenrys choked, and Aelin gave a firm no.

“Then,” Ceri cleared her throat. “Why should I visit? You’re not making it sound very nice.”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you knew diplomacy was not in her future. Aelin spoke of the snow, sledding, the magic of the Oakwald forest, giant wolves, the Staghorns, learning to control her magic - that caught her attention, and by the gleam in her eyes; you knew you’d be moving to Terrasen, at least temporarily. There’s a reason Aelin makes a great Queen.

“You and your mother can choose where you’d like to live, if you come.” Aelin finished. Rowan’s jaw clenched, barely perceptible.

“What will she do with her work?”

“That’s for me to worry about,” you reached over the table, placing your hand over her own. She looked at you skeptically, but nodded. You’ve saved enough money over the years to keep the two of you comfortable for a decade or two - with careful spending.

“Your mother is talented enough to find work wherever she goes,” Rowan added, sending you a knowing look.

She tapped a finger against her cheek, looking between the four of you. “I agree,” she announced, and you watched Rowan - watched how his face lit up. Saw Aelin watching you, watch him. You tore your gaze away. There’s nothing left between the two of you, and you don’t want to give her any reason to think there might be. Even if you’d found each other at the right time, she was the perfect match for him. It only took hours in their presence to realize that. It filled you with a different sort of happiness; after everything he went through - he deserved the best love could offer.

The clock behind you chimed, you glanced over your shoulder - only ten, but you saw Ceri yawning, again, her eyes starting to droop with sleep.

“Are you ready to sleep now?” you asked her quietly. Maybe if you gave her the decision - she might stay in bed this time. She nodded, rounding the table and grabbing your hand. You stood with her, but she paused to look at Rowan.

“Will you tell me a story?” Rowan blinked once, but he agreed and stood, trailing after the two of you towards the bedroom. You sent a silent prayer to the Gods he’d given one that wouldn’t give her nightmares.

Against every instinct, you let them have some privacy after Ceri gave you a small nod. It was laughable that your daughter was giving you reassurance. Not quite ready to face Aelin and Fenrys alone, you leant stopped at the end of the hallway, leaning against the wall. Rowan’s hushed tones floated through the open space, low enough you couldn’t quite understand the words.

“Y/n,” Aelin’s voice came through. Turning your head, you found her standing a few paces away. Either you were deep in thought, or she’s especially silent on her feet. Maybe both. Aelin tilted her head, indicating for you to follow. Fighting the scowl threatening to emerge - at the idea of obeying someone's orders in your own home, you pushed from the wall, leading her towards the sitting room. Dishes could come later, for now you let your body melt into your favorite armchair, a perfect view of the street beyond.

“Have there been many … lurkers?”

It would be so easy to lie, but she’d see right through those, and if you were going to co-parent … that’s not the foot you wanted to get off on. “Yes, a few each day.”

“Have they approached you?” Fenrys cut in quickly.

“They can’t see us, with the wards.” Aelin murmured something that sounded like; that’s what I thought, but you were distracted - glancing out the large window to see if they were still there. Sure enough, two shadowy figures remained, lurking across the street.

“How do your wards work?” Fenrys switched the line of questioning.

You studied him for a moment before answering. “I come from a family of magic wielders, and the lingering magic around the house built up over the decades. I used the Wyrdmarks to … direct it. It acts on my intentions, for lack of a better word. I’m not actively using my magic to surround the area” He looked at you, like he was prompting for more detail, “In all honesty, it would take me hours to explain each detail.”

“I’d love to hear it some day,” Aelin added, face light and smiling, but there was still a tension in her shoulders.

“Some day,” you promised. Maybe in the near future, maybe far away. If you ended up settling somewhere in Terrasen, you’d find a home already exposed to magic - maybe previously owned by magic wielders.

“It’s impressive,” you heard Rowan rounding the corner. Aelin had chosen the spot on the couch next to Fenrys, leaving Rowan to sit in the other armchair. Not quite as comfortable as yours. “What are you going to do about them?” He jerked his chin towards the window.

“There’s not much I can do,” you admitted. “They haven’t proven to be a threat, haven’t approached us.”

“Has anyone … approached you?” He leaned back, and you saw right through his attempt to look nonchalant.

“I’ve had a few questions about her, as expected.”

“What did you say?” Rowan pushed.

“What I’ve always said, that I don’t quite remember.” He let out a small grunt at her answer. It was the right thing to say, he knew that, even though it unsettled him. He wanted the world to know the two of you - you didn’t deserve to be some kind of dirty secret, he was proud to have Ceri as a child. And you as a … friend.

“You do have an army of cousins,” Fenrys commented wryly, shooting a knowing glance towards, and you rolled your eyes. It’s common knowledge there’s plenty of Whitethorns in Doranelle. Aelin was watching the interaction with keen interest.

Do they know each other? She asked, meeting his eyes.

Yes.

“How do you know each other?” Aelin questioned.

“We ran in the same circles.”

“Drinking circles,” Fenrys clarified. “You used to drink most males under the table.”

“That’s a thing of the past.”

“You never get a night out?” He recognized the glint in the male's eyes - if you ended up in Orynth, Fenrys might drag you out for a night to celebrate. It would be good for you; ‘you don’t know what’s good for her anymore,’ the voice in his head countered.

“Night’s in mostly. I try to keep a low profile.” Another way you changed. The old you never turned down a chance to go out - to feed off the energy of a crowd.

It was crowded, one of the more famous bards in town for the night. Crowded enough the two of you could slip in against the wall, hood disguising your features, Rowan’s magic redirecting your scents. Nights out together were rare. Rowan watched as the male sang, one of those songs where the crowd would join in - each line growing dirtier as it went on. You knew every one, and countered his incredulous looks with an unabashed smile, not one bit of shame.

He pushed himself back to the present. The low profile you built was gone now. You both knew it. Before, it’s unlikely anyone but the royals or courtiers recognized your resemblance. But with their visit - it was as clear as day.

“The truth will come out, eventually.” For once, he mentally thanked Fenrys for opening his mouth.

“I know,” there was quiet resignation in your voice. Mourning, almost. Mourning a life under the radar, a life without him. Rowan pushed the thoughts out of his mind, not a life without him - a life of peace. Whether you liked it or not, now that he knew he had a daughter, he had an obligation to the two of you. Beyond obligation, he had a desire to be part of her life, and that meant being part of yours as well.

“Will your friend join you in Terrasen?” Fenrys questioned.

“Reya … she’s said yes. She -” you choked on your words, on the memory, clearing your throat, “her husband and brother served with the Darghan and died in Orynth,” you were surprised your voice remained steady, “she’s wished to visit for some time now.”

You tried to hide it, but he still saw the one small tear welling in the corner of your left eye. Just one.

Rowan read between the lines. He recalled some of his conversations with Sartaq after the battle. He told, in hushed tones, of Arundin, the mountain where suldes, the spears all Darghan warriors carried, were planted after their deaths. He said their souls would roam with the wind, and maybe Reya was searching for theirs, searching for closure.

It was like someone threw a haze over the room with your words, the shift poignant, dark silence radiating through the room. They were good men, and Reya wanted to find closure. You were there through it all, through the news of their deaths, felt the loss and suffering along with their family.

A shadow crossed through Aelin’s eyes, a hint of guilt flooding over her features, and you felt the need to do something about it.

“Ani, her daughter,” you continued, “is very proud of her father, and so is Reya and her family. Before he left, he told us that he was proud to fight for a better world.” Aelin seemed to lighten at that, so you continued. “You’re probably tired of hearing things like this, but we’re all proud our country fought for you.”

You’re not certain why, but you wanted her to know that - to assure her, in case she hadn’t heard it before, or heard it often enough. Based on the grateful look Rowan shot your way, maybe she hadn’t.

“Were you here, during the war?” Fenrys asked.

“I was, my mediocre healing skills came in handy. There was still a city to run,” your mouth curved at the corners. The Torre had been all but emptied, and there was still a city to run. Some of the tension left the room, thank the Gods.

The moon had shifted, full and bright, and some of the light flowed through the room. Full moons, time for transformation. Fitting, considering you were about to uproot everything you’ve known for the last seven and a half years.

“How soon can you be ready to leave?” Rowan asked. Aelin cut a sharp look at him, but he ignored her. Maybe he could’ve phrased that better.

A soft laugh left you. Different, even your laugh was different, filled with a weariness that wasn’t there before. “We’ve always been ready to go at a moment's notice, but I’d say two weeks or so to wrap everything up.”

One week, they’d be leaving in a week. There’s no reasonable way for them to extend their visit, not without turning more heads. One week he’d be away from Ceri and you, a whole seven days where he couldn’t be there to protect the two of you. A week left in a city - with a target firmly on your backs.

“We’ll make travel arrangements for you,” Aelin’s voice cut off his thinking.

“There’s no need-”

“I’ll already be leaving at the same time, it’s no bother.” Fenrys interrupted you. Right, he’d be in the city an extra week to wrap up some negotiations. Rowan felt slightly better now. He’ll feel even better once he threatens Fenrys within an inch of his life. You narrowed your eyes at Fenrys, for the interruption, and he gave an unapologetic shrug and changed the subject “Has Ceri ever been on the water?”

“Not the open sea,” you grimaced. “I’ll make sure we have something for nausea.”

What are you thinking? Aelin caught his eye as you and Fenrys went back and forth, debating the best remedies for nausea. At least he could avoid your light-hearted bickering. There’s potential for the two of you to be insufferable together.

Once we leave, people will be more motivated to act. That tightness gripped his chest again.

Aelin frowned; I know. I’ll speak to Nesryn.

Y/n won’t like that, he cautioned, even though he didn’t particularly care what you thought of it. When it came to your safety, he’d deal with your irritation.

Nesryn can keep a secret. The woman had been a rebel.

Are you going to tell y/n?

Too nervous? Aelin teased him, and his nostrils flared. Fine, he could tell you.

He caught your eye, and waited til your attention directed to him. “Once we leave, there will be a bigger target on your back.”

“I’m aware,” you crossed your arms, “I do have a functioning mind.” His brows flicked, at least you still had some thorns.

“It would be wise to have someone aware of who Ceri is,” Rowan went on as you looked ready to interrupt - to tell him off, no doubt, “aware of who she is to me, and that the two of you would be a valuable hostage.”

He watched as you visibly stiffened, eyes hardening. Rowan knows you were aware of the dangers, but hearing them aloud would put another sense of urgency.

“We have a friend, who can have someone look out for you - until it’s time for you to leave.” He could read the words on your tongue; I can protect us. “I know you’re capable,” he assured you, “but it’s not a weakness to have an extra set of eyes on you and Ceri.”

Rowan watched as you came to the conclusion - watched how you��d swallow any kind of pride or ego for your daughter, for his daughter. He would’ve asked Nesryn to keep an eye out regardless, but having you aware and in agreement made it easier.

“Who’s your friend?”

“Nesryn Faliq.” The future Empress.

The whites of your eyes shone, even as you said, “I shouldn’t be surprised.” Your fist came up to your mouth, stifling a yawn. The clock chimed again. Eleven already.

“We’d best get back,” Fenrys pushed himself up from the couch, Aelin followed quickly, giving the two of you a moment of privacy.

“It means .. everything, to me, that you and Ceri are willing to come to Terrasen.”

“It’s a trial, remember?” You teased him. One year, that’s what Ceri, and by extension you, had agreed to. They had one year to convince Ceri to stay permanently.

“I know,” he nudged you with his elbow, drawing out another one of your laughs. Lighter this time. He felt himself falling back into the old companionship, the easy way the two of you had with each other. You’d been something between a friend and a lover. The closest thing he could come to friendship, while serving under Maeve. Temporary, but here you were seven years later - now to be a permanent fixture in his life.

Aelin and Fenrys waited for them at the gates, the two lurkers were gone now. Good, he might’ve done something impulsive otherwise, something that may have damaged relations between both countries. Fae may have few laws against murder, but that’s not always the case for the rest of the world.

“Will you be back before the end of the week?”

“I don’t think so,” Aelin said. “It’ll draw more suspicion if we’re seen coming here.”

If Rowan could, he’d spend the rest of his time here getting to know the two of you.

“I’ll be back,” Fenrys shot a wink at you. “You’ll see plenty of these two in the next year.”

He found himself studying you, again. You didn’t look disappointed they wouldn’t be back, but not relieved either. He didn’t know how to feel about it, how he wanted you to react. It would be too easy for this to be simple.

Aelin and Rowan sought out Nesryn and Sartaq early the next morning.

“We’ve just learned Rowan has a daughter in the city.” Aelin got right to the point. “She and her mother are moving to Terrassen in two weeks.”

Midnight eyes shot to Sartaq, who’s mouth tightened. They suspected something, but hadn’t known for certain.

“There was suspicion of someone related to the Whitethorns living here,” he said, “but we never confirmed it. Her mother is known to us, of course.”

Of course. Maybe you weren’t quite as low profile as you thought.

“Her work.” Nesryn clarified. “Although she’s done a good job flying under the radar.”

“Not good enough for my spies,” Sartaq added.

“After our visit, it’ll be too obvious. It puts a target on their backs.”

“We’ll keep our eyes on her. Discrete ones.” Nesryn said, before she could specify her ask for help.

“Thank you,” Rowan said, and she could hear the relief in his tone, sensing the small tension leaving him through the bond.

“You’d do the same for us,” Sartaq answered. They were allies, and the Khaganate had already done so much for them, throughout the whole war. Without a doubt, she knew she’d do the same. Rowan went on to describe what he’d seen, detailed descriptions of the figures across the street, and a brief description of the wards she has up - of how they hide you. Nesryn gave a nod of appreciation, and Sartaq still didn’t seem surprised. Aelin remembered Chaol telling her he had an extensive network of spies.

The conversation left them in a much better mood, easing some of their nerves. Aelin barely knew Ceri, or you, but already felt fiercely protective. Maybe even as much as Rowan did. She’d never replace you, she didn’t want to, but she’d be a part of your lives no matter how the cards fell.

#throne of glass fic #rowaelin x reader #rowan whitethorn x reader #aelin galathynius x reader #poly!rowaelin x reader #rowaelin x y/n #poly!rowaelin x y/n #rowan whitethorn x y/n #aelin galathynius x y/n #throne of glass x reader

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leiawritesstories · 11 months

Text

little princess

HAPPY BIRTHDAY EZRA!!!!!! @rowanaelinn you are such an incredibly talented writer and wonderful friend and i'm so glad we share this crazy fandom space <3 here's some fluffs for you❤️❤️

word count: 827

warnings: none, i swear

Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eleven hours.

He’d been pacing outside that door for eleven godsdamned hours. A track showed in the carpet. The outrageously expensive rug Aelin had carefully selected and imported from Eyllwe.

“Aelin’s going to castrate you for that, you know.”

Rowan whirled at the voice, finding Lorcan casually standing at the end of the hall, observing his brother warrior with arched brow.

“For the track?” He shrugged. “Either of us can fix it with a flick of a finger. What she doesn’t know won’t bother her.”

“You forget that she’s in no condition to forgi—”

“I know what godsdamned condition my mate is in, thank you, and if you came here to snark at me, you can shove it up your a—” His sentence cut off abruptly as Lorcan called up whatever godsdamned power he controlled and whisked the two of them out to the training yard.

“You prick! I’m supposed to be there!”

“You’re supposed to NOT be adding worry to your mate’s labor, dammit! And pacing your big ugly boots into her expensive carpeting isn’t the way to do that. Besides, I’m willing to bet you were practically screaming your worry down the bond, which really does absolutely nothing good.”

“At least I have big boots,” smirked Rowan, glancing pointedly down at Lorcan’s everyday shoes.

Lorcan’s face split into a positively feral smirk. “Five hundred years and you still can’t accept that my sword has always been broader."

Whatever few remaining threads Rowan had tying his self-control together snapped. And he launched himself at his brother with a growl of pure Doranellian rage. Lorcan smirked, dodged his barreling attack, and kicked the back of his knee. Rowan grunted, catching himself before he could fall, turned, and let his fists fly. Lorcan met him blow for blow, jab for jab, that infuriating smirk of his never fading. Through the mire of stress and worry clouding his mind, Rowan realized that Lorcan was giving him what he needed: an outlet for everything overloading his brain.

Thank me later, brother, the dark-haired male's vicious grin said.

Rowan grunted. So damn full of yourself whenever you think you did something useful. He brought his flagging defenses back up and landed a punishing hit to Lorcan’s stomach. The older male grunted, backhanded him, and kicked his legs out from under him. Swearing viciously, Rowan hit the dirt of the training ring with a thud. Lorcan tackled him, promptly rolled him over, and put him in a headlock. Pinned, he slapped the ground three times, yielding, a significant chunk of his stress gone.

“Who would have known that getting your ass kicked would help you not to worry about your lovely, strong mate?” Lorcan inquired.

“Says the one who knocked Elide up first.”

“Quite. And look how well that turned out.”

Rowan snorted a laugh. “Cal likes me best.”

Lorcan rolled his eyes. "You're just saying that because he hasn't shit his diaper all over you or spit up all over your clean fucking clothes."

"Ah, the perils of fatherhood."

Lorcan swatted him. "We'll see who's joking when--" Elide appeared from an upstairs window and motioned with her hand. Instantly, the two males were on their feet again, racing for the doors.

“Whitethorn?” Concern creased Lorcan's normally scowling face.

“What.” Nerves and anxiety nearly overpowered Rowan's better judgment; he really hadn't meant to snap at Lorcan like that.

“Gods above, calm down.”

“I am calm!”

“In that case, it’s time to go home. Aelin and your baby are—” Rowan was gone before Lorcan finished his sentence. Lorcan rolled his eyes and followed him into the manor.

Back in the queen and king's hallway, Rowan paused before the door leading into Aelin’s room. The sharp medicinal smells from earlier were gone. His wife’s scent still hinted at pain, but also…joy. Such unending joy. He lifted his hand to knock, but the door swung open before he could. Standing there, grinning, were Elide and Lysandra.

“Ready to meet your little princess?”

Rowan gulped, fighting back unexpected tears. Princess.

Yes, you big oaf, a daughter. Aelin’s voice. Exhausted, but not lacking that wry humor of hers.

Rowan crossed the room to his mate and the bundle of blankets in her arms. His daughter. Their daughter. Asleep, he couldn’t tell her eye color, but the little one's face—it was a tiny, perfect mirror of Aelin's own. He slumped onto the bed beside her, overcome with awe and fear and a hundred other emotions.

“May I...hold her?” His words were thick with unshed tears. Aelin smiled softly, tiredly, and placed their baby girl in his arms. Rowan looked down into the face of his daughter. And cried, overcome with the emotions of holding the baby he never dreamed of having. The first of many, he hoped. When his eyes cleared, he sniffled and looked to his mate.

“What are we naming her?”

Aelin's exhausted face lifted with quiet joy. "Alanna Evalin Whitethorn Galathynius."

Utterly perfect.

~~~

tags:

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@backtobl4ck

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@chronicchthonic14

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

#my writing #rowaelin #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #little canon fluffs #happy happy birthday ez!!!#love you ezra

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hanyuleum · 5 months

Text

Hey it's been a year since Marcy's Journal released!

These are the last of my Marcy shots from the sponsorship that I'm gonna share

Photos taken by @light-of-eyllwe Edits me Wig @ardawigs Black Inigo

#marcy wu #amphibia #cosplay #marcy's journal

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theweeklydiscourse · 7 months

Note

i'd be fascinated in seeing you write discourse on throne of glass, it really has a lot to unpack... i love your acotar commentary!

Now that’s an interesting idea! I got halfway through the first book in 2020 before I got distracted by another series, but I picked it up again in 2021 and read all the way to the end in rapid succession. I’d heard about Sarah J Maas’s writing before and I was exposed to some divided opinions on the qualities of her writing. Some hated it, but most people loved it and I decided to read the series so I could draw my own conclusions about the state of her books.

Long story short, I did not like her writing. But, there are certain aspects of TOG that make me prefer it to ACOTAR.

But, I read the series all the way through so I could make an informed assessment and critique of her writing without getting things wrong. Like you said, there is a lot to unpack and if I decide to reread the series at some point I’ll definitely write about it. Off the top of my head I have about three things in the TOG series (in no particular order) that have captured my attention.

1) The books in the Throne of Glass series should not be nearly as long as they are

One of my professors always told us to make every word count in our essays to create concise writing and I wish Maas had an editor who would tell her the same thing. Many of the books in TOG are bloated and could be improved if Maas would just cut down on some of the material in her books. There’s a lot of unnecessary fluff that pads out nearly all of her novels and it makes the pacing of the story very poor and uneven. This is particularly noticeable in her habit of creating a vast wasteland of nothing for chapters and chapters before finally reaching the REAL action (at which point the book ends and the reader questions their life choices)

2) The racism in TOG is impossible to overlook

I can’t even discuss Nehemia’s death without raging. Describing the way she died feels so surreal, it’s like Maas shoved her hand into a glass jar of racist tropes and pulled out a handful of them. Another detail I distinctly remember from reading Heir of Fire was when I was reading Sorsha’s description for the first time and noticed that she had “tan” skin and looked like she was of Eyllwe descent and I thought: she’s going to die, isn’t she? AND LO AND BEHOLD, yet another WOC killed in the most brutal way imaginable to advance the character arcs and angst of white characters. I got downvoted to hell on the Throne of Glass subreddit for pointing it out, but it must be said.

3) I was disappointed by Manorian.

This particular grievance is something I’ll elaborate more on in the future because to me, it represents a larger problem in Maas’s writing that should be addressed more often. I intend to write about his more in the future.

Also thank you so much for the compliment! I’m so glad that you liked my commentary on ACOTAR :)

#throne of glass #heir of fire #Queen of midnight #dorian havilliard #manon blackbeak #manorian #nehemiah #sjm critical

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princessyuwa · 2 months

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Nehemia x Fenrys - AU where Crown Princess Nehemia never dies for Aelin. After the war against Maeve, Terrasen's handsome ambassador who preferred the bachelor life falls hard for the Light of Eyllwe 😉.

#dress up games #throne of glass #nehemia ytger #nehemia deserved better #fenrys moonbeam #fenrys x nehemia

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therealmissmagoo2 · 4 months

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Nehemia Ytger - Princess of Eyllwe, The Light of Eyllwe - Throne of Glass series by Sarah J. Maas

Tray Files Skin Eyes Irene Eyelash Remover Eyelashes Part 1, Right Lip Mole Eyebrows Lip Preset N24 Teeth Normal Nose Preset 4f Hair Base Chromatic Collection 2 Hair 1 B Hair 2 Lipstick Crema Eyeliner Lioness Eyeshadow Apple Nails 1 Nails 2 Shoes

Look 1: Dress Earrings Necklace Look 2: Dress Arm Bands Jewels of the Pharaoh 2 Look 3: Dress

DM me for 🔒

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throneofrayllum · 4 months

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Accents

Throne of Glass accents

Adarlan- British. Every time Dorian or Choal speak all i hear is a british accent

Terrasen- American. But depending on the location some people have an american accent that has a more british sound

Aelin and Elide have a more british sounding accent but Ren for example has a more general accent

Eyllwe - South African :)

Witches- Ironteeth witches have a Russian sounding accent while Crochans have a Irish sounding accent

Fenharrow- French. Yes . Yrene has a french accent. Just when i thought i couldn't love her more

The wastes/Briarcliff - Southern (even though its not in the south)

Southern Continent- Middle Eastern accent. The accent tends to be strongest amoung those who livein Antica and the rukhin

Wendlyn- Austrailian :)

Fae in wendlyn- Scottish. Rowan with a scottish accent omgggg. Also Fenrys accent would be the best thing ever haha

#throne of glass #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #terrasen #adarlan

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rufousnmacska · 1 year

Note

Got any random manorian headcanons? I like how you write them!

Thank you! 🥰

Here’s a scene that’s been playing out in my head recently that doesn’t fit into any of my wips. I just typed it out on my phone without much editing so please forgive any errors.

I hope you like it! 💙💛💙💛

***

Orynth was months ago, and yet to Manon it sometimes felt like days. The ring of clashing swords, the smell of blood raining from the sky, the roar of dying wyverns. The blinding white light that consumed her coven. Some nights these sounds and images flooded her dreams, leaving her rigid and stiff upon waking. Other nights, she refused to give into the call of sleep, unwilling to relive the nightmares. She was running out of excuses for the odd mix of lethargy and nerves that left her mind foggy and appetite gone.

So when she’d overheard Petrah and Glennis discussing her condition one evening, heard them whispering about whether the King of Adarlan should be called to visit, Manon knew she had to do something.

After she reminded both witches who was Queen, and that they had no business sticking their noses into hers, she announced she’d be visiting Eyllwe. The kingdom had recently sent word that it was interested in negotiating a trade deal with the witches. Manon currently had nothing to offer, but the promise of their lands was great.

And if she could get away from the henpecking of her council, take Abraxos and fly, fly without stopping, maybe she could bring herself back to life. Rid herself of the nightmares and the constant tension in her body that ate up all her thoughts and energy. Maybe she could come back as her old self. Maybe…

When Abraxos leapt off the aerie and she felt the cold blast of air on her skin, Manon breathed more deeply than she had in weeks. She took her wyvern out everyday, but this felt different. Just the two of them, free and flying, with nothing ahead of them but open sky and the plains below.

The journey to Eyllwe was fast and trouble free. She hadn’t encountered another soul until she neared the outskirts of Banjali. She was welcomed with little pomp and shown to rooms in a tower far from where the royal family lived. Manon wasn’t insulted. Rather, she respected the fact they kept the royals protected. And as she’d arrived in dirty flying leathers with wind blown hair on a wyvern whining for meat, she was grateful to avoid an appearance in front of the entire court.

Her meetings were as no nonsense as the greeting and she found herself with a signed trade pact after only two days. Eyllwe would supply the witches with rice in exchange for wheat, once the witches’ crops produced enough to spare. The trip had been a whirlwind of new foods and new people. She’d been gifted a dress made of Eyllwe silk, and although she’d bowed to the King and Queen, then offered them a carved wooden box of healing herbs known only to the Crochans, she had no idea when or where she could possibly wear the slip of cloth. There was nothing to it, the deep wine red fabric ran like water through her fingers.

And now, as she flew on Abraxos, thinking over the details of the agreement she’d just made, she was slow to realize the sea that appeared out of the mist over her right shoulder. Manon twisted around in the saddle trying to orient herself. Land on the left, water on the right. They were headed north. Not northwest. Not back to the Witchlands.

But north to Rifthold.

Manon should have turned her godsdamned, smart ass wyvern around the second she’d noticed. But she hadn’t. She’d just… let him keep going. Closed her eyes and let the scent of the sea take over, the wind whipping them faster and faster north.

She still hadn’t had a full nights sleep despite her travels. But for a night or two, she’d gotten enough to take the edge off the nerves and exhaustion. With Rifthold’s glow growing brighter, she wondered if the nerves would return. They hadn’t seen each other since Orynth, had not exchanged any letters. And here she was, showing up unannounced, looking like a banshee. Not that the way she looked should matter.

Manon landed Abraxos just outside the city, not wanting to raise an alarm, by the guard or its residents. As she made her way through the dark streets, cloaked and hooded to avoid prying eyes, she saw a door open and steam pool out. Checking the sign, she decided to make a stop on her way to the castle.

She was surprised to find the gate into the keep open with people streaming inside. Guards flanked the entrance but there was little in the way of security. Manon simply walked through, still cloaked, with no questions asked. The idiocy of the guard made her blood boil. Their King had raw magic, but that was no excuse for lax protection.

When she got to an atrium that led into a ballroom, she made her way to the edge of the crowd. The space had a high ceiling that still showed signs of damage from when the witches had attacked. The thought made her hesitate. She looked down at the red dress she was wearing, touched the hair she’d pulled up after washing at the bath house. She shouldn’t be here. But then there was a break in the crowd and she saw him.

The ballroom was in the midst of reconstruction but that didn’t stop the King and his subjects from celebrating. Celebrating what, she had no idea. But she watched them from a half fallen in balcony that ringed the space. It was dark and empty up here, the perfect place for her to gather her courage.

And she would need it, she realized with a frown.

Dorian was dancing. With a woman.

He wore a sleek black suit coat that went to his knees. The only spot of color on him was a red shape embroidered on his lapel.

She, the one he danced with, wore a bright green dress that seemed to take up the entire floor. It was covered in bows and sashes that made Manon think of an over decorated cake she’d once seen in a bakery. The bodice was cut so low she wondered how the woman’s breasts weren’t popping out.

The music ended and another woman, this one older, took her place in Dorian’s arms. Manon found that her expression, now a scowl, didn’t lighten at the sight of this woman’s graying hair, or more modest dress. She found that with every dance partner she watched him hold, with every flirting courtesan throwing themselves at him, with every attractive eye, male and female, on Dorian…

She found herself getting angry.

Not at those people, but at herself.

Well, a little at them.

Dropping her cloak, she walked to the curved stairway that led to the dance floor. And just as she took the first step down the stairs to the ballroom floor, as if he’d knew she was there, Dorian turned and looked at her.

Manon held his gaze as she descended, as he made his way through the crowd towards her, a smile like she’d never seen blooming on his face.

He met her when she reached the next to last step. They were eye to eye and she felt her mouth curve in a smile to match his. She swore she saw his eyes glow brighter and his heartbeat race.

“Hello witchling,” he said, his voice a rough whisper.

Manon took a second to catch her breath and then said, “Hello princeling.”

Before they could say another word, he swept her into his arms and into a dance.

She’d never danced before. Sensing her trepidation, he pulled her to the edge, away from everyone else where they could talk and sway back and forth.

With a nod to her dress. Dorian leaned to her ear and said, “This is the best birthday present I could have asked for.”

Manon started. “Your birthday?”

He grinned, running his fingers up and down her bare back and making her shiver. “I’m going to pretend you knew.”

Her eyes caught on the figure embroidered on his collar. It was a red and gold wyvern. The Adarlan crest. She’d seen it a hundred times, but this one was different. Silver thread was woven into the wings. Running a finger across it, she looked up at him. He nodded towards the far wall where the crest was painted. The center wyvern, a larger version of his, was framed by twelve smaller beasts. Manon stopped swaying and stared.

“It’s nothing,” Dorian said. “Just a token of our appreciation for what they gave.”

“It’s not nothing,” she said, swallowing back the emotion that threatened to overtake her.

Unsure of herself, she slowly reached up and laid her palm on his cheek. He shifted his head and was kissing her palm. Taking her hand in his, he led her through a hidden doorway into a narrow hall. Silently, she followed him through passages until they were in his rooms.

Alone.

Dorian pulled her gently into his arms and ran a finger under each of her eyes. She hadn’t been able to scrub away the darkness beneath them.

“I don’t want to sleep yet,” she said, looking around him towards the bed.

“And I don’t want to take off this dress yet.” The music was faint but they could still hear it. So they began to sway again, his fingers sending sparks over her skin.

That morning, Manon fell asleep with Dorian’s arm draped over her hip. She slept all day, and so did he.

It was his birthday after all.

#manorian #look for an update with Dorian’s pov 👀#manon blackbeak #dorian havilliard #throne of glass #anon ask #my writing

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snelbz · 2 years

Text

‘Til Death Do Us Part {Chapter Five}

Elorcan. Rockstar Modern AU.

@snelbz x @theladyofdeath collab.

‘Til Death Do Us Part Masterlist

Elide -

“Elide? It’s Yrene, I was hoping you might have a minute to talk.”

I jump up from my work table. “Of course, Dr. Towers— I mean, Yrene, hi.” I hurry over to the sink, rinsing off essential oils from the soaps I was making. “How is everything going?”

It’s been a while since I heard from Dr. Towers, or Yrene, as she keeps reminding me to call her, or anyone else on her team. I knew from Aelin that the program was going forward, but that was all she knew and all she could tell me. Not only had I had to sign a thousand and one forms, but Aelin had to as well, saying she wouldn’t talk to anyone until the study was officially published.

That includes any prospective participants.

It wasn’t a problem, though, as Aelin said that everyone is assigned a randomly generated number. She has no idea which application was mine or what my assigned number is.

“Great! I was actually calling with some good news for you.” My heart skips a beat. “If you’re still interested in participating in the marriage experiment, I believe we’ve found a match for you.”

“Oh, my god, really?” I practically scream into the phone and I have to rein myself in before I speak again. “Yes, of course, I’m still interested.” Clearing my throat, I try to sound more like a mature adult and less like a teenage girl at a boy band concert. “I figured since I hadn’t heard from you, maybe my match wasn’t out there.”

“Not at all, the team was just combining their efforts to match up the couples we felt would be best together.”

I have to sit down and close my eyes to calm myself. “That’s a relief.” Since I submitted my application, I had gone back and forth on whether I made the right decision or not. But, as time went on, I felt more and more confident in my choice. Now, hearing that I have a match… Everything seems to be falling into place. “So, what now?”

“You’ll be married in three months time,” she explains and keeps talking, but could have been speeding in Eyllwe for all I understand of it. My mind shuts off and my nerves increase. Married? Gods. Three months was nothing.

“You’ll each have a say in your wedding but you don’t meet until you walk down the aisle,” she continues and I zone back into the conversation, hoping I haven’t missed anything important. “We want this to be the best experience possible, so do your research and be prepared to present the very best version of yourself. This very well could be your one and only wedding.”

The thought alone was daunting.

This may be my only wedding, my only marriage…and I’ve never met him before.

“I’ve already spoken to your match and he’s on board as well. Three months will give everyone time to plan and finalize things. My assistant, Hasar, will be in touch with both of you to go over all the details; she’ll be the liaison between you and your groom. You will not be able to speak with him directly in any manner, so her job is to shuffle information back and forth between you both—such as the guest list, menu choices, the cake, everything."

“Wow,” I breathe, sitting down on my little loveseat. “This is a lot to process. I can’t believe this is really happening.”

“It’s happening! We’re so excited for all of our couples to meet and start their lives together.” Her voice is so genuine that I believe she really does think we’ll all be together forever. “As we discussed, all the expenses will be paid for or have been donated by the various sponsors that have been so gracious to work with us. Just a reminder, we’ve asked for all receptions to be small with only fifty guests. After the wedding, of course, all living expenses are your own. Hasar will provide you with a guideline sheet of what we expect from each couple, such as moving in together, mandatory video chats, and your written journals. I do have some legal paperwork I need you to sign. You can either stop by my office or I can mail it for you to sign and send back."

"More legal paperwork?" I ask, wondering how much more of myself I’ll have to sign away before this all over.

"Yes, it's essentially stipulating that we are not responsible for any expenses after the wedding, legal fees if you decide to divorce, medical bills if you get pregnant, and we can’t guarantee your marriage will last forever, that sort of thing. You’re more than welcome to run it by your own lawyers. We want you to feel one hundred percent confident and safe."

“I'm sure that won't be necessary." As if I can afford a lawyer.

“Lastly, we ask that all participants refrain from dating as we prepare for your wedding. The last thing we want is for someone to end up in a relationship, leaving their match without a partner.”

“Oh no, that would be horrible.” I couldn’t imagine that kind of…rejection. “That’s not a problem, I’ve gone this long without a boyfriend, I can go a few months longer.”

Her warm laughter filters through the phone. “I appreciate that and I’m sure your match does as well. We’ll be in touch, okay?”

“Thank you,” I say, and tell her goodbye before I hang up.

Three months.

Three months and I’ll be married.

To a complete stranger.

I still haven’t wrapped my mind around it but I feel confident in my choice to participate at the same time. The thought of finding someone who isn't a complete asshole…and fifty grand…keeps my hopes high.

I’m instantly calling Aelin, and she answers on the first ring. “Hey.”

“They found me a match.” I don’t even bother with pleasantries. She surely knows why I’m calling and I need to let out all of my emotions. “They know who I’m going to marry.”

“And how do you feel?” She asks, and I know she’s loving every second of this.

“Nervous,” I confess. “It’s going to be agonizing, not knowing anything about him. I mean, I’m planning a wedding with a man I don’t even know. This is ridiculous!”

“But exciting,” she added. “I promise it’s going to be worth every second of the wait.”

I blink as my thoughts process. “Wait…can you get into my file? See who I’ve been matched with?”

“Nope,” she says, popping the P in the word. “No can do, my friend. First of all, you know I can’t access any of those files and if I could, I wouldn’t know where to start. Secondly, I like having my job. And third, I’m not spoiling this for you. No one else participating has a super awesome best friend with inside knowledge. It wouldn’t be fair to them.”

I groan into the phone. “Bitch.”

“But,” she says, her voice growing quieter and quieter, “I did hear the tail end of her conversation with your match and he sounded just as excited as you.”

I swoon, trying to picture my perfect man, as ready to meet me as I am him. They’d asked me on multiple occasions to describe not only the physical attributes of my ideal man, but what I saw in my head when I closed my eyes.

Tall, handsome, clean cut. A steady nine-to-five job. Stability. That’s what I’ve always craved and never had. I want a husband who will be there no matter what, through the good times and the bad. That’s not too much to ask for, right?

I can’t handle anyone else leaving me. First, it was my parents, and then Ren…

So I’ve got some abandonment issues, at least I don’t have a drug problem or sex addiction.

I’ve tried to be as up front about my past as possible. I wanted Yrene and the team to know exactly what they were getting into if they chose me.

My parents died when I was thirteen. Young enough that day by day, I forget more of what I loved about them, but old enough to know that it doesn’t matter. I will always love them and always miss them. When they died, the state put me with my father’s younger brother. I knew of my Uncle Vernon, but my father had little to do with him.

I soon found out why.

My inheritance, while meager, was supposed to be mine the day I turned eighteen. To this day, I still don’t know how he got around the courts, but he managed to access it and spend every penny, before I even turned fifteen. I had to drop out of school and start working at sixteen, otherwise the shitty apartment we called home? We’d lose it. Vernon wouldn’t work, not now that he had someone who could make the money for him. I learned early that talking back was a mistake, and fighting back? I only tried once. The bruises were too hard to conceal and people asked too many questions.

I finally left when I was seventeen.

“I can’t believe I have to wait three months to meet him,” I admit, and it feels like such a long time.

“It’ll fly by, I promise,” she says and she’s talking in that way she rarely does, like she’s about to get sappy. “Whoever it is they’ve found for you is going to be a good guy. I wouldn’t have put you in this position if I thought otherwise. This is gonna be so good for you, El.”

“I know,” I breathe and I hope it’s true. “And I know you can’t give anything away…but that doesn’t mean you can’t be my maid of honor, right?”

Aelin’s squeal had me pulling the phone back from my ear. “I’ve already made you a dress appointment. We have a wedding to plan in three months. You’re gonna need all the help you can get.”

I laugh and love that she’s trying to make this a completely normal situation when it’s clearly not. Then again, I’ve never really done the whole conventional thing, so why start now?

Aelin -

I wasn’t lying when I told Elide I’d made her a dress appointment. The following morning, she and I would be visiting one of the local shops in Orynth. I knew better than to book at one of the chain stores. Elide is more likely to make her own dress than wear one that was mass produced.

It had been a long day, thanks to simultaneously planning my best friend’s wedding and still doing my job, typing up Yrene’s notes from each conversation, and coordinating with other members of her team, vendors, and the occasional applicant.

A couple of the men stopped by to sign their paperwork and, I know I’m partial, but Elide could do so much better. One of them could have been closer to handsome, if he’d bothered to comb his hair or put a clean shirt on.

First impressions are important and he better hope he isn’t my best friend’s future husband.

By the time I’m unlocking the front door, I’m absolutely beat and I cannot wait to cuddle on the couch with my hot, rockstar boyfriend.

Except when I walk inside, my hot, rockstar boyfriend is nowhere to be found.

I creep around the entryway, thinking he may be hiding somewhere to jump out and scare me - it wouldn’t be the first time - but he’s not.

“Ro?” I call, setting my bag down on the kitchen island as I make way to make myself a drink. “I’m home!”

Nothing.

With a sigh, I pull out a bottle of whiskey and pour a little too much into my glass of Coke, with full intentions, and make my way into the living room. The couch is empty which is annoying considering it’s hard to cuddle on the couch with my hot, rockstar boyfriend when he’s not on it.

“Rowan!” I sing, but I still get nothing in return. I know he’s home. His car is outside. I think maybe he’s in the shower, considering he most likely got home from the gym not long ago, so I trek up the stairs and down the hall to our bedroom. “Ro?”

I can hear his voice faintly and when I open the door he’s laying on our bed with his phone to his ear, a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair damp. I walk in on him mid-sentence and for a second I think he may be talking to Fenrys, talking him through yet again another failed two-day romance, but then I think otherwise.

“I’m happy for you,” Rowan says, winking as I sit on the edge of our bed with my drink. “I think this’ll be a good experience, you know? Although, I have to admit, I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

The rumbling voice on the other side can only belong to one person: Lorcan.

Instantly, I’m nosy. That’s the kind of thing about me and Rowan. We tell each other everything, nothing is off limits. Such is life in your relationship when one of you is in the public eye and nothing is actually private. It’s better to know from the beginning than to be blinded by something in a tweet or an article on a gossip site that someone will inevitably tag me in on Facebook.

I knew what I was signing up for when I got into a relationship with a rockstar.

Well, mostly anyways.

But again, I want to know what he’s talking about.

“What’d he do?” I whisper. I wonder if he’s finally decided to cover up that gods awful tattoo he got while they were on tour last spring and stopped in Skull’s Bay.

Rowan takes my hand and squeezes it softly as he says, “You’re looking at this too negatively. You can’t think like that, be positive.” Lorcan says something on the other line and Rowan gives me a look that says Lorcan is full of shit. “Well, now you’re just being a dick.”

He responds in kind— pretty sure I heard a fuckin’ asshole from the other side of the line— and then Rowan is laughing and gods, my boyfriend Is handsome.

Tugging my hand out of his, I get up from the bed and set my drink on a coaster on the nightstand. I can feel his eyes following me as I head for the bathroom, slowly unzipping the pencil skirt I’ve been hating all day.

“Lor, I’m gonna have to go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

I can even hear him say “Motherfucker, don’t you hang up on me again or I swear—”

Rowan ends the call and before I can even turn to face him, his hands cover mine, tugging the zipper the rest do the way down. “Let me help.” His warm body is pressed against my back and his crisp pine and snow scent is fresh after his shower.

Doing just that, I reach up and release the clip in my hair, letting it fall onto his shoulder.

His lips find my neck and my eyes fall shut, before I step away. “Let me get out of this skirt first,” I laugh, turning to face him.

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to do,” he smirks, as if that was a valid argument.

Which I mean…yeah, kinda.

“Let me at least put on pj’s for you to rip off later. I like this top.” I head into the bathroom and into my closet. After shimmying out of my skirt and into some black leggings, I take off my blouse and bra, tossing them in the hamper, and tug on one of Rowan’s old t-shirts. “So what did Lorcan do that you didn’t actually think he’d do?”

I holler my question, knowing he’s likely in his own closet, putting on a pair of sweats. Only a pair of sweats.

Gods, I love my life.

“He applied for that thing at your work,” he calls back. “I guess he got accepted.”

I’m halfway into the bathroom when I come to a complete halt. My mouth falls open as I try to comprehend the words he’s just said to me. Apparently I take too long because he steps out of his closet, chest still bare, with a frown on his face. “What?”

“Lorcan did what?” I ask, and I’ve hardly been able to find my voice. It’s not that I dislike Lorcan, we just…don’t exactly see eye to eye on things.

“I told him about that marriage experiment thing a few months back,” Rowan explains, as if this news is nothing, as if he’s telling me about what he ate for lunch. “I told him he should apply and he did and now he’s been accepted. He’s getting married.”

Rowan chuckles but I continue to stare at him, mouth agape, probably looking like a damn fish that’s been caught out of water.

Suddenly, I reach out and smack him in the arm. He laughs, rubbing at the skin that left my hand stinging. “What?”

“Lorcan isn’t the marrying type!” I say, exasperated. “He’s the last person that should be applying for this experiment!”

And then it hits me further.

Elide.

“Ohhhhhhh, my god.” I slowly slide down the door frame behind me, until I’m sitting on the floor.

Rowan watches me, one eyebrow raised. “Are you high?”

“No,” I sigh, exasperated. Rowan has seen me high one time and that was enough for me. “You aren’t the only one who suggested their best friend join the marriage study.”

Rowan’s brows furrow for a minute as soon as he figures it out they shoot up towards his hairline. “What do you mean— Elide?” Blinking, he shakes his head. “You had Elide apply?”

“Yeah, I thought this could be good for her.” I shake my head, thinking of my best friend. My strong, determined, best friend. “You know she’s had a rough couple years.”

Reaching down, Rowan takes my hands in his and tugs me to my feet. As soon as his arms wrap around me, I relax, the warmth of his skin on mine soothing my soul.

“I take it,” he says, cheek resting against the top of my head, “that Elide was also accepted into the program.”

My voice is muffled from where I’ve got my face buried against his tattooed chest. “You would be correct.”

To my surprise, I feel his body start to shake and when I look up at him he’s starting to laugh. “This is amazing. How have we never thought of this?”

I blink. “Because my best friend is amazing and yours is a super slut?”

He makes a face that says Fair, and pulls out his phone. “Man, Lorcan isn’t gonna believe this.”

My eyes go wide and I snatch his phone from his hands. “You can’t tell him.”

“What?” He blinks. “Why?”

“One, the pairings are highly confidential,” I explain, setting his phone on the counter behind me, “and two, we don’t know if they’ve been matched. Only Yrene and the other team members have seen the couples. All I see is random numbers that correlate to the participants. So, if you tell Lorcan, I’ll lose my job.”

He frowns and it’s so adorable that I almost let him do whatever the hell he wants. “You expect me to keep this to myself for the next three months?”

Three months. That’s when the weddings would take place, when Elide would be walking down the aisle, hopefully to someone that wasn’t Lorcan.

Then again, the other applicants I saw when organizing the files today weren’t too impressive either. I suddenly feel a rush of doubt. What have I gotten her into?

“Yes,” I breathe, and rub my temples as I start to overthink everything as I often do. “I swear, Ro, if you tell Lorcan—”

“Alright, alright,” he mumbles and those strong arms come around me once more. “I won’t say a word.”

He scoops me up and carries me downstairs, which I don’t object to one bit. Despite the comfy couch, the cozy blanket, Rowan curled against me, and then trashy reality show on the television, my mind is reeling, and I can’t keep myself from wondering.

What have I gotten Elide into?

#til death do us part #elorcan tddup #elorcan #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #lorcan lochan #elide x lorcan #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfiction #snelbz x the lady of death collab #snacmc collabs

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ae-neon · 1 year

Text

Reading Throne of Glass (13-15)

Disclaimer

You already know, if you don't, read the previous entries into this series.

Recap for the girlies who haven't read tog (this one's a little long cause it's the first but I'll include little recaps from now on)

Celaena Sardothien is an 18 year old assassin who has spent the last year of her life in a slave mine after being betrayed and arrested.

Training her to take part in the competition to become king's champion is Chaol Westfall - 22 year old captain of the royal guard.

The person who bailed her out is Dorian Havilliard - 20 year old crown prince of Ardalan. A charming prince with a rebelliousness that's putting him at odds with his father.

Dorian's father - Dorian Senior - is the King of Ardalan and lives in a glass castle. Ten years ago he burned Celaena's homeland to the ground as part of his quest to conquer the continent and all its kingdoms.

The world is inhabited by humans, faeries, Fae, witches, shifters etc. But somehow, 10 years ago, the King of Ardalan not only banned magic but actually erased it from the world.

Chapter 13

I like that Chaol is referring to Dorian by his first name, shows he's really relaxing around Celaena. He tells her she stinks but doesn't make fun of her vomiting after the run. When she asks questions, he answers without provoking her and they fall into easy conversation.

Chaol is, as usual, climbing the ranks by being a decent person. Future SJM will forget love interests can do that

The following dawn, (...) Chaol Westfall stopped short when he found the assassin dangling from the beam of the bedroom doorway, repeatedly hoisting herself up to touch her chin to the wooden bar. Sweat soaked her undershirt and ran in rivulets down her pale skin. She’d been exercising for an hour already. Her arms quivered as she lifted herself again. Though she might pretend to be in the middle of the pack, there was no reason to train like it. Even if every repetition made her body scream for her to stop. She wasn’t that out of shape—after all, her pickax in the mines had been heavy. And it definitely had nothing to do with her fellow competitors walloping her at the race yesterday. She already had an edge on them. She just needed it to be a bit sharper.

She didn’t pause her exercising as she smiled at him, panting through her clenched teeth. To her surprise, he smiled back.

I like when Celaena is who she says she is (the irony in this statement, lolol, but you know what I mean)

Also, Chaol's little actions are so attractive.

...a lovely lilac silk dress with pale pink lace accents and pearl beading. If anyone has Celaena fanart in these dresses please link or tag me

Kaltain Rompier!!!

The assassin would have grimaced, but she forgot all about Kaltain as her eyes fell upon her companion. It was an Eyllwe woman. Okay love at first sight

(for the girlies who haven't read the books, most of the slaves in the mines where Celaena had been are people from the country of Ellwye. They are black people.)

She was stunning, long and lean, each of her features perfectly formed and smooth. Her loose white dress contrasted with her creamy brown skin, and a three-plated gold torque covered much of her chest and neck. Bracelets of ivory and gold glimmered around her wrists, and her feet were sandaled beneath matching anklets. A thin circlet comprising dangling gold and jewels crowned her head.

...

The Eyllwe girl was a princess.

Nehemia!!!

Not sjm tryna make Kaltain look racist just so Celaena looks good. Eww.

Chaol bowed low. The princess nodded... Form an alliance, my dear darlings

Celaena knew the name - she had often heard the Eyllwe slaves in Endovier boast of Nehemia’s beauty and bravery. Nehemia, the Light of Eyllwe, who would save them from their plight. Nehemia, who might someday pose a threat to the King of Adarlan’s rule over her home country when she ascended to the throne. Nehemia, they whispered, who smuggled information and supplies to the rebel groups hiding in Eyllwe.

Poor baby has the weight of the world on her shoulders. I wish the only black character wasn't saddled with the "save my people from slavery" plotline.

Celaena dropped into the lowest curtsy she could give without falling and said in Eyllwe, “Welcome to Rifthold, Your Highness.”

Princess Nehemia smiled slowly, and the others gaped. (...) “Thank you,” the princess replied, her voice low. “I imagine you’ve had a long journey,” Celaena continued in Eyllwe. “Have you arrived today, Your Highness?” Nehemia’s guards exchanged glances, and Nehemia’s brows rose slightly. Not too many northerners spoke their language.

What if...I immediately ship this????? (Also low voice Nehemia? I'm instantly seduced)

“What do you make of the castle?”

“It’s the most foolish thing I’ve ever seen,” Nehemia said, EXACTLY

Again, I'm not here for sjm making Kaltain racist just to make Celaena look good, idc

How do you know how to speak Eyllwe so well?” “I”—Celaena thought of a lie—“studied it for several years.” “You use the intonation of the peasants. Is that taught in your books?”

Again, things like this stand out to me so much because not only is it proof that sjm really fleshed out this world and story but also because it's stuff I personally found missing in acotar.

Trying to flesh out the mortal lands in my rewrite had me making languages and even realising that Nesta and Feyre would speak quite differently from each other given their education differences.

The languages or at least the dialects of "modern" humans should be indecipherable to Fae. 500 years is so so so long in language that two people speaking the "same" language would not understand each other.

Back to tog

“If I’m fortunate, I’ll only be here until spring. Unless my father decides that a man from Adarlan might make me a good consort, and then I’ll be here until that matter is settled.”

(...)“Whom would you marry? Prince Dorian?” But Nehemia just clicked her tongue. “That pretty boy? He grinned at me far too much—and you should only see how he winked at the other women in the court. I want a husband to warm my bed, and my bed alone.”

If anyone knows a Dorian and Nehemia political marriage au, let me know

"...in Banjali, the sun burns up everything. And my father’s river palace smells like lotus blossoms.” I want to go there

Nehemia looked toward a rain-splattered window. “Most of our books were burned five years ago, when Adarlan marched in. It didn’t make a difference if the books were about magic”—her voice quieted at the word, even though Chaol and the councilman couldn’t understand them—“or history. They just burned the libraries whole, along with the museums and universities . . .” A familiar ache filled her chest. Celaena nodded. “Eyllwe wasn’t the only country where that happened.”

Okay this is the perfect place to put what I've been thinking: During this talk with Nehemia, Celaena's disassociative habit has disappeared. She has done or said nothing vain, arrogant or distracting. She is being as genuine with Nehemia as she is with herself in her most contemplative moments. Meaning she feels safe.

"Now, most of the books we receive are from Adarlan..." This is called soft power colonialism and it's something the USA actively tries to do in Africa through textbooks.

I really like that Nehemia isn't a perfect, polished, model A princess on the inside. She's pouty and irritated and struggling and frustrated. So human. It's almost insane to think about where SJM is gonna take her.

My rebel princess.

Nehemia said, her eyes bright. “Peace be with you.”

“And with you,” the assassin murmured, watching her leave.

Nehemia and Celaena are Muslim. Ramadan Mubarak to those who celebrate.

After that, she’d sworn never to trust girls again, especially girls with agendas and power of their own. Girls who would do anything to get what they wanted. Sarah, girl, just say you hate women and go

Okay so the king has left on his mysterious journey without any of the guards Chaol suggested and without telling anyone where he's going. Very mysterious.

Not to mention the fact that a few of the royal hounds had gone missing, only to have their half-eaten remains found in the northern wing of the palace. HELLO WHAT THE FUCK

Celaena disparaging women who gossip. This is a friendly reminder that gossip empowers women in their communities, creates networks of information and literally saves lives. Gossip culture in the Philippines is one of the top reasons they have the least serial killers in the world. Know your neighbours, let them know you, know the dangers in your community, protect each other, gossip.

“I just prefer a certain type of woman.” it's me y'all, I'm Chaol's type

There was something great and deadly concealed within her, and he didn’t like it. It's trauma, Chaol, she's traumatized

Chapter 14

Celaena during group training: I will play the middle ground, just enough to not get dissed by Brullo and not good enough to get praise like Cain

Also Celaena: I hate Cain. No one pays attention to how good I'm doing in training. No one is telling me how perfect my form is.

Girl...

Nox Owen from Perranth, which is in Terrasen where Celaena is originally from, I knew he would become an ally.

A large ring of black, iridescent stone glimmered on Cain’s finger... Isn't the gargoyle clock tower thing made from black stone too?

So one of the champions is found dead, ripped open, like the hounds I think. I know who, it's obvious, but whyyyy

Chaol and Dorian are childhood besties, cute. Chaol is from a place called Anielle by some Silver Lake that guards against "hordes" from the White Fang Mountains. (Cain is from here)

Celaena spends so much time thinking about how horrible the genocides committed by Ardalan are, she's literally living with trauma from it. But suddenly she's thankful the people of the White Fang Mountains were among the first wiped out 10 years ago so that Chaol and his people don't have to fight the "hordes" ...Sarah...

The kingdom of Eyllwe has Banjali. The kingdom of Ardalan has Rifthold and Anielle. The kingdom of Terrasen has Orynth and Perranth.

It's not that I'm overly impressed, it's basic worldbuilding really, it's that I'm actually flabbergasted at how she got away with doing nothing in acotar. Like how do you submit a blank map to an editor or publishing house and then even to readers and you're still taken somewhat seriously??

The manor in spring is called The Manor.

The court under the mountain is called Under the Mountain.

The land where mortals live is called The Mortal Lands.

The village where the main character comes from has no name.

On the fan wiki notable places in the mortal land include the barn in Feyre's village and the post office in Feyre's village.

The country shaped like the great British Isle is called Prythian (a name taken from another series but also) after the Welsh - Prydain - the name of the Great British Isle.

The island nation in the place of Ireland aka Hibernia is called Hybern.

The Continent in place of Europe is called the Continent.

I've done a post where I went through all of these lazy names so I won't go on but the icing on the shit show cake is always the Illyrian Steppes:

Steppes are a flat, un-forested grassland. The Illyrian Steppes are a forested, mountainous area.

Back to tog

Chaol has a brother, to whom he abdicated his title.

There was a ghost of a smile on his face as he watched the sky melt into a smear of tangerine. I suddenly understand how sjm brainwashes her readers into falling for these men, why is this so dreamy

Celaena had to break her own right hand to learn to swordfight with her left, she has been through so much. She doesn't need to be Queen, she needs to retire to a small town and get regular therapy

The actual first test is tomorrow. The competition is finally starting.

Chapter 15

Okay, so the first test is archery but all the sponsors are sitting up in the mezzanine, including the crown prince. One troll or criminal bought off by rebels or a scheming courtier could change the future of Ardalan with an arrow through Dorian's neck

They're making fun of the youngest assassin Pelor for not being strong enough to draw a longbow and he says he's more specialised in poisons. Brullo laughs.

Irl Giulia Tofana killed over 600 men in less than 20 years with poison she sold to their wives. She would never have been caught if one of them didn't rat her out.

Pelor is probably one of the most proficient killers in that room.

Celaena is surprised by Nox Owen's skill but he literally told her he was better at archery than knife throwing during their practice. Poor information retention on her part.

Cain has to be on something. We're given the impression the men from the White Fang Mountains are brutes but he's basically a super soldier.

Celaena is upset and goes in on the archery, doing best in the hardest shot, showing off a little even though she knows she shouldn't.

It's interesting how sjm plays with Celaena's arrogance. It's not actually arrogance at all. Celaena is bothered when she isn't recognised or given attention for her skill and talent because that's what she survived on. It's what kept her alive. Without the name Celaena Sardothien and all it carries, she will be forced back to that hopeless, homeless child who watched her family die.

Celaena knows she can't stand out or participate to her full abilities but it scares her and she reacts with anger and bravado. Internally cursing that these men don't know who she is and repeating to herself "I am Celaena Sardothien"

Again, none of this came out when she was with Nehemia - even when Celaena talked about her past.

----

Overall, I enjoyed it as usual.

Glad I finally got to meet Nehemia.

Like I said in my first few chapters read throughs, I know the overall story spoilers but I don't know anything about these characters or the plot details. So it was very interesting to learn Nehemia's unexpected personality. I like her. Honestly I like all of them. These core 4.

It makes me a bit worried, knowing the quality of the series declines with time but for now, I'm happy

#sjm critical #celaena sardothien #nehemia ytger #chaol westfall #dorian havilliard #ae read #throne of glass #ae read throne of glass

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