The Ashes of Time
Poker is a game of resolve.
"To win one hundred victories in one hundred battles is not the acme of skill. To subdue the enemy without fighting is the acme of skill.”
- Sun Tzu
In 2010 the 23 year old prodigy Tom Dwan played one of the biggest hands in televised history at that time against Phil Ivey, the master. A professional poker player with an approximately $100 million-dollar net worth as of 2023.
From our purview, we closely inspect. The cards they hold, the faces we read. A simulation created within your mind. Deciphering, predicting and reading the minds of the players, who gamble millions of dollars on live television.
A tug of wills amidst a struggle of war. The heart of the game is under no veil, only a crystal veneer. Winner takes all.
The battle of wills, mano a mano; everything, everywhere and everyone irrelevant and blind to the one true cause. Locked in, they are.
Balanced upon the phantom thread, a precarious existence to which total success or abject failure persist. You are in a battle with fame and demise. Survival depends upon it - the will to defeat the enemy is heartless. In order to prevail, one must conquer oneself.
Brutal, as one is merciful.
Watching this hand, my true will revealed, where all fortitude exists, was sorely lacking.
I was deluded and complacent to ever think I had amassed enough to be considered a Man at 25 years of age.
Upon that realization, I sat down and watched. Patiently mesmerized.
-
This game was played deep within the Golden Nugget casino. Behind the opulent façade, lies the heart of gambling culture. Where the weary cowboys and jacked bankers come to prospect. Fantasizing about little nuggets of Vegas they could bring home.
Bearing witness to both million dollar bluffs and catastrophic luck. 3 million dollar pots on live television. Of all the hundreds of players and hands I have ascertained, there is one that changed my life.
Tom ‘Drrrr” Dwan
From his Spock-like appearance, to his inexplicable poker ability. There is one trait that towers above them all.
Resolve.
Tom Dwan has defeated and taken the souls of countless players, bearing the resolve of incalculable men. From his stone-cold pronouncement of impending doom, to the melancholic finesse of his betting motion, chips stacking lackadaisically. Nonchalant, Dwan’s commination, melodically splayed outwards, the chips nestling on the gentle green felt.
Imprinting translucent terror into his opponents hearts.
-
‘I have met the enemy, it is I.’
- Alexander the Great
Unfolding before me was simply a man of resolve. A man whom understood that prior to the moment in which the possibility of success could occur, one must be fortified. Immune to earthquakes, impregnable to the darkest threats and most significantly, impervious to what life throws at you.
Tom Dwan casually bluffs into a seven hundred thousand dollar pot. The obstacle is Phil Ivey, regarded by numerous poker observers and contemporaries as the best all-around player in the world, a player with 10 World Series of Poker bracelets. Phil Ivey considers his position for three minutes. He folds. The prodigy has struck the master into an act of submission.
Dwan collects the jumble of chips, assembling columns of slightly hued disk. Gazing upon his freshly acquired winnings, impartial to the moment.
His will, stoic as a pillar.
As my resolve grew from within.
Ignited and moved, I witnessed.
I once remembered where I was going.
Swiftly moving once again.
Resolved.
Brushing aside, the ashes of time.
-
The link to video in question - Tom Dwan vs Phil Ivey CRAZY BLUFF! | High Stakes Poker -
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A High Stakes Game (Rowaelin)
This is me forcing myself to write something besides ACOTAR. (It’s still SJM but leave me alone). Lemme just preface this by saying I don’t know jack about poker, so everything in here is either from Wikihow or pulled out of my ass.
IK I said this was coming out yesterday, but I have a good excuse: I was reading From Blood and Ash (8.9/10 recommend... ending is super obvious but still so good)
I DIDN’T EDIT THIS AND I’M NOT SORRY (maybe a lil)
Masterlist
____________________________________________________________
Aelin Galathynius, professional criminal and longtime plotter of idiotic, amazing schemes that threatened the sanity of her closest friends, sat down at the poker table and smiled.
“Ready to lose some more money, Whitehorn?”
The man across from her scowled, making her smile grow. Irritating him was perhaps the only feeling better than kicking his ass at cards.
“It was only pocket change, don’t get cocky.” He tilted his head and smirked. “Plus, it sure as hell won’t be happening again. I think I’ve finally figured you out, Galathynius.”
Aelin rolled her eyes, trying to look unbothered.
His version of “pocket change” was twenty grand. And if she won that much tonight, she’d finally have enough cash to pay back Arobyn and get the hell out of his reach.
But that wasn’t what had her shaken.
It was the fact that in all her time playing cards and hustling men who couldn’t look past her cleavage, she’d never faced an opponent like Rowan Whitehorn. He watched her every move, made a note of all her expressions, and generally caused her to have to work ten times harder.
He was a pain in her ass, basically.
Had been ever since he’d shown up a month ago, looking like a dangerous, sexy villain in a gangster movie. Aelin would admit that at first, his looks had distracted her.
Until he swiped two thousand dollars worth of chips away from her.
Bastard.
Now that she knew better, she didn’t let the silver hair, piercing green eyes, or alluring ink of his tattoo distract her. She treated him like a real adversary, was cautious with her chips, and never, ever let him get under her skin.
So when he said he had her figured out... she didn’t exactly doubt him. And considering she’d had to pull out every single tip and trick she’d ever learned to beat him last Friday, he probably wouldn’t fall for any one of them again tonight.
Even if he was having a beautifully hard time focusing for once. His bright eyes kept darting over to her, sweeping over her bare shoulders, deep V of her dress, and bright red lipstick.
He always looked, but unlike the other men sitting around the table, he never said a word about it.
Interesting.
“Concentrate, Rowan,” she chided with a grin, leaning back to take a peak at her cards. “I’d hate for this to be too easy.”
Two aces, two kings, one five. Not bad, but it could be beat. She needed another ace or king to even be in the running.
“You’re so annoying,” Rowan growled back, sharp face not revealing a thing as he looked down at his cards. “Two thousand.”
Aelin called, keeping her face blank and uninterested. She’d brought ten grand with her tonight, and if this went poorly, it’d take her at least two more weeks to win it back.
“I’ll take one,” she told the dealer, sliding the five over.
The other players at the table--a three-hundred pound Russian named Vlad and a shifty, skinny guy that never said a word--made their plays.
“Two for me,” Rowan said, leaning back and sipping from his drink.
Aelin’s mind turned with possibilities, going through the list of cards they’d already seen tonight. Her bet was that he was shooting for a flush and needed two cards of hearts to pull it off.
The trick to counting cards, ladies, gentlemen, and criminals, is discretion. She’d never been caught and banned from any of the games in town because she never walked away with more than thirty grand. Small wins to some of the whales, but she didn’t want too much attention on her.
She peaked at the card she’d gotten and forced herself to look disappointed as she saw the ace.
Full house.
“I’ll raise to three,” she said, sliding a small pile of chips into the center.
Fat Putin called, Slender Man dropped out.
Rowan’s eyes narrowed as the bet came around to him. “Let’s go four.”
Aelin’s stomach dropped out. That was a nine grand bet on a single hand, and hers wasn’t even that great. If she bet and lost, she’d only have a thousand bucks for tonight. But if she didn’t, she’d lose the five grand she’d put down.
Another reason she was a winner at the table: she trusted her gut.
“I’ll call.”
The Russian gruffed something she couldn’t understand and dropped out. It was just her and Whitehorn now.
He looked down at his cards, then studied her face in a way that made her grit her teeth. Aelin propped an elbow on the table and narrowed her eyes, and he smiled, tattoo gleaming in the light.
His eyes swept across her face, then lower. Usually, when someone at the game looked at her like that, she made it a point to take their entire nest. But for some reason, she just returned the favor.
As was the last three times she’d played against him, he was wearing an expensively cut, jet black suit, which made the ink of his tattoo pop and his hair look like ice. His lips were in that permanent scowl of his, even though there was no anger in his eyes.
It really was a shame someone so handsome was so damn infuriating.
“I’ll raise to ten,” he said, shooting a meaningful glance at her nest. He wanted her to go all in on a full house? Before the flop?
She heard herself respond before her brain caught up. “Call.”
Jesus, A. Calm down.
Since they were the only two players at the table, the dealer nodded and flipped three cards up. Aelin felt like she might throw up as she saw that nothing in there would help her.
“Check,” she said, passing the bet to Rowan.
He gave her a smile that probably looked innocent to anyone else. “Fifteen.”
“You know I don’t have it,” she lied, following her number one rule to never withdraw any more than she had planned.
Rowan shrugged, leaning forward to brace both arms against the table. “Bet something other than money, then.”
Alarm bells, and a strange amount of intrigue, started flaring in her head.
“Like what?” she asked, coating her voice in confidence.
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a cigarette, taking his time lighting it. After exhaling a thick fog of smoke, he looked her over and smirked. “One night with you.”
Every head in the place turned their way.
Up till now, this hadn’t been that interesting of a game.
Even though she could hardly breathe, Aelin said, “You’re not serious.”
“Oh, but I am.” He laughed softly. “You win, you finally have enough to pay Arobyn Hammel back. You lose, you come upstairs.”
Her brain couldn’t make sense of what he’d just said. He knew about Arobyn? Her debt?
“How do you-”
“I told you I figured you out.”
Oh, fuck. This was bad.
Or maybe not.
She couldn’t decide.
He was really going to trade sex for a poker game?
It wasn’t like she wasn’t ridiculously attracted to him. She definitely was. And she knew she probably would’ve slept with him if they’d met outside a hotel casino. But this felt... different than just having sex with him.
On the other hand, she could be done. Her hand was good, and depending on the next card flipped, it could get better. If another ace turned up, she’d have four of a kind.
And she’d be done. Debts paid, nothing holding her here. It was risky, but too tempting to shoot down.
“Deal.”
Rowan smiled, shaking his head softly, and gestured to the dealer who ignored how illegal this transaction was and reached to turn the last card over.
An ace.
Holy hell.
Aelin smiled and flipped her cards over. “Four of a kind.”
Which could only be beat by a straight flush or a-
“Royal flush.”
A gasp went through the crowd that had gathered around them as he flipped his hand over, and Aelin honestly thought she might pass out.
He’d won.
She forced herself to roll her eyes and smile. “Congratulations.”
On the bright side, you didn’t lose ten grand.
Just some of your dignity.
At the leering stares of every man in the room, she amended her thought.
Okay, all your dignity.
Rowan snuffed his cigarette out and stood, the group of people looking between him and Aelin with unabashed curiosity on their faces.
Even though he’d won, his face didn’t hold a single emotion as he walked over to her side of the table and extended a hand. “Let’s go.”
She bit her lip, trying to think what her odds would be of making a break for the door. She’d never be able to get through the crowd, though, let alone outrun him in all his long-legged glory.
So she grabbed his hand and let him pull her through the shocked, laughing, gaping group of people towards the elevator.
Once inside, she stood silent, not knowing exactly what to say.
He led her down a hallway and into a hotel room, then turned to her.
And stared.
She just stared back.
She was about to tell him that if he honestly expected her to sleep with him over a poker game that he go fuck himself when he shocked the hell out of her.
“Want to watch a movie?”
“Um, what?”
“We’re watching a movie.” He flopped down on the bed and grabbed the remote. “Sit down, Aelin.”
She stood standing. Rowan just sighed, kicked off his shoes, and messed with the remote.
When an actual movie--a very manly war movie, mind you--started playing, she realized he was serious and sat next to him on the bed, leaning against the headboard.
Her mind couldn’t stop reeling, though.
He’d been ready to give her fifteen grand for a night with her, and he didn’t even expect to collect if he won?
She eyed him curiously. He looked relaxed, harsh face not scowling for once. The light from the movie made his hair almost glow in the dark, and even though people were shooting and yelling and dying, he looked happy.
Aelin slid down a bit, continuing to stare at him until he turned to look at her, too.
Green eyes, soft lips, sharp jawline.
“You really don’t expect me to sleep with you?”
“I mean, you’re probably going to fall asleep at some point...” he joked, but shook his head and sighed. “No, Aelin. Despite what you apparently think, I prefer women who actually want to have sex with me.”
Her mind and body were reeling with questions and answers. Why had he bet that, then? Was this some seduction technique she’d never heard of; acting like you didn’t want sex when you did?
Hell if it wasn’t working.
She bit her lip, unable to not smile at the annoyed look on his face. “I never said I don’t want to, stupid.”
A spark shot through his eyes, and there was a soft smile on his face as he ran a calloused thumb across her cheek. “That was a really good deal for you, then,” he mused with a chuckle.
“You’re such a bast-”
He closed the distance between them, lips still smiling as they met hers. After three weeks of wondering what he’d taste like, Aelin finally had her answer.
She didn’t quite know how to describe it other than addictive as hell.
She slid her tongue in his mouth, and his hands moved down her waist to pull her on top of him.
“I can’t believe you put up fifteen grand to get me up here,” she murmured, sliding her hands into his hair.
“I knew I couldn’t lose.” Rowan smiled. “And I really, really wanted to see your face when you lost. You considered running, didn’t you?”
“Shut up,” she laughed, leaning down to kiss him again.
His hands found the zipper on the back of her dress, and she pulled it over her head unceremoniously.
His eyes looked like emeralds as he took in everything about her in that serious, methodical way of his. “You’re beautiful.”
Her hands were on his chest, struggling with the buttons of his shirt. “I’m trying to see if you are, too, but your shirt’s putting up a fight.”
Rowan rolled his eyes, pushing away her hands and making quick work of the fabric.
Smooth muscle, tinted with the lines of ink that ran down his neck, chest, and toned waist. “I like your tattoo.”
He shifted underneath her to lie down fully, then gripped her thighs and pulled her up his chest. “Sit on it, then.” (AN: I LITERALLY SPEWED WRITING THIS)
Aelin laughed but sure as hell didn’t fight as he lifted her up, settling on his tan shoulders.
And she sure as hell didn’t argue as he tugged her underwear to the side.
With his teeth.
He pressed a kiss to her skin, and she grabbed the headboard to keep herself still. His hands gripped her hips, guiding her in a circle, and his tongue ran up her core.
She looked down, saw his tattoo half-obscured by her thigh, and almost came at the sight alone. One of her hands drifted to run through his hair, stark against the tan of her skin.
A moan escaped her, and he smiled against her skin.
His mouth kept moving under her, and soon even his hands on her hips couldn’t keep her still. She pressed a hand over her mouth to keep quiet, mindful they probably had neighbors.
But when his teeth grazed her, tongue diving deep, she let out a long groan as release found her.
His eyes peeked up at her, and she could tell he was quite happy with himself.
“Oh, shut up,” she muttered.
Laughter bubbled out of him against her thigh, then he gripped her waist, lifted her, and fucking threw her on the end of the bed. Before she could react, he was braced over her, their mouths fused together.
Aelin could taste herself on his lips, and it messed with her mind in the best way. Her hands found their way between them to undo his belt and button, then she finally had him in her hands.
Rowan braced himself on his elbows, a serious, very concentrated look on his face as she stroked him and kissed his neck, right over that damned tattoo.
She ran her thumb over the tip, and he jerked involuntarily. Then growled at her and knocked her hands to the side.
His hips pressed into her, and Aelin’s back arched as he pushed into her with a muffled grunt.
Hell, even the sounds this man made turned her on.
Settled against her, he paused to give her a few moments, and she stared at the ceiling, mind and body adjusting to the full feeling coursing through her.
A hand gripped her chin, and her eyes met his. She nodded.
He started to move, and that, coupled with the piercing eye contact, was almost too much for her. But she still wanted more.
He was still gripping her chin; Aelin took his wrist and moved it to her throat.
“Fuck, Aelin,” he murmured, picking up the pace. His hand contracted lightly and all the blood rushed through her like lightening.
She moaned, and his lips came down to hers to mask the sound.
It was hopeless, though, because her body was reacting to Rowan’s like it had never with anyone else. His tongue was in her mouth as he swirled his hips, and she whimpered onto his mouth.
She only got louder as things progressed, especially as he moved his mouth to her ear, nibbling on it and pulling it with his teeth. One hand still at her neck, he used the other to lift her hip, going deeper.
Aelin opened her eyes, thrilled to see the strain on his face and know he was just as affected by this.
He sucked on her neck, and she moaned his name.
“You drive me fucking crazy,” he muttered in between kisses, and she smiled.
Then saw stars as he squeezed her throat again.
Her body went rigid and loose at the same time as she climaxed, contracting around Rowan and yanking him over the edge with her. He kept slowly moving, both of them riding out the high.
Then he stilled and lowered himself down, his weight pressing her down, their skin melded together.
“Holy shit,” she breathed, hands coming to play with his hair as he rested his head on her chest.
He made a happy, contented sound deep in his throat, and her heart almost exploded in her chest. Big baby.
Aelin wrapped her legs and arms around him, cocooning him with her body.
Even though she hadn’t won any money tonight and would have to work for a few weeks to pay off her debts, she wasn’t even worried about it.
In fact, there weren’t any thoughts in her head except of the man on top of her.
And one burning question.
She pulled his hair, forcing him to meet her eyes, and asked, “So, was it worth fifteen grand?”
He gave her that rare, genuine smile that made her breath halter. Then came to kiss her again and mutter, “I don’t know. I might need another go to tell for sure.”
Aelin rolled her eyes, all too happy to oblige him.
______________________________________________________________
Thanks for reading. Some Malorian next? Who knows.
@aesthetics-11 @b00kworm @bamchickawowow @hizqueen4life @savemesoon8 @musicmaam @sleeping-and-books @a-bit-of-a-cactus
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