A field of Dhalias for the ask game cause I'm a greedy bitch who wants more of Dhalia and Asling ( I hope I spelled their names correctly , if not you can hold my shitty memory accountable )
Yayy, one of my favourite fics as well! But A Field of Dahlias, is a crack fic, and it doesn't actually include Aisling at all, and really barely any Dahlia, just a chapter after she's born. I think the one your thinking of is, A Witch, A Warrior And A Reckoning.
But I will give you snippets for both just in case!
AFoD-
"Please," Lucien begged, tears rolling down his face. Cradling Tamlin's body so close to his own. Shaking from sobs torn from him.
Eris stumbled away from Nesta, who briefly twitched, looking as though she might catch him as the man looked about to faint. Feyre turned to Lucien again, her deep blue eyes sparkling with her own tears as she clutched the emerald in her hand, filled with her power, brimming over the surface.
Her body was trembling, everything new once more. The clutches of the Cauldron still pried at her, but she easily ignored it as she stared at the remains of her former lover, and his mate who now cuddled him close like he was still alive.
A Witch, A Warrior And A Reckoning-
Her fist broke through the head of the dummy with a resounding thudding sound. Golden curls tied back with a leather strip, hands covered with white straps. Sweat dripped down her neck and bare stomach and back. Breasts covered by binding. She hit again, and again, and again.
Heart pounding out of her chest. She didn't stop until the dummy splintered underneath her and her fist hit hard concrete, causing her to hiss under her breath but otherwise stand up unscathed.
With as much of a monotone expression she could muster, Dahlia moved away from the dummy. The hard, bare dirt beneath her only dusted up with puffs of reddish brown slightly. Looking up she saw several soldiers, all either fitting their gear or polishing their weapons. Sitting on stools or otherwise standing around, all gawked at her and the dummy, which could barely be classified as such, at her feet.
"What?" She snapped, rage seeping into her booming voice.
Quickly all the males returned to their work. Careful to not make eye contact. Not when she was like this.
Dahlia scowled. Stepping into the remains of the dummy as she stalked past her soldiers and into the sea of white tents. All large to house the War Bands. Orders were shouted, wagons were brought too and forth, full of necessities for living out in these parts of the Court.
"Fuckin bitch." A harsh voice cursed, followed by quick footsteps after her, "Dahlia, stop running off!”
Dahlia didn't stop her quick stride as she weaved through the tents, pushing through the crowds, and heading for her own tent. Needing to decompress after her morning of training.
"Goddamnit!” The voice after her cursed, Dahlia grinned to herself but didn't turn around as she pulled back the flap of her tent and ducked inside.
"Finally. Somewhere I can speak with you." The voice said as they followed inside.
"What do you want, Lighter?" Dahlia asked as she sat on her bed roll and finally took off the sweaty training gear she was wearing, letting it flop to the floor as she rolled her muscles.
The lesser Faery huffed in indignance as she sat on the bed across from Dahlia. Her red skin darkening, and slitted amber eyes burning as she pulled out her cigar. Long black curls fell down from the tight braid she had it in. Strapped up with daggers, and looking like Hel incarnate.
“I want to know when we’re heading back for Rosehall, my mama wants a date so she can make a feast for us.”
Dahlia nearly moaned at the idea. Lighter’s mother’s cooking was a force to be reckoned with. The thought of returning home to a meal like that snapped her mostly from the sour mood that had followed her all day.
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