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jade0716 · 2 months

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Manon and Dorian are Mates: A Thesis

Now that we have more info on mates from CC, and with the speculation that the novel after the next acotar is a TOG one, I wanted to make a master post with all the evidence that I compiled that Manon and Dorian are mates. I even added dissenting opinions for the potential ones that could have other explanations because why not be thorough and impartial. AND I highlighted the ones in red that I felt like are absolutely evidence of mateness.

Here's hoping Sarah was dropping hints for a manorian spin off!!

TOG:

I. Pg. 8 “On his black doublet, an emblazoned gold rendering a wyvern occupied the entirety of the chest. His red cloak fell gracefully around him and his throne”.

the Adarlan colors being red and the symbol being a Wyvern. This may be coincidence since in the beginning SJM was planning a Celeana/Dorian end game but I think SJM chose to make the Crochan capes red to parallel the first time we see Dorian in TOG . Manon then bonding with Abraxos who is a wyvern is the icing on the cake.

Dissenting Opinion: The red cape was just a coincidence and red feels like the obvious color for witches given it is the color of blood. And the King of Adarlan/Erawan chose to breed wyverns because it was the symbol of house Havilliard.

QoS:

I. I know that the Valg eyes are why Manon was able to scare the Valg prince away in Dorian and pull him out of the possession. What interests me is:

Pg. 420, Roland was only able to regain control for a second after speaking to Manon before the demon took back over. I’m not going to quote this cause it’s the whole scene but go reread if you want. Dorian is able to beat the demon down and essentially say screw off while talking to Manon. Is it possible Dorian was able to regain control for a longer period of time because of a bond with Manon?

Pg. 463 “step away, get away. The demon prince inside him yanked so hard he took a step. But not away. Toward the white-haired witch”. Are we sure it’s the demon that was yanking him?? Especially since he was yanked towards her instead of away from her even though the demon wanted him away???

her name continued to ring in his head even after the demon took back over:

Pg. 469 “the words soon faded, swallowed up by screaming and blood and the demon’s cold fingers running over his mind. But those eyes lingered- and that name. Manon. Manon”

Pg. 518 “he could not remember a time when the demon had not been there inside of him. And yet- Manon.”

Is this a classic SJM easter egg similar to how we thought the bargain between Rhys and Feyre was the reason for the pull between them? Could she be trying to mislead the reader?

Dissenting Opinion: Manon's valg eyes and his want to be killed is why he remembers her name. He regained control longer because Dorian is stronger willed than Rolland.

II. Pg. 463, Dorian seeing Manon for the first time: “He’d never seen anyone so beautiful”.

Sarah uses the “most beautiful person ever seen” repeatedly for her mated couples when they first meet. This could be writing style but it seems like a pattern in how she writes her mates meeting. I read ACOTAR and CC before TOG and when I read this line I was like yep they are mates seen this before.

Pg. 188 ACOTAR “standing before me was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen” - Feyre when seeing Rhysand for the first time

Pg. 536 ACOMAF “you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I thought it from the first moment I saw you on Calanmai” Rhys about seeing Feyre the first time

In ACOWAR Lucien about Elain “she was the most beautiful female he had ever seen”.

Pg. 346 HOSAB “Ruhn found himself staring at the most beautiful female he’d ever seen” Ruhn seeing Lidia the first time.

Dissenting Opinion: Manon is canonically one of the most beautiful females in the world, especially because she is a witch designed to attract men.

III. pg. 492 “She stepped closer to the prince’s horse. ‘Dorian’… Sapphire eyes snapped to hers”..he remembered his name when she said it without looking into her Valg eyes. interesting.

IV. pg. 511 “Manon couldn’t tell why that thread kept yanking, why it felt so urgent, but she pushed them hard, all the way to Rifthold”. A thread is pulling her urgently towards Rifthold to save Dorian. Using the terms thread and Manon not knowing why it feels so important is so incredibly mate for shadowing.

Pg. 184 ACOTAR “go, a voice said, tugging at me. Go see.”

Pg. 412 ACOTAR “I was pulled from sleep by something tugging at my middle, a thread deep inside”. A THREAD.

Dissenting Opinion: Sarah does multiple times in TOG reference a tug pulling her main heroines to do things so this could just be the gods/fates pulling the thread.

V. pg. 640 “Dorian didn’t know what awoke him”. Some force awakens Dorian, he then goes out to his balcony and sees Manon outside.

Similar to Feyre being pulled to Rhys, Pg. 412 ACOTAR “I was pulled from sleep by something tugging at my middle, a thread deep inside"

Pg. 640 Manon says “she didn’t know why she’d bothered to go; why she’d been curious”. Manon Blackbeak, maneating witch, for no apparent reason, decides to go check up on a human man. Need I see more?

And again, her name echoes in his head (pg. 641) “through the darkness of his memories, through the pain and despair and terror he tried to forget, a name echoed in his head”.

EOS:

I. Manon saving Dorian from the yellow legs (duh). She says her “instincts took over her” when she saw someone “taking her kill” ... then proceeds to rescue said kill.

Pg. 44: “I have no doubt the Yellowlegs will try to claim his head. Stop any one of them who dares take it.”

Pg. 84: “And when Manon had spied that Yellowlegs sentinel perched inside the tower, readying to claim this kill for herself... a century of training and instinct had barreled into Manon. All it had taken was one swipe of Wind-Cleaver as Abraxos flew by, and Iskra's sentinel was dead.” WHAT INSTINCT? THE INSTINCT TO CLAIM YOUR KILL? Cause you actually rescued him afterwards not killed him sweetheart.

Clearly it wasn’t to claim the kill for herself. So what was it? Instinct? Helping the witches? She didn’t know of Dorian’s magic at this time, so how would saving Dorian help the witches? Seems like the instinct was from something else.

Pg. 85: “Some ancient, predatory part of her awoke at the half smile. It sat up, cocking its ears toward him”. Ancient and predatory? Mates.

II. The one million times Dorian protects her even though she starts off on Erawan’s side and he has no reason to be so protective:

Pg. 87: “Manon crashed to her knees. The king was instantly at her side, studying her for a heartbeat before he roared down the stairs, “NO!””

Pg. 369: ““No.” The word ripped from Dorian’s lips before he could think. But then it came out, over and over, as the wyvern and rider sailed closer to the ship. The witch was unconscious, her body leaning to the side because she was not awake, because that was blue blood all over her. Don’t shoot; don’t shoot— Dorian was roaring the order as he hurtled for where Fenrys had drawn his longbow, a black-tipped arrow aimed at the witch’s exposed neck. His words were swallowed by the shouting of the sailors and their captain. Dorian’s magic swelled as he unsheathed Damaris— “. This lowkey makes me chuckle like what is he gonna do with Damaris against a bunch of fae warriors lol.

Pg. 395: “Dorian didn’t feel like mentioning that he’d been the one who’d jumped into the water. He’d just … acted, as Manon had acted when she’d saved him in his tower. He owed her nothing less”.

Pg. 438: “Ice danced at Dorian’s fingertips as he slid beside Manon, still chained by the bed” when the bloodhound shows up on the ship.

Pg. 574: "That hunger shifted into something icy and vicious: 'You once asked me where I stand on the line between killing to protect and killing for pleasure'. His fingers grazed the seam of the scar across her abdomen. 'I'll stand on the other side of the line when I find your grandmother". Earlier in EOS Manon asks him why he didn’t make the bloodhound suffer, that there is a line even when it comes to their enemies. Apparently not when someone harms Manon.

III. Dorian’s magic reacting every time she is in danger or threatened:

Pg. 369: “His magic felt it before he did. A sense of awareness, of warning and awakening” when she comes in injured on Abraxos.

Pg. 369: “His words were swallowed by the shouting of the sailors and their captain. Dorian’s magic swelled as he unsheathed Damaris—“

Pg. 396: “Manon’s voice was flat and cold as death. “Tell Aelin Galathynius not to bother using me for negotiations. The Blackbeak Matron will not acknowledge me, either as heir or witch, and all you will get out of it is revealing your precise location.” His magic flickered. “What happened after Rifthold?”

Pg. 438: “Ice danced at Dorian’s fingertips as he slid beside Manon, still chained by the bed” when the bloodhound shows up on the ship.

Pg. 441: “Manon froze entirely. And didn’t particularly care as the Bloodhound lunged for her throat, teeth bared. It was not flame or wind that snapped the Bloodhound’s neck. But invisible hands. The crunch echoed through the room, and Manon whirled on Dorian Havilliard. His sapphire eyes were utterly merciless.”.

Pg. 457 ““If you were me,” Aelin murmured in a tone that had Dorian’s magic rising, ice cooling his fingertips. Aedion’s hand slid to his sword. “If you were me.” His magic flickering when Aelin RAISES HER VOICE at Manon (like come on this is mates shit).

Pg. 498-499: “ "As far as I recall,” Dorian went on with a sly grin, “you two—” The attack happened so fast that Aelin didn’t sense or see it until it was over. One moment, Manon was seated at the edge of the fire, the marshes a dark sprawl behind her. The next, scales and flashing white teeth were snapping for her, erupting from the brush on the bank. And then—stillness and silence as the enormous marsh beast froze in place. Halted by invisible hands—strong ones.” The fact that Dorian was mid sentence, not paying attention, and doesn’t even move a finger to protect her.

Even Aelin comments on it, Pg. 499: “But Dorian’s magic held the beast still, frozen with no ice to be seen. The same power as the one he’d wielded against the Bloodhound. Aelin surveyed him for any tether, any gleaming thread of power, and found none. He hadn’t even lifted a hand to direct it. Interesting.” IT IS INTERESTING AELIN. I also find it interesting that Aelin says the same power he wielded against the bloodhound, which was also to protect Manon.

Dorian about his magic sensing Rowan and Aelin’s bond, pg. 131, “His magic had felt the bond between Aelin and Rowan—the bond that went deeper than blood, than their magic, and he’d assumed it was just that they were mates, and hadn’t announced it to anyone.” Obviously later we find out it was because Aelin and Rowan were mates. So his magic canonically can sense a mating bond.

Also Rowan on Pg. 357 “I wanted to chuck you off a cliff, yet I bit you before I knew what I was doing. I think my body knew, my magic knew." His magic knew when he tasted her they were mates. Similar to how Dorian's magic has been acting? Like it knows something he doesn't?

VI. Pg. 575 “Manon thought the king tasted like the sea, like a winter morning, something so foreign and yet familiar it at last dragged that moan from deep in her.” The so foreign yet so familiar is so mate coded. Especially bc...

in HOF the Wastes are described as having winter mountains and near the western sea

Pg. 71: “To take our host to reclaim the Wastes from the mortal pigs who now dwell there." A fierce, wild thrill pierced Manon's chest, sharp as a knife. Following the Matron's gaze, Manon looked to the horizon, where the mountains were still blanketed with winter.”

Pg. 68: “Manon herself had never set foot in the former Witch Kingdom, had never seen the ruins or the flat, green expanse that stretched to the western sea.”

So it makes sense that the Wastes would smell of winter morning and the sea

VII. Pg. 577 “ Wondered what he’d say if she told him she’d wanted to sink her teeth into his neck and find out what he tasted like”.

Rowan on Pg. 357 “I wanted to chuck you off a cliff, yet I bit you before I knew what I was doing. I think my body knew, my magic knew. And you tasted …” Rowan loosed a jagged breath. “So good…”

Manon in HOF Pg. 33: “The common, watery taste of the man, laced with violence and fear, coated her tongue, and she spat onto the wooden floorboards.”

Manon in QoS Pg. 463 “I’ve been with plenty of men. You’re all the same. Taste the same”.

Manon has not shown to be particularly interested or intrigued by the blood of men aside from just to hunt and feed until Dorian. We also have Rowan describing how good Aelin tasted when he bit her and how he thinks "his magic knew". Is her attraction to Dorian’s blood because of this similar mating bond logic?

Dissenting Opinion: She just wants to taste Dorian's blood because she's attracted to him and so his blood is more enticing to her. She does say that the blood of the men at the Ferrian Gap distracts her in HOF, so obviously she sometimes does crave man blood.

KOA:

I. Again, we see Dorian’s magic reacting to her in a way instinctually

Cyrene attacks, pg. 78 “As Manon whirled, Dorian’s magic surged, already lashing at the unforeseen foe”

Pg. 130: “Despite who walked ahead of them, behind them, Manon smiled slightly. He surprised her further by saying,"I've been tunneling into my power since they appeared. One wrong move from them, and I'll blast them into nothing." This is so touch her and you die vibes I love it.

Pg. 227: “ “I care.” His temper rose to meet hers. And he decided to hell with it—decided to let go of that leash he’d put on himself. Let go of that restraint. “I care about more than I should. I even care about you.”

Same scene: Pg. 228: “Dorian smiled slightly, and fell asleep once more, letting his magic warm them both. When they awoke, something sharp in his chest had dulled—just a fraction…Where that edge had dulled in his chest, his magic now flowed freer. As if it, too, had been freed from those inner restraints he’d loosened slightly last night. What he’d opened up, revealed to her. A sort of freedom, that letting go."

This is right after he says he’s been trying with Vesta for days to get his eyes to change color and it hasn’t worked but one time with Manon and she warms his heart enough to let his magic go free.

Pg. 286 “Who do you wish to be? “Someone worthy of my friends,” he said into the quiet night. “A king worthy of his kingdom.” For a heartbeat, snow-white hair and golden eyes flashed into his mind. “Happy,” he whispered, and wrapped a hand around Damaris’s hilt. Let go of that lingering scrap of terror. The ancient sword warmed in his hand, a friendly and swift heat. It flowed up through his fingers, his wrist. To that place within him where all those truths had dwelled, where it became warmth edged with sharpest pain. And then the world grew… He made to touch his face, but found he had no hands. Only soot-black wings. Only an ebony beak that allowed no words past it. A raven.” In this scene Dorian thinks of Manon, which makes him think of happiness and very similar to the scene where she made his magic flow before, his magic begins to flow through him and he shifts, for the second time due to Manon warming his heart, into not just a bird, but a black beaked bird. I repeat, BLACKBEAK bird. This one I honestly think is crazy and such strong evidence of mateism , especially bc it happened TWICE in this book.

Manon fighting the Matrons, pg. 474 “Dorian’s magic writhed, seeking a way out, to stop this.”

When Maeve glamours as Manon to seduce Erawan, Pg. 639: “icy rage, pure and undiluted tore through Dorian as Manon stood before the Valg king.. Dorian focused upon his breathing, on the stones beneath him, anything to keep his magic from erupting at the desire on Erawan’s face” (also important bc when she glamoured as Aelin his magic didn’t do this!!!)

II. Pg. 225 ““Which do you like the best?”… “I like the ice best,” Dorian admitted at last, realizing he’d let the silence drip on. “It was the first element that came out of me—I don’t know why.” I know why!!

HOF pg. 230 “If Manon was ice and Asterin was fire, then Sorrel was rock.”

QOS pg. 68 “Asterin had always been that way—and that wildness was exactly why Manon had chosen her as her Second a century ago. The flame to Sorrel’s stone … and to Manon’s ice.”

III. Dorian refers to Manon as his equal, pg. 536 “she would be his wife, his queen. She was already his equal, his match, his mirror in so many ways”.

SJM is very consistent about mates being equals and being mirrors of each.

Quote from Tampon in ACOTAR: “High Fae mostly marry,' he said, his golden skin flushing a bit. 'But if they’re blessed, they’ll find their mate—their equal, their match in every way.” This is almost verbatim what Dorian said about Manon.

Feyre to the Suriel: “How can I possibly be his mate?' Mates were equals- matched, at least in some ways. '

Rowan about discovering Aelin is his mate pg. 678 EOS "His equal. His friend. His lover. His Wife. His mate."

IV. Also in this scene Dorian talks about wanting to “claim her” as his wife/queen... Pg. 538 “the temptation that his every instinct roared to claim. Not the body, but what she had offered…” This could just be SJM writing style (fair argument), but nevertheless "his every instinct to claim" is VERY matey especially with the instinct part and because "the claiming" is a thing. Some examples:

HOF Pg. 158: “the bite so strong and claiming that she was too stunned to move”

EOS Pg. 352: “You are mine,” Rowan breathed, and she felt the claiming in her bones, her soul.

EOS Pg. 422: “A claiming, mighty and true, that she understood he so desperately needed.”

Dissenting Opinion: This is just SJM's writing style. Just because the word claim is used doesn't mean they are mates.

V. Manon screaming his name when he almost dies pg. 133 "Manon bellowed his name, and Crochan arrows fired... Manon screamed his name again, but he couldn't move... Then there were iron-tipped hands gripping his shoulders, and gold eyes glaring into his own".

This reminds me of in HOF when Manon shoots Rowan with an arrow and Aelin screams his name

Pg. 477 QoS... "Aelin's scream echoed down the Ravine" when Rowan is shot.

Pg. 655 EOS Aelin admits to Maeve she knew Rowan was her mate, "The moment the arrow when through his shoulder. Months ago"

This is also parallelled by Dorian screaming for Manon when she is in danger in EOS:

Pg. 87: “Manon crashed to her knees. The king was instantly at her side, studying her for a heartbeat before he roared down the stairs, “NO!””

Dissenting Opinion: Aelin tells Rowan she saved Manon because Asterin screamed her name the same way she screamed Rowan. So technically by this logic Asterin and Manon could be platonic mates. And maybe Manon just screams Dorian's name because she cares about him not anything to do with being mates. (Counter Argument- but then why did Dorian scream her name in EOS so aggressively when he didn’t even know her then??)

Debunking arguments against them being mates:

I. Mates are only fae.

Manon is part fae, so she could have a mate.

E.g. Bryce is half fae half human also and mated with Hunt (who confirmed in HOFAS is the product of two angels and not fae); Lorcan is a demi fae and can have a mate (believed to be Elide who is human but unconfirmed); Aelin is demi fae prior to forging the lock and is mated with Rowan.

I also cannot find anywhere there is a rule that you must have XYZ amount of fae blood to have a fae-like mate, just have to have some fae blood. But we don't really know what percentage of Manon is fae vs Valg. Given she is half Ironteeth and half Crochan, she likely falls around that 50% fae line which is just as much fae blood as Lorcan, Bryce, Aelin, etc.

II. The Crochans believe in Mates

It’s not confirmed whether the Crochans do or don't have the traditional fae mating bonds, however we learned in CC2 basically anyone can have a true mating bond as long as one person has fae blood, E.g. Bryce and Hunt.

pg. 139 EOS the Crochans "... had adopted the Fae habit of selecting mates- if not a true mating bond, then in spirit".

pg. 139, EOS Manon's grandmother says about her father "But he did not love her- not with your mother as his true mate, the song of his soul". This sounds to me like her parents were believed to be a true fae mating bond not just "in spirit".

Pg. 316 HOSAB "Angels have mates. Not as.. soul-magicky as Fae, but we call life partners mates in lieu of husbands or wives". Sounds like the Angels have a mating bond "in spirit" similar to the Crochans. Except that Hunt then truly "fae mated" Bryce, and he doesn't have any fae blood.

When then find out Hunt and Bryce are "true mates"; Pg.492 HOSAB "It means that he's going ballistic in the way that only mates can when the other is threatened. It's what happened then and happened now. You're true mates- the way Fae are mates, in your bodies and souls".

III. Fae can have non fae mates.

We see this with Rhys/Feyre, Cassian/Nesta where they felt a pull prior to Feyre and Nesta being fae but it clicked into place when they were made.

We also see Bryce/Hunt in CC that are different species and have a traditional fae mating bond.

There is also Elide/Lorcan and Gavin/Elena in TOG that are “mates” (unconfirmed since the humans never became fae). Fae queens Mab and Mora also give up immortality for their human "mates".

So it is canon that you can have inter species mates or human mates, it just may never "click" into place if they are human.

via Hunt and Bryce, we do know the bond can completely click (souls and scents merging, etc.) between "magical" species once it is accepted, but we do not have this evidence with fae and human bonds.

I also don’t believe Dorian is entirely human. But that is completely my speculation

Pg. 933 KOA " 'I am human.' It warmed in his hand... 'I am human," he repeated, to the stars now visible above the city. The sword didn't answer again. As if it knew he no longer needed it." Yes he is human but he can be other things too. Similar to Aelin's quote about being a human in a fae body below. They identify and choose their human moral side, but that does not mean there are parts of them that are not human.

Aelin KOA Pg. 723: "I am human, deep down, Faerie Queen nonsense aside. I had human parents, and their parents were human, mostly, and even with Mab's line running true... I'm a human who can turn into Fae. A human who wears a Fae body".

On par with the theme of "Be grateful for your human heart" (Rhys, ACOTAR)

Also curious as to whether he does or does not have valg blood from his father. Because he could also have fae blood (distantly) from Elena/Brannon/Mala (Valg + Fae= Witch?)

IV. The mating bond would have clicked when they fucked… I think we all know this ain’t true anymore (cough cough Nesta and Cassian). You can have sex but if you do not accept the bond it will not click.

Rowan also says on pg 396 HOF "Sometimes, mates can be together intimately before the actual bond snaps into place"

V. Wyrd/Urd/the Mother/Fate (aka Sarah) gets to decide whose mates and who isn't

The only thing Sarah has been clear about is that she can basically make anyone mates that she wants as long as one person has fae blood. And even then, there is very much a "fate like force" aka Wyrd/Urd/The Mother that is working to pull the strings of fate and make people mates.

This is why we see so many interspecies fae bonds throughout the series. There is the fae bond like Ruhn and Lidia, but then there are the fae bonds that the Mother is orchestrating in the background.

Hellas speaks to Lorcan and Hellas's consort, the goddess Annieth, speaks to Elide. Lorcan and Elide are never confirmed mates as Elide remains human and yet there are still signs she is his mate even as a human.

Rhys's mind has able to find Feyre's when she was still human years before they met. Yes he has demati abilities but finding Feyre's mind is because they were fated to be mates.

Adias says about Hunt and Bryce mating bond HOFAS, Pg. 551 "I think that was left to higher powers. Whatever they might be".

There is no special "formula" for a mating bond. It happens when fate demands. Therefore it logically makes sense why the Mother/Wyrd/Urd would manipulate fate to ensure that Dorian and Manon were mates because they needed Manon to get into the witch mirror and raise the witch forces. They needed Manon to unite with Brannon's heir to defeat Erawan and destroy the keys, whether that be Aelin or Dorian. A mating bond would ensure that.

Also Wyrd/Urd means fate/personal destiny in nors mythology —> https://www.mimisbrunnr.info/ksd-web-of-wyrd and https://norse-mythology.org/concepts/destiny-wyrd-urd/ (read these if you want to theorize about acotar)

In conclusion, I think they could be mates but it won't fully snap into place (they won't fully merge souls, scents, etc.) unless Dorian is somehow Made. The only evidence of interspecies true confirmed fae mating bonds is Bryce and Hunt, and while they were able to fully "click" without Hunt being fae, it is very unclear why this is other than "high powers". We do know though that human Elide was very likely Lorcan's true mate, but we were never told of any clicking between them on that fae physiological level. So it is safe to assume that for a mating bond between a human and fae it will not "click" into place unless that human is turned fae.

HOWEVER, I do think it is possible because of Dorian's raw magic, he could be a rare exception to this rule similar to Hunt. So maybe it just has not clicked because Manon and Dorian have not accepted it. Which would also make sense given the nature of their relationship through most of the series, them denying their feelings to each due to their emotional unavailability.

Dissenting Opinion: But we also don't know how the angels were created by the Asteri, so maybe Hunt is "made" and not actually an exception.

Anyway, there's my evidence. There was some more evidence that I had and then removed because even though I think it is proof of a deeper connection I didn't think it was mate related (e.g. Abraxos taking Manon to Dorian when she says take me somewhere safe, I came to the conclusion that that showed Abraxos's awareness in protecting Manon).

Here are the links to some other tumblr posts on them being mates. I did look at these when putting this together so full credit to those individuals :)

#manorian #manon x dorian #manon blackbeak #dorian havilliard #togcouples #dorian x manon #throne of glass #they are mates and I will not be silenced

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throneofsapphics · 10 months

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Hiiii... I have a request I hope you write it. Can you write a Dorian havilliard x reader, when it's reader's birthday but Dorian forgot it because of his duties as a king? Pleaseee

not worth remembering

Dorian Havilliard x Reader

Summary: “Any special occasion?” Your eyes shuddered closed, and everything seemed to stop for a moment. A casual comment, nothing teasing or sly about it. Like he was asking about the gods-damned weather. He had forgotten.

A/N: thank you for requesting this!

Warnings: angst, a bit of fluff

Dorian was busy, you knew that. He’s the King of Adarlan, after all, and your relationship was still new. You couldn’t exactly forget his birthday - the entire Kingdom seemed to celebrate it.

You said not to make a big deal of yours, that you didn’t really want to do anything special - only spend time with him. He promised you’d have the entire day to yourselves, that he would clear his schedule.

But, an urgent situation came up a few days before, and he’d been in meetings non stop to deal with the fall out. He’d come to bed, exhausted, kiss your forehead, before falling asleep right on the spot.

This morning, he gave you a hug, told you hopefully things would be wrapped up today, and he would be free before dinner. You took that as he’d wrap it up, and then you could celebrate. Together. An evening, part of the day, was better than nothing.

Knowing he’d be busy, you left the castle to seek out some friends. You forced steady breaths, each footstep seeming to hit the cobblestones a bit harder, but you rolled your shoulders back. He wouldn’t forget. Maybe he had some kind of surprise planned.

Your knuckles knocked against the wood half heartedly, and your friend opened. Surprise flared momentarily, but sensing your mood she didn’t question anything, only stepping aside to let you in, with a smile.

“Good thing I got this a few days early,” she nudged you and handed you a box of your favorite chocolates, along with a card. You laughed, and listened to her chat about the last few days, the various gossip coming up. It served as a good distraction.

Just after sundown, Dorian strode back into the rooms, looking slightly relieved as he closed the door behind him. “I think we’re mostly sorted now,” he said, making right for you. He stopped next to the dresser, glancing over at the small box of chocolates, and the card propped up on top of it. “What’s all this?”

“Gift from a friend.” You swallowed harshly, and fixed your eyes on the small box.

“That’s nice,” he hummed, and his eyes finally met yours. “Any special occasion?” Your eyes shuddered closed, and everything seemed to stop for a moment. A casual comment, nothing teasing or sly about it. Like he was asking about the gods-damned weather. He had forgotten. That was the last straw. You stood, not looking at him as you strode into your bedroom, slamming and locking the door, before sliding down against it, tugging your knees to your chest. He could sleep on the couch for all you cared.

You couldn’t hide the violent sobs as tears trailed down your cheeks, your chest feeling like it was caving in.

As soon as you stood up, Dorian realized the mistake he’d made. Your birthday. How the hell did he forget? He loosed a long breath, mentally trying to run through ways to fix this, how to make it better. After a few moments, he approached the door you’d just slammed, and wiggled the handle. Locked, but he could hear you - just on the other side, heard your tears, and felt a small part of him breaking.

“Y/n?” He called softly. No answer. He slid his back against the door, feeling your warmth through the wood. “I’m sorry.” A huff came from the other side. “I really am.” Excuses wouldn’t do anything good. “There’s no excuse for this.” He paused, waiting to see if you would answer him. “How can I make this up to you?”

“You have to figure that out.” You snapped. Dorian realized he was in deep shit.

You could forgive being stuck in meetings and negotiations - the politics and affairs of Adarlan wouldn’t stop just for you, but actually forgetting - asking ‘any special occasion’ that was the last straw. That, you couldn’t handle. Not even important enough to remember. Not even a gift and a card could put the pieces together for him. Not a single ‘happy birthday.’ It felt like it wasn’t worth remembering

“Tomorrow. I swear it. I’ll clear everything, I’ll do it now.”

You heard him rise, footsteps, and the soft snick of a door closing. You wouldn’t believe it unless it actually happened. You forced yourself to remember you’re not being dramatic, forced yourself not to undermine what happened, and that you had a right to be angry about it.

“Clear everything tomorrow.” Dorian told Chaol, who looked up at him with a frown, but he saw the tight look on his friend's face - the slight anguish in his eyes.

“It’s done.” He promised, and Dorian left with a small thanks. He thought about calling after him, asking what the hell happened, but he recognized that look - and knew to leave it alone. For now, there was plenty of time to be nosy later.

You were stubborn, and hurt, so the King of Adarlan did sleep on the couch that night. For the first part, at least. You figured he must’ve learned a few tricks from Aelin - or found the spare key, because you awoke with his chest pressed against your back, an arm slung around his waist. Before you could remember to be angry, you turned over and snuggled further into his, into his warmth, his bare chest.

Those sapphire eyes blinked open, half-lidded with sleep, and you stiffened - your body going rigid in his arms. He ran a gentle stroke down your spine, before burying his face into your hair.

“I’m sorry,” the words were muffled.

“I know.” You answered, but couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

“I have a lot of groveling to do, don’t I?”

You snorted. “As much as you think it’s worth.”

He leaned, his hand cupping your cheek, and you saw the glimmer in his eyes. He was taking that as a challenge. You groaned slightly, digging your face into his chest.

#dorian havilliard x y/n #dorian havilliard x reader #throne of glass fic #throne of glass imagine #slightly proofread

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leiawritesstories · 9 months

Text

To Honor And Cherish

Rowaelin Month, Day 25: Arranged Marriage

A/N: Hi everyone! If you remember As I Am, it was a Regency AU crossover fic that I started when i was still very much a baby writer. Lol I'm still a developing writer, who are we kidding? Anyway, that fic has a very special place in my heart, but it was...just too much, too complex to properly handle. So.......I did a little mini rewrite with just Rowaelin! because I loved their story and it was an excuse to rewatch Bridgerton S1 😂

All that to say, here's a little mini Rowaelin rewrite of AIA, and i hope you enjoy :))

Word count: 4,670 (oops)

Warnings: none ;)

@rowaelinscourt

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

Numb, Aelin stared out the carriage window, firmly refusing to look across the small but opulent vehicle and meet the gazes of her parents--her mother, teary-eyed with wistful pleasure; her father, proud of his accomplishment in achieving the best marriage match of the Season. The lace trim along the neckline of her simple, pale blue morning gown itched at her collarbone, and she focused on the slight discomfort, using it to control her roiling emotions. Before she was fully calm, though, the carriage rattled to a stop, and she realized with a small jolt that they had arrived.

"Aelin, darling." Baroness Evalin Ashryver reached across the carriage and touched her daughter's gloved hand. "Shall we?"

"Haste to the wedding, as it were," Aelin returned, dryly.

Evalin frowned. "It is as if I taught you nothing of decorum." She took her husband's arm and stepped elegantly out of the carriage. "We have but three hours, darling."

"I am highly aware of that fact, m'lady," Aelin muttered under her breath, accepting the footman's assistance as she exited the carriage. As she followed her parents into the west entrance of St. Paul's Cathedral, she spared one final glance at her family's carriage, knowing that it may well be the last time she rode in it.

Baron Rhoe Galathynius allowed his wife to lead the way towards the bridal rooms and fell into step beside his daughter. "The Duke is a good man, Fireheart," he murmured. "I promise, I have never been careless with your future."

A small corner of Aelin's heart softened. "I trust you, Father." She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. "I simply feel...well, to be perfectly honest, I feel disregarded by this whole process. I know the conventions of our society, but I thought we were going to be more of a partnership when it came to my marriage." She couldn't help the hint of reproach that crept into her words.

"That was my intention, too," Rhoe admitted. "However, your mother is...a very determined woman, and when she came to me with her shortlist of suitors, it was not in my best interest to reject it outright."

"I see."

"I did my best to investigate each of the men on that list," Rhoe continued. "As I said, I have never been careless with your future, my Fireheart."

Aelin sighed delicately and flicked a grateful look up at her father. "I know." Her posture stiffened, just a fraction, as they approached the door to the bride's preparation rooms. "I quite liked Dorian, you know."

Rhoe's lips twitched with amusement. "I doubt he would have made much as a husband, though."

That brought a hint of a chuckle from Aelin's throat. "I never said I was considering him as a husband, though he certainly did make a clever suggestion: a nominal marriage, in which we were perfectly happy together with our own, ah, partners."

"Ah, Havilliard," Rhoe chuckled. "Dare I say he may not have made the most ideal husband? He'll certainly be a fine honorary uncle, though, I'm sure."

"He will." Aelin squeezed her father's hand. "Oh gods, the door approaches."

"It will be alright," her father assured her. "And if it is not, write to me and I will take care of it." The steel in his eyes drove home his promise.

"I love you, Father," Aelin whispered, rising onto her toes to peck a soft kiss onto his cheek.

Rhoe smiled. "I love you too, my Fireheart." He held the bride's door open. "I'll see you in a few hours."

Aelin took a controlled breath and walked through the door. The instant the thick oak door clicked shut behind her, Evalin was leading her off down the short hallway into a lovely, sunlit room, where a flurry of attendants swarmed around the women already gathered there, busy curling and arranging hair, applying cosmetics, steaming and fluffing dresses, and assuring every lady present that it was going to be a perfectly lovely wedding day.

"I feel as though I may vomit," Aelin murmured.

Evalin waved at one of the maids. "Please bring a basin; the bride has nerves." She patted Aelin's shoulder with a brief, perfunctory attempt at comfort. "It is perfectly normal to feel anxious before your wedding, darling. I could hardly stop trembling on the morning that I married your father."

Aelin cracked a faint smile. "Why, Mother, I thought you were always the very picture of composure."

"Hardly." For a moment, Evalin's rarely-seen softer side made an appearance. "I believe I'd only met Rhoe three or four times before we were married, and we were little more then formal acquaintances when our parents signed the betrothal agreement."

"That's three or four times more than I've met the Duke," Aelin mused.

"I trust your father's judgment." Evalin's tone was noticeably cooler. "You will make a fine Duchess, darling."

Aelin didn't reply, choosing to focus on the sudden flurry of attendants encircling her, helping her out of her dress and into simple undergarments and a white satin dressing gown. She let them lead her to a chair, sat down, and watched in the mirror as her lady's maid twisted her hair into an elegant knot.

"No, no!" Evalin snapped at the maid. "She is a bride! She must wear her hair up higher for the veil!"

"Leave it, Philippa." Aelin held up her hand. Evalin frowned in disapproval, opening her mouth to overrule Aelin's wishes, but Aelin calmly folded her hands in her lap and fixed her gaze onto her mother's in the mirror. "I am the bride, Mother, not you." Steel and flame underlaid her words, a subtle but strong note of command.

Disapproval and shock bloomed over Evalin's feature, but she said nothing.

"Very well, milady," Philippa said quietly. The young, dark-haired lady's maid--only a few years older than Aelin was--tucked the last two pins into Aelin's hair and flicked her mistress a tiny but immensely proud smile. "What do you think?"

"It is perfect." Aelin gave her lady's maid and longtime companion a grateful smile. "Mother, would you please oversee my cosmetics? You know how little experience I have with all of that."

Placated, Evalin directed Philippa to apply simple makeup to Aelin's face, enhancing her clear skin and soft lips and concealing the faint shadows beneath her eyes. Though she was only twenty-one, Aelin had long since struggled with poor sleep, and it manifested in the circles smudged under her eyes.

"There," Evalin announced. "Lovely." She touched Aelin's shoulder. "Has your stomach settled, darling? It is time for the dress."

"My stomach will survive," Aelin returned. She stood and followed her mother into the next room, where she removed her dressing gown and allowed Philippa and two other attendants to busy themselves with arranging her undergarments.

"Deep breath, milady," Philippa prompted. Obediently, Aelin inhaled deeply and held the breath, keeping her face carefully blank as Philippa tugged with practiced ease on the laces of Aelin's corset. "Very good, milady, just another few seconds." With a final sharp tug, she tied the laces into a neat bow. "Exhale, milady."

Aelin released her breath with careful control. The corset was as restricting and uncomfortable as always, cinched tightly around her waist and stomach, drawing her already-ladylike figure into a conventional image of a lady with an impossibly small waistline. "Well, I would prefer to breathe properly, but thank you, Philippa."

Philippa dipped her head. "All things for the beauty of the bride." She helped Aelin step up onto the small, round, raised platform in the middle of the dressing room. "Up you go, milady." She and two other attendants helped Aelin step into her wedding gown--a beautifully tailored spill of white silk that molded closely against her bodice and fell into a cascading, lace-paneled skirt with a cathedral train. Soft cap sleeves laid over her shoulders, paired with matching white silk gloves.

"Oh, my daughter," Evalin whispered, tears misting up her eyes. "You are the perfect portrait of a bride."

"Stunning, milady," Philippa murmured into Aelin's ear as she adjusted Aelin's skirts.

Aelin simply stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror, wondering where she had gone and when this porcelain-faced doll had replaced her. She felt oddly separated from her emotions, as if she had somehow stepped out of her own body and was watching it go through the motions of being a bride.

With light-handed gracefulness, Philippa tucked the two silver combs of the lace veil into Aelin's hair and gently tossed the airy spill of hand-wrought lace, allowing the two layers of material to drift naturally down Aelin's back. "Look at you," she whispered.

Aelin looked. "You truly work wonders," she said softly, the corners of her lips curling up.

Philippa smiled. "Hardly. Let's get you to the wedding, milady."

In a rushed blur, Aelin was helped into her shoes, handed a huge, almost cloyingly sweet bouquet of roses and lilies, and led down a series of winding hallways until she stood before the great wooden doors to the cathedral nave where her father was waiting.

"A vision," he murmured, pride and joy shining on his face.

Aelin managed a faint smile. "A nervous vision."

Rhoe chuckled quietly. "Not to increase your nerves, Fireheart, but everyone is ready. They are all waiting for you." He tucked her hand snugly into the crook of his elbow. "Shall we?"

A strange sense of calm descended over Aelin, and she felt her resolve return, turning her spine into composed steel. "We shall." She nodded to Philippa, who stepped forward and draped the upper layer of her veil over her face, arranging the lace so Aelin could still see. "I am ready."

With a great groaning creak and a thunderous swelling of organ music, the cathedral doors were swung open, revealing Aelin and Rhoe to an eager audience of hundreds of society's finest. Rhoe walked Aelin slowly down the aisle, his steady presence at her side keeping her sane, keeping her on her feet.

Halfway down the aisle, Aelin could finally clearly see the man standing at the altar, waiting for her. The Duke of Doranelle. Her soon-to-be husband. He was tall--taller than her father--and broad-shouldered, his perfectly tailored black suit clinging to the kind of well-muscled physique that made her think he'd served in the army. His hair was tied back in a short tail and powdered white, as was traditional, his face had the kind of elegantly structured planes and angles that would make a sculptor cry with joy, and his eyes--pine-green and piercing--were honed in on her.

He looked about as tenderhearted as a block of ice.

Refusing to be the timid, demure bride this duke no doubt expected her to be, Aelin locked her gaze onto the duke's and kept it there for the remainder of her procession down the aisle.

Rhoe stopped at the base of the four steps leading up to the altar, just in front of the waiting duke and the bishop. The bishop, in full clerical finery, opened the book in his hands and offered a polite smile.

"Dearly beloved," he began, "we are gathered here today to witness the divine institution of holy matrimony." He spoke on for another minute, then turned to Rhoe and Aelin. "Who gives this woman to be married to this man?

"I do." Rhoe spoke with conviction. He took Aelin's hand from his arm and, at the nod of the bishop, laid her gloved hand in the duke's outstretched, gloved one.

The duke's large hand closed around Aelin's, and she felt the oddest sensation flicker at the base of her spine. She cast a cool, appraising look at the duke through the lace of her veil, a spark of satisfaction flaring within her at his tiny, well-concealed inhale, and returned her attention to the bishop.

The wedding ceremony droned on and on, and Aelin let the words spill over her, not paying too much attention to anything except the way her corset dug into her ribs and the too-strong scent of the massive bouquet of flowers in her free hand. She snapped back into focus when the bishop directed her and the duke to turn towards each other for the exchange of vows.

Facing her, his deep pine gaze locked onto her turquoise one, the duke spoke first, repeating the bishop's prompted words. "I, Rowan Whitethorn, take thee, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, to be my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, in sickness and health. I vow to thee to honor and cherish till death do us part. In the presence of God and man I make these vows."

The bishop nodded slightly at Aelin and murmured the words. She spoke, her voice clear and unwavering. "I, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, take thee, Rowan Whitethorn, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, in sickness and in health. I vow to thee to honor and cherish till death do us part. In the presence of God and man I make these vows."

She could almost sense the finality of the words.

The bishop motioned at one of the groomsmen, who stepped forward with a small white pillow upon which laid two gold bands. One was thicker and wider, a man's ring. The other was more delicate, crowned with a square-cut emerald. The bishop spoke words over the rings and then directed the duke--Rowan--to place the ring on Aelin's finger.

With surprising gentleness, Rowan lifted Aelin's left hand and slipped the silk glove off of her arm. Cradling her smaller hand in his large one, he looked into her eyes as if trying to read her soul and slid the ring onto her finger, the coolness of the gold quickly warming to her skin.

At the bishop's prompting, Aelin unbuttoned Rowan's glove and slipped the white cotton material off of his hand. With her still-gloved hand beneath his now-bare one, she returned his searching, probing look and slid the ring onto his callused, tan finger.

The bishop flipped a page in his book. "I hereby pronounce thee man and wife," he proclaimed. Applause rippled through the cathedral in waves, the assembled congregation clapping politely for the newly married Duke and Duchess of Doranelle. The bishop waited for the applause to quiet down, and then spoke the last few words of the ceremony. "You may kiss the bride," he concluded.

Rowan reached down and lifted the veil off Aelin's face. With the lace no longer between them, his keen gaze roved rapidly over her face as he tilted his head down and touched his lips to hers. It was barely a whisper of a kiss, more ceremonial than anything, but in those few seconds of contact, Aelin had the oddest sense that she wanted to know what a real kiss from that man felt like.

As the organ burst into joyous swells of music, Aelin laid her newly ringed hand upon Rowan's offered arm and walked beside him down the aisle and out of the cathedral. Sunlight beamed down upon the newlywed couple, and she blinked at the brightness of its glare.

There was a gentle tug on her hand. "Here," Rowan prompted, leading her down the cathedral stairs towards a waiting carriage. It was simple on the exterior, its boxy frame glossy, the doors engraved with the crest of Doranelle. A footman opened the door and placed a stepstool on the ground, and Rowan steadied Aelin as she gathered her trailing skirts over one arm and stepped up into the carriage. Inside, it was paneled in deep green silk, the seats well-cushioned and comfortable.

She sank into one seat with a suppressed groan of relief. Rowan settled into the seat opposite hers, his brows quirking with something that might resemble amusement if he possessed human emotions.

"What?" she inquired, deceptively polite. "Have you never thought that perhaps a woman grows exhausted after spending hours standing in uncomfortable shoes that pinch her toes and shift all her weight to paper-thin soles and tiny little sticks of heels?"

Rowan opened and closed his mouth several times, struggling for words. "I confess I had never thought about that, no."

"Typical." Aelin adjusted her skirts, lifted her veil over her shoulder so as not to sit on it, and fixed her attention on the city slipping past outside the window.

Across from her, Rowan shifted in his seat. Clearly, he had not anticipated that she would ignore him--typical male arrogance. It was only a few minutes before he spoke. "Aelin."

Though the sound of her name on his tongue did funny things to her heartbeat, she ignored him.

"Aelin," he tried again. She still paid him no heed.

So he turned his head towards the opposite window and set his jaw in a hard line. They passed the remainder of the carriage ride in tense silence, only exchanging looks and a perfunctory touch when they arrived at the Galathynius home in the city for the reception and Rowan escorted her out of the carriage and into the house.

The whole thing flew past in a blur of greetings, pleasantries, gifts, a delicious dinner that Aelin barely tasted because her corset made it nearly impossible to properly eat, toasts, dancing, and finally, being swept off to change into travelling clothes. She blew out a short breath of relief as Philippa helped her out of her wedding dress.

Her lady's maid laughed. "Better?"

"So much better," Aelin groaned. "Do you know how awful it is to walk around with ten yards of silk following you like a stray cat?"

"Sounds horrendous," Philippa agreed. She buttoned up the back of Aelin's simple satin travel dress and laid her lightweight cloak around her shoulders. "Enjoy your journey, milady. I will see you once you reach Doranelle."

"You are the best." Aelin squeezed Philippa's hands affectionately. "I left a little something for you in my dressing-table." Tucked into the drawer was an envelope containing a small sum of money for her ever-faithful lady's maid. "I look forward to seeing you at our new home." She smiled and went down the stairs.

Rowan waited at the base of the staircase, the lines of his face etched in granite. He had changed from his formal black wedding suit into brown trousers, vest, and jacket and a white linen shirt and washed the powder from his hair. She was mildly surprised to see that beneath the powder, his hair was light brown and slightly curled at the ends.

Evalin enveloped Aelin in her embrace. "You will make a wonderful Duchess," she murmured. "I look forward to visiting you once you've settled in." Aelin smiled and turned to her father.

Rhoe wrapped his daughter in his arms. "I'm so very proud of you, my Fireheart," he whispered. "Write me if you need anything. I'll keep your mother from invading, as much as I can."

Aelin chuckled. "Thank you, Father."

Rhoe grinned at her and turned his attention to his new son-in-law. "I will not hesitate to do anything my daughter asks of me," he said, his words edged with paternal warning. "Take care of my Fireheart, Your Grace."

"I will, sir." Rowan linked Aelin's arm with his. "Are you ready?"

"I am." With a final wave to her family, she and the duke left her family home, climbed into his carriage, and began the silent drive towards his estate in the country.

As evening deepened into night, Rowan glanced at his watch. "We should be stopping for the night in half an hour or so."

Aelin raised her brows. "At an inn?"

"No. At Mistward House." He offered no further explanation.

"Forgive me for not memorizing the details of each of your holdings before the wedding, Your Grace," she deadpanned.

His controlled expression did not even budge. "Mistward House was my mother's dowry property. Doranelle itself is another half day's journey from here."

"I see."

Shortly later, their carriage pulled to a stop in front of a brownstone manor house with ivy trailing up parts of the walls and warm golden lamplight shining from a few of the windows. It would have been wonderfully welcoming under any other circumstances, but all Aelin could think of was the very real possibility of what might happen inside that house in not very much time.

Rowan climbed out of the carriage and held out his hand, and she accepted it as she stepped down from the carriage. He escorted her inside and made a brief greeting to the few staff who were there.

"Everything is ready just as you requested, Your Grace," the middle-aged lady who must have been the housekeeper said. "It it so good to see you here again, even if only for the night."

"Thank you, Mrs. Ellys," Rowan returned, a hint of warmth in his tone. "We shall see if we visit Mistward later in the summer." He turned back to Aelin. "This way."

She followed him down the hallways, memorizing the simple path back to the front entrance as they walked. He stopped in front of a dark wooden door, paused for a few seconds, then pushed the door open and led her into a warm, softly-lit bedroom with wood-paneled walls, a large, soft-looking bed, and a small fire crackling behind the fireplace grate. In any other context, it would have looked positively homelike and comforting.

Rowan closed the door with a muted click, and Aelin suddenly realized that despite what she'd wondered, there would be no separate bedrooms, not that night.

"There is a washroom through that door," he said, pointing towards a door near the back of the room.

She nodded, took her small bag of nightclothes, and headed straight into the washroom. The door had a lock, so she locked herself in the small but sparkling clean room, braced her hands on the edge of the sink, and breathed as deeply as she could while still confined by that godsdamn corset. With almost robotic movements, she took off her cloak, dress, shoes, stockings, and undergarments, untied the laces of her corset, and carefully, painstakingly loosened the damned contraption until her lungs were free and she could throw it to the ground.

As always, the corset's boned structure had left red imprints along her sides. She frowned, chose to ignore the marks, and pulled her soft cotton nightgown over her head, letting the comfortable material settle against her skin.

After washing her face, Aelin pulled the pins from her hair and left them beside the sink. If the stone-faced duke took issue with her leaving her hairpins in the washroom, he could stuff the pins up his ass. She ran a comb through her hair, tied it back in a loose braid, and left the washroom, resolved to continue ignoring her husband for as long as possible.

Her husband, in return, barely spared her a second glance as he went into the washroom, dressed in his own nightclothes. He was in there for a short time, the splashing of water indicating that he was washing up like she had. She took the opportunity to drape her dress and cloak over the dressing screen in the corner of the room and take a slow walk around the bedroom, half expecting there to be some kind of secret entrance.

She had already climbed into the (very comfortable) bed when Rowan emerged from the washroom and methodically blew out each of the lamps in the room before climbing into the other side of the bed, his back turned to her.

Perfect. The less contact she had with the man, the better.

Aelin awoke in the middle of the night with Rowan's arm draped over her waist, his hand skimming her hipbones through the fine material of her nightgown.

Blindly, half-panicked, she jerked sharply away from him and his touch, pulled the sheet over herself, shut her eyes tight and mentally screamed at herself to breathe, gods damn it! She managed a short breath, and then another, and a deep breath, and another, and another.

As her head cleared, she opened her eyes, finding her husband awake, sitting upright a full arm's length away, his unfaltering eyes latched onto her. Concern and fear were written written all over his face.

"Aelin?" he whispered.

"I'm here," she croaked.

Worry and rage clashed in the depths of his gaze. "Who hurt you?" he breathed, primal violence simmering just beneath the controlled softness of his voice.

"Why do you care?" she whispered, defensive.

He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, and when he met her gaze again, muted pain joined the storm of emotions roiling in the depths of his stare. "Because my bastard of a father hurt my mother, and I swore an oath to never be anything like him."

It was the most human she'd ever seen the duke be in their few hours of knowing each other.

A tiny corner of her heart softened at the rawness of his words. "It was...an associate of my father."

Rowan pushed the sleeves of his nightshirt up, exposing his forearms. "Will you tell me who, Aelin?" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I do not mean to pry, but I...if the man is still alive, I will end him."

"He is long since dead, and he was Lord Hamel," she said, simply.

"Arobynn Hamel?"

"Yes."

He exhaled slowly. "Hamel was one hell of a bastard," he whispered, roughly.

She just nodded. "I've always wondered if it makes me a horrible person for being happy that he's dead."

"It doesn't." The swiftness of Rowan's reply shocked both of them. He sighed. "It does not make you anything but justified, Aelin."

There was that infernal flutter in her guarded heart. "I might just have to admit that you're human after all."

A half grin curved his lips. "How might I prove my full humanity to you, Your Grace?" Gods burn her, the man had a sense of humor.

She shrugged indifferently, tamping down the part of herself that wanted to squeal like a little girl. "You could start with letting me get a full night's sleep." Maybe it was the late hour, maybe it was the fact that she was overwhelmed from the events of the last day, or maybe it was sheer insanity, but then she let a smirk curve her own lips. "Or, if you intend not to sleep, you could give your wife a kiss."

Rowan inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring with surprise. "Say that again."

"I was under the impression that you weren't the command-giving type." The snarky retort tumbled unbidden from her lips.

In a single, smooth move, he was inches away from her face, his arms braced on either side of her--enough space that she didn't feel trapped, but close enough to feel the heat of him. "And I was under the impression that you wanted a kiss, Your Grace."

A lazy grin unfurled across Aelin's face. "Kindly give your wife a kiss, Your Grace."

"Never stop calling yourself my wife," he murmured, and he kissed her. At first, it was a soft brush of his lips, then he sank one hand into her hair and deepened the kiss, slow and leisurely and unhurried.

After a long, blissful moment, she broke the kiss, leaning slightly back to catch her breath, and a huge yawn split the air between them. She laughed, softly. "Good night, Rowan."

"Good night, Aelin," he murmured. She settled back down into bed, and he tucked the covers up over her. His arm lingered around her shoulders, hesitant, hopeful. "Is this alright?"

The warmth of him was still strange, but comforting. "Yes."

She fell asleep with her duke's arm around her and the warmth of his body behind her, solid and steady and protective, nothing at all like the ice-faced man who had sworn vows to her just that morning.

will there be more? who knows... ;)

~~~

TAGS:

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@silentquartz

#my writing #rowaelin month #rowaelinmonth #rowaelin month 2023 #rowaelin #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin au #regency au #rowaelin regency au #to honor and cherish #100000% bridgerton and p&p inspired #gotta cite my sources lmao

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mariaofdoranelle · 1 year

Text

Look at Us Now — Ch. 10

Fic masterlist

*Nods to Nonnie who sent me a prompt the other week*

Warnings: language, mentions of thiefs and orgies

Words: 3,7k

“OH MY GOD.”

Aelin’s screams made Rowan jump out of the couch, pulse racing as he sprinted towards the sound. He didn’t mean to fall asleep there, it must be the middle of the night already.

His shoulders dropped in relief when he found her safe, just whisper-yelling with her head sticking out the window.

“What’s going on?”

Aelin had her eyes narrowed, arms crossed. “We have a thief.”

“A thief?”

It’s not that Rowan thought she was lying, but breaking into anything military-related was a suicide mission. This house was as safe as it could get.

“Well, it has to be a thief, since he’s climbing into windows like one,” Aelin explained in a voice higher than necessary for Rowan to hear.

“Oh, come on!” Said thief protested from the outside.

When Rowan approached the window to assess the situation, his whole body froze. Obnoxiously shiny black hair, sapphire blue eyes and taller than he liked to imagine. Rowan hoped he’d never meet Dorian Havilliard, his baby mama’s ex-boyfriend, but there he was, about to climb Fenrys’ window

“Front door, now!” Aelin’s voice was commanding, and apparently her ex knew when there was no fighting her.

She didn’t wait for him to grab her snack bowl and storm down the hallway, which was good, since it gave Rowan space to strangle his roommate.

He elbowed his friend who’d just left his room and whispered, “What the fuck did you do?”

Fenrys had the gall to do a military salute. “I stole her man, like I promised you I would.”

Yes, he did promise that when Rowan was in jail. No, it didn’t make him feel better.

“Seriously? Of all the people in the world, him?”

Fenrys’ shoulders dropped like a child’s when being scolded. “But he’s so hot!”

Rowan could take this argument further, but that’d entail admitting Aelin’s ex was hot. Instead, he moved to the living room to find her bickering with Dorian.

Aelin had her arms crossed over her heavy bump. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know you were staying here!”

“Then why didn’t you just use the front door?”

“Fen told me not to!” Dorian pointed at his pants. “Do you think these were made for climbing windows?”

Fenrys moved closer to them and cleared his throat. “Aelin, I really appreciate your friendship, but I won’t apologize for stealing your man.”

Her eyes widened, and her head tilted back a beat later, a loud laugh booming out of her. She held a finger up for a few seconds, silently asking them to wait until she recovered. “Fen, I wouldn’t care if you fucked him when we were dating. I definitely don’t need an apology from you now.”

Dorian clutched his chest in a wounded stance. “Ouch!”

She rolled her eyes, chuckling. “Oh, come on.”

Rowan’s narrowed eyes darted between Fenrys and his boy toy. “So you two are a thing now?”

“Not really.” Dorian shrugged. “I’m kinda going through a slut phase now that I’m single.”

Aelin clamped her lips together as she tried not to laugh again. “You were always in a slut phase.”

Rowan crossed his arms, assessing those two. He knew they had an open relationship, but he was starting to grasp how open it was.

This was so hard to understand. If Rowan had the chance to tie Aelin down, he wouldn’t even give her time enough to see other people, let alone almost every day, like she did with Rowan months ago.

He wasn’t trying to judge their previous relationship, but it was really hard to understand someone who had everything in his hands and still seeked other people.

Now that Aelin seemed calmer, Dorian gave a pointed look to the snack she left at the coffee table. He inched closer and picked the food Rowan made for Aelin, inspecting it from every angle imaginable.

“Pregnant women are so weird.” He sniffed the dried mango with mustard and gummy bears and wrinkled his nose. “Is this even edible?”

Aelin drew a slow smirk and wiggled her eyebrows before saying, “Not the kind of edible we’d eat when we were residents.”

The ache from Rowan’s tense jaw spread to his other muscles as well. His hands twitched as he held back from grabbing Aelin’s ex by his shiny dark hair and—

It didn’t matter. Aelin was single, and she decided to do a friendly co-parenting thing with him. Her previous relationship didn’t matter now.

Rowan: What do you usually buy for Girls’ Night?

Rowan: I mean snacks.

Completely at loss, he wandered around the store closest to his home, only taking note of what was available until Aelin replied to his texts. Fenrys and Lorcan were currently at his home watching Maisie, and they had kicked Rowan here because, apparently, the snacks at his house were too organic and lame.

The thing is, Rowan’s never hosting parties, he’s usually dragged into them. But their therapist told him to do something with the sole purpose of having a good time, so there he was. Even though he didn’t know exactly why. He thought therapy was supposed to be about his family. Why was Yrene trying to give him homework that doesn’t involve Aelin?

Rowan felt his muscles loosening when his phone pinged with Aelin’s notification. It was torture to tone down his previous multiple calls a day, but at least she became more receptive when he reached out.

Aelin: can’t tell

Aelin: the girls’ night lore is exclusive to ellie and i

Aelin: but it’ll be passed down to maisie when the time comes

He trailed his eyes on the ceiling. She had to be joking, right?

Rowan: Please?

He frowned at his phone when she stayed too long without replying. Maybe that wasn’t a joke after all.

Rowan: Aelin?

Aelin: sorry

Aelin: i was driving

Rowan: And texting.

Aelin: just in the red light. don’t fuss.

Aelin: at least until i find some good dry shampoo. i can’t die with greasy hair.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard as an idea struck him. Rowan was pretty sure people bought those at pharmacies, and he knew the one she frequented the most is on the same block he was at.

Rowan: Are you close to home?

Rowan: I’m at the convenience store

Rowan: Maybe you could come by and help me out?

Yes, he knew she could very well just text a suggestion on snacks to buy. It fleetingly crossed his mind, but it didn’t sound near as nice as the idea he proposed.

It seemed like Aelin didn’t agree with him, by the way the typing balloon popped in and out of his screen many times.

Rowan: But that’s not very practical, now that I think about it.

Rowan: I hope you find your dry shampoo.

He pocketed his phone and focused back on the food shelves, trying to ignore the feeling of his dropping stomach. What was he thinking? Of course Rowan could buy drinks and snacks by himself. He was an independent man, he didn’t need Aelin to host anything.

After gathering half of what he needed to make a decent charcuterie board, the fridge with the drinks caught his eye. He’d follow the rule he established with Aelin and not drink while being in charge of Maisie, but maybe Fenrys and Lorcan would want some.

Rowan never knew how much pressure to apply to break the refrigerator’s vacuum seal, so he was met with the sound of bottles clinking together as soon as he opened the beer fridge. He used his hand to steady one of the shaky bottles when he noticed its design. Grabbing it to exam it closer, he noticed its unusually bright colors, and—

“Be careful, that’s a gay man’s beer,” an older man beside him warned, looking at the colorful beer bottle as if it was a bomb.

Nodding tightly, Rowan felt his body temperature rise. He knew he looked unapproachable to strangers, so it was a mystery why this stranger thought he’d be a good buddy to insult minorities together.

“That’s good, then.” Rowan schooled his body into a relaxed expression. He wore a lazy smirk while added some of the controversial bottles into his basket. “Because that’s not the gayest thing I’ll be putting in my mouth tonight,” he lied, but the horror on the stranger’s face was worth it.

The man blanched, his mouth opening and closing until he sputtered, “Um, sorry… yeah.” And left.

However, behind the stranger, there was a very shellshocked Aelin. Her eyes were bulged out of her face, mouth hanging open.

“I don’t think I was meant to hear that,” she said in a shaky tone.

he knew he needed to reply to her, but it was hard to gather words. Aelin was wearing a golden, metallic cropped top along with some tailored white pants. He swallowed, feeling his now erratic breathing worsen the warmth spreading over his body. This was some unusual attire, and his unusual reaction was proof of that.

“Where are you going?”

“Out.” She glanced around, scratching the back of her neck, before giving his basket a pointed look. “You’re doing great there, with the snack shopping. I’ll send you some pictures of Elide’s table from last Girls’ Night. You’ll know what to do.”

When Aelin turned around to leave, Rowan froze. She was wearing a bun, probably because of the dry shampoo situation, and Rowan could see every freckle on her back. His eyes widened with the sight and he flexed his hands, trying to get rid of a sudden ache there. Aelin wasn’t wearing a shirt, this was a scrap of golden fabric being held by three thin straps in the back.

Why would Aelin come here just to tell him that and leave? And why did she look so flustered after—

She didn’t think what he said was real, did she?

Feeling his heart beat out of his throat, Rowan fumbled with his phone, almost letting it fall at some point, to type the only thing he could think of.

Rowan: I am NOT going on a gay date

Rowan: Aelin

Rowan: Talk to me

Typing. Not typing. Typing. Not typing. Typing… Aelin was going to kill him like this.

Aelin: it’s okay, rowan! we can pretend this didn’t happen if you’d like. i’m sorry i overheard, you can talk to me about it when you feel ready.

He groaned, banging his head against the beer fridge.

˜˜

Fenrys cackling had always been a good indicator that Rowan was going through one of the lowest points of his life. As a rule, the intensity of his laughter was directly proportional to the amount of shit Rowan was in. Today was no exception.

“She-“ Fenrys held a finger in and grasped both knees, wheezing. “She didn’t know it was just us here?”

“I checked the text thread already. I didn’t tell her.” Rowan closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Did Elide say anything?”

Lorcan shook his head. “Ellie refused to tell me about Aelin’s plans. She’s telling us to mind our own businesses.”

Rowan’s knee was bouncing as he stared at Maisie’s drawing of Aelin on his wall. He had been acting weird the entire night, and his friends called him out on it the second his daughter went to bed.

“So we still don’t know where she was going dressed like that.” Rowan didn’t meet anyone’s eye. He knew it was a silly statement.

Fen chugged his beer. “We all know what she’s doing. Like I told you the other day, she’s on the hunt for Mr. Right.”

Rowan’s chest was an adjustable knot, and it got tighter every time someone mentioned this in a violent tug.

Lorcan narrowed his eyes at Fenrys. “She’s not. Ellie would’ve told me.”

“Are you sure? Because the last time Elide told you something about Aelin’s love life, you didn’t waste a second before you opened your mouth.” Fenrys turned to Rowan. “Did you download Tinder? We might need to rush with the plan.”

“The what?” Lorcan blurted before Rowan could tell he hadn’t downloaded any dating apps yet.

Fenrys smirked like the devil and hooked an arm around Rowan’s neck, smudging his cheek with tomato sauce from the bruschetta he was eating. “Tinder. After six years, Hoey Rowie is alive and breathing.”

“Hold on, I haven’t made a decision yet,” Rowan said while cleaning his cheek with a napkin.

“That’s the worst idea Fenrys could ever come up with. Why would other women solve your problem with Aelin?” Lorcan clasped his hands together and supported his chin in the space between the thumb and index finger. He gave Rowan a look that was so hard to decipher, he wished he could be inside his friend’s head. “Dude, you should just talk to her.”

Fenrys lifted a finger. “And by her, he means the hot redhead I’m setting you up with.”

”By her, I mean Aelin.” Lorcan had his signature judgy look on. “Have you ever stopped to think about why he wants to go on dates?”

”Because he’s a single DILF!” Fenrys exclaimed, arms flailing. “Dude, you’re being a Love Grinch.”

Lorcan pointed at his wedding ring, eyes narrowed at Fenrys. “If anything, I’m the Love Santa. The only thing I’m trying to ruin here is this bad decision. I’m the Mistake Grinch.”

Rowan picked a mini bruschetta from the coffee table, carefully weighing his friends’ words. “So you think I shouldn’t date yet?”

Lorcan shrugged, but his earnest eyes portrayed all the concern he was trying to conceal. “If you want to date, you should do it for the right reasons. Have you even thought of the reason why you suddenly want to date again?”

Because Aelin said she wanted more kids, which implies seeing someone. He freaked out, and then freaked the fuck out when he saw her in a sparkly night outfit. But did Rowan want to delve deeper into why he was getting these reactions? No, not really. He’d just fall into a rabbit hole of heartbreak, and there’d be no going out, just painfully shutting out.

Today, Rowan was choosing slutty dilfhood instead of his usual pathetic single co-parenthood.

He cocked his head into Fenrys’ direction. “Tell me about the redhead.”

˜˜

When Rowan said he’d go on a date with Fenrys’ friend, he didn’t mean immediately. However, here he was. In Doranelle City’s new hottest spot, or so his friend—and the huge line at the front door—told him.

Apparently, his date knew people, so he gave his name at the front and was allowed to cut the line.

The music Rowan was being forced to listen to outside got louder when he walked in. There was a sea of people dancing, yelling, making out in the corners, and the place reeked of a mix of beer and sweat.

Rowan had been here for a matter of seconds, and he already missed the comfort of his home.

It was one thing to say he’d decided to date again, and another to actually go on dates. Worse, a date at a club. He needed mental preparation, but of course his extroverted slut friend wouldn’t understand that. Of course he’d schedule a date for the same night and ruin Rowan’s chances to rethink and potentially balk.

That was only happening because Fenrys stayed with Maisie, who was already asleep when he left, and Rowan would definitely be there when she woke up. Lorcan went home as soon as the date was set, asking, in his words, to be excluded from this stupidity.

A girl in a tight black dress, who looked very close to the picture Fenrys showed him, tapped his upper arm.

“Rowan?” She screamed through the loud music.

“Ansel?”

She smiled. “That’s me.”

Her brown irises had some red tones to it, but it was probably the strobe lights fooling his senses. He stared deep into her eyes for longer than was socially acceptable, more out of curiosity than anything else.

Ansel smirked. “At least buy me dinner first!”

Rowan’s eyes widened. “That was rude, I’m sorry.”

The woman cackled, somehow finding something to be amused at about him, and tugged on his arm. “Come on, I found a table in the back.”

Rowan’s shoulders loosened when he saw the back of the club. After the suffocating dance floor, there was this outdoorsy area with quieter music and actual tables with menus. This was a lot better.

The silence was absolutely painful after they ordered beers and fries.

“So.” Rowan cleared his throat. “How did you meet Fenrys?”

“At an orgy.”

The beer he was sipping went right back through his nose, making him choke on it.

Ansel’s laugh boomed through the open room, and she made soothing motions on his back as he recovered from the surprise. “Don’t worry, Big Guy. I’m not dragging you to one.”

“Thanks.” He coughed a little, clutching his chest. ”I didn’t mean to sound judgy. I narrowed my… activities down to two people after being done with university.”

Ansel reassured him she wasn’t offended, then silence stretched again. Conversation with Aelin just flowed so easily, and this was a painful reminder every date he went. Which was why Rowan had a reputation in his twenties. He wasn’t good at making conversation, but he was young and good-looking enough to skip that part, if the person was interested.

35-year-old Rowan didn’t find that option satisfying anymore.

He cleared his throat. “What’s your favorite color?”

She snorted. “You can talk to me about your ex if you want to. I’m a bartender, which means I’m the fun kind of shrink.”

Rowan opened his mouth to speak, but stopped. “How do you know there’s an ex?”

She shrugged. “Fenrys has a big mouth.”

“It wouldn’t be very nice of me to talk about someone else while on a date with you.”

Ansel leaned back on her seat, twirling the glass beer bottle in her hand. “I’m not looking for anything serious, so I’m not offended that you’re still hooked up on your ex. You can tell me about her, pay me a drink…” she swept an appreciative gaze over his body. “And we can still go somewhere else if we’re in the mood later, but I can’t offer you more than that.”

After debating this idea in his head for a moment, his conclusion was a big fuck it. He told her everything, from the night he met Aelin to the present day, and received back a lot more reactions than his certified shrink’s neutral expressions.

“Oh, boy.” Ansel blinked, mouth hanging open. “You’re so fucked.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t I know it.”

She slowly shook her head. “I mean, it’s been fucking years, and you’re still in love with her?”

Rowan’s pulse immediately picked up. “That’s not what I told you at all.”

“You said some deep love shit, man. Literally, everything but the words.”

This was a nightmare. Tonight was supposed to be about forgetting Aelin, but somehow he ended up discussing with his date whether or not his co-parent had feelings for him five years ago. Rowan ran a million worst-case scenarios for this date, but his imagination wasn’t near as bad as the real thing.

“I’m sorry, but I need to ask you something.”

Rowan sighed. “Go ahead.”

“It’s been five years, and not once you thought of asking her the reason why she left?”

“Being rejected was humiliating enough already.” Feeling his insides tighten, Rowan crossed his arms and carefully kept an even tone. “I don’t need details on how much she didn’t care about me.”

“She cared.” Ansel sipped her drink. “Did you help her out with the baby?”

Rowan nodded. “When I wasn’t at work, yeah.”

“I’ve never heard of a new mom who’d just reject help. If she didn’t care about you, she’d enjoy the free labor and let you be. But she asked you to leave, which means you probably fucked up.”

Rowan felt a lump forming in his throat, but he focused on keeping a steady face for this stranger. He took in the string lights and the distant sounds of a crowd yelling, scrambling his mind for something to say.

This wasn’t true. He remembered everything, and Rowan wasn’t perfect, but he didn’t do anything big enough to make her leave.

In the end, Ansel didn’t know him or Aelin. She wasn’t there to know Aelin’s feelings better than he did.

Rowan opened his mouth, but closed again. God, he never should’ve started talking about Aelin in the first place. He pointed at the direction where he could hear some occasional applause. “Is there another dance floor over that door?

“Oh.” She looked over her shoulder. “Fridays are karaoke nights. Do you wanna take a look?”

He’d do anything to avoid that awkwardness.

There was a small stage where people could sing and an employee in the corner taking care of the song requests. The place was cramped, a lot of people cheering and singing along with a guy performing a Spice Girls song. All of the tables were taken, but they managed to find stools in the bar near the door.

Rowan was begrudgingly admitting to himself that watching such an alive crowd was lighting up his bitter mood. But the thing that grabbed his attention the most was when Lysandra, one of the moms from Maisie’s soccer class, got up on stage. They weren’t exactly friends, but he caught her chatting often with Aelin and a few other moms during games.

“Oh, hi!” She waved at the crowd, then tugged her skin-tight green dress. “I’m trying to get my friend Aelin to sing with me, but I think she needs a little encouragement.”

Rowan felt his stomach bottoming out. The crowd erupted, but not near as much as one table by the front, full exclusively with women he recognized as soccer moms.

Aelin was easily spotted among them, cackling with her flimsy golden fabric that was definitely not a shirt.

Shit. He was in such deep, unending shit.

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it-was-written-in-the-stars · 8 months

Text

♡Dorian Havilliard x reader♡

♡ a song for those who weep ♡

Chapter three ○●○

Warning(s) -> mild spoilers for throne of glass and crown of midnight by SJM, a dash of angst

Word count -> 1087

A/N -> I am so terribly sorry for how long it took me to write this chapter :')

[The characters featured in this story do not belong to me]

♡♡♡

The world hated you. Of that you were certain as you hurtled down the staircase, heedless of Dorian's cry of protest. He loved her, not you. Why hadn't you noticed it? Why had you been so foolish?

Your vision was blurred by a cloak of tears as you barrelled through the corridor. You needed to get out of here. You couldn't breathe.

You had seen the way he looked at her, his gaze filled with such awe. Why had you thought it meant nothing? Why had you clung so pathetically to that infinitesimal flicker of hope? Hope was what had ruined you. It lured you in, the act resembling the attraction which pulls a moth to a blaze of fire.

You stepped over the threshold, darting into the Palace gardens. The night air kissed your skin, grazing your tear stained face with the grace of a lover. The single, delicate caress you had desperately needed. Little droplets rained down onto the luxuriant landscape. The sky wept with you, its sorrow seeping into the soil.

You stood there, watching the scene blossom around you. The trickle of rain softly colliding with the ground, the gentle sway of trees, the rustle of leaves. These sounds crashed down on you, arresting as they were, joining together in this alluring symphony.

You breathed in the crisp, cold air accented with lavender. It was there that you swore to never let love provoke a tear out of you.

You loosed a breath, pivoting on your heel and retreating back into the delicious warmth the Palace provided. Turning your back on the love which you buried deep within the grounds of the gardens.

♡♡♡

"She watched him dance with the girl carved from sunlight," you read out. "Her heart ached, a deep, painful throb which threatened to rip her apart".

You paused to catch a glimpse of Dorian who sat across from you. An odd look had befallen his face, as though he could relate with the protagonist. You also seemed to notice how the soft light of the candelabra caressed his features, accentuating the sharp curve of his jaw. Heat rose to your face at how swiftly you had betrayed yourself. Love was not written for you.

"I know that I am quite the sight but don't drool all over the pages" Dorian drawled, the corners of his lips twitching upwards.

Gods. Why was he making this so difficult!?

You scoffed, rolling your eyes before opting to return to reading and ignore how hot he wa- your face was.

"The two of them were locked in a dance of great fervor. Elation coursed through his veins, lighting up his face. He was happy," you continued, suddenly tossed back into the ballroom- the sight of Dorian and Celaena clasped in each other's arms. You shook the thought away. "And despite how badly it hurt her, Aurelia turned on her heel and left- aaand that's the end of that chapter" you say, inserting a bookmark and closing the book.

"Gods I didn't remember this book being this- upsetting" Dorian mused, that off putting gleam returning to his eyes.

"At least we already know that the ending is jubilant" you pointed out, rising to deposit the book on the nearest stand. Dorian hummed in response, a single drawn out note.

"I was- uh- meaning to ask you this earlier but- is everything alright?" He asked, blanketing you with his attention.

You turn back to face him, your eyebrows flicking upwards. "Yes- of course".

"Why did you run away- when you saw me yesterday?" He pressed, patently not satisfied with your response. Your face heated at the reminder of how poorly you had handled the situation.

"I- . . . forgot that Celaena asked me to take care of Fleetfoot- afterall he is just a pup and I- left him.. in my chambers" you internally cringed at how bad of a lie you let slip past your lips. You certainly hadn't convinced Dorian, for he looked just as perplexed.

"Y/n- I can tell that something is bothering you" Dorian said, watching you settle back down into your seat.

Your gaze met his. What beautiful a shade his eyes possessed.

You turned abruptly, clearing your throat. "I assure you that everything is absolutely perfect- ideal- now if you will excuse me I- need to go return Fleetfoot to Celaena before she-"

"Oh, there you are"

You felt your heart drop at the sound of her voice.

Low and behold, Celaena had sauntered into your little corner, the young pup curled up in her arms.

Dorian quirked a brow.

"Celaena, what a surprise- oh and you found Fleetfoot!" You chirped. The two of them exchanged a puzzled look.

The golden haired girl released a breath. "I sure did, thanks for your help". You took a mental note to thank her later as you bid your farewells and swiftly slipped out of the library.

Just yesterday you had told yourself that you would not let love steer you. Yet here you were. Making a complete fool of yourself. Again.

But how could you tell him? 'Oh sorry- you see, I actually ran away because I have been in love with you since we were children and when I saw you kissing Celaena it broke my heart and silly old me lacked the courage to do anything about it so instead I ran away from all of my problems'. Like always.

"Oh, hello Y/n," a voice from somewhere to your left rumbled. "Have you seen Celaena?".

You peered over your shoulder to find Chaol waiting expectantly for your response. His face was flushed, a bouquet of red roses clasped in his hands.

"She's just in there-.. if you don't mind me asking, who are those for?" You reply, eyeing the flowers. If only your life was blessed with such vibrancy.

Chaol followed your gaze, his eyebrows pulled together. "Oh uh these are for Celaena" he replied, slightly flustered.

You blink. Once. Twice.

"Celaena?" You echo, your head tilting to the side. "Is it her birthday?"

"No.."

"Oh... why are you- giving them to her?" You ask, confused by the occurrence. Why was he giving her flowers when her boyfriend was with her?

"We are.. together" Chaol replied, his eyebrows shooting skyward at your visible perplexion.

"But she's with... she's no longer dating Dorian?" You ask, your heart beating wildly in your chest. None of this made any sense.

"No- they broke it off a few weeks after you left" Chaol said, shuffling his feet awkwardly under your scrutiny.

"What?"

#crown of midnight #dorian havilliard #dorian havilliard x reader #throne of glass #throne of glass series #chaol x celaena #celaena sardothien #chaol westfall #top tier book boyfriend #aelin ashryver galathynius #tog #dorian #dorian x reader

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rowaelinsdaughter · 4 months

Note

Hiii me again I hope you're great <3 would you like to write for Dorian and reader having a baby and he looks like Dorian. A little version of him? Thank you

BABYGIRL

a/n;; hiiii, hope you're great too!!! sorry this took so long, school is tearing me apart, and im a little exshausted, but i managed to write it. hope you like it!!!

WARNINGS;; none, just pure fluff. (i wan to give dorian a baby :"( )

she was here.

their baby.

their daughter.

dorian havilliard, king of adarlan, thought she had seen the most beautiful thing when he met her. her wife and queen. she still was, and he made sure to remind her that everyday. but when she had given birth to her daughter… he fell in love again.

just like the first time she saw her.

and now, as she looked at her daughter… he wanted to cry again.

she was a mini version of him. her eyes where sapphire blue, her thin hair dark as night. she had his nose, eyes, everything was his. but the smile, the laugh, the curiosity in her eyes… that was her’s.

slowly not to wake her, dorian placed the baby on her crib, a little sound fell from her lips, and she continued sleeping, unaware of her surroundings. he heard the door open, and he knew she entered the room. slow and silent footsteps approached him and the crib, and then a pair of arms hugged him by the wais, her head on his shoulder as she placed a kiss on her neck and watched the sleeping baby.

whispering she said “she looks just like you. she is a mini dorian, you know?”

he turned around and he placed her hands on her waist. “i know, but her curiosity is yours,” he whispered and placed a kiss on her hair. “her laugh is yours” a kiss on her neck “ and her smile is yours” a kiss on her lips. he was going to move away, but his wife threw her arms around her neck, preventing him from moving.

kissing him was like being in a storm, like the waves of the ocean in a starry night.

a little laugh had them breaking the kiss. they looked at the crib and found her baby seated, looking at them. dorian took her in his arms, a kiss on her chubby cheek had her laughing again. so dorian kissed her, and again, and again, until the baby was screaming and laughing. he stopped and the baby looked at her mother.

“mama…” her arms reaching for her. she reached for the baby and placed her on her hip.

“hello baby girl” she sensed dorian behind her, his arms on her waist and his head leaning on her shoulder.

dorian thought he was happy. but nothing compared to this.

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elentiyawhitethorn · 1 year

Text

Like a Dream

CW: language, sexual references, light drinking

AN: Happy Yulemas @goddess-aelin!! Or I guess New Year’s now… this is very late but I hope you enjoy it all the same, and I hope your holidays have been lovely ❤️

8047 words

“I’m sure you’ve wondering been wondering what this is about.”

Rowan shifted uncomfortably. Lorcan, his boss, had requested his presence in his office several hours ago, and the day had passed with relatively little worry.

Even upon seeing Aelin Galathynius, someone whom he very much did not want to be in the same room as, waiting in Lorcan’s office as well, he hadn’t felt concern. It was probably just an update to policy or something similar. Hell, maybe the coffee machine had broken and Lorcan wanted them to inform their departments.

But then Lorcan had greeted them, and asked them to sit, and stated that he knew they’d been curious about the topic of this summons.

And a pit of anxiety had opened in Rowan’s stomach.

Lorcan Salvaterre was not a man to make small talk. He didn’t wait for others, he didn’t bother with light conversation, and he wasn’t friendly.

Which meant he was about to tell Rowan and Aelin something that they wouldn’t like, and not a small thing like they’d have to coordinate a client together or share the break room sometimes, because Lorcan had no trouble breaking bad news. Something worse, something bad enough to have the bluntest man Rowan knew stalling to conversation.

Rowan took a deep breath and said, “What is it?” He didn’t dare look to Aelin beside him.

Lorcan leaned forward and laced his fingers together on the desk. “You both know of Dorian Havilliard.”

Of course they did. He was one of the biggest names in romance writing in the country. Their publishing house had been trying to get him to switch over from Hamel Inc. for years, but they’d had no luck.

“Yes,” Aelin said, and Rowan jolted at the sound of her voice. He finally risked a glance and was met with startling blue eyes rimmed in gold.

Rowan looked away.

“Well, as you know, Terrasen Publishing has been working on him for years.”

Rowan’s fingers tapped against his thigh impatiently as Lorcan restated what he already knew.

“We’ve finally convinced him to discuss the possibility of switching over.”

Considering the meeting, Rowan was hardly surprised. It also made sense for the two of them to be here; Rowan was head of the editorial department and Aelin was his counterpart in publishing. Together, they represented most of the publishing house and were often paired together when it came to potential clients.

It was the easy explanation for this meeting that had Rowan on edge. This didn’t make clear Lorcan’s apprehension.

“And what do we need to do?” Rowan asked cautiously.

Lorcan sighed. “Mr. Havilliard is working on his next book. He predicts the first draft will be finished soon; he’s using his Yulemas vacation to get it completed. And he doesn’t want any delay on the editing process, which means if we haven’t convinced him to switch contracts by the end of his vacation, he’ll remain a part of Hamel Inc.”

A sinking feeling formed in Rowan’s gut.

“He’s leaving for his vacation tomorrow,” Lorcan continued, “and even if we could have managed a short meeting before then, he needs more time with us to discuss logistics and a contract for him. He needs time to see everything we have to offer.”

“I’m sure he’d be open to discussing it over Zoom or even email,” Aelin suggested, and from the waver to her voice Rowan guessed she’d caught on as well.

“Mr. Havilliard is traveling to a resort in the mountains for his vacation, where there will be no cell service. He says the lack of distraction helps him concentrate. He graciously offered two fully paid tickets for any of my employees who would like to join him. You two will be traveling with Mr. Havilliard on his Yulemas trip. You leave first thing in the morning.”

Silence washed over the office as the pair of them took everything in. Rowan opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“I don’t recall expressing my desire to join him,” Aelin protested.

“Me neither,” Rowan managed.

Lorcan sighed once more. “Look, let’s face it. You two aren’t going home to your families for Yulemas and you don’t have any significant others to celebrate with. Everyone else, including myself, is not completely void of a social life and has plans for the holidays. You two are lonely as shit and I’m taking advantage of that.”

Aelin’s mouth had dropped open at some point during that little spiel but Rowan was used to Lorcan’s blunt transparency. He was honestly relieved that Lorcan had given up on trying to break it to them slowly. He liked the man, even—if he could manage to overlook the fact that he was being asked to spend his holidays on a work trip with his least favorite coworker.

Okay, maybe he didn’t like Lorcan so much after all.

“You can’t just,” Aelin spluttered, “I, my vacation, it’s my time off, you can’t…”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Galathynius, but this was his only offer and we’re in no position to deny him. If it helps, Mr. Havilliard alloted only a certain amount of time to meet with you as he wants most of the time to write his novel. And as I mentioned, he paid for the tickets and everything else that comes along with them. You’ll be spending most of your Yulemas holiday in a high-end resort doing whatever the hell you like. I’d say it’s a step up from whatever you were planning to do instead.”

Rowan leaned back in his chair and ran his fingers through his hair anxiously. “Surely not both of us need to go.”

Lorcan glared at him. “Please explain to me the publishing process that Mr. Havilliard will be subject to.”

Rowan just blinked at him.

Lorcan turned to Aelin. “And do you know anything about the editing process?”

“You just… do grammar checks and stuff.”

Rowan cringed at the crass oversimplification of his job.

Facing both of them now, Lorcan said, “He needs every specific detail of every process. Neither of you can do that on your own. Both of you are going. That’s final. Now go home. I’m giving you the rest of the day off to pack, and I’ll email you the information of where you need to go tomorrow morning and at what time. Are we clear?”

Aelin nodded mutely. Rowan was pretty sure he felt himself do the same.

He lived in hell.

First he’d been transferred to a different publishing location six months ago as part of a promotion, only to find an enemy on the very first day. He’d smiled at her and was met with uncalled for distain and malice. The months had passed torturously slowly as the woman who’d shown him so much unkindness on the first day was constantly by his side, coordinating clients, attending work parties at his side, acting as a liaison. And throughout it all she was constantly either bickering with him, or ignoring him, or silently scowling at him. He just couldn’t figure her out.

But of course that wasn’t enough. No, now Rowan was being sent on a Yulemas vacation with Aelin, just the two of them and some eccentric smut writer who would be spending most of his time locked up in a room writing, which left Rowan and Aelin. In a resort with no cell service. Alone.

Only Hellas himself could have been so cruel as to put him in this situation.

—

Aelin dumped her bag in the back of the car with a little more force than necessary. She knew she was pouting, and she knew it wasn’t a good look on her, but how the hell else was she supposed to react to being shipped off on a work assignment for the entirety of Yulemas?

Of course they’d been given a rental car to drive together, just the two of them. Just Aelin and Rowan, a shitty GPS, a map for backup, and six months worth of loathing.

What fun.

“Are you ready?” Rowan asked.

Aelin looked up and was met with something slightly more passive than a scowl. She nodded, breaking eye contact, and slumped inside the passenger seat.

A moment passed before Rowan opened his door and got in the driver’s seat. Aelin didn’t look over, focusing out the window on some obscure building as he set up the GPS, then buckled in and put the car in drive.

This couldn’t possibly be more uncomfortable for her. All of this was just one more thing to torture her after another. But honestly, Aelin couldn’t say she didn’t deserve this. This was probably the gods’ way of cursing her for being such a jackass to Rowan that first day, and failing to apologize every day since.

Why couldn’t she just have the holidays to herself?

The first two hours passed with little fanfare. At one point Aelin had turned the radio on, almost driven insane by the silence, and the soft tunes of some laid-back pop music—not her first choice, but she wasn’t going to risk Rowan’s objection with anything more flamboyant—had helped to ease the tension.

At the halfway mark Aelin asked Rowan if he wanted to switch, but he gruffly told her the driving was a nice distraction. From what, he didn’t say.

So Aelin pulled out a book and spent the following hour consumed in the pages. The turns became sharper after that and she had to put her book away for fear of becoming carsick. Aelin then glanced at the GPS and saw their estimated arrival was still nearly an hour away.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive?” Aelin asked, desperate for something to do.

Rowan glanced over at her. “No thank you, I’m okay.”

Frowning, Aelin turned back to the window and watched the trees fly by. She eventually zoned out as the scenery became greener and the atmosphere much more frigid.

The road become steeper and icier, and their pace slowed to a crawl. Aelin’s boredom became unease, and she gripped the sides of her seat a bit tighter.

The remaining time passed uneventfully: no conversation, no accidents, no nothing except for silence and staring. Finding the resort was fairly simple, and parking was as well. The moment Rowan slid the gear into brake, every muscle in Aelin’s body relaxed. “Thank the gods,” she muttered.

Aelin climbed out of the car. The door shut with a satisfying slam. She stretched her legs, unsure of where they were meant to go from here. Before she could say anything to Rowan, a man exited the large log-themed building and began to make his way over. As he approached, Aelin realized that this was Dorian Havilliard, not some employee. He must have been notified of their arrival somehow; Aelin decided not to ask.

“Welcome!” he called, and Aelin couldn’t help but smile. She waved as he continued to step through the thin layer of snow that coated the ground.

Dorian definitely fit the manic writer stereotype; he wore a sweater vest and wire-framed glasses, and he actually had a pencil—did writers even use those anymore?—tucked behind his ear.

“You must be Ms. Galathynius and Mr. Whitethorn. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Pleasantries were exchanged, and Aelin felt she and Rowan did a decent job of pretending their Yulemas vacations hadn’t been stolen out from under their noses. Dorian’s grip on her hand lingered for a bit longer than necessary when they shook hands, but otherwise he seemed like quite the gentleman, and Aelin found herself thankful that at least their client wasn’t a douche. She’d had plenty of less-than-friendly clientele and was glad Yulemas wasn’t entirely ruined with another.

Really, Aelin hadn’t wanted to meet Dorian. She’d come face-to-face with several authors whose writing she enjoyed and their rudeness had ruined the reading experience for her. Hopefully Dorian remained polite and she didn’t lose the will to read his books.

“So when will we have our first meeting to discuss? Immediately?” Aelin asked.

“I figured you’d want the first day off as you’ve been traveling for so long.” Aelin really just wanted to get this over with, but she could hardly contradict the man. “You two will meet me in my room at nine tomorrow morning and we’ll begin. I’ll show you to your rooms in the meantime.”

Rowan thanked him while Aelin reached for her bags. Rowan turned around to do the same, but Dorian stopped them both.

“We can have someone take that in; you don’t need to worry about it.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” Rowan said. “I only have one bag.”

Aelin had two for the ten-day trip, but neither was particularly large. She certainly wasn’t in need of a fucking bellhop. “We’re good, really.”

Dorian protested a bit more—he didn’t seem like a man used to doing much on his own—but finally allowed them to take their own luggage. He led them inside a massive lobby/commons room that Aelin didn’t get much of a chance to take it in before they were whisked up a grand staircase, not stopping to check in. They followed Dorian down a well-lit hallway that was surely adorned with enough gold to buy a house. Finally, they stopped in front of a doorway near the end, spaced out from the handful of other doors they’d passed.

“Here’s you go.” Dorian inserted a key in the door and pushed it open.

“Oh, which of us…” Aelin trailed off when Dorian looked over.

“Whose room is that?” Rowan finished for her.

“Both of yours,” he replied simply.

No. This could not be happening. Dorian had said rooms, hadn’t he? Plural? Or maybe he meant rooms as in the bedroom and… the sitting room?

Apparently dissatisfied with their expressions, Dorian continued. “I arranged for one room to be shared; they had limited bookings left when Mr. Salvaterre and I arranged this agreement and I figured you wouldn’t mind, as there is plenty of space to claim as your own.”

As if they were in any position to deny him.

“That’s fine,” Aelin assured him. “Thank you again.” She flashed her fakest smile.

Seeming satisfied, Dorian smiled back. “I’ll leave you to it. Remember, our first meeting to discuss logistics will be tomorrow morning, at nine. My room number’s with the informative pamphlet I gave you.”

“We’ll be there,” Rowan replied. The pair of them exchanged farewells, and then watched as Dorian sauntered off.

“So.”

Aelin glanced over at Rowan. “Um.”

He looked conflicted. “Which bed do you want?”

Aelin sighed, brushing past him and stepping inside the room, their room, at last. “I guess that one?” She pointed at the bed on the left of the room at random.

To be fair, there was a decent bit of space between the beds. And the room was enormous. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the beautiful snowy mountains were framed by plush curtains. Carved wooden furniture that Aelin assumed was genuine was placed tastefully around the king-size beds. A wide open doorway led to what appeared to be a sitting room and another open door showing a hint of tile probably connected an oversized bathroom. Aelin figured it’d have some kind of jacuzzi or gods knew what else in there.

It began to truly sink in why Terrasen Publishing wanted Dorian Havilliard so badly. The man knew how to make money.

“So what are you planning on doing first?”

Aelin glanced over. “I’m not sure… I don’t really know what these kind of places have. Like, skiing?”

Rowan shrugged. “I don’t know either. I might just read a book.”

Aelin nodded tersely.

In an effort to distract herself, Aelin pulled the key out of the door and shut it, then set it on a table. She carried her things to the bed she’d pointed at and arranged them neatly on the wooden bedside table, then, with nothing left to do, turned to Rowan.

“Do you want room service for dinner? I’m about to order something.”

Rowan looked up from his book. “Uh, yeah, I’m getting kind of hungry. Is there a menu?”

“Yeah.” Aelin stood and walked over to his chair, handing him the resort’s restaurant’s menu, which allowed room service.

Rowan reached for it and his thumb brushed Aelin’s hand. She jerked away.

Frowning, Rowan started at where their hands had met. “Why do you always…”

“What?” Aelin asked defensively.

Rowan sighed. “Look, this isn’t going to be fun for either of us, but can we just try to be civil? So that this whole trip isn’t as miserable as humanly possible for the both of us?”

“We don’t need to be civil. We can just go our separate ways, okay? You can stay in here and I’ll eat in the other room.”

Rowan rubbed his temples. He looked like he was figuring out how to phrase what he said next. “I don’t understand why you’ve always acted like this, Aelin, why you can’t just behave like a regular person. You’re always trying to stay as far away from me as possible and when you can’t avoid me you treat me like scum under your shoe. I just don’t get it.”

“Is that a question?” Aelin asked, avoiding eye contact.

“Yes, that’s a fucking question,” Rowan snapped. “Why do you hate being around me so much, Aelin? What have I ever done to you?”

Aelin deflated at that. Her shoulders slumped as all the fight drained out of her and she sank into the chair beside Rowan.

“I caught my boyfriend cheating on me the night before you started at Terrasen Publishing.”

Rowan’s lips parted in shock and understanding, but Aelin didn’t stop.

“That first day, I was cruel to you. I didn’t just cold-shoulder you or glare. Lorcan told me to show you around and acclimate you the publishing house and you were right there and I—”

Aelin cut herself off and squeezed her eyes shut. She opened them and looked down, too afraid to meet Rowan’s eyes.

“I was nasty to you, I spent the day belittling you and making you feel uncomfortable, just throwing all the shit on you I could because all I really wanted in that moment was for someone else to be as miserable as me.

“And I was so… I don’t know, embarrassed? That you’d seen me vulnerable, even if you didn’t realize it, so I just started avoiding you. That way I treated you that first day reminded me of the worst parts of myself and I just wanted to forget about it, but we were always forced to work together.”

“Aelin… why didn’t you just explain to me the next day what had happened? Or at least told me you’d had a rough day if you didn’t want to share the whole story? It didn’t have to go on like that.”

Aelin’s finger twisted around a hole in her jeans anxiously. “I’m not good at apologies, Rowan. And the longer it went on, the harder it got to think about explaining.”

Moments passed. Aelin kept her eyes down, barely keeping herself together with sharp breaths as she waited for Rowan’s response.

Finally, it came.

“I forgive you.”

Aelin scoffed. “No, you don’t.”

“You don’t know me, Aelin, and you have no right to tell me what I do and don’t mean. I forgive you,” Rowan repeated. “I’m not saying you treating me the way you did was excusable, or that all those months of bitterness can be forgotten. But you’re apologizing now, and that counts for something.

“Look, you heard what Lorcan said. We’re at a high-end resort at no expense to us. We aren’t working the whole time. I know it’s not an ideal situation, but it could be a hell of a lot worse. Let’s try and, you know, start over?”

Aelin finally got the nerve to look over and was met with the intense stare of Rowan’s pine green eyes. Her fingers stilled against her thigh.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” she rasped.

Then Rowan smiled, and something deep inside Aelin’s chest began to thaw.

—

“Where should we start?”

Rowan opened his mouth to respond to Dorian, but before he could Aelin reached for her bag and retrieved a small binder.

Aelin pulled a stack of stapled papers out of her binder. “I brought a sample contract to go over with you; it’s all very adaptable to your needs but in preliminary form it still lays out the rudiments.”

Rowan blinked in surprise. He hadn’t thought to do anything other than show up, and here Aelin was with her organization and a whole fucking binder despite the one night to prepare. Though, Rowan really shouldn’t be as disbelieving as he was; he may have his strengths in overseeing the editing process but Aelin’s strong suits were people and deals.

Dorian nodded at her, and Rowan leaned back, ready to watch Aelin do what she did best and answer any questions about the editing if needed.

The next hour passed with less misery than Rowan had anticipated. Watching Aelin negotiate with an expensive client-to-be like some kind of lawyer was… impressive. To say the least.

Dorian was rushing them by the end of the meeting, seeming keen to return to his new novel, but they’d gotten a decent bit of talking done. Feeling satisfied with their work—or rather, Aelin’s—Rowan followed Aelin from Dorian’s lavish hotel room, even more grand than their own, and out into the hall.

“Do you want to do something together today?” After hearing why Aelin had always acted the way she had, it had been easier to look past her actions and closer at her. They’d spent the evening eating room service dinner in bed and talking—not about anything too personal, but about their work and their hobbies, interests, all the like. Rowan was pretty sure he’d learned more about the prideful woman last night than he had over the course of six months of working together.

Aelin looked over at him, a surprised smile pulling at her lips. “Like what?”

Rowan shrugged. “Like ask the front desk what kind of rich-people activities they offer.”

Aelin laughed, bright and melodious. “I’d like that.”

Upon walking to the front desk, the pair was informed they could go skiing or snowboarding, go snowmobiling, swim in the indoor pool or jacuzzi, ice skate, relax in the spa and/or get a massage, visit the bar, exercise in the full-size gym, or do a number of other activities that Rowan hadn’t even heard of before.

The front desk attendant, Yrene, sent them a friendly wave as they walked away.

Rowan, mouth hanging open, glanced over at Aelin, who snorted at his expression.

“Is it all really paid for?” Rowan hissed. “Fully?”

Grinning maniacally, Aelin nodded. “I read in the pamphlet Dorian gave us that to go skiing or snowboarding you need to have brought your own equipment, but everything else is entirely paid. We can do anything.”

“Maybe I’m not so mad at Lorcan after all,” Rowan murmured.

“So what do you want to do?” Aelin asked, looking more excited than he’d ever seen her.

“You pick,” Rowan said.

Aelin bit her lip. “Ice skating?”

He smiled. “Have you been before?”

She shook her head. “You?”

“A couple times. It’s been years though.”

Aelin nodded and grinned again, and then they were walking back to their room to get coats.

Ten minutes later left them outside next to an iced over pond bordered on one side by the resort, another side by a rock overhang that sheltered the space from the wind, and the rest by a grove of massive conifers. The frozen pond was almost perfectly circular and surrounded by an iron handrail. It seemed like a convenient, authentic location, but Rowan guessed at least some of the details aside from the rail were artificial.

Rowan had no idea how many guests were staying in the resort, or what they spent their days doing, but apparently none of them were interested in skating. The enclosed outdoor area was void of all life aside from Rowan and Aelin.

They’d been provided with skates and then showed out the door. Aelin had been bouncing with energy, seeming quite youthful, and Rowan had realized this was the most unguarded he’d ever seen her.

Rowan watched as Aelin eagerly stumbled toward the rink, her hands out to keep her balance. She placed one blade on the ice, sliding almost immediately.

Aelin fumbled around for a moment, then gave up trying to skate and clutched to the handrail. “This is not as easy as it looks on TV.”

“You’ve only just started. Give it some time.”

She blew a stray tuft of bangs from her face, no less determined. Rowan watched in amusement as Aelin started clopping around the perimeter, most of her body weight on the handrail.

Rowan stepped onto the ice himself. It was a little tricky at first, but after a few minutes his body had remembered how to move and soon enough he was skating upright, albeit with a wobble, decently enough.

The thump of Aelin hitting the ice caught Rowan’s attention and he looked over to find her sprawled out on her back, a pout on her lips.

Rowan chuckled. He skated a smooth line across the ice and Aelin glowered at him from below.

“Having fun?” he asked.

Aelin frowned as Rowan extended his arms. “Yes,” she said stubbornly. She reached for him, clasping her hands in his.

“Careful,” Rowan murmured, holding them both steady as he adjusted his weight and pulled her to her feet. Aelin swayed, but Rowan’s grip was firm.

He could feel Aelin’s grip loosening when she regained her balance, trying to let go, but Rowan kept his hold on her. “What—”

“Let me help,” he interrupted. Rowan tugged her forward and she gasped, but didn’t fall.

Rowan skated backward a few more feet, letting Aelin get a feel for her balance and how her feet needed to move. Her body relaxed a bit as she accepted his help, trying to move her feet in time with his.

As Rowan skated back and Aelin stared at the ground in concentration, he watched her. Her hat was askew and her bangs were falling into her face again. A determined little frown resided on her lips.

After a few laps around the rink, Aelin’s grip on Rowan became less lethal and her feet began to move more steadily. Something had clicked for her, it seemed.

Aelin looked up from the ice and their eyes met.

“I really am sorry for how I’ve treated you,” Aelin whispered.

“I know,” Rowan said simply, and Aelin’s returning smile was answer enough.

“Ready to let go?” he asked.

Aelin nodded, and Rowan watched with a warm heart as she released him and tried moving on her own, one hand hovering over his just in case.

—

Aelin woke shivering.

Her eyes snapped open and she recounted her surroundings, processing the stack of blankets on top of her and the heavy, thrumming feeling of cold.

Aelin slipped out from under her mound of covers, wincing as she was surrounded by freezing air. She stumbled over to the radiator.

There was some kind of error symbol in the corner. Frowning, Aelin tapped at the buttons, unsure of how to use such a high-tech system. Only a thin hint of residual heat emitted from the thing.

“Dammit,” she murmured.

How was she supposed to stay warm in the mountains at night with no heat? The past few days of ice skating—Aelin had insisted on going every day, getting better with each try—had chilled her but not severely. It was the nights that Aelin couldn’t handle, and this one was even worse than the last. She’d already pillaged every spare blanket Rowan hadn’t claimed and still she’d woken feeling a chill in her very bones.

Trying the stay quiet, Aelin reached for the closet doors and started sifting through the various linens. Finding nothing, Aelin rifled through the drawer below, only coming across towels.

Aelin was just reaching for a whole stack of towels, too desperate to care about propriety—and honestly, these towels were nicer than any of Aelin’s bedding at home—when a voice rasped, “What are you doing?”

Aelin winced, not wanting to have woken him. “I can’t find any more blankets,” she whispered.

“That’s because you already have seven on your bed.”

Aelin shot a glare in the general direction of Rowan’s bed. “I’m cold.”

She waited for a witty retort, but all she got was the rustling of his covers and a faint silhouette as Rowan sat up. “Come here.”

“What?” Aelin asked cautiously.

“Come here,” Rowan repeated.

Rising clumsily and kicking the drawer shut, Aelin walked toward Rowan’s bed. She hesitated when she reached him.

Rowan moved over, making space beside him. In the dark Aelin couldn’t make out his expression, but she could see him gesture beside him, faint but unwavering.

Still tentative, Aelin slowly eased onto the bed, breathing rapid. She didn’t dare say a word as she lowered herself onto the bed, jerking backward when her leg brushed Rowan’s.

Maybe he was still half-asleep, or maybe he really didn’t see this as anything odd, or maybe a wave of confidence had washed over him, but Rowan only wrapped an arm around Aelin’s waist and tugged her flush against him, every curve and edge of hers pressed against hard muscle.

Aelin was pretty sure she gasped at the contact.

He pulled his covers over her, cocooning her in warmth. “Still cold?” Rowan asked, and Aelin bit her lip as his breath tickled her ear.

“No,” she whispered.

“That’s good.”

“Mm.” Aelin lay perfectly still as Rowan’s arm went farther around her waist, his hand sliding underneath her from the other side. Getting comfortable.

“Your heart’s beating very fast.” Rowan’s voice was still gravelly from sleep. Aelin told herself the shiver that followed was from the cold.

“No, it’s not.”

“It’s definitely is.”

Aelin could hear the smugness in his voice. “Shut up,” she hissed.

He let out a soft, rumbling laugh, and the vibrations traveled down Aelin’s spine. He didn’t say anything more, though, and Aelin pressed her head against Rowan’s chest, seeking his warmth and trying to relax.

It took a while for Aelin’s heartbeat to slow and her heavy breathing to subside, but when sleep finally washed over her, it was more deep and peaceful than it ever had been.

—

Morning hit Rowan in the form of a head of blonde hair.

Blinking away the sleep, he looked over at Aelin, curled into his side. Her cheek was pressed up against his bare chest. His own arms were wrapped around her waist, holding her securely.

The drowsiness had obliterated his restraint.

Trying to process the fact that Aelin was really here, in his arms, rather than in some twisted wet dream, Rowan gently let go of her. He scooted away, wincing when Aelin whined sleepily and reached for him.

Climbing out of bed, Rowan rubbed his temples. What was he doing with Aelin? What did all this mean?

“Rowan?”

He pressed his eyes shut and let out a heavy breath, then turned. “Morning.”

“Mornin’,” Aelin slurred.

“We have another meeting with Dorian today. We should get ready.”

Aelin groaned in protest, pulling the covers over her head. Deciding to give her a few more minutes, Rowan checked the time and then grabbed a towel from the linen closet, headed for a shower.

It wasn’t as cleansing as he’d wished it to be. Rowan had thought the cold water would wash away all the inappropriate thoughts, the twisted emotions, the smell of Aelin’s perfume. But ten minutes later he was wrapping a towel around his waist and the confusion lingered.

Rowan left the bathroom to grab some clothes, noticing Aelin’s sleepy gaze snap straight to his bare chest, then his arms. Pretending he didn’t notice, he reached for clothing out of his unpacked bag, then retreated back to the bathroom.

Aelin had finally gotten up when he emerged, and was reaching for an outfit from the neat little stacks she’d set up next to her own bed. They exchanged a heated stare and Rowan wasn’t entirely sure of what he read in Aelin’s expression.

She waltzed past him to change in the bathroom, and he just grabbed some notes on the past few days with Dorian to distract himself.

They’d had three meetings so far, spaced out every other day. The first had been a day of covering the basics of the contract, and the next two had been full of negotiations, shaping Dorian’s potential contract into something he could agree to. Aelin and Rowan had been discussing yesterday and come to the conclusion things were wrapping up in Dorian’s mind; the contract-to-be was close to being fully edited to suit his needs. He was going to give them an answer on switching publishers soon, one way or another.

After each meeting, and on all the off days as well, Aelin had dragged Rowan outside to practice skating, and each time he got a little more emotionally confused. Sure, she’d apologized, and his forgiveness was genuine, but that didn’t mean he could just brush right over everything. A week was hardly enough time to go from hating someone to… not hating that person. Rowan shouldn’t be—

Rowan stopped that thought. So much for distracting himself.

He let out a frustrated growl, clenching his fists.

“You okay?” a voice asked, and Rowan cursed himself to hell for not noticing her leave the bathroom.

He turned to find Aelin leaning against the doorframe, dressed in a cream sweater and jeans.

“I’m fine. I was just thinking about Dorian. Lorcan will be pissed if all this was for nothing.”

Aelin’s face said she didn’t believe a word of it, but she didn’t pursue it. Instead she asked, “Do you think he’s finished the book?”

Rowan shrugged. “He said he was getting close a couple of days ago. He could be. He might even give us the draft today if he’s finished it.”

“If he’s going to sign with us,” Aelin added, wandering over to a dresser.

“Yeah.”

“Are you going to start editing right away if he gives you the draft?”

Rowan gave another shrug. “Probably. Or maybe I’ll be able to stretch out the last few days of this vacation and pass it off when we get home.”

“Why?” Aelin reached for a pair of earrings, gaze on a mirror as they made small talk.

“I don’t often edit romance books. That’s Fenrys’ job.”

Aelin sent a smirk in his direction. “Ah, yes. You’re the historical fiction editor. How could I forget?”

“What’s funny about that?” Rowan asked defensively.

“Nothing at all,” Aelin replied, but she couldn’t keep her laugh in.

Rowan sighed. “Historical fiction is good. It offers a realistic perspective on time frames and events that deserve to be delved into. You shouldn’t be laughing.”

Grinning fiendishly, Aelin finished with the mirror and crossed her arms. “If you say so.”

Rowan just shook his head, shooting her an exasperated glare and nodding toward the door. “You ready?”

The walk to Dorian’s room wasn’t tense or silent, but it wasn’t as open as previous conversations between them had been. Aelin had likely picked up on Rowan’s weird mood, he thought with an internal cringe, and they were both nervous about the book deal as well.

Dorian greeted them and showed them into his sitting room as he’d done every other time. He had set out tea again, a habit of his, and Aelin accepted a cup graciously. Less inclined toward the substance but never wanting to offend a potential client, Rowan sipped his as well.

“I’m sure you’ve both realized that my mind is made up by now.” Dorian clasped his hands together and let the suspense linger.

Geez. This man knew how to be unnecessarily dramatic. Then again, maybe the millions his books had made had earned him the right to be a little sensational.

“Yes, we figured,” Aelin replied smoothly. “Is it good news?” Rowan could tell she was just as anxious as him, but Aelin was a hell of a lot better at hiding it.

Dorian smiled. “For you, quite. I made some last edits to the contract. You can look them over here, and if you find everything satisfactory, I’ll sign.”

Relief washed over Rowan in waves. He may have been lying to Aelin earlier when he told her that was what was on his mind, but he truly had been concerned. If Dorian had declined their offer and renewed his contract with Hamel Inc., Lorcan would be furious.

“Then I’ll give you the first draft of my new novel,” Dorian continued. “I finished looking over it yesterday so it’s very rough around the edges, but all the same, you can start editing right away if you so choose.”

Rowan nodded, and Aelin asked for the contract. They looked over it together, finding only minor changes that were acceptable to them. Dorian signed with an expensive fountain pen, and Rowan and Aelin released their bated breaths.

The whole meeting was a whirlwind of suppressed celebration and shared grins between the pair. Dorian sent them off with the draft, and they left, almost skipping down the hallway. As soon as Dorian’s room was out of earshot, Aelin let out a squeal and Rowan whooped.

“Thank the gods,” Aelin exclaimed, raising a hand for a high five.

Chuckling, Rowan met her hand. The contact felt like an electric shock, but Rowan ignored his confliction. They’d gotten one of the best-selling authors in the country to sign with their company. Today was not a day to be moping.

“Let’s go to our room,” Aelin said. “I want to read it.”

“Isn’t that my job?”

Aelin shrugged. “I can help.”

Rowan squinted. “Why?”

“Well…” Aelin looked away. “I’ve been waiting for book four in this series since January.”

Rowan let out a surprised laugh. “Oh, don’t tell me.”

“Shut up,” Aelin hissed.

“You read…” Rowan looked down at the draft. “The Toxic Heaven series?” he asked, scoffing at the title. He hadn’t even realized this thing was part of a series until now.

Aelin frowned. “It’s good. You can’t judge me. And don’t tell me you haven’t read any of them.”

“Um, no. I definitely have not.”

“None?” Aelin gasped.

Rowan crossed his arms. “I’m the boring historical fiction guy, remember? I don’t read this garbage.”

“It’s not garbage,” Aelin snapped, tugging the pages from his grip.

“Hey, that was definitely meant for me.”

“You’ll get your turn soon enough. Just give me a day or two.”

Shaking his head with a smile tugging at his lips, Rowan followed Aelin down the hall and back to their room.

—

Aelin got through the entire draft that day. She had allowed a break for ice skating; she was enjoying it immensely and was actually becoming decent. Other than that though, her eyes were glued to the smutty masterpiece all day long. Rough around the edges, sure, but it still had Aelin blushing.

Rowan had sent her amused glances throughout the day, which she’d pointedly ignored.

Flipping the last page, Aelin closed her eyes and grinned to herself. The main characters, who’d broken up in the last book, were back together. There was I’m-mad-at-you-but-I-still-love-you sex, makeup sex, fluffy sex, dirty sex. And Aelin refused to be embarrassed about enjoying it.

“That good, huh?”

Eyes opening and darting to Rowan, Aelin sent him her meanest stare. “You should try it you know. Maybe you’d get some if you paid enough attention.”

“Who says I don’t already get some?” Rowan’s voice was soft.

Oh, this was dangerous.

“I don’t know,” Aelin said, much more casually than she felt. “I don’t know a whole lot of people who are into historical fiction fanatics.”

Rowan crossed his arms, and Aelin tried not to stare at his bulging muscles. Had the room been this hot earlier?

“You’re ridiculous, you know that? I don’t think there’s a rule that says what I like to read means I’m clueless around women.”

Aelin opened her mouth to retort, but noticed something behind him. “Is that champagne?”

“Yeah, I figured we deserve to celebrate after landing that deal. I didn’t want to interrupt your reading, though,” he added with a grin. “Should we have some?”

Aelin ignored the jest and nodded. “We should.”

She sat up on her bed while Rowan popped the cork poured the alcohol into champagne glasses. He brought two over, sitting next to her on the covers. “You know, not only were we harassed into a work trip over Yulemas, which I’m pretty sure is illegal, we also got a famous author to sign with us. I feel like there’s got to be some kind of raise coming our way.”

Aelin laughed. “Gods, I hope so.” She took another sip of champagne, savoring the way it warmed her as it moved down her throat.

“What is all the fuss about Dorian Havilliard, anyway? There are only so many ways to write porn.”

“You clearly have no creativity,” Aelin replied. She picked up the draft and held it up. “He’s quite decent.”

Rowan squinted. “Let me see that thing.”

Aelin shook her head but he reached for the papers in her hands too quickly for her to draw them back. Rowan set it on his lap and flipped to a random page. “‘Celaena whimpered as Sam fucked her. Gods, she wanted to hate him, and maybe she did, but she could never hate his large, pulsating—’”

Aelin threw a pillow at him. “Stop it.”

“This is shit.”

“It’s not,” Aelin hissed. “Put it down and let Fenrys edit it when we get back.”

Rowan rolled his eyes. “I never realized what poor taste you have.” He tossed the draft on the bedside table.

“You’re just provoking me.”

Rowan scoffed. “Trust me, I may know nothing about writing smut, but I assure you there are better words to describe a cock than pulsating.”

Aelin sat up beside him. “Do you ever read smut, Rowan? Or do you just criticize people for having more game than you?”

He snorted. “I prefer doing over reading when it comes to certain things.”

Aelin felt her face warm. “Well… that’s just great for you.”

Rowan raised an eyebrow.

Aelin took a sip of champagne to occupy her mouth before she could say anything more humiliating, but Rowan didn’t let it slide.

“Do you ever get laid or is it all fictional?”

“That’s none of your business,” Aelin blustered.

“I entirely agree, but you’ve already asked me. I feel like it’s only fair.”

Aelin scowled. “Of course I do.”

“And when you do is it more or less pleasurable than reading Toxic Heaven?”

“Now you’re just teasing me.”

“Oh, I definitely am.” Rowan’s eyes darkened. “We’ve been dancing around each other all week, Aelin.”

Her toes curled. “I guess we have.”

Rowan plucked the glass out of Aelin’s hand and set it with his on the table. “Tell me you don’t want this.” Their knees bumped.

“I do,” Aelin whispered, shivering when Rowan’s hand found her hair, gently tugging on a strand of blonde. He leaned closer and Aelin felt her breath catch.

Rowan’s other hand fell to her thigh, sliding up slowly, giving her every chance to say no. His lips were now so close to hers, their eyes locked.

Rowan closed the last half inch but just before their lips could meet, Aelin turned her head to the side. “Um.”

Rowan leaned back.

“I’m sorry.” Aelin stood up.

Rowan rose beside her. “You don’t have to apologize, Aelin. It’s okay.”

She glanced at him, then looked away, nodding silently.

“If something’s wrong I can—”

“It’s not you, Rowan. It’s not your fault. I just can’t.”

He nodded, not asking her why. Aelin appreciated him for that more than she ever had before.

“Do you want me to go?”

“No, you can stay.” Aelin felt a tear slide down her cheek.

She could feel Rowan’s hesitation. “Aelin, I’m sorry I tried to kiss you, I shouldn’t have done that. We can pretend it didn’t happen if that makes you feel better.”

Aelin shook her head, blinking away more tears and feeling ridiculous for crying. “I don’t want to forget. I just don’t want it to happen. It can’t.”

“Why not?” Rowan’s voice was gentle, soothing.

“Because,” Aelin threw her hands up in defeat, “If we do anything now it’s going to be some short-lived fantasy that ends the second we’re home. And I don’t want this to be like some fucking dream that I—” Her voice cracked. She finished the sentence in a whisper.

“That I wake up from.”

Silence washed over the room. Aelin could barely hear anything over the pounding of her own heart, anyway.

For once, Aelin didn’t look away from Rowan. She started straight at him, watching, waiting.

He stared back at her for what felt like an eternity, unmoving. And then all of a sudden Rowan wasn’t still anymore; he was moving forward, and his hands were on Aelin’s face, and then his lips were on hers, and the rest of the world faded into grey.

Kissing Rowan felt like this whole whimsical, expensive vacation had felt. Like some kind of magic thing that was unexpected but not unwelcome, frustrating yet so freeing at the same time. Like every moment she’d had with Rowan prior, honestly.

One of Rowan’s hands fisted in her hair and the moan that left Aelin’s lips sent her mind straight from convoluted metaphors to the rush of heat headed straight down.

Before Aelin could drag him back to the bed and jump him like every molecule of her body was begging her to do, Rowan pulled back.

“I don’t want this to end either, okay?” Rowan was panting. “All the months we spend bickering because of one misunderstanding, one bad day, have been dissipating over the past week. I misjudged you, Aelin. And now that I’m no longer blinded by the idea that I dislike you, I’ve seen that you’re not somebody that I want to have a vacation with and then forget about. I want to get to know you better, I want… I want this to continue.”

Aelin looked up at him in shock. She nodded faintly. “Me too.”

He flashed a smile then, wide and genuine, and Aelin couldn’t help but grin back.

“I hope this means we get to go on a date,” Aelin murmured.

“Oh, it most certainly does.” Rowan pecked Aelin on the lips again, and the casualness of it sent butterflies off in her stomach. “I hope someday I can live up to the standards Dorian’s novel has put on me.”

Aelin choked on a laugh. “Gods. You’re horrible.”

Rowan twisted a finger around a lock of blonde hair. “You know, you’re going to have to put up with a lot of teasing if you really want me. And gods, imagine what the people will say about you dating a historical fiction editor. It’s not too late to back out.”

Aelin shoved him playfully. “I wouldn’t back out for the world.”

She’d meant it to match the joking mood, but it came out serious. Rowan stared at her silently, then moved impossibly closer. Their noses bumped.

“I wish that first day had never happened,” Aelin whispered. “We wasted so much time.”

“I regret nothing,” Rowan said. “Because things worked out so that I’m here with you, right now, and it was more than worth the wait.”

Aelin beamed at him. “And you say you don’t read romance novels. Who taught you how to charm a lady so well?”

Rowan laughed. “Not everything can be found in a book, Aelin.”

“You’re wrong,” Aelin murmured.

Rowan hummed. “I think I could teach you a few things Dorian left out.”

“Oh yeah?” Aelin tugged Rowan toward the bed. “Like what?”

Rowan grinned ferally. “Let me show you.”

They were laughing as they hit the bed.

———

Tag List:

@aelin-bitch-queen

@autumnbabylon

@charlizeed

@evolving-dreamer

@feysand-loml

@flora-shadowshine

@gracie-rosee

@infernoqueen19

@julemmaes

@leiawritesstories

@lemonade-coolattas

@live-the-fangirl-life

@midsizewitch

@morganofthewildfire

@mybloodrunsblue

@nehemikkele

@realbookloverproblems

@rhysandswingspan

@rowaelinismyotp

@rowanaelinn

@sexy-dumpster-fire

@sleeping-and-books

@story-scribbler

@swankii-art-teacher

@thegreyj

@the-lonelybarricade

@thenerdandfandoms

@yesdreamblog

#rowaelin #tog #like a dream #my writing #yulemas swap

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rufousnmacska · 1 year

Text

Here is part two - Dorian’s pov - of this anon-requested manorian head canon. Thanks to @itach-i for beta reading and fangirling 🥰

Hope you like it!

***

Orynth was months ago, and yet to Dorian it sometimes felt like years. The sickening feel of the collar on his skin, the voice of his father commanding him to kill a guard, the voice of his father saving him from the wyrd keys. The dreams left him dizzy with confusion, left him wondering if he could repair the Havilliard name and the damage his father had wrought. On the dreamless nights, he woke feeling rested but hollow. A new sense of emptiness as if something was missing.

It wasn’t until he walked in on a quiet moment between Chaol and Yrene one day that he realized what that empty feeling might be. His friends were hugging, their baby son cuddled between them. And oddly, it made him think of her.

He’d thought of Manon often since they’d parted in Terrasen. More often than he’d admitted to anyone, including himself. Of course he worried about her after the loss of her coven. But Dorian had kept those thoughts fleeting and mostly businesslike - how a treaty might impact the witches, when the wyverns would be old enough to train.

The fact that her face, her scent, her eyes were the only things he imagined when pleasuring himself… that meant nothing. He was simply too overwhelmed with work and in need of release.

But seeing his friends, he knew. He missed her. Desperately. Whatever they had was not over. Not even close.

When his mother approached him one day about his upcoming birthday, Dorian snapped. She left his office in tears and it took two days for her to forgive him. He blamed his horrible behavior on a headache, unable to tell her the truth.

His last birthday he’d been a slave to a valg prince. A torturer and murderer. He tried to kill one of his best friends. Or so he’d been told. The knowledge made him sick and fed the self doubt that seemed to be growing by the day.

No, he did not think a birthday ball would raise the morale of the castle and city. No, the presence of many, beautiful, eligible ladies would not cheer him up.

But she had not listened. Planning was underway and he replied by burying himself in his work. Ignoring the seed of hope that maybe the Witch Queen would receive an invitation.

The night before the festivities, Dorian lay in his bed unable to sleep. Dark thoughts and half memories raced through his head whenever he closed his eyes. No matter how hard he tried, no matter the tonic Yrene had made, sleep was impossible. The only time his tense muscles relaxed was when his thoughts turned to her.

Once, he almost drifted off. Imagining…

Manon walked into the ballroom, her silken hair in a braided crown, a red cape trailing behind. He left the person he was talking to and made his way through the crowd toward her. Their eyes were locked. The music had stopped. And yet, the more people he pushed aside, the farther away she became. Her smile never faltered and her golden gaze stayed on him. But the crowd was pulling him away. The crowd, the people, his people were pulling him back, tearing at his crown, his ornate clothing, shouting that he was not their king, shouting that they deserved a better king, one who hadn’t abandoned them, one who wouldn’t torture them, one that-

Dorian shook violently awake, a scream in his throat and both hands clutching his neck.

When the music began, Dorian swallowed his shame and painted a smile on his face. No doubt the line of women wanting to dance with him was long. And full of all the same greedy-eyed courtiers, who, like his mother, noticed no difference in him from last year to this.

He held back the grimace that came with the thought, and once again wished for her. Her presence that calmed him, made him feel real, and true.

He’d been a fool these past months, trying to convince himself that they were some sort of ephemeral thing. Like a butterfly that lives for a season and vanishes. He wanted the butterfly. Not to cage, but to have it fly to him, and him to fly to her.

Dorian shook his head. What the hell was he thinking? Comparing Manon to a butterfly? He was a fool.

The dance ended and he bowed to the Lady from a holding he’d forgotten. And just then, something prickled over his skin. He turned, looked up, and there she was.

Manon, in a red dress unlike anything his poor imagination could conjure.

She glided down the stairway, every step graceful. Just like his dream, their gaze never broke. He almost stopped walking, expecting this to turn into the nightmare of last night. But the smile she wore now was different. Not as broad or bright. This smile was soft, almost shy. Beyond description. It made his heart thrum.

They both stopped when they were eye to eye and he liked this position. It felt right. His equal, his queen.

“Hello witchling.” That he could speak surprised him.

Manon took a breath and said, “Hello princeling.”

Before she faded away, he pulled her into his arms and into a dance. He moved them away from the crowd and everyone disappeared from his awareness. Everyone but her.

“This is the best birthday present I could have asked for,” he whispered in her ear.

Manon wrinkled her nose slightly. “Your birthday?”

That she was here without knowing made it feel like fate. She shivered at his touch and he struggled to stay focused. “I’m going to pretend you knew.”

A moment of dancing passed and Manon noticed the new crest adorning his jacket. When he directed her to the mosaic on the wall, she froze. He’d had it designed to honor their sacrifice, not knowing if or when Manon would ever see it. Hoping. He’d hoped she would. And now she had tears forming in her eyes.

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

“It’s not nothing,” she replied, swallowing the tears before they fell.

Now it was his turn to freeze. Manon rested her warm hand on his cheek. It was soft, unsteady. But real. The image of a butterfly landing in his hand flitted through his mind. He blinked it away and turned to kiss her palm.

Dorian took Manon’s hand and led her from the ballroom. Within minutes of back halls and hidden passageways they were in his room.

Alone.

Together. Finally.

As they embraced, he drew a finger under her eyes. She hadn’t been sleeping. Judging by the darkness of her normally pale skin, she hadn’t slept well in some time.

“I don’t want to sleep yet,” she said, knowing what he was about to suggest.

He could hear the music rising up through the balcony. “And I don’t want to take off this dress yet.” It was the truth. She was stunning.

So they danced in each other’s arms until Manon turned her face up to his and he kissed her.

They were awake together all night and fell asleep at dawn. He spent the day curled around her, not caring that they never left the bed.

She was here and that’s all that mattered.

#manorian #manon blackbeak #dorian havilliard #throne of glass #my writing #anon ask

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throneofsmut · 23 days

Text

Just Breathe

Poly! Manorian x Female Reader

Description: Things get heated between Manon and reader and Dorian joins. Based off this request.

Warnings: Poly! smut, slight voyeurism, breath play and choking (I think that's it).

Word Count: 1.9k

Author's Note: sorry this took so long I kept rewriting it (this is my 2nd time writing a poly fic that i can remember) 😭😭and I think this is the best it's gonna get but to the anon that requested it I hope you like it 😖 !! and I'm working on the last request and it'll go up in a few hours !!

****

You were sparring with the training dummy in the training room of the Glass Castle, for hours now. And yet still you showed no sign of stopping or slowing down.

A gift and a curse from being the most powerful pure-blooded fae female in existence. Regardless if you were still in your early 20s.

Your cousin Rowan Whitethorn, the King Consort of Terrasen, trained you himself when you were a child. Only he was able to understand what it's like to have such powerful and vast magic thrumming in your veins, because he’s the same.

He knows how important it is for you to be able to control it instead of letting it control you. Rowan also trained you in weaponry and in combat, in case you couldn’t access your magic.

But, he also taught you the importance of training because of how powerful you are and the importance of not overwhelming yourself with your magic by letting it out in small bursts.

By releasing it in small bursts, you can manage it more effectively and avoid potential dangers or unintended consequences. You can still hear his deep voice now, loud and clear in your head, “It's like releasing pressure slowly from a valve to ensure everything stays under control.”

Which is what you were doing now.

Every blow you landed against the training dummy, powerful, calculated and merciless. Lethal. Had they been a real enemy. While simultaneously letting out small waves of ice-kissed wind around you and into the room.

Then you felt her—your magic always alerting you when she was near. The witch who stole half your heart. Manon Blackbeak the Queen of Witches.

And if she was here then the one who stole the other half of your heart was close by. Dorian Havilliard the King of Adarlan.

“I’ll be up soon,” you told her without stopping raining down blows on the training dummy.

“Don’t bother,” she replied. That made you stop but you still didn’t turn to face her. “It’s almost midday,” she continued, sounding closer this time and you relaxed.

You finally turned to face her and noted that she was already dressed for the day and that she was right. If the sunlight pouring in from the ajar door behind her was any proof. “Huh. . . I guess I lost track of time.” Again, you didn’t have to add, seeing as this happens more often than not.

“Hmm.” Manon hummed, taking a couple more steps closer before stopping in the middle of the room and taking off her tunic, in the training ring. Her gold eyes never leave your chest watching as it rises and falls steadily while you try to catch your breath.

Her gaze darkening when she takes in the fact that your white shirt is practically see through from sweat. You can’t help but smirk, “See something you like?”

She shakes her head, smirking back. “Step into the ring. If you want to keep training, I’ll train with you.” Gold eyes flick down to your hands in a pointed glance. “Unless you want to keep bleeding?” Looking down at your hands, you realize that your knuckles are bruised, cut and bloody.

Brows furrowing as you look over your shoulder at the training dummy; all the hay that once filled it is on the floor, the fabric in tatters and the wood is splintered from where you kept hitting it. “All right, witchling, do your worst.” You challenge as you prowl onto the fighting mat.

“With pleasure, faeling.” She grins as she settles into a fighting stance. You mirror her actions and the second you nod at her, she lunges.

The both of you go back forth for a while trying to pin the other to no avail. “Come on, sweetheart,” you run your tongue on your lips tauntingly, “are you tired already?” You bait her and she takes it, lunging, giving you the opening you need to pin her to the mat.

Your hips settle directly atop of hers, your hands wrapping around her wrists, keeping them and her pinned to the mat. You lean forward using your weight as leverage so she can’t buck you off. She lifts her head as best she can, her eyes flicking to your lips, “Why don’t you just kiss me already?”

You know she’s trying to bait you, eyes flicking from her gold ones to her lips and to her heaving chest. “I’ll kiss you if you can pin me.” Her eyes narrow at your words but she smiles—a smile only reserved for you and Dorian.

Manon tries to buck you off again but you hold firm, chuckling as she struggles, your lips parting to speak but before you can get a word out your magic alerts you of his presence. Dorian. Unconsciously your head turns, to find him looking at you and Manon with amusement.

Giving the witch Queen the opportunity to flip you both so you’re pinned beneath her. She flashes you a wicked smirk, her own eyes glinting and then she’s kissing you. Your lips parting in a moan that she swallows before letting out a moan of her own as you deepen the kiss.

The both of you pull away at the same time, panting softly when you hear his deep sensual voice, “Done already?” You both open your mouths to respond when invisible hands rove over and in between your bodies, earning breathy whines from you. “Tired?” he questions.

Manon grinds against you, both of you letting out soft moans at the feeling and from the way Dorian’s using his magic on you. An invisible hand roving over both of your tits, palming and squeezing before sliding up, and wrapping around your throat—squeezing.

Through half lidded eyes you see Manon arch her back and tilt her head back, proving she feels the same thing. “Can you keep going. . . yes or no?” Dorian asks again, his voice low with desire and commanding.

“Yes.” You both breathe and the hands wrapped around your throats squeezes harder.

“Good girls,” the King praises. Your head turns towards him when you hear sure and steady footfalls getting closer. He flashes you a lazy grin, vibrant blue eyes flickering over both of your forms before he tuts, shaking his head. “Both of you are wearing too much clothes.”

His fingers make quick work of removing his own clothes while his magic makes quick work of removing both of yours. “Come here,” he murmurs to the both of you as he stands in the middle of the mat. You both move to stand before him and then he commands you to lay down.

Once your back is flat against the mat he kneels between your legs and leans over you to kiss you, once. Hungrily—a warning of what’s to come. Then he’s commanding Manon. “Sit on her face, witchling.” Dorian’s lips wrapping around your clit the same time Manon straddles your face.

You part her folds that were glistening with arousal with a pointed tongue, flicking it against her clit while Dorian sucked yours harshly. “Oh, gods!” Manon cried out as her hips bucked but you clamped your hands around her thighs, keeping her in place.

Her hips jerking everytime you moaned against her sensitive bundle of nerves from your princeling sucking and swirling his tongue over your clit while fucking you with long deft fingers. The both of you, writhing and moaning messes while nearly falling over the edge.

Then he curled them inside you, hitting the spot that sent you over the edge everytime and you came with a lewd moan that sent Manon over the edge with you while you sucked her clit. She was still trembling when she rolled off of you.

Dorian was still working you through your orgasm with his fingers when he sat on his knees between your legs. Invisible fingers pinching and rolling your hardened nipples, others gripping your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze as you come undone beneath his touch.

You could still hear Manon cry out from pleasure and you had no doubt invisible hands were bringing her pleasure in waves. One orgasm blending into two and two to three.

Dorian was the image of pure male satisfaction as he brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them clean. His free hand rubbing the head of his cock against your folds, making your hips jerk and then he pushed in inch by inch. Stretching you out. Kissing you, your neck, swirling his tongue over your nipples as you adjusted to him.

You rolled your hips letting him know he could move and his ring adorned hand wrapped around your throat, “Careful, faeling. I’m fucking you right now. Not the other way around.” You whined at his words as his hips snapped at a brutal pace.

“F-fuck. . . oh!” you rasped out. “You feel so good!”

He threw his head back in a groan at the praise. But then, his head snapped towards the door, hips never faltering. And that’s when you heard it, heavy footsteps walking by at the end of the corridor. Probably one of the royal guards. Maybe Chaol.

Your back arching as you let out a sharp moan at the thought of being heard, being caught with your lovers.

Dorian squeezed harder, “You want them to see you getting fucked? Hmm?” He slapped one of your tits earning another moan. “You want them to see you getting treated like the pretty slut that you are, my little faeling.” You nodded desperately and he chuckled darkly, “then take it.”

His large hands moved to grip your hips and you greedily gulped down air, as he pounded into you mercilessly. He leaned back on his haunches slightly changing the angle and your walls clenched around his cock in response.

You felt pressure building at the base of your spine and knew you were going to dissolve into pleasure again. Your legs instinctively wrapped around him and his hips began to stutter.

He wrapped a ring adorned hand around your throat again, squeezing until you saw stars and then he leaned down. His warm breath tickling your sensitive pointed ear, “Just breathe,” he taunted then he let go. His words, the last thing you heard as you fell over the edge.

Moments later you felt his cock twitch inside you and then he was spilling himself into you. Hips jerking as he worked both of you through your orgasm.

You felt him kiss you and then your forehead and then he pulled out.

Through your heart pounding in your ears you heard Manon crying out for him and it was all you could do to open your eyes and look at them. Manon was on her hands and knees and Dorian was behind her.

Fucking her mercilessly.

The only noises you could hear were obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin, Manon’s breathy moans and Dorian’s low raspy groans. Your body was still trembling when Manon wrapped a pale hand around your ankle and pulled you towards her, so your cunt was right in front of her face.

Still panting from your orgasm when she gave you a feral grin, “Just breathe, sweetheart.” She teased you with the same nickname you had taunted her with earlier and started eating you out.

You screamed out as your body jolted from the overstimulation but that only spurred her on. Your back arching as she moaned against your clit. You could already feel another orgasm building and from the way they were both moaning and groaning you knew they were too.

And not even a minute later all three of you came at the same time. Each other’s names on your lips in a plea or prayer you couldn’t tell.

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slytherhys · 2 years

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okay okay, i have one for your november prompts (also, thank you so much for doing these!!!)

elriel, F. "Academic rivals" and V. "Are you wearing my sweater?" mixed together. Bonus points if it's like, Hogwarts AU or something magical like that! 🥰

Again, thank you so much!!! i really love these

A/N: I was super excited to write this one and I really hope it's up to your standards! (Also, Elain might've been slightly inspired by Hermione Granger in this). Enjoy <3

TW: mature themes & strong language

Elriel - Hogwarts AU

Of all her classes, Elain had to admit History of Magic was the one she preferred the least. Professor Binns had a way of making everything sound dreadfully boring, often lulling Elain and himself to sleep; he often rambled about things that were of little relevance and, last but not least, they were in one of coldest classrooms in all of the castle.

But all of that paled in comparison to the one reason that had her heart beating frantically against her chest, the palms of her hands turn clammy, and adrenaline shooting up her spine. All due to the fact the Hufflepuffs shared this class with the Ravenclaws.

Now, Elain had no issue with the Ravenclaws, not really – she liked Dorian Havilliard and Declan Emmet just fine, and Yrene Towers was a dear friend of hers. No, her problem was with one man and one man alone: Azriel Rosehall, the one person in their year take seven N.E.W.T.S.

Apart from her, of course.

Elain wasn’t a competitive person, but something about him just made her tick. More so whenever he completely ignored her entire existence as if he wasn’t as aware of her presence as she was of his.

She let herself look at him, sitting just two rows ahead: his entire demeanour couldn’t have been more dismissive - body slumped against his chair, his hand constantly doodling on his notebook... Everything about him screamed indifference: at first glance, no one would peg him for the smart, motivated guy who actually enjoyed studying. Not with his mysteriously handsome appearance, his dark, hazel eyes and that smirk that hid more lies than it told.

And yet, he remained top of the class – right next to Elain Archeron.

The entire thing set her off, and the fact everyone kept looking at her with curious glances and soft whispers jut helped putting her on edge. Was he planning something? It wouldn't exactly be the first time and the way people kept adverting their eyes whenever she looked at them made her believe everyone was a part of a joke she had missed.

“And who, then, can tell me one of the reasons that lead to the Warlock’s Convention of 1709?” Professor Binns’ dry and reedy voice pulled Elain away from her thoughts, scowling as she watched Azriel raise his hand with quiet confidence. Before she could feel a flicker of annoyance, her own hand also shooting into the air. It was a matter of luck, really, and luckily for her, it was towards her sudden movement that the professor’s attention strayed to. “Miss Archeron?”

Elain hid her smug smile as she stood straighter, ignoring the inquisitive glances of her classmates. Even Binns frowned before cooling his expression. Mother, did she have something on her face? “Dragon Pox is an often-overlooked cause.” She said less confidently than what she had intended.

She swallowed dry, urging air inside her lungs once she noticed Azriel turning in his seat, his hazel eyes immediately pinning on her form for the first time that day. It wasn’t relief that Elain felt as his stormy gaze found her – not at all. It was annoyance. Repulsion, even.

She felt, rather than saw, his eyes trail down her figure and even though she was sitting, Elain felt the satin trail of his eyes on every inch of her skin. His eyes flared as he took her in and before Elain could ask him what his problem was, he raised an eyebrow, entirely too satisfied with himself. Their classmates’ whispers grew louder, but Elain was too focused on Rosehall to pay them any mind.

“There has never been any written account stating the Dragon Pox lead to the Warlock’s Convention.” He said simply, his eyes never darting away from her. Elain felt her cheeks heat, doubt a seedy companion taking form inside her mind. She knew there hadn’t been many written accounts, but there had been one – one she had found in the library just last night before she was being pushed against the shelf…

Nope. Not going there right now.

She glared at him, entirely too aware of the heat in her cheeks. “Just because you never read it, Rosehall, doesn’t meant it doesn’t exist.”

“Children, please-” Professor Binns tried to interrupt, but Elain knew from the glint in Azriel’s eyes that it was of no use. There was little in this world that could stop them from going head-to-head - nothing pleased him more than the defiance burning inside of her, and nothing pleased her more than contradicting his every word.

“And what of the fact wizards couldn’t tame the dragons?” He asked, his eyes once again flickering down. Elain frowned but said nothing as he went on. “And what of the risk of discovery? Those are provable facts.”

Elain tried – and most likely failed, if his amused expression was of any indication – not to show the irritation flaring through her veins. “The fact remains that despite them being the only certified facts, they are not the only ones.” She raised a brow, faintly aware of the defeated sigh coming from their professor. “The break of Dragon Pox in the later 17th century was one of the arguments mentioned by several of the wizards attending the convention.” She explained, completely aware she was playing with fire, openly teasing him about things meant to stay in the shadows as she added, “Something you can easily confirm yourself in the Library.” She added in a dismissive tone, not missing the way his eyes darkened. Her gloating was cut short when his eyes dropped down once again, a faint smile on his lips.

Seriously, what was-

“I suppose I can.” He said, his gaze clashing with hers in a way that made the breath in her lungs vanish. Elain was momentarily taken back - this was the closest thing to a victory they had ever agreed on. She frowned, unease coating her body as he feigned an innocent look and turned around. For some reason, people were still eyeing her with avid interest, their sticky curiosity adding to the churning in her gut.

Had she been confunded, maybe? Or maybe she was still asleep in her bed, having some kind of bizarre dream starring Azriel. It wouldn't be the first time, much to her dismay.

“Alright, that’s it for today.” Binns announced in a rather exhausted tone, his head already dropping on top of his desk for what Elain assumed was his 10th nap of the day. Everyone quickly gathered their things, leaving the room with amused expressions on their faces; no one was even trying to hide the fact they were clearly talking about her.

Doubt crept in. Had she stated the wrong fact? Mixed up her dates? It didn’t seem possible, but by the way everyone kept staring, she had to wonder. Even Professor Binns had eyed her with interest, and she couldn’t help but huff in frustration as she made her way out of the classroom, ready to get her mind off things.

Elain shook her head in a weak attempt at clearing her head. Maybe she should go down to Hagrid’s hut – she had promised to help him with the all the leftover pumpkins from Hallowe’en and maybe she could bake something for the Hufflepuff’s Common Room. She faintly remembered Elide mentioning an Astronomy quiz and she knew her friend would appreciate the-

The echo of footsteps trailed after her, and Elain cursed herself as she waited for him to come closer. And then she cursed herself for recognising his gait from afar. When had that happen?

Azriel was suddenly walking by her side, that stupid sinful smirk still plastered on his face. “Will I see you at the library tonight, Archeron?” He asked softly, a smile to his voice that Elain couldn’t quite understand.

She kept walking, eyeing him cautiously through the corner of her eyes. She didn’t love the smile on his face, but she couldn’t say she hated it either. “Whatever are you on about, Rosehall?”

“Studying, of course.” He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head in such a cocky manner she almost rolled her eyes. Bastard.

“I’m sorry but I much rather study alone.” She quickly dismissed, sending him a tight smile before quickening her pace.

But her power walk was of little challenge to his long, powerful legs, and he was next to her in no time. “Is that so?” He asked with a nonchalance that made the hair on her neck stand up. She stopped, eyeing him with a bored expression.

“I’d think you’d know, considering I bested you at Herbology. And Potions.” Her smirk was all poison, but it faltered as his eyes darkened, his smirk turning feral.

Elain should’ve felt scared – Azriel was well known for his antics across Hogwarts – but she didn’t falter. Not even as he stepped closer, the feeling of his breath fanning against her cheek as threatening as it was alluring. Elain raised a brow, as if bored by his little intimidation act, even if her heart was raising havoc inside her chest.

Azriel pursed his lips, a thoughtful expression coming over his face. “And what about Defence Against the Dark Arts?”

Elain let out an annoyed huff, still not making a move to leave. And she should leave. She definitely should. “You only got that plus because the new professor has a crush on you.”

His chuckle was pure sin as he tilted his head, a pleased smile on his lips. Elain hoped she didn’t look nearly as affected as she felt. “I never took you for the jealous kind, Archeron.”

She rolled her eyes, even as she felt the blood rushing to her cheeks. “Spare me.” She said, quickly resuming her walk in an effort to step away from his teasing, feeling relief take over her body as nothing but silence followed.

But the relief was short-lived. “And Astronomy?” He asked, and Elain went still as he approached her slowly, stopping until his lips were next to her ear. His voice dropped to a soft murmur, “I remember you quite enjoyed my help with Astronomy.” Elain felt her body run hot and cold, locking in place as she avoided his gaze. Unwelcome images of the dark library, of his delicious grunts as he thrusted inside her flashed through her mind, but she quickly shoved them away.

Elain cleared her throat, “A small mistake I must emend.”

He smiled, even if something else flashed in his eyes. “A mistake, was it?” He stepped in front of her, blocking her way once again.

“It’s one way to put it.” She lifted one shoulder.

“Oh?” He smirked again, looking completely indifferent as he leaned against the wall. “Enlighten me, then.”

Elain huffed, crossing her arms as she finally looked into his eyes. “Do you struggle with English as well? I understand now why you’re so set on studying with me, Rosehall.”

“Tell me, Elain.” He gritted out, his smirk dropping slightly as he stood up and stepped closer than necessary.

She ignored the warmth radiating from his body. “Well, I could also call it a lapse of judgement, I suppose.” She shrugged. “Maybe the result of too much studying and not enough sleep?” She raised her shoulders. "The possibilities are endless."

Azriel went still, his eyes darting around her face. Elain didn’t like the way they seem to see entirely too much. But they always did, didn’t they?

Elain sighed, all thoughts of baking quickly gathering dust in the back of her mind. This was not the place to have this conversation; not when students strolled around them, most paying entirely too much attention to whatever was going on between them. But nothing seemed to be able to stop Azriel, not as his jaw clenched; not as all humour fled from his face.

His voice was as calm as midnight, “Then what do you call last night?”

Elain felt herself blush, her cheeks heating under the weight of the memories playing inside her mind. The dark library, her panties stuffed inside her mouth, his calloused hands on her naked back as he bent her-

No.

Not this again.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Azriel simply smirked, bending his head lower and lower until his lips remained a mere breath away from hers. Elain felt her breath catch, her eyes dropping slightly as she waited for…something. Anything. But Azriel never dared closed the space between them, instead reaching for a stray lock of hair and playing with it between his fingers.

Images of her hair wrapped around that hand as he-

Mother, she needed to go back to her dorm.

“Really?” He muttered, the question laced with a darkness that made her momentarily forget all about occupied halls and curious stares. Azriel smirked, sending a shiver down her spine. She felt like she was hanging on a precipice, anticipating whether his words would break her or save her from damnation. Azriel hummed. “Tell me, Elain. Is that my sweater you’re wearing?”

Elain felt her body go hot and cold, her eyes widening as the colour drained from her face. Oh, Mother, no. Please, don’t let her be this dumb.

Elain's head snapped down to look at her outfit, regarding her perfect uniform. Her skirt was pressed, her shoes were shining, and her knee socks were still standing. Everything looking perfect except-

Except for the blue and bronze colours painting her sweater instead of her usual yellow and black.

She had realised her sweater had felt looser that morning, but she hadn’t thought much about it. She had spent most of her night awake and through her sleep-hazed mind the only thing she had focused on was how comfortable it had felt against her skin, that familiar scent sending a zap of electricity down her spine. She now knew why, exactly, that was. It was his scent in his sweater - the sweater she had stolen from him when they finally left the library at 3 in the morning.

Her cheeks turned crimson as she stared up at him, pleading for his help. But Azriel simply grinned, shaking his head slightly as if enjoying her public misery.

“You couldn’t have warned me sooner?” She whisper-shouted, feeling entirely too embarrassed to look anywhere else than his hazel eyes. Maybe she also really enjoyed staring into them, but that was beyond the point. “Everyone will know-“

“Would that be such a bad thing?” He interrupted her, and she was taken back by how serious he sounded. He had never, not once, shown any indication he had wanted something else – something more. Elain had never said anything herself, even if she felt like she was being eaten alive whenever she spotted him in the Great Hall, laughing at whatever Morrigan, or Amren said.

She had assumed he had preferred to keep the ruse of hating each other, even if they had started meeting in secret months ago.

Azriel had appeared next to her on a Friday night, mocking her for missing some random party for Potions homework and Elain had fought back with an equal remark - things had heated up to the point where nothing else seemed logical beyond kissing him until he couldn’t breathe.

Needless to say, they kept meeting every night.

No one knew. Not her friends, clearly not his friends, and they had never talked about changing that, but as Azriel grinned at her, effectively making her stupid little heart miss a beat, she wondered if maybe things were about to change.

“You want that O in Defence?” He smirked, standing straight again, his hands inside the pockets of his slacks as he looked at her, a dare glinting in his eyes. “Meet me today in the library.” He turned around, leaving her behind without another word - but not before saying over his shoulder, loud enough for everyone to hear, “And keep the sweater, Archeron. I like seeing you in my clothes.”

#elriel fic #prompt #november prompt #elriel oneshot #pro elriel #elriel fanfiction #hogwarts au

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