#this is one of the more Ambitious poses i’ve attempted in a while (doesn’t draw full bodies) so i’m posting it for attention

[heavyedit]

did i mention my cuddly drunk skwisgaar headcanon

he’s like this with everyone it’s just that toki carries him to bed most often

[seasonofthewicth]

nobody does it like you do - act 6

The final part!! I hope this is a satisfying conclusion! Thank you so much to everyone who has reblogged/commented/shared - it has meant so much. Special thank you again to @morganofthewildfire I'd still be working away at this fic if it wasn't for you, I don't know I ever would have finished it off. Your comments and analysis helped me so much and made this fic better than I could have alone, I'm so grateful.

13k - masterlist - ao3

--

There are five weeks between the eventful wrap party and her first day shooting the Netflix miniseries in Antica. Five weeks for Aelin to sort her shit.

It’s ambitious, and probably unattainable, but she needs a goal.

She needs something to draw her mind away from Rifthold and the director she knows is no longer there.

She gives herself a week of self pity. A week of lying around her sparsely decorated and impersonal Orynth apartment dwelling and pointedly ignoring the headlines she knows have been released. Elide let her know only one picture was captured of her with tears in her eyes leaving the party. Only one and gods bless Elide she shut it down.

Aelin lies on her uncomfortable couch in well-worn pyjamas with unwashed hair and runs through the photos on her phone of her and Fenrys, her and Manon, and the group of them together on set doing whatever shit they used to do.

She spends more time than she should like that. She sits there until her coffee table is overflowing with takeaway wrappers and Aedion and Elide have stopped texting more than once a day. She’s awful for ignoring them but she’s still mortified.

She hasn’t been able to look Aedion in the eyes since he dropped her back at her apartment after their long flight home from Rifthold. He didn’t say much. After he managed to again get her out of the party with minimal press she had cried, curled up between Aedion and Lysandra in their bed, and he didn’t offer judgement or instruction.

He just held her, whispering words she can’t remember but appreciates anyway. Now she hasn’t replied to any of his texts.

She hasn’t texted Fenrys or Manon either. She doesn’t know what to say.

She knows Fenrys jumped immediately into another movie, an action movie she knows he’s been chomping at the bit to get training for, and Manon into the second series of her show that she’s probably too famous for now.

They’re busy. They’ll understand. At least that’s what she tells herself.

The worst thing she does in that week is pour over the photos she has of Rowan. She didn’t realise she had so many but her camera roll is full of silver and green.

There are photos of just him, looking like Rowan, tall and handsome and understatedly happy, smiling covert little smiles at Aelin behind the camera. He was used to her instructing him to pose by the end of filming, she loved snapping away as he did anything. Eating, sleeping, smiling, everything - if it was Rowan she wanted it captured.

Now every photo is a knife to the chest.

The ones of the two of them together are worse, they twist the knife, pain splicing through her until she can hardly breathe. There are pictures of their cheeks pressed together, eyes shining, some serious, some silly. In all of them Aelin can clearly see her own happiness.

She can’t stop looking at them even as tears swell in her eyes and her throat gets tight.

For one week.

Until it’s been seven days since her flight landed back in Orynth and she gets up off her couch and deletes them. She almost doesn’t, her thumb hovers over the button for a good minute before she presses down but then it’s done and they’re gone. She showers and changes her clothes, she throws away all the rubbish on her coffee table and makes a plan.

Filming the movie with all of them it was easy to feel better than she did before, surrounded by new and exciting things, new people who didn’t know her before or treat her differently because of it. It was easy to lose herself in who she was there and with them.

Now though, she’s back to real life and real life lasts for an uneventful three weeks.

She tries what she can, she reads, she runs, she bakes, she teaches herself how to knit. None of it is satisfying and it's hard to make it stick. It’s all boring and never quite captures her attention the way she hopes. Never captures her attention enough to tear it away from Rowan and Rifthold.

A week before she flies out to Antica it changes.

She stumbles upon the change, completely accidentally, and she doesn’t realise what she’s needed until it's right in front of her.

Her usual run route is obstructed by construction and so she takes a left where she usually takes a right, heading down into the west side of the city, the side she doesn’t often frequent.

She used to. She used to spend hours strolling the streets letting the warmth of the sun and Sam’s hand in hers settle into her skin as they observed the numerous bakeries and small boutiques. Thankfully the scenery appears to have changed since.

The chill breeze of the September Orynth air teases the loose strands of hair tickling her face as she comes to a stop outside the sleek shop front. The wooden panels are painted a dark, glossy black and the windows are polished so brightly they reflect what’s left of the sunlight.

Music of Mistward the sign reads in curved, white lettering.

She can see her reflection in the shop window, her cheeks flushed, hair unruly, her running gear nowhere near to what would be appropriate attire for the shop dripping in class but she can’t turn away.

A bell tinkles as she pushes through the door, her headphones gripped tight in her fist as the gentle jazz playing over the sound system greets her. She doesn’t like jazz, it’s not her thing, but along with the musk of wood in the air it’s soothing in welcoming her in.

She passes walls of guitars and violins until she reaches the instrument that caught her eye. It’s sleek, black lid propped open revealing the elegant strings, pulled tight in neat lines. The sharp contrast of the keys against each other, bright against the deep black of the case. Her fingers ghost over them, dying to press down.

She hasn’t played since those days in Rowan’s Doranelle home. She’s wanted to, longed to feel the cool keys under her fingertips and the flood of the music pouring out of her, but the cheap keyboard in her Orynth apartment wouldn’t do Rowan’s beautiful instrument justice.

Aelin would rather not play at all than attempt a cheap imitation of what she felt there.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” A voice sounds behind her, low and raspy but cheerful all the same.

She turns, taking in the older man, his grey hair cut short and his classic shirt and slacks pressed crisp. She glances back to the piano before facing him fully.

“Stunning,” she breathes.

The man steps forwards and offers her his hand. She slips her hand into his and he pumps firmly as he introduces himself.

“Emrys,” he says. “Welcome to Music of Mistward.”

“Aelin,” she says, surprised to hear her voice thick.

“Great to meet you, Aelin,” Emrys says with an ancient smile. He nods towards the piano. “Do you play?”

“No,” she says and Emrys’ smile flickers. “Yes, I mean I used to. I want to,” is what she settles on.

He nods, satisfied, before taking a step closer to the piano. He runs a hand over the top, almost reverently and smiles to himself.

“Antique,” he starts, “almost one hundred years old but well loved. I acquired it recently - here we deal mostly in antique instruments, it’s a passion for both myself and my husband. The previous owner only sold it to me when she inherited it and didn’t know how to play, she wanted it to find a good home.”

He shares a smile with her as if she’s in on the joke but her breathing still hasn’t settled.

“Satin Ebony finish,” Emrys continues, “eighty-eight keys, all original but preserved to the highest quality. Accompanying bench, cut with refreshed velvet. I don’t know in all my years I’ve seen such a fine instrument as old as this.”

Aelin glances back to the piano, it’s big, it won’t fit in her apartment in Orynth but she doesn’t care. She can… adjust. She hasn’t felt a pull like this in a while, she doesn’t want to deny it when she does.

“How much?” she almost demands from the man in front of her.

He appraises her and she knows what he sees. Her bedraggled state and the tension through her shoulders doesn’t give the impression of someone with this much cash to throw around. She abruptly ignores that the way she probably can afford this is because of Rowan’s movie.

When he doesn’t speak she repeats herself, more firmly. “How much?”

“Our price includes delivery and tuning on arrival.” He seems apprehensive of telling her the truth. Aelin waits.

When he finally reveals the figure Aelin blinks. And then she extends her hand. “I’ll take it.”

To his credit Emrys just nods, shaking her hand. “You don’t want to at least play it first?”

Aelin feels the smirk she hasn’t worn in a while creep onto her face. “Is there a risk you’re pulling a fast one on me?”

Emrys returns her smile, a playful glint in his eye. “Not a chance, Aelin. Please follow me to the register where I can take your details.”

Aelin almost stumbles. Almost, but then recovers.

“Any chance I can pay a deposit and then let you know where you’ll be delivering sometime soon?”

Emrys winks knowingly. “Absolutely.”

She follows him to the counter, signs away part of a disgustingly large total of money but leaves with a sense of satisfaction. It’s an accomplishment, a step for purely selfish reasons.

The first thing she does when she leaves the shop is call Elide.

Aelin meets her new therapist two days before she flies out to Antica.

She hasn’t called her old one in months and thinks that’s probably a sign. And she’s all about changes at the moment.

She isn’t shooting in Antica for too long, only a couple of months until she’s back in Orynth and then back to Rifthhold for press. Her stomach drops everytime the thought wanders into her head.

She’s excited to be back in Rifthold, but the company is daunting.

Fenrys and Manon will easily be pissed at her disappearance. She knows Manon will play aloof but she also knows she’ll be upset, Fenrys too. Aelin didn’t mean to hurt them, didn’t mean to drop off the face of the Earth, and she knows she’s let them down but Fenrys and Manon remind her of Rowan. She couldn’t trust the conversation not to eventually steer towards him and Aelin isn’t ready for that.

Their break-up feels weirdly anticlimactic. After everything they built to, Aelin just dipped.

She knows it seems that way to Rowan at least. She hasn’t texted him, or rang him or anything since the party. She’s wanted to, wanted more than anything to hear his voice as she cried, but it’s not fair to him to drag it out and she knows that. She knew when she drew the line she had to stay on her side of it, no matter how much it hurt.

She had cried until her head pounded and her throat was raw. She cried until her eyes itched with no tears left to fall, until all that came out of her was hoarse screeches as she ached to hear him call her Fireheart one last time.

But no one needs to know that, she had kept it as hidden as she could.

She definitely didn’t need any more paparazzi pictures of her with red-rimmed eyes looking downtrodden. She couldn’t bear the thought of Rowan, or worse her mother, seeing them.

She knows Fenrys and Manon; Aedion, Lysandra and Elide would see through her flimsy excuses and so it was easier to stay quiet.

She’s not thinking about facing them yet. She supposes that will be something that likely comes up with this new therapist, but so far on her own, she’s choosing avoidance.

She gets Maeve’s number from Dorian, and she comes highly recommended by a number of Dorian’s other high profile clients. She’s well-versed in non-disclosure agreements, secret sessions and back street exits; she feels like the perfect fit for Aelin.

Unofficially, Dorian lets her know Maeve takes no shit, and that’s also just what Aelin needs.

They agree to online sessions while she’s in Antica, but Maeve recommended an initial meeting and Aelin is open to all of her suggestions.

Their first hour is not directly her most life changing but it’s a start.

“Welcome, Aelin,” Maeve says, sweeping an arm out towards the firm-looking, orange couch in the centre of the room.

Aelin takes a seat, mutters her thanks and glances around the room.

The room should feel cold with the exposed brick and minimalistic decor, the only furniture being the couch Aelin perches on, the almost regal armchair Maeve reclines in and a lamp, but it doesn’t and she gets comfortable tucking her feet beneath her thighs and leaning against the arm.

“So,” Maeve begins, surveying her in the way only a true professional can. “Let’s get started.”

Aelin feels bare beneath her gaze, and like everything about Maeve and her practise it should be unnerving but she just blinks against the scrutiny.

“Why are you here today? You could start with sharing why you have made this appointment.”

And isn’t that the million gold-mark question?

Aelin takes a deep breath through her nose and raises her chin.

“I don’t want to move backwards,” she admits. “Or maybe I just want to know I’ve actually moved forwards.”

Maeve’s expression stays calm, but Aelin knows she’d be smirking if she could. She’s well aware of how therapy works but even so, speaking her thoughts aloud can help to verify them in her own mind.

Aelin hopes so at least.

Their hour is over quickly and Aelin is resolved that Maeve is a good fit, reassured in Dorian’s claim that the woman takes no shit. Her all-knowing assessment of Aelin should have been unsettling but the frank dissection is what she needs.

Online therapy, especially fitting it around shooting might be a challenge but it’s for the best. As much as she values her independence and standing on her own two feet, Aelin is big enough to admit that facing her mother again may require some professional guidance. Seeing Rowan too, but again, she’s not thinking about that yet.

Antica is hot and Aelin is sweaty within seconds of stepping out of the air-conditioned luxury of the airport. That feeling lasts the entire time she’s there, disrupting the otherwise enjoyable time she has shooting the series.

Her new co-stars are fine, they invite her out with them and make her smile but she can’t help as though a part of her is always comparing them to who and what she left in Rifthold. Aelin tries her best to enjoy her time there with them, she hosts dinner parties and invites them to a game of Aedion’s but nothing quite hits the same as her time spent on The Crescent City.

She rationalises it to Maeve, that The Crescent City was a big turning point in her life and that it has nothing to do with Rowan, Fenrys or Manon, but she’s not sure she even believes it herself.

She spends the rest of her time in Antica trying to convince herself, and Maeve, that she’s moving past it. That she’s moving forwards or else she’ll move backwards. She’s not sure how much of it is futile.

The Crescent City is done, whether she likes it or not, and she can’t deny it changed her in ways she didn’t expect. It’s a hard pill to swallow that maybe it changed her beyond return to how she was before. She also can’t quite figure out whether she thinks that’s a bad thing or not.

They have a dinner for the core cast and crew, including Rowan, once they’re all back in Rifthold for the beginning of the press cycle. They have one night to reacquaint before they’re shoved into the whirlwind that is interviews, photoshoots and promotion.

She’s seen the trailer already and it’s just as she expected but more. It’s dark and dreary with flashes of brightness from herself and Fenrys and she’d want to watch it if she chanced a viewing as a member of the public.

What is surreal, is to see herself in a polished version of the film they were creating. Or at least a part of it.

She said each of the lines, rehearsed them over and over until they fell off her tongue without thought, but she still doesn’t recognise the girl in the trailer. A droplet of pride slips down her chest at the realisation that it’s not Aelin in the trailer but Feyre. She knows she’s good, has known it all along, but the realisation and reaffirmation is ecstasy better than any drug.

She hovers outside the restaurant, watching through the window, needing a couple more seconds before she submits herself to the assault of them all again. She still hasn’t replied to either Fenrys or Manon and the thought presses on her like lead but it’s too late to change that now.

If she’s honest she’s concerning herself with Fenrys and Manon in the hopes of distracting herself from the fact that she’s seconds away from Rowan. Seconds away from him in the flesh, his solid body in front of her that she had learned almost as well as her own.

Her palms are clammy and she wipes them against the fabric of her trousers. The upcoming interviews and photoshoots will all be styled for her and so she’s relishing in her last moments for a while of truly dressing like Aelin.

She takes a step towards the restaurant door, the tip of her trainer bumping the wood when a voice sounds behind her.

“Well, hello there, Stranger.”

Aelin braces herself, hand paused outstretched where it had been reaching for the door.

She turns, biting her lip as she faces Fenrys. He looks the same as he did, skin still golden, eyes still dancing with mischief, but his golden curls are trimmed shorter than the last time she saw him. His expression is carefully blank.

“I- Hi… um,” she stumbles over the words. “I’ve missed you.”

Fenrys breaks almost immediately. “Oh thank the fucking gods.”

He surges forwards and wraps her into a tight hug. Aelin clings to him, fighting the tears in her eyes as she buries her face in his chest. She’s gone far too long without this, without him, and it’s all her own fault.

“Do you have any idea how much I missed you?” Fenrys asks. “Oh wait, no you don’t. I’m assuming your phone broke, or was stolen or something since you never replied to any of my texts letting you know.”

Aelin knows her cheeks are stained pink. “I’m sorry,” she admits.

“I know.” His voice softens, losing the teasing edge as he presses a gentle kiss to her cheek.

He pauses before he speaks again, his eyes running over her face. “You could have texted me anytime, you know. Manon too. I know you might forget or try to convince yourself otherwise, but we are your friends. You could have called us about literally anything.”

Aelin feels like she could cry. She’s not sure that she isn’t.

“It doesn’t have to be about anything serious, especially not related to the movie,” or Rowan he doesn’t say but Aelin hears it. “We just wanted to hear your stupid voice.”

Aelin pouts. “My voice isn’t stupid.”

She pokes her tongue out as he rolls his eyes, easily falling back into the dynamic they had shaped a few months ago.

“Not what I meant,” he says before pausing, taking her in as she stands in front of him. “You can’t lose us that easily, you know. We’re like rats or fleas or something. Hard to get rid of.”

“Nice,” she comments, but her chest is tight at his words.

He smiles at her before adding, “and you had fucking better text me back.”

Aelin laughs through the sniffles he’s kindly ignoring. She pulls her phone out of her pocket and finds his contact. Hi she sends and feels his phone buzz against her.

“Much better,” he says and releases her from his arms. “Now, are you ready for a night of the finest dining all on the studio credit card?”

Aelin laughs again. “Lead the way.”

He shoots her a wink and waltzes ahead to hold the door open for her.

Fenrys’ presence shouldn’t reassure her the way it does, especially after the way she has treated him but she clings to him anyway. He’s her buffer for now, a crutch for tonight and tonight only. Once tonight is over and tomorrow begins she and Rowan can be professional, they managed it for months during filming and this should be no different.

Rowan still looks the way he did the night she broke his heart.

His silver hair falls elegantly over his forehead as he bends his head to talk to Manon, the pair of them are engrossed in a conversation as she and Fenrys walk over, not spotting them yet. She loves his hair, loves the thick silver waves and the way they feel between her fingers. She loves the way any attempt he makes to arrange the thick strands is never quite able to tame the beast. She loves the shirt he has on, with the sleeves rolled up exposing inches of tanned skin and dark ink, the same worn green cotton she wore numerous times around his living room all those months ago. She can still remember the feel of it against her bare skin.

His smile is the same, his green eyes crinkling as his lips barely part as he does his best to hold it back.

His smile is the same until he spots her.

He catches sight of her when she reaches the table and his smile drops, the shutters closing over his expression so fast she wouldn’t know he knew how to smile had she not just seen it.

It tears her chest in two and any attempt at a smile on her part is futile. It’s all she can do to make it to her seat without stumbling and she’s sure she misses any other greetings she gets as she slumps onto the chair opposite Manon. She absently notes Fenrys dropping in at her side.

She can’t look away from Rowan, her eyes scanning to try and find anything that distinguishes him from the man she loved all those months ago. She finds nothing. He’s still Rowan and Aelin still… fuck.

He recovers before she does, ever the collected courtier, clearing his throat and nodding.

“Aelin,” he says and she adores the sound of her name on his tongue.

“Hi Rowan,” she manages and hears how weak she sounds. Rowan hears it too. She can tell from the purse of his lips and the tension in the hand he rests along the back of Manon’s chair.

Aelin allows her eyes to drift to Manon and she finally catches the thunderous expression the younger girl wears.

“Hi,” she whispers and Manon blinks.

“Hi?” Manon repeats incredulously.

Aelin is fucked.

“Five months and I get a hi?”

It’s loud and a few heads turn their way. It’s simultaneously mortifying and everything Aelin deserves.

“I’m sorry,” she says plainly.

She could lie, make up some useless excuses but in the end there’s nothing else but the truth and if Manon wants her to grovel she will, she’s just not sure this is the time or place.

Fenrys shares her thoughts. “Later, Manon,” he says, gently.

Rowan’s eyes stay firmly glued to the tablecloth as Manon frowns, seemingly unwilling to let it go.

After a few seconds, seconds Aelin spends waiting for the ground to open up and swallow her, Manon nods. She nods and turns to Fenrys, demanding to know what he’s ordering. And just like that Aelin has a moment to catch her breath.

She knew this dinner wouldn’t be easy, knew she’d be walking into the lion's den of her own making, but she hadn’t expected it to be as hard. Hadn’t expected seeing Rowan to feel like a slap, hadn’t expected Manon’s hurt to scrape across her skin leaving her raw.

She tries not to think she deserves it, Maeve would only raise a brow as if to say we’ve been over this. The thought is sobering, and she manages to lift her head.

It is what it is, what’s done is done and she can only apologise and move forwards.

As much as she tries to resist, Aelin finds herself watching Rowan throughout the night. It’s scary how familiar he feels, he should feel like a stranger, but he feels like she knows him too well. He laughs when she expects, rolls his eyes when she predicts. He orders what she thought he would and he sips away at an orange juice the way he did the first dinner they all had together.

Aelin already feels so different than she did the last time she was in Rifthold and he seems unchanged.

She observes for most of the night, feeling drained despite her minimal contributions to the conversations. She speaks when spoken to and actively avoids speaking when Rowan does, she definitely doesn’t respond to anything he says even though she wants to at least twice and wants to laugh a couple more.

She makes it through and clings to Fenrys again as they all leave, linking her arm through his as they leave the restaurant. He knows what she’s doing but graciously guides her out of the building. Once on the pavement outside the restaurant he pauses and turns to her.

“What hotel are you staying in while you’re here?”

The rest of the group are milling about, calling taxis and bidding their farewells. Aelin doesn’t know how she’s getting back yet, she’s assuming she’ll split a ride with someone.

“Um, the Glass Castle, I think,” she says, desperately trying to recall the name of the hotel she dumped her bags in a few hours earlier.

“Boo,” Fenrys laughs, pointing his thumb down. “They’ve got me in the Torre Cesme. Think I’m ages away from you.”

Aelin laughs, disappointed but ready to order her own taxi back when a voice she didn’t expect sounds.

“I’ve just ordered a cab to the Glass Castle, I’m staying there too. You can jump in if you want.”

Rowan.

She shoots Fenrys a panicked look but his expression is pure glee.

“That would be great thanks, Boss,” Fenrys says, shrugging his arm out of hers and nudging her towards Rowan.

“No problem, Boyo.” Rowan offers Fenrys a dark grin at the nickname and the sight of it stills her. It’s new, he used to roll his eyes whenever Fenrys would drop it into conversation, but now Rowan’s playing along. And the grin, the curl of the lips and the narrowing of the eyes, it’s sexy as fuck.

It’s only taken one night and she’s back in the danger zone. She doesn’t want to be, hell, she wants him to take her back to his hotel room and peel off her clothes but this is Rowan. She’s spent the last few months trying to get over him, falling into bed with him the first night she sees him again would not likely be defined as progress.

He’s also not likely to want that after what she did.

“You don’t have to,” she says. The first direct thing she’s said to him since their greeting.

“I know.” A slight shrug of his broad shoulders. “But we’re going to the same place, it wouldn’t seem logical to take different cars.”

Logic. That’s all it is.

“Right.” She doesn’t think she’s ever felt so awkward with him, not even at the start. “Thank you,” she says, following him to the car.

Fenrys shoots her a grin as he slips into his own taxi. Traitor.

Rowan holds the door open for her and slips in behind her. She tries not to think anything of the fact he could have easily taken the front seat.

The ride is silent apart from the easy chit chat he makes with the driver, another thing she’s not sure she noticed him do before, and she stares out the window as the city passes by. The streets of Rifthold are not her home but she feels a brightness as she glances down the curving roads, spotting groups of people milling about enjoying the night.

She knows the first call she made to Elide in weeks was the right call. Elide is the only person she’d trust with her bank account and access to real estate listings. The link to the flat her friend had sent over has stayed open in her browser since she got it.

It’s modern with classic twists, situated in a recently renovated old warehouse with miles of exposed brick and rustic wooden panelling. She loves the master bedroom the most, with its adjoining en suite with a huge bathtub she can picture herself soaking in. She has a viewing booked in two days but doubts she’ll even need it.

It’s not long before the taxi pulls up outside the hotel and she follows Rowan through the glass doors. He presses the button for the lifts and Aelin shifts in the awkward silence.

Awkward is not something she’s used to with Rowan. Or it wasn’t before.

The doors slide open and again she follows him inside.

He pauses with a hand hovering over the buttons for the floors. “Which floor?”

“Nine.”

Aelin hates these one word exchanges compared to the hours they used to share talking about everything and nothing. She can’t believe this is the man she was so vulnerable with.

His short huff of laughter drags her gaze to his face.

“What?”

“Makes sense,” is what he says, shaking his head and pressing only the button for the ninth floor.

The ride takes seconds, a minute at most, filled with the silence between them.

When the doors open to the ninth floor she steps out, determined not to follow him again, and she feels him follow her. Even now she’s so aware of his powerful body and the way he moves it. She shouldn’t be so attracted to the power emanating from him, from the breadth of his shoulders to the sureness of his steps. She wants him, doesn’t think she ever stopped, except now he’s the forbidden fruit. Forbidden only by her own actions.

She reaches her door, room 905, but pauses with her key tucked in her hand.

“Thanks for letting me share your cab,” she says, finding herself desperate not to say goodbye yet. “I can transfer you for half.”

That finally, finally, cracks a whisper of a smile but she’s not sure she enjoys his laughter if it’s at her. “Don’t worry about it.”

That should be the end of it, she should open her door and shut it behind her, they have a few weeks ahead of them that will be hard enough without any complications.

She left him and he seems gracious enough to have mostly moved past it.

“It was good to see you, Aelin,” he says, seemingly unwilling to let the night end as well. She doesn’t let the seed of hope sprout because what would be the point?

Nevertheless, Aelin smiles, leaning back against her door.

Rowan continues, “even if I wasn’t sure how the night was going to go.”

Her attention is spiked. “What do you mean?”

She can’t lie, a part of her expects him to back down at the edge to her voice. He doesn’t.

“I wasn’t sure if you were going to pretend nothing ever happened between us.”

She blinks, giving herself a second to process.

Maybe this isn’t the same Rowan from all those months ago. That night he let her walk away from him, gods know she needed it, but a dark little part of her had wanted him to fight her harder. Fight harder for her. When he hadn’t she’d taken it as her sign.

She knows the expectation was toxic, if he had fought her it would have only pissed her off, but she wishes she’d had someone to tell her it was the wrong choice. It would have helped to hear in the moment, rather than be faced with Rowan months down the line that she wants and can’t have.

The Rowan in front of her, the third Rowan she’s known, stares her down. His eyes peel away each of the layers she’s worked with Maeve for months to don in a second.

“I wouldn’t do that to you.”

It’s honest and maybe she’s not the same Aelin as a few months ago either.

That’s what she had asked for that night in the cool air, to move past them with as little commotion as possible, stirring up as little attention as they could. She hadn’t wanted to let them eclipse the movie and yet that ended up being exactly what she had accomplished.

Now though, Aelin knows better.

Rowan nods as his eyes dart across her face. He seems to step closer without realising. Aelin notes the motion, still so aware of him and his proximity to her.

His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip. “I was so angry at you for leaving.”

Aelin loses her breath at his confession.

Eventually she manages, “was?”

He looks away from her, glancing down the dark hallway, his jaw tight. When she’s with him she forgets about the world around them, there’s probably-definitely-CCTV in this hallway but he’s here and she can’t let him go yet.

His fists curl and uncurl as he takes a deep breath.

“Was,” he says shortly. “I was so angry at you, the way you did what you did was shit.”

Aelin swallows. He’s not wrong.

“I know.”

“But now I don’t know.” She lifts her eyes to his, swimming in the openness she doesn’t deserve. And fuck that. That is such bullshit. She meets his stare, returning all that he isn’t saying. “I spent a long time thinking about it, thinking about you, and it took me a while but now I get it.”

That hurts more than she expects. She didn’t expect him to be all over her the minute they reunited but his understanding was always a kicker.

“I know why you did it,” he continues. “And that took most of the wind out of my sails.”

Aelin frowns. He can’t possibly know why.

“I don’t think you do.” He tilts his head, an invitation for her to expand. “Or you’d know that nothing has changed.”

“Hasn’t it?”

His question throws her. Completely.

She tilts her head up to look at him, closer to her than he’s been all night, pushing her to keep being honest with him.

She’s dazed being this close to him again after so long, the green of his eyes stronger than she remembers. Or maybe her brain had assured her the memory of him couldn’t have been real.

“I don’t know,” she admits, unable to fight the way her body leans into him.

His teeth graze his lower lip and she follows the motion.

He’s silent for a beat too long and her skin is thrumming under his attention. She doesn’t know how she’s gone this long without him, she doesn’t know how she thought she’d survive never having him again.

“Let me know when you figure it out,” he says finally, drawing back and a rush of cool air fills the space he had taken. “Goodnight Aelin.”

He turns and she watches his back down the hallway. He slips easily into a room a few doors down and she’s left watching the path he’d taken, feeling the weight of his eyes on her lips.

Her head thuds against the door as she screws her eyes shut. She wants to scream, wants to chase him down the hall, wants to fly back to Orynth where she was safe.

She doesn’t do any of those things.

She tucks herself into her hotel room and readies herself for the whirlwind that’s about to hit. These next few weeks are going to be hard, not just dealing with the Rowan situation, but she can’t fight the excitement she feels.

Fuck. She’s back in Rifthold, back where she loves, doing what she was born to do.

This is big. She can feel it.

The Crescent City is not her first project, and so she’s been a part of press cycles before, she knows how they go. What she doesn’t know is how a press cycle for something like this works.

The only word she can find is insanity.

There are somehow earlier mornings than they had while shooting and often longer days. She gets poked and prodded in hair and make-up for hours before they spend all day sat in a hotel room filming repetitive interviews for various magazines.

She and Fenrys are genuinely friends and yet they still have to put on a show in front of the cameras. She plays up her laughter when he cracks a joke and he makes sure to never look away from her for longer than two seconds when she speaks or a producer behind the camera makes a comment.

She loves Fenrys but it’s exhausting. Her only blessing is that for most of her engagements she’s with Fenrys and Manon with Rowan conducting his own interviews separately as she had hoped.

Sometimes though, given their relatively similar ages and general level of chemistry, they get grouped together.

The four of them are filming a video for Buzzfeed, filling in a quiz to find out which character from The Crescent City they’re most like. She’s unsurprised to discover her result is Rhysand and it’s fun even if her heart does pound every time she has to act like she’s unfazed and friendly with Rowan.

There’s a moment, just a moment, where she almost breaks from her friendly and unbothered interview persona. It’s her turn to read the question, what item could you not survive without on a desert island?

It’s Rowan that speaks. “Her shampoo,” he says, “it’s jasmine.”

There’s a split second where she doesn’t speak, where all she can do is stare at Rowan, stunned that he remembered and thought to mention it now.

In that split second she’s transported back to memories of them together in the shower at her rented apartment, kissing lazily under the spray after spending hours between her sheets. She remembers dumping the shampoo into her hand and then onto his head, massaging his thick locks and surrounding them in the scent of jasmine.

She remembers how he kissed her neck as she did, trailing his hands over her silky curves, slick with the soap, with his kisses building in heat until her hands dropped to his shoulders. He’d lavished kisses down her chest until he’d jerked back, shampoo in his eyes and she’d laughed until he was safe and pressed his lips again to hers, continuing where he’d left off.

She’s shocked he’d bring this up when there’s a camera on the two of them and she can only imagine the comments it will spark. She’s not sure she cares if it keeps Rowan’s eyes on her.

“It’s luxurious for a reason,” she says when she recovers, tossing her thick locks over her shoulder. “Well worth it.”

She doesn’t miss the flicker in his own mask at her comment.

That kind of interaction will no doubt ignite the sparks she’d only ever wanted to avoid.

As the press cycle goes on and on, and they get closer and closer to the premiere it only becomes harder for her conviction to hold.

She tests her own argument, the clear line she drew in the sand, when she manages to keep it professional with Rowan and she’s not sure where that leaves her. She had thought they would overshadow everything about the project and now she’s not sure.

She said nothing had changed and he had challenged her.

She’s still not sure who’s in the right.

Everything is simultaneously completely new and exactly the same. Rowan is still gorgeous, still charming in his own reserved way, still almost reverent when he talks about his craft throughout interviews. He still talks with his hands and Aelin still can’t draw her eyes away from their motions, she still craves the touch of them on her skin. He’s still seven years older than her and the director of her big break.

Yet there are differences.

They’re still often on the same page, offering similar answers and backing each other up but now he never backs down from a challenge. Now he doesn’t hold back those comments she knows he was always dying to let slip. She should be annoyed, everytime he drops a line that pushes her to expand a little part of her wants to roll her eyes.

She doesn’t though. Her blood heats and her skin prickles. She loves this with him. Loves the dance they play, the teasing, verbal games that shouldn’t start her off but do. She loves the smirk he wears when they end up down that path, and she knows she wears it’s mirror image.

She always ends up squirming in her seat and it should be wrong but it isn’t. The cameras can’t see below their chests and the flush in her cheeks could easily be from the warmth of the day.

She’s beginning to wonder if she’s powerless against Rowan Whitethorn. If she’s powerless against the green of his eyes or the curl of his accent. The slant of his brows or the points of his teeth when he smiles.

She doesn’t know that it’s just one thing. It’s all of the things, it’s all of him, and more so than ever she’s completely fucked.

But they aren’t talking outside of the interviews and photoshoots, and the knowledge of which hotel room is his itches her toes every night. It would be so easy to sneak down the hall, to knock on the door and slot her lips to his when he opened.

It’s only a couple of nights before the premiere when the temptation becomes too much. She’s been around Rowan all day, surrounded by the smell of his aftershave, the notes of pine and freshness and Rowan and it’s too much. She strides down the hallway, resolved in her decision and closes her fingers over the button for the lift.

She needs to be elsewhere or she’ll make some bad decisions.

She’s come so far, survived months without him, she can’t cave due to proximity.

The hotel bar is deserted when she walks in and makes a beeline to the bartender. Yeah, maybe after her wobble at the wrap party a bar isn’t the best decision she could make but her options are limited. Trying to sleep with Rowan is, after all, probably the worst of both options.

“Just a sparkling water please,” she says to the barman who nods and returns a moment later.

“Put it on my tab.” A voice from the end of the bar.

A laugh bubbles out of her chest as she closes her fingers around her glass. Of course he’s here. She should have spotted Rowan the minute she walked in and it’s cruel that the reason she didn’t was that her thoughts were too wrapped up in him.

“Be careful what you sign up for,” she says as she walks over, her steps measured as she comes to a stop before him. Her hips swing of their own accord and his eyes dart up and down the length of her. “I can put a number of these away.”

The smile he gives her is surprisingly unguarded. It seems he’s done holding himself back too. Aelin loves it.

“I don’t doubt it,” he says, nodding at the stool next to him. She obliges as he speaks again. “It’s hard to switch off sometimes.”

He’s always on the same page as she is. Aelin shrugs, taking a sip of the drink he bought her.

They’re quiet for a moment, both unsure of how to break the silence between them when one of the last things they knew was the taste of each other’s lips.

“I keep thinking I’ll get used to it, that one day this will just be my job, but I never do,” Aelin says eventually, tracing a fingertip through the condensation gathered on her glass.

Rowan nods, smiling softly down at the bar and taking a sip of his own drink. An orange juice as usual.

“It’s hard to sleep at the end of days like today,” he says. “It’s why I’m in here.”

The bar is dark at the late hour, and quiet with no one else in there but them and the bartender. There’s something about the late hour, the darkness and the stillness surrounding them a break from the recent rush, that feels a little bit too close. She feels a little too exposed under the weight of his gaze but she rolls her shoulders back and leans an elbow on the bar as she turns towards him.

“I thought you’d be used to all of this by now,” she says and he cocks his head.

“Why?” His question is coy, begging her to expand.

“This is not your first rodeo and all of that,” she says with a smile.

Rowan laughs softly, the sound curving around her like an embrace.

“It can still be overwhelming after your first big movie,” he says gently, but with an edge to his voice that she needs to immediately get rid of.

“I don’t doubt that,” is what she whispers and his brow seems to soften, sensing her lack of malice.

She hates the way they’re in the position where he assumes the worst of her. She has to make that change.

“I don’t think if I get to do this for the rest of my life that it would ever feel normal.”

“No,” Rowan agrees, “I don’t think it could.”

“So then we need this film to do well.” Aelin shifts on the stool, finding herself leaning closer to him without conscious thought. He doesn’t retreat. He stands his ground until they’re only inches apart. “Lest we find ourselves fading into obscurity.”

“I doubt you ever could,” he says with a laugh and it’s the best thing she’s ever heard.

As he looks at her, his expression soft in the dim light, his smile holds something special for her and her chest lifts that she managed it. That he was willing to give that to her.

“My agent sent over the initial critic reviews earlier,” he says and her stomach plummets.

“And?” she demands, her voice wobbling slightly. Her confidence from a minute ago vanished.

This is the moment where she could sink, the moment this could all be over.

“And they’re good,” he almost whispers.

“Good,” she repeats and it’s not a question but he nods.

She wants to throw herself at him at the news, a couple of months ago she wouldn’t have even hesitated, but now she sits clenching her fists and trying not to smile too wide. It feels like a waste. She’ll never get this feeling again.

She turns to him and he’s smiling so she does what she’s wanted to for months. Aelin leans forwards and wraps an arm over his shoulders, pressing her chest to his.

His arms slip up slowly over her shoulders at first, unsure but gaining confidence as he tightens his grip around her, drawing her further into his chest. Aelin laughs a little, throwing her other arm around him and resting her face against his shoulder.

It’s not enough, it never could be with him, but it will do. She’s just happy he didn’t push her away.

Eventually, after a length of time that feels far too short, she pulls back to see him gazing down at her with an expression she can’t name. His brows are drawn in with his lips gently parted. He’s happy but apprehensive, open but distant. Aelin will take what she can and the distance between them has always been too far.

She wants nothing more than to close it, to draw herself into him and he into her, but she can’t. They’re here for one thing and one thing only and she refuses after what they’ve been through to mess it up again.

She knows he can read her own expression but she doesn’t care. She’ll hide from everyone and anyone but she’s realising she could never hide from him.

She wants Rowan, will probably want him for the rest of her life, but she made the call and he’s wrong, things haven’t changed.

Apart from all of the things that have.

The day of the premiere Aelin feels sick.

Her stomach twists and she tosses and turns all night and the dark circles under her eyes are brutal as a result. Her make-up artist tuts but diligently packs concealer on until Aelin looks well rested. Or as close as she can.

She’s trying not to think of the stretch of carpet she’ll have to walk tonight, a smile plastered across her face as she poses for the hundreds of cameras. Their premiere is one of the biggest of the season and, along with Fenrys, she’s the star.

She’ll have nowhere to hide.

Aelin sits in front of her mirror, her hair and make-up are done but she’s yet to get dressed. She takes herself in, making sure to note every strand of hair to every line of her lips, feeling as though she needs to remember this moment. The moment before it all explodes.

They’ve been building to this for almost a year now and this is as close to a culmination as she’ll get.

Her dress is something fierce. Endless, flowing velvet in the darkest shade of black. Long sleeves and a fitted bodice with an almost indecent dip in the back. The dress would be modest without that cut out, she can’t wear any underwear it dips so low.

It would be a simple dress, some might even dare to say boring, if it weren’t for the back. The majority of the fabric that remains is covered in gold embroidery taking the form of a dragon, coiled to strike. Aelin adored the dress the moment her stylist revealed it to her. She didn’t consider any of the other dresses, didn’t even acknowledge them as options.

The dress is what she needs, something strong, something to help her hold her head up high. She can walk the red carpet and stare down every single person who doubted her and know that they were wrong.

Aelin doesn’t need their approval. She doesn’t need the reassurance of faceless commenters, she doesn’t need the support of the magazines and the newspapers. She doesn’t need her mother’s approval. On anything.

Aelin is confident and self-assured and she can walk the red carpet knowing that.

Her sessions with Maeve have helped to reassure her stance, but she’s realising day by day she’s known it all along. It’s just taken a little bit of digging to uncover it.

She slips into her dress and it slides on like a second skin. She takes in her appearance, the arch of her brow and the red smirk of her lips makes her look intriguing, like a confident young woman.

Aelin was born to be an actress but she’s proud to say the sight in the mirror is real.

She poses for a few photos before she’s led out of her room and into the car, waiting to take her to the theatre.

She spends the ride in silence, barely listening to the jabbering of the aide in the car with her, and she focuses her thoughts on the calm before the storm. She takes deep breaths and centres herself the way Maeve has taught, she knows this could so easily be overwhelming but she’s determined to enjoy it.

The car stills and she can hear the noise of the crowd outside. She takes a final deep breath and allows her lips to spread into a smile. This one is genuine, nothing forced about it, and she pauses for one last beat.

This is big and Aelin is ready.

The car door opens and the sound hits her like a wave, slamming down onto her and it's so loud she can hardly think.

This is it. This is the moment she has dreamed of.

The nights where this image was all she could cling to to make it through could never have compared to how it feels standing here now, screams of her own name wrapping around her and urging her on.

Her steps are slow and purposeful as she glides down the path forged for her, the red carpet beneath her stilettos is plush and bright. She pauses where she’s instructed, rolling her shoulders back and smirking at the cameras with a hand on her hip.

She knows she looks incredible and the shouts of the photographers do nothing to change her mind. They are here for her, they’re all here for what she has accomplished, along with Fenrys, Manon, Chaol and Rowan and everyone else involved.

There are so many forces upon her, the flashing of the lights, the screams and shouts calling her name or Fenrys’, the magnitude of what this is could knock down a lesser individual but all it does is raise Aelin up.

She’s been through worse than this and survived, she’ll stare down the lense of all of these cameras, of everyone who has ever spoken her name and she won’t cower, she won’t just survive. She’ll thrive.

A warm hand lands on her waist and somehow the flashes of the cameras explode.

“Hey, golden girl.” Fenrys’ words are almost hard to hear even though his lips brush her ear. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Aelin wraps her arm around his back and grins, “I thought I’d at least show my face.”

He returns her smile and together they pose for the cameras, their shoulders back and smiles confident. She’s not sure this could be better.

Until she turns slightly to her left and gets flashes of silver where she and Fenrys are gold.

Rowan and Manon, posing for their own pictures mere metres away. He looks spectacular, the deep black of his tuxedo doing nothing but bringing out the depth of his tan and the shine of his silver hair.

He’s smiling his public smile and it’s gorgeous even though it’s not her favourite of his smiles, she loves the private ones he used to save just for her, and her own smile falters at the sight.

She’s here with Fenrys and it’s not wrong but it doesn’t feel right. The arm around her waist shouldn’t belong to Fenrys.

She should be where Manon is, smiling up at Rowan while they marvel at what they’ve accomplished. She knows her smile has dropped and she fumbles for anything to plaster onto her expression other than the longing she feels for Rowan.

As if she’d called his name he turns to her, green colliding with blue, and she knows he feels the same.

And that hurts far more than all of the months they spent apart.

All the months she spent hurting, trying to deny what she always knew, trying to pretend that they were anything other than a force of nature. They had been an eclipse, threatening to over take all of this but she was wrong. Rowan was wrong too.

It doesn’t matter whether everything or nothing has changed because she wasn’t right in the first place.

She should have known better than to think that whatever flimsy decision she made could halt what they were, what they should be.

She can only hope he forgives her. She can only hope he feels the same.

But the thing about this new Rowan is that she can’t read him the way she used to read her Rowan, she can’t tell if the way he steels himself and turns away from her is a dismissal or if the look they shared had been just as painful for him as it had been for her.

“A masterpiece.” - Rifthold Reporter

“Fenrys Moonbeam shines alongside Aelin Ashryver in The Crescent City. See our full review here.” - Wyrd Stone

“Latest Rowan Whitethorn flick smashes Box Office records.” - Valg Weekly

“Unapologetic, daring and thought provoking. Award nominations expected to follow for The Crescent City.” - Terrasen Tribune

Her phone has not stopped buzzing for the past four days.

Dorian texts every waking hour with the updates he gets, the numbers coming in and all her latest offers. It’s surreal. She knew they were good but she’s not sure she ever really expected this. Aedion texts her a picture every time he sees or hears her name, it should be terrifying the frequency with which he texts her but she has to fight back her smile each time he does.

She managed to find an hour the night before to call Lysandra and the majority of their call had consisted of Aelin repeatedly asking what the fuck was happening while Lysandra cackled down the phone.

She’d even got a text from Lorcan. It was alright, he’d written. Followed by, I hope I die before ever having to watch you make out with someone like that again.

She’d sent three middle finger emojis and a kissy face in response.

Now is probably not the best time to move to a different country but she’d signed her name on the papers two days before the premiere and Rifthold is calling, irrespective of the fact she’s only been back in Orynth for two days.

Most of her stuff headed out yesterday with the moving company leaving Aelin with two suitcases to fly back to Rifthold with tomorrow.

There’s one last place she needs to go before she heads back to finally get a good night's sleep before her flight tomorrow. She’s never set foot in this graveyard before, she’s never had the courage to dare before, but she’s emboldened. By the success of the movie, by her progress in the past year, by her sessions with Maeve. This has felt like a natural step.

The shining, black headstone is understated and classy and completely to his taste.

Sam Cortland. Beloved son and brother, taken far too soon.

Aelin waits with her head bowed, allowing all of her emotions to rush through her veins. She doesn’t fight them, it would be pointless to try, and she embraces the tears that gather. Eventually she steps forwards, placing the smooth, small stone on the crest of the headstone.

She rests her hand on the cool stone for a moment before sinking down and crossing her legs beneath her as she leans against it.

“I’ve missed you,” she says aloud, “I can almost hear you telling me to stop being such a sappy shit. I can’t help it, it’s been too long since I’ve seen you.”

She pauses, letting the wind drift through the field sweeping her words away.

There’s no one else here but her and Sam, no one else she’d want to hear her confession.

“I wonder what you would have made of all this. I think you’d tell me to enjoy it all, to not miss a moment, and I’m not. I’m just choosing the ones I want to savour. And this is one of them, Sam. I wish you’d been there with me, you would have loved it, the cameras, the lights, everything.

“I have to keep pinching myself to know it’s real, I did it, and I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to come and see you.”

She sighs, letting her head tip back to rest against the stone. She didn’t prepare anything to say, didn’t realise she’d even want to speak to the open air but here she is.

“I’m not the same Aelin as the girl you knew anymore,” she says after a few moments of silence. “I didn’t think I would have the capacity to love again after you but I did, and I feel terribly guilty that I do. I have to remind myself that this is what you would have wanted, you would have wanted me to be happy.”

The silence in the field is more than an answer enough. So typically Sam to give her an answer without so much as speaking a word.

“I was happy,” she says, trailing a fingertip along the words etched into the stone. “I will be again.”

A faint haze of sunlight drifts through the Orynth autumn clouds, a whisper compared to the chorus of brightness she misses in Rifthold, and she stands, brushing off the dirt from her jeans. She touches the stone one last time before turning and heading out of the graveyard.

Her visit was years overdue but her chest didn’t crack open the way she had expected, the tears hadn’t been relentless the way she had expected. She’ll visit him again the next time she’s back in Orynth, probably visiting Elide and Lorcan for Yulemass, and she’ll visit again and again for as long as she lives.

But for now, she has a plane to catch.

Months later and two days before the Oscars, when they’re all back in town for the ceremony held in her new home city of Rifthold, Fenrys throws another party.

She’s managed, this time, to stay in touch with Fenrys and Manon, having made up with the younger girl before the press cycle had finished. Aelin knows her upset was real but partly suspects the animosity was a front. She even finds herself participating in the group chat with the three of them and Rowan. She’s only texted him one to one once to wish him a happy birthday and they had caught up briefly but not texted since.

She’s missed him in a different way to the last time she missed him. This time missing him doesn’t feel necessary, it feels wrong not to text him, wrong to be away from him and she’s itching to see him again.

It’s no one's birthday this time but they’re all together again to celebrate, no matter the results they’ll see in two days. Aelin is very carefully measuring her excitement about her own nomination for best actress. Fenrys is up for best actor, Rowan best director and the movie best picture.

She’d almost dropped her phone in the toilet when she found out from Dorian a few weeks ago.

The party is small but still in full swing by the time she arrives. Big names from the industry, all in town for the ceremony, are scattered all around Fenrys’ Rifthold apartment. He’d bought a place here not long after Aelin and she’s secretly relieved she’s not the only one so moved by their experience.

She waves to a few people she knows and tries to stay calm when she spots Sartaq Khagan in the corner chatting away to a small group of people. Holy shit Fenrys has some famous friends.

Aelin finds herself a glass, tops her orange juice off with a splash of lemonade and begins her rounds. So many more people want to talk to her after the movie dropped.

Her mother had been one of them, and Aelin’s thumb had hovered over the accept button for a moment before decidedly pressing decline. She had blocked her mother’s number a moment later, and then she had made some calls closing the bank account her mother kept topped up and arranging for every penny she’d ever received from Evalin Ashryver to be paid back.

It had hurt, emotionally and financially, especially in the month she’d moved to Rifthold, but it had been worth it. To never let Evalin pass any judgement over her life again was a relief worth any cost. Aelin’s hoping there’s a possibility she could end up with a reward.

She doesn’t know how long she spends talking to big name after big name and it’s a realisation that drops onto her that she fits in here. Aelin Ashryver is a big name. No matter the outcome of the ceremony she has prospects, already a number of projects lined up and she’s loving every minute of it.

She drains her cup for the third time tonight and heads back into the kitchen. She’s barely seen Fenrys all night, and she doesn’t even know if Manon is here.

She frowns into the fridge, there was definitely a full bottle of orange juice in here the last time she topped herself up. She shuts the fridge and spins around.

“Looking for this?”

She should have known.

Rowan looks predictably gorgeous in the dim kitchen lighting. All tanned skin and silver smiles. He’s dressed in her favourite look of his too, worn denim jeans and a soft cotton shirt.

It’s the softness in his gaze that really takes her though, it seems the animosity from the last time they saw each other has faded if not disappeared. Her chest squeezes at the thought. She has no idea what could have triggered it but she will take it.

“Nope,” she says, stepping over to where he stands with an arm braced against the counter at his side, the other holding out a bottle of orange juice. “I was hoping Fenrys would have some chocolate in there but I guess this will have to do.”

She takes the bottle from him, her fingertips brushing his and she feels her cheeks heat at the innocent brush.

His smile is genuine and she knows what he’s remembering because she’s thinking of it too. The first time she visited his house during filming and their moment in the kitchen. They’ve been through cycles, she supposes, but hopefully now for the better.

“I’m sure we can find you some somewhere in here,” he says as she fills her cup, pulling open the cupboard next to his head.

Aelin smirks. “I’m going to leave the rummaging through Fenrys’ cupboards to you. You could find anything in there.”

Rowan winces, closing the door before returning her smile. This is friendly and the hope that’s been planted in her chest begins to sprout.

“Yeah, maybe not,” he says with a conspiratorial smile. “We wouldn’t want to risk it.”

Aelin pauses for a moment, taking in the glory of him in front of her. He’s still Rowan, he’s still tall and deliciously broad. His silver hair is slightly more grown out and there are a couple more lines around his eyes but she doesn’t care, in fact it’s charming. He’s still and always will be stunning. She takes a sip of her drink before she takes one of her biggest risks so far.

“I’ve missed you,” she says, not daring to look away from his face.

He bites his lip, his tongue darting out to soothe the skin before he speaks. “I’ve missed you too.”

The smile that spreads across her face is all too telling but he’s smiling too so she doesn’t think it matters. He definitely feels the same and she’d be annoyed at the months she spent worrying but the relief is too sweet.

“Good,” is what she says, far too happy they’re here to bother with pretending she’s anything other than ecstatic. “Congrats on your nomination.”

His eyes dart to the floor and then back up at her, he’s too modest about his own skill and Aelin adores it. “Thank you,” he says softly, “you too.”

“Thanks,” she says. “I couldn’t have done it without you. All of you.”

“Me neither,” Rowan says.

He’s close to her now, closer than he has been to her for months and her skin cries out for contact. She almost can’t believe she’s here now, talking to Rowan without any animosity, days before the Oscars that she’s nominated in.

The smile that takes over her face is completely of its own accord. She’s floating and it seems Rowan is too if the beat they share, exchanging incredulous smiles, is anything to go by.

“It’s crazy, right?”

She’s been asking herself the question for so long it seems only natural it slips out to him.

He laughs softly, and the rough sound curls straight to her core.

“Definitely,” he agrees, his voice low. “I don’t think last time felt like this.”

Aelin slaps a gentle hand to his chest and ignores the thrill that shoots through her at the eventual contact. “I get it, this is not your first nomination.”

Rowan rolls his eyes and she didn’t know how much she missed this, playing with him. She adores his reaction every time, the begrudging amusement he only lets shine through to make her smile.

“Some of us have never been nominated before, this is all completely new.” Aelin takes a sip of her drink. “I had to give up my social media accounts to Elide, it got so crazy.”

Something flickers over Rowan’s face at her comment. “Really?”

“Yeah,” she says, her eyes darting across his face trying to decipher the expression. “She’s always had access and I still do so I can post if I want to but it just became a lot. It stopped being fun when I would see what people were saying, whether it was good or bad I don’t want to see it anymore.”

Rowan nods before his eyes lock onto hers, the intensity in his expression shreds her control.

“And you said nothing had changed?”

Aelin gets it now.

She shifts her weight, leaning as close to him as she can without sliding herself completely into the circle of his arms. “I was wrong. Lots of things have changed,” she says, her voice quiet but strong. “And lots of things are now right that weren’t before.”

She doesn’t mean to skirt around the truth, hiding in veiled words and double meanings, but as always, Rowan sees her. He sees her meaning and he smiles. It’s the most beautiful smile Aelin has ever seen him wear.

“I’ve been looking for you two.”

Fenrys bursts into the kitchen, startling Aelin back from Rowan. She hides her guilty smile in her drink and notices Rowan doing the same. Fenrys just grins, clearly enjoying whatever he thinks he’s seeing.

“You’re missing out, we’re playing kings in the living room if you want to join?”

Rowan glances at her before he turns back to Fenrys. “I think we’re good, thanks.”

Fenrys’ smile turns smug and Aelin resists the temptation to flip him off. She’s in too good of a mood to be annoyed at him.

“Okay, see you later, lovebirds,” Fenrys says, already on his way back out of the door.

Aelin pretends she isn’t blushing as she turns back to Rowan, his green eyes shining.

“This might sound crazy,” he says with an alluring tilt to his lips, “but do you want to get out of here?”

She’s reached a point she truly never thought she would.

She’s an Oscar-nominated lead actress in a box-office-record-breaking movie.

She’s happy, healthy and out from underneath the thumb of Evalin Ashryver.

The part that’s most uplifting, the part that has her unable to wipe the smile off her face as she strolls down the streets of Rifthold, is the arm she has tucked through Rowan’s.

They’ve been walking for a little while, enjoying the cool night air and the ease with which they managed to sneak out of Fenrys’ party. Her heels are killing her and Rowan very graciously offers her an arm to lean on and each time she takes a step in time with him she smiles.

“I never thought I’d like doing television,” he says.

She didn’t know he’d taken on a miniseries, similar to the one she’d done after filming, but she’s loving the recap she’s getting of the months they’ve been apart. The chill of the air is more than fought off by the warmth of Rowan by her side. The streets are mercifully empty and she can bask in the knowledge that it’s just the two of them out here, that they’re insignificant, that anyone who sees them will immediately dismiss them.

“I always thought I’d stick to movies, singular stories but I enjoyed it. I guess change can be good.”

Aelin laughs softly and squeezes his arm. He looks down to her, a question written in the slant of his brow.

“Change can definitely be good,” she says as she takes in the sights of the skyscrapers surrounding them. “I would know that I suppose.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I bought a flat recently.”

“You did?”

He’s so graciously giving her the floor to say what she needs to say and she holds his arm even tighter.

“It’s right here in Rifthold.” Aelin avoids his gaze, lest he think it’s a speedy invitation and that that’s all this is. “I bought it just after we were back here for press, I realised that I adore Rifthold and being here. I missed it when I wasn’t here and I don’t feel there’s anything holding me in Orynth anymore.”

Rowan laughs softly, his feet scuffing the floor.

“What?” she demands.

“I swear I’m not following you,” he says and she feels a smile creep onto her face. “I bought a loft here too.”

Aelin gasps. “But your house was gorgeous!”

Rowan’s smile twists as he looks away from her. “I didn’t say I sold the house.”

Aelin cackles as she squeezes his arm, the sound joyous and bright as it echoes around them. “I knew being Mr Big-Name-Director has its perks.”

“It does,” he agrees with a smirk.

Aelin wants to kiss that smirk. Wants to pull him down and twist her fingers through his hair as his own tangle along her skin.

Instead she says, “I copied you somewhat too.”

He only raises a brow.

“I bought a piano like the one in your house. It was too big for my old flat in Orynth and so I knew what I had to do.”

“That’s good,” he says as his arm drops out of hers. She almost pouts until he instead tangles their fingers together. Her smile says it all, reflected back in his own. “You play beautifully.”

“Thank you.” Her cheeks are glowing. “You’ll have to come over and I’ll play for you sometime, neighbour.”

“I’d love to.”

Aelin slows, using the hand tangled with his to pull him to a stop too. Her free hand trails a gentle path up his chest before coming to rest at his collar, her fingertips tracing the golden skin peeking out from his shirt. His free hand finds her waist.

They’re close, closer than they have been in such a long time when he speaks.

“I don’t know what you think has or hasn’t changed.” His hand leaves hers to cup her cheek. “But I still feel the way I used to about you.”

Her heart takes off, pounding within her chest.

“I do too, Rowan.” Some of the easiest words she’s ever said to him. There’s something about the way the streetlights shine through the silver tips of his hair and the way his calloused fingers feel between hers that she’s feeling brave. “I loved you then and I love you now.”

His eyes flicker across her face as his smile dawns, taking over his face as he smiles so brightly. This is all she’s ever wanted, to have a Rowan like this, with pure, unfiltered happiness in his eyes as he looks at her.

“You love me?”

“I do. To whatever end.”

His lips are barely a whisper from hers and she only acknowledges the thought that they’re in public for long enough to realise she doesn’t care.

“And I love you.”

His words are simple, but sweet. They wash over her and settle into her skin as his lips land on hers. He kisses her with what she can only describe as love. His lips pour devotion onto her and his hands light a fire inside her as he tastes her tongue.

They kiss for longer than she can keep a track of, wrapped up together illuminated only by the street lighting. She’s missed this, missed him, and she can’t help but feel right when his hands are on her. She can’t help but feel right as she stretches onto her toes to throw herself into his kiss.

This was never wrong, this was one of the first things she knew was right.

She loves him and he loves her and nothing and nobody else matters.

She doesn’t win the Oscar, and neither does Rowan. Fenrys does and she screams herself hoarse cheering him on as he makes his way to the stage.

The moment that takes the cake is when The Crescent City takes best picture. She takes to the stage with some of her best friends to recognise what they achieved together and maybe she is a soppy shit but she definitely cries. Fenrys laughs at her and Manon grins but Rowan just throws his arm around her shoulders and it's worth it.

Afterwards, she logs into her Instagram account for the first time in a long time. She posts a picture of Rowan looking absolutely delicious with his tux unbuttoned and his bow tie hanging untied around his neck with a greasy burger in one hand and hers in his other.

Posting him is a statement but she doesn’t care. In fact, she wants the world to know. She wants the world to know that nobody does it like he does. Nobody does it like they do.

[emergingsentiments]

Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha: Episodes 1 and 2 (Repost)

"Life is not easy for all of us. Some spend their whole lives on unpaved words, while some run at full speed only to reach the edge of a cliff."

What is home? And is home a place or a feeling? These are the questions the premiere episodes of Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha pose.

Yoon Hye-jin (Shin Min-a) seems to have it all in Seoul — a nice apartment, a stable job as a dentist, and her online orders. But perhaps the most important thing she owns is her principle. Ambitious as she may be, she isn’t keen on ripping off patients to earn or to pay for her shopping indulgences. Her chief dentist at the clinic, however, thinks otherwise. So despite her materialistic tendencies, Hye-jin stands up to her greedy and disingenuous boss in a spur-of-the-moment defiance, one which predictably has its professional and financial repercussions.

Now jobless and possibly in debt, a childhood memory draws her from the confines of her sleek domicile to the quaint seaside town of Gongjin, not only to seek a reprieve from her city miseries but also to remember.

Gongjin, however, is the home of Hong Du-sik (Kim Seon-ho) — a charismatic jack-of-all-trades who is as ubiquitous as the scent of ocean air in the town. He is everywhere it seems — on the boat, by the sea, at a coffee shop, or the fish market. If Hyejin’s ambitious and near solitary exterior represented the cutthroat urban soul, then Dusik’s endless list of side hustle captures the untiring enterprise needed to survive and sustain a life in the province. It’s a life that demands diligence and street smarts, as well empathy and community. Perfectly helpful to everyone in town, especially to Kim Gam-ri (Kim Young-ok), and capable of almost every form of labor, he is as popular as the dried squid Gongjin is known for.

The two meet on the beach — though not for the first time, we find out later on. It’s the perfect location for the world of opposites to collide: sand and the sea. Hyejin — the fish out of water — symbolically loses a shoe from a much-prized pair. Dusik — amphibious and with the ability to move around in any environment — finds the other heel. He returns it to her partly annoyed.

Though grateful, Hyejin seeks to find the other shoe, attached not only to its value but also because she cannot see herself walking barefoot. Dusik is not impressed. He nonetheless pities the out-of-place Seoulite and throws her his pair of slippers — oversized, overused, possibly acquired for free from one of the seaside restaurants. Walk my paths, Dusik seems to say. They are Hyejin’s welcome gifts to a town she will have to understand because it will become her home. Or will it?

Plucked from the metropolis and driven by both impulse and circumstance, the good dentist will have to figure out not just Dusik’s deal but Gongjin’s townsfolk, too. Left with no choice, she leaves behind the comforts and conveniences of the city. However, the small-town outlook and habits of Gongjin's people are unfamiliar and even repulsive to her. As hopeful as she is for new beginnings, an awkward and very public faux pas means she is also off to a rocky start. This and a series of other missteps finds her alienated from the community. Almost like learning the Cha-Cha-Cha, Hyejin’s footwork is a mess.

Dusik, who witnesses and hears Hyejin’s judgemental tirade, comes to her aid but only subtly and as a gentle nudge. He isn’t pretending to be a savior who could fix the unpleasant cracks between Hyejin and Gongjin’s people. Instead, he reminds her to meet the community halfway. For instance, he doesn’t chastise her for wearing tight-fitting running wear that scandalized the elderly women of the town. He knows its purpose; he even explained it to the elderly women. But Dusik also sheds light on the motivations behind this conservative view of his town’s people.

When Hyejin attempts to win the community’s trust by doling out rice cakes while inviting them to her clinic��s opening, Dusik senses the insincerity. Material gifts are meaningless. As the saying goes, it’s the thought that counts. Remorse has to be personal. She’s the new girl in town, after all. Hyejin cannot expect Gongjin to adjust to her whims. Dusik does what he can — secretly, too. But the city girl will have to take the initiative in building meaningful relations with the town’s people.

In both cases, we get a timely commentary on the need to understand other people. After all, we live in world increasingly adversarial, quick to respond to and mob those we disagree with. We're fast to label those who stand our way as enemies instead as partners for truth-seeking. If Homcha follows its current tracks, I'm curious to see if this wisdom of seeing both sides is further emphasized.

Despite Hyejin’s multiple setbacks, she moves forward. It helps that her inimitable best friend, Pyo Mi-seon (Gong Min-jeung), follow her to town. Mi-seon brings comic relief and relentless energy to our dentist’s new life. So through small and careful steps — and with Dusik just watching over her ever so carefully — she settles in and slowly makes amends with Gongjin’s men and women.

And what a community Gongjin is. Homcha masterfully paints a town brimming with life and populated by every character and role we know and relate to. The seaside commune is scenic and vibrant, almost too idyllic even. Its port is bustling and its homes are welcoming. From the mountains, the horizon glistens with every break of dawn. What we know from Dusik and Hyejin, however, is that the surface isn’t all there is to it.

In a telling short montage at the start of Episode 2, we get a glimpse of the townsfolk's quiet sorrows. Hwa-jung (Lee Bong-ryun), the assertive landlady, is a divorcee still hurting about her marriage’s breakdown. The owner of the town’s cafe and pub, Cheon-jae (Jo Han-chul), is a forgotten singer and one-hit wonder struggling with his confidence and purpose. Nam-sook (Cha Chung-hwa), the quirky and chatty owner of the Chinese restaurant, appears to grieve the loss of a child. Even Dusik — who seems faultless — hides a wound. Behind the closed doors of the homes of Gongjin are unspoken aches and regrets.

Home is where the heart is, they say. But often, home is also where the hurts are.

Life wounds can only be remedied by love. Homcha makes no qualms about it. It’s a love story at its core but one that explores love’s healing effects in a place closest to us, a space that has to be the safest for us. Dusik is clearly smitten by the new resident of Gongjin. He sees her in a different light. It’s easy to tell, however, he has some baggage—a suit to be specific. Hyejin carries with her a spirit of grief as well. What of her mother? What of her childhood? How their respective hurts have shaped them and will continue to define their characters will be an interesting exploration by the series. With the first two episodes out, I’m hopeful we become privy to the furnishings of Dusik’s and Hyejin’s “homes”.

Where the first two episodes succeed is not just in juxtaposing the clashing views of urban and rural. Instead, we see more of what is common between the two. Hyejin’s uncharitable remarks over the narrow-minded views of Gongjin’s people are easy to associate with the condescension typical of city dwellers. But one can say the same with the trio of halmeoni who were so quickly appalled by Hyejin’s workout clothes. Judgments, after all, know no place or time. We think of those in the province as being insular and yet we also meet a chief dentist with a small-town outlook, ready to ruin the reputation of another in a similarly tight-knit dentist’s community.

Perhaps we are more the same than different?

What makes Homcha stand out, however, is that it doesn’t try too hard. The characters — and the actors — are unpretentious. As such, we get a light-hearted and heartwarming journey as our main characters and the Gongjin community settle, work, and live. You feel as if you're part of the community, too.

From its warm colors to its penchant for nostalgic songs, Homcha lives up to its title. It evokes that familiar place we grew up in and stirs memories of the spaces and faces that have shaped our persona. Sometimes we choose to stay there—or find ourselves stuck. Sometimes we outgrow it, too, and we move on to greener pastures. But that part of our lives connected to our youth never really disappears. To survive we need to accept and love the parts of our history we are least proud of, right? Once we do, how ready are we to show them to other eyes, to let them be held by other hands?

Round my hometown Ooh the people I've met Are the wonders of my world

PS

If I had a gripe with the show, it’s the fact that Hyejin apparently has no idea how to use the forgot password feature of websites. That's all.

[destinychose-a]

NOVA — KINGDOM HEARTS OC.

FULL MUSE PAGE HERE! ( Please read for a full understanding of her personality! )

BASICS.

NAME:  Nova NICKNAME:  ‘Queen Chaos’, Novie GENDER:  Female ( she/her ) AGE:  Unknown, looks to be in her mid-teens BIRTHDATE:  26th July ( or, so she decided ) BIRTHPLACE:  Unknown, thought to be Daybreak Town HEIGHT:  149cm ( 4′11″ ) OCCUPATION:  Keyblade Wielder AFFILIATION:  Master Ava, Vulpes Union ORIENTATION:  Demiromantic, Demisexual

MEDICAL RECORD.

MENTAL: Kleptomania, depression PHYSICAL: Physically fit, save for an ongoing issue with her right wrist PHOBIAS: Thalassaphobia, autophobia DIET: Generally all over the place, unhealthy at the best of times. Nova has a raging sweet tooth and tends to prefer having a dessert over a proper meal. Ava has attempted to curb it and encourage better eating habits, but as with most habits, it’s proven difficult to break.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE.

EYES:  Green ( D30 ), often bright and sparkling with mischief. Her eyes are her most expressive feature: when her words lie, her eyes often reveal the truth.

HAIR:  Pale, cotton candy pink. Waist-length, forming natural loose curls. Always swept up into a high side ponytail, secured in place with a ribbon that has several tiny bells attached. Uneven bangs which frame her face and frequently fall into her eyes. Often unkempt and only brushed when absolutely necessary, so it isn’t unsurprising to find twigs and many other kinds of lint trapped in her tresses.

FACE/COMPLEXION:  Youthful-looking features, with a small nose and a small mouth, lips often chapped. Bordering on unhealthily pale, skin almost appearing translucent under direct sunlight, no matter how much time is spent outside. Cheekbones and nose covered with pronounced freckles. Heavy shadows exist under her eyes, no matter how much sleep is had.

BUILD:  Ectomorph body type. Petite and slender— some would even dare to say ‘delicate’. However, due to years of hard training, her body is deceptively strong in spite of her small stature and is extremely flexible.

PERSONALITY.

MYERS-BRIGGS: ESTP-T TEMPERAMENT: Choleric-Sanguine ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Neutral-Good ENNEAGRAM: 8 VIRTUE: Diligence DEADLY SIN: Greed

LIKES: Sweet foods, stealing things she doesn’t really need, spending time with Ava, pestering the other Firsts, watching the sunrise from somewhere up high, napping on roofs. DISLIKES: The Dandelions, people telling her what to do, being restricted or restrained, not making it to the top spot on the weekly Lux rankings, water.

POSITIVE TRAITS:  adaptable ⋄ ambitious ⋄ assertive ⋄ capable ⋄ clever ⋄ confident ⋄ courageous ⋄ curious ⋄ dedicated ⋄ determined ⋄ energetic ⋄ enthusiastic ⋄ expressive ⋄ flexible ⋄ hard-working ⋄ independent ⋄ intelligent ⋄ loyal ⋄ observant ⋄ outspoken ⋄ passionate ⋄ persistent ⋄ playful ⋄ protective ⋄ realistic ⋄ resourceful ⋄ shrewd ⋄ skilful ⋄ sociable ⋄ spontaneous

NEGATIVE TRAITS:  abrasive ⋄ ambitious ⋄ argumentative ⋄ boisterous ⋄ careless ⋄ casual ⋄ childish ⋄ competitive ⋄ compulsive ⋄ contradictory ⋄ cynical ⋄ demanding ⋄ devious ⋄ disobedient ⋄ disruptive ⋄ envious ⋄ erratic ⋄ forceful ⋄ greedy ⋄ hasty ⋄ haughty ⋄ impatient ⋄ imprudent ⋄ impulsive ⋄ insecure ⋄ insensitive ⋄ insincere ⋄ irresponsible ⋄ irritable ⋄ mannerless ⋄ meddlesome ⋄ naïve ⋄ opinionated ⋄ possessive ⋄ proud ⋄ sarcastic ⋄ self-conscious ⋄ self-critical ⋄ self-indulgent ⋄ selfish ⋄ tactless

STORY.

❛   Think of this as your last test from me! Or maybe, your first test as a Union Leader! If you want to lead the wielders so badly, you need to be able to convince them to join and work for you, be able to keep them at your side through thick and thin, help them out with their problems as they help you with yours.

So, to get you started, I’ve picked out your first recruit! Don’t mind her abrasive personality — she doesn’t bite. At least, I think. Just make sure you keep an eye on anything in your pockets, or else you might find things go missing...

Anyway! Good luck convincing her to stick around, Ava!  ❜

Whether born from Kingdom Hearts itself or a creature summoned by the Master of Masters, no one is sure. All that’s known is that from the moment she came into being, she knew exactly what she wanted and how best to get it.

She ignored Ava and her attempts to converse with her, brushed off her pleas to lend her strength to the Vulpes Union, rolled her eyes at her repeated requests for cooperation.

Instead, she posed a single question of her own:  ❛  What’s in it for me?  ❜

Ava, at a loss, could only offer an honest response,  ❛  Nothing. But at least you won’t have to be alone.  ❜

Something in the girl’s haughty expression shifted. She turned to face Ava, green eyes narrowed into an unwavering stare as she began to speak,  ❛  I’m the strength you wish you had. Where you hesitate or silence yourself for the benefit of others, I won’t. I’m the ambition you keep hidden, your darkest thoughts, your every fear, your greed — I’m everything you’re not. Knowing that, can you still accept me?  ❜

It was clear that the girl expected rejection. Guarded, aggressive, going on the offensive to shield herself from pain...

How could Ava not accept her?

For the first time since they met, the girl smiled and cocked her head to the side.  ❛  So, heart-of-mine… What will you call me?  ❜

It took Ava a while to finally give her a name, though not for lack of trying. The girl refused to settle for just any old name, demanding something different each time Ava’s choice displeased her. After several exhausting hours, the girl suddenly ceased her objections. With no more than a satisfied nod, she accepted the name ‘ Nova ’ and became the first to join the Vulpes Union.

In the following months, many wielders flocked to Vulpes, drawn by Master Ava’s renowned kindness. The weak, the strong, the dutiful, the unmotivated, the crowd followers — regardless of skill, all were accepted. It didn’t take long for Vulpes to become the most populated Union and shoot to the top of the weekly Lux rankings. Nova revelled in it all.

Loathe to be restricted to a single party, Nova quickly settled into the habit of drifting, moving from one party to the next without ever truly joining. It became her goal to meet every single Keyblade Wielder within her Union and assist them, albeit in a brash manner that often caused upset with the more wilful wielders. Despite being the first member of the Vulpes Union, she did not command respect amongst her peers, as so few were aware of her true skills beyond her abrasive personality. Behind her back, many even started to call her the ‘Queen Chaos’, intending for it to be an insult. However, the moment Nova caught wind of it, she proudly adopted it as a nickname out of spite.

While she cared little for what others thought of her, Nova hated that she wasn’t listened to. Begrudgingly, she turned to Ava for help, who gently suggested that she should try to appeal to them in her own way, just like she had once done with Nova.

It was a suggestion Nova ran with.

Impulsively, she entered herself into a series of PVP matches, goading her Union’s strongest wielders into facing her. If it was her skills they doubted, it would be her skills that she’d appeal to them with. The competition proved brutal, and while she didn’t win every match she entered ( with many ending in extremely close defeats or draws ), her unexpected prowess with both magic and the Keyblade garnered awe and respect from those around her.

Things steadily began to change after that. Nova continued her self-imposed mission to meet every single Keyblade Wielder within the Vulpes Union and was readily accepted by all she came into contact with. However, the more people she met, the more she began to notice the struggles of the newer, lesser skilled wielders.

An urge, unlike anything she’d ever experienced before, came over her. Despite herself, she wanted to help them, in ways she knew that Ava wished she could, but couldn’t. And so, she began to discreetly guide the newest members of the Vulpes Union to party leaders she knew she could trust, who would surely help them hone their skills and grow into strong Keyblade Wielders.

If ever asked, Nova would claim that her actions were born out of a desire to strengthen her Union and continue their reign at the top of the rankings, rather than to help the individuals themselves.

She keeps a close eye on the wielders of her Union, often leaving them items in their rooms ( from potions, Keyblade upgrade materials, to pretty trinkets she steals from Kage’s hoard ) as a means of encouragement. While she remains abrasive and difficult to get along with, it’s plain to see that she values every single member of her Union, regardless of the reasoning.

Despite this, Nova tends to keep to herself, preferring to watch from afar. It’s rare to see her around her fellow Union members, but rumours say she can often be found in Master Ava’s company...

If by some misfortune you happen to bump into her, watch your pockets, lest you wish to lose something valuable. She’s terribly mischievous, after all.

[fanesavin]

The Inquisitor and newly made King of the Forty Isles discuss a plan that tests the Inquisitor’s mettle and his morals. In the interim, Lord Balcaster has some choice words for one particular member of the Quiver council.

[ Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (x) | (x) Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 (x) (x) | Part 7 | Part 8  (x) | Part 9 (x) | Part 10 | Part 11 (x) (x) | Part 12 (x) | Part 13 (x) (x) | Part 14 (x) (x) | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 ]

@thisbrutalbelle @ianncardero @faye-andrews @mayaparker @ephrampettaline @bumblingbrujo @rydenbolt

The King of the Forty Isles was dead. Or one could say, the King of the Forty Isles was here, right now, standing at the window of the Quiver Chambers. He was early, but it wasn’t a political statement, it was merely his impatience. The Capitol - really, the mainland - couldn’t concern him right now, not until he was recognized by his own people as a King. And then - only then could Iann start to reforge things he’d already lost, thanks to the machinations of his little brother. Until then, he would be impatient. Politely so, because he was bred to be this way. But all he could look at, was the ocean.

Fane made his way into the council chamber, the space a worrisome reminder of all that had happened in the last week and yet to come. He’d been hoping to see Iann earlier in the week, to speak with him on certain matters. The man was one of his oldest friends and Fane was admittedly concerned for his well-being. “Iann,” formalities hardly mattered anymore in his own concern given present circumstances, he may be King now but he was Fane’s friend first he walked into the chamber his eyes tight with evident concern, “I heard the news about your father… I’m sorry to hear of his passing,” of course he knew Iann was impatient to take the throne for himself but it didn’t change the fact it was still his father that had passed.

“Do you consider me capable of regicide? Based on your evidence,” Iann asked, turning to see Savin. Glad to see Savin here in fact. Grateful for a space of moment for them to talk, possibly for the last time alone. Hopefully it would happen again months or years after today, but right now Iann was not so sure. “I only ask, because it is the only reason that’s keeping me here, my dear Inquisitor.” Iann spoke quietly, giving a nod at Savin’s sympathy but not lingering on it. “I want justice as much as anyone else, but my own people and their justice - their lives in the hands of their rightful King - concerns me more.” He smiled though, despite all of his stress. “I’m glad to see you’ve survived under this ordeal. It couldn’t have been easy.” And Iann did not envy Savin his Inquisitorial job; yet there was indeed no one better here who could accomplish it.

“You’re capable of many things my friend but that isn’t one of them.” Fane answered plainly, but still he sighed rubbing his eye tiredly, “unfortunately, I’m not so sure other people in this castle wish for it to be seen that way…” Despite the evidence that mounted up Fane had known Iann for longer and had a good measure of the man. He was innocent of this crime yet Fane had no evidence to prove it. “I wouldn’t wish it on anyone else’s shoulders, but for our friendship I’ll speak plainly. I’m worried Iann, the evidence that has come to light casts a damning shadow on the Summerset and the Isles… Which leads me to pose a question to you. You may not be guilty of regicide, but do you think your brother or the Grand Lady capable of the act? Do you have any reason to suspect them?” The sands of time were slipping away faster than he cared for and with each moment that passed left him feeling more apprehensive about the future, “we both know well enough your brother envies your position… Casting blame at your feet would open the way for him to try and take the Isles and I am aware Cassandra used my name to play some hand in the murder of Lord Kesley before he could be questioned…”

“Did she…” Iann murmured thoughtfully. Still, due to his affection for the young Princess Adeline - and even to an extent to his brothers formidable Queen-wife - Iann’s assessment was clouded. Particularly when it came to the alternate choice of his brother. “The commonfolk love the Grand Lady. The nobles love Prince Miguel–” He almost mentioned Lovel, but decided for now to hold his tongue. “I’m a pirate and an separatist islander to the commonfolk on the mainland. And other than the Queen of the Dark Woods - the likes of whom we might never see again, after today - you are the only person in this Castle that I know who would see me innocent.” He smiled then, a tight smile. “I’m not well liked, it seems. So it stands to reason that I have little allies here. At this point, the High Raj’s death has become more political than justice…and I know how much you love political.” He turned to look at Fane, first looking around to make sure they were alone. “I have a proposal. And honest one, but perhaps not a moral one, depending on how you feel about morals in the Capital. Perhaps morals are better left in the noble North.”

Unlike Iann Fane held no such clouding of judgement, there were certain dealings and trade contracts he held with Summerset no such bond of family that shackled him to their whims. Perhaps it was fateful, that he had no heirs to tie up in contracts of marriage that left him restricted in his ability to move. Idly he thought of Iann’s boy, an inquisitive mind that one that Fane was fond of. “It’s one thing to act like you care, but how much of it is simply to save face?” Iann’s surmising of the situation only made Fane grimace, “wasn’t it always political? A desperate attempt to snatch power and control.” Though Iann’s mention of morals caused Fane to huff softly, displeased by the notion, “of late I’ve been considering morals to be more hindrance than service.” He made a small gesture indicating Iann should carry on while they were blessedly along for the time being.

“They are, my friend,” Iann said, but his smile was one of sympathy. Iann considered his own father a strict, highly moralistic man - in his heyday. And Stefan Savin reminded Iann strongly of his father. A pity that only moralistic Princely son of the Forty Isles ended up being the weakest - but he was no match for the eldest and the youngest. Iann had a family to worry about, but moral people broke under the pressure of pleasing everyone. “I shall be King - on the Forty Isles, we like to move fast to keep up with the ever-changing currents. Today, I will be a King.” He put a hand on Fane’s shoulder, and leaned in. “We’ve had enough of war, even on the Forty Isles - but for us a war seems inevitable. My brother is…ambitious, and he doesn’t care for the mainland as I do. If he were to wage war here…I fear it could have damning consequences.” Iann said, because that, at least, felt true. “But if the evidence points to me, then let it be so. I cannot be killed for the High Raj’s death - not as King of the Forty Isles. I can be exiled there, however - and I would guarantee that my exile would not lead this realm back into war. I will nobly take my punishment. And if I did, supposedly, kill the High Raj, then I would name my dear brother - so knowledgeable about venom and the like - as my accomplice. Let me confess us both to a crime that I did not commit; and upon my exile, I will take him back to my Isles for Forty Isles brand of justice. The nobles will get what they want, and so will the commonfolk, if the Cloverry chooses for the better of the people.” He raised an eyebrow. “And you have always been autonomous in the North, Inquisitor. You can return to standing outside and apart from the squabbles of the rest of the mainland. And it will be over. The peace we all want.”

Fane lifted his chin his eyes steadfast as he looked at his friend, it was clear that he didn’t like the idea. But then again when had anything that would serve the greater good truly felt satisfactory to everyone? The proposal solved one portion of the issue at hand, but equally left one piece of the puzzle unsolved, he entertained the notion Iann set forth but equally was not completely convinced of the motion. “And what of Cassandra? She has some role to play, what that is I cannot say but let her walk away from this and how long ‘til we find ourselves back in this situation once more?”

Bella entered unaccompanied by her wolf, the man had gone to round up those that had come to help the Kingdom and had inadvertently trashed it, with the hopes that he and his wife could return to the Dead Woods upon meetings end. Bella did not believe it so simple, but she was interested to hear what had been learned of things and entered the Quiver in her usual jewel draped clothed, back exposed and littered with diamonds and emeralds. Her walk was slow and weak but her posture strict. “Inquisitor Savin, Prince Iann,” she said, not having heard any news of his Kingdom. “It looks like I am pleasantly on time to these things.”

Iann looked confused for a moment. “Grand Lady Cassandra? I’m sure she wasn’t involved in the death of the High Raj,” Iann couldn’t help but huff a slight laugh at the very thought. “It was mere coincidence, and a clever ruse on my brother’s part.” Iann looked sharply to the left, but he saw it was the Queen of the Dark Woods in her strange regalia, and he relaxed. She wasn’t involved in the matters of the realm, so Iann just gave her a bow. “Hello Queen Bellamy. I’m just finishing a conversation with the Inquisitor and then we shall join you to wait for the others, if it pleases you.”

Bella nodded her head gently, taking a seat at the table, drawing her legs up onto the seat while only those she felt strangely comfortable with were around.

Fane couldn’t quite bring himself to agree with Iann’s dismissal of the notion. Coincidental indeed. “And why then did she lie in my name to take a strange cloaked figure into the dungeons not that much longer before Lord Kesley was found dead? The Kesleys were the only other major suspects for this case regardless of how dim they might be. Equally, what gain would they ever receive for kidnapping her in broad daylight before yourself and your brother?” The Kesleys were dim that much was well known, but that was plain idiocy. Unfortunately, further discussions concerning the matter were cut short and Fane gave a glance in the Queen’s direction. “Your highness…” he afforded her a small bow but the tension still rippled in his frame.

This was all news to Iann, who had no spies and had taken no part in the gathering of Inquisition evidence. The only information that had concerned him anyway, was about himself and Miguel. He’d filtered out the rest - apparently that was another mistake the Prince had made during his tenure in the Capital. “I…suppose this is where you’ll need to retire those beautiful morals of yours then, my friend. I…I’m afraid I cannot say anything about these matters. I didn’t know about them, until now.” He sighed, and took a slow step back, giving Savin a sad, but resigned look. “Will it be justice, or peace?”

Maya walked into the room, having heard that they were convening for a meeting of the Quiver of Houses. She knew that Lord Savin was close to the truth, but wasn’t certain if he had arrived at an official conclusion. She didn’t know either if a new High Raj had been chosen. She hesitated before taking a seat next to Lord Savin. Her attention turned to Lord Cardero, having heard his final question. She said nothing though, another habit she had yet to break.

Fane studied the Prince as he stepped away and where not a moment prior was feeling a touch more secure in the situation that was fast approaching was once more left feeling entirely adrift. There was no answer given to the question as it was posed, and Fane made a low noise that rumbled deep in his chest. Anger flared momentarily in his eyes, not truly at Iann moreso the situation at hand, the same anger that had been simmering since his discussion with Lady Florent.

As more people arrived, Iann stepped further away from the Inquisitor. Indeed, he was like a ship, leaving Savin’s port and sailing away on its own. Leaving Savin once more on his own. The Inquisitor hadn’t agreed to Iann’s proposal, but neither had he disagreed. For now, it would have to do. All Iann could think of was getting back to his beloved Isles and taking the crown he was born to take. He nodded in greeting to the servant-lady-whatever she was in greeting, then sat next to Bellamy. “Did you enjoy our sail, Bellamy?” Iann asked, all smiles and graciousness once more.

Bella noted the other woman’s presence, still amazed she was seated since no one had informed her the woman was not a servant girl any longer. “I did, I’ve never felt the wind move so fast before,” she immediately grinned. It felt like it’s own sort of magic and she partially wished it had been evening so she could have felt the full potential of herself. “I have the urge to buy a boat,” Bella mused.

“Queen of the Dark Woods with a boat,” Iann laughed, gently. “You kingdom is land-locked, is it not?”

“For now, perhaps if I perform some blessings I’ll be gifted a river right through the middle of the woods,” Bella attempted to joke, aware that even if she had her beliefs they would likely not extend to altering something so set in stone. “Besides, without a boat how will I visit your Isles?”

Maya nodded in return to Iann. To Lord Savin, she said quietly, “There may yet be a way to have both.”

“River boats are extraordinary,” he agreed, although they didn’t hold a candle to ships for an ocean. But of course, Iann was heavily biased. “Perhaps one could use the wood of your Dark forest, and fashion something that could sail over land. Meet me at the coast and I would sail you to the Forty Isles myself.” These were all light-heated words, not actual plans or ideas. Small talk, trivial and entertaining, for now.

Fane remained stood as Iann drifted yet further away. Fane stared out the window the room feeling altogether too small and confining. His mind drifted to something he’d been told a long time ago, you must do, and be good. If that means you suffer defeat today then trust that you’ll find way to claim victory tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that. His brows were furrowed deep in thought that he only made a small noise at Maya’s comment. If there was, he didn’t see how.

The door to the Quiver Chambers opened to let a man of the North pass through. This was a formal occasion he was actually informed about and casual wear was replaced by glossy jacket of leather, knee-deep black boots and a finely knitted woollen cloak hanging off his shoulders by a silver clasp in the shape of a wolf’s head. He’d almost looked like a lord for a change, albeit a dark and austere one. A heavy sword was sheathed in a scabbard at his hip, swaying at his side as he approached to write himself into the attendance book, a heavy tome which kept a record of all who will be attending this council. A tome that is very likely to be a great witness of historical events Ryden had little to no hand in besides having put a Balcaster’s name in it for the very first time. He’d signed it, his writing clumsy as he’d only taken it up a couple of years ago and still learned to dot down big words. At least he got his name right by now. Then he found himself a seat, not too far away from the Queen of the Dead Woods and the Prince of the Forty Isles, barely sparing them a glance. He was here only to see one thing - a new Raj appointed just so he could say that Dyrerow means to remain independent, as it had been for ages now.

Maya said nothing else when Lord Savin didn’t respond properly to her. For one, she didn’t believe in peace. At least not in the long term. She did turn to one of the servants to ask politely for some ale. At the sound of the door opening, she turned her head to see Ryden, the wild man of the North, enter. He stopped briefly to sign his name before taking a seat away from Queen Bellamy and Lord Cardero. She had not heard of his change of station. “I take it you’re eager to return home?” she half asked, half stated to him.

Curiously Iann studied the new arrival at the Quiver of Houses. It seemed the Coronation (or the murder?) of the High Raj had brought so many nobles out of hiding - the Dark Woods Queen, the Lady Faye, the servant-Lady. He considered also how the North - Fane Savin’s North, that is - kept themselves autonomous. He thought about how his own Forty Isles was so powerful it barely required the Bluesprings realm for much more than trade (and the occasional pillage). Iann looked out towards the Sunlit Throne in the Great Hall, visible through the pane windows that separated the Quiver Chamber from the Hall. Iann mildly wondered just how powerful it would be, considering how many lands were really more just…independent states, all of which wished to be left severely alone. The other lands who’d fought in the civil war - most of their lords and nobles were dead, killed by their own strife. So this was what remained - and none wished to be ruled. He smiled, and studied the rings on his fingers.

Ryden looked up when Maya asked her question, big arms crossing over smooth leather on his chest. “Naw, I actually like watchin’ dumb theater plays. There’s a lesson in each an’ they mostly come down to 'don’t be stupid like these pricks’.” He grinned, his smile sharp. “If there’s an encore, I’ll stick around a little while longer for it.”

Miguel had to make hasty actions. But things were set up to work in his favor. No matter what fate had in store for the Quiver meeting. As long as he had that last hidden cask of Forty-Isles mead, in his room, and a little on his person, in a flask - he would be fine. And he didn’t have to think too hard about anything, his heart still aching and his stomach falling away as he took his seat in the meeting room. A little behind and to the left of Iann - always behind him. The small detail kept his blood hot and resolve strong. He took a sip of the mead and hid the flask back in his shirt. The heat was still there, the honor, the duty - but the desire had dripped out of him sometime last night.

Bella looked to the man who had entered, her person not quite as kind as it had been upon meeting him but Bella giving him a nod. “There are different sorts for rivers?” she asked the Prince of the Forty Isles. “Seems a waste of wood for something to sail on land when we have carriages that could be made but our wood is…very peculiar, perhaps if you picked me up for a visit I could have some brought along, no ship would be more adept in the ferocity of the evening sea.”

Maya almost laughed. She managed to hide her smile as Annabella appeared with her mug of ale, giving Maya a moment to collect herself. She turned back to him. “I’m sure you don’t want my council, but I’d be cautious. Our luck the last few days there may well be an encore and a statement like that might get you blamed for it.” There was no real seriousness to her words. If someone were to be planning to kill another one of the nobles they would’ve done so already. Besides there was nothing to gain for him by committing such an act, at least as far as she knew.

“A ship for the sea, made out of Dark Woods timber?” Iann thought the idea was intriguing, and rather glorious. He looked over when he saw his brother enter, and for some reason all he could think of wasn’t Savin’s words or the evidence piled up, or himself making that proposal. All he could think of was finding Danian Lovel, with Miguel. His brow furrowed, and he looked back at the Queen. “Perhaps once this is all over, we can set up a trade, my Queen.”

“Now that’s what I’d like t'see. Git another poor sod up there and have 'um killed by poisoned royal knickers. I don’t think anyone would blame me for laughing my ass off at that.” Ryden barked out a laugh that echoed across the hall, insulting in its volume.

Bella practically beamed at the idea, smile on her face pulling hard into her cheeks. To have an alliance, of sorts, with someone with a Kingdom as vast as the Prince’s would be equally as helpful in her fight against her family as the High Raj, and both would be even better. “Timber for a trip at sea, how lovely.”

Maya Obviously, discretion was not a value of House Balcaster. It was almost refreshing for Maya after all the intrigue and power playing of the last few days. “That is until it’s your knickers,” she replied with a hint of a smile. Especially in comparison to his, her voice was quiet.

Iann was thinking more timber for his own ships, but he let the Queen believe what she wanted. If he found the timber sea-worthy (and if it was indeed special) then he’d build her a ship as well, especially for her. “Lovely and valuable,” he said with a smile. The mysterious lord who giggled with the gleeful servant-lady didn’t bother him. He was a sailor after all - loudness and crassness were as normal to Iann as bread and fish.

Cassie entered the room where all the houses were gathering for the final verdicts that had been hanging over the castle the past few days. There was a tightness in the Grand Lady’s chest as she walked around the long table and found an empty seat next to Iann. He was speaking with the Deadwoods Queen again, he was clearly interested in something about her, or something she had. “Brother.” She greeted softly, “Condolences for your father.”

Bella had not meant to build her a ship. But the ride on his ship to return but since he didn’t voice as much she just looked with a gentle smirk at the Lord who had joined us, amusing if he was made High Raj. Unsuited as he was it would be humorous. However Queen Cassandra approached Prince Iann and spoke of Death, Bella’s eyes moving between them. “Your father has passed?”

“S'why ya don’t let anyone touch yer shit. I dress meself, I wash meself and I put me own hats on. Y'all southerners are lazy. A servant could spit in yer soup and ya would still eat it.”

Miguel didn’t say anything. He listened to his brother and his jaw tightened. So presumptuous.

Bella snorted at Ryden’s comments, mostly finding it amusing because to her he was still very much indulged by his position, as all were. “He says with his men atop expensive horses, and wearing fur,” Bella scolded of Ryden in defense of whoever he was trying to insist was not so self sufficient as he. Iann’s news was good though, subjectively, and Bella smiled to him. “Long live to King of the Forty Isles, no longer an empty throne.”

Iann inclined his head. “Thank you, Bellamy,” he said graciously, and refused to look over at his brother. Miguel didn’t deserve a second glance.

Maya gave him a crooked smile. “Now you will get yourself in trouble, I’m not a Southerner and I can take care of myself a sight better than you I’d bet.” Her attention turned to the other end of the table, overhearing the Grand Lady’s words to Lord or rather King Cardero. She noted it, although didn’t think it relevant to the investigation before them. “Long live the King,” she echoed raising her mug slightly.

Ryden slowly turned his head around to take a look at the Queen who had rudely interjected. He raised an eyebrow at her. “Well, ya try comin’ from where I came from on foot dressed in linen. Ya’ll feel very accomplished dead in the snow.”

Bella raised her brows that the servant did not acknowledge her defense of them, merely hearing what she said of Cardero. She was a Southerner for someone from so far North as the Balcaster’s were and it seemed silly to Bellamy to not at least be grateful for a betters defense. “It’s still an indulgence, and why is that something shameful, indulging is most of the enjoyment in life.”

Iann lifted his cup towards the servant-Lady’s words, but he didn’t drink just yet. “Longer than the High Raj, one hopes.”

“It’s shameful when ya put on a crown and it kills ya. S'what I think all this shit is.” Ryden waved at the Golden Throne, looking at it in disgust. “Indulgence, all of it. Y'all called it a necessity, to put up one man there. None of ya lot know of necessity and at least this one is admitting it proper.” He said it loud enough for everyone to hear, not that he spoke in a hushed tone before, waving his hand at the Queen of the Dead Woods dismissively.

Maya did not feel she had needed to be defended and certainly not from Ryden, who had already claimed them equals. And she had not seen Queen Bellamy’s words as a defense of her specifically either, merely a pointing out of hypocrisy. She therefore didn’t understand why the Queen seemed put out with her. It was better to be cautious though and so Maya did not say that she’d seen much shameful indulgence from lords and ladies across many lands. Nodding to Iann, she said, “I think we should all hope to live longer than the High Raj.” It seemed she didn’t have to say anything anyway as Ryden quickly declared the whole affair an indulgence.

“Idiot,” Bellamy surmised of him. “You know nothing of any of our purposes for being here, or what we know of necessity. Crass and childish to imagine yourself knowledgeable on anyone here.” His mood had changed so vastly in her direction and she wondered what it had been, the darkness in him, or a falsehood upon meeting because no men were around for him to show off to. “Keep indulging your ego with the necessity of your hard journey, no one else could possible imagine,” sarcasm thick in her words.

Iann sipped his mead then, letting the mysterious Lord bray to his heart’s content. His critique served no purpose and held no solution, it was merely some need to ensure that everyone in the room heard that he had decided he was better than everyone else here, save perhaps for the servant-lady. Iann had heard, he’d heard it all before, from all sorts of men from all types of ranking. He listened, between the Lord and the Queen. He gave a nod of acknowledgement to the servant-lady. “Indeed, child.”

“Oh I don’t care 'bout no one here. They ain’t my concern. You, on the other hand. You I know of. And your wolf king and what you two do in the dark of your woods, scheming and poisoning with yer dark magic. You are here to spread it further, that I am sure of.” Ryden pinned her with his silver gaze, his words dripping with hate.

The loud Lord was in luck at least - since no one here seemed to care about anyone else, so he was in good company in that respect. Iann stood up then, sensing something more could potentially happen that he didn’t want to be a part of. He took his mead, and headed over to stand next to his seated brother.

Faye had arrived later than most, not feeling all that well. But now she was here and found a seat near Maya. “Good day,” she said as she folded herself into the chair. “Have I missed anything?”

Bella stood from her chair, enraged by the lie, but with the weakness of her legs and her sudden movement she near fell, catching herself with her hands on the table. “You know nothing of who and what I am,” she announced. “Whatever vile lies you’ve had whispered in your ears you’ve been pathetic enough to believe.

Maya was perfectly content to let Ryden and Bellamy fight over which noble was more indulgent. But then the conversation took a sharp turn as he accused Bellamy of spending dark and poisonous magic further than their own words. She saw Iann move to sit next to his brother, even as her gaze snapped to Ryden. "I think you should explain yourself fully with an accusation like that,” she said. She nodded to Faye although was too distracted to reply.

Miguel crossed his arms and looked up at his brother. Then he looked away. There was no room left for acting, his mind was running on peanuts and little sleep. The headache from the night before was slowly growing in the back of his head. “Here to enjoy the theater?” he grumbled.

“That Lord proclaimed it a theatrical, and then made himself the starring role,” Iann said, smiling at Miguel’s grumble. Iann did not sit, he remained standing against the wall of the Chamber, where Miguel had taken his backseat. Always in the background, always watching. “Do you have any idea who he is? The wolf pin seems familiar, but so many people lay claim to knowing and being the only one to understand 'the real North’. I’ve lost track.”

Faye looked at the deadwood queen as she stood, and then across at the northern lord. She’d heard the words ‘dark magic’ as she’d entered, or so she thought. But still she said nothing, wishing only to do her duty and be left alone.

Miguel hummed. He didn’t recognize the young loud Lord. He seemed rugged. There were plenty of little rugged Lords in the North though. He sat up straighter and looked him over. “He looks more like mercenary than a Lord.”

Iann replied drily,“ They’re from the North. They all look like mercenaries. I think the Inquisitor is the only one with a sense of style.”

Ephram watched the dramatics go down, a mild look of distaste on his face; surely these other nobles would have the decorum or at the very least, the sense to not pitch fits in the meeting of the Quiver? But then again, half of these people who were present didn’t even seem to want to represent their Houses or lands, reluctant recluses and fake servants and terrified witches and the like. He grunted to himself and shifted closer to the Princes of the Isles. They, at least, had motives that made some sort of sense. “From what I can gather,” Ephram intruded on the Carderos’ conversation, “the less interested in anybody else you are, the truer North that makes you.”

“The wolf pin seems familiar, but so many people lay claim to knowing and being the only one to understand 'the real North’.“ 

“I’d be even more pathetic if I didn’t believe 'um and they killed me. Like they did, three of Balcaster lords before me, with slow poisons that drove them to madness then death. Strange enough that I come here and find the man to be appointed as High Raj killed the same way, only it didn’t take quite as long.” Ryden rose then, to loudly proclaim. “I have proof. I have been looking to display it to those who would investigate. Commotion of these events, that distract the capitol, had made it close to impossible.”

Ephram’s mouth twisted in aggravation, but he kept it out of his voice. Bloody arrogant Iann Cardero. “Pettaline,” he said tightly. “Lord of the Honeywilds. You know that, but since you’re in mourning perhaps it slipped your mind, Majesty.”

Miguel heart jumped into his throat as the Honeywild Lord sidled up to the island princes. “Good point, Lord Pettaline.” Even if he was caught in his own vortex of a mind, he had a duty to Ephram, to Cassie, to Adeline, and that meant he couldn’t withdraw as he wanted to. Not yet, maybe not ever. He started building his masks again, he needed them.

As the North Lord made his proclamation, Iann raised an eyebrow towards Miguel, then over at Lady Faye. Both of them had investigated the venom that killed the High Raj, after all. They were the experts on that mode of death. “Could this be true?” he asked Lady Faye. He waved aside the minor Lord Pettaline, more curious to hear these new accusations.“ A mild curiousity, since Iann had no involvement in the past week’s investigation.

Ephram shot Miguel a look of appreciation, but then was distracted by the wolf lord, or whatever he was, yowling even louder than before. "Proof of what?” he asked Ryden. “Are you talking about your own House, or the assassination of the High Raj?”

Maya glanced over at the gaggle of nobles seemingly more interested in watching the show than any sort of attempt at either peace or defending the Queen. And for just about the hundreth time she wished that the Red Priestess hadn’t revealed her true identity. If she hasn’t advisor to Lord Savin she probably wouldn’t feel any even crumb of responsibility for attempting to keep peace. “Well you seem to have an audience now, what is this evidence you claim to have?” she asked in an almost completely calm voice.

Faye looked up as the northern lord stood, claiming accusations towards… the deadwood queen? Faye glanced at Maya, wondering if this news was something the Inquisitor was aware of. “Has he spoken to Lord Savin of this?” She asked Maya softly. When she was questioned by the prince (having not heard of his new title yet) Faye swallowed. “Possibly, Your Grace.”

It was a show that the Lord both wanted, and then became himself. And truly, Iann could tell from the way the North Lord’s head was bent close to the servant-Lady while they giggled and mocked, that she was the only one he would listen to. If he listened at all. It made sense therefore, for her to address him. She was the only one the North Lord respected. "Well that is news,” Iann sipped his mead. “I thought the venom came from a snake of the Hathurana lands.”

“Venom can be transported by anyone, Your Grace. Even to the North.”

“I came to ask for justice for my house. If ya find sum connection, feel free to use it to yer advantage.” Ryden pulled a bundle from under his cloak, unpacking them. They contained empty vials of something that only had remnants of the liquid they were once full of. “Lord Godrick of Balcaster, who would be my grandfather if I were not born a bastard, had employed an adviser of supposedly great wisdom and magic, not long b'fore his passing. He’d sat at his brother’s side, who’d died of this same poison a mere year later. And then his son as well, the man who’d fathered me, the last of the line. These poisons were delivered to him by a messenger, who had been traced back to the Dead Woods. How this poison was made, I do not know. But I will leave it to be inspected, if ya have men capable enough to compare it to the one in the dead Raj’s blood.”

“That’s … not proof of anything. You make claims of truth before they’re proven so, Lord Balcaster.”

“The Wolf King’s woods’re cursed. None by his ilk come and go from it.” Ryden claimed, certain of this truth.

Maya could only shake her head and shrug at Lady Lacroy’s question,“ I do not know. But as you said the venom came from a snake of the High Raj’s own lands.” She turned her attention to Ryden as he began to speak again and pulled out some parcel. A few things came into clear focus when he mentioned being born a bastard. “Lord Pettaline is right. Either we must speak to this messenger or someone must verify that that poison could only come from the Dead Woods and that it is what killed your family.”

Faye looked at what Lord Ryden placed on the table. Listened to what he said. “What killed the Raj did so near instantaneously,” she said.

“Who is the alchemist you employed, who could shed light on how the poison works, if administered in certain ways?” Ryden asked, because it made sense to him that same poison could possibly used in many different ways, causing different effects depending on how it’s used.

Maya turned to Lady Lacroy and the younger Cardero as well, “I think that would be up to you if you wish to verify these claims. It appears we have some time before both the High Inquisitor and the Cloverry finish their deliberations.”

“My lord… the venom of this serpent will only harm if it enters into the blood. It could be swallowed whole and the person would likely only suffer stomach upset, if anything. That’s not to say there aren’t other ways to use such substances to achieve a slow death. You say they went mad as well?”

Ephram made an explosive sound of irritated dismissal, kicking away from the wall to fetch himself a tankard of mead. “Nonsense. You burst in making a lot of noise and fury, deriding the existence and purpose of the Quiver, and don’t even know that it was venom that killed the High Raj and not some common poison from the land of a self-proclaimed Queen.” He drank down half of his mead and refilled his tankard, gesturing with it at the bundle that Ryden had displayed. “Go home, Balcaster. Carry out your quarrel with the Dark Woods using your own resources. Surely you have men more capable than we can provide.”

Tuah watched the conversation that transpired, content to simply listen in instead of joining in the conversation. He had no intention to be uninvolved with whatever quarrels the nobles had between them, keeping an impassive mask each time he attended the gatherings. He did, however, want to know who was behind the murder of the High Raj, hence why his interest piqued when Lord Balcaster loudly proclaimed his accusation. Tuah watched as the empty vials were displayed in front of everyone, listening to the conversation around him. “There is no harm in testifying Lord Balcastar’s claim,” Tuah finally spoke up, his quiet voice still carried through the crowd without him needing to raise his voice, “what do we have to lose. As it has been pointed out, we still have time before the deliberation.”

“But also what interest would the Deadwood Queen - Or any of her people - have in killing so many northern lords?” Faye was merely asking impassively, trying to get a sense of why Lord Balcaster would make such accusations, other than the reputation of the deadwood. “But yes, I agree,” she said to Tuah. “We should hear what they both have to say.”

Miguel sat back in his seat, listening to the debacle before him. How would they ever get anything done. Nobles were worse than cats. Herding them was a labor fit for hell.

"The lords of my house were all treated with leeches before their passing. Blood lettin’ was part of the therapy our physicians had attempted.” The young lord sat back, leaving the vials on the table, disgusted to even touch them. “They were ravin’ and not makin’ sense as their condition worsened. It was both a fever and a madness.” His eyes narrowed at one of the lords who had immediately discarded any need to even consider what Ryden was saying. “And what is the purpose of this council and this High Raj that ya wanna appoint? To just sit in his golden chair and wear a crown upon 'is head? Ain’t the purpose of all this shit to keep peace, unite and solve problems we individually can’t solve ourselves?” He looked to the other lord, who had spoken reason and found no harm in investigating what Ryden had brought to this council’s table. He nodded gratefully at Tuah. “I do not know. An interrogation may lead to an answer.”

As terrible as this all sounded, Iann was glad in a way that this new information pulled Grand Lady Cassandra adown the Inquisitor’s suspect list. He doubted the Queen of the Dark Woods and the Queen of Summerset ever confided in each other, never mind met each other before the Coronation. If either of them were guilty of anything, of course. If anything, Iann felt slightly bad for Stefan Savin. Looked like his role as Inquisitor wasn’t over yet. And even moreso, now it was accusations coming directly from his people of his beloved Northlands. So much for staying autonomous and uninvolved. The North Lord had dragged Fane into this. Iann sipped his mead. He would explain the way the Quiver of Houses actually functioned to the North Lord - since the young man’s own impression was ill-informed and naive - but Iann didn’t want to waste his breath. The North Lord clearly had his own agenda and had little interest in much else. He’d already loudly stated exactly that, after all.

Miguel turned away from the dramatics and toward his brother. “That’s not Forty-Island mead, is it?” He asked it lightly, a slight grumble still in his voice.

Ephram met Ryden’s glare levelly. “I’ve been supporting the Quiver and the High Raj and peace in the Bluesprings for years, with whatever small power my position affords me,” he said. “I haven’t swanned in proclaiming it all to be shameful indulgence and claiming that none of my peers understands the meaning of necessity. Or declared that I don’t care about anybody else here. If your intention was to ask for justice for your House, Balcaster, then you could have gone about it like an adult with some upbringing.” Ephram dipped his chin, voice dropping to a low, disgusted glower. “Instead of slinging insults and then attempting to hitch your personal grievances to the assassination of the High Raj in order to give yourself some importance.”

Miguel held the bridge of his nose for a moment. Iann was so frustrating, but so predictable. “I like the Honeywild mead.” He grabbed Iann’s cup and sipped it. There was an interesting variety of flavors, and it was different from the last batch Miguel had tried.

Maya was reminded once again why she had sworn never to return to her birthright. This was not what she was good at. She took a long draft from her ale before turning to Annabella to ask for something stronger. Her gaze went around the room, trying to decide how best to keep a fight from breaking out. “Could we all just take a deep breath?” she asked, certain that by speaking she was painting a target on her own back as well. “Perhaps after a new High Raj has been selected and his killer caught there may be time for keeping peace, uniting and solving problems. At the very least we should allow Queen Bellamy to speak as to these accusations before a brawl breaks out.”

Ephram snorted at Maya’s comments. “A brawl is hardly what this is, and since you’ve no interest in taking responsibility for your own lands, I’ll thank you to stay out of a discussion between actual House representatives.”

“I’m headed back to the Forty Isles tonight,” he stated then, his gaze steely as he looked at Miguel. “Once this Quiver is concluded. My men are all ready and waiting to sail.” Iann glanced up at the Pettaline Lord. “My Lord, my Lord, your coat has no gold sewn into it yet. The Servant-Lady is here as the Inquisitor’s Advisor…is she not?” And since she was the only thing keeping the North Lord calm, Iann saw no reason to force her into her usual silence.

“As current advisor to the Inquisitor, she has as much - if not more - right than any of us to speak, Lord Pettaline.” Faye spoke neutrally, not wishing to stir any discontent.

Iann motioned at Lady Faye’s confirmation, amused that she was able to confirm this information. “There, we have it, Honeywild.”

Ephram’s eyebrows climbed his forehead as he slammed his tankard down on the table behind him. “If not more right to speak?” he repeated incredulously. “Well, then! I didn’t realize that there was a hierarchy to who sits at the Quiver table, and that being an appointed advisor conferred such hallowed status. No gold needed on her coat, eh, Cardero?”

“Did I stutter? Or perhaps I should speak slowly next time.”

Maya was surprised by Lord Pettaline’s vehemence. Her expression didn’t show it, but she turned to him and watched as he slammed his mug on the table. “I have already spoken to you about my duty to my people and whether or not you agree with me, do not think it doesn’t weigh on me every day,” she said in a carefully even tone, “But at least for now, I can only attempt to keep some semblance of peace in this room as is my duty to my lord.” She nodded in gratitude to both King Cardero and Lady Lacroy for their defense of her attempts to keep some measure of calmness amongst the accusations.

“Small power indeed, since yer Raj got killed despite any support ya could provide. Looks t'me that yer the one hitchin’, lookin’ t'strengthen wha'ever measly power ya got. Upbringin’, hah! And look at all the good it did to ya. Ya wouldn’t recognize justice if it slapped ya in the face.” Ryden turned to Maya then, pointing at the proof he had to share. “Then will ya bring this up to the inquisitor and have a demand put in for the Queen of the Dead Wood to be questioned about this?”

Bella was astounded that anything could be laid against her like this, she had done nothing to indicate she wanted the crowd but as no one seemed to defend her, and rather seemed to want to test whether or not this was true Bella felt a wash of discomfort across her. Only one ( ooc: maybe more and I’ve missed it ) man seemed capable of speaking to the possibility of her innocence and she didn’t even know him. “I do not use poisons, I do not use magic, and I have never been as far North as Lord Balcaster’s home is. I was attacked in the city and now rumours run wild about what happened, what I am, and to imagine that any created prior aren’t equally as ridiculous is childish. People out there assume I am death, and you get to accuse me of caring about your Kingdom? And the rest of you sit and consider the statement valid, I don’t want this Kingdom, it’s filled with awful people who offer nothing to the Kingdom but beg and cry for everything. All I wanted was the High Raj to know that these rumours are rumours,” she spoke, shaking her head. “I want to keep my Kingdom, I want to save those in the Kingdom I was cast out of for these same thoughts, and I don’t want men walking to find death in my woods because the wars here have brought them to suffering.” Bella was not strong enough to walk ut but she wished too.

Ephram stared around at the other nobles, colour slowly draining from his face. Finally he drew a deep breath and straightened, saying, “…I apologize, then, for misunderstanding the nature of the Quiver. I’d foolishly thought that as House representatives, we were all on equal standing here and able to parlay openly. Instead, I see that those beloved of the Inquisitor are afforded higher ranking.” He gave a stiff bow. “I’m a minor Lord with no gold sewn on my coat, as has been pointed out. I’ll leave the discussion to my betters.”

“I have no gold in my robes and i came a bastard, representing my house in shame rather than in honor, for they had no one else to send. As much as lord of the Honeywilds irks me, I would rather have us all speak at once then none speaking at all. Since I came 'ere, there’s been nothin’ but whispers and inconclusive statements, all open discussion avoided in favor of some secrecy that didn’t git any of us any closer to the real truth. I want to be listened to and others must be as well. I will even have the Queen of the Dead Woods speak, if she is so assured of her innocence. But can she claim the same of her King?”

“You haven’t misunderstood, Lord Honeywild. I have no gold, no family, nothing to speak of but my name. For what it’s worth. Perhaps it is simply my own misunderstanding, having been away for so long.”

“Fine,” Bella sat back down as he stated she be questioned. “I will happily answer the Inquisitor’s questions, or anyone’s questions.” Her eyes, golden and fulled, glared daggers at the Balcaster male. “It seems only some here have any sense, the rest will need things laid out for them. Like the fact my husband is a wolf, for all intents and purposes, he has the cravings of an animal. He wants to fuck and eat and sleep.”

Maya listened carefully as Queen Bellamy spoke, watching her for any signs of lying. She saw none. And really, there was no proof in Ryden’s claims. Although it would explain why the kingdom so closed off to outsiders for years had decided to come to the Coronation. This justice they claimed to seek must be enough of a draw. She addressed Lord Pettaline first, “I have not asked for any higher ranking, only tried to keep peace, sir.” She then turned to Ryden. “I understand how close this matter is to your heart, but you said earlier that you would stay for an encore. Perhaps once the matter of the High Raj and his assassination is settled we can have it all out as to what you believe Queen Bellamy or his King has done to your family.”

Iann listened to what the Queen had to say. She was a Queen - and as far as Iann was concerned, Queens should handle their own affairs, lest they look weak by being defended by others who had never met her before this Coronation. He couldn’t vouch for her, or vice versa. He pet Pettaline’s shoulder. “Now you’re learning,” he said quietly. He spoke a bit louder, “Well, it looks like the Inquisition has been reopened, in light of all this. Thank you, Lady Faye and to the Servant-lady for their valued contributions. High Inquisitor Savin will have to listen to the claims of both yourself and the Queen Bellamy, and proceed from there, Lord Balcaster.” And at the mention of this husband-King of the Dark Woods, Iann schooled his face first before responding. “That sounds like a life to be envied, then.”

Ephram shook Cardero’s hand off, too raw at the moment to maintain his usual grin-and-bear-it demeanor. “How kind of you to speak more slowly for my benefit, Lady Lacroy,” he said. “Perhaps you should inform the Un-Lost Lady of her own superior position, since she seems unaware of it.” He scowled at Maya. “Don’t call me sir, I already asked you. And there’s no need for you to self-appoint yourself peacekeeper. None of us are interested in causing war. I know you have a very poor view of nobles, but I assure you of that much.”

“Shut up, girl. You heard me tell you there was something dark in him and said to respect whatever he could say, yet you don’t seem to respect anyone who has actually been here, why on Earth are you even seated?” Bella said to Maya, over the validation this man was getting she had done anything to hid kin. “You know what you are and you know very well I didn’t do it, Lord Balcaster, don’t you imagine whatever created you would have far more awful designs on your family than a stranger thousands of kilometres from you would have? Why do you imagine I would care at all about you?”

Ephram nodded at Ryden in acknowledgement of the Lord’s stating his preference that the Quiver speak openly, much preferring that himself. “The Inquisitor has been much occupied of late with his investigations,” he said, less confrontationally now that Ryden had expressed a desire to talk. “It’s an inopportune time for you to present your case for investigation, is all.”

“What created him?” Iann asked. “What is he, exactly, other than the bastard Lord he’s already claimed to be?”

Tuah heaved a sigh when the tension grew once more, wishing that they could carry the conversation without it turning it into some kind of fiasco. He felt a pang of sympathy to the Advisor, though he couldn’t argue that this so-called conversation would lead to a brawl, so to speak. He decided to stay out of the argument once more, quietly listening to everyone saying their piece.

Bella watched as the man left with her own accusation laid against him. “Why would I answer you now?” she responded to Iann, feeling quite betrayed by everyone bar a Lord she didn’t even know. Iann might have felt as though a Queen should defend herself but he believed this as someone who had kin at his side and a Kingdom of power. “Whatever he says clearly holds a ridiculous level of weight for someone who has shown up like this.”

Maya took a deep breath. “No one else seemed particularly interested in the position when Ryden accused Queen Bellamy of his fellows’ murders.” She couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of her as Bellamy told her to shut up and learn her place. “Well, with that I think we can all be very well assured that Queen Bellamy cares not for anything outside of her own lands,” she replied, not technically answering the question. But even with everything else going on her true birthright had not gone unnoticed by most anyone else gathered. She smiled, “But I suppose you’re right. I rejected by supposed birthright long ago. I have neither right nor duty to the happenings in this room. I will keep my own council from now on.”

“He holds no weight with me. Whatever history your two factions have, I’m equally ignorant of both.” And just because Iann had known Bellamy for a couple more days than the Lord Balcaster, didn’t mean he would throw any political weight or judgement behind either party.

“I’m glad to hear it, Un-Lost Lady,” Ephram said, his voice falling back into its more natural rate and tone from the tenseness it had held. “I was somewhat bullish about the point, I admit, but you must understand how galling it is to think that diplomacy and treating between titled Houses should be dictated by someone who denies her own lands.”

Bella stood from her seat, weak as she was, dragging it next to the only person she felt had defended her, and replaced herself. A few days to a woman who had not spoken to anyone in years was a great deal and she had rather felt that even if he didn’t consider her a friend he understood her motives as she had shared them with him. Bella’s hand covered in jewels took that of the man who had offered a defense. “Thank you.”

Faye sat back as the conversation no longer included her answering any questions, and she wasn’t going to continue to argue or banter with anyone when it would do no good. She was reminded quite vividly of one of the reasons why she had stayed away for so long, other than the obvious. Everyone said they wanted peace, but all it took was the wrong word, the right insult, and they would be at each other’s throats. So Faye sat and watched with no small amount of quiet ire as the others quarreled. She wanted to leave. To pack her horse and go back to the marshes. But what would that say? Nothing good. So she stayed for now, hating more than ever the politics and the game in which they all found themselves.

Ephram noticed the Dark Woods Queen relocate herself next to him – he couldn’t miss it – but still he was surprised when she took his hand in hers. “Oh! Errr … not that I don’t want to be deserving of your thanks, Highness, but … why do I warrant them?”

Iann did like Bellamy though, so he added, “When it comes to the matter of a distant Lord, though, I’m sure you can’t possibly feel intimidated by his accusations. He demands attention but has paid little attention to anyone else here, barring of course the Advisor.” Which was certainly strategic to say the least. Getting the Advisor’s favour by disparaging everyone en masse - that oh-so valuable 'us against them’ mentality - would certainly lean this Advisor bias towards him with the Inquisitor. Iann watched Bellamy drag her chair, desperate to make a friend more than anything else. A friend, of all things. This poor little Queen.

Maya turned and only nodded to Lord Pettaline. It was clear to her that he had no respect or interest in listening to her, believing her derelict in her duty to her people with little knowledge of the situation. She was certain though that her people were better off without her. She noted Queen Bellamy dragging her chair to sit beside Lord Pettaline, but made no comment on it. Maya only hoped that Lord Savin would return soon and settle the matter, so that she could leave this place. Although leave for where she wasn’t yet certain.

The argument was growing pointless, and Tuah wanted nothing more than to retire to his chambers. It reminded him of the petty arguments that his own council had back at the High Peninsula, though at least their argument made sense to him since it involved his people. He watched idly as the Queen of the Dead Woods made her way towards Lord Pettaline, a sigh of relief escaped his lips as the petty argument had died down. “When can we expect the Lord Inquisitor, Advisor?” he turned his attention towards the woman in question.

“You were the only one to note that his accusations were without evidence aloud,” Bella smiled, since she assumed other’s must have at least thought as much but would not say so for whatever reason. “And you don’t even know me, which means you spoke for whatever reason was your own,” she smiled to him, jewels on her hands glimmering in the candle light. Iann spoke however and she lifted a jaw to him. “Actions made threatening when no one who knew better was willing to speak, only to sit silently while others decide I am deserving of interrogation. You know why I’m here, King Iann, and yet you sat back.”

Ephram was one of the few nobles who was honoured to be at Bluesprings Castle, even more so to be part of the Quiver. While politicking wasn’t anything he was keen at – King Iann was probably right to mock his efforts so openly – he took his position as the last Lord of his ruined House extremely seriously. And all the responsibility towards his people that came with it, although that seemed to mean very little to the people he found himself surrounded by, who viewed any discussion as being petty and tiresome and only suggested to shunt every new situation onto the Inquisitor. He was glad, however naively, to find that despite what Lady Lacroy and Maya seemed to imply, the Inquisitor himself didn’t actually want to place those close to him above everybody else. Or take on every task from investigating the assassination to the grievances of random Northern lords.

“I saw a Queen deigning to argue with a Lord, not an interrogation,” Iann said with a light shrug. “He’s in no position to threaten you with anything.”

Ephram smiled back automatically at the diminutive, outlands Queen in her ostentatious jewels and dark affectation. “It’s more to do with my not being familiar with proper secretive etiquette suitable for the Capital, I’m afraid,” he laughed lightly. “I’m more plain-spoken than I ought to be in a place like this. I get the feeling other people would rather say nothing and then complain of everybody talking in circles … but I suppose that’s what they enjoy.” He shrugged. “There wasn’t any need for such rampant accusation and claim of proof, especially when Balcaster had none. Only another problem to foist onto our long-suffering Inquisitor to solve.” Ephram shook his head, grimacing. “I don’t envy Lord Savin being the man everybody brings their troubles to.”

Maya wasn’t overly surprised to overhear Queen Bellamy only give credit to Lord Pettaline for pointing out the Ryden had little to back up his claims despite that Maya had said it as well. It seemed Maya herself was below the woman’s notice entirely. When addressed directly she turned to Tuah and replied, “I do not know unfortunately. Hopefully soon though and with the answer to who killed the High Raj. Then perhaps we can get to coronating the new High Raj and allowing them to help settle all these other matters.”

Tuah nodded, satisfied with his question answered. Though at the mention of other matters, Tuah couldn’t help but let his gaze lingered at the Queen of the Dead Woods. “I do not envy the Inquisitor nor the High Raj for having to settle such matters.” He shook his head, refraining himself from grimacing. Instead, he focused on what mattered to him. “What other things have you learnt from the Inquisitor about the killing of the High Raj, if I may ask.”

Bella shook her head at Iann, he could remain as calm as he liked, disinterested in it all but he was still here. “Perhaps you should return to your Kingdom rather than deign to be here in this one,” she suggested of him. “I think we all need to be a little plainer, this could have been finished off the very first night it happened,” she stated. “Or at least not gone on nearly so long. You should keep remaining plain-spoken, King Iann clearly has too much indifference breed or nurtured into him.” Bella did find the Inquisitor a good man, and if hse was questioned she doubt he’d fight it but she was over have more and more lies spread about her.

When she had a point, she had a point - and Iann definitely wanted to return to the Forty Isles. Perhaps he was being indifferent, but this wasn’t his rule as Inquisitor or High Raj. So he conceded to the Queen with a small bow.

Maya shrugged, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what all I’m at liberty to say other than whats already been said. It was venom from a snake of his lands delivered via the crown’s hidden mechanisms.”

Ephram held his tongue as the Dark Woods Queen directed a few barbs at King Iann, getting a vicarious satisfaction at seeing Cardero be diminished the way he jibed at Ephram. “Thank you, Highness. I was a little bit in my cups, to be honest, but it made my statements no less sincere.” On impulse, he raised Bella’s hand and pressed a kiss to her jewels. “It seems there’s to be some small delay before the important events of this day’s meeting, and I need fortification. Would you care to join me for some lunch?”

“In your cups?” Bella asked, leaning forward as she didn’t quite understand what it meant but she was still happy to have company. “Lunch sounds perfectly wonderful,” she agreed, using the grip he still had on her hand to stand and leave with him.

[thesteadydietofeverything]

Video Game Year in Review: The Top 10

As with any year-end list, this one probably isn’t complete. Last year, I fell in love with Nioh over winter break after I had already made my top 10, and just a few days ago, I started playing Hollow Knight. As I made clear in my previous lists, Metroidvanias can be hit or miss for me. I can get fed up with wandering around without a clear destination, and Hollow Knight has a bit of that so far, but it also has one of the most atmospherically welcoming settings for a video game in recent memory, and so far I’ve been pretty damn enraptured by it. I’m not too worried about it making the list at this point; it didn’t even technically come out this year anyway, but its Switch release earlier this year gave it somewhat of a second debut, for all the earned attention it finally got. At least I got a little shout-out here before publishing.

Anyway, here’s ten games I loved the shit out of in 2018. This was one year with a handful of games that I absolutely adored, none of which necessarily immediately jumped out to me as hands down the best one of the bunch, and honestly, that’s the way I’d prefer it, but it did make ranking them a bit tough. Really, from number five onward, the ranking gets pretty interchangeable. I didn’t plan on the game in my number one spot being the one that it is until I actually wrote out my feelings for it and decided that out of all them it was the easiest for me to just gush about. Alright, no further ado:

10. Donut County - Overall, it’s probably a good thing that Donut County isn’t longer than it is, but for as mechanically simple as sucking objects into an ever-expanding void is, it’s something that I felt I would’ve been perfectly entertained doing for a lot longer than the game lasted. Donut County has a wildly inspired and novel central gameplay hook, a relatably goofy sense of humor that might border on obnoxious if it weren’t so sincerely delivered, and an anti-gentrification, anti-capitalist message that mostly works without beating you over the head too hard with it. Ben Esposito and his team have created one of the most charming and original games I’ve played in years here.

9. Paratopic - “Cinematic” is a grossly overused and frequently inappropriate word to use in games criticism, but this game often had me coming back to the word, observing how many ways it feels like it authentically takes inspiration from creative methods seen more often in film, particularly art films, than in games, much more so than say, Red Dead Redemption 2, which typically embarrassingly pales in comparison to any movies it’s obviously aping from. There’s its willingness to not explain to you what’s going on, letting you pick up on clues from scenery and incidental dialogue. Its multiple switching perspectives, laced together to draw meaningful narrative connections. Its tendency to sit in the atmosphere of a scene. Its ability to tell a succinct story intended to be experienced in one sitting. And most of all, those jump cuts. I know Paratopic isn’t the first game to employ this technique, but as far as I can remember, it’s the first that I’ve played to utilize them for purposeful artistic effect, and every time it happened, it was oddly thrilling. I loved when I’d switch from walking to suddenly driving, and had a moment of panic, as if I suddenly just woke up at the wheel. The cliffhangers scenes would occasionally end on made me desperate to get back to that thread. Hell, even just the fact that there clearly were scenes, that lasted a few minutes at a time, then moved on to the next one, felt weirdly refreshing at a time when AAA design is becoming so absurdly bloated. Paratopic excited me, not in its desire to emulate a separate art medium, but in its casual realization of how many underutilized narrative techniques work genuinely effectively in this medium.

8. Dusk - I really can’t imagine a game that more perfectly matches my Platonic ideal of “video game comfort food” than Dusk, aside from, maybe, the game in the number one spot of this list. I was raised on 90’s PC FPS games like Doom and, as is much more relevant to this game, Quake. Yeah, for the most part, it’s nice that games have moved on, both in depth of gameplay and artistry, but goddamn does a back-to-basics twitchy shooter with inspired level design and creepy atmosphere just feel good sometimes. The grainy, chunky polygons of this game encapsulate everything I love about the rudimentary but remarkably evocative minimalism of early 3D graphics. The movement feels absurdly fast by modern standards, and the effect is thrilling - every projectile is dodgeable, as long as your reflexes are sharp enough. Undoubtedly the most impressive thing about this game is its ambitious level design, so much of which rivals even John Romero’s. The longer this game goes on, the more sprawling and labyrinthine it becomes. The map shapes become increasingly wacky. The gothic architecture becomes more foreboding and awe-inspiring. Dusk does a lot with a little, and in the process, makes so much more than a tribute to game design and aesthetics of the past - for me, it stands right alongside its obvious inspirations as one of the very best of its ilk.

7. Into the Breach - An absolute masterclass of game design. Into the Breach leaves nothing about its mechanics obscured, making sure you understand how every move is going to go down just as well as it does, and the fact that the result is still compellingly challenging is a sure sign we’re in the hands of remarkably skilled and intelligent developers. The narrative in this game is sparse - you assume the role of time-looping soldiers attempting over and over again to save your world from alien invasion (think Edge of Tomorrow), and that’s pretty much all you get for the plot, aside from some effective but minimal character beats and dialogue one-liners. And yet, every battlefield, a small grid with its own arrangement of sprites (giant creepy-crawlies, various creative mech classes, structures full of terrified denizens given a modicum of hope at the arrival of their ragged potential saviors) offers a playground for drama to unfold, as gripping and epic as any great mecha anime battle. As I mentioned in my previous list with Dead Cells, I have trouble sticking with run-based games, and this game wasn’t quite an exception - honestly, if it had something resembling a more traditional narrative campaign, I could see it potentially filling my number one spot. But that a game of its style nevertheless stuck with me as well as it did proves what a tremendous achievement I found it to be.

6. Astro Bot Rescue Mission - This was both the first game I’ve played fully in VR and the first game I’ve ever platinumed. I guess that might say something about how thoroughly I fell for it. For some reason, one of the questions that my brain kept posing while playing this game is, “would you like this game as much if it weren’t in VR?” I would like to pose that first off, if this wasn’t a VR game, it would be quite a different game, but yes, probably a perfectly delightful 3D platformer in its own right. But most of all, this game helped me realize what a bullshit question that is in the first place. By virtue of its VR nature, this game is just fundamentally different, just as the jump from 2D to 3D resulted in games that were just fundamentally different. The perspective you’re given watching over your little robot playable character allows to look in 360 degrees, and often you need to, if you’re seeking out every level’s secrets, and yet, while it moves forward, it doesn’t follow you vertically, so sometimes you’re looking up or down as well. It’s difficult to describe exactly how this perspective is so much more than a gimmick or something, outside of the cliched exaggeration of “it feels like you’re really there, man,” but honestly, this statement isn’t wrong. I truly did feel immersed in these levels in a way that I wouldn’t have if this weren’t a VR game, and while it’s not exactly a feeling I now desire from every game, it does stand out as one of the singular gaming experiences I had in 2018 as a result.

5. Thonebreaker: The Witcher Tales - I gushed plenty about this game in my review. How its approach to Gwent-based combat is both welcoming to newcomers and remarkably varied, offering new ways to approach and think about the game with nearly every encounter. How its sizable story is filled with fascinating characters and genuinely distressing choices, forcing you to grapple with the inherent injustices of your position. How its vivid art style and wonderfully moody Marcin Przybyłowicz score sell The Witcher feel of this game, despite how differently it plays from the mainline entries of the game. And maybe most of all, how criminally overlooked this game has been. So I’ll make the same claim I did before - if The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt did something for you, it’s likely this game will too. Don’t worry about the card game - I did too, and trust me, it’s fun. It’s the new Witcher game; that really ought to be all you need to know.

4. Yakuza 6: The Song of Life - There’s...a lot about the Yakuza games that I’ve come to adore, but one of the biggest ones that kept sticking out to me while playing The Song of Life is how they build a sense of place. After playing Yakuza 0, set in 1988, and Yakuza Kiwami, set in 2005, I played this one, set in 2016. Each time, same Kiryu, but older, same Kamurocho, but era appropriate. Setting every Yakuza game in the same map has to be one of the quietly boldest experiments in video games, forgoing fresh new vistas to explore in favor of the same familiar boulevards, alleys, and parks of the iconic red-light district, painting an exquisitely detailed and loving portrait of a neighborhood changing with the decades. While Kiryu’s exasperation at once again walking into the all-too-familiar crowded streets of Kamurocho, brighter and louder than ever, hardly matched my eagerness to see how it had changed, it felt appropriate. Though he’s still the hottest dad (grandpa?) in town, he is kinda old now, and he’s certainly earned the right to just be over it a little. Even the silliest of the era-relevant sub stories (one of which delightfully features Kiryu putting a selfie-stick wielding, obnoxious-stunt pulling, wanna-be influencer shithead in his place) serve to underscore how out of place he now is in his old stomping grounds.

By contrast, the other setting of Yakuza 6, the quaint seaside town of Onomichi, very quickly begins to feel like an idyllic retirement destination. The introduction to this part of the game has to be my favorite video game moment of 2018 - Kiryu trying to calm a hungry baby, while walking the deserted streets after dark in search of one store that still happens to be open. The faint sound of ocean in the distance effectively evokes the freshness, the bitterness, of the air. The emptiness and darkness of the space is almost shocking, compared to the sensory overload of Kamurocho. And there’s Haruto. Kiryu took Haruka in when she was 9, so he’s never had to deal with a baby before. He’s out of his element, but hardly unwilling. The help he gets from Kiyomi and his other new friends is the kind of comfort Kiryu needs at this point in his life. Likewise, the events in Onomichi play out like a retirement fantasy - building an amateur baseball team out of local talent, building relationships with the denizens of a bar in an incredible Japanese version of Cheers, hanging out with the town’s Yakuza, who are so small potatoes they seem to barely fit the definitions of organized or crime. It all works beautifully as a touching send-off to my favorite video game character.

3. Tetris Effect - There was a long time where I was contemplating putting this as my number one game. I went through some strange conflicts in the consideration - next to all these original, thoughtful games, am I really going to say that fucking Tetris is best one of them? Is that even fair? Is this game really anything more than just regular-ass Tetris but with some pretty lights and sounds and a 90’s rave kinda vibe? The answer to all of these, is, of course, yes, but also no. I’d defend my choice any day, though. This is the first game to actually get me into Tetris. I always appreciated it; it’s a classic, but it was never a game I had actually put much time or thought into before. This game not only sold me on Tetris, but got me obsessed with it, to the point where the name feels remarkably appropriate: ever since I began playing, I’ve been seeing tetriminos falling - in my sleep, in daydreams, any time I see any type of blocky shape in real life I’m fitting them together in my mind. The idea that all Tetris pieces, despite their differences, need each other and complement each other and can all fit together in perfect harmony, and that this is a metaphor for humanity, has to be some of the cheesiest bullshit I’ve ever heard, and yet, the game fully sold me on it from the first damn level. It’s all connected. We’re all together in this life. Don’t you forget it.

2. Celeste - This is a damn near perfect game, both as refreshing and demanding as a climb up a beautiful but treacherous mountain ought to be. I died many, many times (2424, to be exact), but the game explicitly encouraged me to be proud of that, acting as a friendly little cheerleader in between deaths, assuring me that I could do it. It’s both a welcome break from the smug, sneering attitude so many “difficult” games tend to traffic in, and absolutely central to its themes involving mental health. As the shockingly good plot starts making it increasingly clear that it’s about Madeline’s quest to conquer (or, at least, understand) her inner demons, the gameplay itself offers a simple but effective metaphor for struggling with mental illness - yes, it’s hard, and yes, you’re going to suffer and struggle, but you can make it, and you will make it, because you’re so much better than you think you are. Oh, and also, it’s not all bad, because at least you get to listen to some absolutely rippin’ tunes while you do it.

1. Ni No Kuni II: Revenant Kingdom - (Another one I reviewed!) This is my ideal JRPG. In my mind it stands next to childhood treasures like Final Fantasy IX. Unlike some recent Square projects that specifically try to clone their late 90’s output, this game hardly feels beholden to the game design of the past, and yet, feels of a piece with that era in a respectably non-cloying way. It has a bright, colorful, inviting world full of charming characters, an all-time great soundtrack by Joe Hisaishi, and an exciting, deep combat system with an emphasis on action. Building my kingdom of Evermore was remarkably satisfying, down to all the little dumb tasks my citizens would ask of me, none of which my very good boy King Evan was too busy or too proud to refuse. There’s very little grinding. It’s a long game by most standards, but at 40-something hours, it feels lean by JRPG standards. And for as much of a storybook fantasy as the plot is, as much as it reduces woefully complicated socio-political issues into neat, resolvable tasks for Evan to solve, it always came across as perfectly genuine, and sometimes surprisingly affecting. It’s the game that I’ve wanted to play since the PS1 Final Fantasy games stole my heart as a kid. That’s hardly what I expected it to be as I started into it, and what a joy it was to discover that it was.

[nikhilgraphic]

Behind the Font: Stentorian, a Luxury Signature Font by PeachCréme

Talk to enough type designers and you will quickly realize something: there is a story behind every letter form. during this Behind the Font series, we're on a mission to reveal the creative process behind a number of the foremost popular font families on Creative Market. this point around, we talked to Gulya Yeap — the talented designer behind Stentorian.

1. What inspired you to style Santorini? Where does your creative process usually start?

Santorini was originally inspired by my logo design practice. tons of my clients were posing for logos that reflected the spirit of handwritten letters. However, calligraphic script fonts weren't as readily available in 2018. Therefore, i started to pilot my design ideas inspired by handwritten letters and was happy when it took off, and get start course of graphic designing today from the best institutions which has providing the best graphic designing institute in Delhi. My creative process generally begins with a focused purpose. for instance , Sophia Ronald was specifically fashioned to be a marriage font.

Santorini itself was made brooding about signatures and therefore the handwritten aesthetic. Perhaps that's one among the key success factors here: all of those fonts were crafted with a selected use case in mind.

2. Why did you name it Santorini?

Santorini was chosen by me together with another Creative Market shop owner, Lara's Wonderland. i'm especially grateful for her support. Over the years, I've found true friends at Creative Market and have always felt a spirit of comradeship here that may not tainted by toxic rivalry.

3. What’s your favorite feature during this font which will not be immediately apparent?

Here my three favorite features in Santorini: 1. The contrast in these big uppercase letters paired with miniature lowercase letters.

2. Santorini includes 106 ligatures of commonly-used English letter combos, which provides natural handwriting a particular flair.

3. it isn't too thin and features a legible thickness. this is often vital for various techniques like foiling and embroidery.

4. How has your style evolved since you initially started your craft?

When I first began my font design journey, I remember never abandoning until I had completed a final product. which also goes for all the ideas that I even have ever had and set my mind to realize . Over time, my "raw" ideas became more polished, but many of my concepts do remain behind the scenes within the refinement process.

One side effect of being a font designer is that regardless of what proportion you've evolved throughout the years, you will always get that "I've seen this work before" feeling. no matter having worked with numerous clients over the years, it'll still dawn at you from time to time. it's a as long as even the foremost experienced font designers face this issue after having worked for years. A few years back, I wont to be tremendously inspired and delighted whenever I found a bit of labor that I liked. Whether it had been perfume packaging or a random check in the road , I wont to be in awe of other creators' work without giving enough considered the creative process behind it. That has changed. once I check out products that draw my eye now, I immediately consider the creative process that went behind it and the way it had been crafted on a technical level. Fear dominated my early design days because I wont to worry about losing my job. Creative Market sets a really top quality bar for creators and shop owners aren't always successful at staying afloat. The euphoria that you simply feel when everything goes well can become depression when things start to travel south. I owe tons to Creative marketplace for not only giving me financial independence but also for providing me with a way of creative freedom. I want to use this chance to thank all of these who have created and are participating during this marketplace's success.

5. Some say that finding the right font seems like falling crazy. 

Please describe a brand that might be an excellent match for Santorini in three words.

"Workhorse" isn't my favorite word, but it does describe Santorini. I've seen an enormous amount of branding, packaging, and style projects made with this font and it's phenomenal.

"My grandma will like it" is another one. This font is extremely much liked by different generations, which helps you avoid age-related taste conflicts. "Just enough". Santorini is carefully balanced: there's just the proper amount of boldness, style, romanticism — that is what i really like most about this font!

6. How would you define your typographic design style?

The journey of making my typographic style is ever-evolving. I wont to stick with making only calligraphic fonts but, lately, i have been mixing things up a touch with sans serifs and serifs. So there has definitely been a change in my work from once I first began and it's pretty evident in my recent products.

One trait that's very distinctive in my design style may be a certain "no filter" or "no makeup" approach to typography. The concept of "no makeup", as applied to font design, means a client of my client might not even notice that a font is getting used . This natural, hand-lettered vibe feels tons closer to me and therefore the quite work i prefer . La Bohemia, for instance , exudes custom, fine calligraphy and doesn't desire a font per see.

7. What advice does one have for aspiring typographers looking to create a brand? Any specific resources or tools?

For me, it's about staying on the brink of clients' interests. I usually attempt to navigate my creations in ways in which will work both on behalf of me and my buyers. Once you've got an overall idea about their sense of taste, the remainder will fall under place as you continue with the work. Prioritizing their interests has helped me find solutions to problems that i'll not have stumbled upon on my very own . While this method won't be right for everybody , it works just fine on behalf of me — I enjoy working through problems. I often refrain from personalizing anything an excessive amount of because i would like the top product to be useful to them, thereby serving its purpose. Chic Societé for instance , has been made specifically for Instagram quotes thereupon trendy bohemian flair because I could see that it had potential and would work well within the market at that point . Maison de Fleur was also created to enrich a marriage theme.

As for useful resources and tools for ambitious typographers, Fontself are often an honest place to start out . it's budget-friendly and it comes with an Illustrator extension. If you would like to possess a deeper understanding of the method , I'd suggest finding out these type design courses on Lynda. Sites like Dribbble and Pinterest also are great if you are looking for inspiration. Investing in an iPad also can be a game-changer if you haven't already done so. It makes your entire typography experience thousand times easier and better.