Chaol blinked the dust out of his eyes as he stared up at the northern Torre Cesme, the reaping of his wife's and countless other healers' hard work. The culmination of long nights spent in planning and reconstruction, and staring bleary-eyed at drafts and floor plans and maps stood proud before him.
The structure was not unlike that of Antica's Torre Cesme: sand-coloured bricks were heaped together to form a behemoth that tore open the heavens with its topmost point, studded with a silver bell. The effulgent glow of sunlight reflected back from its tinted, gleaming windows and into the eyes of passers-by, tugging them gently toward its ever-present warmth. Like a mother's call to her child across an orchard.
But where the Antican Torre Cesme had been part of a skyline littered with houses of earthen brick on top of gently sloping hills, the Northern Torre found itself neighbour to a rebuilding castle of stone, Adarlan's red and gold banners flying proud on its turrets. The Avery River meandered lazily on the tower's other side. Looking at it, at the childlike play of sunlight upon the surface of the water, Chaol found it hard to believe that this had once been a place where darkness had festered, or even that he had once hurled his sword, representative of such cruelty, into these very waters. He wondered if the river had worn down that eagle-pommelled sword down to dust by now. He certainly hoped it had.
It was beautiful, how they had managed to turn this place on its head and set it right. Cleanliness and purity, to replace the murky, purple shadows that had imposed on every street of Rifthold, which Chaol himself had traversed through every day.
Chaol felt his eyes prick with tears, and let one slip down his once-marred cheek.
Yrene only leaned her head on him, soft curls nestling against his shoulder. "Getting emotional?" she teased.
"Perhaps a little," he admitted, wiping away the track the tear had left behind. Wondering, despite all the time that had passed, at the unblemished skin there. Words tugged on his lips, but Yrene rose up on her toes and swept her finger across his cheek, the touch as light as the jam-tinged air from bakeries on the embankment. She held it in front of him.
It was a fallen eyelash, resting precariously on her thumb. It would have been invisible, were it not for the sunlight that illuminated its edges.
"What?" Chaol asked, genuinely confused.
Yrene shrugged. "Hurry up and make a wish."
"I'm sorry?"
Her brows rose. "Make a wish," Yrene said slowly. At his still-blank expression, she added, "On the eyelash."
"That sounds unnecessary. And bizarre."
Yrene choked. "Chaol Westfall. Do you mean to tell me that you have never, in your twenty-three years of life, wished upon an eyelash?"
"No, and I don't plan on it." He reached for her hand, but she enclosed her own around it to shield the eyelash from his grasp. For a healer, she certainly did have a vise-like grip.
"Absolutely not! Has no one ever taught you these things? " Yrene asked, aghast at his lack of knowledge of 'common' wish-making customs.
Chaol laughed, both at her shock and the resulting image that formed in his head. "There was no one to teach me. Can you imagine my father participating in any part of this… ritual?"
Yrene burst into laughter, the sound filling every crevice of his heart, like the slow pour of honey into a jar. "Silba save us all if that ever happens." Amused, comfortable silence filled the space between them, before Yrene suggested, "In the meantime, you could do with some practice at it."
"I could," he agreed. "Although I do maintain that it's nonsense."
Yrene shook her head, hiding her smile, and brought the eyelash a few inches from his lips.
"What exactly do I do now?"
"Make a wish in your head, and without telling anyone what it is, blow the eyelash away."
"Quite… interesting tradition there." Yrene narrowed her eyes at him. "Fine, I'll do it."
And Chaol looked at his wife, who was holding an eyelash, of all things, before him. She stood directly in front of the Torre; the spire of the tower seemed to lay on top of her head, resting atop her golden-brown locks, which were curling in the sunshine and humid air. It looked, to him, like a halo. Like a crown.
Chaol smiled. He made a wish, and tucked it deep within his heart. And then, he blew on the eyelash. The wind snatched it gladly from Yrene's hand onto newer plains.
synopsis:
Gods damn it, why did everything circle back to his wife? ... His wife, that he was definitely fuming at. He was furious at her. Absolutely.
Chaol and Yrene have had a disagreement, and both of them equally stubborn, are trying to avoid each other as much as possible. But when a ball forces them to go to the palace together, and a common enemy (who might share the last name Westfall) re-emerges, they might have no choice but to work together...
notes:
♪ Honey, hell is when I fight with you (but we can patch it up real good) ♪
- False God, Taylor Swift
It's quite impressive how much I've procrastinated finishing this considering I started in May 2025. But I guess this ACOTAR announcement gave me fuel to finish it lol! Enjoy!
Chaol was angry, to say the least. He was fuming in every bit of the rage he had warned Yrene about, years ago in the palace at Antica. The fury was still thrumming within him, making his blood boil, as he watched Josefin drift slowly to sleep in her cot. The anger was not directed at her – never her, even in the moments where he had had to haul himself out of her bed, half-asleep, to calm her down as a newborn. Even now, at two years old, there was no shortage of moments when he was woken up in the middle of the night because of some nightmare or the other that she had had. But there was no anger there.
No, that had little to do with Josefin. But rather, what had caused her tears just before he had put her to bed.
His heart had stopped when he had seen them both, Yrene and his daughter, at the doorway, hours earlier than they were meant to be. Josefin’s head was pressed into Yrene’s shoulder, two small arms wrapped tightly around her neck. Yrene cradled Josie like she was never going to let go, a feeling Chaol knew all too well; when the shadows of Rifthold pressed in a little tighter, it seemed much more a miracle that they were here, alive and happy.
But there was clearly something amiss here: Yrene’s eyes gleamed with tears and Chaol knew, by instinct, that it was not from the biting cold. The relentless Adarlanian wind had halted, but somehow the chill still lingered.
“What happened?” he asked softly, stepping in to retrieve a limp Josie from Yrene’s arms.
His heart descended into a glacial cold that only seeing them like this could coax out of him. Yrene only pressed her lips tighter together, looking very much as if she were holding in a sob.
Chaol took her hand, slick with sweat, in his and pressed her to his chest. “What is it?” He rubbed circles across her back. “Another death?”
She markedly stepped away from him. It was then that he realised his shirt was stained with her tears. Yrene saw it too, her eyes cutting to it. They remained there, refusing to meet his eyes, as she began.
“Josie was in the children’s playroom today at the Torre. I dropped her off there as soon as I arrived, like we decided.” Chaol braced himself for the ‘but’. “But, in my hurry to see a gravely ill patient, I… I didn’t check if the nursemaid was there and…”
Involuntarily, he held Josie closer to him. “And?” he pushed.
Yrene’s lower lip trembled. “Josie managed to get out of that room. She ran into the room a corridor down.” The next words were a bare whisper. “The physicians were patching up a dying woman. There– there was nothing to be done, with magic or not.”
Chaol cupped the back of his daughter’s head involuntarily. Her wispy hair was damp, he realised. “She saw it all?”
“Yes,” Yrene breathed, pain crumpling her face. “Yes, she did.”
Chaol pointedly took a step back. His voice was icy, cold as the stairs in Anielle, frosted over with ice, snow, blood, as he said, “Go,” and closed his eyes tightly. “Go back to the Torre, Yrene. We’ll speak on this later.”
Josie had begun to squirm, shifting uncomfortably against his chest, in the minutes after Yrene had left. Chaol had laid his daughter gently down in her bed and wrapped her in her cornflower blue and yellow blankets. He had struck a match and lit a candle he had procured from their room next door. When she did wake, he wanted Josie to be surrounded by light, not the darkness that featured in a child’s nightmares. He knelt beside her, and brushing away stray, dark strands of hair, he pressed a kiss to her forehead and waited.
He tried to busy himself with paperwork – the gods knew he had enough of it – but a part of his mind still lingered on the tiny silhouette sleeping in front of him. He buried his face in his hands, nursing an oncoming headache.
Chaol himself had been disturbed, to say the least, when he had first encountered a corpse. And that had been as a much older boy, not a toddler. His head pulsed: Josie had just turned three, for the gods’ sake. Chaol could not even begin to imagine what it would have done to a child so small, to see blood spurting, and flesh beginning to rot. How dare Yrene put their daughter in a situation like that, even put her near it? How could she be so careless? Chaol bristled, hand forming a fist. Having to attend to a patient was one thing, but neglecting their child in the process was entirely another.
His rage burned like hot coals. Chaol wondered if it had been a mistake, to send Yrene away and let his anger simmer in the meantime. He was stopped from pondering further on it when Josie began to bawl. It was like no other sound he had ever heard before. Utterly unlike her cries as a newborn or her more recent tantrums, these were shrieks borne out of true fear. Chaol could not stand to hear them. Not one bit.
Dropping the pen in the ink pot and his papers all across his desk, Chaol rushed to his daughter. She was upright in her bed, covers thrown off her, its folds hanging precariously off the bed. Her golden-brown eyes, eyes that both Chaol and Yrene had both agreed resembled Yrene’s own, were bright with tears. It made his heart squeeze with some fatherly instinct to take that pain away and unto himself.
“Jo? What’s wrong?” he asked quietly, seating himself on the edge of the bed and scooping her onto his lap. He leaned forward until his stubbled cheek rested on the side of hers, and he could feel her tears on his own skin.
In that moment, he might have gone through both Duva and the king’s torture, if it would have spared her these tears.
She hiccupped. “A woman on the bed and a hole in her, here.” Josie poked a hole in her chest. “There was red. She found me again.”
“What happened, sweetheart?”
Chaol felt her speak, felt the vibrations against his skin as she lisped, “Red woman found me again. Her hands were…” Josie made a clawlike movement with her hand and then used it to latch onto the hand that held her in his lap.
“None of it is real, Josie. The red woman can’t hurt you.” He squeezed her tighter into his chest. ‘‘Besides, Papa can protect you. Don’t you believe that?”
Slowly, Josie nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw colour return to her face. Saw the usual shade of pink stain her cheeks once more. Chaol held back a sigh, some of the tenseness in his shoulders drifting away.
“Now, do we want to go back to sleep or play in the garden?” Running through it and inspecting all the flowers and meticulously planted herbs had become a frequent pastime of hers.
Josie mimed a yawn and giggled. Chaol said, “Let’s go to sleep then, shall we?”
Chaol put her back on the bed and adjusted the cream pillows behind her, prepared to stand up. Josie’s face fell. “But you have to come too! Or the red woman… Fight her!”
Gods, he had a weakness for those wide, brown-gold eyes. She could coax anything out of him if she put her mind to it. “All right.” Kicking off his shoes, he joined Josie on the bed. It was a squeeze – he had to cling to the edge of the bed – but how could he deny that face a thing?
Under his breath, Chaol hoarsely, poorly sang a lullaby he had heard his mother sing to him before and rocked Josie gently to sleep. She drifted off slowly, eyes fluttering close, like the first wingbeats of a baby bluebird. Chaol knew she was asleep by the heaviness of her body in his arms.
That left nothing but him and his raging thoughts. This little thing in his arms, she was perfect. More precious than gold, than anything in the world, let alone expensive ores. Then, how had Yrene cared so little that she had not checked if there was anyone in the room before leaving her there?
Josie had shed tears like he had somehow never seen before. She had cried about bone-chilling dread, such that only children could feel. And it was because of her. The word was a flash of red across his vision, making his blood boil. How could she?
Those thoughts looped in his mind as he prised himself away from Josie’s grip and began to pace around the room, despite the growing tightness in his legs. He had once told Yrene, back in Antica, that she would know when he was in a rage. Well, he certainly was now.
The door creaked open but Chaol knew who it was without looking. He knew her by the cadence of her steps, the way the air in the room shifted to make space for her. Yrene dragged her feet as she entered the room. There were shadows under her eyes and a brittleness to her moments, but he pushed that innate concern to the back of his mind. He forced out, “Finally done with your duties?”
The statement itself held no malice but the tone in it… Yrene read the hostility in it easily, abruptly looking up at him. And then at their daughter, asleep in her bed. “Yes, but is she–”
“She only just fell asleep.” Chaol pushed a step forward. “I had to put her to bed after a nightmare. She dreamt of the bleeding woman you showed her today.”
Yrene’s eyes widened. “Showed? Showed? Is that what you think I did? I didn’t show her anything as much as you gave her that nightmare.”
He did not stop to think. “I suppose you would know a lot about the latter.”
Yrene shook her head. Breathed in, steeling herself. “Look, I did not mean it, any of it. All of it was–”
“It doesn’t matter if you intended it or not!” His voice rose to a volume so high that those down the street must have heard it. “What matters is that our three-year-old daughter has seen blood on a corpse, and it is because of your carelessness!” Chaol’s chest heaved with the effort of screaming at the top of his lungs.
Yrene flinched like she had been dealt a physical blow. Her voice lowered to a wobbling whisper. “If you aren’t interested in what I have to say, then I’m not at all interested in what you say either.” She turned on her heel, slamming the door behind her.
The sound resounded in every chamber of his heart, the pain it caused visceral. A muffled voice added, “And you can take the couch tonight as well.” The last few words hung tremulously in the space between them.
Chaol was not foolish enough to think she meant their golden couch, their sign of truce for whenever they had one of these arguments. Seething, he saw himself out of his daughter’s bedroom, making sure to leave the candle burning. Averting his eyes from the resting figure on the bed, he closed the door on the light.
* * *
The breakfast that followed the next day was the quietest Chaol had seen in his life: Chaol and Yrene usually brought the most chatter to the dinner table, with their slightly exaggerated stories of the previous day. In truth, Chaol would have never thought of himself as the chatty, animated sort of person, but family brought on a different side of him. Did it not for everyone?
Today was notably devoid of any such interaction. They had been studiously avoiding each other since that morning when Chaol had stumbled, bleary-eyed, into the kitchen. Yrene, brandishing a wooden spoon, had angrily declared that she was going to be making breakfast this morning, pointed at his ice-cold tea on the table and shut the door on him. Honestly, he might have laughed if he were not so enraged himself.
The two of them were ignoring one another as they ate breakfast. Much to the dismay of his mother, Ada, who had quietly asked what was wrong and, when no one had answered, wisely said nothing. Terrin, lacking the same good sense, had not relented, interrogating the pair like a detective on a mission. He received succinct, half-hearted answers, until Chaol had lost his temper and told Terrin to mind his own damn business. Terrin had just rolled his eyes and muttered something inaudible under his breath, before going back to twirling his food around his plate.
The same food that had threatened to rise up Chaol’s throat until midday. Intentionally or not, Yrene’s cooking had been a far cry from what it usually was. Now at six in the evening, his gut was still debating whether to throw it all up or not. Though perhaps her intent was to poison his food and be done with him, once and for all.
While his stomach grumbled, he smoothed out his navy-blue suit (admittedly one of the only things he owned that was not black) in front of the mirror. No one used this impeccably clean one, here in the guest bedroom, far from the worn, smudged mirror in Chaol and Yrene’s bedroom.
Don’t think about her. He shoved the thought of her out his mind as he diligently buttoned up his suit. The buttons were a luminous, silver colour that reflected their surroundings like a clean plate. On their honeymoon, Yrene had even joked that if they ever needed to find their way out of the dark, all they would have to do was–
Gods damn it, why did everything circle back to his wife? Chaol vigorously ran a comb through his hair, nearly ripping out a few clumps. His wife, that he was definitely fuming at. And certainly not compiling a subconscious inventory of things to tell her over the course of the day. No, not at all. He was furious at her. Absolutely.
Chaol stormed out of the house, throwing the gates wide open and breathing in cool, fresh air to clear his mind. She had endangered their child. A familiar feeling of anger settled back in. All thoughts of talking to Yrene faded away as he gazed at the landscape before him. Dusk had not yet begun to settle in: a tinge of orange was only just beginning to creep into the otherwise blue, cloudless sky. The moon formed a very faint, crescent outline, almost unnoticeable.
If he set off to the castle now, he would be too early for the grand ball Dorian was throwing. But it was better to be there than tiptoe around his own house lest he see Yrene. Yes, leaving early was the better option, Chaol decided, turning toward the stables.
The wind roared in his ears, propelling him forward and away from the house, away from her. A soft voice cut through the gale. “And where do you think you’re going?”
Chaol knew who it was without turning. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he said, “Take a wild guess.”
“You’re going to the stables.”
Chaol replied dryly, “How did you guess.”
“The carriage isn’t that way,” Yrene continued, like she had not heard him. Chaol bristled.
“I don’t know who you think I am, but I don’t need a carriage when I’m the only one going,” Chaol quipped.
“Do you intend for me to walk to the castle?” she questioned.
“You’re not coming.” Chaol kept walking, quickening his gait to one he knew she could not match.
“Like hell I’m not,” she bit out. She was, unfortunately, making very good pace with him.
“You’re not even dress–” Chaol started as Yrene caught up to his side. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a flowing white dress.
Chaol stopped in his tracks and turned to Yrene. Her hair was unbound, the sunlight playing with the brown-gold locks that brushed her waist. Their roots were a familiar brown colour, that of the kahve she loved to drink, before it faded into burnished brass. Chaol found himself longing to play with a curl, to feel its rough texture under his fingers, like he had a million times before. Yrene reached up to tuck a curl behind her ear, Chaol’s traitorous eyes following the movement, and he realised she had worn a set of matching, cream gloves.
Resolve curled his fingers into an immovable fist. No, he was not the one thinking these things. Still, Chaol allowed himself one last look at her, from the freckles on her cheeks and the anger set as hard as rock in Yrene’s face to the beige dress that billowed out at the hips.
“Well, does this look unprepared?” she snapped, no doubt noticing the flush rising on his cheeks. She waved a hand in front of her own face and then to the dress she wore. Her eyes, lined with kohl that swooped out at the ends, narrowed. Gods, she had gone above and beyond with this – probably to drive him mad.
He was not entirely sure he managed to form words. “Perhaps if you had told me this earlier, I wouldn’t be halfway to the stables.”
Yrene rolled her eyes. “I did. You just weren’t prepared to listen.”
“So my dear wife is coming along to the ball?”
“What does it look like, husband?” Her lips pressed together in a manner that Chaol had come to know as her murderous look. Under other circumstances, he might have been tempted to pry said lips apart with a kiss. The two of them held each other’s stares for a long moment before Chaol conceded, sighing. “Alright. You can come.”
All she said was, “I didn’t need you to permit me.”
Chaol swallowed down a hundred furious retorts and instead stomped over to the carriage. Someone would have to drag Stephen, their coachman, from his own adjoining house.
The evening was going spectacularly.
* * *
The carriage ride could not have felt any longer than it did. Not wanting to look at Yrene (and to be completely honest, not trusting himself to), he had pressed his cheek against the window, watching sloping valleys and hills fade into vendors’ stalls and markets and the bustling heart of the city. There was something alluring about the reborn city of Rifthold that he could not quite place his finger on.
He tried to pinpoint what it was about the city that drew him to it, when it had not all these years past. Maybe it was the twinkling fairy lights adorning nearly every house (a tradition started after the war) or the smell of freshly baked pastries and cakes wafting down the street. Maybe it was just the hopeful faces of passers-by, so unlike anyone Chaol had seen in the old Rifthold. Whatever it was, it was abundantly clear to him that Rifthold was healing, and for that simple fact, he let a bit of that anger in his chest loosen and allowed his back to relax against the cushioned seat.
Chaol had to hold back his resulting groan. Due to his pent-up anger, he had failed to notice how his back had begun to ache, the various fractures on his spine reforming and reverting to the state they would be in were it not for Yrene’s magic. (Perhaps that earlier hurry to outpace Yrene had not been a good idea after all.) Despite his best efforts, he winced at the growing pain.
Chaol could see, out of the corner of his eye, that Yrene was staring decidedly through the window. He was not naïve enough, though, to assume that she was not watching him out of the corner of her eye, like he was now, and had chosen not to say anything.
Good. She still did not want to talk to him anymore than he did.
It was with that delightful thought that the carriage ground to a halt. Yrene, being closest to the door, hopped swiftly out first, leaving him to exit next. He stood slowly, feeling his spine slip painfully at the movement. Oh, he really should have brought his cane.
Gritting his teeth and without allowing himself more than a second of thought, he pushed himself down to the ground, using one foot to propel him downward. Chaol tried not to scream at the sharp pain that cut through his spine.
He was thoroughly regretting his damn choices.
Chaol looked up and found Yrene strides ahead of him. Her dress, cinched at the waist, rustled while she moved. He picked up the pace and followed her into the castle. He barely managed to curb the strain long enough to give the guards posted outside a nod of approval while they opened the gates, recognising both the Healer on High and Hand of the King’s faces.
People were beginning to trickle in, but it was nowhere near the amount of people one would expect at a ball hosted by the king. That would come later. In that case, Chaol and Yrene would have had to push through a horde of people, shoving away those in their way, just to get in. They certainly would not have been walking several feet apart, too stubborn to talk to the other.
They turned a corner into the ballroom. Chaol had to stop to catch his breath after the tiring walk, but found his breath being taken away for an entirely different reason now.
The hall threatened to dwarf them both in it, the lofty ceiling adding depth to it. Along the sides of the hall were tables heaped with every variety of food he could imagine. Decadent, dripping pastries, fresh meats drowned in gravy, balls overlaid with ground coconut that looked like the first, pure layer of snow. In an attempt to offset the intimidating size of the hall, the servants were stringing up lanterns across the ceiling. The servants were still flitting about the sprawling hall, adding finishing touches to it, a blurred mosaic of people and commotion. Chaol turned to seek the one who he knew would be most enamoured of it all.
The hanging lanterns effused a glow that framed Yrene in breathtaking gold.
Some of the lanterns were close enough to reach, close enough that one could reach out a hand and graze their fingers along them. Yrene did just that, a look of awe overtaking her face. Chaol watched her eyes flick over to the delicacies at the tables at either side of the hall. He watched her mouth fall adorably open as she took it all in. The expression on her face made an ironic contrast with her gown, the gaping woman clothed in a noble lady’s dress and gloves.
Chaol’s thoughts were interrupted by a sudden flare of pain. (Whether that was with the ache of not being able to tell his wife how lovely she looked, or physical pain, or some combination of the two, Chaol did not know.) He was sure his knees were going to buckle and send him toppling to the floor if he did not get into a chair in the next few moments. Hobbling over to a seat beside Dorian, he sunk into it. An immense sense of relief settled into him, the ache dimming.
“Yrene doesn't look very happy to be here,” Dorian remarked casually.
“No,” Chaol said simply, not wanting to explain the tangle of events that had gotten them here.
“An explanation would be nice,” Dorian said, raising an eyebrow as Yrene took her seat beside him.
It was extraordinarily painful to look at his wife and not be able to nudge her shoulder and indulge in gossip or joke about something mundane. Clearing his throat, he declared, “I’ll go fetch myself something from over there.” He sprung out of his seat and, at the jolt his back gave at the motion, immediately regretted it.
Every step felt like trying to pry apart a door with unoiled hinges and finding that it opened, but not very well. If Yrene had not noticed his less-than-satisfactory dismount from the carriage earlier, she surely would have spotted his lumbering gait and realised what was going on now. She was too observant not to be aware. Chaol pushed that thought away and tried to keep his back from giving in.
Finally at the table – after what felt like years – it was an utter relief to lean both arms on the table and shift part of his weight to it, but before he could fully catch his breath, a servant rushed over to him.
“My lord, what would you like?’ he asked. Chaol was not sure he could muster enough speech to reply. “My lord, are you feeling well?”
His back gave another twinge. The world around him blurred, the lanterns turning into insignificant, blurred specks. Everyone around him hushed and for a moment, the room was utterly silent. His head bowed and his face nearly sunk into the soft tablecloth his fingers were digging into. Then, the world came back into painful focus, the din of the hall returning.
Chaol at last looked up from the clean, white tablecloth and caught sight of the servant’s face. He was one of the newer servants Dorian had appointed, and Chaol had made it his personal duty to learn all their names, in the time that Yrene and him had spent in this castle, before moving into their own home. It took him a moment to sort through agony and reality and to recover the servant’s name from the back of his mind.
“Hello, Nigel,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. There was still a slight tremor in it, but he went on to say, “Yes, I’m fine, thank you.”
Nigel did not look like he quite believed this but still went on to ask, “Would you like some icecream? The chief chef has been experimenting with various different flavours.”
“Remind me what flavours there are?” His mind was still cloaked in some haze: he certainly was in no state to be recalling icecream flavours.
“Well, there’s strawberry, vanilla and chocolate, as usual, but the chef has also added pistachio, mango and kahve–”
“Kahve?” Chaol spluttered out.
“Yes,” Nigel said, smiling a bit at his bemusement. “I did tell you she was experimenting, my lord.”
Kahve icecream. He had never heard anything more ridiculous, even through the pain. Yrene consumed enough kahve as it was: Chaol could not imagine her delight if she ever discovered the existence of kahve icecream. He could not help but smile at the thought. Against his own will, his head turned to her, as if his heart was on a string, eternally pulled towards her. It always was. Always and forever, forever and always, back to her.
Yrene was laughing at something Dorian had said, a flush blooming high on her cheeks. Her silver locket glinted in the lantern-light as she threw her hair behind her shoulder: she had not taken it off, even in the light of their argument. Neither had he taken the pocket watch she had given him for his birthday out of his pocket. Chaol looked down at the watch he had subconsciously drawn out, and glanced quickly back up, unable to take his eyes off her. Yrene was glowing, all warmth and sunshine.
Chaol was breathless when he turned back to Nigel. “I’ll take a vanilla icecream, please.” Nigel turned a questioning look on Chaol. Rubbing the back of his neck, Chaol added, quietly, “And a kahve one.”
Behind his back, Chaol could have sworn Nigel was grinning from ear to ear.
* * *
Yrene watched with amusement as Chaol stormed over to the table of icecream. When he turned back to look at her, her breath caught. Even looking at him through her peripheral vision, the adoration in his gaze was unmistakable.
For goodness’ sake. She had not even managed to stay mad at him for a day. Determinedly, Yrene lifted her chin and responded to a joke Dorian had told her.
Heavy steps approached and Chaol seated himself in the chair opposite her. He slid a dessert bowl towards her, plunking his own onto the table.
“What’s this?” Yrene stared down at the brown icecream.
“Kahve icecream.” She raised an eyebrow in question. “I only brought it because the chef needed feedback on her experiment.”
Liar. She had seen the way he looked at her. Eyes that had been hard and flinty a few minutes ago had turned to light. Into vulnerability. He had looked at her, and then down at the pocket watch she had gifted him last birthday. Yrene could see it from here, recognise the glint of light on the engraved steel. She tracked its reflection, as he pocketed it again. Directly beneath one of those blazing lanterns, Chaol had reflected the light in a dull halo, the edges of his profile gleaming. Perhaps the servant had smiled then or said something else, but Yrene was too busy staring at his face, at the intensity of emotion within it. Then, more than ever, she had wanted to feel the downy softness of the hair on the back of his head. Tease him about his indecision. Talk at length about the decorations and banners in the hall, about how she had never before seen anything like it.
“Does anyone want it?” Chaol said, and the spell shattered.
Right, they still resented each other, despite the looks they had shared across the hall. And the kahve icecream was most certainly not for her. Well, two could play at this game.
Yrene said sweetly, “I’d rather not.” Tilting her head, she set the spoon he had passed her onto the table with a clink.
Like he had not heard her, he put his vanilla icecream in his mouth and bit down on the icecream. Yrene shuddered and looked away: Dorian should have surely outlawed that by now.
Seeing him bite down on the icecream brought her back to the first time they had enjoyed icecream together. It had been on a summer’s day, the heat sweltering, even after two years of living in Antica, and what better day than then to get icecream? Yrene had said as much to Chaol, but had been met with a bewildered face. “What is that?”
Yrene choked on her own saliva. “You– how do you not know what icecream is?”
He angled his head. “Should I know what it is?”
“You grew up on a mountain range!”
He shrugged. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Yrene sighed and shook her head, tugging at his sleeve. “Come on. Let’s get you icecream.”
An hour later, they were sprawled out on their gold couch, Yrene with her head on Chaol’s shoulder. Her cheeks were pink in the daylight streaming in through the windows, though her tongue was numb because of the icecream. Setting her dessert cup on the carpeted floor beside her, she stretched out on the couch and put her feet up on Chaol’s lap.
Chaol was still staring perplexedly at his dessert cup, an incredibly amusing sight. His hair had grown out further than he usually kept it, brown strands curling at the nape of his neck. Yrene liked it. She licked some icecream off her top lip. Chaol’s brows, however, were still knotted together like he was trying to solve a great puzzle, instead of eating a dessert. Yrene nudged him with her knee, smiling. “What are you waiting for?”
He spooned some into his mouth, but instead of letting it melt in his mouth or licking it, he bit straight into it. “This isn’t too bad, actually,” he said contemplatively.
Yrene surged upright. “That is not how you eat it!”
Chaol’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “How else would you eat it?” He continued biting into the icecream, the icecream giving a crunch that made even Yrene shiver.
“You’re going to get brain-freeze or– or get–” Yrene broke off, throwing her arms up. “It’s just wrong!”
He grinned. “I think I like ice-cream far better this way.”
She kicked him lightly, falling back onto the cushioned side of their couch. “You stubborn ass. Won’t listen to a thing I say.”
Chaol finished off the last of his icecream and put the empty container neatly beside hers. He still had that self-satisfied smirk on his lips.
“Why are you smiling?” she said, crossing her arms.
“It’s just…” His mouth cracked open, revealing a wide smile. “Us two, we can never agree on anything, can we?”
“No.” Yrene laughed, keenly aware of the sweet taste of icecream on her lips. “Impossible.”
The scene faded away, the memory of her laughing, joking husband morphing into the impassive, immovable one in front of her.
She repeated stubbornly, “I’d rather not eat this.”
“Don’t. After all, I don’t permit you to do anything.” He narrowed his eyes at her, the lighter specks in them igniting in the wake of his irritation. She held his gaze just as fiercely, refusing to look away in this battle of wills. Her jaw jutted stubbornly out; she would not let herself lose to him.
A sigh from Yrene’s left broke them off. Dorian was rubbing his forehead with his forefinger and thumb. “What will I do with you two?”
Yrene chanced a look back at Chaol. He was looking as angry as she felt, jaw clenched tight. Scowling, Yrene shoved the spoon into the icecream, and it crunched satisfyingly in. “I’m only eating for your chef’s sake, Dorian.” Scooping icecream out of the cup – perhaps a tad bit more vigorously than required – she added, “Not anyone else.”
She placed the spoon tentatively in her mouth. It melted on her tongue instantly, and Yrene had to close her eyes. For a moment, the chill of the icecream was all she could taste, before it gave way to the true flavour.
Yrene’s eyes bulged, her tongue watering. This was heaven. It managed to carry both the bitter edge to kahve, as well as the sweeter taste of regular icecream. This would have normally made for a strange juxtaposition of flavours, but Yrene found it fit well together. More eagerly this time, she spooned some more into her mouth.
Chaol was watching her inquisitively over his own scoop of icecream. “What?” she asked, cheeks heating. He shrugged, in a way that aggravated her, and put his empty cup to one side, wiping his fingers off on a napkin.
Yrene finished off her icecream, determined to finish it just as quickly as he had, a feat that proved difficult. Chaol turned to stare blankly at the people beginning to enter the ball, people dressed in all possible colours, from the deepest scarlet to Tyrian purple. Dorian, on the other hand, looked like he was beginning to regret having hosted this ball. He eventually caught sight of some suitor Queen Georgina had forced him to entertain. Well, that explained why Dorian was suddenly looking annoyed. As he reluctantly stood to leave, he said to the two of them, “You two should dance.” And had the nerve to wink.
Frowns grew on both of their faces. Dorian smiled, shrugging. “It would set a good example for our guests. See, the musicians are beginning to play.” And then he left, leaving Chaol and Yrene without a buffer between each other.
Yrene was shell-shocked: was this how Dorian had felt when she had suggested marriage between him and Manon? She must have said as much, because Chaol gave a rough laugh and said, “That’s a bit drastic of a comparison. Especially considering we’ve been married three years now.”
Yrene clamped a gloved hand over her mouth, mortified. “I didn’t realise I had said that out loud.”
“You did,” Chaol said, before offering an arm out to her, surprisingly not looking all that reluctant. “Well, unfortunately, one can’t disobey a king’s orders. Shall we?”
And how could Yrene resist twining her fingers with his? How could she not allow herself to be led out into the dancefloor? Even through her satin gloves, she could feel the warmth leaking out of his hand and into her own. And Dorian was right, the musicians had taken up their various instruments, flutes, violins, pianofortes, and had begun to play. Against her own will, her body began to sway almost imperceptibly to the music.
The music began as a whisper in her ear, only the soft melody of a flute. Yrene was not fooled: she knew how fast these dances could pick up. Yrene glanced up at Chaol, who placed his hand on her left shoulder blade. His touch was light, barely there, but she felt it like the heat of a fireplace.
Yrene copied him, glad she was not leading the waltz. Chaol was used to this – he had received training in this sort of thing as a boy in the palace – while she was not. She had nearly tripped over her skirts the first time, and was still barely managing to not do so again.
Granted, she had been near terrified then. There had been the hint of rain in the air and the smell of jam pastry, wafting in from the nearby kitchen, had mingled with that fresh scent. Yrene had wanted to sink her teeth into one and feel its ripe sweetness explode open in her mouth, instead of trying not to trip over her own feet in this ridiculously long dress.
Chaol’s eyes on hers had been steady then, just as they were now.
He had grinned. “You would rather eat a pastry, wouldn’t you?”
Just like that, any remaining fear had slipped out. What was there to be afraid of, here? His eyes had twinkled as she had replied, “You know me too well.” She swatted at his arm.
“I’m fairly sure that’s not part of the dance.”
Yrene had rolled her eyes, though she did not even try to hide her smile. She knew it to be a futile effort anyway. And Chaol had begun to guide her through the dance. Yrene had been none too steady on her feet, but it had not mattered, not to her, not to Chaol. All that had mattered were the man before her and the joy in her heart.
She had been through these steps many times since, but it was entirely different this time. Last time, she had been able to laugh and smile and enjoy herself, but this time, she had to stifle all of that. It was particularly difficult to, what with the brush of her thumb against her side and the unwavering gaze fixed on her. Yrene managed to breathe and found his foot moving forward in time with the music.
Hastily, Yrene did the same, her skirt getting in the way of his leg. Yrene heard Chaol’s grunt before she registered that he was falling. Her healer’s instincts kicking in, she caught him with two hands on his chest. She heard and felt his shuddering breath in. The music crescendoed around them, like a bud unfurling to reveal a flower, but even that was not loud enough to mask the quickening beat of his heart.
She had taken many pulses before, but none had shaken her the way that the beat of his heart did. Nothing ever did have that effect on her. She fell asleep hearing the rhythm of that heart lulling her to sleep; how could anything match that? Granted, she had not yesterday and had felt the absence of it like a missing–
Gently, his hand removed her own from his chest. Yrene realised she had clung to the fabric of his white shirt, but could not bring herself to take it away herself. His own hand lingered over hers a bit more than it needed to, before leaving her hand to drop to her side.
Yrene knew that she should continue the dance and pick up the reins, even if Chaol did not. She knew she should stay angry at him for the utter disrespect he had shown her. But her impulses overrode that rationality as she lifted her eyes to Chaol, the first time she had properly looked at him this whole dance.
His chestnut eyes were wide as she met his gaze, looking just like she felt. It hit her, suddenly, how this was a face more familiar to her than her own reflection. The slight crook to his nose, the darker specks in his eyes, the hair curling upwards at the ends, longer than Yrene had ever seen it, were all sights she knew as well as the veins on the back of her hand.
A sudden flash of movement from behind Chaol caught her eye. It was a face that many might have mistaken for Chaol’s, though it was something that Yrene would have never done. No, his father’s hair was cropped closer to his head, his eyes far too cold and face made of stone. Yrene would have never even thought him even remotely comparable to Chaol.
“Where is your father going?” Yrene muttered.
“What?”
“Your father is leaving the hall.” Two guards near the doors stared forward as Lord Westfall passed through them. “And the guards just let him through.”
Chaol’s mouth hung open. He seemed to have forgotten about the dance as he whirled around.
Did she imagine the stiffness in his movement? Or his hiss at the motion? Yrene narrowed her eyes but had no time to examine any further. “Let’s go,” she said, wrapping a hand around his wrist.
If it had come to anything else, Yrene doubted Chaol would have reacted this way. He would have advised caution, the kind that she rarely seemed to have outside of healing. But seeing his father seemed to have taken the breath out of him.
“Come on.” Yrene gave a light tug at his arm and he stumbled a step forward.
His pulse fluttered irregularly against her fingers as she dragged him a step forward. He barely budged and besides, he was much too heavy for her to drag along.
“You–” Yrene looked back, long enough to see him soaked with sweat and to see the exertion this was costing him. “You need your cane, don’t you?”
The way his shoulders sunk, his utter stillness as she said the words… that told her enough. She sighed, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He wiped his palms off on his trousers, like he was in no pain at all and was entirely fine. Yrene caught it right away and managed to get her arm around his shoulders just in time to catch him as he fell.
Chaol Westfall, Hand to the King, and more importantly, her husband, was trembling in her arms. Yrene had not realised the strain he was putting on his legs till a few moments ago – without his cane at that – but it was evident in the way he leaned on her arm, barely able to push himself upright again. Yrene wanted to talk to him, so badly it hurt, wanted to push the damp hair back from his eyes and ask him why he had not told her.
But she did none of that.
She propped him up with her arm around his hips. “Everyone is watching you,” she murmured, knowing that would be a greater motivator than any other.
They somehow passed through the doors, Yrene barely managing to hold him up. The moment they were past the hall and safely out of view of the guards, Chaol let go of her clammy hand and leaned against the stone wall, sighing in relief. He tilted his head back, stray strands of brown hair falling back with the movement. It uncovered his eyes.
They were still in anguish, a kind that Yrene did not want to witness in them again. She kept quiet until the pain passed, until his breaths slowed and evened, until anguish no longer darkened the circles under his eyes.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Yrene repeated crossly, having to push aside thousands of different, more patient remarks that she would make as a healer.
“Because we’re on such good terms now, aren’t we?”
Yrene understood. Four hours ago, she would have rather died than admit vulnerability to him. Sometimes, Yrene wondered if that shared thread of stubbornness was what had pulled them together and tied the metaphorical knot of fate around them.“That’s not… I wouldn’t…” She paused. “That’s not a good enough reason.”
She shook her head in exasperation, spirits sinking lower from the fact that she had shut him out so completely he did not trust her enough to have simply just… told her. “Let me–”
Yrene took both of her hands and guided them towards his back. They were already aglow, hands itching to jump towards the place of injury. It was a force that had guided her from nation to nation her entire life. And somehow it had landed her here, in the heart of this great, unfinished symphony of one. Adarlan. It was not perfect, by any means. But it had brought her to him, and that was all the reward she needed. Yrene looked down, suddenly breathless.
Chaol had halted her hands an inch away from him. “I can manage well enough on my own.”
“Really? Because it didn’t seem like that in–”
“And it doesn’t seem like you can afford to expend any more magic. Do you think that I didn’t notice how you left for the Torre at night and stayed there till daybreak?”
Yrene’s hands fell by her sides, and her mouth with it. “You know?”
“Our door creaks when you open it,” he said matter-of-factly. He went on, “Do you know how worried I’ve been? You’ve been running on an hour of sleep. I thought you would faint in the middle of that ballroom!”
Voice stern and concerned, Chaol said, “You always insist on looking after others. Why can’t it be you for once?”
Astounded, Yrene was not quite sure how to choose what to say next. The light in her hands faded away and try as she might to conjure it back, it would not. Maybe her stores of magic had not been as plentiful as she thought. Now that she let herself think about anything other than staying mad at Chaol, she could feel that light blurring of her vision around the edges that happened when she was tired. She could feel that her steps were slower and more dragged out than they should have been.
“Oh” was the one word she got out.
They stared at each other for the next few seconds, breath knocked out of her. The stubble on his cheek was longer, maybe three or four days since he had shaved. It was a good look on him, really. Yrene wondered if it was a good idea to cup his cheek, to run her fingers across it. She lifted her hand to do just that…
And, then, like lightning striking a tree, a door creaked just outside the alcove they were sequestered in. It seemed their door was not the only one that creaked. “Can you manage?”
“I’ll be fine.”
She took Chaol’s arm, his heat radiating even through her gloves, and they began, a team once again. Steps synchronised, movements adjusting to one another like it was second nature. And with them two, it was. It really was.
They turned the corner onto the hallway, Chaol’s head almost fully on her shoulder. Yrene could feel the sweat clinging to his body, his hair brushing lightly against her neck, the tensed shoulders under the arm she had slung across them.
“Why don’t you just stay here?” she asked. “I’ll–”
“That’s not an option,’ he said, looking at her, eyes piercing to her very soul. She could recall the word as easily as the day he had said them, a golden ink stain on parchment. “Together.” She remembered.
Yrene felt him cling a little closer to her – or was it her that drew nearer to him? Perhaps it was both of them, pressing close to one another, till they were inseparable, inextricable from the other. And they proceeded on.
The lights grew dimmer; the splendour and life of the ballroom was now a distant memory. The sconces had grown sparse. All there was and had been was this endless crawl toward the murky gray. Yrene could not fathom what the Lord of Anielle was doing in this secluded area of the castle.
“Do you know where we are?” she murmured.
The only response was a half-formed mumble against her shoulder: “No”. And then she saw it just as Chaol did, a moving glow of a lantern and the rustle of papers from a nearby room. Three broken steps and they were at the entrance, peering in.
Chaol straightened at her side, catching sight of his father. It was involuntary: Yrene had seen him stiffen at the mere glance of his father. As if to prove himself worthy.
Sometimes, it made Yrene wonder just how many times a small boy had stood in front of that man, begging to be chosen, and was turned away without so much as a cursory glance. Until he himself had turned his back onto the stony turrets of Anielle. And had perhaps lodged a fragment of ice from Anielle’s keep in his own heart for a while. It made Yrene unbearably sad, and unbearably proud, to see him in front of her every day.
Damn these gloves. Yrene ripped her left glove off her hand and entwined it with Chaol’s own. The flurry of oncoming warmth from his hand was unexpected, but welcome. As was the trace of his thumb along the crease in her palm, accurate to the very millimeter.
The Lord of Anielle was fitted immaculately, with a silver waistcoat and a collar that enveloped his neck entirely, in a fashion that had gone out of style a few decades prior. He startled as they entered the room, angling himself as if to hide whatever he was poring over. “Hello, son. How do you do?”
He adjusted his tie, which was already in the perfect position. Yrene could have bet good money that he had groomed cuticles, at odds with the chipped, rough nails her own husband had gained from years of toil. It was why Yrene loathed Lord Westfall, from his arched eyebrows to his dark irises that bore a striking likeness to Chaol’s.
“Perfectly fine, thank you,” Yrene enunciated.
Chaol said sharply, “Why don't you start by telling us what you're trying so hard to conceal?”
Yrene’s pride swelled. Silba save her, her ego was going to be insufferable if the evening continued in this way.
Something like human emotion flickered in Lord Westfall’s face. It lingered there, tremulously, like a candle when someone blew on it, unable to burn at its fullest but simultaneously refusing to let go of its tenuous grip on life. That same, sputtering flame quivered in his eyes.
Yrene was not sure he was capable of true feeling, and yet here he was.
“One more reason for my eldest son to hate me more than he does already. Simply delightful,” he said, not quite mustering eye contact with the pair. “Have at it, if you will.” Then, like a host showing his guests their seats, he waved an arm at the tome he had been blocking. And shouldered past Yrene, back into civilisation.
Rubbing the shoulder where he had pushed past her, and scowling at it, Yrene said, “I’m not fully sure I want any part of him on me.”
Chaol gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Well, it must be inconvenient that you married his son. His heir, too, his eldest son.” Chaol’s voice had a bitter note to it as he left her side to limp over to a table which he leaned back on.
Yrene walked slowly to him, and took his stubbled chin in her hands. With him slouching onto the table like that, she appeared taller than him. From this elevated angle, the scar on his forehead was clearly visible, an infinitesimal mark carrying infinite pain.
“You are not the sum of your parents. You, of all people, should know that by now.” Any anger she thought she had been holding floated away, like the mythical will-o’-the-wisps. She gently ran her thumb along the scar and felt Chaol’s countenance soften. The draught from the open window rustled a page of the tome, like a reminder. Yrene withdrew, reluctantly. “First, we look at–”
“–the papers,” Chaol finished for her.
Yrene smiled, unable to take her eyes off him. “Exactly right.”
It faded as Yrene peered over the tome.
“A Record of Magic Users and Types of Torture.”
This was a record of murders. Yrene’s fingernails imprinted on the wood as the smell of smoke stuffed itself up her nostrils. The fact that these records had never been destroyed over these long years was sickening. More harrowing was the fact that neither the memory nor the smell had faded over these years. It had instead receded like an ebbing tide, poised to rush back in come nightfall.
Nightfall had most certainly come. A faint strip of moonlight illuminated the golden letters, the regal colour so at odds with everything it represented that it was dizzying. Yrene reached out a hand to lay it on the clothbound book and the stream of light disappeared, its source having been smothered by clouds. It was then that Yrene realised that she could hardly distinguish between the gold lettering and the red binding amidst her tears. They were swirling into one: red, gold, red and gold, gold and red, Adarlan’s colours, the perfect summation of all it had been and done.
Red for the blood, gold for the imperial command that permitted them to look the other way for bloodshed. Or stare it in the eye and laugh unashamedly at it.
She drew in a shuddering breath and turned to the index page.
“Yrene?”
She could no longer hear the quiet, concerned voice, no longer hear anything but her mother’s final, excruciating scream. It mingled with the sound of the soldiers’ laughter and leering. Her trembling finger ran down the dust-coated page, barely aware of what she was looking for. It was only when her finger halted itself at “Josefin Towers, page 1001” that her mind registered what was happening. And even then her hands were reeling out of her control, flicking to page one thousand and one, although some voice inside her wailed feebly for them to stop, because she did not want to know or hear precise, clinical accounts of what she had seen from afar, sheltered by a screen of smoke and distance–
“Yrene!”
Her eyes frantically scanned the page dedicated to her mother, her horrible, wicked imagination morphing words into images.
Magic-user: Josefin Towers
Assigned soldiers: Christopher Vang, John Creed, Baz Darion, Aris Westfall
Aris Westfall
Aris Westfall
Aris Westfall
We burnt her on a stake, as is customary. She tried to attack us, so we cut the very hand that attempted it, before burning–
She had no strength to drain by reading further. The world was a bleary cloud of tears, behind which burned the image of a pyre, newly refined by the report. Her handless mother, clutching a bloody stump to her chest and her hair matted in the smoky air, was being thrown into the flames. Her view tilted and Yrene sunk to the floor, onto the back of the table leg.
“Yrene!”
And suddenly Chaol was kneeling before her, eyes like liquid copper staring into hers. He gently pried her hand away from her face and clasped it in his. With his other hand, he wiped a tear away just as it trickled out of her eye. “What is it?” His thumb caressed her cheek in soft, soothing motions up and down. “What happened, Yrene?”
“It was him,” she whispered, the pressure of his thumb her only anchor to reality. “Your father… my mother… he did–” Her sentence ended in an inaudible croak; her mind swallowed the words she was unable to acknowledge.
“My father–” Chaol faltered. “–killed your mother?”
Yrene squeezed her eyes shut, opting for the oblivion it offered over the truth. A sob fought its way up her throat. “I don’t– I…”
Before Yrene could finish her disjointed sentence, the ringing in her ears superseded the screams and haughty crackle of flame. She grasped for the solid strength of an arm she had looped her own through a million times before, the last thing she did before she slipped into unconsciousness.
* * *
Chaol hardly knew what to do with himself. Every nerve in him had been strung tight, and snapped the minute he saw her fall unconscious. His very heartstrings, she, had been rendered into two.
Damn him for trying to distance himself from her.
Damn him for stopping himself from speaking to her.
Damn him for not being there for her in every way he could from the minute they had walked into the castle.
“Yrene?”
He shook her shoulders, which earned him only a half-murmur before her body once again went limp.
“Yrene!”
She stayed immobile as stone this time. Fear spread through his body, slow and insidious, like poison.
Chaol tried to sort through his addled mind to find any bits of basic first-aid Yrene had taught him, but he came up empty. All she could feel was that her hand was colder than they had been a half minute ago, as he put his hand into it. If something happened, right here, it would all be his own damn fault, for being so stubborn and immovable.
If something happened, right now, the last thing she had ever said to him would be a half-formed thought, about the blood coated on his father’s hands.
He laid his two hands under her legs and back and scooped Yrene’s limp body into his arms. She moved lightly in his arms and he instinctively shifted the crook of his elbow to cushion her head. Yrene emanated warmth, even now; her chest was rising and falling in a regular rhythm; her pulse beat regularly in her wrist. A new piece of hope lodged itself in his chest.
Yrene in his arms, he made his way to the ballroom.
* * *
The last thing Yrene remembered was nestling into the crook of an elbow, warmer than she had ever been in her life. She opened her eyes slowly and found herself ensconced in blankets. Every inch of her was wrapped and her face was pressed against a pillow as soft as heaven itself. But somehow, it was not nearly as comfortable as wherever she had been before. Or whoever. She had floated in and out of consciousness, only aware long enough to press herself further into his chest and hear his reassuring heartbeat and the steady rise and fall of his chest.
Yrene blinked the bleariness out of her eyes; she found that she was on a golden couch, back against the cushions. And if she lifted her head past the mountain of blankets… A figure sat atop an armchair. She knew him even with purple-smudged shadows under his eyes and the crease marks in his forehead.
“Chaol?”
“Yrene.”
He nearly ripped the blankets atop him in order to get to her. He subdued himself just as he crouched on the edge of the couch. “How are you feeling?”
“Good.” She smiled and reached out her hand to him.
He did not take it. “Do you remember anything that… happened yesterday?”
Yrene frowned.
Adamantly refusing to stay behind, and going to the palace with Chaol. Him passing her the heavenly kahve icecream. Them dancing under the lantern-light. Watching Lord Westfall leave the ballroom. Following him to the secluded room with Chaol. Reading the tome he had left behind.
Finding out who he really was. Finding that he was the murderer of her mother.
“I do.” Her frown deepened. “He was in the list of those who… who murdered her. Wasn’t he?”
Yrene’s voice trembled on the last two words, fearing the inevitable confirmation to come. Murder was a grotesque word. For most, Yrene imagined, it was characterised by the stab of a knife into someone’s heart, followed by the artificial, imagined image of squirting blood. For Yrene, ‘murder’ was defined only by the distinct smell of smoke and burning flesh. And now, a hand, freshly hacked off, the knuckles only just beginning to turn blue, tossed into the blaze.
Yrene sat up, her brain suddenly painfully awake. And Chaol was instantly there, guiding her up with a hand on the small of her back.
“I’m... so sorry, Yrene,” he said, reaching for her hand and intertwining it with his. ‘I knew what he had done, but I never imagined it would be so…”
Her throat stung. “Close to home?”
Chaol nodded silently.
Yrene willed her insides to stop quaking. “It shouldn’t change anything, but it feels… it feels as if it does.”
Chaol removed his hand from her back, letting it fall limply to his side. “It… does?” he echoed, and Yrene felt the absence of the slow, diffuse warmth of his hands between her shoulder blades like an eclipsed sun.
With a tremor in her voice, Yrene asked, “Did you read the report? The description?”
Chaol nodded again, not quite meeting her eye.
The exact words of the reports came back to her, as vivid as they had been the first time she had read them.
We burnt her on a stake, as is customary. She tried to attack us, so we cut the very hand that attempted it.
What she was thinking and saying was out of her grasp now. “They burned her alive, and it took me years to come to terms with that. And now I find that it wasn’t all they did, that I hadn’t even seen it all–”
“Yrene… your mother wouldn’t have wanted you to see that torture or remember her in that moment.” His voice softened, as he came around the side of the sofa. “She’d want you to remember her smiling and laughing in your cottage, or teaching you how to make gooseberry pie.”
Some fragment of her settled at the memory of domesticity, the loud, spontaneous baking sessions where her mother would dance her around the kitchen floor. At the end of the day, the rough wooden floors would be littered with gooseberry, flour, and sugar.
But there was something else gnawing at her heart.
“But that isn’t the worst of it. It’s that I’ve known the man who murdered her and I didn’t know.” Her thoughts were like fine thread, unspooling past her control.“This whole time, and I didn’t have a clue. He was right there before me and I didn’t stop, I didn’t–”
“Yrene. Yrene, listen to me.” He placed his hands on his shoulders, quelling the shiver that had overtaken it. “You need to breathe.”
She tried. She really did try to inhale and exhale, to release all the coiled-up fear inside her. But her insides knotted themselves into tighter knots. Her windpipe was knotted up, the air was strangled out.
“Yrene, listen to me. You are going to be just fine.” The hands on her shoulders were simultaneously gentle and firm. A tether softly drawing her back to reality. Not a forceful jerk, but a slow, measured, patient pull. “Listen to me. It was not your fault that you did not know something that he actively tried to hide.” Her shoulders eased. There was something unflinching, almost sturdy, about his voice that lulled her mind into calm. “And it was through your own cleverness, your own acuity, that you figured it out. You sought out what you didn’t know, instead of choosing to stay ignorant. You did not do nothing.”
Would it have been better, she wondered, to dwell in ignorance, or to know a truth that caused her physical, agonising pain? But somehow… somehow, she felt that she would rather know, to understand the entirety of what had happened. It showed that her mother was strong and proved that she had an iron will. She had howled and screamed, but she had not pleaded: she had respected herself throughout, refusing to let herself bow to that regime, even with a hand torn off, even while staring into Hellas’s very maw.
Her mother was strong, and Yrene would not let her be defined by who had last thrown her into the stake.
Resolute, Yrene said, “I don’t care what he did to her, because she did not succumb to them despite it.” Her voice grew in strength as she went on, “My mother was strong and brave and unyielding, and she did not give in.” Yrene was surprised to find herself blinking tears out of her eyes, but they were ones borne from pride, rather than numb sorrow.
“Good.” Chaol smiled slowly at her, before leaning in to wipe a teardrop from her cheek, and then pressed a kiss against it. “You take after her, you know? I saw that just now, more than ever.”
“Well, I’d like to think that I–”
“You do.” The unwavering trust contained in those two words was all she needed. Yrene relaxed against the soft cushions of their couch.
A crease appeared between his eyebrows. “Are you feeling well?” Chaol put a hand on her forehead. “Do you need water, tea, another healer?”
Yrene laughed. “As a healer myself, I can confirm that I’m in perfectly good condition.”
“Wait here.” He hurried to the adjoining kitchen, stride as quick as ever: he had certainly recovered from last night. Her healer’s eye tracked it all, the way he had reverted back to his usual, erect posture.
“Did you mishear me, when I told you I was alright?” she shouted at his retreating back.
Without missing a beat, without even turning around, he chuckled. He shouted back, past the gurgle of boiling water on the kettle, “When have you ever believed me when I tell you I’m completely alright?”
He knew her far, far too well: it was getting harder and harder for her to argue with him effectively. Another laugh escaped her, as if this final revelation had unlocked them all.
Chaol returned a few minutes later, two cups of tea in hand. One was considerably more full than the other, sloshing over the cup into the saucer.
“I’m guessing the overflowing one is for me?”
“Absolutely.” He handed her the cup. “You’re the ill one here.”
“I did tell you I was–”
“Completely alright? Yes, I heard.”
“I believe it was ‘in perfectly good condition’, actually,” she quoted back to him, grinning.
Chaol rolled his eyes. “Ever the pedant. Now, will you please drink the tea?”
She took a small sip just to satisfy him. Her eyebrows rose. “Peppermint tea with honey.”
“Is there too little honey? Should I go get some more?”
“No, it’s perfect.” Seeing him continue to stand in the same spot, Yrene asked, “Aren’t you going to sit down?”
Chaol resumed his usual seat on the sofa and stretched out on it with a sigh. “Does the tea bring back any memories?”
It did. Lovely as the kahve icecream had been, the memories and nostalgia that one sip of the peppermint tea had wrought in her was unmatched. Yrene remembered sitting in this exact spot, the area perhaps not as worn and sunken as continual use had made it now. She remembered seeing the first true glimpse of the man before her, as if the healing had not only stripped away his physical strength but also the facade of impassivity that he had donned. She remembered the first sight of his genuine care, of his concern that she had glimpsed, that she now felt every moment of every day. She remembered the first sight of love within her, like an unblown rose with a single petal that had dared to unfurl.
Her smile now was one such that could light the homes of Rifthold for another good month. Funny how her mood had changed over the course of a few minutes.
“I’ll take that for a yes, then?”
“Everything was very different, back then, wasn’t it?” Yrene set her half-full cup on the low table before them. “That is, except for one thing.”
“That we still can’t seem to agree on anything?”
The corner of Yrene’s mouth kicked up.“I disagree with that statement.” And they both leaned toward each other just in time for their lips to meet in the middle.
It had simultaneously been no time at all, and all the time in the world since their last kiss. It was both the familiar, flower-laced scent of the garden she walked through every day, and the smells of a homeland long left behind. Yrene’s hands tangled in his hair, locks slightly, endearingly overgrown at the ends. He tugged her closer, guiding her chin upwards. Had the sensation of fire always been so pleasant, like one could never want reprieve from it, or tire of it? It was the taste of peppermint and honey mixed together, the taste of the hearth and home that she would never stop returning to. No matter what cleaved them apart.
Even if that immovable force was their own, stubborn selves.
They pulled away.
“Well, about the disagreements…” Yrene said, grinning like a fool. “Perhaps we can make exceptions to agree on some things.”
Chaol laughed. “Like this?” He kissed her again, the lovely sunlight peeking in through gold, chintz curtains. She smiled against his lips, wishing the moment would never end.
The door creaked open under the push of a tiny hand. The two of them sprung apart, and burst into laughter. “Mama’s awake!” Josie exclaimed. She sprung onto the couch and into both of their outstretched arms, eventually finding a comfortable position in Yrene’s lap.
“I am awake. And you know what that means?’ Yrene asked, stroking Josie’s hair. “We’re making gooseberry pie.”
Josie squealed. Joy was a beautiful, strange thing: it was infectious. It only took one to light up a room, and when you were seated in a particular golden couch, in a particular house on the outskirts of Rifthold? It was abundant. It was everywhere. You needed to look no further than those trivial arguments to find that joy. And sometimes, as it had now, it was those little disagreements that brought that joy to light and illuminated it. Yrene tipped her head back on the cushions of their sofa. “We really do end up on this gold couch, one way or the other, don’t we?”
The corner of Chaol’s mouth tugged upward. “Every time.”
As the daylight leaked through the curtains and bathed the room in gold, Yrene realised that this was the one place she could return to every lifetime, and still live a happy, content woman. The couch they were seated on was not perfect by any means, the costly fabric having been hacked apart back in Antica. But they had painstakingly sewed it back together, and though you could still see the thread holding the cuts together, it was more beautiful this way. A patchwork of imperfections, rather than an unrealistic, idealistic display.
This was the only place she would never tire of seeing, the only that she would circle back to no matter what.
if you were dying, i would inextricably bind my life inextricably to yours even if it meant your death would cause mine, but you're not nerdy enough to understand
“Sunbathing? That was the first thing that you thought of?” Chaol stared, mouth hanging open, at Yrene.
She shrugged. “How was I to know you wouldn’t like it?”
“I grew up on a mountain range,” he said, as levelly as he could manage. “I would say that’s clue enough.”
“There’s always a time for new things,” Yrene said brightly, interlocking her fingers with his.
Chaol snapped back, “Not if said thing causes your skin to burn.”
“I made you slather on that ointment before coming here for that exact reason,” Yrene reasoned, withdrawing her hand from his to loop her arms around his neck. As inclined as he was to run back into the shade, to hide himself from the sweltering heat, Chaol couldn’t help but appreciate his wife, standing before him.
Her golden-brown eyes twinkled in the sunlight, her long lashes casting shadows over her cheeks. Chaol lifted a hand to her cheek to graze a finger over the rosy blush that sat high upon them. Inexplicably drawn to her, he pressed a kiss to her brow, over the stray brown hairs that the light breeze had set loose. Grouchily, he declared, “I’m staying under the parasol for all of it.”
Yrene laughed, and it was all Chaol could do not to gather her in his arms and kiss her right then and there. “We’ll see.”
Chaol and Yrene settled themselves on beach blankets, Chaol in the shade a few metres away from her. Yrene lounged, tilting her head up to the sun. As always, she didn’t fail to take his breath away. There was not a moment in which she was not beautiful, but now, she was sunshine come alive, resplendence given form.
Her brown eyes turned lighter and freer in the sunshine. A light breeze stirred her hair, a curl tickling her face. Eyes now closed, her lips curved upward in a soft smile.
Chaol thought that if he were the sun now, shining gently down on her and kissing her brown skin, he would never set, in favour of looking down on her for eternity. The thought passed through him and then settled, like a sinking stone in a pond.
“Suit yourself,” Yrene said irritably, shifting onto her side and putting her back to him. The warmth faded away, like it had never been. He could have sworn the gulls, croaking just a few moments ago, paused. It felt like the world had gone into an endless eclipse, like someone had taken the world he knew and replaced it with one wreathed in shadows.
Chaol shot up, his heart plummeting. He had to duck underneath the parasol but he did not want to experience the heat outside, not yet.
He had hid himself away for far too long. He had sealed his true self deep within him, and had wrapped it in layers and layers of coldness and indifference that no one could have even hoped to breach. For twenty years, he had made himself a dark, frigid night like those in Anielle, colourless and lightless. Yrene had been one of the first to see through it, through to the trembling, tentative boy. The first light that broke through to the dark.
The war was over. It seemed counterintuitive to conceal himself once more. So Chaol let himself feel all that he had restricted himself from all these years. He took one step forward into the sun, his toes sinking in the sand. He did not mind the sensation, not at all.
The sun did not burn his skin. The warmth it provided felt like a soft caress against his skin, as if to say, “Where have you been all this while, my child?”
He lay down on the space next to Yrene and wrapped his arms around her waist. She fit perfectly in the circle of his arms.
“What changed your mind?” Yrene asked, leaning her head back on his chest.
Chaol contemplated, not because he did not know the answer, but because there were no words for it. At last, he said, “I… I denied myself things like this for too long. Because I was afraid of what I might feel if I did.” Suddenly aware of how close she was, Chaol whispered into her ear, “I think you helped me learn what it is like to live.”
This time louder and more confidently, “You taught me how to live, Yrene.” His voice did not tremble or quaver as he said: he knew the statement was true.Yrene turned to nestle her head against
his chest. Moments later, she looked up at him, eyes filled with such emotion it was difficult to breathe. “I’m glad for that.”
24 if you write chaorene, otherwise feel free to do absolutely any other character you like!!
Chaorene, one of my fav tog ships😍 they’re sooo underrated.
24, tender for the microfics
The war was over, but life’s stresses were not over.
Yrene gently rubbed her swollen belly, feeling a distinct desire for avocado ice cream, though she didn’t know if that even existed. Certainly she had never had avocados that way in Fenharrow, and avocados were native there.
“Chaol?” she called. Immediately he came running over. “I have it I have it!” he called, brandishing a bottle of olive oil triumphantly. He carefully lifted her shirt and began to rub the oil into her abdomen. His touch was so warm and tender, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he rubbed soothing circles on her belly.
“I am in the mood for avocado ice cream,” Yrene said conversationally as he massaged her. Without skipping a beat, he said sadly, “I don’t know where to get avocados.”
“Do you not get them at the market?” Yrene was confused. Where she came from, you could get avocados almost as easily as water. Chaol shook his head. “I remember Dorian telling me…apparently the avocados only grow in Fenharrow, and after they were massacred, well…the avocado supply is limited these days.”
Yrene sighed. “Please try?” He nodded and pressed a kiss to her belly. “Of course,” he said.
Several hours later, Chaol returned. His face was flushed pink, and his hands were laden with bags. Yrene got up from the couch and walked over to him.
“What’s all this?” she asked, and Chaol shook his head, utterly baffled. “The ladies at the supermarket offered me various different options to help your cravings. I didn’t know who to listen to, so I bought it all.”
“My handsome husband always getting harassed by the ladies,” Yrene teased. “Do I need to put a collar on you?”
Chaol’s face turned beet red, and Yrene had to laugh. “I told them it’s for my wife,” he muttered. Yrene patted his shoulder. “Some women find that attractive, sweetheart. Did you find the avocados?”
“Yes, but they’re a little overripe. I’m sorry, baby.”
Yrene smiled. At last. “No problem. Where are they?”
Chaol lifted the middle bag slightly higher, and Yrene dug her hands into it. When she found an avocado, she dug her nails into it before peeling off the skin little by little. Then she unceremoniously bit into the top of the avocado.
“Wait!” Chaol yelped, reaching for the avocado. “What about ice cream?”
Yrene shrugged. “I changed my mind,” she said before spitting out the seed.”
Chaol watched his wife, thoroughly baffled but relieved. Pregnancy hormones truly were a mystery.
what are your favorite headcannons for the following couples [be as detailed as you can]
Anidala
Elorcan
Snowbaird
Chaolrene
So sorry I answered this late! Exam week took me out.
Anidala: I love the idea of Anakin being an artist and whenever he is gone for a long time he sketches Padme! I bet their apartment is full of his drawings of her :))
Padme is DEFINITELY the strict parent, lol. Anakin tries his best but he just can't resist his little twin babies! Also I headcanon that baby Leia refuses to sleep anywhere but on Anakin lool.
I believe Padme is Force-sensitive and when they're long apart they communicate with each other through dreams.
This one is NSFW
The first time they had sex, Anakin (who was definitely a virgin) straight up started sobbing after 30 seconds and busted. He was so embarrassed by it despite Padme's numerous attempts to comfort him, lmaooo. Don't worry though, Anakin is a quick learner ;)
Elorcan: I loveeee the idea of Lorcan being the one who teaches her how to read and how to defend herself. Because of her small stature and cunning nature, he trains her to use a knife rather than a sword.
Elide brings home a stray cat once and keeps it despite Lorcan's protests (he hates cats because of a bad experience in his youth). It doesn't take long for him to warm up to the little black kitty tho; within two weeks, Lorcan is making this feline homemade salmon meals
Elide and Yrene's friendship forces Lorcan and Chaol to hang out with each other a lot, and they eventually become good friends!
Snowbaird: One of my favorite headcanons of them is that their kids will have goth and punk aesthetics, basically the complete opposite of their parents. "It's not a phase, dad!" is a phrase they'll hear often!
NSFW
Coryo and Lucy Gray definitely fucked in that meadow btw because I said so they fucked in that meadow your honor I was there-
Coryo and Lucy Gray have a breeding kink. Lucy Gray is always fucking pregnant. Coryo definitely also has a praise kink; he asks every time after they have sex how he did, and if it's not a perfect score they go again. Modern AU Coryo definitely does "research" before fucking her the first time by watching porn but can't bear to watch it because a) he finds it distasteful and b) he's ace.
Angsty but I'm convinced Coryo was only able to fuck Livia (if indeed they got married) by being as impersonal as possible, lights off, her back to him, and he imagines Lucy Gray. Basically her ghost haunts their entire marriage.
Chaorene: I would love to see Yrene and Chaol visit the place her mother died together. I imagine it would be a healing experience for both of them and really solidify their marriage.
Their first kid (the one Yrene was pregnant with) is a boy and despite its rarity, is born with the healing gift. He spends a little too much time with Uncle Dorian and is a major chaos gremlin.
synopsis: snow arrives in adarlan for the first time in the three years after the war. chaol and yrene decide it is time to show their three-year-old daughter exactly what snow - and a snowman - is.
notes: i wrote half of this on christmas eve in 2023 and never got round to finishing it... so two years later, here it is, finished! it's also one of the first fics i started writing if memory serves. hope you enjoy it <3
Snuggled under this warm blanket, with Yrene's brown curls nestled against him, Chaol didn't think he wanted to be anywhere else. Their toddler, apparently having inherited her father's ability to withstand the cold, was sitting on the tiled floor, head bent over some wooden blocks she had been gifted for her third birthday, a few months ago.
To him, it felt like she was born yesterday, like it was yesterday that he had cradled that tiny body in his arms and held her tight. But now here she was, clutching those brightly coloured blocks in her small hands and waddling towards him with a smile that mirrored her mother's.
Chaol reached his arms out to Josie – or tried to – before he found that the body rested on top of it was leaning heavily upon his arm. He glanced at Yrene and found her with her eyes closed and face softened by sleep. She looked... angelic.
Chaol put a finger to his lips and whispered, "Mummy is asleep." Josie reached their bed, crawled to his side and looked at her sleeping mother. And let out a high-pitched giggle.
"Josie, no. Don't wake up Mama, alright?"
She apparently understood because she turned towards the windows of their house and simply stared out. Chaol let out a sigh of relief and looked back at Yrene, not the slightest sign of disturbance on her face. He wasn't surprised: barely anything could rouse Yrene once she was asleep.
Josie started to shake his free arm. He wrapped his arm round her. "Yes?"
"Daddy, why raining white?"
"Raining white?" Chaol frowned and looked at the windows. It was... snowing. 'Raining white'.
He laughed. "That's called snow, Josie. You've seen it before."
"No, I never see!"
"You've seen snow–" he paused and thought about the past winters. It had been unnaturally warm these past few years. It hadn't snowed for two years, unusual for an Adarlanian winter. Chaol and Yrene had joked about it, saying that Adarlan had decided not to torment Yrene too much with its brutal winters.
Chaol smiled. "No, you haven't seen snow at all, Josie. Do you want to go out and look at it later, after Mummy wakes up?"
Quicker than he could stop her, she reached out and crawled onto Yrene's lap and began to shake her shoulders. "Mummy! Wake up!"
"Josie! You can't–"
Yrene opened her eyes. Sleepily, she murmured, "Just a few more–"
Josie's face stretched out in a wide grin. "The rain's white! We need to see!"
"White... rain?" Blearily, she looked over at Chaol, bemused. Her expression and the state of hair was almost comical.
"It's snowing." He smiled at her. "That's why Josie woke you up. She hasn't seen snow before."
"Imagine, your daughter not knowing what snow is." Yrene was still groggy with sleep but humour found its way into her voice.
Chaol chuckled. "We'll have to fix that, won't we?" A little quieter, he told her, "I'm sorry we woke you up."
"I'm sure I could sacrifice a few minutes of my nap to teach my daughter what snow is.
"We go out?" Josie asked. "Please?" She tugged on Yrene's sleeve.
Chaol couldn't help but laugh. He stood up, and grabbed his cane, currently propped up against their bed. With his free hand, he gestured to Yrene and Josie to follow him out into the "white rain".
White rain.
He snorted.
xxx
By the time Yrene and Josie had walked outside, Chaol had already bent over and picked up a ball of snow in his hands. The cane left marks on the snow for the two to follow towards him. He wasn't entirely sure why he'd brought his cane along; he certainly didn't need it, after Yrene's sleep had restored her magic. He leaned it against the garden shed.
The sleep had restored Yrene's energy too. In the faint sunshine that escaped the clouds up above, her face was refreshed. Glowing. But even that didn't match the joy written all over Josie's face as she trudged through the snow. She was looking wonderingly at the blanket of white that her footprints made a mark on. Those eyes, a perfect mix of his brown and Yrene's gold, lit with joy when she noticed him holding a snowball in his hands. She ran towards him, small feet making prints upon the layer of snow, and held her hands out to hold the snowball.
Chaol crouched down in front of her and handed her the snowball, now melting in his hands.
"It's cold!" she exclaimed before flattening it in her hand. "Yes, snow is cold."
"Snow?"
"It's not called white rain, Jose. It's snow.""I like snow then!" Their daughter grinned.
Yrene arrived to where Chaol knelt in front of their daughter, mouth stretched wide in a grin that Chaol would have memorised if he could. "Do you want to build a snowman?"
Josie squealed. "Yes!"
"Now, we need to get three big snowballs. One this big." He held his hands far apart from each other to depict the size of the first part of the snowman. "I'll show you."
Josie moved back. He scooped up a ball of snow, barely as big as his palm. Chaol started to gather up the snow near it and added it to the ball. Yrene crouched down and began to make a second snowball of her own.
Yrene said, "Jose, you can make the smallest one – the head of the snowman!" Their toddler shrieked in delight. Yrene pulled out a pair of kid gloves out of her coat pocket and told Josie, "But you have to wear these first."
She held out her hands for Yrene to put them on – surprisingly, unnaturally obedient. She slipped the gloves onto Josie's hands and said, "You can play now."
She immediately got to work.Chaol lifted an eyebrow at Yrene. "What witchcraft have you done on her to make her so obedient?"
She shrugged. "I don't know myself."
xxx
All three of them had finished their own parts of their snowman. Josie had managed it – albeit with some help towards the end.
Yrene picked up her own snowball, the middle part of the snowman, and placed it on top Chaol's snowball. It was half as tall as Chaol at the moment. A considerable achievement, Yrene thought, for a snowman.
Yrene snapped herself out of her thoughts and glanced at Josie, who was struggling to place the final snowball on top. She wasn't even nearly tall enough to reach up to there, even with her arms stretched out like that. Chaol effortlessly carried her and lifted her up just enough for her to be able to put the last snowball on top of their snowman. Still being carried by her father, Josie clapped her hands. Chaol carefully put her back on the ground.
"Is it done?" she asked.
"No, we still need to make the face and the arms," Yrene told her.
"Let's see... we need... " Chaol ticked the items off on his hands. "Stones for the eyes, a carrot for the nose, more stones for the mouth and buttons and a scarf." His face cracked into a smile. "Looks like we need to go back inside."
Tearing off her gloves, Yrene rushed into their kitchen, Chaol and Josie not far behind. She opened up a cupboard with the carrots inside and grabbed one – the smallest of them. "I've got a carrot!"
"We got scarf!" Josie shouted from the bedroom.
"I found some stones we collected last autumn," Chaol said, holding the jar up.Smiles on all their faces, the family went back outside to finish off their snowman before it melted.
To their relief, the snow or snowman had not melted by the time they went back outside. Chaol tied a scarf onto the snowman's neck. "To keep him warm," he explained to the toddler now perched happily on his shoulders.
Yrene passed a carrot to Josie, now towering over her. Josie stuck the carrot in the middle of the snowman's head, like Yrene had told her to do.
And at last, Chaol arranged some stones on the snowman's face and body, to be its eyes, mouth and buttons.
"Something missing," Josie murmured from above Chaol.
"What is it?" Yrene asked.
Josie flailed her arms wildly to tell him to let her off his shoulders. Chaol knew enough now that if he did not let her off, she would find a way to throw herself off instead. He laughed quietly. Stubborn little thing.
He lowered them both to the ground, allowing Josie to slip off and find whatever she wanted to.
Josie's eyes darted around for a while, looking for something to add to their little creation. Then she ran off to grab whatever she had found. When she came back, it was with his cane. Covered in snow from when he had discarded it before they had even started making the snowman.
"The snowman wants it!" she told him.
Yrene said, "Daddy needs it, Josie."
"But–" Josie's lower lip began to tremble.
"Josie, you know that–" Yrene began sternly. Their daughter burst out into tears.
Chaol glanced at Yrene, who looked like she was fighting back tears of her own. She worried at her lip. Just the sight made Chaol's heart clench.
"It's fine," he mouthed to Yrene. Yrene, noticing it, knelt on the floor and held her arms open to Josie, who barrelled into them, sobbing in the way toddlers did. Yrene rubbed at her back, soothing her.
"We can use it," Yrene started, gesturing with an arm to the cane discarded on the floor, "if we return to get it back in a few hours. Do you understand?"
"Yes!" Josie turned and ran towards the cane. Her small fingers wrapped around the wood and she toddled over to the snowman a few feet away. As she wedged it, albeit with some effort, into the side of the snowman, Chaol began to smile.It was everything he had hoped for – and more. His imagination of moments like these had done little to capture the real beauty of it. You could see a sight a thousand times in a painting and still being stunned by the reality of it.
That was what Chaol felt as he beheld it, his wife and daughter surrounding a snowman, grinning widely, in a way that Chaol's own parents never had. He had spent so long imagining happiness but here it was, beautiful and splendid, in front of him. And Chaol could not help but feel in awe of it all.
That despite it all, he had made it to this place, this moment. There had been many times that he had wished he had not made it, but now, he was grateful, more than ever, to have walked down this path. However sad or bloody it might have been.
Yrene caught Chaol's eye and smiled. And Chaol could not help the stutter his heart gave at it, nor the smile he returned without thinking.
open to all asks, unless you are kashin or other individuals who I won't be naming. you know who you are.
i write pretty much exclusively for chaol westfall x yrene towers (throne of glass). I write mostly for Chaol x Yrene (Throne of Glass) and Elain x Lucien (ACOTAR).
multichapter fics:
ELUCIEN: MY HOUSE OF STONE, MEADOWSWEET GROWS (tumblr | ao3)
Elain shivered, and despite herself, despite every reason why she had shied away from the male sprawled before her, she gingerly placed two fingers to his throat, where his pulse beat – a junction between life and death.
Elain seems perfectly content to ignore Lucien, the mating bond and the way the Inner Circle quietly but unmistakably sets her aside. But when Lucien falls suddenly, grievously ill on the Winter Solstice, hiding may no longer be an option. And when a visit to the Dawn Court - famed for its healing - seems imminent, can Elain find it in her to leave the Night Court for a foreign land and abandon all she has ever known for her mate's sake?
Written for Elucien Week 2026.
completed oneshots: (over 1000 words)
CHAORENE: HONEY, HELL IS WHEN I FIGHT WITH YOU (tumblr | ao3)
Gods damn it, why did everything circle back to his wife? ... His wife, that he was definitely fuming at. He was furious at her. Absolutely.
Chaol and Yrene have had a fight, and both of them equally stubborn, are trying to avoid each other as much as possible. But when a ball forces them to go to the palace together, and a common enemy (who might share the last name Westfall) re-emerges, they might have no choice but to work together...
CHAORENE: THE MOST BRILLIANT FATHER (tumblr | ao3)
“That I didn’t back him in his newest proposal at court, that I still hadn’t upheld my promise, what a disgrace I was to the family name.”
He meant the words in jest, but he couldn’t help the current of tension that ran underneath it.
Chaol and Yrene have had a baby and it seems they couldn't get any happier. But Chaol has some doubts and fears... it's up to Yrene to convince him otherwise. Written for SJM Romance Week 2025.
CHAORENE: WHAT THE STORM BRINGS (tumblr | ao3)
Chaol and Yrene are enjoying a peaceful retreat to the beaches in Antica when the confession slips out. Written for SJM Romance Week 2025.
CHAORENE: STARS AND GOOSEBERRIES (tumblr | ao3)
Chaol and Yrene are glad to move into their new house after surviving the greatest war of their lifetimes. Years later, along with their two-year-old daughter, an old family tradition is reintroduced. Written for SJM Romance Week 2025.
CHAORENE: HAPPINESS, HERE IT WAS (tumblr, ao3)
Snow arrives in Adarlan for the first time in the three years after the war. Chaol and Yrene decide it is time to show their three-year-old daughter exactly what snow - and a snowman - is.
YRENELAIN: ETERNALLY TOWARD THE SUN (tumblr, ao3)
What happens two people who have squashed their own identities for other people's sake and remained kind throughout it all find each other? In which Elain and Yrene fall in love. Written for SJM Sapphic Showdown, Day 3 - Slice of Life.
completed ficlets: (under 1000 words)
CHAORENE: CAROB SWEETS (ao3)
Chaol and Yrene visiting a sweet shop in Antica during Tower of Dawn. Just fluff.
CHAORENE: LET THE SUNSHINE IN (tumblr, ao3)
Yrene takes Chaol sunbathing - but Chaol really, really doesn't want to go. (Microfic based on the words 'help' and 'sunbathing'.)
