#firehcart.

[stovmborn]

𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐄  📜  𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐒.

daenerys  &  aelin    ―   @firehcart​.

[stareternyl]

@firehcart. ( crescent city au )

every nerve, every cell, every molecule of feyre’s body ached. her arms almost felt too weak to hold the burger she was attempting to inhale, empty stomach all but screaming at her after the exertion of her bouts in the fighting ring. left eye was bruised and swollen, making it hard to enjoy – let alone see – the sunball game on the television in front of her. when the door of her joint apartment squeaked by way of announcing its opening, she didn’t bother looking over her shoulder, knowing full well her muscles would protest. she knew who it was, anyway.  

aelin came into view a few short moments later, eyes assessing the scene in front of her. feyre did the same, with her one good eye; enough to spot the blood still drying on her roommates black attire, leaving a particular shine she struggled not to notice now she was accustom to it. “looks like we both had a big night—and don’t worry. you should see the other guy.” the demifae did her best to sound jovial, even if her smirk ended up looking more like a grimace. to distract, she held up the paper bag of takeout. “want some? i've got extra chips.” 

[stareternyl]

@firehcart.

war meant sacrifice, feyre knew this. intimately knew the things that love, loyalty and protecting of people could mean a heavy loss of oneself. but for the war in erilea — none had given quite like aelin galathynius.

over their diplomatic meetings, the youngest archeron and still learning high lady had discovered the trials and tribulations the fae far across the seas had gone through. not only that, but she’d found a friend; a confidant in the form of the golden haired queen, who radiated a warmth like the fire in her was hearth and home now. it was a kindling ember after the multiple battles and it had stayed as such, aelin had indicated.

there’s an importance to learning the limit to ones power, in nurturing it, and that’s how feyre landed flat on her back whilst her torso was overcome with a burning sensation.

she grunted in pain immediately after the impact. there was no movement for a moment, not until the grass was flattened by her as aelin jogged over. thankfully her illyrian leathers had been equipped with the ability to be fire resistant, but it hadn’t stopped the discomfort of heat. wincing up at the sky, feyre stuck a hand in the air with a lack of shame, and it wasn’t long before aelin’s fingers laced with her own to haul her up from the floor.

stumbling into an upright position, feyre couldn’t help but chuckle, taking a moment to dust the dirt off her armour before looking up and locking into aelin's gaze. “well, that was certainly a little more than the flames you used to tickle me with,” she pauses as she rolls her shoulders to loosen the muscles, a flick of her wrist causing a rumble in the water near them as wolves began to form. “again.”

[stovmborn-arc]

𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍 𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐘𝐍𝐈𝐔𝐒   /   @firehcart.

𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐍. You do not yield. Gaze lingers on the woman before her now, and part of her seems to consider that she should perhaps be on bended knee – but she stands tall, chin raised, and for the first time in years there’s no chains to weigh her down. Scars laced across her flesh, perhaps, to tell a thousand stories of a girl who has lived too many hells, but freedom is a gift, and it tastes divine as her chest rises and falls, and she breathes it in a little more eagerly with every passing moment. Freedom, gifted to a woman who has made her reputation by surviving each day in the fighting pits, a thousand lashes for every escape attempt, seven hells a hotter inferno than most may ever bear. And she owes it to one woman.

When she speaks now, approaches, her chin lowers slightly out of respect – her own frame is still covered with blood and gore from the day’s slaughter, and where her gaze flickers over silken fineries, it occurs to her that she should perhaps feel some small sense of shame to stand in such condition before a QUEEN. But it bothers the royal not, so it seems, and she can’t help the words that leave her lips as they fall.

“Forgive me, your Grace – but no one in this world is, it seems.”

Unspoken, that she’s seen the threats directed towards the smaller woman before her still, knows of the unrest that stirs within city’s walls ; she’ll give her own life to that cause, should she need to. Still, her knee finally bends – and though her blade is dull and rotted at the hilt, her hands offer it nonetheless ; not bowing out of duty, nor out of obligation, but a pledge of her allegiances.

“You have my sword in trying to make it one, though. I swear it.”

                pride  swells  within  her  chest,  akin  to  flames  that  begin  to  burn  beneath  the  ribs  of  a  dragon.  it  is  liberating,  knowing  that  freedom  has  not  merely  been  handed  to  people  like  the  woman  who  falls  to  her  knees  but  has  instead,  been  taken  with  their  own  hands    –––    bloody,  broken,  bruised  but  now  unbound.  daenerys  stormborn  had  also  once  been  a  slave,  chained  and  held  prisoner.  she  had  been  whipped  by  words,  mutilated  by  men  and  diminished  until  she  was  nothing  more  than  ash  on  the  ground.  though  here  she  stood  now,  reborn  admist  salt  and  smoke.  no  longer  was  she  the  frightened  little  girl  lost  within  the  dothraki  sea.  no,  she  was  a  queen  who  had  armoured  herself  with  scales  so  that  she  could  never  be  harmed  again.  

 petals  curve  into  a  smile,  though  her  heart  remains  within  the  fighting  pits.  it  has  been  left  in  the  sand,  tainted  by  torment  and  the  many  footsteps  of  those  who  had  lost  their  lives,  all  for  the  means  of  entertainment.  stomach  curdled  like  the  stain  of  blood,  knowing  that  she  had  been  the  one  to  agree  to  their  re-opening,  for  the  sake  of  instilling  peace  within  slavers  bay.  ❝  rise,  celaena  sardothien.  i  am  thankful  for  your  sword. ❞   a  hand  extends  itself  to  the  warrior  woman,  admiration  clouding  over  valyrian  features  as  head  tilts  to  the  side.  ringlets  of  silver  are  set  aflame  from  the  sunlight  that  steals  its  way  into  her  quarters,  gesturing  over  to  the  table  where  wine  awaits.  ❝  but  i  must  ask  you  ...  if  you  could  return  to  your  home  rather  than  swearing  yourself  to  fight  yet  more  battles  that  are  not  your  own,  would  you? ❞

[stovmborn-arc]

𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐄  📜  𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐒.

daenerys  +  aelin   (  @firehcart  ).