Rowaelin Month 2025, Day 15: Flipped POV @rowaelinscourt
little bit late but enjoy this little Rowan POV of *that* rooftop scene in Queen of Shadows 😉
Word count: 1.4k
Warnings: lots of emotions
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That dress would be the end of him.
Over three centuries, and Rowan Whitethorn's near-legendary willpower had never drawn so close to its breaking point as it had in the opulent dining room of Arobynn Hamel's mansion as he watched the red-haired human male who reeked of old blood and arrogance trace his steel-gray gaze down Aelin's body. Hell, he'd nearly toppled the damn table when she'd made that remark about her undergarments---or rather, her lack thereof. The only thing keeping Rowan from recreating the table leg legend was the discomfort he sensed simmering under Aelin's lazy smile. For Aelin, for the queen he was now blood-sworn to protect, he would leash his temper.
He knew his rage had been thick enough to touch when they left, when he couldn't tear his gaze away from the black ring on Aelin's finger. He knew his relief had been equally palpable, and he'd cursed the king of Adarlan for keeping him from shifting into his hawk form so he could fly out of that carriage and expend his anger in flight. None of the others, least of all his queen, deserved to see him stewing in his own immortal turmoil.
Aelin had been uncharacteristically silent the whole drive back to her apartment, and when the carriage stopped, she was the first one out, not stopping to let Aedion prop open the door. The weight of her discomfort still lingered; Rowan sensed its heaviness dragging behind her like an iron chain. But when he quietly entered her bedroom, it was empty. The window was propped open, and a breeze curled across the room, bearing the metallic tang of an impending rainstorm.
"I'd wager she's on the rooftop." Rowan whirled around, finding the shifter standing in the doorway. Lysandra. "She often sits up there if she needs to think."
Rowan nodded. "Where are the stairs?"
Lysandra chuckled. "Aelin lived here just after she got out of the Assassins' Guild. She'd never choose a building with such an obvious escape."
"I should have guessed." Rowan turned back to the window and pushed the glass all the way open. About an arm's reach away, a set of metal ladder rungs were bolted to the brick exterior.
"Rowan." Lysandra's voice held an undercurrent of worry. "Aelin is..." She folded her arms across her chest. "Arobynn broke her mind, too." A whistle sounded from street level, and Lysandra stepped back. "I need to go. Let her think." She hurried back down to the waiting carriage.
Let her think. The shifter's words echoed in Rowan's head. He would---but he needed to see Aelin, too. He needed to see that she was safe.
He pushed himself up, perching on the window ledge, and he reached out and grasped the closest rung of the ladder built into the outer wall of the building. He swung himself out and across and found a foothold a few rungs below, and he scaled the steps up to a metal grate walkway that ran along the side of the warehouse's roof. The downpour from earlier had softened to a steady drizzle, and the grate was slick beneath his feet. The walkway stopped where the roof flattened out, and as Lysandra had said, that was where he found Aelin. She stood alone on the wide, rough tiles of the rooftop, silhouetted against the night sky. The streetlamps from below cast a faint glow onto the serpentine golden curves of the dragon roaring up her spine, and for a moment, he just stared, fixated on the queen with fire in her veins and sorrow on her shoulders.
"I can hear you brooding," Aelin said, breaking the silence.
Rowan huffed and crossed the rooftop, closing the distance between them. "You'll ruin that dress standing out here in the rain."
She turned to face him, a skeptical look on her face. "You males are all the same, you know. Aedion had that look on his face, the one that means he's going to scream at me, when we were in the carriage."
"Aedion is protective of you."
"Territorial Fae brutes," she grumbled. Her gaze shifted back out over the city, back towards the manor house, and Rowan slid his arms around her, lending her his warmth. She was like ice, her dress soaked through and clinging to her figure, the cosmetics all but washed off her face.
She was breathtaking.
She was silent for a long while, leaning ever so slightly into him, her frigid hands gradually warming in his larger, rougher ones. He could almost feel the heaviness of her thoughts, the guilt of her past and the worry for the plans she'd laid in place for the future. She was barely two decades old---a blink of an eye to an immortal Fae---but the weight she bore was impossibly heavy.
Perhaps in some kind of effort to ease her burden, Rowan turned to look at her. "Tell me what you're thinking." It might have been a plea.
A smirk flickered across her lips. "I'm thinking that the next time I want to unsettle you, all I need to do is tell you how rarely I wear undergarments."
Damn his mind to the deepest hells for the images it conjured. "Is there a reason you do that, princess?"
"Is there any reason not to?" Her ability to make snarky comments in the heaviest of moments must have kept her alive years ago.
He couldn't help but admire how she'd never lost that spark. His hand flattened against her waist, his fingers brushing against the golden thread of the dragon and swiftly retreating lest he do something stupid like flick open the hooks that held the dragon in place. "I pity the foreign ambassadors who will have to deal with you."
She grinned up at him, bright like wildfire. "No, you don't."
He really didn't. In fact, he rather wished he could be in the receiving room when Aelin's quick wit and sharp tongue left snooty foreign ambassadors in spluttering shambles. She'll be a wonderful queen.
He wanted to be there when she realized it.
As if his thoughts had blared out a signal, Aelin's hand cupped his face, and he froze, his gaze crashing into hers. Hope---a fragile thread of hope peeked through her worry, mirroring the faint hint of hope that he hid beneath his gruffness. Her thumb brushed across his cheekbone, and the want that he'd stifled since she first shared his room at Mistward broke through the frayed scraps of his control and came roaring into his gaze.
Aelin sucked in a shuddering breath as the force of his wanting hit her, and he saw it reflected in her face. The desire. The need. Her other hand drifted up to touch his face, the pads of her rain-soaked fingers achingly gentle against the tattoos that trailed down his skin, and his eyes fell closed. It had been so long since someone had taken that kind of care, had touched him that gently, had been allowed to see past the barriers he kept up at all times.
"Rowan," she breathed, a plea and a prayer.
Fireheart, his heart pled in response. He opened his eyes, found her still staring at him, waiting for his reaction before she went any further. It had been so long since he'd been given that space.
For that---for seeing him---she deserved infinitely better, infinitely more, than a centuries-hardened warrior could ever give her.
Her touch slipped down the side of his face, and his control threatened to shatter. Before the roaring in his veins could take over, he caught her wrists, pulled himself away from her touch, holding her a pace away, protecting her from the primal hunger raging in his immortal veins. "Don't," he choked out. "Don't...touch me like that." Because you are too good, because you deserve far more than what I can give you.
Those beautiful turquoise eyes shuttered and went hollow.
"I'm sorry," she rasped. She slipped her hands from his shell-shocked grasp and backed away. "I didn't mean---" Another step. "It was nothing."
It was everything. His hands fell to his sides, and his fingers flexed, trying to bypass his restraint and reach for her, like his body rebelled against the thought of letting Aelin walk away with that hollowness on her face.
But before he could muster up the words, before he could try to tell her that she deserved infinitely more than a stolen, rain-drenched moment of abandon, she picked up her sodden skirts and fled down the walkway, the dragon on her spine vanishing into the dark.
~~~
TAGS:
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HERE WE GO! The Rowaelin Month Prompt List for 2025 !!!
Every day for the entire month of September, we'll celebrate everyone's favorite Fireheart and Buzzard! We had so many great prompt submissions this year, and we tossed in a few of everyone’s old favorites and we can’t wait to see what you all create!
As usual, we’ve included a handy calendar image for you all, but if for any reason the image isn’t working or is hard to read, the full list is written out below the cut.
Participation every day is not a requirement! You can create submissions for as few or as many of the listed prompts as you like!
Please remember to tag your creations with #rowaelinmonth so people following the tag can find your works and give us a mention @rowaelinscourt so we can reblog it!
Please remember that all works MUST have appropriate tags/or content warnings. NSFW content is required to be tagged clearly and hidden below a ‘Read More’ cut. We want everyone to have a fun and safe time engaging with content!
All genres of work are welcome, but please note any major warnings at the top of the work so that readers or viewers can have some idea of what to expect.
Canon week is to fill that canon shaped hole in everyone’s hearts! While we kindly request Canon Week prompts remain specifically for canon scenarios, remember that any and all prompts are welcome to be interpreted as a canon/canon inspired setting as well. With creativity and imagination, the possibilities are limitless!
Any kind of fanwork can be submitted for this event so long as it can be applied to the prompt. Fanfiction, fanart, headcanons, playlists or anything else you can think of! There are no requirements and you can submit multiple works for the same prompt if you so wish!
September 2025 Prompts
1. Deities
2. Accidental Humiliation
3. Meet Ugly
4. Amnesia
5. Single Parent AU
6. Blind Date Mix Up
7. Allergic Emergency
8. Sports Romance AU
9. Letters
10. Masquerade
11. Firsts
12. Singles on a Couples Trip
13. Cowboy Like Me
14. Workplace AU
15. C: Flipped POV
16. C: Pampering (After a hard day’s work/before an event)
17. C: Domestic Moments
18. C: Family Time
19. C: Rowaelin from an Outside POV (ex. a Rowaelin interaction Lysandra’s pov)
20. C: After Happily Ever After
21. C: What if…?
22. Wrong Number
23. Heartbreak
24. Neighbors
25. Reverse Trope (ex. Too many beds, nice to everyone but you, divorce of convenience)
Posting this so late was 100% my plan. I did not get drowned by my own lack of time management and didn't take twice as long to write because idk shit about law and had to do research—Legally Blonde taught me everything I need to know.
Anyway, thank you for being my first and longest friendship in this fandom. From welcoming me with open arms to being the first person I go to when my wip's in trouble, I'm so very grateful for having you in my life ❤️💖💕💞💓
Warnings: insatiably horny Rowan but safe for work
Words: 1862
How it started:
How it's going:
“Objection!” Aelin shouts, reminding Rowan of his role today.
A judge. He’s a fucking judge who can only focus on how the buttons of this lawyer’s shirt are straining to keep her fantastic boobs tucked in.
“On what grounds?” He asked, attempting to recall Salvaterre’s words. Was it too obvious he wasn’t even looking at him?
“Well…” she trailed. Bit her lip—fuck. “I’m hotter than the opposing counsel.”
“Objection sustained.”
“The fuck, dude?” Lorcan shouted, his arms wide in protest.
How disrespectful. “Mr. Salvaterre, one more word like that and I will hold you in contempt.”
His friend went back to the principal argument and… gods, as a law PhD student, helping beginners practice turned out even more painful than Rowan predicted.
The reason he accepted this was currently being the biggest tease in her formal attire, even more so than when he met her months ago, wearing a skirt as big as her beer bottle.
Back at that party, Aelin’s plans consisted of using his body for a night to get back at her cheating ex and forget about each other the next day. It was perfect. It was the goal. It was exactly what Rowan wanted with every girl he hooked up with—sex without strings or expectations.
Except she absolutely blew his mind that night, and when Rowan was about to ask her if she planned to cheat on her boyfriend some more, he learned from Lorcan, who learned from his girlfriend, that Aelin had become faithful. In fact, her lack of loyalty was a one-night payback, and they got back together the same day she woke up in his bed.
What a blow to Rowan’s ego. Being used so rudely turned him on even more.
Lorcan cleared his throat—loudly. Shit.
“Ms. Galathynius, you may begin.”
Aelin got up from a chair in their makeshift court. From the firm expression in her eyes, Rowan felt certain she was already a lawyer—the certificate would be a mere formality.
“Your honor, yes, two people saw Mrs. Briarcliff carry trash bags similar to the ones that contained her husband’s body—so what? I can bring you twenty that didn’t.”
Lorcan yelled, “Are you for fucking real?”
“Mr. Salvaterre, you’ll have your opportunity for rebuttal,” Rowan interrupted. “Ms. Galathynius, you may continue.”
The thing about Aelin and Lorcan is, they don’t get along. Forever glued together by Elide, they were doomed to struggle to tolerate each other.
Which benefited Rowan, since that’s how he met and got information on her.
“Thank you, Your Honor.” She gave him a small nod of appreciation. “I must say that, even if I ate an alphabet soup, I’d shit out a better argument than the opposing counsel’s.”
~~
“You’re a shit judge, Ro.”
Ouch. Rowan wished his stern look showed his thoughts on Lorcan’s statement.
“I’m serious. I’m not asking you to play judge again if you keep this shit up.”
“This isn’t that big of a threat to me.”
He could sense why it was bad for Lorcan, though. Rowan was the only attorney he knew who remained on campus for a PhD, and finding someone else would call for people skills he didn’t possess.
Out of nowhere, Lorcan said, “You should ask her out.”
He blinked, wondering if he’d heard it right.
“Are you high?” Rowan agreed with it, but he wasn’t sure Lorcan agreed with himself.
“I’m not. You’d know that for sure if you’d actually listened to me speak earlier.”
He tried to ignore the guilt weighing down his chest. Despite desperately wanting to take Aelin to his bed again, it wasn’t more important than his friend’s education.
Looking over his friend’s shoulder, Aelin stood next to a desk, gathering her things to leave. Her golden hair shone even under the dull lightning, and although her shirt still enticed him, the sight of her backside called to him.
He tapped Lorcan’s shoulder as a farewell.
“Next time you lose, I’ll make sure it’s fair and square.”
The sound of Lorcan’s laughter drove him to Aelin.
She looked up to him, clutching her book before her chest—pity—and smiled.
“Hey,” Aelin said, “good job in there.”
Rowan held back a grimace; she was the only person who had reason to think so.
He returned the compliment, meaning every word of it. Her skills needed some work and polishing, but Rowan could see a ferocious path ahead of her. Aelin proved to be clever, daring and quick—it was a question of when, before she took Terrasen by storm.
Her smirk was knowing and bordering on predatory—something told him he was just repeating compliments she already knew, but enjoyed hearing anyway.
“Well, thank you, handsome.” Aelin’s voice came out honeyed as she trailed her index finger down his biceps. “Is there anything else you came here to tell me?”
“I—“ Rowan closed his mouth shut before saying it. So, that’s what’s up with the smug grin. Did she know he was into her? “Do you wanna go out sometime?”
She inspected her bare wrist the way one would do a watch. “I’m free now, if your research can wait.”
A blink was all Rowan revealed of the surprise he felt. “That doesn’t give me much time to plan something impressive, does it?”
Aelin cocked her head, then put her book on the desk beside her, leaning her hand and her hip on it as well. “You’ve already impressed me enough, but it’s cute that you wanna do it again.” The wiggle of her eyebrows contrasted with the casual tone of her voice. “I’m thinking about some flick and lick, if you’re up for it.”
Going straight to the point, are we?
Flick and lick. Was there any other way to interpret this?
The one time he asks a girl out on a date, she wants to skip to sex. How odd. Rowan sure wasn’t complaining, though. The tongue work she described was an accurate depiction of their activities that fateful night, and he was looking forward to more of it.
His hand flexed, the shape of her tit in his palm still burned in his muscle memory.
Rowan jerked his head towards the exit. “Let’s go, then.”
When she readied herself to leave, he slipped a hand on her lower back—for support, of course, since she carried such heavy books. It was only a perk that if she was still single, everyone would see the claim he staked; and if she was seeing someone, it would be a matter of time until she wasn’t anymore.
Aelin never shied away from his touch, and even stood a little taller as he walked her hall after hall to his car. It was mind-blowing, how everything about her turned him on—from the way she held her chin to the sound of her heels against the wooden floor. It was troublesome, his inability to keep it to himself around her and be a gentleman until their date’s end.
Rowan tossed the playbook out the window and accosted her by the car. A soft gasp was all he got from her when he put her book on the car roof and caged her in with both forearms on her side.
“Well, hi.” Aelin sounded deliciously out of breath.
“Hi.” Rowan pressed their foreheads together. “I missed you.”
“Yeah?” She grinned. “Ellie said so.”
“That traitor.”
They chuckled, breaths mingling.
“I’m closer to her than you,” she defended Elide.
“I know. I meant Lorcan.”
The joyful sound that came out of Aelin was heavenly to hear, and it was a dangerous realization, that making her laugh could feel almost as good as making her moan.
“Is this okay?” he asked while he slowly took hold of her waist. As he did it, Rowan got a weird sensation in his stomach—fizzy like his insides here made of soda foam—and he hoped it wasn’t food poisoning. Not today, of all days.
“Very okay,” she whispered and wrapped both arms around his neck.
Wasting no time, he kissed her. The campus faded out and his entire conscience narrowed down to her lips and tongue and curves under his touch. There were no cars passing by on this parking lot, her soft sighs muffled them all out.
This kiss was their best one yet. When Rowan first kissed her, he was too stupefied to throughly enjoy it. It’s much easier to appreciate something when you know beforehand how exquisite it is.
When they parted, Aelin kept hold of his neck. He took the moment in, eyes closed, and pecked her lips a few times. She nipped his lower lip, toying with him.
This girl.
With his thumb gently sliding over her cheek, he said, “Shall we?”
She nodded, and Rowan didn’t miss the surprised look on her face when he gave her book back. He’d forgotten about it too until he saw it there, still waiting to be rescued from his car top.
They took off, and he wouldn’t berate himself for being too forward when his goal was courting her, because that was one hell of a great kiss. Besides, she was the one to start with a sex proposal. What was an early kiss compared to that?
As Aelin guided him through the city, heading downtown. Weird.
He asked, “Don’t you live close to campus?”
“I do.”
Well, she’s from Orynth. When you live in a city as big as that, everything looks close in a university town like Perranth.
They were going to her place, right? Rowan doesn’t remember her saying it, but she proposed sex, so if they weren’t heading to his apartment, the destination was hers.
“We’re close,” she said, “you’ll just have to turn right… no, sorry! Not here. The next right. Yep.”
He thanked Mala the traffic was light today, or her shitty directions would’ve caused a car crash. Though it was a bit endearing, he had to admit.
The street in which they parked was highly commercial, but surely her building was hidden somewhere. He got the door for her, remembering his manners before the doors were closed and he could forget all about them.
Shit, mouth-watering was not enough to describe her right now, looking expectantly at him in this busy street. Aelin herself, their plans for today, his memories—it all build up to a newfound and cruel anticipation, his skin tingling with the need to touch her.
“Right there.” She pointed at a shop with a few tables on the sidewalk. “The flick and lick.”
When he read the big sign before this ice cream shop, it was hard to believe his eyes.
Stop in for a
FLICK N LICK
An ice cream shop.
Aelin invited him for ice cream, not sex.
Heat rushed to his cheeks, and Rowan stared at her with his mouth open, unsure of what to say.
Her smirk bordered on devilish.
“Oh, I know what you thought,” she whispered and kissed his jaw. “We’ll do my idea of a flick and lick first, and yours later.”
An outstanding argument—Rowan dare say it was the best he heard from her today.
You can get notified when I update by either turning notifications on for @mariaofdoranelle-fics or joining my (sometimes glitchy) one general tag list!!
A follow up to Lovesick- highly recommend reading that one before this one. Otherwise you'll probably be lost
Masterlist
Word count: 1.9k
Warnings: stealing, small injury
“Aelin?” Rowan’s heart completely dropped to his stomach. Why was the woman he had seen just hours ago sitting on his fire escape, clad in black and laying next to a broken statue like she was on some sort of fucking art heist?
“Ro..I…Agh.” Aelin clutched her head, squeezing her eyes shut as if she was in pain. “Fuck.”
Rowan could only stare.
“I swear this isn’t what it looks like.” Aelin’s turquoise eyes met his own. She shifted her hand behind her to sit up more sturdily but a hiss of pain escaped her lips instead.
And at that moment, Rowan really couldn’t have cared whether she was in the middle of stealing the fucking Declaration of Independence, he couldn’t bear to see her in pain.
“Fuck, Aelin. Come here.” He pushed his window up just far enough that he could reach out and pull her toward him. He picked her up with a gentleness that surprised even him given the circumstances, watching for any injuries or flinches of pain. Setting her down on the couch, he started to make his way to the kitchen but thought better of it and held his hand out to Aelin, instead. “Give me your glove.”
“What?”
He made a motion with his hand. “Give me your glove. Quickly.” Hesitantly, she did as she was asked, handing her black leather glove over to Rowan. Even though it was at least three sizes too small, Rowan shoved as much of his hand into the glove as he could and went once again to the window. Leaning out, he gently picked up the pieces of the broken statue, making sure that he got every little piece before closing the window.
As he turned back to Aelin, he could tell she was gobsmacked.
“Why are you helping me?”
Rowan just sighed but didn’t answer her question. “How about we start with me wrapping that wrist and then you can tell me what you were doing on my fire escape at two in the morning with a suspiciously familiar statue.”
While she didn’t necessarily look happy, Aelin nodded. “Deal.”
“Can you walk?” At his question, Aelin nodded, and got up to follow him to the kitchen.
She sat at one of the high-top stools at his kitchen island and he could feel her piercing gaze on his back as he rifled through the cabinets to find a wrap for her wrist. Returning to her once he found it, he grabbed her hand, inspecting for any cuts or scrapes. Finding none, he started pushing at her skin in different areas. She hissed as his fingers met the already-forming bruise.
“Luckily, I think it’s just a sprain. I’ll wrap it but if it feels any different tomorrow, you should go get an x-ray.”
Aelin snorted. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”
Rowan raised his eyebrows at that. But still he said nothing, trying and failing to gather his thoughts around this strange, beautiful, and mysterious woman. Gently, he began wrapping her wrist with the bandages.
“So you just keep a wrist wrap in your kitchen?”
“I’m a doctor, remember? I have medical supplies all over my apartment.” Aelin let out a huff of breath at that. “Are you going to tell me why I found you out there, looking as if you were falling from the heavens?”
Aelin sighed, gathering her thoughts. “I swear to you, it was not what you think. I wasn’t stealing the statue from the art gallery above.” Rowan met her gaze and raised an eyebrow. “Okay, maybe I was stealing the statue but I swear I had a good reason.”
Aelin took a deep breath to steal herself. “I come from a long line of Terrasen royalty. Of course, we don’t have a monarchy anymore so I’m just a normal citizen, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about my family’s history. My great-great grandfather had a collection of artifacts that dated all the way back to King Brannon’s line. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.” Rowan nodded in affirmation. “Well that broken statue was one of the last known pieces from that time period. My great-great grandfather passed it down to my great grandfather, he to my grandfather, and then it should’ve passed onto my father. But this guy, Arobynn Hamel, took it instead”
“The Arobynn Hamel that owns the art gallery upstairs?”
Aelin nodded. “If we come from a long line of Terrasen royalty, then he comes from a long line of people who tried to steal the throne from us. So I guess he felt like he was entitled to this particular statue and when my grandfather died. Imagine our surprise when the will was read and our family heirloom was suddenly passed down to a guy no one could stand.”
"Sounds fishy.”
“It was. There was no way that my grandfather would have given it to him. None. I grew up being a part of my grandfather’s life and I still remember his disdain for the man. Without my dad here to stop me anymore, I guess I just wanted to have a piece of our family history back.”
“So why did you feel like you needed to do this in the dead of night instead of fighting for it via legal routes?”
Aelin’s rueful smile slowly grew into a smirk. “Where would the fun be in that?”
Rowan couldn’t hold back his huff of laughter. This woman. She was going to be the death of him.
Aelin’s face suddenly got serious. “Are you mad?”
Rowan furrowed his brows. “Mad? No.” He sighed. “Concerned? Yes, of course.”
Aelin swallowed loudly. “Are you going to turn me in?”
Rowan really tried to make a good show of contemplating. But his strength when it came to this woman was nonexistent. He caved much sooner than he would’ve liked and feared he gave away much of his emotion in the process. “Of course not. If I turned you in, I wouldn’t get to go on another date with you and we can’t have that, can we?”
Aelin beamed. Slowly, as if he were a skittish deer, Aelin leaned in and rested her forehead against his. “Thank you, Rowan.”
Tilting his head so that he could place a gentle kiss upon her lips, Rowan whispered “You’re welcome.”
The oven beeping broke them out of their little bubble that wholly encompassed them. It was at that moment that he could tell that Aelin finally smelled the melting chocolate and sugary goodness.
Slowly, like a cat, her eyes met his, a small smirk playing on her lips. “Are those for me?”
Rowan shrugged, nonchalant. “Maybe.”
Aelin softly swatted at him. “You’re a dork. But…” Her gaze was piercing as she pursed her lips, debating on her next statement. “But you’re my dork.”
Rowan could feel something in his chest alight at her statement. He was her dork. Given that he just found her on his fire escape after she stole a priceless heirloom, warning bells probably should have been going off in Rowan’s head. But all he could think was, “And you’re a thief. But…” He pecked her nose. “You’re my thief.”
A/N: Happy Day 2 of Rowaelin Month! I have some stuff planned though none of it written but I'm glad to have even gotten this piece out!
Hi all, a bit late with this but inspiration did not until an hour ago.
It's a very short fic with a lot of fluff. Hopefully you will love it
For some reason is very mostly in Rowan's POV.
@rowaelinscourt
THE LUCKY ONE
The room was chaos. Dresses and shoes lay scattered on the bed and floor as if a tornado has swept through the room. That natural disaster was called Aelin and Rowan stared at his wife planted in front of her dresser with a disgruntled expression.
“Fireheart, not to put you any pressure on you, but our taxi will be here in half an hour.”
Rowan was an architect and his firm had won the contract to rebuild the Opera house that had been destroyed ten months prior by a fire.
That night the place was finally reopening and of course they had been invited. The venue would officially open to the public the following night, that evening was a high end affair with the high end of the society and famous people.
He was not a big fan of black tie events. He was an introvert. His company had won the contract and then asked some of the best architects to design a new venue. His project had won by a landslide, he got a promotion and became project manager. It had been a dream but he would have been happy to stay in the background and watch people enjoy his vision.
But unfortunately he was meant to go on stage make a speech and cut the ribbon with the mayor.
Aelin, always the extrovert, had been delighted at the idea and of bragging with her friends of how famous her husband was.
But her next grunt made him realise that even Aelin at that point would have gladly stayed at home in sweatpants with their kids and a movie and a lot of ice cream.
Aelin was three months pregnant with their third child and had reached the stage where clothes had stopped fitting.
“ Can I just show up with one of your hockey jersey and sweatpants?”
Rowan walked closer to his wife and puller her to his chest. She was just in his underwear and his hand gently covered the small bump that has just started showing “Fireheart, you are stunning.”
“I am fat.”
A gentle kiss on the spot behind her neck “Get dressed and tonight I will show you how hot I think you are.”
Aelin turned, facing him “you are biased.”
“No, I love you.”
Five minutes later he had manged to help her in a stunning black dress that showed all the curves he loved so very much. He had not lied. She was stunning. Stretch marks and all.
They were finishing getting ready when the door of their bedroom opened and their two children appeared and Rowan smiled. Maya, their seven years old daughter, was wearing her princess dress with tiara and all. But the best view was Thomas, their five year old son all dressed up with his sister’s princess clothes too. He had a pink fluffy dress with a puffy skirt, a few fake pearl necklaces, clip on earrings and a red hair wig that Maya had used for Halloween. While his sister was wearing a tiara he had a big crown that was too big for him.
“Dada, we are ready too!” Screamed Maya.
“Mama, dada, look! We pwetty!” Thomas added while showing his attire proudly.
Aelin burst into tears and knelt in front of both of them “you are both stunning, I am sure auntie Lys will give you a wonderful party for tonight.
“No,” said Thomas “We go with mama and dada.”
Rowan sat down near his son “Tom, you and Maya will have to stay with auntie Lys and uncle Aedion tonight. It’s grown up boring party,” explained Rowan who, all of a sudden would have preferred to attend the party his kids had in mind.
“But we dressed up,” protested Maya.
“I know my love,” added Aelin grabbing their kids hands then she looked at Rowan “what about you and Tom plan a party for tomorrow? Dad and I will dress up with you both.”
All of a sudden the kid’s smile grew “can I keep crown?” Asked Thomas timidly.
Rowan hugged his son “anything.”
The two screamed in joy and ran out of the door.
Rowan helped Aelin to stand up and she melted against his chest “Their party sounds much better.”
“I know, Fireheart. Tomorrow.”
“Can I be your queen for a day?”
His mouth met hers “you have been my queen every day since I met you.”
*
The following day the Whitethorn-Galathynius’ household was transformed in a fantasy wonderland. Aelin had transformed in queen and had sat all day on the armchair that Rowan had converted in a throne. He had dressed up as knight and both kids had put up a fashion show. Maya’s room had exploded and all her clothes had been everywhere while she had her brother paraded in front of their parents. It had been the perfect day. Rowan had even let Aelin and Thomas paint his nails while Thomas tried to braid his hair.
Yes, the event the previous night had been the celebration of a career.
But this, with his family around him, was the only goal he really cared about.
He stood and grabbed Thomas in his arms, "come on, let’s go and make mama and sis tea and biscuits."
And with his son still dressed like a fairy in his arms he waltzed to the kitchen thinking that he was the luckiest man in Terrasen.
just some more fluff lol with a lil mention of sex at the end.
cw: none words: 900+
enjoy!! xx
{ also, there's a tiny easter egg in this fic if you've looked at rowan's wiki page ;) }
Aelin was hiding something, and Rowan was determined to figure it out.
She wasn't scheming anything, he was confident in that, and it wasn't a policy that she was hiding from him because while he was busy rebuilding Orynth and Terrasen's army and navy, councilmen and women still managed to find him and rattled off about their plans that they wanted his support on.
He listened, because it was his duty as king-consort to do so, but he always told Aelin about it before they unwound from their day.
That very thing happened yesterday, and as Rowan walked into his shared study with his mate, Aelin slammed shut a drawer in her desk and turned to face him fully.
He could have sworn that there was a faint blush on her cheeks. He had asked her if she was alright and she said she was, but he sensed the white lie.
And that was when his curiosity was born.
So, with a rare day off for both of them, he told Aelin that he would soon join her in the Queen's Garden but for now, he was pretending to be busy when in actuality, he was going to shift and fly into the garden to see what his wife was up to, as he saw that bundle of paper under her arms this morning, with an ink-pot and glass pen in the other.
Using his magic, he made sure to send his scent the other way as he perched within an orange tree, the branches bursting with fresh, ripe fruit.
He heard the scribble of the glass pen against the paper, her beautiful face scrunched in concentration. She was lying on a thick picnic blanket, a tray full of fresh fruits, cheeses and iced tea laid on top of it.
A pitcher of iced tea that was now empty and Aelin realised it. Huffing, she got up, holding the empty pitcher as she left to refill it.
When he heard the garden door close, Rowan swooped down and read what his mate was hiding.
And became so engrossed in it that he didn't hear Aelin's approach until she hissed in surprised several minutes later.
“Buzzard, put that down!” Rowan didn't and kept on reading. Aelin rushed forward, putting the iced tea away before she extended her hand towards him, silently asking for the papers.
Childishly, Rowan didn't and even extended it into the air where she couldn't reach. His smile was wide enough that Aelin could count nearly all his teeth, his canines gleaming in the sun.
“You're writing a romance story, based on us?”
Aelin scoffed. “It isn't based on us, you territorial beast.”
Rowan's smile grew. “The Fae male is called Raonn, and the half-fae female is called Ayla, how else am I meant to interpret it?”
“It's just a coincidence, Rowan.”
“Raonn is an inch shorter than me, with white hair and hazel eyes and powers of water and invisibility and Ayla—”
“I'm aware of their powers buzzard, as I wrote them.” Her hand was still stretched out, flexing her fingers to hand the papers over.
“Why did you hide it from me?”
“I didn't hide it, I just...kept it locked up from prying eyes. And it's just some stupid scribbles—”
“It's not stupid,” Rowan said, interrupting her. “It's good Aelin.”
“You're just saying that.”
“I'm not,” he insisted, meaning it. “It's descriptive without droning on, the imagery is clear. It's good,” he promised her.
Aelin smiled sweetly at the truth she sensed in Rowan's words. “It's still not based on us.”
Rowan hummed and handed her the papers. “Whatever you say, Fireheart.”
Rowan joined her on the picnic blanket, leaning against the same orange tree he used to hide in. Aelin leaned against his shoulder, handing over the tray of fruits and cheeses. Rowan picked out what he wanted, which he ended up just giving to Aelin as she kept stealing them-pay back for not handing over the papers straight away, most likely.
“I just wanted to do something different,” Aelin said eventually. “After dealing with demon hordes and politics, I just needed to do something that didn't involve the world being at stake.”
“I understand,” Rowan said, “it's good to have a hobby.”
Aelin looked up at her mate, his eyes thoughtful as he stared at her. “You should take up a hobby, too, like drawing. You're good at that.” And he was, her tattooed back was proof of his skills.
His smile from before returned. “Maybe I'll draw Raonn and Ayla, give you some more inspiration. Or,” he begun to say as Aelin opened her mouth to again deny any similarities, “I could draw you in your gold nightgown.”
“I have other colours, you know,” she said, now running a lazy hand up and down his thigh and her mates dark eyes zeroed in on her hand. She had a whole closest full of nightgowns, all different colours and cuts and fabrics. She kept them locked away, however, as she liked to surprise him.
“I know, but it's my favourite.” Which was an understatement, because whenever she wore metallic gold, Rowan fucked her so hard that afterwards she saw stars. “And maybe, right now, I can give you inspiration in the physical sense.”
Aelin snorted as Rowan softly placed her on her back and did give her ideas for her story for later—although she would still deny that it wasn't based on her and Rowan.
Having a hobby was indeed a very good use of her time.
The world is large and time may be endless, but it's all an exciting adventure with the right person beside you. Inspired in part by Timeless by Taylor Swift, Immortals by Fall Out Boy, and by my own historical research fixations. Also a tiny bit of Istanbul by They Might be Giants
A/N: I will say I wanted to flesh this out a bit more and had a whole plan on how to, but I started a new job recently and I haven't had the energy to keep writing during my free time, so I edited what I had and have it here for you to enjoy. I also wanted to write for a bunch of Rowaelin month days but I think this is all I have in me for now.
Finally, I just have a fair warning: I got really into slang words in this. i had way too much fun with them, so hopefully its understandable lol
Masterlist | Rowaelin Month | Read on Ao3
6494 words
Written for Rowaelin Month 2023 - Day 1: SongFic
*******
Morning light peeked through the curtains fluttering around the open window of their living room. She could faintly hear the sounds of the neighborhood filtering through – cars cruising by, a riding lawnmower cutting clean lines into the grass, a couple of kids out riding their bicycles, and the steadily growing music of an ice cream truck.
“Rowan, have you seen the…” Aelin trailed off as she realized her husband wasn’t in the room with her anymore.
He chose to go by his given name nowadays, reminding her again of their youth and all the best parts about learning how to grow up before the reality of time set in.
She was sitting cross-legged on the plush rug, combing through a box of mementos she’d found tucked away between stacks of old books.
She must’ve been more distracted by them than she had thought because when she looked at the clock, nearly two hours had gone by and Rowan, who had been sitting in the armchair across from her, wasn’t there anymore. She did have a vague memory of a kiss being pressed to her forehead and hearing his muffled voice but she’d been too distracted.
Aelin gathered the things she’d been picking out and put all the photographs, letters, and trinkets back in their box, before getting up and carefully carrying it with her as she went looking for Rowan.
It didn’t take long. The man was out on their back porch, sitting on the wooden swing and using one leg to slowly rock himself back and forth. He wasn’t looking at her but she saw the smile on his face as she approached. He always knew she was there; he could always sense her. Aelin walked towards him and grinned against his mouth when she ducked down to kiss him, before unceremoniously dropping down onto the swing beside him. His rocking didn’t falter a second.
“Is that what’s taken your attention today?” He asked, nodding at the large, well-loved box she placed on the floor in front of them.
“Have you looked through this recently?” She let his question float away and started pulling out some of the forgotten treasures they’d accumulated.
Shrugging, Rowan leaned forward to get a better look and fondly bumped his shoulder against hers.
“Don’t think so,” he rubbed at the stubble shadowing his face as he thought about it. “Probably not since we moved in.”
Aelin hummed in answer and quickly picked through the papers. “I forgot we had all of this stuff.” She paused, thinking, and dove back into the box, this time with purpose. “Do you know where the portraits are?”
A light breeze blew a strand of blonde hair into her face and Rowan reached out to tuck it behind her ear.
“Which portraits?”
“You know,” she waved irreverently, “the ones done by…what’s his name?”
“Oh of course,” he amended seriously. “Those portraits.”
Huffing a laugh, Aelin fell back against the swing and swatted his shoulder as he chuckled. “You know who I’m talking about,” she insisted.
Truth be told, they’d had so many pictures taken and portraits painted that he didn’t know where to start with his guessing. His wife could be referring to anything.
“Leo?”
“No,” she shook her head.
“Johannes?”
“No, that’s not it.”
“Vincent?”
“Ugh,” she groaned, rubbing her hand down her face, “this is going to bug me all day.” A second later she popped back up and turned towards him with wide eyes, “Oh! You know what I really wish we still had?” she asked.
He wished they could have saved all their keepsakes, but that would’ve been impossible. “Not a clue.”
“Those busts we had back in Ἀθῆναι,” She said, her eyes growing distant as she fell back into a memory from their younger years.
He hummed, knowingly. “Those were nice. But I doubt they’re in Athens anymore.”
“No, I know that.” She said sitting back and leaning into him, getting closer as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I think the last time I saw them was in Constantinople.”
“Istanbul,” Rowan corrected.
“What?” she turned her face to see him from where she’d tucked herself into his side.
“It’s Istanbul.” He said again.
She blinked and then rolled her eyes as she understood what he was saying. “Well, it was Constantinople.”
“And now,” he poked her, earning himself a startled laugh, “It’s Istanbul.”
“Whatever,” Aelin snorted. “I still miss those statues.”
Rowan kicked one leg out and began rocking them again, careful not to overturn the box. “You know where they are,” he reminded her, “we could always go see them.”
She scrunched her nose up. “Yeah, but I don’t like paying an entry fee to see myself.”
The breeze picked up and the pair enjoyed a few minutes of quiet, broken only by the faint creaking of the swing and the birds and insects outside. She absentmindedly took his other hand in hers and couldn’t help but think back –
Back to when they were young and naïve and had no idea what sort of life they would have ahead of them.
Back to their beginning.
The land of their childhoods was rich, and their life a simple one. Most everyone around them were farmers or fishermen, soldiers or tradesmen. There were scholars, artists, and builders.
Aelin learned stories of gods and heroes and gave tribute to Athena, the patron goddess of her home. She learned how to weave from her mother, and waited for the day she was set to marry the son from a family her father wanted ties with.
Rowan worked and studied and then became a soldier, fighting in bloody battles across the city-states before he returned to wed.
The two had always known they would be married. Their families arranged it long before either Aelin or Rowan were old enough to offer their thoughts. But they were happy. It was well.
For a while, their life was as ordinary as any others in their Polis.
It wasn’t until the two of them had watched their families grow old that they realized their own lives were different. Unchanging. Everlasting.
They learned how to adapt.
The armor Rowan wore became stronger; the language of the orders being shouted changed; Democracy, philosophy, and art flourished. Wars raged. The land they lived on changed names and changed again.
Sometimes years passed when Aelin and Rowan were apart, separated for one reason or another. Other times, decades went by without notice, time losing the meaning it once had. But they always gravitated back to each other.
They met as Aelin Galathynius and Rowan Whitethorn.
They reunited as Aeliana Galanis and Romulus Whitheia.
As Eleyn Galliano and Rowland Whitton.
As Astrid and Warin.
As Alana and Royce.
There were some names they liked better than others.
They saw empires rise and fall. A world they once called home became ancient.
And as the world became more complicated – as royalty and religion shaped the nations, conquering and separating territories, as battles waged and revolutions erupted, as explorers flung themselves to the far reaches of the earth – Aelin and Rowan found their lives drifting apart from one another until they only had their memories and a knowing sense that someday they would find each other again.
"Whiskey. Neat." He drawled, dropping his dusty hat onto the bar top. The wood was scratched up from too many glasses missing their mark. And sticky, too. Not that he'd say so. He was a smart enough man not to complain to the lady behind the bar. Even it meant swallowing back a grimace at the thought of putting that hat back on his head. "Ma'am."
The woman was already halfway finished pouring the bottle. She had known it was him before he’d opened his mouth; but she smiled when his voice hit her, having recognized the sound of him walking ‘cross those old floorboards and taking a seat at his usual stool – the one right in front of her.
She’d had lifetimes to recognize him.
Still turned away, she shelved the dark bottle of booze back where it belonged.
For a moment, it reminded him of the day he found her here.
He’d been up in Oregon near the California border, following a late wave of gold seekers when he caught whispers of a town a few days south of him, where a woman was holding down a claim to the saloon. A real Calamity Jane if there ever was one.
He knew she was somewhere out here, that she’d ventured west at the call of adventure. Hell, he’d braved across the frontier too, slowly working his way from ranch to ranch and crossing lands that didn’t exist on the maps he’d once held.
But knowing there was a chance of finding her again, and actually hitting pay dirt were two very different things. He had ridden into town knowing not to get his hopes up, but when he stepped into that saloon, heavenly shaded and cool from the high-noon sun, he knew it was her.
She’d been standing behind the bar with her hair woven into a loose braid tossed over one shoulder. Her well-worn clothes somehow suited her just as well as laced-up gowns, pirate’s trousers, or peploi of their youth. Her skirts were long but didn’t look heavy and she had pushed the sleeves of her blouse up to combat the heat. Around her waist, she wore a holster which didn’t surprise him one bit and he supposed running a saloon warranted the pistol that she’d slotted in there.
He was walking towards the bar before he knew what he was doing, and when she lifted her arm to count the bottles she’d lined up on the shelves, he caught sight of the small scar on her forearm. If he still had any doubts, seeing that blew them all to the wind. He could recall with deafening detail the day she’d gotten that scar, the spatha blade that gave it to her, and the Roman general he’d killed for it.
Her back was still turned towards him when he slowly sat down on the stool across from her.
“Aelin.”
In an instant, she went completely and utterly still.
She would know his voice anywhere. Know him anywhere. And even if she hadn’t, there was only one person who would ever call her by that name.
Lifetimes worth of memories flashed behind her eyes as her heart began pounding a thunderous beat. She felt like all the wind had been knocked from her, yet also it was the first time she could breathe in years. She wasn’t sure how that was possible. But then, she’d long since given up deciding what was possible and impossible when it came to him.
And her mind was putting in the licks like a six-shooter horse; like she was electrified.
Carefully setting the bottle in her hand back down on the countertop, slowly, so slowly, she turned to face him.
As they locked eyes a million different emotions flew across her face and he was sure as a gun his was looking the same.
She smiled, wide and bright, and her eyes lined themselves with silver.
“Linny,” she breathed, her first word to him in over half a century. “It’s Linn, actually, but everyone ‘round here calls me Linny.”
Her voice was dipped in that sweet, honeyed drawl they’d been surrounded by. And he laughed, feeling like the years just melted away because she did too. The kind of laugh that said more than words ever could.
A few men at a nearby table looked over to see what all the fuss was about, but it was a joke that only the two of them knew the punchline to.
And then, having been reminded that they had eyes on them, she was reaching across the old wood bar holding out her hand. “Linny,” she said again, still beaming at him, “Linny Gale. It’s a pleasure to meet you…” she trailed off with a knowing smirk.
He remembered every instance in which she had looked at him with those same twinkling eyes, and by the growing elation of her face, so could she. He cleared his throat and took her hand in his, smiling even broader when his roughened skin met hers. “Roe Wyatt.” Her smile softened into something special. “At your service, ma’am.”
Roe hadn’t known what came next for him, but what he did know was that she was here – staying. So, he stayed, too.
As she set the glass of whiskey in front of him, that day from almost a decade prior faded away and she brought him back with the small curve of her lips as she greeted him, “Sheriff.”
At least here, in this dusty town on the far side of the world, filled with desert rats still scrounging for that elusive gold, and where he's wearing the badge instead of running from it...at least here he gets to see her face every day.
*****
Life out here was tough, Linny knew that, but she liked it. And she liked it much more now that Roe was back in her life. Point is, she knew folks made their money any way they could, especially the women.
She’d seen enough life to know what it’s like when you don’t have the resources you need. So for every working woman who found herself under Linny’s roof, she’d be offered a spot as a barmaid, pulling in the pieces so they wouldn’t feel like they needed to work upstairs. But if they did, they wanted to - and for that, all the power to ‘em. Everyone who frequented her saloon knew that if they misbehaved themselves with those women, they’d be looking down the barrel of her shotgun.
The first - and last - unlucky man who mistook her for a painted lady didn't make it back out that door.
Linny knew her way around a broken bottle well enough that the Sheriff ordered another round and watched two of the regular old boys clean up the mess. Most of it, anyway. He knew there was still a spot near the end of the bar where the wood’s stained darker than the rest. She thanked him mighty finely for turning a blind eye, too. She was sweet on him like that.
To everyone else in town, it was a mystery why they ain't gotten hitched yet. They all saw the knowing glances and conversations with so many in-jokes it sounded like they were speaking a different language. She never accepted any other man’s courtin’ and folks from around these parts knew not to try anymore, especially when the Sheriff only ever had eyes for her.
They knew not to mess with Linny Gale, too, because if she didn’t get you first, the Sheriff would make sure you never stepped foot in town again; and if some Hay Seed thought he was quicker to the draw than Roe Wyatt, he either ended up food for the buzzards with a lead plumb between his eyes or was found crawling out the back of the saloon while the arsenic-flavored whiskey he got served hit its mark.
To everyone else, his calling on her was moving slower than molasses in January.
They didn’t know the half of it.
*****
“Howdy, Miss Linny. Sheriff.”
She half smiled at the old man taking a seat on a bar stool two over from Roe. She was already grabbing a glass and pouring as she asked, “What can I get’cha for?”
He chuckled when he saw she’d already poured his whiskey. “You know me too well.”
“And whose fault is that y’old honeysop,“ she laughed.
He’d gulped down half the drink and the skin at his eyes crinkled. “My mammy used to say that…honeysop…I ain’t heard no soul say that since ‘fore I could look over the dinner table.”
Her small smile was wistful as she wiped down the countertop and grabbed another glass, using a different rag she’d slung over her shoulder to give it a good wiping down.
“I’m an old soul.”
He chuckled; eyes distant, lost in a memory. “Yeah, m’ mammy was too.” He looked up and smiled the way he did at his little grandbabies, “A sweet thing like you is too young for that.”
Linny kept wiping down glasses sharing an automatic glance with Roe. A small smile graced her face as easily concealed mirth danced across his.
Setting the last glass down, she tossed the towel back over her shoulder and leaned closer to the older man. “Sweet talking me ain’t gonna pay off your tab, Rolph.”
“Always gotta try, ma’am,” he huffed a laugh and stood, finishing the last of the amber liquid.
Linny shook her head fondly and Roe lifted his hand in a wave. “This is the last one, ya hear?” The old coot held his hand over his heart and smiled before walking out into the blaring sun.
“How many last ones ‘ve you given him?” Roe asked, still nursing the drink she’d poured him a while ago.
A huff of air blew a stray blonde lock out of her face. “A few.”
“You’ll run this place out of business ‘f you keep doing that.”
“He’s sweet,” she rested her elbows on the bar and leaned in, “He’s been taking wildflowers up to Madam Briar’s twice a week. Sometimes I see them ambling together down by the general store.
“He don’t mean no harm. He calls me young and sweet; I like it.” She laughed and he smiled. “And don’t you be worrying about this place. She ain’t in trouble yet. I always overcharge those rowdy boys that breeze in from the next town over. Don’t know why they keep coming back, sure as hell not for my welcoming, not after one couldn’t hold his booze and was sick as a horse all over my floor.” She huffed indignantly but then shrugged. “But I’m keeping my shutters painted and bottles full ‘cause of them so they ain’t so bad.”
Most days were right as rain. Linny handled her saloon with little trouble, but if there was any left after she was done, Roe used his badge to finish it.
So, when some fella too big for his breeches moseyed on in, you could cut the tension with a knife.
The saloon fell silent, something Linny might’ve marveled at if it weren’t for the no-good Saddle Stiff who’d sauntered in looking for hell to pay. The man took one long look around the room until his eyes landed on Roe and the star-shaped badge on his chest.
“You the gunslinger ‘round these parts?” His voice was rough and hard when he stepped in front of the Sheriff.
Barely blinking, he eyed the newcomer up and down, then he took a long sip of his drink and looked him square in the eye before gesturing with his half-empty glass to Linny. “You best be taking that up with her.”
Scoffing, the man didn’t even look at her. “You that cowardly a Sheriff you’ll let some hussy take your beatin’?”
Any lingering whispers went completely quiet as Roe slowly stood from his stool. He had a few inches on the man and didn’t bother fighting off a smirk when the newcomer tried squaring his shoulders to look as big as him. The Sheriff held the man’s gaze as he finished the rest of his whiskey before stepping closer and looking down at the lunkhead.
“First off, partner,” Roe drawled in a low voice. “I don’t let her do anything. Second,” he stepped closer, forcing the other man to falter before regaining the ridiculous bravado he walked in with. “You come in here, rilin’ everybody up, hollerin’ for the man in charge, I’ll tell you this – you’re in this town, in this saloon – she’s in charge. And she don’t take well to outsiders walking in here acting like they know their ups from downs.
“Finally,” Roe took another step into the man’s space and shoved his chest with one hand before gripping the material in his fist and hauling him up. “You ever call her that again, you’ll really have to deal with me, and you don’t want to deal with me after spitting on this here lady.” He leaned closer and practically growled, “You won’t be walkin’ ‘way from that.”
Roe let the man drop back down flat-footed and watched as he stumbled but looked between the Sheriff and Linny who’d been watching the scene. He made some sort of decision and went to open his mouth trying to say shit nobody wanted to hear but before he could get two words past his gullet, Linny reached into her skirts, pulled out a loaded pistol, and aimed it straight between his eyes.
“Get your lousy ass outta my establishment.” She cocked the gun, not batting an eye. “Or I’m ‘bout to have another dead body on my premises. That ain’t gonna look so good to the Sheriff.”
Said Sheriff caught the bead of sweat finally dripping down the man’s face and shrugged. “Don’t know nothing ‘bout no body.”
Linny smirked and flashed him a wink before refocusing on the man standing on the other side of the bar. “Now, you gonna get back on that ruddy horse of yours that’s scaring all the fillies outside?” she asked. “Or are you gonna make me get my floors dirty?”
Having no sense of what he’d walked himself into, the man looked her up and down holding that pistol with a steady hand, and scoffed. “That supposed to scare me, Calico Queen?”
Roe slammed his fist on the bar and gripped the man’s shirt again, but Linny’s brows just shot up.
“Oh, you ain’t scared of this old thing?” she asked airily. One second the pistol was pointed at him, the next the flickering gas lamp in the corner of the saloon shattered in a rain of broken glass as a bullet lodged itself in the wood directly behind it. “That was giving me a damn headache anyway. What about this one?” she set the pistol on the bar and reached below it, pulling out a long shotgun.
The front doors came swinging in hard enough to crash against the walls as they pivoted on rusted hinges. Another man, a local who helped tend the horses, ran in breathless unaware of what he’d walked himself into.
“Sheriff!” he panted. “Need your help breaking up a brawl out front.”
Roe looked at Linny who had the situation very much in hand and let go of the scamp who wouldn’t be breathing much longer. Adjusting his hat, Roe nodded to her. “Duty calls, ma’am. For both our sakes, when you pull that here trigger, at least corral him outside will ya?”
“Fine by me, poppet. Less mess in here for me to clean up.” She smiled at him. “That’d be all yours to handle, Sheriff.”
And it was.
And they stayed in that town until they couldn’t.
And then they left. Together.
“Where do you want it, Ace?”
Annie – Ace – pulled out her deck of luckies and lit up a butt, inhaling and blowing the smoke out in a practiced ring. The alley she was standing in was blocked off from the main road and, for extra precaution, always had a protective pair of eyes on the entrance; not that anyone would notice the guards, she was too smart to orchestrate anything so obvious.
Keeping her face neutral, she surveyed the haul of smuggled liquor brought to her by one of the active bootleggers in their employ. The two men behind her stayed quiet; stoic, as she blew another smoke ring. She spotted in a second that the poorly concealed unease radiating off the man wasn’t because of the loaded weapons either of her boys was carrying. She looked the bottles over once, twice –
“You’re just the bees’ knees, Cal. Always bringing me the best.” She indulged him a bit, pulling the cigarette from her mouth, and watched the tension ease out of his shoulders.
“Anything for you,” he grinned shakily and kept fidgeting. The damn sap was sweating bullets. He tried making small talk and she let him think he was getting away with it for another minute before she stopped him from lamming off.
“One thing, you old Mug,” her voice dropped all sweetness, and as she stared him down, all the blood drained from his face.
Jerking her head at one of the trouble boys behind her, he wasted no time in pulling out a gat and pointing it at the idiot who thought he could fool her.
“Do you take me for a Dumb Dora? A patsy?” She asked steadily, smirking when she heard the trigger being cocked. “I wasn’t born yesterday. I know the fucking difference between profitable giggle juice and piss-poor hooch.”
The man was shaking now but she had no patience for disrespect. Not here.
“I—I don’t, I don’t know what you’re spittin’ about, Ace.” He stammered.
“That’s Mrs. Thorne to you.” She corrected him, arching a brow. Turning on her heel she ignored Mr. Weston’s pleading and said to her trigger man, “Don’t make a mess. This damn alley smells bad enough.”
The other man who’d been standing behind her reached for the door holding it open for her without a word. She flashed him a smile and walked back into the speakeasy. Annie was immediately surrounded by raucous laughter and brassy jazz music, it was just enough to drown out the shot fired behind her and the thud of a body hitting the ground.
*****
Owen loved the sound of the big band. It never got old, no matter how many nights he spent sitting in this drum, putting down glasses of champagne. He liked even better, that no one bothered him at his table in the corner – no one he didn’t want bothering him, that is.
He especially liked it because he had a clear sight of both doors, the stage, and the bar. Not to mention he never had a problem picking his Ace out of the crowd. The club may have been bedecked in lights and gold, but his wife always shined brighter.
Tonight, he spotted her standing next to a young doll who looked scared enough just to be standing in a juice joint, let alone able to enjoy herself. But the longer he watched them, the more at ease the girl looked in Ace’s company.
“Don’t be getting the jitters, now,” Annie rubbed a comforting hand down the girl’s arm. She couldn’t have been older than twenty, and it was obvious she’d never been in a place like this before. “You see those fellas in the corner there?” she nodded towards a pair of men halfway through a bottle of gin, each with a fine damp on their laps. “Those boys are coppers.”
When the young girl looked back, startled, the blonde laughed and gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Lose those heebie-jeebies. You’re safe here.”
Annie looked over the girl’s head and saw that her man was already looking at her. Like always. She gave him a subtle nod, which he immediately returned, setting down his glass and gesturing to one of the men standing to the side of his table. Ace didn’t need to hear him to know what her husband was ordering.
“No one in this joint is a danger to you, you have my word.” At the girl’s still skeptical look, Ace smiled conspiratorially at her. “Take another look around, you see that handsome guy sitting there – no don’t stare – people in here listen to him. And he listens to me.” She leaned in closer and the girl finally smiled, making Ace’s smile wider. “He is absolutely dizzy with me. Now, let's get you a delicious glass of bubbly,” She snapped at one of the nearby waiters who came by and handed the girl some champagne. “Relax here at the bar and listen to our sweet canary sing. I heard her practicing her verses earlier and she's lovely.”
Leaving the girl in good hands, Annie snagged her own glass of champagne off a passing waiter and strutted across the dancefloor towards Owen. Her dress shimmered under the lights as she flounced to her husband’s table which was now occupied with a couple familiar faces. He didn’t falter in his conversation as she gracefully draped herself across his lap and wrapped an arm around his neck, carding her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.
“Ace,” he squeezed her hip in greeting, “you remember Lore and Fen.”
“Ain’t you a looker,” Fen winked, and Annie smirked, feeling her husband’s grip on her hip tighten.
“Down boy,” she chuckled, crossing one leg over the other and subtly leaning closer into Owen’s embrace.
“They were just telling me,” he explained to her, “that our buddy at the station got word some Dry folks want to take matters into their own hands.”
“They don’t think the coppers are doing their job,” Fen leaned back, smirking. “Not finding and shuttin’ down all those corrupted, underground joints.”
Annie snorted and turned over her shoulder to look at the two Johns drinking away with badges hidden somewhere in their jackets. “I think they’re doing a swell job.”
Her laughter was echoed by Owen and Fen, but Lore just rolled his eyes at her flippancy.
“Those damn teetotalers think they’re so high and mighty,” The man gritted out, glaring daggers at the policemen in the corner – darkly enough Annie was surprised the boys didn’t drop dead on the spot.
“Cut it out, Salterre,” Annie chastised. He redirected his glare to her and even though she felt Owen stiffen, she merely smirked at the glowering man. “If you keep up looking so sore, people are bound to notice, and then those fellas will get made. It won’t take a genius to figure out why a man sitting comfortably at this here table is looking to pop one of them off.”
“I don’t think Salterre has ever sat comfortably.”
None of them paid Fen’s comment any head, but Annie’s smirk widened just a fraction.
“Yeah?” Lore goaded, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it between his teeth. “And why would that be so bad?”
Before she could answer, Owen beat her to it.
“What, you killing them? Or someone noticing you want to?”
“Both?” The dark-haired man asked, unconcerned. “Either? No one’s gonna be crying over a couple less coppers.”
“Get your head out of your ass, Salterre.” Annie snapped, staring hard at him. “You kill them? That comes back to bite us. I wouldn’t go so far as to say you’re smart, but I know you have eyes.” She ignored his sneer. “Look around and tell me how many people are in the club? Tell me how many people would be able to say that they saw those boys here.”
“So? That’s bad for them, not us.” He shrugged dismissively.
Annie downed the rest of her champagne and wished for strength. “No one in here but a few of us,” she looked pointedly around the small circle, “know they’re coppers. Anyone else would just know that they recognized those two goddamn faces in here before you supposedly cut ‘em down. That leads questions coming back here, to our establishment, to you, to us. That is not what we fucking want. It's the whole fucking reason we pay those boys off in the first place – so that they won’t be bringing questions around here. We help them, they help us. That’s how this works, rattlecap.”
Annie snapped her fingers and a fresh glass of champagne found itself in her hand. She took a long sip before threatening, “If you think you’re above all that, then I’ll be handling you myself.”
Lore didn’t say anything when she raised her brows at him, he just shifted his gaze to her husband as if he would contradict or chastise her. Owen leaned back in his seat, pulling her with him as they settled into the plush cushion.
“You heard the lady,” Owen simply said, instead.
And with that, Fen started snickering and Lore stretched his arms out on the edge of the booth as he silently seethed. The band picked up the first notes of a new song that had Annie twisting on her husband's lap to listen to the music.
When she rested her head against Owen’s he squeezed her hip again and fondly muttered, “Ace.” Some days it was her sweet nickname, on others it was a curse, and sometimes, like right now and said in a way that made her turn to press a red-lipped kiss to his cheek, it was a prayer.
*****
The wind roared around them as their car sped down the road. Owen was driving with one hand on the wheel and the other half-hanging out the window. Annie smiled as the scenery flew by in a blur. Tall buildings and crowded streets gave way to green foliage and open land.
The engine purred and she couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. She’d seen a lot of discoveries and creations, and she always wondered how they could ever get better, but they usually did - things always evolved and spurred the invention of new things. She remembered the journeys in horse-drawn carriages and knew that back then she wouldn’t have been able to dream of a day like today, flying down the roads in a beautiful car, the engine powering them to its limits.
Getting close to the house, Owen pulled off the main motorway and took a winding, private road that wound them beneath blooming trees, their canopies painting the pavement in shade.
The house wasn’t extravagant; in fact, it was incredibly modest. It was something her husband had built in his early days on this continent. Long before the Great War, before the Gold Rush, before the Civil War, and revolutionary battles. Back when they both were searching for something new and took those leaps, journeying across the ocean.
Their lives sometimes felt like swinging pendulums, positioned closely enough to intertwine, drawing them together indistinguishably, but angled just so and pulling them apart when they least expected.
As she reached for Owen’s hands and intertwined their fingers, squeezing once, she vowed to never let that happen again.
It wasn’t long before they’d brought their bags in and decided to take a walk along one of the trails beyond the house.
“Do you think we have to worry about Lore going rogue?” She asked quietly, leaning into Owen’s arm.
“No, I don’t think so,” he shook his head, carding one hand through his un-slicked back hair. “He has a temper but he’s smart. Worst he’ll do is give ‘em some words, but he wouldn’t do worse than that. He knows it’ll only go bad.”
“I think you give him too much credit.”
“I think you give yourself too little,” he countered, and at her raised brow he chuckled. “He’ll put up a fight, but he won’t cross you.”
Annie hummed. “As far as he’s concerned, you’re the one he should be holding back for.”
Owen barked a laugh. “If you honestly think that he doesn’t know who is really calling the shots then you are severely underestimating him.”
“I’m not underestimating his intelligence. I’m insulting his lack of tact.” She told him as they kept walking. “You know we work together; I know we work together; they know we work together; but most of the fellas packing heat and doing the work still think you have the final word. And that works because it allows me to do things I need to do without as sharp an eye watching my moves.
“And if Salterre keeps pushing, then it won’t be long before everyone knows exactly how I can handle things – and that will be bad for both of us.” She pulled back and smirked up at his amused expression. “How do you think our supply is the best in town? Because I go out and make friends with all those grimy bootlegger’s dames; and between us ladies, things get done, arrangements get made, deals get sorted. And then, without watchful eyes on our lovely, delicate selves, we get our fellas to follow through with those deals…and the world goes round.”
“Okay, okay,” he laughed, agreeing. “Enough about that. I’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”
“Good.”
“And, Ace?” he laughed again, “You and I both know that every son of a bitch who works with us knows damn well that you’re packing as much heat as any one of them.”
They fell into companionable silence. There was no one in the world she felt as comfortable around.
“Do you remember when we got married?” She asked him suddenly.
“Of course, I do, Ace. It wasn’t that long ago.”
Her dress brushed against her legs as the breeze picked up.
“No, not this time,” she said. “I mean the time during the revolution.”
They kept walking steadily as he thought. “Which one?”
“The European one,” she elaborated.
He glanced down at her again. “Which one?”
“Oh, stop you sap,” she nudged his rib fondly. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Yes, I know what you’re talking about.” He stopped them and turned her to face him. “I remember every wedding I’ve had with you. I remember every ceremony and every dress. Every officiant. Every wedding night. And the only – only – thing that is good about the years when we’ve been apart is that every time we were, I knew I had one thing to look forward to: finding you again and getting to learn who you’ve become.”
“Ἀγαπῶ σὲ,” Annie whispered, silver-lined eyes staring up into his deep green ones.
“Te amo.”
“Ti amo.”
“Je t’aime.”
“I love you.”
**************
Sitting on their aging porch swing, Aelin found herself sorting through faded pictures. There was one of them in a poodle skirt and leather, of flared bell bottoms and disco lights, of wild hair and rock concerts they still sing along to. There was one of them from New Year’s Eve, bedecked in glitter and tassels that had been shot off the moment that the millennium ended. And another one, taken a few seconds later – thank you Polaroid technology – of Rowan dipping Aelin, his arms wrapped around her as they both smiled too hard to really keep up their kiss, as they welcomed a new day, a new year, a new century and millennium. Giddy about what was to come.
“I think that’s enough reminiscing,” she finally whispered, reorganizing the images and replacing the lid on the box.
“Yeah?” Rowan asked, just as quietly.
Aelin smiled, pressed a kiss to his lips, intertwined their fingers so their wedding bands glinted in the fading light, and answered, “Yeah. For now.”
