Hey! Sorry if you’ve answered this before or if it’s a bit above your paygrade for a Tumblr ask, but how do you imagine the dialect of Low Valyrian spoken in Lys to differ from High Valyrian (primarily in terms of phonology)? I know GRRM described it as a “musical, flowing, liquid tongue,” but that’s a bit too vague for my purposes, haha.
This is a big ask, because Lyseni and High Valyrian are different languages. They're related, but they're different in the way that Latin and French are different. I haven't given it careful thought you because it's potential future work for some potential future ASoIaF series. I hope to one day be able to create it. If I don't, I hope it'll be a fun exercise for a future conlanger.
Incidentally, if these GRRM books have lasting interest (assuming society lasts that long), it may be the case that these things are rebooted or expanded upon again and again in the future. Consider what's happened with Star Trek since the very first series aired. If some day after I'm dead they really start exploring the rest of the physical territory on Terros (so help me if you come at with "Planetos" I will block you), I hope a future conlanger finds it fun to use High Valyrian as a proto-language. They can, of course, always decide to ditch everything I did and do something new, but if it were me, I would find that fun, given that there is significant material that has been faithfully documented, to the best of my ability. That is, I was trying my best to get everything down. I'm sure there's mistakes (I correct them as I come across them), but it's better than the lack of records that exist for other things. I'm not saying they won't curse my name a few times for some of the absurd choices I made, but I hope on the whole, the experience would be a positive and rewarding one.
Anyway, I think it'd be fun to do a good chunk of the daughter languages of Valyrian, but I'm not sure I'll ever get the chance. Here's hoping.
Elide wanted Roland to stay longer, to get to know her home further. She knew it was selfish. Roland had ample to do back in Adarlan before convening in Orynth for Yulemas, but Elide felt like being selfish. Wanted someone to chose her wants over their own, regardless of how impractical it was.
Not that Roland didn’t already do so.
He’d left before dawn on the back of Abraxos.
Manon and her mount surprising them all with a stop in Perranth… to check on her, a gesture that flooded Elide with warmth. Watching Abraxos and Terros soar among the clouds, cries of elation reverberating across the city for all to hear was indeed a sight to behold. To have two wyvern in the midst of their company generated much hearsay with the citizens. Elide could smell their fear—if only slightly— as she spent the morning with Manon in town, could catch whispers of their hesitation with each step she and the witch took.
Eager for Manon to try sweets from the bakery she’d treated Tillian to, Elide had led the witch into the busy bakery, vulturous eyes landing on them both. Neither had opted to dress plainly, to conceal themselves. Though, there was no hiding the white hair, simmering golden eyes, or the translucent skin Manon possessed. Witch, those in the bakery muttered and when they caught sight of their delicate lady at the witch’s side, the run of their mills turned endlessly with rumors.
What could their lady be doing with the Witch Queen?
Like they didn’t already know the stories, the turmoil that their court survived during the Great War. The assistance that the witches provided, the sacrifices they made.
In the end, Manon and Abraxos enjoyed two blissful days in Perranth—prolonging Roland’s departure date.
Their mounts taking those offered days of bliss to their fullest.
One morning, Elide found them in the gardens sunbathing among the marigolds, begonias, and mums. Their snouts furrowed deep into flower petals as they slept, the gentle huffs of their snouts washing over the flowers creating tidal waves of color.
Tillian, unsurprisingly, took advantage of the two wyverns at his disposal. More often than not during those two days, Elide and Manon caught the boy among the wyverns—either napping with them, over feeding them or caressing their egos with his fascination. Tillian’s guardian fretfully searching for him, with Fenrys in tow those days with no avail. They would procure the boy only to lose him once more. If Elide were speaking to either of them, she would’ve told them to just let him be. But she wasn’t and it wasn’t her place to tell Lorcan how to discipline the small boy, no matter how many times she caught the words on the tip of her tongue ready to make themselves known.
Lorcan had been diligent about avoiding her. Presenting himself only for meals— that she herself barely attended— in the Great Hall. Those instances they were in the same room, Elide could feel his eyes boring into her, sense the unspoken words, the longing he had to continue their futile conversation.
Fenrys had been no better.
He’d not dared approach her until Roland left for Adarlan with Manon.
In the library sipping on black tea and lounging on a large leather chair, is where Fenrys gathered the bravery to speak to her. The humor normally hugging his depthless eyes was absent when she met his line of sight. His shoulders stiff under the red button up, the pulse at the base of his throat irregular, the sheen of sweat visible on his palms glistened into acknowledgment.
Things she would have never noticed before.
Elide had waited patiently, her nose pressing into her book and dutifully avoided looking at him. Concentrating instead on controlling her growing nerves. All of which she was getting better at. Exacting control of her raging heart, her breathing a steady gust of wind that did not die for anyone.
Fenrys began by apologizing for overstepping, claiming to have only her best interests in mind. After all, she was a part of his family—an added sister that he loved deeply and would protect at any cost.
She’d permitted him to speak his piece without interruption, granting him the respect that so many lacked for her where her feelings were concerned. When he finished, Elide let them both sit in silence. Boiling in the words he’d offered her. In the apology that he’d gifted to her, his personal beliefs aside.
“If Roland is what you’re sure of,” He’d mumbled gently, his hand reaching for her own, his calloused hand caressing her palm. “Then I trust your choice.”
Her only reply came in the squeeze of their joined hands. Knowing it was worthless to reignite that conversation, Elide had nodded to the book now in her lap. Offering Fenrys an escape from an unwilling conversation, one that he latched on to without further encouragement.
Elide was glad she and her friend reinstated their dynamic before he departed for Orynth. She couldn’t afford to alienate herself further. Not when she already felt vulnerable and incapable with her new reality.
“Are you listening?”
Her sight drifted slowly to her father. Curiosity lined the crinkle of his eyes, the fork halfway to his mouth all but forgotten.
Right.
Cal occupied the seat across from her, a spread of food bordered between them. Her lashes fluttered once. Twice. Before a tight grin bloomed on her face, nodding once in his direction.
“Then you agree with Lucius,” Her father mused, placing his fork piled with eggs back on his plate, his broad hand scratching at the stubble on his face.“That having Lorcan rejoin them on the construction site is favorable for progress?”
Elide scowled, her nostrils flaring and iron filling her onyx eyes. “Absolutely not.”
Her father fell silent, his sight suspiciously trained to the canopy of her bed, his long fingers flexing and un-flexing the cutlery still in his hand.
She could feel the disappointment rumbling into the room. The front of a darkened storm cloud awaiting its moment to drench them all, Elide could almost smell it. The disapproval, the discouragement, dragging its pointy finger tips along the edges of her empathy, those damned heightened senses of hers asking her to recognize that which she wished not to.
Three weeks of this. Three weeks of dealing with the intrusion of her father as the sun rose from its slumber. Spending their mornings together to ease the weight of his guilt. That’s why he’d insisted on spending breakfast with her daily and not the once weekly event it had been prior to… everything. Elide supposed that she had to give him credit. He was trying, attempting to straighten that which he’d bent within their relationship.
“How would it benefit me to agree to that?” She said, her fingers itching toward a plump strawberry.
“Well,” Cal drawled, his tone light. “He became Lucius’s right hand.”
Elide’s eyes narrowed, her hand cupping her cheek as she bit into ripe piece of fruit.
“Lucius came to me personally,” Her father continued before she could interrupt. “Asked if perhaps they’d said or done anything to have slighted Salvaterre and what he could do to correct his absence. I made sure to withhold that my daughter maybe the cause for his disappearance.”
She felt her father’s gaze study her, hoping to note any changes in her facial expression or posture that could grant him any insight to how she felt about the information being presented. A futile endeavor, really.
“If an assistant is what Lucius desires, then I will see to it that he gets one.”
Cal wiped at the edges of his mouth with his napkin, Elide noticing how the silk caught on the coarse hair of his mustache.
“He does not wish for just any assistant, Elide.”
“His request is unwise,” she bit out with a mocking smile. “The generosity I’ve extended into allowing him to remain in Perranth is more than enough.”
The intruding sound of a serving girl—Maribel— entering her bedchambers quieted them both. Maribel neared with a ceramic pot, wisps of steam escaping from its spout, the delectable scent of kahve burrowing into her nose.
Elide thanked the girl as she set the contents in her hand on their breakfast table, a twinkle in the girls eyes, no doubt thankful that she’d pleased her lady. Maribel quietly dismissed herself, her clumsy footsteps disappearing down the corridor. Elide thanked Anneith with each whiff of the drink she caught as she poured herself a generous cup, her father notably amused by her change in demeanor.
The first sip lifted her spirit and for a fraction of a second Elide felt hope.
“It would be unwise to refuse a notable asset towards this project of yours. With Lorcan’s help they’ve made considerable progress. If this were my project—”
“But it’s not is it?” Elide replied, waving her hand in dismissal. A dismissal her father frowned at. “I will consider it. That’s all I can offer.”
It was her father’s turn to dip his chin in acceptance. She could feel the argument threatening to slip out his mouth, his persistence to double down on Lucius’s behalf, but he didn’t. Another of her father’s notable changes in behavior since her return.
He was abstaining from pushing his boundaries, from continuing to push her out further into a tumultuous sea.
There were were some perks to dying, she thought.
“Did you give Roland a response?” Her father asked, surprising her.
Up until now, the subject of Roland had been nonexistent. She’d chalked it up to the awkwardness of a father discussing his daughter’s love life for the lack in conversation, that along for the part he played in Roland now being a part of her life. Elide would rather not talk to Cal about any of it. It was not a part of herself she desired to share with him. In a perfect world she wouldn’t have to, however, this was not a perfect world and if she’d learned anything was that the universe hardly held her best interests at heart.
“I attempted to,” She blew into her mug, deciding the kahve needing cooling. “He requested I wait and write him with my decision a few weeks before Yulemas.”
“A wise choice, I think.”
She glanced up at his admission. Her father eyed her, his dark brown eyes tender—a gaze he’d often shown her before the war, before the people they had been perished never to be seen again.
From the get-go, her father had not been the same. How could he? From the little he had been willing to tell her, life had not been kind to him from the start of the war. Cal Lochan believed to have lost everything. His wife. His daughter. His home. It was no wonder that the once joyous optimistic warrior returned somber, curt and detached.
The last two years together had created a chip in his impenetrable armor. Slowly, the glimpses of who her father had been began reappearing. Shining through at the most beautiful and merciful of moments. Her father loved her, that she’d never questioned. Rebuilding their relationship is what Elide had considered to be the happiest in her human life. Trust, respect and pride shown in Cal Lochan from the moment he’d laid eyes on her once more. A fair and just Lord of Perranth that her people respected and cared for. A lord that their people would rally for.
Where had that man gone over the last few months?
Cal did that a lot recently, kept his sight fixed on her. Often times allowing a semblance of the man he used to be poke through the hardened exterior he displayed to the world, his daughter included. Those moments, those fluttering seconds that his walls crumbled for her, Elide wondered if they would ever regain their footing. Could they mend what had been twisted and curled beyond recognition? It was these moments of weakness that she hoped that they could go back to where they had been. Where they’d writhed themselves to when the end of the war brought him back to her.
After all, she and Nox were quietly working on rebuilding their trust. Why couldn’t she and her father do the same?
There was so much nuance when it came to truths. Everyone held their own version of it. A version detailing the complexities of their own realities, but how does one navigate the truth when everyone believed in their own?
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Lorcan,
Sellene agreed to your request. Documentation will be provided once finalized. She did not ask further details, thank the gods. The additional addendum has been implemented as well. Are you sure this is what you wish to do? There is still time to change course.
— R.W.G
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Lorcan was still wondering what Roland meant three weeks later.
Surely, the man did not mean what Lorcan kept returning to. There was not a chance, that Roland, that stupid, insufferable, and foolish boy intended to step aside for him. It was simply incomprehensible that he would do so. Roland said it himself: he cared about Elide.
To top it off, perhaps the notion that Roland would eliminate himself from the equation was what not only perplexed Lorcan, but what infuriated him the most was that Lorcan knew—deep in his ancient bones—he knew that Roland meant it.
Further proving that Roland was the better man. A qualified fit for Elide. Selfless, handsome, kind, generous. Every characteristic that Lorcan himself was not. Another blow to his already deteriorated ego.
And because Lorcan would rather ignore the notion that Roland was the better option, he candidly disregarded the words the lord had whispered. It was easier that way. Lorcan knew how to be cunning, cruel, deceiving—an asshole, for all intents and purposes. He’d been that and more for centuries, he could continue to be that if it meant he could win over Elide. Admittance of Roland’s charity would complicate everything, and the male he was currently would be unable to proceed as he wanted to. The guilt would weigh heavily on him, because he would be unable to justify taking Elide from the better man.
She deserved someone like Roland.
Needed someone like him.
But Lorcan needed Elide.
The last few weeks, Lorcan had been diligent about keeping his distance. A way of respecting her wishes, not at all due to his nerves or his unending shame. Definitely not.
She wanted her space and so fucking Hellas, he granted it. Figuring out how to reintroduce himself would come later. He was not the same male anymore… right?
Lorcan even distanced himself from the construction site as it was Elide’s project. He held no right in continuing his involvement if she’d made it purposely clear she wanted nothing to do with him. So he’d stayed away, even if his leave generated another hole into his soul. For Lorcan, spending time at the site helped. Getting to know the men working tirelessly to finish the pride of Perranth, provided a sense of stability. The men claimed the school provided the children a chance to elevate themselves into new standing among society, or so they predicted.
He had been unable to disagree.
The men he met were the definition of humble, generous people, perhaps a bit naive in areas of life, but exemplary citizens. Spending his time with them kept Lorcan from diving back into old, toxic habits. No mirthroot. No liquor. Well, in regards to the liquor, he would have it every so often but he no longer held the need to abuse it. Didn’t have a desire to, especially not with Tillian now under his care.
Staying away from such debauchery helped Lorcan learn the ways of Elide’s people, and in a sense, helped him feel closer to her.
Biding his time, Lorcan persisted.
With only one minor inconvenience to him. One he hadn’t felt or seen coming.
Terros.
Lorcan missed the beast in a way he didn’t think possible. The articulation of longing not seeing the wyvern produced was unfathomable. Terros having been the first creature he’d done right by. The first he’d protected instead of barreled through, one he’d learned to care for.
Weeks it’d been since he last spent time with the beast, Tillian holding the only semblance of a connection that he had to wyvern. Easy it’d been at first, to distance himself. To let Tillian take over. The boy all too willing to do so, obsessed with the creature he was and when the Witch Queen had stopped by, Abraxos in tow, Tillian had been utterly beside himself.
Above the clouds, the boy had been. Claiming that now he held not one, but two wyverns to call friends.
Yes, Lorcan had been content to let Tillian pursue the task of caretaker—with Fenrys as his aid of course. Lorcan wasn’t as dense to leave Tillian without an adult…not that Fenrys counted as one a majority of the time.
Three weeks marked the longest he’d not seen Terros since his arrival. He yearned to nap with him in the meadow, missed the camaraderie that they’d both established, the understanding that brewed between the two when it came to Elide and Tillian. Terros, the one being alive that he could profess his wants, his sins vocally without fear that he’d barter the information to others.
Wyverns couldn’t talk after all.
Lorcan bit back a smile at the thought, his hand stilling on Tillian’s back. Ivira deemed to make herself known, for the fourth time this week. The small boy had ran into his room, slamming the door shut behind him, and startling Lorcan along with his shadows. Had Lorcan not held the control and restraint of half a millennia, a tragedy would have befell the boy. The thought alone was enough to send Lorcan’s nerves into a frenzy.
If Ivira were real she’d been slayed long ago, Lorcan decreed. Not only for haunting Tillian but for disrupting his sleep.
Lorcan’s sight flickered between Tillian and his bedroom door t. The soft diligent sounds of Tillian’s breathing pierced into his ears, the sound soothing his own wavering heart. Lorcan felt a smile tug at his lips as he removed his touch from Tillian’s back.
He’d gotten into the bad habit of scratching the boy’s back to lull him back to sleep, a motion that Lorcan should have never entertained considering soon enough, sleep would evade the boy entirely without it.
Vigorous flapping of leather wings snapped Lorcan out of his reverie, his eyes darting to his curtained window. He could almost see Terros ascending up the side of the castle, the glimmer of his onyx scales shining against the moonlight. Could the beast miss him just as much as Lorcan did?
Lorcan decided tonight he'd find out.
By the time that Lorcan trudged up the steps to the aerie, memories of Elide slithered to the forefront his mind, endless nights they spent together in the aerie. A time of old that never occurred to him that he’d miss.
Moments taken for granted in his arrogance.
Terros, curled among a behemoth of hay, his wings tucked neatly at his side, his lengthy tail, wrapped along his massive body, almost met his snout. The beast’s eyelids slid open, the emerald color glowing in the darkness.
Steadily, Terros lifted his head in question, as if to say, Where have you been?
The ghost of a grin played along his pursed lips and Lorcan, without further prompting, neared his friend.
“You’ve gotten fat,” Lorcan grumbled, his hand lightly caressing the wyvern’s warm belly. Tillian’s feedings had been a little too generous it seems. He’d need to discuss this with the child before the wyvern couldn’t fly.
Terros’s nostrils flared, a great puff of air brushing past Lorcan’s hair. Amusement sparkled in the wyvern’s gaze as his snout nudged Lorcan’s bicep playfully.
“My mount is not fat.”
Lorcan froze at the sound, his heart thumping into his throat, the tips of his fingers going numb. He’d imagined it. Surely. There was not a chance in hell—
Turning towards the door, Elide Lochan stood, her arms across her chest, a deep grimace on her fine-boned face. His mouth went dry, his moonlit eyes rounding with each prolonged second she glared back at him.
How had he not heard her approach?
Numbly, Lorcan tore his hand from Terros and stepped aside hastily, sure to keep his distance from the delicate woman now in his presence.
Elide approached her mount as Lorcan neared the door, the scent of her burning into his lungs, still her and yet… not. That sense of other still smeared against her, at least Roland’s scent had dissipated over the last few weeks.
“I didn’t believe him,” she said, her hand rubbing the scales of Terros’s belly. The content droop of Terros’s eyelids evident and undeterred as the wyvern nudged at her arm softly.
She couldn’t be speaking to him.
Elide’s gaze fixed him in place, her chin dipped as her eyes met his own over her shoulder. Her bordered curiosity shined elegantly in her irises, her plump rosy lips opened. She hadn’t looked at him like this in centuries.
Lorcan caught the hitch in her breath when his hand immediately fell from the door handle, his muscled back now to the heavy door. He wondered if she could see right through him. Could she see the way her words rekindled the dying flame of his soul? Would she think it was pathetic? Would she even care?
“Who?” He said, finally finding his courage, now that he’d realized he wasn’t hallucinating.
Her hand stilled, sight glued to the wyvern before her, “Why did you do it?”
A step forward. Lorcan never thought the sound of a footstep would pronounce itself so commandingly into the world, drawing attention from the gods themselves. He held the grace of immortals and yet—
“Do what?”
“You don’t like Terros. Why look after him?” She stated simply, and though she appeared to be unbothered, completely and utterly unaffected, Lorcan caught the irregularity of her heart, the increase in tempo along with the rise to her voice.
She was nervous.
“You care for him,” He said softly. “Why wouldn’t I do the same.”
Eyes narrowing, her thin hand went to the necklace on her chest, her fingers fiddling with the heart-shaped locket. Terros went to lay his head on a bundle of hay, pretending like he went unnoticed as if he were a mere statue in the background, eavesdropping on what was transpiring between the two of them. Lorcan wondered what the beast thought of all of this.
The sway of Elide’s hair was that of falling stars as she faced him, the deep red of her robe accentuating the creeping blush on her sharp cheekbones. Even in her nightwear she was devastatingly beautiful. His fingers itched to trace the contours of her soft mouth; a mouth he’d tasted once, eons ago, and that he’d implored Hellas to let him savor once more. The urge to weave his fingers through the length of her hair, to bring her body flush to his as he brought his lips to hers, roared through his entire being.
Fuck, how he ached to have her not just physically but in mind and soul.
He felt the tight thread of gold that once beared the weight of it all—the one he’d ignored for months— the one that snapped, dismantling their connection—begin to stir. A thirst to reconnect, to nurture and to reanimate itself into that bond he knew deep down he—
“Why do any of it?” She persisted, her ebony eyes burning so bright he though he saw specks of gold lining her pupils. “Why help with the building, the soldiers, Tillian? Why did you come back?”
Terros, whose tail dutifully slinked across the aerie, paused his movement. The air around them thick with an emotion Lorcan couldn’t place.
“I thought that was obvious,” he breathed.
Elide grimaced, her arms crossed over her chest, the embroidered floral design trailing up her silk sleeves gleaming with her movement. The expression on her face all but brought him to his knees. “No,” she said. “It isn’t. I gave you what you wished for and yet here you are.”
Lorcan flinched at that. “I didn’t want to leave Rifthold.“ He took a careful step in her direction. “I wanted to return to Perranth with you—“
“You announced your disdain for Perranth, and for me, countless times and I’m expected to believe that?”
“Yes,” He nearly implored, his voice raising an octave. His ribcage threatened to shatter under the beating of his wicked heart. Another step forward. “You are.”
“Why?”
“Because—“
Elide observed him with caution, her slippered foot tapping along the stone as Lorcan warred with himself.
Because I love you.
Lorcan wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shout it to the entire continent, the whole world. But he was a coward, a fraud where love was concerned, and there was something about the way Elide’s eyes glittered that told him even if he did confess right here, right now, she wouldn’t believe him anyway. He’d broken them too thoroughly for the truth.
“Because you are—were the one friend I called mine and I ruined it,” he could afford to give her a morsel of reality.
Elide blinked, her shoulders… falling? That couldn’t be.
The weight of cunning and devious eyes roved over his body. Their pressure compressing his lungs into thin crinkling leaves that threatened to fall from their branches. Falling to their death, no longer able to breathe.
Lorcan took her silence to be a sign in the right direction and ventured another step, now within arms reach of her.
His throat constricted as the words entered his consciousness. Lorcan in his desire to correct, to begin to atone, gave them life.
“I’m sorry,” He whispered, his fingers twitching with the agony it took not to reach for her. Eyes filled with the intensity of a burning sun pierced into him, running that guilt deeper into his being. She did regard him with anger, for once. No sneer on those graceful lips or hatred tinting her scent, her heart thumping steady and true. “Elide, I never meant to damage—“
“You don’t need to apologize,” She interrupted , tearing her sight from him and instead turning back to Terros. “If anyone is to blame its myself.”
At her confession, Terros himself exhaled as he lifted his serpentine neck in astonishment. Lorcan felt his heart drop rapidly into stomach, the stinging in his chest making it difficult to breathe.
“Reckless of me,” she breathed, the lifeless tone in her voice delivering the eulogy to his awaiting casket. “To have not shielded myself from you, for not realizing it until the the door slammed shut between us. It was accidental, Lorcan, but I loved you sincerely, for what it’s worth.”
“I—“
Elide lifted a finger, the sleeve of her robe falling to her elbow.
“Please, let me finish. You will only receive this apology once.”
Lorcan stilled at the command, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to defy her request. He would never deny her anything again, no matter how it fueled his heartbreak to do so.
“A piece of me died when you left, a slice of innocence I wanted to give you.” Pressing her forehead to her mounts snout, she gave a sad smile. “I wish to thank you because it propelled me toward someone worthy of the love I have to give. Someone I’m meant to be with and will never hurt me the way you did. I needed to learn that the hard way, it seems.”
“I do care about you,” He said, his voice thick with emotion. The magic coursing through his body bowed at her confession. Unable to move, or acknowledge the soul that filtered through its host. His shadows, the token bestowed to him from Hellas, wilted in place. Torment shot through Lorcan’s heart, a dull knife tearing the stitches he’d unknowingly sowed back together.
She confirmed what he himself knew, what everyone already thought about him. He was not worthy of her. But he could try couldn’t he? What had he been doing these past three months if not turning into a male that could deserve her?
“There wasn’t a day I did not think of you or feel shame for what I did.”
Her eyes fluttered shut as Terros yawned, pushing Elide gently aside. “I am finally able to breathe again, Lorcan.”
“What of me, then?”
Her brows knitted together at that.
Terros shifted, the stone floor of the aerie creaking under his weight, his lengthy tail encircling them both. Lorcan pretended like he didn’t notice what the wyvern did, Elide doing much of the same but took a half-step back from him. Widening the space between them.
“When will I be able to breathe again?” He demanded, hating how Elide did not so much as react to his question.
“I wasn’t aware you couldn’t.”
“I’m here am I not?”
Elide swallowed, the tick in her jaw the only sign of her hesitation. She fell silent, her sight darting to her mount’s tail cradling them in place. “I granted you your freedom and you crawl back to Perranth. At least in that regard I should thank you. You made yourself of use here, provided aid those in need.”
“I want you back,” He said desperately and immediately regretted it. Ire transformed her soft features, her lips pursing, the light in her eyes dying. “I want my friend back.” He amended quickly.
Elide stepped over Terros’s tail, navigating her way to the edge of the massive opening in the wall that overlooked the terrain. With her back to him, Lorcan debated going to her, pressing his lips to her own to see if she would respond. If she would twine her arms around his neck to kiss him back. Lorcan wanted desperately to ease her distrust, show her how deeply he cared, those three words on the cusp of flying out of his mouth.
Yet.
Elide deserved space. The few words she’d gifted him were more than he was entitled to, her vow to remain silent confirming it. Deflated, Lorcan made his way to the door. His magic protesting fiercely when the hinges to the door creaked ferociously. Tendrils of black shadow twisting, screaming, for her hand to hold. Lorcan ordered his magic to remain at his side.
“You cannot begin a task only to desert it,” Elide announced. “You will continue to help Lucius at the building site on my behalf.”
The magic in his veins cried in delight, the hope that lined his heart thickened. Lorcan stumbled to a halt under the doorway, refraining from looking back at the woman that held his soul. Gods forgive him, he was going to get her back. No matter how long it took, no matter if he deserved her or not.
“You will cease reporting to my father, and instead you will communicate with me on matters regarding the project.” Lorcan pivoted in her direction, only to find that Elide now stood within arms length. Mouth falling open, he attempted to mask his shock and almost tripped over his feet. How had she—
“Do I make myself clear?”
Lorcan blinked unceremoniously, “Only if it means we can start anew.”
Elide tilted her head, her brows knitting together. “Pardon me?”
“Fuck it,” Lorcan murmured almost inaudibly, closing the space between them. He lifted a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers roaming to the curve of her cheek.
A flush spread up Elide’s neck at the illicit intimacy in his voice, unbalanced by his sudden boldness. She leaned into him as his other hand went to her waist, so minuscule a movement he wasn’t certain he believed it. Angling her face to his own, Lorcan searched her features, the proud tip of his nose brushed against her own. And when his sight dipped to her mouth, he thought he heard a whimper escape her lips. “I wish for us to start over,” desire dripped into his plea, his lips hovering over hers.
As if remembering who she was with, Elide regained her composure. Slapping his hands off her, she tore out of his embrace, though not before Lorcan scented it.
“You don’t get to make demands,” She snapped, taking a large step away from him, the blush on her cheeks unmistakeable.
Lorcan took two lungfuls of air, hoping Elide wouldn’t notice the prominent strain in his pants her whimper rewarded him with, made worse by the scent engulfing them both.
So much for not being obvious.
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Elide cursed Anneith and every god she could think to name.
In her defense, she tried. Really, really tried to ignore the pulsing ache between her legs. Used every tactic she could think of to ease the burning that he produced. She’d briskly stalked her way back to her bedchambers once Lorcan sauntered out of the aerie, giving him a five minute head start.
Not that he needed one.
Likely, he’d made it back to his rooms within the span of a minute, thanks to the speed his Fae heritage gifted him. That is, if he’d hurried back to his room or if he’d slipped into a broom closet to take care of himself. Would he think of her as he spilled into his hand? Or would his mind travel to another? Was his arousal simply that of lust and her being the closest body available? After all, from what she’d learned of the servants, he’d been tame since returning to Perranth.
Misguided lust had to have driven his motivations tonight.
Gods, Elide pretended not to notice bulge in his pants. It’d taken every crumb of her strength to ignore it. However, it was that same arousal that her mind now returned to as she ditched her robe and hitched her night gown to her waist.
Elide made it onto her bed with moments to spare, any longer and in her haste she would have gone to hunt down the Demi-fae herself, to help ease the exquisite itch she needed scratched.
It’d been almost a month since Roland touched her, since he’d driven her off the edge. A long fretful month where she hadn’t been allowed to lose herself in another, surprised by how she missed it. Her skin now ablaze with desire, the tightness in her chest heaved as she mindlessly let her fingers to travel to the slickness between her thighs.
For a second, shame crept into her veins. Roland did not deserve this, did not deserve to have a woman who thought of another when she dipped a finger into herself.
She should stop, needed to stop.
Elide blamed the heightened senses and emotions she now possessed. This was why she wished she could feel nothing at all. Sadness amplified tenfold, happiness itself coated her with a high that rivaled that of opium addicts, and well, when it came to desire nothing placated it.
And the pleasure she chased after currently? She’d never felt anything quite like it. Not with Roland anyway, and in some faraway land where she could bring herself to be mortified of the filthy thoughts in her possession, she’d find the will to stop.
But in the reality she’d traveled to, in that truth of hers, she now thought of how Lorcan would feel if he buried himself so deeply within her that she saw stars, to have him without restraint and without care.
Elide didn’t dare let her mind wander to Roland.
Instead, she thought of Lorcan giving her wet open-mouthed kisses on the curve of her neck, the heat of his body flush against hers, his length pressed against her entrance waiting to feel every inch of him. How it would feel to let her hands sink into the silk of his hair, her legs wrapping around his waist as he took her peaked nipple into his mouth.
A sound tumbled out of her lips at that, her movements faltering in her lust induced imagination.
Gods, she could almost taste him, prayed to the gods she one day could.
A fools hope. This would be the closest Elide would ever get to having a celestial experience because those dripping in guilt and sin didn’t get soar among the stars.
Elide Lochan knew shame intimately for the next two weeks.
She avoided Lorcan Salvaterre at all costs. Multiple times she received missives from the warrior requesting to meet with her, and countless times she declined, stating important state matters to attend to with her father.
And now that Cal Lochan wished to right his wrongs with his only daughter, when Elide pleaded that should Lorcan ask of her, he corroborate her claims, it gave weight to her allegations and she had nothing to worry about.
Her father, with a single raised eyebrow and shake of his head, agreed but his displeasure was evident. Much to her thanks, he did not bring up the subject of Lorcan during their morning breakfasts. Cal’s mind travelled to her birthday, supplicating that they celebrate it.
Perhaps her fickle mortality made her father soft. He’d not troubled her about her birthday in years past. Elide was not one to call for attention, never seeking it out. An added characteristic of her gifts from Anneith, she thought. Preferring to blend into the background, listening to the innermost secrets of others, weaponizing information in her favor, and turning into other people for the sake of safety.
It’s what she’d done during the Great War to stay alive with Ress at her side. Back when they travelled across the continent in search of Aelin and her court. Lifetimes ago that had been. And though she used Anneith’s gifts sparingly now, she could still hone that magic with deadly precision if she wanted to.
Again, not that there were abundant instances to use her talents now.
Cal argued his case to celebrate her birthday unsuccessfully, arguing that the citizens of Perranth needed to see their Lady healthy, present and whole. A mute argument if she’d ever heard one. The people he used as a logic would not be the people who would celebrate within the castle walls, but the many of the minor lords of Perranth and her friends— all royals.
Elide scoffed at suggestion after suggestion flung her way.
In the end, they agreed to an intimate dinner between the two of them— Nox and Finnula included.
“I thought I would find you here,” Nox settled at her side, grass crunching underneath him.
Terros belted blissfully against the crimson hue of the setting sun as he dipped past the tree line. Elide grinned, her nose crinkling when she thought of his wings dipping into the lake.
“Took the time to visit mother, I see.” Elide meant to say it in jest, to poke at her brother. She hadn’t meant the accusatory tone to seep into her voice, but there was no taking it back.
Nox groaned, his hand ruffling his hair out of his face. “She’s not actually buried here.”
Elide rolled her eyes, shifting her weight onto her elbows. The breeze ringing through the meadow generating goosebumps along her forearms. She’d opted to wear witch leathers today and a loose shirt for comfort, her black boots strewn aside. Being barefoot help ground hers, blades of grass, flowers and dirt reminding her of the beauty to behold, of all she had yet to see and do.
Being in her mother’s meadow always helped center her, brought her back to reality, helped her feel like everything was going to be okay.
“What brings you here, Nox?” Elide said, wiggling her toes along the yellow grass.
With an arm to hold his head upright, Nox replied, “Can a brother not just spend time with his sister?”
Elide gave him a flat look, “With a brother like you? No. Now, what is it?”
Nox stretched with added flare, prolonging his response and grating at her nerves. He threw in a yawn for good measure. “It’s been a while since we escaped the castle.”
Exasperated, Elide let herself fall to the Earth once more. Finnula would have a fit later.
“Why lay among insects and weeds,” Her nursemaid would exclaim as she brushed those very banes of her existence out of her hair later. The thought made Elide roll her head to the side, basking in the remnants of warmth the sun offered her.
Soon, the chill from the Staghorn Mountains would remain, gray clouds would paint the sky sorrowful and snowflakes would fall mercilessly for days on end. Most, if not all, of the trees near the castle lay bare now. Their leaves colliding with the hard Earth, the safety their tree branches offered all but forgotten.
“You’ve been too far up our fathers ass to do so,” she retorted.
“Yeah, yeah,” her brother waved dismissively with a hand mid-air. “I’ve heard this before already. Are you in or not?”
Elide turned to Nox, holding back a smile. “What did you have in mind?”
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Lorcan gripped the slip of paper in his hands tightly, lazy penmanship and all, he reread the note twice.
It’d been slipped under his door as he walked out of his bathing room, the hurried sound of footsteps racing down the corridor. He hadn’t bothered to follow after the messenger, and towel in hand, instead attempted to dry his hair and regarded the note curiously.
His linen pants hung loosely along his hips, abdomen tensing as he took a seat on the edge of his mattress.
Ruhn’s Tavern. 8:00pm.
Lorcan turned the note over, hoping there’d be information attached to the back, only to be left disappointed.
Glaring at the clock on the mantle, he deduced it to be six-thirty. He’d skipped out on dinner, the thought of running into Elide the main benefactor of his decision. Her avoidance all but fueled his anxiety. He never should have been so forward that night.
Right back to square one he was. She must continue to think he was the fucking lustful prick she thought he was. And who could blame her, she was right.
He’d tucked himself into an unused bedroom that night, narrowly avoiding just pulling his cock out right then and there in the middle of the corridor. The old Lorcan would have held no concern doing so before, the memory of how he’d taken Essar in Sellene’s palace in plain view returned to him then.
No, the male he was before Elide would have beat the shit out of him for his trepidation.
His need for her had been too powerful and no matter how honorable he pretended to be, he had to take care of himself. Elide’s own scent—her arousal penetrating his nostrils, piercing a gaping hole into his senses, awakening something so primitive, so arrogant, Lorcan could hardly see straight.
“Fuck,” He whined aloud, throwing the damp towel to the floor.
Since when did Lorcan Salvaterre whine?
Upon further inspection, Lorcan realized who the note belonged to… but why? What did they want, and was it worth investigating? And why a fucking tavern of all places?
A growl nearly broke past his lips as the thought of having to ask Finnula if she’d watch Tillian tonight barreled through him. He knew she wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on the boy, however, Lorcan hated asking for favors and knew Tillian would whine about Lorcan not being within the castle walls.
Still, the note captured his interest. Two hours out in the city wouldn’t hurt.
And before he could talk himself out of it, Lorcan rose.
A crackle of thunder shouldered itself into the bustle of the city. An unmistakable storm loomed on the edge of Perranth, lightning stroking the dark sky in a threatening smile. Lorcan having scented the storm the moment he stepped foot outside the castle, praised himself for remembering his cloak.
Months ago, the citizens of Perranth would have given him a wide berth as he shuffled down the cobblestone streets, whispering rumors charged with creativity as they crossed the street rather than be within a ten foot radius of the scary Demi-fae blessed by the god of Death.
But that was then and this was now. Lorcan held his powerful shoulders back, his chin high and the upturn of his mouth undeniable with each stride he took to his destination.
Many people waved in greeting as he passed—Josef, a water wielder out with his wife— approached him perhaps three minutes into entering the city, eager to present Lorcan to his wife, Isabella. The man’s wife praised and thanked Lorcan for teaching her husband the art of control. However, what had struck Lorcan deeply was the thanks Isabella gave him for treating Josef like a friend, as if he was deserving of it.
Others—men he worked with on the building site— neared him with their children in tow. Their small faces astonished, their round-eyes glued to him, mouths dropping to the floor when their fathers presented them to Lorcan.
“Is it true you eat children?” A five year old girl—Lilly—asked, the ringlets of her brown hair bouncing enthusiastically with each bob of her head.
William, a young man in his early twenties, had turned scarlet when the question left his daughter’s mouth.
Kneeling to her line of sight, Lorcan replied seriously, “Only when they don’t listen to their parents.”
He’d narrowly avoiding howling in laughter at the look on the small girls face.
Entering the tavern immediately overwhelmed him. Screeching from those on instruments occupying the makeshift stage in the center of the room, scorched through the room. Liquor and watered down ale stained the room with the sharp smell of sour undertones. Though nicer than the establishments he’d frequented weeks ago, the space was over capacity. Shoulder to shoulder, humans and fae squeezed past one another. With the amount of bodies in the room, there should be no possible way for people to be dancing they way they were, and yet Lorcan’s sight yielded to the center of the room where a ring of people did just that.
How was he going to find Nox in a place like this?
With a sharp exhale, Lorcan set out towards the bar hoping to catch a break and find the once assassin immediately.
Time moved at an alarming rate, an hour came and went and Lorcan had yet to find Nox. He took a drink of his ale quietly, putting his effort into his hearing, concentrating on pinpointing Nox’s gruff voice from the stool he sat on.
“Aye, another vodka please,” A shrill voice caught this attention.
He twisted in his seat to find the object of his desire, stumbling to a stop at the bar. Her cheeks lit pink in the heat of the tavern, her hair sticking to the sweat on her temples. She clapped her hands in joy when the barmaid presented her with another shot glass.
Elide tipped her head back as she quickly downed the drink, slamming the glass down with enthusiasm. “Another!” She exclaimed, her eyes bright.
The barmaid, eager to gain a good tip, went to hand her another. One Lorcan intercepted immediately.
“Absolutely, not.” He snatched the glass out of Elide’s reach.
Elide curled her lip in distaste. “Who do you think you are—“ she began, her chest puffing up in anger, further accentuating her breasts against the embroidered corset she wore. “Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Two hours later, the door to Ruhn’s Tavern banged open, the torrent of rain filling the streets of Perranth. Seething, and with swift determination, Lorcan removed his cloak carefully to drape it over Elide. Elide who he carried over his shoulder, the skirts of her dress already damp even with the cover of the cloak.
“Put me down!” She cried, her hands banging against his back to no avail.
Lorcan made it a block from the tavern, when he scooted under an awning, dropped her gently to her feet. The anger the small woman emitted could take on an entire hoard of skin walkers.
With a delicious pout, Elide fixed him with a look so severe he thought she might actually slit his throat… that is, if she could reach him.
“You had no right,” She slurred, stomping her foot like a child, teetering to the side as she did so. Lorcan placed both hands on her waist to secure her, a gesture she abhorred if the flailing of her arms were any indication. He released her with hesitation, only to repeat the motion when she fell against him.
Noticing his cloak hung for dear life along her shoulders, he straightened the material, clasping it along her throat, ignoring the silver locket perched in-between the crease of her breasts.
“Considering you’re severely drunk,” Lorcan scolded, thankful for the reprieve from the rain. “I would say that man propositioning you was fucking terrible thing to do.”
Elide’s sight glazed over, her hand moving to her mouth. Lorcan prayed to whatever god watched that she would not throw up all over him.
Three deep inhales of muggy air later, Elide took a seat along the sturdy wood door of the building they stood before. Closing her eyes, she tilted her head toward the heavens. Lorcan’s eyes darted around the vicinity, calculating the safety of the area. The rain displayed no end in sight, plummeting the temperature along with it, great gusts of wind began to send trash skittering through the air while glass bottles took a stroll down the street.
“It’s too dangerous to walk back to the castle,” as if on cue a crash of thunder shook the buildings, lightning following its footsteps and illuminating the sky. “Can you walk?”
Fucking shitty it was to do but he hoped she couldn’t.
“What the hell do you think?” She reprimanded, rubbing her temples.
He nodded and without another word, Lorcan reached for the petite woman, hoping she wouldn’t hurl a years worth of liquor all over him before reaching their destination.
He struggled with the key far longer than he would’ve liked, earning him a taunt from Elide. For a fleeting moment, he debated locking her out and decided against it. That would do him no favors in winning back her affection… regardless of how tempting.
With a flick of his wrist, the door shut and the lock turned. Darkness, with silence as its loving companion, draped over them.
“Could you at least light a candle? Not all of us can see in the dark,” Elide hiccuped, her cheek cradled to his chest as her finger poked at his throat.
You love this woman… deeply, Lorcan reminded himself.
He set his gaze on the couch crouched below the window, the onslaught of rain tapping against the glass without mercy. Drawing the curtains, Lorcan laid Elide down gently, unclasping his cloak and removing it from her person. He would need to find her clothes to change into soon or risk her catching a cold.
Coming across as stable—for now— Lorcan left Elide’s side in search of clean, dry clothes in his bedroom, but not before he lit a candle for the lady.
Bringing Elide here hadn’t been a difficult decision to make. The rain caused unfavorable conditions, risking her safety was simply non-negotiable. So… here they were. A place he’d purchased on impulse when he returned, in fear that his slight toward the lady would leave him without a place to stay, a dread that magnified itself when Tillian joined him. Nerves had been the cause of that nightmare. Perhaps if Tillian not been in the picture, Elide very well would have insisted that Cal Lochan kick him out of the castle. She very well could have and he perhaps didn’t have a clue.
Sold for a moderate coin, his apartment contained two bedrooms, an adequate living quarters, cozy kitchen and a bathing room that joined both bedrooms. Located on the third-floor of a sturdy brick building that faced the castle, Lorcan found he liked his space. Much smaller than anything he’d owned in Doranlle—rivaling that of his own private quarters bestowed to him by the Dark Queen and Queen Sellene combined.
There was beauty in little things, he’d come to realize.
Hardly decorated, adorned with only the essentials, however, it was a start. Over the last few weeks he’d considered occupying the space full-time… with Tillian. He’d want for his own space soon enough, maybe he would not find solace within the castle corridors soon enough, or maybe he always would. Never mind if Tillian did wish to stay in the castle, he would always have a place to fall back on, should anything change.
He shook his head as he pulled out a pair of black shirts from his dresser, a pair of pants and underwear for himself.
When he returned to the living area, Elide hummed along mindlessly. Her fingers waving frantically in the air, pretending to be the conductor of an orchestra for all he knew.
“Here,” he said, handing her the shirt.
She eyed it suspiciously, “This won’t fit.”
“Would you rather stay in your soaked dress?”
“No.”
“Then I suggest you put that on,” Lorcan saw the flicker of an argument in her eyes, however, the look he wore must have left no room for disagreement because Elide did not breathe another word. “Feel free to change in the spare room. It’s down the hall, first room on the left.”
Elide returned what Lorcan guessed to be fifteen minutes later. Hearing her before he saw her, staggering footsteps echoing down the hardwood floor. Without considering, he commanded wisps of his magic to steady her.
“Oh,” She breathed out. “That tickles.”
Lorcan fought the smile tugging at his lips as he sliced a loaf of bread in the kitchen, having already readied a glass of water for her. He hoped this would help, if only slightly. Though with his five centuries worth of experience, he doubted it.
A hangover to end all awaited her in the morning.
Contents in hand, Lorcan stopped dead in his tracks. As expected, his shirt was colossal on her, its hem falling past her knees. She’d tried to roll the sleeves past her elbows only to fail miserably, and now as she battled to get her hair braided, cursing in annoyance, she never looked so beautiful.
Absolutely and irrefutably stunning.
Elide purred in comfort as she took her seat on the couch, her previous task all but forgotten. Eyes fluttering shut, she swayed in place.
“Where are we?” She questioned, the slur in her speech less prominent.
His throat bobbed, conceding to one final once-over before striding to her. Setting the piece of bread and water on the side table, making it easier for her to reach.
“This is…” he trailed off, suddenly acutely aware of the space. Elide was a lady, she was accustomed to grandeur things and his apartment did not constitute as such. What would she think of his meager sanctuary? “This is mine.”
Hazy eyes met his, creating a glow on her delicate face as she smiled. “I like it.”
“Eat that,” He motioned toward the bread, taking a seat next to her. “It’ll help you.”
Her chest rose deeply, “You smell nice.”
“Oh?” Lorcan entertained, observing her reach for the bread and take a sip of water, her shadow dancing against the candlelight. “And what do I smell like?”
“Sunlight,” Elide offered, taking a bite out of her bread and shrugging. “Like the warmth of the sun after enduring a harsh winter.”
Lorcan scoffed disregarding her statement. Not one being alive would have ever chosen to describe his scent as ‘sunlight’.
“How’s the bread?”
Elide shuffled thick strands of hair over her shoulder with added force before she said, “Tolerable.” Inspecting it suspiciously, she pinned him with a look. “It doesn’t have mold on it does it?”
“I’m going to ignore that.”
Another half-hearted shrug and Elide returned to the bread, worry of mold all but a distant memory.
Lorcan peered over at her, the content sway of her body with each bite she took. Deciding she was in a fairly good mood, he determined it was safe to prod.
“What were you doing alone in that tavern?”
Plopping the remaining piece of bread in her mouth, Elide leaned back, swiping yet more hair out of her face. “I wasn’t alone,” she clarified. “Nox was with me. Though don’t bother asking me where.”
Right.
Nox being the reason Lorcan went out in the first place.
“Your birthday approaches, we should celebrate correctly! We haven’t done so in a long time,” her voice deepened as she mocked her brother. With a snort, Elide crossed her arms, shifting to sit cross-legged. Lorcan averted his sight when his shirt rode up the soft skin of her thighs.
“Well—“
With a speed he didn’t know she possessed, Elide darted off the couch and down the hall, his magic racing to stabilize her.
Seconds later, she began hurling the contents of her belly.
Lorcan found Elide heaving into a trash bin, lightning illuminating the room with rapid bursts of energy. She’d barely made it into the spare room if the way she held the bin was any indication.
He’d began to wonder when this part of her night would begin.
Approaching with care Lorcan made sure to light a couple of candles before he neared as she heaved without an end in sight.
Rubbing her back lightly, his fingers trailed circles along her spine. When she hurled again, her curtain of hair masking her face, Lorcan abandoned the soothing motion along her back, deviating course.
Pulling the leather strap from his wrist, he gathered Elide’s hair in his hands. Diligently, he began braiding it into a single plait down her back. The young woman either didn’t notice or didn’t care, too preoccupied fighting for her life.
Tying the strap in place, Lorcan sat back on his knees. Offering her the space to be.
“Where did you learn to do that?” She said meekly.
Foreseeing Elide in this exact situation, Lorcan obtained the towel hanging from his pocket. “Roaming for centuries teaches you a few things,” He supplied, offering her the towel.
Gratitude flashed in her eyes as she took it, immediately placing it along her forehead and patting mindlessly at the sweat trickling down her temples and neck.
“Would you like to lay down?” He glanced at the bed nervously.
“If my head stopped spinning, yes. Though its unlikely for now.”
Another wave of quietude crested before them, Elide’s ragged breathing falling in tune to the wind bellowing against the window. The towel resting over her eyes as if it’d be able to shield her from the world itself.
He should give her space, time alone to sift through the whirlwind of her night.
Lorcan went to stand when, “He said there’d be chocolate cake,” sliced through the amber glow of the room.
“And you believed him?” He sidled next to her, leaving space between them. Afraid of what he would do if he didn’t.
She chuckled, her head turning to him. Lorcan refrained from informing her that she could not see through the towel itself. “You would think being cradled by Death would soften my dear brother into giving me what he promised.”
“Death?” The hard lines of his face deepened at that.
Tearing the fabric from her face, Elide beamed over at him. “Yes, Death. You know him intimately do you not?”
He felt his blood run cold, a shiver traveling up his spine. Lorcan ordered his body not to react in front of her, but there was something about the glint in her eyes that shouldn’t be there. It reminded him of a predator assessing its prey, calculating the ways they could land a mortal wound. A gold ringlet encompassed her pupil, burning brighter the longer she considered him, the tilt to her head animalistic.
“Where does Death come into play?”
And just like that, the predatory regarding its prey vanished, a devious smirk replacing it. Thunder rumbled, the floorboards creaking its wake, and another flash of white light drenched Elide in unholy light. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Lorcan Salvaterre was not one to fiddle nervously, never held the need to. Confidence emitted from every crevice of his being, his oldest friend, and yet here he sat. Skittish as yet another wave of silence cloaked them both, Elide sitting not a foot from him, her eyes trained on him with a peculiar crinkle to her brows.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” He decreed, deciding to fuck it all. The likelihood of Elide remembering anything in the morning was minimal and the need to ask drilled into his mind, ever persistent and undying, over the last two weeks.
She bit her lip, finally looking elsewhere. “Wouldn’t call it avoiding, more like evading.”
“That,” He said unimpressed, “is the same thing.”
“You almost kissed me, what did you expect?” She countered, her voice like velvet. “I’m practically betrothed to another, it would be the scandal to end all.”
Lorcan stretched his long legs, “But you’re not… at least not yet you're not.”
Elide let her hand fall to her side, determination in the purse of her lips. “My fate has been sealed for months now, I will marry Roland Havilliard.”
“Says who?” Lorcan challenged, the mention of the lord setting him on edge. The utter faith Elide exuded as the words left her lips made hopelessness flood into his bones. His magic recoiling at the statement, receding into the shadows of the room in despair.
“My mother.”
Pressing his hands to the floor, Lorcan sat up straight. “What?”
With a sigh, Elide readjusted herself to lean her side against the mattress, her onyx eyes scanning his face as if to determine what she could say, what she could tell him.
“Three months ago,” She said quietly, making her decision, “my heart ceased to exist. A card game gone wrong, I jumped between Ress and the assailant. Being stabbed sorta sucks, but I’m sure you know that.”
Elide giggled at her attempt to jest, Lorcan dead silent at her side, unable to focus or ease the growing lump in his throat. “You—“ he choked, barely able to breathe. “You died?”
Nodding in matter of fact, Elide dipped her chin while her hand traced the floorboard. “Needn’t worry, I didn’t stay dead.”
“When did this happen?”
A whiff of sadness filtered into his lungs, heavy and unending. At his question, Elide ceased her fiddling, all traces of humor ebbing out of her. “One month after you left.”
Lightning might as well have struck him. Drawing air into his body futile with the grief electrifying him in place. One month after he walked away. The moment he left she’d been unsafe, in harms way and he…
Oh gods.
That restlessness when he came back, a month in. His failing at task after task, his magic refusing to listen to commands—completely feral, no matter how hard he’d tried to have it submit to his will. Demanding, screaming for attention, trying to tell him something.
“And your mother, she came to you in a vision,” He asked, his voice hoarse.
Her eyelids drooped in exhaustion, “Sounds better to call it a dream, but yes.”
“What did she say?”
Humming to herself, Elide moved her palm to cradle her cheek. “She blessed me with a gift, something about being too young to die,” Her voice dwindled to a whisper, “and that the person my soul was tethered to made himself known. Proclaimed I’d found him.”
Lorcan’s heart battered against his ribcage, the sheer force making him unable to draw breath, to think, to do anything. She’d died.
Died.
Heart stopped.
Ceased to exist.
Elide Lochan had been a legend within this realm even if momentarily. And Lorcan—He’d been in Perranth, leagues away. His magic bartering it’s essence to be able to communicate that to him. It had to have known. There was no other explanation for its behavior.
The time he’d reserved to be careful, to be respectful died when he entwined his hand with hers. Elide’s eyelids flying open, a sad smile on her face as she took note of their hands, the way Lorcan drew his thumb across the inside of her wrist and the manner in which his eyes dipped to her mouth.
Just one kiss.
He could allow himself one.
“And it’s not you,” she mumbled, her doe eyes shining. Lorcan didn’t have an idea of when they’d neared, the space he’d allowed nowhere to be found as her breaths tickling his lips. “How I’d prayed to Anneith it was—“
Lorcan brought his hand to cradle her nape, his thumb brushing against her lips, outlining the landscape that he longed to call his own. “I could be if you let me,” He said against her mouth.
Light filled her eyes, the hint of desire brewing against the ongoing storm. “I—“
So quickly Lorcan could barely makeout the movement, Elide went to puke into the bin once more. Fog dripping in his own daydream subsided briefly, and for the first time since she returned, he really looked at her.
Movement and stealth equal to that of his own, the predatory gleam she possessed, the ring of gold that flickered in and out of existence, the change in her scent.
His mind raced as he uttered,“Elide, what did your mother gift you?”
Witchling, Manon called her.
A smile swaddled in sorrow carved itself onto her face, “The gift of the Ironteeth.”
What myths and tales from the Shivering Sea do you think could be real?
Noting as an initial matter that we're speaking of a fantastical and fundamentally magical world, so what is "real" may be a very different discussion from what we consider "real" in our world. After all, shadowbinding is "real" on Terros in the sense that it can actually be performed, but is obviously not "real" in the sense of having a natural or scientific explanation we could recreate in our world. I'm approaching this, therefore, as "real" meaning "natural", caused by the phenomena of nature and not by magic or the supernatural.
(Also noting that I am not, so to speak, something of a scientist myself, so I have no education or professional background to comment on any of this.)
Sailors, by nature a gullible and superstitious lot, as fond of their fancies as singers, tell many tales of these frigid northern waters. They speak of queer lights shimmering in the sky, where the demon mother of the ice giants dances eternally through the night, seeking to lure men northward to their doom.
Yeah, this seems like the northern lights of Terros to me.
They whisper of Cannibal Bay, where ships enter at their peril only to find themselves trapped forever when the sea freezes hard behind them.
Perhaps the sailors here are describing the dangers of pack ice - sailing into what appears to be simply chunks or plates of free-floating ice, only to have unpredictable shifts in the ice plates (aided by sudden drops in temperature) come together to freeze solid around any ship unlucky enough to be in the area. Pack ice can trap and even destroy ships, and has done so throughout the history of maritime navigation; Henry Hudson's Discovery became trapped in pack ice over the winter of 1610-1611, and while the Discovery wasn't destroyed, the experience was so terrible for his crew that when Hudson planned to continue the expedition afterward the crew mutinied and marooned him. Famously as well, Ernest Shackleton's Endurance had to be abandoned in pack ice (and eventually sank because of it) during his 1915 Antarctic expedition; ironically, very recently a crew attempting to locate the sunken Endurance also found itself trapped in ice, at almost the exact same spot the Endurance was lost, when temperatures dropped suddenly and ice froze around the ship (though luckily the crew of that ship was able to free it).
They tell of pale blue mists that move across the waters, mists so cold that any ship they pass over is frozen instantly;
This report might be referencing the dangers of freezing ocean spray. In the right conditions - air sufficiently chilled below the freezing point of salt water, winds strong enough and waves high enough to drive up spray - normal ocean spray will freeze upon contact with a surface - like, say, any ship unfortunate enough to be in its way. This can happen very quickly, especially if the seas are rough, and the consequences can be deadly; the rapid buildup of ice can easily add a fatal amount of weight to a ship, causing it to list or even capsize. I read an account of a sailor in the Battle of the Atlantic during World War II who recalled a harrowing battle with what he referred to as the "white mist", which added tons of weight in ice to his ship and nearly caused it to sink.
of mermaids pale of flesh with black-scaled tails, far more malign than their sisters of the south.
If GRRM is drawing on the old idea of dugongs and manatees inspiring tales of mermaids, then maybe these "mermaids" are orcas. Orcas have white underbellies and black tails, and in our world are most commonly found in cold waters around the Arctic and Antarctic. Too, while far from common, orcas have been known to attack boats (sometimes out of stress or fear of the boat as a threat, sometimes just to be playful or curious). Likewise, while definitely rare, wild orcas have attacked humans, especially when mistaking humans for their typical prey; more to the point, perhaps, orcas are apex predators who are effective and deadly hunters of, among other animals, seals, sharks, and whales. Conflating these observations might have made sailors of Terros believe that Shivering Sea "mermaids" were vicious creatures who would attack anyone and anything (especially if these orcas had learned to fear whaling ships attacking them and/or fishing ships competing with them for food). (Admittedly, though this is at best a thin guess.)
Again, however, keep in mind that Terros is a supernatural world, so even trying to make natural sense of these phenomena may be missing the point. Those "drowned spirits who rise at night to drag the living down into the grey-green depths" sound more like wights operating in water (something Cotter Pyke seems to have affirmed can happen) or Deep Ones-esque creatures (widely speculated as real, if not seen on page yet) than anything I can think of on Earth. Likewise, ice dragons have no analogue in our world, although (non-ice) dragons were real creatures on Terros for millennia. Any of the above could have supernatural explanations that might make perfect sense in this world while being totally nonsensical in ours.
stop 👏 using 👏 Elissa 👏 Farman’s 👏 journey 👏 to 👏 say 👏 “what’s 👏 west 👏 of 👏 Westeros?” 👏 is 👏 stupid
there’s lots of other reasons that express why Arya’s show ending is stupid
But Elissa’s ship being discovered in Asshai like 20 years after her voyage only means that she may have circumnavigated the globe (almost), it doesn’t tell us anything about what’s between Westeros and Asshai when you sail west. We don’t know how far east Essos extends past Asshai! Only the tiniest bit of the continent of Ulthos appears on the map, we have no idea how big it is or what parts of the world it spans! There’s probably equivalents of the Americas and Oceania, GRRM says, that are completely unknown to Westerosi maesters! The map of the known world is less than a quarter of the globe, mathematically!
Since the world is round, of course if you sail west you eventually get to the east. But what’s west of Westeros is still a huge mystery, a mystery even after Fire & Blood related a small part of the voyage of the Sun Chaser, and it’s worth exploring.
SDSCHAFFER: Incidentally, are you ever going to give a name to the World of Ice and Fire? In the English-speaking world, we call our planet Earth. In the legendary period of Earth history written about by Tolkien, the inhabitants call it Arda. Fans have, in the absence of such official names, dubbed the world of Westeros and Essos and Sothoryos 'Planetos', but that obviously feels a bit tongue in cheek. Basically, if you were to sit down with a Maester and ask him what planet he lives on, he would have an answer, right?
GRRM: He would probably call it Earth. Of course, it would not be that word, since he'd be speaking the Common Tongue, not English. But it would mean Earth.
I really hope GRRM ends A Song of Ice and Fire not with the Starks but, in fact, with Asha Greyjoy holding court as queen when one of the Farwynds of Lonely Light shows up and is all, "Oi, how's everybody? Anything happen while I was gone for five years? But seriously, I'm sure whatever happened, it isn't going to beat this. I made it to the OTHER SIDE of the Sunset Sea." And then he dumps at Asha's feet the most pivotal thing, that which will change Terros history: POTATOES.
