Anniversary-Rowaelin Fluff
This is the promised Rowaelin oneshot. Enjoy!
Orynth was doing great, thank you very much. The people were doing much better now that the Queen had liberated them. But the people of this wonderful city had no idea what they were in for.
There was an absolutely momentous occasion coming up: Rowaelin’s first anniversary. And Aelin would rather give up chocolate for a week, Mala forbid, than allow Rowan to oudo her on this very special day. She enlisted the help of her spymaster, the lovely Lady Elide Lochan, to find the most spectacular anniversary activity her buzzard would ever see. Two weeks later, Elide hit pay dirt. Aelin was delighted at the idea, and made the necessary preparations.
Rowan was in so much trouble. He’d visited almost every shop, theater or library in the city proper, to the point that it had become commonplace for the citizens to see the silver-haired prince running around Orynth asking about things like wine making classes and new concerts.
The big day had arrived. Rowan had finally found something he knew Aelin would love. Of course, the activity he had planned couldn’t hold a candle to Aelin’s present for him, but neither of them knew that.
Setting off at about 5 pm, in a gold-accented carriage, the sky was stained with plum and rose. Aelin and Rowan laughed and talked more than they had in weeks. The night was already off to a wonderful start. The carriage came to a screeching halt outside a small shop on a narrow cobblestone road. Aelin practically leaped out of the carriage, not heeding Rowan’s warning to “be careful, you could trip.” Landing with the grace of an assassin, Aelin smirked as Rowan banged his head into the carriage roof.
“The roof is too low,” he explained rather sheepishly, doing a kind of sideways lean to get his legs out.
“Poor buzzard,” Aelin deadpanned, running to the shop’s entrance. Rowan caught up to her before she reached the door, on near silent feet, he picked her up and swung her around. Aelin shrieked, squealing, “Put me down!” Laughing, Rowan complied, holding the door open like the chivalrous buzzard he was. Immediately Aelin was aware of a familiar smell in the small dining room, crammed with wooden chairs and tables topped with flower bouquets and menus.
“Is that...chocolate?” she gasped, sniffing with enthusiasm, heightened fae senses leading her to the back kitchen. She almost fainted with delight when she opened the door. Vats of chocolate bubbling away, becoming trays of truffles, bars, and cakes. A diminutive man stood in front of what looked like a huge cauldron, stirring with a wooden spoon, adding spoonfuls of this and that from the small jars littering the surrounding counters. He turned around at Aelin’s theatric gasping with a small smile. The man gave a small bow, then returned to stirring. Producing a spoon out of nowhere, he scooped up some melted chocolate and handed it to Aelin. Aelin shoved the entire thing in her mouth, eyes widening.
“What. Is. This.”
“Cinnamon and rose, Your Majesty.”
“It’s lovely.” Rowan grinned.
“Right,” Aelin said, surveying the spread of sweets. “I will take… 50 boxes of that, please.” The man chuckled, and Rowan smiled again.
“Of course, Fireheart, but you’ll be making all of it.” Aelin beamed, and damn if the sun didn’t come back out at the sight of it.
~
The chocolate-making spectacle had gone well, and in the end, the carriage was so loaded down with chocolate boxes (wayy more than 50) Aelin sent it straight to the castle and decided that she and Rowan would walk to her present. Rowan looked rather concerned with how slowly the carriage was moving, and the audible creaking that was coming from the axles. Aelin sighed, pretend-exasperatedly, ran ahead, and returned with five boxes of chocolate. One of them was already open, and Rowan gaped. It was already half empty.
“Want one?” Aelin asked, chuckling at his dumbfounded expression. He shook his head fondly, and she grabbed his hand, pulling him down the next street. Once Aelin had finished all five boxes, they were close to the outskirts of Orynth, where there were fewer streets and buildings, and the chill from the Staghorns was dancing in the air. Aelin looked at the rustic, snow dusted dirt road and set down it, motioning happily for Rowan to follow. Shoving him inside what looked like a large stone shack, Aelin sighed happily at the wave of warmth. The small brunette woman in front of the forge took off her metal mask and smiled at Aelin.
“This is Reyna,” Aelin said, smiling with that wicked edge. “And she is an Asterion blacksmith.” Rowan’s jaw dropped. Reyna inclined her head modestly, motioning towards a wall of masks and gloves for them to put on.
“My grandfather,” Reyna said, pouring melted steel into a mold, “was taught by an Asterion blacksmith. They’re both gone now, but they passed the craft on to me when I was a child.” Rowan nodded appreciatively.
“Queen Aelin told me you’d want to make things for each other, so I took the liberty of setting some things out.” Indeed, bars of metal were stacked neatly on a back table, alongside molds for swords, knives and axes. Rowan and Aelin had never seen anything that looked like more fun in their entire lives.
“You know me too well.”
~
Reyna was patient, kind, and wicked smart, and within several hours, as the sky turned into a star-studded black blanket, Rowan and Aelin had created some very nice things for each other and their friends. Reyna refused to let them look at each other’s presents, instead wrapping everything up in tissue and ribbon and sending it with one of her apprentices to the palace. The three sat at an elegant wooden table that Reyna had carved, talking into the night like old friends. As the clock on the wall chimed midnight, Rowan and Aelin saw themselves out with fond goodbyes.
~
The next morning, the two woke to several wrapped packages sitting at the foot of the bed. Aelin insisted they both get dressed before opening everything, and by then, Aedion and Lysandra had stopped by to introduce the day's schedule. Aelin ushered them in, and the four sat on the plush carpet.
“So where did you two go last night?” Lysandra asked.
“Rowan took me to this chocolate shop, and we made a bunch of stuff,” Aelin said, gesturing towards the waist-high pile of slim boxes. Lysandra picked on up and sliced it open with a claw that hadn’t been on her hand a second ago. She shoved a truffle into her mouth with the finesse of a ghost leopard, swearing appreciatively. Aelin beamed.
“They’re absolutely divine.”
“Try the hazelnut too,” Aelin said, throwing a box at her.
“So what did you get Rowan?” Lysandra asked, reading the words inscribed on the box.
“I took him to the forge in the Staghorns,” Aelin responded noncommittally.
“Is that a new restaurant or something?” Aedion asked, stealing a chocolate from Lysandra’s box.
“No, it’s a forge. Reyna, the female who owns it, is an Asterion blacksmith.” Aedion choked on his truffle. Aelin presented Lysandra’s gift with a flourish, which Lys opened gingerly, aware that Aelin’s gifts were either sharp objects or edible things. She was pleasantly surprised by the boxes of chocolates and- spiky rings?
“They’re iron claws,” Aelin explained. “Terrific for royal balls, meetings, and ripping your enemy’s hearts out.” Lysandra and Aelin smiled at each other. Rowan and Aedion were rather scared, and did not do a good job of hiding this.
“I’m sure Manon will love those,” Rowan said, quickly shoving a gift towards his brother. Aedion looked rather pleased at the fancy metal-plated combat boots (because Aedion is one of those combat-boot bisexuals and nothing you can say will change my mind.), and put them on immediately. Aelin whistled.
“Very nice,” she said to Rowan, who looked pleased with how well his first project had come out. “I’ll get myself a pair of ass-kicking boots as well, and then we can match.” Aedion grinned. “My hair’s about the same length as yours anyway,” he said, flicking his tied-back locks over his shoulder. Laughing, Aelin presented her gift to Rowan. The oak-handled hatched gleamed, light catching on the handle’s inscription. Sumus venti. We are the wind. It was the Whitethorn family motto. Where his Fireheart had found that out, Rowan had no idea.
“It’s beautiful,” he whispered to Aelin, pressing a kiss to her brow. She smiled, taking the box he offered. Inside lay three curved hunting knives, with a layered, feathery pattern made by pouring layers and layers of steel on top of each other (I kind of pictured them like Maze’s demon blades from Lucifer). Twirling one around a finger, she mimed throwing it at the wall, which was when she saw the lettering on the blade, so small and delicate she barely noticed it.
To whatever end, the blades read. And so it would be.
Author’s note: So this is trash. Hope y’all like it, but it’s still trash. I’m not good at writing fluff. Or smut. Or humor, really.
-xoxo Sunny