Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius continues searching for his wife to free her from her aunt's clutches, but months have passed since she was taken, and things aren't looking promising. Hope is quickly fading, and the Court of Terrasen is beginning to ge...
"I understand that you were rulers of your Courts back home." They were all sitting in the study, pale light filtering through the window coldly. It wasn't like the yellow sunlight that had been coming through during the early autumn. This was white light, cold and unforgiving. There was a fire going, constantly tended to by a servant but for now abandoned so they could be granted privacy; the cold was beginning to sharpen its hold on Terrasen and its residents. Rowan and Lucien had brought in extra chairs, and now Aelin sat across from them, Rowan by her side. When the others didn't respond, she said, "I don't want to undermine your rule over the people you have here."
They all exchanged glances. Tamlin and Rhysand, who had never once been in agreement since Rowan first met them until now, didn't seem to quite believe Aelin's words. Lucien seemed more inclined to-- or at least desperately wanted to-- believe her. Feyre, however, seemed to be on the fence. Rowan couldn't be upset with them, not logically; they just met her, and all they knew of her was what Rowan told them, and how much of that was biased? Still, Rowan couldn't hold back the fiery anger burning inside him. Aelin was worthy of believing, had proven herself time and time again.
Feyre hesitantly said, "Until we know more about this world, this kingdom, there's not much we can do about that. You live here, you know this place. You know the people and the territory, so you have strategies and plans that are far better than what we could come up with. For now, until we go home to Prythian, it's probably best that you and Rowan are in charge." Rhysand looked at her, frowning, but nodded after a moment in reluctant agreement. Tamlin looked like he might protest, but Lucien shook his head in warning. Feyre added, probably to appease the others' obvious reluctance, "it doesn't mean you take our place in ruling our people, but you have an advantage that we don't. If you think one of ours needs to fulfull a certain role, we can give that to you. But we give the orders. We ultimately decide the fate of those in our Courts." Her voice was level and respectful, but there was an edge to her tone.
"It's fair," Aelin agreed, nodding. She was bristling at Feyre's tone, just a little, but she didn't make a retort. To anger them wouldn't gain Terrasen any favors.
"If that's how we do this, then we'd like to stay in-the-know," Lucien asserted much more calmly. "Regular meetings, where we learn as much as your people. We don't need to be put at a more severe disadvantage than we already are because you decided to withhold information."
"That's..." Aelin blew out a breath. "Also fair. Alright, we'll all have meetings. Weekly, maybe. We'll all share information." She glanced at Rowan and lowered her voice. "When Chaol returns, he'll be welcome to join in on the meetings, alongside whomever he brings." Rowan wanted to be surprised, but he wasn't. Chaol, despite his many mistakes where Aelin was concerned, was still her friend, and Aelin would treat him as such until he gave her reason not to. Though, Rowan thought to himself, he already had done that, many times. But he could respect their friendship, and he would.
"I'll let Dorian know. They've been exchanging plenty of letters lately, so I'm sure he'll want to include that." The amount of letters Dorian had recieved and sent in the three weeks Rowan and the others were gone had shocked him.
"How's his..." She hesitated, and she didn't need to glance at the others for Rowan to understand she didn't want them to know anything about this, but it was too late to have one of their silent conversations. After a moment of careful thought, she continued. "Condition? Dorian wouldn't tell me anything."
Rowan shrugged, not failing to notice the interest from the High Lords, the High Lady, and Lucien. "Improving," he said aloud. He's doing exercises and strengthening his muscles, so that's better than a few months ago, he added to her silently. But not much better. In fact, it was mostly useless. To have a crippled man in war wasn't a very strategic move, and they needed Chaol at his prime, fighting. By the troubled look on Aelin's face, she agreed at some level, but would never admit to it.
"Good," was all she said, nodding. Then she added, "I have nothing more to say," and stood up. She looked back at Rowan, who had stood up as well, and smiled. Something in that smile made him feel worried about her. She wasn't comfortable with this situation, not in any way. She turned back to the Court leaders. "I'll let you all return to your friends."
Holy shit why do you people still follow me? Honestly, this is so late and only 817 words long, not counting this note. I can't capture Aelin's character correctly, and gods, this is so, so late. I suck right now.
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