#post koa

hello, me again with yet another rowaelin fic, this time a pregnancy reveal fic requested by @autumnbabylon. hope you guys enjoy, it’s more fluff bc i love rowaelin fluff. set after koa (obvs). its longer than i meant it to be but oh well

1268 words.

the characters belong to sjm, i’m not making a cent out of this.

he'll tweak a few details so that it's not too obvious it's them and blur out the truth of their universe. And once it's finished, he'll publish it under an alias and send the first copies to aelin and chaol; who'll both treasure it like it's their most prized possession.

it will become aelin's favourite book and she'll read it to her kids as they grow up. in fact, all three of them will read it to their kids and that story will become those kids' favourite. whenever all the families meet up, the kids will read the book together and debate about who's the best character, to which the trio will raise eyebrows and scoff if their kids pick someone else other than their own parents.

post koa fanfic • full masterlist

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"Once upon a time in a kingdom long since burned to ash, there lived a young princess who loved her kingdom—very much."

Aelin Galathynius has won the war against the valg, but now she must fight her own insecurities and fears all while she shoulders her new responsibilities, the strength of old relationships are tested, and new, unexpected bonds are formed.

A multi-chapter fanfic series which ties up the loose ends left after kingdom of ash.

note: this fanfic primarily contains missing scenes from koa, and if there's some scene you'd like to see, feel free to send an ask.

All characters belong to Sarah J Maas.

Chapter - 1

I.

“Go North. Find Lorcan, bring him back.” Technically, he was supposed to be looking for Lorcan, out there in the bitter cold. Supposed to be. Vaughan used to be good at following orders but that ended several years ago. Maeve didn’t even notice the falter, she was too focused on whatever she was planning. So it was her fault that Vaughan took her orders as the perfect timing to mutter fuck it under his breath and never look back. 

He didn’t have ties back in Doranelle. No family, no property, no friends. Most of the Cadre didn’t at this point. That was kind of the point, they were hardened warriors of Maeve. If Vaughan had a strange sense of humor, he might find it funny. The Cadre had been together for centuries through great evil and somewhat decent times, and now in a matter of what was it months? Had it only been months? They were scattered across the world.

Rowan was gone off with that girl from Mistward. Aelin...something. Lorcan, the ass, was somewhere in Erilea and Vaughan didn’t care where. He might be in the north Gods, I hope not. Don’t fuck this up for us, Lorcan, or he was in the south. Fenrys and Gavriel were in southern Erilea looking for Lorcan as Vaughan was supposed to be. He hoped they didn’t find him either. Then he’d be called back. Connall was no doubt fucking Maeve as soon as he left, he’d never cared for the black runt.

This far away, the blood oath was merely a thorn in his side. Perhaps that’s why he built the cabin so far out in the Frozen Wastes. In Doranelle, it was a constant pulse - a twisted heartbeat but here it was silent, for the most part, it still bothered him of course. Find Lorcan Salvaterre, it whispered. “Shut up,” he whispered against the howling wind, lifting the ax over his shoulder before slamming it into the wood effectively splitting it in two.

He “looked” for Lorcan whenever he left the cabin. He “looked” for him when he went hunting, chopped wood, fed the animals in the barn, or went to the nearest town (nearest being fifty miles away) to buy the supplies he couldn’t find in the forest. The effort wasn’t all that there but Vaughan had figured out it was the act of it made the blood oath go back to sleep.

“You’re not going to ask about that Lorcan fellow again, are you?” The bartender asked as he walked in for a pint, the first thing he did when he walked in the nameless town. Why it was nameless, Vaughan didn’t care. He walked up to the bar, leaned against it with his coins already in hand, the blood oath nagging in his head. 

“Has a man named Lorcan -”

The bartender took his coin, poured a tankard and pushed it towards him quickly in an effort to shut him up. “No, and you know it.” he left to clean glasses, leaving Vaughan to drink his ale in peace, the blood oath going quiet. It worked every time.

Then one day it changed, Vaughan was in the barn, scratching the barn cat under its spotted chin. Come back. It whispered, urgent but quieter from the distance between wherever he was to Doranelle or wherever Maeve was. Come back.

A year ago, he’d listen, he would have flown back to his queen without a question, to do whatever she commanded but much had changed in a year. He built a cabin with his own two hands, he owned chickens and sheep he knew would die without his feeding hand, a barn cat that never truly stayed in the barn and sat on his lap when he sat by the fire and a herding dog who wagged its tail every time it looked at him. Vaughan didn’t care what Maeve wanted, he wasn’t going to abandon the life he carefully built from scratch for her.

“I haven’t found Lorcan yet.” was all he said. The oath went quiet, Vaughan continued to scratch the barn cat under its chin. “I probably should name you, shouldn’t I?” he chuckled to himself.

The second order was more persistent than the first. Come back, it whispered in his ear as he continued on with his routine of chopping wood, tending to the animal, and relaxing in front of the fire to read whatever books he bought in the nameless town with two animals relaxing on the sofa with him. “I haven’t found Lorcan yet,” he repeated to silence the oath. Vaughan wasn’t a pious man but he prayed Lorcan would stay unfound, that Gavriel and Fenrys were as traitorous as he was, and he could continue to live in this peace he carved out for himself.

The benefits of living far north in the Frozen Wastes was there were little to no people. The disadvantage was there was no news because of the little to no people. Vaughan didn’t know of the battle at Orynth. He didn't know of Gavriel’s death or his son or any of the other shit that went down that day. Vaughan did know one thing.

The blood oath died. One minute he was on his sofa, reading some novel with the cat on his lap (who he named Donny) the next he was doubled over in pain. The book landed on the floor with a thunk and the cat jumped away startled. He gripped his stomach, hissing in pain. No one said a blood oath being cut by death was a pleasant thing and Vaughan had never expected to feel it. It burned like hellfire, the scar across his palm throbbing like it was being branded. As quickly as the pain appeared, it vanished, leaving Vaughan still doubled over and breathing heavily.

“She’s dead.” the words fell out of his mouth as he tried to get his lungs to function normally again. “She’s fucking dead!” It hurt but he started laughing, the feeling of freedom after so long was strange - it was bizarre, like a drug in his system he was high on. Donny the cat and Fen the sheepdog looked at each other and seemed to nod as if to agree on one thing. The man who feeds us is batshit crazy.

One would logically think Vaughan, now free from Maeve, might pack up his animals and go back to Dornalle to find out what the fuck happened. The Queen of the Faeries had been killed, what the fuck did he miss? Most might go and do this but Vaughan was not most. Instead, Vaughan flew into the nameless town in his beast form and drank every man and woman under the table before flying back to his cabin, crashing through a window, fixing the window as best as a drunk man could then passing out on the sofa with a shit-eating grin on his face. In the morning, he had to deal with his hangover and the broken window.

Slowly, Vaughan grew used to the feeling of freedom again. He stayed in his cabin, tended to his animals, and continued to chop wood because he wanted to. There were no more whispers, no more orders to avoid or lies to tell. He stopped whispering about Lorcan and stopped asking about him in the pub. The bartender was relieved, he though Vaughan had found Lorcan, whoever the fuck that was.

Peace ended with a knock on his door. He was tending the fire when it started, his delicately pointed ears perking at the sound of it. His hands stilled, his fingers gripping the log. Donny was sleeping on the table where he ate his meals while Fen was resting his tired paws on the sofa. It’s nothing, he thought to himself after a second and he carefully put the log in the fireplace only to drop it when the knock came again - harder this time.

Fen lifted his head up and let out a bark then another, Donny the cat picking up her head and squinting at the mutt. The knocking continued, the door rattling. Vaughan stood and watched it. He was unused to his door being knocked on - no one in the nameless town ever bothered to walk or ride to his cabin. With a sigh, he walked to the door, Fen at his heels, his hand finding the hilt of his knife. Pulling it out of its sheath, he gripped it with one hand and opened the door with the other.

“Who the hell-” then he stopped and stared.

Author’s Note: I think I finally got this started going the way I want it. It’s not split into chapters, just scenes as I write them. I’ll try to keep every post contained to one scene, so they flow well.

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Prologue

Twelve-year-old Kestra Nightshade blinked as the early morning sun set the quartz-gravel of the courtyard sparkling, watching her brother’s horses flick their tails at flies. She tightly hugged herself against the cold curl of dread sitting low in her stomach and tried, again and again, to see where it was coming from. But the window inside her mind, the one where her magic usually showed her glimpses of past and present and future, was dark. Had been dark for days.

No, she admitted to herself, that wasn’t quite right. The window might refuse to answer her regarding the dread she had been feeling since her brothers had announced, a fortnight ago, their intention to go to the City of Rivers, but it still showed her other things. Two days ago, she had looked for an ancient sword she’d read about in the library, as a test, and an image of a mountain cave, filled with a large lake, had swirled into view inside that window. The sunlight filtering through the cave’s entrance had only lit it enough to see a pile of bones near the wall, something glinting ruby beneath them, and a shadow moving under the water. Kestra had let the image go, relieved there wasn’t something wrong with her magic, and frustrated that she still couldn’t see what was bothering her.

Yesterday, she had found Connall, alone in the library, studying a map of Doranelle. In the silence and sunlight, surrounded by books and leather and parchment, she had voiced her worry. He had listened, like he always did, letting her find the words to describe what she felt or saw or thought. Connall was the quieter of her two brothers, slower and calmer in spirit than Fenrys, and she liked talking things out with him because he never rushed her. Sometimes, if she looked into that window inside of her, and asked about a specific person, it would show her their essence. Their soul. She always saw Connall as a lake, the surface still as glass, reflecting the sky above; Fenrys, though, was a rushing river, tumbling over rocks and around bends.

Kestra had sought Connall out to tell him about the dream she had awoken from. She’d been unable to remember anything but darkness and pain and rage and despair and shame. But, while he had gravely listened as she voiced her dread about him and Fenrys leaving, she had realized he was too excited to take her seriously when he responded by pulling her into his lap to show her the map. When he had assured her that the City was only a few days from the estate, had reminded her that Narene, his mother, was an accomplished warrior, capable of protecting both the house and Kestra. Instead of insisting she wasn’t worried for her own safety, she had allowed herself to be comforted by his chest pressing into her back, his scent and arms wrapping around her as he leaned his head over her shoulder. They had stayed like that for an hour.

Footsteps crunched across the gravel, and her view of the horses was blocked by Fenrys as he crouched in front of her, his eyes twinkling above his smile. “How much are you going to miss me?” he asked, with a laugh in his voice.

Silently Kestra stepped forward, wrapping her arms around his neck. She pressed her face into the skin just below his ear, her throat tightening with the tears she’d been holding back as she breathed him in. Moss, and sun-warmed earth, and crispy vanilla. He squeezed back, a hand rubbing the spot between her shoulder blades and whispered into her night black hair, “I’ll miss you too, Kes.”

She didn’t know why, but she tilted her head so her mouth was right over his ear and, low enough that only he could make out, said, “Whatever happens, remember that I am the only one who can break you.”

He pulled back to look at her in question, but she just said, “Promise me that you’ll remember.”

He studied her for a moment, his brows wrinkling a bit, then kissed her on the forehead. “I promise.”

At the Chicago event, Sarah remarked, “Can you imagine Rowan as a dad?” and continued to plot out what that would be like. These are direct quotes:

Rowan would try to play it cool

“Yeah, go on your date, have fun”

But then his daughter is holding hands with her date, walking down the street, and she looks up and there’s a hawk on the roof of the building watching her

And then they get to the restaurant and she looks over and at the table next to their’s, Aelin and Lysandra are hiding behind menus

Aelin will be the true terror for her children

Their kid's dates would walk into the palace and Aelin would be sitting there in a ball of flame like “Hi, it’s so nice to meet you. I’m Aelin, if you hurt my child, I’ll burn you”

Rowan and Aedion and Lorcan dealing with teenage girls would be hilarious

Dealing with a 14-year-old girl who wants to wear pretty dresses and get her hair done...

But Rowan would secretly love it

He would bring her to the fantasy hair salon—to the dry bar that Aelin gifts to the kingdom

Perranth

Elide is jolted awake by a sharp pain in her ankle. The bed shakes with the bouncing crawl of a little one climbing into her parents bed. Lorcan is awoken by a hand to the face and a quiet voice. “Oops, sorry Daddy,” Lorcan’s dark eyes cloudy with sleep open to find Mary’s dark eyes and rosy cheeks filling his vision. Even now, when he’s just awoken, Elide can already feel his power, a firm brace around her ankle. She smiles, rubbing her eyes against the pull of sleep. “Good morning, beautiful,” she says to Mary. “Good morning to you too,” Lorcan replies fluttering his eyelashes at his wife. “Da-ad. She meant me. You’re too ugly.” Mary laughs. “Och, I’m not beautiful?’ Lorcan feigns hurt, “What about my flowing locks?” He flicks his hair over his shoulder dramatically. Mary giggles grabbing his hands to stop him, “Okay, Dad. You are beautiful,” she laughs again, “But not more than me.” Lorcan howls lifting her in the air, “Your right! How could I, even with such dashing hair, be more beautiful than you, my gorgeous girl,”