*Inhuman screech* I FOUND THE ORGINIAL VERSION OF ToG GUYS. HOKY CRAP I FOUND IT. It's so good, too.
(I just finished it and holy shit.)
Also, I JUST BOUGHT THE ACOTAR COLORING BOOK AND AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Before this starts, I'm promoting something: I have a story on my other account, @Apollyon666 and it's been entered into the Wattys. It's called Anarchy, and if you guys would be willing to read it, that'd be so awesome!
Back to our original programming.
Rowan did his best to ignore the sudden temperature change around him, and tried even harder to keep his eyes off of Dorian as he led the group through twisting halls and down staircases to the dining room.
They looped around hallways a dozen times and climbed up and down stairs, too. It was an attempt to throw them off-balance, to confuse them so they wouldn't know how to get out. They may have been treated better than most prisoners, but they were still prisoners. He wasn't sure he'd succeeded.
He'd realized somewhere in their latest exchange that the captured Fae had been tied up for days with limited-- if any-- food and water. They were probably starving, but were so stressed that they didn't realize it. Either that, or they knew they were hungry and had ignored it.
Even if they were prisoners until further notice, Rowan wasn't going to deny them sustenance.
The dining hall was large enough to feed possibly fifty people-- probably even more if they all tried hard enough. It was strangely empty, but Aedion quickly explained, "Eating goes in shifts-- otherwise we'd never get everyone fed." Everyone being the armies Aelin had brought when she called on the debts of all those people.
It made sense.
"I suppose that we're between shifts right now, then?" Rowan guessed, and Aedion nodded.
"Next shift is in ten minutes, so make it quick," he warned. He'd been assigned, alongside a few other warriors, to give the soldiers a hard time. If they could beat him, Ilias, Galan, and Ansel, Rowan gleaned, they might just have a chance at fighting in this war and winning. Of course, now that Manon, her Thirteen, Gavriel, and Lorcan were back, perhaps they could help Aedion out with training.
Though, from what he'd heard, pummeling might be a better word for what Ansel, Galan, and the others did to those soldiers. They were good, but they weren't good enough as to beat Far warriors yet.
Rowan was still cold, and bumps raised on his skin. The others seemed to feel the chill as well-- all except Dorian, who was looking a bit broody. The tattooed female-- Feyre-- kept glancing at him at the corner of her eye. Somehow, she'd connected it to him without even knowing their powers. Simply observant, or was it something more? Could her powers sense the powers of others? In all his years, Rowan hadn't met anyone like that-- but he knew it was certainly possible.
Everyone took a seat at the table. It was already stocked with food in anticipation of the incoming soldiers, and Rowan decided they'd just have to share some of it. He noticed that Tamlin and Lucien sat pretty far away from the others, and realized he was going to have a hard time getting them to work together. If he suceeded at all, it'd likely be a cause for celebration.
"You can eat," Rowan invited quietly. "I won't deny you food or water." However, he did deny them utensils, and they were wise to not protest. Rhysand's Court quickly began helping themselves and each other to whatever they fancied, and Rowan was a little surprised that they were so close-knit. It reminded him of a family.
Meanwhile, Tamlin and Lucien stiffly grabbed a few things before drawing away from the others like they were ill with some plague. Gods, this rift between the two Courts would be the death of them all.
Rowan noted that they all checked their food and water for anything incriminating, and upon finding nothing, finally took to eating. Elain and Nesta had just watched the others silently, not seeming to know how to check for poison. He stored the odd observation aside for later.
Once they had something in their stomachs, they all seemed at least slightly better-tempered-- all but Amren, who hadn't taken anything at all.
"Is there a reason you refuse to eat, Amren?" Ansel drawled, raising an eyebrow.
Amren simply said, "I don't eat your kind of food."
Rowan glanced around him to find nearly everyone except for Manon, Amren, and most of the Night Court looked slightly uncomfortable. The cold air warmed for a moment, then chilled again-- testament to Dorian's own surprise.
"Then what do you eat?" Aedion queried.
Amren's smile proved to make everyone uneasy, including some of her Court. She stared Aedion down for a long time, then finally said, "Give me some blood and you might find me in a better mood."
She was unnervingly similar to Manon, Rowan reflected. He sent a suddenly pale servant, who'd been listening in from the edge of the room, to find something for her, and she scurried off quickly.
"May we continue with introductions?" Lysandra asked almost impatiently after a moment of silence. "There's no reason to be cowering here in silence, waiting for the servant to return."
"Alright," Rhysand agreed. He turned to look at the others and they all nodded, exchanging glances.
Mor spoke first. "I'm third-in-command of the Night Court," she said with something like pride in her brown eyes. "Amren's second-in-command."
He expected Amren to glare at Mor for speaking for her, but the female only grunted in agreement, looking moody. Mor went on.
"Cassian is the army's general, and Azriel is our Shadowsinger-- you might know the position by the name of 'spy.'" Indeed, the shadows around Azriel seemed to follow him wherever he went, and Rowan briefly wondered if he could manipulate them.
Mor's voice dipped a little. "Nesta and Elain are a bit new to the Court. It will be a while before we find suitable jobs for them. Though," she said with a kind smile, "Elain is well on her way to becoming a gardener."
Careful words. They had truth in them for certain, but there was enough left out that Rowan knew he wouldn't learn much of their abilities.
"As you know, Rhys is High Lord of the Night Court, which is practically the equivalent of a King." Rhysand-- or Rhys, as Mor called him-- nodded once, and Rowan was taken aback by thr comfortable informality of his Court. "And Feyre is High Lady." The tattooed woman glanced and Rhysand and smiled at him.
High Lady-- like a Queen. Rowan felt a bit cold and it had nothing to do with the temperature that had dropped enough that he could see the vapor of his breath. Was the Night Court left completely undefended, now that their rulers were missing? And what about Tamlin? Did he have a High Lady to look after his Court? Rowan suddenly understood why Dorian was angry.
He was angry because their Courts were left without anyone to rule them. Just like Adarlan.
Tamlin snorted. "Never mind the fact that there's no such thing as a High Lady." He spoke of the title with enough contempt that Rowan knew that no, he did not have a High Lady to look after things.
Rhysand smiled at Tamlin, and it wasn't a kind smile. He reached for Feyre's hand and clasped it in his own, and he looked at her, smile softening. "I suppose it's a good thing I corrected that, then."
Watching them felt like a punch to the gut.
"Introductions have been properly made, then," Galan said, looking around the room. It would probably have sounded cheerful if he hadn't looked at Lysandra. Most of the people in this room were unhappy with her-- but why blame Lysandra for doing what Aelin asked of her?
"On our side," Nesta pointed out testily. "Are you all going to leave us in the dark?" She leaned forward, blue eyes colder than ice, and her voice dropped lower. "A little rude, don't you think?" Considering what they had promised.
Aedion nodded. "Fair point," he agreed, and, before anyone could protest, introduced himself and added, "I'm part of the Queen's court." He failed to add he was her cousin, and Rowan knew why. Smart, to not let them realize how important they really were to the Queen. To Terrasen.
Ansel sighed. "And now we all have to introduce ourselves," she grumbled, the lilt in her voice more pronounced in her irritation. "Ansel. Queen of the Western Wastes." She probably would have looked a bit prideful about it if Manon hadn't laughed lowly. Instead, she paled, glancing at the Ironteeth witch with no lack of caution.
"Manon," Rowan warned quietly, and the golden-eyed witch glared at him. He held back a shudder, forcing himself to stay calm under her gaze, and was glad when Dorian laid a hand on her shoulder gently. As angry as he was with Rowan, the King wasn't about to let Manon kill him, and Rowan was thankful.
Until Dorian said, "If you're going to kill him, Manon, don't do it in front of our guests."
Yeah, Dorian's pissed! Can you tell?