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terrasensinstitute · 5 years

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Find Me #2

So... Kind of got finished with this weeks ago. Except I haven’t posted it here, just on my instagram. Anyways, the adventures of Evalin continue!

Warnings: After KOA, so obviously spoilers.

Word Count: 1,148

Being a daughter of Aelin Galathynius, Evalin loved the multitude of fabrics that the world offered. So did her sister. And even her brother. The only one in her family who didn’t care much for them was her father. Evalin was pretty sure that if her mother didn’t pick out his wardrobe he’d go out in a ratty shirt and pants.

While Terrasen was always put first, her family still had the luxuries of being royal. If Evalin found herself in a shop on the streets of Orynth, she’d probably get a discount on the item, too. But she understood she was in a position of privilege, and always tried to buy it at the same price everyone else had it. The wellbeing of Terrasen was better than her wants.

Now, as she walked through the city, she wore a cream jacket with maroon accents, a maroon cape hanging from the small clasps to protect against the autumn air. It was her favorite cape, for it was embroidered with kingsflame and cream leaves and vines. Evalin had ordered it from a shop near the palace, and they did not fail to deliver. It was one of her most treasured clothing items. It worked well with a lot - even the Terrasen green she wore to official events. Though she usually couldn’t due to how hot it was in the palace.

Her black boots walked the familiar path to the Royal Theater, the way mostly clear from Princess Lese’s arrival. She had been told that the Theater was a gift from her father to her mother as a mating gift, and she couldn’t be glader that her mother loved music and the arts as much as she did.

Evalin had learned to play the piano, and on the days the Theater was closed, she could be found practicing the piano there. Or her mother could be. It was always one of the two. But even more than that, she loved to watch the Orchestras that performed there, and sometimes even the dancers. It was all beautiful and mesmerizing to watch.

“Princess Evalin!” A voice called, and Evalin paused and turned around to look at who it was. Apparently not everyone was around the entrance of the palace still. She looked down at a child, red curls on top of his head.

“Yes?” She replied, crouching down to his height.

“Do you know where Princess Lydia is?”

Lydia was popular around Orynth and Terrasen in general. She was kind, and always willing to do anything for anyone. Everyone loved her. And her brother, though she suspected most people liked him because he was Crown Prince. “I know she went to show the new Princess around, but if she was supposed to meet you, I’m sure she’ll show up.” Evalin smiled down at him, before standing up.

“Thank you!” He said, before running off.

Evalin continued her walk to the theater, the bustling of the streets growing as more and more people returned home. And that meant saying hello to more people, too. While the three royal siblings were popular, Evalin was probably the most forgotten. If you could call her that. From hanging out with other people her age, she had learned that the middle child was often the most forgotten. The first child was, well, the first and the last was the most recent one. It didn’t other Evalin much, though, because it meant she got more peace and quiet.

The theater loomed into view, and Evalin’s steps grew faster with excitement. She had heard that there was an orchestra to be performing there, but she had no idea what time. Evalin hoped that it wasn’t in the middle of it - she hated walking interrupting things, and would just have to go somewhere else.

“Your highness,” a man greeted once she got neared, taking a bow.

“Odyn!” She greeted back, a smile returning to her face. “We’ve been talking for years. How many times have I said you don’t have to call me that?”

“It feels awkward not to,” Odyn admitted, a light blush covering his cheeks. He was a bit older than Evalin, but they had become friends with how much she came to the theater.

“Of course. Is there something going on already?”

“Unfortunately there is, your h- Princess,” Odyn replied, correcting himself. “I can let you in if you want, though.” As he reached towards the door to open it, Evalin shook her head.

“No, it’s okay!” She said in a rush, shaking her head. “I would hate to interrupt. There’s another tomorrow, at about noon?”

Odyn nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, princess?”

“Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Evalin turned on her heel and headed a different way towards the castle. Well, her plans for the day were certainly ruined. She guessed she would have to go somewhere else.

Evalin didn’t know how long ago it had been since she left the Theater, but now she was walking into the Royal Orynth Library, the smell of parchment filling the air around her. It was always a soothing scent, and the library was a solace to her when she needed it most. The older librarians had told her about her mother when she was young and how she was banned from it.

She had been told by her parents what had happened before she was born, but sometimes it was confusing. Like it was purposeful for them to not tell her everything. She’d been told what happened by her tutors - several times - but it was still murky. Why did her mother seem to have so much power then, and now she had only wisps of it?

Evalin made her way to the shelf she usually kept her books - the librarians didn’t ever mess with them - and selected one at random. She was in the middle of reading a book now, but she didn’t want to go up to her rooms. Or send a servant up there for her. She was fine with starting a new one.

Adjusting her cloak to cover her shoulders more, Evalin walked towards a bay window, the platform of it cushioned and a perfect place to read. The windows were strong enough that even if someone leaned against them they wouldn't free open. The downside is that the air would get in through small cracks, so it was chilly. Especially in autumn.

Evalin sat down on the pine green cushion, laying her back against the small portion of wall that was there. One leg was bent, knee to her chest, and another was laid out in front of her. Opening the book, she started to read.

The next time she raised her head from the book was to the sound of Crown Princess Lese's voice, tinged with surprise. “I certainly wasn't expecting you to be sitting in the library reading, Princess Evalin.”

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terrasensinstitute · 5 years

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Find Me #1

Hey everyone! It’s another Thone of Glass fanfiction! This time it’s centered around Rowaelin’s child, not Manon! (Manon has very little to do with this, if any at all). I hope you all enjoy!

Warnings: Takes place AFTER KOA, so there will be spoilers.

Word Count: 1047

People were not normally gathered in the streets such as today. Terrasen didn’t spend much money on the things they didn’t need, even if they were thriving, and they did not need celebrations. Today was not a celebration, though - the Crown Princess of Adarlan was coming to stay with the Terrasen Royal Family for the next few months. The people crowded around the street that led up to the Orynth Royal Palace to see if they could catch a glimpse of her in her carriage. It was red and gold - clearly marked as an Adarlan one. Behind and beside it, guards rode on horseback.

Evalin Elentiya Galathynius stood on top of the steps of the palace, her head held high and back as straight as a rod. It was what she’d been taught since childhood to do when she was about to meet someone important - or really anyone on official business. Like her father and brother, she wore a jacket of Terrasen green lined with silver thread. Her sister and mother wore similar colors, just in the form of dresses.

The princess was used to meeting families of royalty and nobility. She remembered her older brother, Samuel, boasting that they came to keep an eye on him because of his power. Arrogant asshole, she had thought in response. He had even more power than their mother did, but not as much as their father. But it could be just as deadly - it was fire.

The carriage finally stopped at the steps of the palace, the horses pulling it black as the night with golden colored harnesses. They looked like war horses, and the breed they were was probably bred just for war. It was Lyria who would know what they were used for besides carriage pulling. She was Evalin’s younger sister, and knew more about horses than her and Samuel combined.

Evalin watched as the Princess was helped out of the carriage by the Royal Guard who exited before her. Despite the faint whispers of the crowd, she could still hear the soft jangle of the accessories that the Princess usually wore.

It was not uncommon for the Royal Adarlan family to visit Terrasen, especially with the friendship between her mother and the King of Adarlan, Dorian Havilliard II. In the recent years both rulers had become busier, however, and now they only sent each other books they thought the other might enjoy.

So Evalin thought that she would have been ready for what the Crown Princess would look like after a few years. Older, sharper features, probably more clothing. But Evalin wasn’t entirely prepared for the change, it seemed.

She wore a red golden-embroidered dress, likely to signify she was from Adarlan. Her creamy brown skin seemed a bit darker, and instead of two braids, her hair was in smaller, multiple braids and all done in a bun. It reminded her of what someone from the Southern Continent would dress like - she had been there to learn the culture a year or so ago. If Evalin remembered correctly, however, her mother was from the Southern Continent.

“Welcome, Lese,” Queen Aelin Galathynius greeted as the princess - Lese - walked up the steps. They were all comfortable enough with each other to be on a first name basis, so it was no problem for her mother to call her Lese. Past them, servants started to bring in her luggage.

“Thank you for having me, Queen Aelin,” Lese replied with a bow. It was respectful to do so, even if they were familiar with each other. “I’m glad to be here.”

Aelin smiled over at the princess, before turning to her three children. She seemed to contemplate them before finally speaking. “Lyria, will you please bring Lese to her room?” Evalin watched as her younger sister nodded, before heading back into the castle. At a slower, less energetic pace, Lese followed, with the same posture as Evalin stood with now.

Evalin could hear her mother tell everyone who came with Lese and their own servants what to do with the carriage and rest of the luggage. Soon after, she was inside and wanting to get away from all of the commotion. She was fine with the loud volume levels and lots of movement, but it didn’t mean that she liked it.

“She’ll be spending most of her time at the Magic Academy,” a deep voice suddenly said from behind her. “But she’ll be here after then, and on the weekends.”

Evalin looked over her shoulder to see her father, and a smile found it’s way onto her face. He wore a antler crown - similar to what her Mother wore - and his long silver hair was brushed straight behind his pointed ears. She had similar ears to him, pointed finer than most other fae. She also shared his eyes.

“Mother already told us this,” Evalin replied, referring to her and her two siblings. They had been informed of this a few days ago, but the arrival of Princess Lese had come a month before.

“Make her feel welcome, then,” Rowan replied, before walking off to presumably go find her mother.

How was Evalin supposed to make a princess that she barely knew feel welcome? Maybe her brother would finally get the chance to spend some quality time with the Princess. Remembering their ages made her wrinkle her nose in disgust at the thought, however. Her brother was three years older than the princess. Though she knew that her brother did think she was very pretty. And she was.

She wouldn’t even be spending most of her time with or around the princess, either. Unlike her brother, or even her sister, Evalin didn’t have any magic. Or at least she, and everyone else, thought. She was fae - but despite that the magic didn’t seem to really transfer to her it seemed. And months ago she had given up the tendrils of hope that she possessed it, and it was just resting until she was older. Now, she was older, and it still wasn’t there.

With a glance around the bustling hall she entered, she headed up to her room. She needed to get away from this, and she knew just the place to go. Evalin would have to get ready first, though.

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terrasensinstitute · 6 years

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Fanfiction Masterlist

This masterlist includes any theories, or stories/one-shots/drabbles about stories! This will be updated whenever I have new things to add here, so stay tuned :)

Throne of Glass -

Fics/Oneshots

Unlikely Romances

Manon x Petrah, where Manon is trying to figure out her feelings for the beautiful golden-haired witch.

Manon’s Sacrifice

Manon has a decision to make. [The title is pretty self explanatory] Angst.

Series

#masterlist

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terrasensinstitute · 6 years

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Manon’s Sacrifice

I have NOT read KOA as of posting this, so no spoilers! but this is angsty so warning :)

She looks out along the grassy plain, her golden eyes squinted. In front of her stands a witch in her prime, with a face she has engrained in her memory for all of eternity.

Obedience.

Discipline.

Brutality.

That’s what the witch had been taught for the past one hundred years. And by that same witch who stands in front of her now, blood from her nails and teeth, and surrounded by an endless army of Valg and Ironteeth.

This past year, Manon has done the opposite of what she’d been taught. She guessed that it was only natural - maybe that Crochan blood in her did have some effect on who she had become. The small army of Crochans she had found had fled, and now she was almost alone on this battlefield.

She was glad they had fled. Her whole life she had been slaying them, and now she would do no more slaughtering of the Crochans. No more slaying of her kin, after this final battle.

Those golden eyes locked onto those of the Blackbeak Matron in front of her, blood flowing down from her wounds and onto her armor. In her right hand she held Wind-Cleaver, the sword sharp and covered in black and blue blood. In her left, her iron nails shined in the noon sun.

“You’ve become weak,” the Matron spat, the two of them so still and otherwise silent that you could hear a pin drop. Manon was tense as she continued, and she took in every word. “I should have killed you when I had the chance. Crochan blood. Pathetic.”

Manon laughed - a wicked, yet tired laugh. She was so, so tired. But she had to distract her long enough. Distract the army behind her grandmother long enough. “Why didn’t you?” Manon started circling around the Matron, looking for a spot to finally launch her attack.

“You should be grateful you’re alive, you little bitch!” Apparently the Matron’s patience had been worn thin with the months she had spent wanting to kill Manon. And before Mother Blackbeak could launch her final attack against Manon, she ran straight into that army of Valg and Ironteeth witches.

Manon usually didn’t flee, but for this final sacrifice she would.

And as she fled, Manon felt pain. Something she had never begun to feel until she had killed her half-sister Rhiannon that day in the Ferian Gap. That strip of red cloak was still braided into her moon-white hair that now looked as black as the night sky she would never see again.

It wasn’t physical pain, though she felt that. It was emotional - something that struck deep in her heart and as clear as the moment she realised what she needed to do. She thought of all of the people who were important in her life, and she hoped this sacrifice would not be in vain.

Asterin, her fiery second, who had endured so much pain at the claws of her grandmother. Who had ultimately ended up meeting the darkness as they infiltrated Morath, and an end that Manon would never forget herself for.

All of her Thirteen, who she wished were safe. Manon had ordered them all - or the ones that had not met their end - to stay away, because she could not bear others dying at her hands. They deserved to live as long as they could, and the witch hoped they would

The Crochan witches she had slain her whole life, and would ultimately leave behind without a true Queen. No, there was no time to have a child, and especially not in this battlefield of a continent that would be bathed red by the time they were done with it.

The court of Terrasen, who battled their own further up North. Of the fae warriors, who though she didn’t particularly care for, admitted they were formidable warriors. Of the shape-shifter, who may forever hold the shape of their Queen. A Queen who may still be in shackles, or dead. Or by some twist of fate, she would be alive, and the world would be rid of Erawan. The court of warriors she was currently helping by giving up her life.

Elide, the young Blackbeak who had hoped, even when there was no reason for her to. When she was left forgotten by that court, but still searched far and wide for. And hoped for a better world for them all. She continued to look for that Queen, and Manon admired the considerable amount of courage she had.

Of Dorian, the King who had been both a friend and a release for her. No, they would never be attracted to each other romantically, but it was nice to have that friend. Someone who had even a small semblance of what she felt, and knew that distractions were needed.

She even thought of the Blueblood Petrah, who had stood up for her after Rifthold, and been by her side when it was called for. Manon was hopeful that she was not in the army that parted like the sea for her.

She thought of Abraxos. The flower-sniffing worm who understood her. Spoke to her. Was there for the last year of her long life and she would forever be grateful. He lived, and Manon knew that he would be okay even if she was not there. He would be strong, and Manon would see him in whatever afterlife that was to come for her.

Lastly, the Crochan Queen remembered Rhiannon. Her half-sister of the father that was long dead by the hands of her grandmother, and had continued the search for her. The half-sister she had slaughtered. Maybe she would meet her in that afterlife, too.

When the darkness came, no one knew what would happen after that besides the Gods. And maybe they did not even know. But what she knew for sure, was that it would be a sweet, sweet thing to finally kill the Blackbeak Matron.

Her immortal life didn’t seem to be immortal as she gathered up all that she could muster, Mother Blackbeak still chasing her. This was her one chance, and she could not waste it.

The magic brewing inside of her started to consume her even more, and she knew it was time. With Wind-Cleaver in both of her hands, she turned to face her Grandmother, a wicked grin on her face.

White Demon.

Manon Witch-Slayer.

Manon Kin-Slayer.

The Last Crochan King.

Former Wing Leader and Blackbeak Heir.

Manon Blackbeak.

So many names and titles. Manon would forever be proud of them, in some space in her heart. The part of her that would forever be a Blackbeak.

In a burst of heat and darkness, and with a boom that shook the world, Manon Blackbeak did not exist. The Blackbeak matron did not exist. Neither had the Valg and Ironteeth witches who had surrounded her.

All that was left was a ground of black and blue blood. No sign of the once yellow-green grass that had died from a result of this battle. No sign of the red cloth that had been in Manon’s hair. No sign of her body, either.

The blast had destroyed everyone in the surrounding area, and Manon Blackbeak’s sacrifice was not in vain.

From the sea, a returning ship to Terrasen from an unknown continent heard the blast. Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius and her companions wondered what had happened. But they would find out soon enough.

#manon blackbeak #throne of glass #kingdom of ash #heir of fire #queen of shadows #empire of storms #tower of dawn #angst #death #koa #tog #hof #qos #eo #tod

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terrasensinstitute · 6 years

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Unlikely Romances

Manon wonders about how she feels about the Bluebood witch, Petrah. I have NOT read KOA before this, so its spoiler free

Word Count: About 2,800

It wasn’t a secret that there were relationships between witches in the clans. It wasn’t that uncommon either, and no one really cared. The Blackbeak Matron had a lover in her own coven, and there were others that you would need both hands to count.

What was uncommon, however, was relationships - of any types - between different clans. The Ironteeth already didn’t like each other, not to mention that they barely met. It was better that way - before they ended up ripping each other apart, much like the War Games had proved they would in a heartbeat. They were rivals, and it would always be that way.

So what surprised Manon is that she found herself waiting by Petrah Blueblood’s bedside after those War Games, just hoping that she would wake up.

Maybe some part of Petrah really had been damaged when Iskra had given that order to kill, and Keelie had died on the rocks of the battlefield. The golden-eyed witch didn’t blame Petrah for her pain, because she had a small feeling that she would feel the same way if her own wyvern, Abraxos, suddenly died.

It was the day after she had killed that Crochan prisoner, and even after the time she spent with Abraxos, she couldn’t help but dwell on her words. Made you into monsters. Manon dwelled on it even more as she sat next to Petrah’s barely breathing form, knowing that if her grandmother found out, she would be punished even more than she already had.

Manon looked down at the Blueblood witch. Her sparkling blue eyes were closed, and her deep golden hair framed her pale face like sunlight. The witch had to force herself away in order to prevent herself from running her fingers across her cheeks. She looked frail, and in her face etched deep sadness. It hurt Manon, in some unknown part of her.

Manon stood from the stool, hearing footsteps grow louder on the floor of which Petrah laid. With a small glance back, Manon Blackbeak left the chambers through the window and made her way back to Abraxos. She needed to think without the witch in front of her.

Manon wasn’t sure whether to feel devastation, fear, fury, or nothing at all. She tried to feel the latter, but it was hard to with everything that had just been piled onto her. Her second for as long as she could remember was to be executed at sunrise tomorrow, and Petrah - Petrah - had defended her in that witch trial.

What would have happened if that tall, thin, beautiful witch with the hollow face hadn’t defended her? Would she be the one dying that next sunrise? Or would Asterin not be the one dying? Manon didn’t want to think of the idea that if Petrah had not interfered, her second would not be dying. But she knew deep down that it was her own damned decisions and mistakes that led to this.

She would give her Second a short end, because that was what Asterin deserved. When she knew that along with her own decisions, it was her Matron’s hatred of Asterin that had led to this, too.

But now, Manon had cornered that same witch who had defended her, golden eyes seeming to spark with emotions she did well to keep hidden. It was only this close that Manon finally realised how her freckles stood out against her skin, how her golden hair had been brushed to a beautiful color again - so unlike when she laid in her room in the uppermost chambers of the Omega.

Manon wondered if Petrah knew that she had sat by her bedside for however many hours, the exact amount forgotten in her immortal mind. The witch found that she hoped that Petrah didn’t know.

“Hello, Manon.” Her blue eyes still held that fierceness and unfinished business that she had spoken to Iskra with, and it made Manon realise with a jolt that, no, Petrah did not have her head in the clouds. That Petrah was an Ironteeth witch, and that she probably only put on that facade to trick her rivals and enemies. It was smart, and deadly. And, Manon realised with hatred at herself, hot. “What brings you here?”

Manon didn’t even think about how Petrah knew exactly what she was here for. “Why did you speak in my favor?”

A ghost of a smile graced Petrah’s lips before she spoke. “I think you know why, Manon.” She didn’t even have time to ask her to elaborate before Petrah walked off, still in her fighting leathers.

So Manon Blackbeak stood in that empty hall, looking at where Petrah had disappeared. She did not know how to answer the question hanging in her head, and Manon was unsure how she would even begin to, with all that laid upon her shoulders. With a sharp turn of her body, she stalked off towards her tower, brain churning with questions and ideas.

Made.

As she clumsily hung onto Abraxos’ leathery hide, those words repeated in her mind. Along with what her grandmother had finally admitted. She was a Blackbeak. But she was also the last living Crochan queen with the murder of her half-sister, Rhiannon.

A Queen. A living, breathing Crochan Queen. Well, maybe not living much longer seeing the state she was in, but.. It shook Manon to her core. To her husk of a heart, and Manon genuinely did not know how to feel about this, or much less how to process it.

Her bitch of a grandmother - Manon felt queasy at the thought of her being related to that monster - had killed her mother and father, and made her kill her half-sister. Manon may be a kin-slayer, but the Blackbeak Matron had done it willingly, and would not hesitate to do it again. Just like Manon would not hesitate to kill her if she saw the Matron again.

Her mind drifted off to what Petrah thought of the ordeal, and Manon could not find words why it did. She would probably be disgusted - like no doubt the rest of the Ironteeth were. But maybe Petrah and the other Bluebloods would understand that it was not Manon’s fault, and that she was still Ironteeth.

But did Manon even want to be an Ironteeth witch anymore? With what the Matron had done, along with Iskra Yellowlegs and the rest of her clan had done. With the shred of kindness Petrah had shown her - even if they were in rival clans.

No. She would always be an Ironteeth witch, and she would be a Crochan Queen. But Manon knew that she would have to pick which one to stay with. Because of she didn’t, that would ultimately be her downfall.

Dorian Havilliard and Manon Blackbeak had no feelings for each other besides sexual. Manon had learned that fairly quickly. He was handsome, and made her core burn, but Manon desired nothing beyond that. And Dorian saw her as a release - because human woman were too fragile.

Manon wondered what had made the King of Adarlan think that. What sad part in his life had made him decide not to go after a human woman, even if being with an immortal one would bring him the same sadness, too.

But it was that time with Dorian that she realised - had she ever felt real emotion for a man? No. That was not what witches did. What Ironteeth witches did - her father had proven that the Crochans did. But Asterin had proved that Ironteeth witches could, too.

Manon wondered if she ever felt any real emotion for another witch. She didn’t think she did. She didn’t see why she would feel that useless emotion. The white-haired beauty was unlike Asterin in so many different ways, and she had a feeling that she would be unlike her in their ability to love.

She hoped that she did, too. Because Manon would forever remember the words that Asterin had said. Joy so complete it was pain. The idea of being at such a mercy to something made Manon queasy. But things were changing. That much was obvious when she had to kill her half-sister. When her grandmother tried to kill her. When her grandmother had lied to her face about Asterin.

When she had saved Petrah. That decision alone had rocked her into the mess, and Manon had only now realised that. Maybe she was closer to being like Asterin’s flame than she ever thought.

What surprised Manon Blackbeak - she guess Manon Crochan, now - was not the fact that they had retrieved the third Wyrdkey. The parts she carried were heavy in her leathers, her nor Dorian wanting to trust what would happen when all three were together.

No, it was the fact that as she sat on the edge of a cliff, far off from the small army of Crochans she had managed to find, is that Petrah Blueblood joined her. Petrah did not bring a wyvern; she had brought one of the brooms that all witches alike had used before magic went out over ten years ago. But now they worked.

The white-haired witch supposed that Petrah couldn’t bring herself to have another wyvern, or that she wanted to come here as discreetly as possible. But the Matrons would have made her get another, so it was probably the latter assessment.

“You sure did destroy Morath.”

“You sure did state the obvious.”

Manon looked over at the golden-haired beauty, her blue eyes seeming darker in the night. “Why are you here, Petrah?”

It seemed to be that Petrah hesitated for a moment, and Manon was about to tell her to get the hell away when she finally spoke. “I come here to warn you. Your grandmother” - Manon almost cringed at the word - “has heard about what you are doing, and in all of your destroying of Morath, none of the Matrons have died. Neither has the Blackbeak Matron, who I saw you almost rip to shreds.”

Manon wasn’t as surprised as she was mad. She appreciated the warning - she did - but she was furious that she had not managed to kill the Matron bitch who, frankly, deserved to die in her eyes.

She guessed that it would be Asterin’s life to claim in the end. Her fiery cousin deserved it, for what the Matron had done to her.

“Thank you.” The words came out as Petrah was about mount her broom again, and Manon stood. She could feel Petrah looking at her - and her eyes perhaps lingering a bit too long on certain places.

“I would join you, except to do so would be a dishonor to my mother, and to the Blueblood Clan.” Manon watched as Petrah lifted those two fingers to her brow - respect of a Witch Queen - and then finally took off into the starry night.

The idea of it terrified her, but she also found herself longing to see more of Petrah. How she knew where she had went, Manon did not know, but she wished that Petrah would stay.

Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius was not dead.

But Dorian Havillard was, and had left the lands of Adarlan to Terrasen as he forged the lock and put Erawan, Maeve, and the rest of the valg back where they belonged. To that realm, which Manon had no want to know whatsoever.

The fact made Manon sadder than she had ever been in a while, with the war having taken so many of her Thirteen and army of Crochans she had gathered up. Taking her second - but also her grandmother - and taking Dorian.

Dorian - he was someone who Manon was describe as a friend. Nothing more than that, but he should have been honored to even be considered a friend to Manon. No mortal man had ever had the pleasure of being called her friend.

No, he shouldn’t have had to feel honored, Manon thought, trying to hold back tears she had barely shed before, I should be honored. She had so much grief weighing on her shoulders - grief that she know cared about, now acknowledged. The war against Erawan, holding those keys, her friend and some of her Thirteen dying.. It was weight that Manon wished she did not carry. Wished she did not now have to uphold herself as a Crochan Queen - and possibly Queen of the Witches.

The beautiful white-haired witch sat on an unknown hill and cried. Manon did not care if anyone saw her, because she needed to let out all of that grief that had been slowly building up in her ever since she saved Petrah from being splattered on the Omega floor.

She could not tell how long she cried there until a hand laid upon her shoulder, and a comforting presence - smelling of myrrh and rosemary - seated itself besides her. Manon found herself not caring much if this presence was about to kill her, but as she lifted her head, she wiped her tears with the edge of her new cloak. It was not red, but a deep navy blue.

As her golden eyes met such familiar blue ones in the beginnings of dawn, she blinked. The sun shone on the much too familiar deep golden hair, turning some of the strands as light as her own moon-white hair.

“Petrah,” Manon began, unable to tear her eyes away from that calm and understanding face. “What are you doing here?” Her voice was soft and hoarse, and she wished that it was not.

“It seemed that you would need…” Petrah trailed off slightly, as if wishing for something but unable to say it. “It seemed that you needed someone to talk to. After everything that’s happened.”

The kindness in that statement made Manon’s heart swell with both sadness and longing. She wished for Dorian - who had listened to her, even when they were not taking an edge off with each other. Who she had confided in, even if it was just little pieces of information. She wished for someone who she could talk to again, and that she could return the favor.

Manon supposed that that was the reason why she finally spoke to Petrah. Tears flowed, and a comforting and light hand on her shoulder had slowly turned into an embrace as Petrah listened to her speak, the sun slowly rising higher as the time passed.

“I do not know how I am supposed to lead all of those witches by myself. How I am supposed to, with all of this grief still weighing on me. The curse has been lifted off of the Western Wastes-” a gasp came from Petrah at this “-yet, I do not know what will happen. Will the Ironteeth and Crochans live together? Or will I be forced to take a side again in another war for the Wastes?”

Manon had been ready to be the High Witch of the Wastes one day, but now she doubted her abilities to. Maybe in a clear state of mind, she would realise that it was just her emotions clouding her usual sharp judgement. Now, after crying for how many hours and being held by a witch she had long wondered about her feelings for, she felt better.

Manon waited in silence before Petrah finally spoke, that calm voice seeming to lift all of her worries off of her shoulders.

“I believe.. That you can do it. That the Ironteeth and the Crochans will live in peace together, because when you put your mind to something Manon, it happens. I have seen it happen for the past one hundred years, and I have no doubts that you will be a great Queen. That Ironteeth and Crochan blood in you will make you a fine Queen. You just have to believe in yourself, even if it seems impossible right now.” Petrah’s fingers moved some of Manon’s hair away from her tear-painted face, and Manon couldn;t resist the small shiver that wracked through her body. “If you want, I will join you. In whatever way you wish for me to. Because I believe that the world needs to change, and you have the power to do that. What use will it be if we are constantly fighting over who had the rightful claim of the Wastes?”

Manon smiled softly at the witch who she was being held by, and she laid a hand on her face. “I would love for you to join me, Petrah. I admit.. My feelings for you have been complicated. But I don’t think I could do with without some help from a witch who always has had her head in the clouds.”

And, as a grin lit the Bluebloods face, Manon watched as she leaned closer until their lips touched together.

Instead of that despair that had been clouding her, she felt excited for the future. Especially if Petrah Blueblood was joining her.

#manon blackbeack #petrah blueblood #throne of glass #crown of midnight #heir of fire #queen of shadows #empire of storms #tower of dawn #kingdom of ash #manon x petrah #death #koa #angst #romance

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