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Chapter Text

Dorian started awake, shooting up and panting as he awoke from a nightmare. He looked over to his side, where Manon lay, her white hair shining in the faint moonlight coming though the window of the room. Breathing heavily he tried to calm himself down, repeating to himself what Manon would say if she were awake - it's ok, it wasn't your fault, there was nothing you could have done. As quietly as he could he got up, hoping to get some air, and grabbing a shirt to guard against the Terrassen chill.

The country was celebrating yet another marriage. This time between Lorcan and Elide, who had waited for Aedion and Lysandra to marry first, before announcing their engagement. Dorian walked out onto the balcony, and laughed to himself. He could still hear faint music coming from the ballroom below, and despite how late it was - or maybe how early it was - Dorian was sure Aelin's court would be celebrating well into tomorrow.

He had been right to put on a shirt - the wind in Terrassen was cold, yet Dorian welcomed it. The gentle chill slowly pulled him away from the grasp of his dark memories, and his magic awakened slightly as the cold embraced him. Since the kingsflame has bloomed after the war, the air in Terrassen seemed to be imbued with something special, something that made his heart grow and his magic sing.

Dorian almost thought about shifting, which had become almost second nature to him whenever he felt the need to escape from himself. He preferred any form that could fly: bees, ravens, sometimes even a wyvern, much to Chaol's concern (and Manon's delight). Dorian tried to push the urge down, gripping onto the railing tightly and breathing in deeply. 

He wasn't sure how Elide would respond to a wyvern gatecrashing her wedding. He didn't even want to think about Lorcan. The brooding male, who only seemed to lighten up slightly around his mate, had always terrified Dorian, a fact which Aelin and Lysandra liked to remind him of whenever Lorcan was mentioned. His last run in with the legendary warrior had been at Aedion and Lysandra's wedding. Dorian may have had a little too much to drink that night (a certain iron-toothed chaperone hadn't been there to watch over him) and whilst he and Aelin had been sitting outside, recovering from a rather over the top dance, the conversation of her court had come up. Recounting Rowan's how long list of last names had been the first thing that set them giggling, and the mention of Fenrys 'Moonbeam' had them both running laps (literally) trying not to laugh too loud. The final straw was when Aelin made mention of Lorcan, and his new name: Lord Lorcan Lochan. Dorian had laughed so hard he fell off the bench and into a bush, which in turn set Aelin off, who then too, fell into a bush.

Dorian had still been rolling around in the foliage whilst clutching his stomach and looking at the sky when Aelin began to quiet. She shot him a look, but he missed it, to busy repeating Lorcan's new name at the top of his lungs. Aelin had had to hiss Dorian's name several times until he got the hint and finally looked up. He found himself face to face with a one Lord Lorcan Lochan, who did not look happy.

"Your majesty." Lorcan had said, with a tone of disdain that seemed to say I can't believe I have to deal with this immaturity. "Yes?" Dorian had squeaked out, which Aelin giggled at.
"I believe Chaol is wondering where you are. And I believe Rowan is wondering who is making the incredibly loud noise." Lorcan had said, shooting Aelin a look which made her suddenly decide to stargaze. "Tell Chaol I'll be right inside. Oh and please extend my apologies to Prince Rowan for the noise. We didn't intend to disturb the guests."
Lorcan had simply smirked and walked away, and since then Dorian had told himself he would avoid the warrior at all costs.

Smiling at the now slightly fonder memory, Dorian managed to will himself not to accidentally fly into the roof of the ballroom in wyvern form. A sound from behind him made him suddenly spin, instinct moving his hand towards his waist, searching for a sword that wasn't there. His sapphire eyes met Manon's golden ones, and he let out a breath.

Dorian's sudden movement hadn't gone unnoticed by the queen, who offered him a soft smile and walked to stand next to him, leaning against the railing. "You haven't reached for Damaris when you're around me in a long time. More nightmares?" She looked over at him, and he lowered his eyes, somewhat shameful of an instinct he knew he couldn't control. "Yeah. Really bad." He responded, his voice shaking slightly. He stared up at the star-filled sky, willing himself not to cry.

"Dorian." Her voice made him drag his eyes away from the stars, turning to stare at her molten eyes. "It's not your fault." Manon knew all about Dorian's nightmares, which he had told her about one night when they made him so frightened it felt like he couldn't breathe. Manon had guided back to himself then, and so many nights since. He knew she would do it again, and again, and again. Dorian didn't deserve her kindness, not after what he'd done. "Hey," she said, softly pulling on his hand to bring him back to the present. It was as if she could sense what he was thinking. "It was not you. You weren't in control then." She continued to gaze into his eyes. "But you are in control now. You get to decide what has power over you Dorian. Come back to me." He let her words wash over him, letting her pull him out of his head, back towards her moonlight hair and sunrise eyes, which had saved him so many times.

"Sorry." Dorian muttered, still unable to get over his shame, even now after years of nightmares. "Don't apologise. It's okay. It happens to everyone." Her expression seemed to add on an afterthought: it even happens to me. And of course she was right. When Manon's darkest memories came back to haunt her, Dorian would guide her back to the real world, and she would grip onto his gentle words like a lifeline, struggling to escape the visions of blood on her nails, dead Crochans and Blackbeaks, and the yielding.

They stood there in silence, letting the breeze wash over them, carrying with it the faint sounds of music and singing from the party below.

This was why Dorian cared so strongly for her. With no one else could he stand in silence, yet feel so safe. He loved his friends, of course, but he feared that if he were ever to tell of his nightmares that made him feel sick, and what dwelled in them, those memories of the atrocities the Valg prince within him had committed when he had the collar around his neck, they wouldn't understand. Chaol would only be concerned, and Dorian would hate to worry him, not now, not when he was so happy. It was similar with Aelin. She would still support him, Dorian doubted she would do anything else, but Aelin had enough to deal with, Aelin had her own nightmares. Dorian hated the idea that she would be burdened down by his fears and memories. If he were to tell anyone else, they wouldn't see him the same, being either scared or disgusted by what he'd done when under the Valg's control.

It was Manon who Dorian revealed everything to. He told her of everything he had done under with the collar on, everything he'd done before the collar, how he'd tried to distract himself from the atrocities his father was committing by doing anything but fulfilling the role of crown prince. He told her of his fears, how he was scared he couldn't handle being king, that something had rotted within him when under the Valg's control, and this would turn him into his father. He revealed every part of himself to her - his scarred and ugly past, his old behaviour which disgusted him now, the way he had treated Chaol and Aelin when he was still crown prince. Dorian told Manon everything.

And yet, she had not turned away. Every time Dorian had revealed something to her, she had listened. She had listened and she hasn't turned away. She wasn't disgusted nor was she scared. She was there. And she would always be there.

That was why Dorian loved her.

He grinned to himself, looking across the Orynth skyline to Oakwald, imagining he could see to Adarlan and Rifthold beyond. The sounds of the wedding reached them both, and Dorian couldn't help the idea that appeared in his head.

Manon. Manon and Dorian. Married. It could never happen he told himself... and yet here he was. He'd thought about it before - obviously he had - yet he'd always stopped himself from saying anything. The only time the topic had vaguely come up was when they had still been on the hunt for the Crochans, and she had offered him marriage in return for him not going to Morath. But he had known she wouldn't want it. And so Dorian had gone to Morath. And the idea of marriage had never been raised again.

Manon noticed the far away look in his eyes as he stared towards Oakwald, and fearing he'd disappeared into his memories again, she tapped him lightly, drawing his attention back to her. "What are you thinking about?" She asked.

Dorian didn't know what it was - the cold night air, the lingering grogginess from just waking up, his mind's emotional turmoil - but before he could stop he found himself answering her question. "I was just wondering if we'd ever get married."

Dorian's eyes widened, as what he said suddenly caught up with him. "Uhm... I- sorry. What I meant to say was- um. Just ignore me." Dorian scrambled to something else to say. "What did you say?" Manon said, turning to face him fully. Dorian's eyes landed on Aelin and Rowans tower and his eyes lit up. "Have you seen the tower? And the garden on the balcony! What do you think about it?" Manon tapped him again.
"Hey. What are talking about?" Dorian's mouth opened and closed, yet no words came out. "You know what? I'm actually really tired! I'm going to bed again. Goodnight." He briefly kissed her on the top of her head, and moved to go back into the room, yet Manon saw through him. She gripped his shoulders, forcing him to meet her eyes. "Dorian," she said, "don't walk away. Please."

He finally looked at her. Took her in, astounded by her beauty as he was whenever he saw her. He stared into her golden eyes, filled with unreadable emotion. Dorian took a deep breath.

"I was just wondering if you'd ever think about us getting married. It wasn't really and idea just a question, only because- well... at every wedding we've been to, I've thought about it. And I know you don't want to, the last time we talked about it, well we didn't even talk, but last time it was brought up Manon I knew you'd hate it. And that's why when you offered your hand, before I went to Morath I mean, I said no, because I didn't want to constrain you to a court life," Dorian paused, still looking into Manon's eyes, 'but I hope you know that if it were to happen - if we were to get married - that I would never try restrain you like that. I mean, it could be purely political if you wanted, just a show of strength. It would be an alliance... although I suppose we would still be married, so it would be an alliance through marriage, a marriage alliance. But I don't want to put you in an impossible position. And I hope you don't think I'm only asking because others have recommended it, I genuinely do want this. But then I worry that me wanting a marriage would make you feel that you have to, and I would never want to force you, whether conscious of it or not. So, well, yeah. That's um- that's what I said. So. Just something to mull over maybe." He looked at her softly.

Manon looked at him and smiled. "I was wondering when you were going to ask." Dorian's shocked reaction had the queen letting out a quiet laugh as she prepared to continue. "I would love to get married Dorian. And I would love to get married because I love you. So it wouldn't need to be purely political. Would it be a show of power? Yes, of course it would be, but we wouldn't be getting married to show power, we'd be getting married because we love each other."

"But I thought you wouldn't want to, when we were with the Crochans I assumed..." Dorian gasped out, overcoming his shock.
"You're correct," Manon replied, nodding, "when we were with the Crochans, I wouldn't have wanted this. But that was over a year ago. I've fought in the war. I've fully grown into the role of queen, and the Thirteen - who I think played a role in my dislike of the idea of marriage - they're gone." Manon paused, looking out towards the Plain of Theralis, and Dorian gripped her hands. "So my answer is yes. Although I suppose you haven't asked formally yet." She added, amusement shining within her golden eyes.

"Oh please Witchling, you know I'd get on my knees for you any day," Dorian responded, winking, "but unfortunately I don't have a ring with me." Manon looked slightly confused at his words "I don't think that's a witch tradition - although I suppose we don't really tend to get married... just go with your heart Dorian. I don't need a ring." She looked up at him, eyes full of love.

He gently pulled her closer, hands on her waist, and asked "Manon Crochan, queen of all witches, my witchiling... will you marry me?" Manon kissed him lightly on the lips, and looked into his sapphire eyes.

"Yes."

Chapter Text

Some days the pain was so bad that Manon felt she couldn't get out of bed. Those, naturally, were the worst days, for two reasons. Experiencing that grief, that hit her so hard she was completely incapacitated, as if she could just disappear completely. Then, along with that grief, the fact that she couldn't just say in bed. As queen, she couldn't. It wasn't even an option. So she'd sit there, through meetings that only ever seemed to detail the destruction that had been done to the Witch Kingdom, and feel herself break, over and over again.

Then, on other days, her grief would manifest in other horrific ways. On certain days she felt like the only way she could make it through the day without killing someone was by flying up through the clouds with Abraxos, far away from her kingdom, from her crown, and from any reminder of the twelve witches she had lost. And yet, as if part of some cruel joke, even up there she couldn't escape her crushing pain. She would be flying, finally forgetting those days on the battlefield, and then she'd turn to speak to a Second who was never there. Who would never be there.

She hated it. She hated it. She hated how sometimes she'd forget - only to remember, and to experience that unending realisation again. She hated how she couldn't talk to anyone about it, knowing that if she did, there was a chance she would completely shatter, and never be remade again. And, most of all, she hated that the only person she knew who could ever possibly understand was half way across the world, leading his own kingdom, and shouldering his own grief.

And now, even now, Manon could feel that unending ocean of grief building up, stretching into the distance and preparing to drown her in waves that would never let up. The feeling only got worse as the queen approached the Terrasen border.

Every year a vigil was held in Terrasen, on the anniversary of the end of the war. The memorial was an event where whoever any of the attendees were, it didn't matter. After it had been announced that something that would happen, Aelin had made it clear that anyone was welcome, no matter what their experience in the war had been. Naturally, people came from all across the continent, including various leaders. Nesryn and Sartaq had promised that a similar vigil would be held in the Southern Continent, and when the distances were still too far for people to travel, they would light a fire in their home which would burn throughout the night, as a symbol for everyone who had been lost.

As the rolling hills of Terrasen appeared below, Manon turned her thoughts to her kingdom. The destruction from it being abandoned for so long was widespread and catastrophic. As soon as they had made it home after the end of the war, Manon had sent out a group of scouts to survey the damage, and, whilst the news had been bad, there were still glimmers of hope. The witches reported temples which still seemed to be miraculously standing, entire villages which could, if need be, still hold people, and appearing everywhere were areas of greenery, a sign of the queen finally returning home.

However even with these small pieces of good information, she still faced further issues. The war had only served to further divide the Crochans and the other clans, highlighting how different they were. Everywhere she turned, Manon faced opposition. The Yellowlegs saw her as a witch-killer, the Blackbeaks saw her as a traitor, and the Crochans viewed her as unworthy of the crown she wore. Only a few weeks after they had made it home, Bronwen had been bringing in reports of rebels, somehow already trying to take Manon's crown.

Manon pulled her hands away from the reigns to press them to her temples, trying to soothe the ache that had seemed to come with taking the throne. She sat there, the only sound breaking through the nighttime silence the boom of Abraxos' wings. She leant down to pet her loyal mount, and as she sat back up she caught site of the towers of Orynth appearing on the horizon.

Soon enough, the Plain of Theralis came into view, the Florian River a streak of silver as it reflected the moonlight. She brought Abraxos down slowly, not wanting to wake the entire city with the sound of a wyvern landing outside the city walls, and as she dismounted he nudged her with his snout.

"You can accompany me if you wish," Manon said to him, staring into your eyes, "or you can stay here. It's your choice." She remembered Narene, Abraxos' beautiful mate who had died when... who had died in the Yielding. Abraxos nudged her agin, and as she began to walk to the centre of the plain, he followed her closely.

Manon could feel her heart growing heavier as they got closer to that blasted bit of earth. They had built a memorial, an act which Manon would always be grateful for, and Aelin had ensured that whatever was built wouldn't cover that one part of the plain - the lasting sign of The Thirteen's sacrifice. And indeed, the queen of Terrasen had stayed true to her word. The memorial resembled a sun, with a central circular band of stone surrounding the blasted earth, and rays of stone of varying length branching out from it. On the central band, the names of Manon's Thirteen were written, inscribed in iron. On each of the rays were the names of every witch who had died protecting Orynth, their sacrifice memorialised forever in metal.

Softly, quietly, Manon walked between one of those rays, not ignoring the names written there. Abraxos stayed behind her, curling up and pressing his snout into the ground where his mate had once stood. Manon carefully made her way towards the centre of the memorial, even as it felt like that with each step her heart cracked further.

Silently, Manon dropped to her knees. And for hours she kneeled in silence. The wind and the occasional rustle of Abraxos' wings were all that accompanied the queen, and yet as her shoulders bowed inwards, she imagined she could feel her Thirteen around her, their talking and laughing filling the air as it had for over a hundred years.

She remembered Asterin's wild laugh, Sorrel's kind eyes, and Vesta's smile. She remembered Ghislaine's excitement, the twins' understanding quiet, and Thea and Kaya's silent moments of happiness. She remembered Imogen's wise words, her Shadows' beauty, and Linnea's voice. She remembered it all. And there, on that broken, scorched, scarred piece of earth, the Queen of Witches fell apart.

Her sobs shattered the peaceful quiet, holding her face in her hands as she broke underneath the memories of her sisters. She looked at the ground through her tears, then at the sky, where the stars stared back at her.

"I can't do it." Manon let out. A broken admittance of her weakness, which she had known for a while now. "I can't do it without you." She continued, still looking up at the sky. "I don't know how to do any of it, and I'm so scared of failing. I don't want to fail you." The unspoken end of the statement hung in the air: because then your sacrifice will have been for nothing.

The queen kneeled there, looking up at the sky, as no one responded to her words. A breeze flowed over the plain, bringing with it sounds of the city and the river, but no one responded to Manon's words. She let herself fold inwards again, returning her eyes to that barren bit of earth. Where her gaze remained for hours.

It was only when the first few signs of dawn were showing on the horizon that he joined her. The scent of books and ice reached her before he did, but even as he knelt next to her, she couldn't find the energy to look up at Dorian.

However, when he lowered himself down further, she allowed her head to rest on his shoulder. Showing him the weight of her crown and her grief, something which only he could understand. Dorian didn't say anything. He knew her so well, and he knew that now there was nothing he could say. Nothing he could do other than stay there with Manon, allowing her to rest on his shoulder and for him to hold her hand in his.

So there they stayed, for hours, remembering the twelve beautiful witches who had given their lives so that forces for good in this world could survive. And as the city of Orynth woke on the day of the vigil, guards on the city walls saw two figures kneeling on the Plain of Theralis, the rising sun behind the two monarchs bathing them in golden light.

Chapter Text

"Live, Manon. Live."

She couldn't have anticipated the masterful blow Asterin delivered to her stomach. Falling to her knees, Manon reached out a hand to try and grap at her Second's retreating form, her vision blurring.

She watched helplessly as each member of the Thirteen took to the skies for one final flight, as Asterin, set to mount Narene, turned back to Manon, her mouth open to say one last goodbye and-

Asterin's face was frozen with an expression of shock as a knife stabbed through her gut. Through her hoarse breath, Manon let loose a broken cry as she watched her sister fall, revealing the all-too-familiar form of her grandmother behind.

Vesta, who'd wyvern had not yet taken off released a roar of anguish, and she leapt towards her grandmother... only to fall, the Blackbeak Matron's dagger cutting a crimson line across Vesta's throat. Manon fought to raise herself up, reaching towards Windcleaver only to find it gone, looking towards Abraxos only to see him gone.

She raised herself onto her knees to the sound of her grandmother's footsteps, barely managing to lift her head before the Matron delivered a kick to her ribs that sent her sprawling. Manon rolled, her eyes catching on the sky as she saw arrows flying through the air, aimed at the witches who flew above. Her grandmother stalked over and placed a foot on Manon's chest, trapping her in place and leaving her helpless to watch as blue blood rained down from above.

"Did you really think you could win?" The Matron whispered, her tone vicious. "Your soldiers lie dead on the battlefield. Your Thirteen is being hunted above us. And the witch tower still stands."

And Manon couldn't see it, couldn't raise her head from where she lay. But she saw the growing light, heard the scream of the witch on that tower as she made the yielding, as that power swept towards her to tear her apart-

Manon lurched awake with a cry, her sudden return to reality sending her shooting forwards, sitting up so fast she almost got whiplash. Her vision was disjointed as she looked around her bedroom in the castle of The Wastes, trying to ground herself, even as she felt hot tears cut tracts down her face.

She raised a shaking hand to brush them away, but found she couldn't even do that, as if the nightmare had drained her of all her energy. Manon took great heaving breaths, trying to calm herself down.

Live, Manon. Live.

She'd tried. She'd tried to protect them, to prevent it. From the moment those words had left Asterin's mouth, she'd known what was coming, what they intended to do. If only she'd blocked her blow.

And they'd died to protect the palace from the witch tower, and to prevent the army from recieving a blow they wouldn't have recovered from. But Manon's mind, so much crueler when she was asleep, had offered a different conclusion in her nightmare. What if they hadn't succeeded? What if it had been for nothing?

It sometimes felt that way - that it had been for nothing. Because of their sacrifice, Manon had survived the battle. But part of her had died on the battlements at Orynth, part of her had stopped breathing when they'd made the yielding, and it had withered and rotted, and Manon still couldn't escape it.

She fixed her gaze on the open window opposite, to the sight of the midnight sky beyond. Manon let her eyes stay put on the darkened horizon, focusing on the sounds filtering through the night, willing, forcing herself to calm down.

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･''･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

Manon's movements had woken him up, eyes shooting open from light sleep. Dorian's eyes immediately zeroed in on her frozen form across from him, her entire body held perfectly still.

He pushed himself up to lean on his elbows, and whilst Manon shifted at his action, she didn't even make to look at him. Her eyes were unfocused, distant, yet her gaze was set on one point far out the open window. The diaphonous gauze curtain had been pulled back earlier in the day and was set on a silver hook, lightly swaying in the late-night breeze.

"Manon?" Dorian whispered, his voice heavy as it shook off sleep. When she didn't react he moved again, sitting cross legged in line with her and leaning forwards slightly to try and catch her eye.

"Manon?" He asked again, a bit louder but his tone kind. Manon finally moved, but not to acknowledge him. Instead, she seemed to curve in on herself, pulling her knees up to her chest and dropping her head, the light in her eyes guttering when her hair fell around her face like a shroud.

Dorian looked around, embarrassingly unsure. He'd dealt with her nightmares before - of course he had - but it was rare that they affected her like this. Where he was eager to talk about night terrors when they plagued him, Manon seemed to disappear within herself, becoming unspeaking and unseeing as she tried to drag herself up from the depths of her own memories.

"...Was it a nightmare?" He said with some trepidation. He wasn't about to go back to sleep, but he was aware that if she wanted quiet, peace, then he probably wasn't exactly helping.

To his slight surprise, she responded with a sharp nod, still looking off to some place that Dorian couldn't see... but at least she'd recognised his presence. Sometimes, just the knowledge of him being there was enough, a gentle reminder that she was anywhere but alone. But a look at Manon's haunted gaze told Dorian that whatever she'd awoken from, it had ripped any foundation of security away from her.

After a minute or so, he continued, "Do you want to tell me about it?" He reached up a hand, his touch laden with tenderness, and lifted a few strands of hair out of her face, brushing them behind her shoulder so she could see him properly in her peripheral.

Manon shook her head ardently, the motion jerky and uncontrolled.

Dorian paused again. "Do you want me to talk?"

She finally turned to him. Her gaze was still slightly unfocused, but there was an answer in the action.

"There's a lot of Rifthold court gossip that you're not caught up on" He said with a smirk he knew she would recognise.

Manon blinked, slowly, her eyelashes catching in the moonlight. Then she nodded - she was still hunched over her knees, but she was looking at him, and it was a start.

Dorian talked about everything and nothing.

As he'd promised, he updated her on everything that had happened since he saw her last, all the stupidity of the aging courtiers, and all the hilarity of his friends.

He talked about the progress he was making with Rifthold, how proud he was of the new housing that was being developed, how happy the residents were. He talked about the improvements to the army, but having guessed what Manon's dream had been about, he pointedly avoided any mention of Adarlan's aerial host.

Dorian described how he'd had a visit from Aedion and Lysandra and how he'd laughed so hard over a state dinner, he'd almost fallen out of his chair. He mentioned when he'd last seen Chaol and Yrene - and their daughter. How proud Chaol had been when he'd described how she'd finally said her first word, but also how jealous that it was "Mama", and not "Papa".

Throughout, Manon seemed to warm to him, straightening up and angling her body so she could be more receptive. With every anecdote Dorian shared, her eyes became more and more clear, and he could tell she was latching onto his words like a lifeline.

"And then, this random man fully turned to Chaol and just casually said 'We annexed Fenharrow once, who's to say we can't do it again', and I was so shocked, I genuinely couldn't move-"

Manon cut him off by laying her head on his shoulder, the move achingly gentle and slow. After half a minute of quiet, she spoke, her voice guttural. "Go on." She whispered.

Dorian nodded, just once, then obliged. "Well, as I said, I was frozen in shock, and so obviously I couldn't do anything as Chaol literally launched himself, over the table, towards this person - it was chaos. I ended up having to ask him to leave."

"Chaol or the man?" Manon asked, her voice quiet but clear.

He snorted. "Obviously the man. Whoever he was."

There was a brief period of silence, but instead of being laced with tension like before, it was interspersed with Manon's deep breaths, and the calming weight of her head on his shoulder.

"Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me." Dorian replied, looking down at Manon to see her head twist, her eyes meeting his. "Anyway, you know how much I love telling you secrets."

She smiled sadly. "I don't think I was very receptive."

Dorian paused, considering his words. "I don't mind."

He looked off towards the window, where the moon was hanging high in the sky, it's light shining through the curtain and covering the room in a sheen of pale blue. Manon mimicked his action, but now, instead of staring at a point he couldn't see, she truly took in the midnight landscape and sky.

"Were you talking for ages?" Manon asked.

"You don't have to worry. It's hardly morning... and I was half awake already." Both truths, even as Manon looked at him disbelievingly.

Despite Dorian's words, his body unhelpfully chose that moment to yawn, his eyes scrunching shut. Manon, noting his reaction, lay back down again, letting loose a sigh when her head hit the pillow. Looking down at her, he could almost believe that she was dozing peacefully, laying back down after a simple late-night chat. Dorian soon followed, the promise of sleep beckoning him in again. He twisted so he was lying on his side, lazily smiling at Manon.

As they made eye contact, her mask of serenity seemed to slip, and for a split second he saw the wearied queen beneath, feeling a sort of exhaustion that no night of sleep could fix.

"If you don't want to go back to bed-" He went to say, his brows furrowing as he noted Manon's expression.

"No, it's fine." Manon offered, as if that could appease him. Dorian raised a brow, and she huffed frustratingly. "I want to sleep."

He smirked, and she rolled onto her back as if she could twist away from his smile. "Does that suffice, Princeling?" Manon asked, the familiar playful bite in her voice soothing Dorian's concerns.

He leant over her, gently kissing her forehead and whispering to the skin, "Good enough for me, Witchling." When he pulled back, Manon had her eyes scrunched shut in guise of faux-annoyance, but the tilting up at the corners of her mouth betrayed her.

Dorian lay down again, taking the opportunity to shift closer, so that their shoulders touched as they both stared up at the embellished ceiling. Often when he couldn't sleep, he would stare up at it through half-lidded eyes, tracing the path of the vast mural as it coiled towards the spire of the ceiling. He wondered if Manon did the same.

Manon's breathing had evened out, and he could have sworn she was asleep when she spoke. "Will it get better?" She asked, her voice painfully small.

Under the sheets, Dorian found her hand and clasped it within his. The lack of surety in her question made him think if he was the only one she would talk to like this. About this.

He wanted to tell her yes. He wanted to pull her up and hold her close and whisper that it would all be fine. But he knew the truth, and to lie to her, about something so sensitive? She wouldn't forgive him. He wanted to tell her, with as much force as he could manage, that if he could, he would take all the pain she was feeling and weather it himself. But that wasn't possible, and Manon knew that even more than he did.

Instead, Dorian pulled her closer, tilting his head so that it rested upon hers. "With time."

Chapter Text

Manon smiled as Abraxos neared the Ferian Gap. It was the day of her monthly visit to the mountains of Adarlan, going so regularly to check on the wyverns... and also maybe to see Dorian. Actually maybe only to see Dorian - although she'd never admit that to anyone, least of all him. She knew he would never, ever let her forget it if she did.

Dorian had ensured that he would wipe all traces of the Valg presence from the desolate mountain area, and she was glad to see from her high vantage point that he had kept his vow. In fact, as she looked down she saw that the region actually almost looked kind of... good? Well, maybe not good, but it did seem to be thriving. It made a lot of sense. The formation and training of Adarlan's aerial legion had called for hundreds of people, for all sorts of roles, and Manon supposed it made sense that all of the small villages she flew over had sprung up.

As she neared the peak on which the aerie was somehow miraculously balanced, she caught site of metal reflecting the sunlight, as a young rider Manon didn't recognise waved Abraxos over to the landing square. Manon hopped of Abraxos quickly, moving towards his snout to thank him for the journey. The Wastes to the Ferian Gap wasn't exactly strenuous for her loyal mount, but she still gave him some loving strokes, and some jerky she had in a pack attached to her saddle.

The person who had directed her walked over from where they had stood near the dizzying drop, sporting a blue cape adorned with a red wyvern, the sign of a rider in His Majesty's Aerial Legion... or 'Dorian's flight club' as Bronwen liked to call it. The rider stopped before Manon, bowing low, and then rising to face her again. "Your Majesty. I hope the journey here wasn't too bad? I know sometimes the last bit over the mountains can get slightly stormy," the person gestured behind them to where a small grey wyvern was curled up, "Alia can get quite skittish when the weather's rough. I'm Raya. Apologies that the general wasn't here to meet you like usual, he had some urgent family business to attend to." Manon nodded, looking back out towards where the sun was setting over the peaks. She opened her mouth to reply, but Raya was already speaking. "I can't believe it's sunset already. Don't worry though," they shot Manon a mischevious look, "you won't have to make awkward conversation with me for very long. His Majesty is set to arrive any moment now. His Majesty being uh, King Dorian. If that wasn't clear."
Manon smiled, turning back to Raya and raising a brow. "Thank you for clarifying."

"Anyway!" Raya turned back to another rider who had been petting Alia behind them, rapidly trying to move on, "Adrien, do you know when His Majesty is set to arrive?"

Adrien looked up from where he was, and grinned. "His Majesty is already meant to be here. Although I do vaguely remember a letter he sent, in which he said to tell Queen Manon that he had suffered through some life-threatening accident if he were late, so as to avoid having to tell her that he has poor time management skills." Adrien turned his gaze to Manon, inclining his head and then smiling. "So, Queen Manon, I hate to inform you that His Majesty is only running late because he has had an absolutely terrible accident. Supposedly something awful happened in Rifthold," Raya snorted as Adrian shook his head woefully, "truly terrible news."

Manon grinned. "Oh no. That sounds awful." She almost laughed, so instead turned back towards the sunset, hoping it looked like she was staring wistfully into the distance. Abraxos nudged her with his snout, and Manon looked back towards Raya suddenly. "Could you get some more food for Abraxos please? He won't sleep until he's eaten loads," she stared the wyvern down, "because he's dramatic." Raya smiled understandingly.
"Alia is the same. And of course I can - I'll be back in a bit." They walked off, petting Alia's sleeping form on their way.

Adrian had walked back to a bench near Alia, where he was unclipping his cape and unlacing his boots, and a calm quiet had settled over the aerie. Every so often the silence would be interrupted by wind whistling through the peaks, or Adrian speaking softly to Alia, recounting his day to the sleeping wyvern. Manon relished in the silence, absentmindedly stroking Abraxos whilst staring out towards the mountains.

Raya returned with some smoked lamb a few minutes later, laughing as Abraxos immediately perked up. "When the king does get here, I'll be upstairs in the living quarters," they said, glancing over at Manon, "just in case he asks." They added with a smile. Manon nodded in thanks, and as Raya walked out, that same silence settled over the aerie again. However this time, Manon noted, something was off. It was calm, yes, but it also felt like something was meant to happen.

As if on cue, a familiar blue wyvern appeared on the horizon. Manon felt her soul sing as Dorian got closer, and she beckoned Abraxos (still happily eating his supper) closer to the wall of the landing square, so that Dorian had space to land. The ice-laden breeze reached them before the wyvern did, alerting the aerie of the king's arrival, and as the sound of wings beating grew louder, Manon smiled. The majestic wyvern landed a few seconds later, and witha flash of light, Dorian was standing before her.

He walked towards her with his arms outstretched, a grin spreading across his face. Manon felt a happy sort of warmth as they embraced, with his kissing her head. He pulled back, still smiling. "Hello Princeling" she said, in a where-in-maiden's-name-have-you-been way.

"Hello Witchling" he replied, an apologetic look appearing on his face.

"Your Majesty! Good to see you." Adrian strolled over, a knowing grin washing over his features, "Did you get lost on the way here?"

"No I did not get lost. No uh... well," Dorian grimaced, "I had a bit of an incident involving mother dearest."

Manon felt an embarrassing tinge of panic rush through her. She had only met Georgina once, when she and Dorian had returned from Terrasen after he proposed, and it was pretty safe to say it had not gone well... in fact, as Manon had commented to Dorian after their meeting, it had gone disastrously. Georgina had been horrified at the prospect of her 'perfect' son marrying a witch. Dorian had (undertsandably) gotten angry, and had noted to his mother how she had never seemed to care about him before this, not even, he had added, when he was under the Valg's control. Georgina had reacted how Manon would have expected, coming up with some nonsense along the lines of "She will outlive you though. She's only doing this so that she can take the throne after your death". Dorian had looked appalled at the idea, and Manon had almost slapped the queen mother. With her nails. So yes, pretty disastrous.

As much as it filled Manon with humiliation, she did have to acknowledge the feeling of panic. She wasn't scared of the queen - of course she wasn't - but just the idea of ever having to interact with the woman again, especially after last time, did make her heart beat just a tiny bit quicker.

"Manon?" Dorian's voice brought her back into the present, and she found herself staring into his eyes. Looking around she noted how Adrian had ran off somewhere, no doubt to talk to Raya about he and the king's awkward interaction. Dorian ran a hand through her hair, looking at her. "Is everything alright?" he asked, concern flashing in his sapphire eyes. Manon laughed softly, hoping to direct the conversation to something else. "I'm completely fine. Don't worry. Just tired from the journey." She caught site of Abraxos behind Dorian's shoulder and continued, "Abraxos is exhausted too."

Dorian turned, following Manon's gaze, and his laugh filled the space with beautiful sound. "I can tell." He commented, looking over at the sleeping wyvern, sprawled out incredibly un-witchlike in the corner. Manon leant on Dorian's shoulder, watching Abraxos, when she suddenly remembered what she'd been told earlier. "Raya said that the general isn't here, and that your meeting will be with them instead." Surprise flashed in Dorian's eyes, but he nodded, noting what Manon had said for later. Whilst she would usually join Dorian in his meetings at the aerie, every so often he'd have ones she couldn't join. Not because they were planning anything sinister, Dorian would always assure her, but because there were certain pieces of information that only the king and the top-ranking members of the aerial legion could know. No one else.

"Speaking of..." Dorian said, "I think I probably should go to that meeting. I bet Adrian is spreading some bullshit right now about how I managed to get lost. If you want afterwards, I can come get you before dinner? I'm assuming you'd like to bathe beforehand, right?"

"Dorian!" Manon fixed a mock horror look on her face. "That language is not very kingly of you. What would your mother say?"

Dorian had a pained smile on his face "Oh Gods Manon don't remind me of her right now." He sighed heavily. "I'm actually going to have to deport her or something. Can I do that? I mean, obviously as king I can, but I think as her son it may be considered a bit of a betrayal..."

Manon laughed, cutting him off before he could no doubt go off on a tangent about his relationship with his mother, and holding his hand in a symbol of solidarity. "And to answer your question, if you could get me before dinner that would be great."

Dorian inclined his head, "Your wish," he said, holding onto Manon's waist, "is my command, Witchling." He placed a soft kiss on her lips, and then turned. "I'll try not to let the meeting drag on." he promised, walking out of the room.

Manon stood there for a few minutes, just staring into the distance, before fixing her gaze on Abraxos again. She strode over, standing over him until he opened one eye, whilst sighing far too loudly. She simply gave him a look, "Come on. We need to get you to your stable."

The wyvern slowly got up, but when Manon moved her hand to take the reigns to lead him away he nudged her with his snout. She raised an eyebrow, but at her response he just did it again. Manon smiled as she realised what he was doing. No doubt he had noticed how tired she was - she did everything she could to mask it, but Abraxos just seemed to know these things. "Are you sure you can find your way to the stable?" Manon asked. Her mount just gave her a classic look, and nudged her again, more forcefully this time.

Manon laughed and took his point. She stroked his snout a couple of times, and then walked away. She let her head drop slightly, giving herself a break from the queen-like way she had been acting all evening, but as she saw people in the corridors of the aerie she straightened back up with an almost imperceptible sigh.

Every time she came here, Manon was surprised by how many different people had chosen to take a role in raising the wyverns. Indeed, now as she walked past rukhin, witches, and Adarlanian riders alike, she understood Dorian's happiness about the aerial legion. She knew that this part was particularly important to him - despite never asking, she could tell. Following in his father's footsteps had no doubt been difficult for Dorian, and one of his biggest fears had been that the countries that Adarlan had previously invaded would want nothing to do with him. Certain places had been... tedious to deal with, Melisande and Fenharrow in particular, but Manon understood that the aerial legion was a step in the right direction. As she had reminded Dorian many times, these things take time.

Built into the mountain itself, the aerie was like a maze. Certain corridors were barely lit, with staircases leading down into the foundations of the earth, and every so often the walls would shake slightly from the roar of the wyverns - yet Manon had been here so many times, she knew her way around perfectly. She managed to get herself to her and Dorian's chambers without dropping her posture again, but as soon as she closed the door behind her, she dropped down on the other side of it, leaning against it and sighing.

Manon looked up, making her way over to the colossal window opposite her and sitting on the bench beneath it. Dorian had chosen this room for them specially, because it was built into the rock directly underneath the landing square, which meant that during the day they could sit here the whole day and watch the wyverns flying in and out. Or they could. In theory. It never actually happened though, because there was so much to do. The days here went on and on, filled with meetings about training, wyverns, and riders.

Despite being in her element, sometimes, like now, it was exhausting. Being surrounded by people in flying gear, and constantly hearing the wyverns, it was just... a lot. Manon would be fine, and then all of a sudden she'd catch site of a rider with golden hair, or a sky blue wyvern exactly like Narene. She often wondered if Abraxos also found it difficult.

She rubbed her face, and dragged herself up from where she had sat, making her way towards the bathing room just off the bedroom. To her surprise - and happiness - she found a bath waiting for her, somehow still warm, and Manon wondered if her princeling had something to do with it. It was undoubtedly the type of thing he would be behind, something so normal and uninteresting to him, yet so important to her.

Okay, no crying in the bath Manon. That had (embarrassingly) become some something she'd found herself doing recently. The good part was she was no longer crying in her meetings. The bad part was... well the bad part was that she was crying in the bath. How humiliating.

By some miracle, she did manage to keep it together, although she did almost fall asleep multiple times; but that was nothing new. For months now, Manon had been exhausted. She slept, but never well, and this was new to her. It wasn't like the fatigue she felt when they were looking for the Crochans, nor like how she felt after training. She was 'bone-tired' as Dorian had called it once. But that had been months ago, and she hadn't told him that she still felt that same draining exhaustion.

She walked to the wardrobe, grateful to be out of her riding leathers, opening the drawers to find some leggings and one of Dorian's shirts. She collapsed on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, and then reaching over to the bedside table where Dorian kept a small collection of books for when he had a spare moment. She picked one at random, raising her eyebrows slightly at the title. Her expression changed even further when she opened it to a random page, her reaction changed from one of horror, to one of shock, to one of humour as she continued to flip through. There was no way he was reading this. He couldn't be.

Despite being so tired, Manon still laughed.

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･''･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

As he walked through the corridors of the aerie, Dorian tried not to look too happy. As much as he loved the way Manon made him feel, he knew amongst certain riders ('certain riders' being Adrien and Raya) he had a bit of a reputation for being the lovestruck king. The meeting had passed relatively quickly, but without the general there the conversation had slightly taken a turn, with Raya and Adrien pressing him for details on the wedding - as opposed to questions on how they should be leading his aerial legion. But Dorian didn't care; all the news of the wyverns had been good, and he preferred the light-hearted attitude the riders had towards everything, especially in comparison to a few of his mother's courtiers back in Rifthold.

Dorian tried not to groan when his mind wandered to his family. Hollin was... well Hollin was Hollin. It was his mother who had been particularly frustrating recently. Their run-in earlier had, of course, been about Manon. Deep down, some part of him knew she only had his best interests in mind - or what she thought were his best interests - but there was only so much he could take. So much had changed in the past year: he had faced demon kings and armies of darkness, and yet at no point, had he wished for his mother. Dorian had taken that to mean something.

He reached the door to his and Manon's chambers, struggling to open the door with the tray of food he was carrying. He hadn't asked when it had happened, but he had noticed her reaction to the mention of his mother earlier. He had also noticed how exhausted she seemed, like her soul was tired.

He held the tray with a phantom hand as he reached for the door handle, pausing to marvel at the sight. That's pretty cool. He shook his head. I've literally taken down castles - it's not that impressive. Just open the door.

He took the tray again, pushing the door open with a foot as he wandered through the threshold. "Manon?" he called out, "I bring," he looked down at the tray, "a lot of food. Maybe too much. Oh well." He paused when he got no response, walking fully into the room, and then stopping again

He set the tray down softly on the large table near the window, as he saw her asleep on the bed. Her moonlight hair was spread around her like a halo, his shirt that she wore rising and falling with each breath she took. His gaze wandered over to beside her, where one of his books was resting, open on a certain page. His mouth fell open in horror as he picked it up, and when he returned his gaze to Manon, he found her golden eyes staring right back at him.

She sat up slightly, leaning back on an elbow and watching his shocked expression. "Hello princeling." Dorian stared at her for a beat, his mouth hanging open.

"Hello witchling. Why," he grabbed the book with both hands, holding it out like some dangerous weapon, "why are you reading this?"

Manon smirked, raising an eyebrow. "I don't know why your looking at me like that princeling. It's your book. I think maybe," she reached forwards, grabbing the book from his hands, "I should be asking you why you're reading this."

Oh Gods. Dorian felt his face redden as he struggled to find an answer. "I'll have you know, Manon, that I actually really like the writing style. No other reason." He pointed at her accusingly. "Maybe... maybe you're the weird one here. Assuming that I'd read this for any other reason."

She laughed. "Oh okay. Right. Look Dorian, I may have not been raised in a royal court reading books all day, but even I can tell that this is not good writing." She opened it to a random page, and grinned. "I mean Dorian, this is filth," she spun the page around, and he averted his gaze, suddenly finding the curtains incredibly interesting. "Serious question here: how is she contorting her body like that? I'm pretty sure that's physically impossible."

He couldn't believe this. He had slightly been asking for it, leaving the book out like that, but he'd never thought she'd actually read it. "Give me that witchling," he said, shooting his hand out and throwing the book across the room. Ouch. "This is just great," he sighed, fixing a mock-annoyed look on his face, "I come here, with food as an offering of my love, and what do I get in return? I am ridiculed and made fun of. By my own fiance. Gods, this is truly a difficult day for me."

Manon's eyes shot to the tray, where their makeshift dinner sat. She turned back to him, concern marring her features. "Did I sleep through dinner?" she said, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"What? No, no you didn't miss anything. I just- I saw how tired you were earlier, and thought maybe you'd prefer to eat here. Without everyone else." When she didn't reply, Dorian began to curse himself. He shouldn't have done this. Shit. "Are you okay? I can take it away if you want. The meeting just ended, they won't have started dinner yet, we can still head upstairs if you want. Manon?"

She turned to look at him, a soft smile on her face, and he shifted slightly. "No. It's okay - it's perfect actually." She looked down, and then back at the table. "Thankyou, Dorian."

He offered her a hand, leading her towards the table where two chairs were, pulling one out and bowing low as she sat down. A confused look flitted across her face, but she dismissed it with a smile. "It was really no trouble," he replied to her, sitting in the chair opposite, "and after the journey here and the meeting - I wasn't really looking forward to eating with everyone."

Manon looked up in interest as she reached across to grab some bread and cheese. "How did the meeting go?" she asked, taking a bite and smiling.

"It was good. Great. I'm really excited," he replied, drinking some of the wine he'd brought. "Although you already know that."

She smiled again, that soft, kind smile which he loved so much. "I don't mind." She looked up. "It's nice to see you so happy."

He reached across the table, taking her hand. "I'm so happy," he said between mouthfuls, "because you're here with me." She looked down, and silence fell for a few seconds. "That was meant to be really romantic, but I think I ruined it by eating at the same time." Manon laughed, and it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

They fell into a comfortable quiet, Dorian reaching over to pick up some more food, looking up every so often to smile at her.

They lay on the bed, with Manon resting her head on Dorian's chest as he had his arm around her, tracing circles on her forearm. Manon stared out of the window into the night, looking at the stars through the glass. "That was really nice of you," she murmured, continuing to look away. "Bringing food here."

She felt his chest vibrate as Dorian chuckled. "It was nothing, I promise. I told you, I didn't really want to go to dinner anyway."

She turned her head, looking up into his eyes. "I know. You don't have to though. I would have been fine without it." His eyebrows furrowed, and she spoke again. "Not that I didn't want you to. I just mean, you don't need to go out of your way for me."

He smiled at her, his blue eyes sparkling in the candlelight. "Yes but, I want to." He poked her playfully, looking serious. "And no matter what you say, witchling, you cannot stop me."

She looked back out of the window again, the corners of her mouth moving upwards. "Alright, princeling."

He continued to trace drawings on her arm, as she listened to his heartbeat. She thought back to what he had said earlier, about her being tired, and opened her mouth again. "Did you only bring food here because I was tired?" He seemed to consider her words, and she sat up, crossing her legs and facing him.

"Honestly," he responded, "I thought you seemed... anxious. Earlier. When we were talking about my mother."

Oh. He noticed that. "Oh. You noticed that."

He laughed softly, reaching over for his wine glass on the bedside table and taking a sip before replying. "We don't have to talk about it. But I just figured that if that was how you were responding to me mentioning mother dearest, you wouldn't love to be surrounded by a bunch of riders asking about the wedding."

Manon sighed, cursing herself for being so obvious. "You were right."

He just nodded as they fell into silence again. "So..." he said after a moment, "are you scared of my mother?"

Her mouth fell open. He did not just ask that. "What? No! Why would I be scared of your mother, Dorian? Have you met her?"

He laughed, his head falling back as he did. "Okay. Noted. Manon is definitely not scared of my mother."

"Exactly." Manon said, glaring at him. "I'm not scared of her. I'm more... intimidated. But not by her, by what she's like. It's difficult to explain." She looked down at her hands, struggling to find the words.

"I think I understand. Is it more what she represents?" Dorian's expression changed as he explained what he meant. "I mean, for example, sometimes when I talk to Hollin, it's less like I'm talking to my brother and more like I'm talking to a younger version of my father."

She nodded quickly, "That's exactly what I mean. When I think about her, I don't think about Georgina, your mother. I think about all that she means. All of these... expectations that people have, and what everyone wants for you. And how I'm not that."

Concern appeared on his face, and he grabbed her hands. "Is this about getting married. Because that doesn't have to happen if you don't want it to. We can call it off."

She shook her head forcefully. That's not what she meant at all. "No, no, definitely not. I'm just telling you. Because I thought that you'd want to know." She paused. "My wish to be with you outweighs the concern I feel when I think of her."

"Okay. Well," he smiled, "that's good to hear." He reached a hand up, resting it on her face and brushing her hair away from her eyes. "But I still don't want you to feel that way. If she- if my mother makes you feel that way, then you'll never have to see her again. When I talked about deporting her earlier? I can do that if you want me to."

Manon knew he would. "Dorian. Please don't deport your mother for me." He chuckled, and she continued. "I just... worry. About all these expectations that people will have. What I should wear, how I should act, whether I can sing, or dance, or sew, you know. All of these preconceptions people have which I'm going to prove wrong."

His eyes widened, and he straightened slightly. "Well, first of all, you're the Queen of Witches. You gathered a broken people together, fought in war, and retook your lost kingdom. So. You can do whatever the fuck you want." Manon chuckled, and he continued, "But... if you are worried about those things - I completely understand." He jumped up from where he was sitting and began pacing at the end of the bed. "I know you prefer your riding leathers, and that's fine. More than fine. I think there's power in wearing those, especially in comparison to some of the things I see people wearing in Rifthold." Dorian grimaced at her, and she grinned. "This may come as a surprise to you, but the way you act is good. Powerful. And very attractive." What? When he caught sight of her face, he smirked. "I think it's probably just attractive to me. Everyone else finds it intimidating. Huh. I wonder what that says about me? Anyway I'll uh- move on. As for singing and dancing... well put me in a room with Aelin and we'll do enough of all of those for both you and I. But, if you ever want it, I can give you some of my best court-raised advice. You just need to ask."

He had paused but his energy made her smile. Manon only realised she was staring when she caught him smirking at her. "Were you listening to that?" He asked, and she rolled her eyes.

"Yes I was listening Dorian." She got up, and walked closer to him. "Thankyou. For always being so kind. To me." She watched as his face lit up with love, and he kissed the top of her head.

"Anytime, witchling." He touched his forehead to hers, and she felt herself getting lost in his ocean-blue eyes. "Is there anything else you want to talk about?" He continued. "I'm open to any type of conversation - I think I forgot how boring all of the things courtiers talk about are."

She smiled, looking down, and catching sight of his riding boots. Weirdly enough, that was what reminded her. "Actually, there was one thing." She said, before she could debate whether it was a good idea or not. Dorian pulled away from her, holding onto her hands, and shooting her a questioning look. "You have to promise not to laugh."

Dorian looked affronted, and exclaimed. "Manon. It's me. I think you'd have to say something pretty unexpected for me to laugh at you." Manon nodded in agreement, knowing that what he said was the truth. "Well," she began, "I don't know how to dance. And so, I was wondering if maybe you could... teach me? I know it's definitely a mortal tradition, to dance at celebrations. Also a fae tradition. I believe it's just the witches who don't really... partake."

Her fiance's sapphire eyes were filled with thought, and then clarity. "Of course I'll teach you. You're correct in it definitely being traditional - I grew up learning to dance just like I learnt to read and to fight. But," he hesitated for a second, "I don't want you to feel any sort of pressure to learn."

Manon grinned at his promise to teach her. She considered his response, thinking of the dancing she had seen in her century-long lifetime. The queen recalled how Aelin and Rowan had danced after the war, with such love and happiness, and she imagined sharing a moment like that with the young king standing before her. "Don't worry. This is something I want to do."

She couldn't help but smile at the youthful grin that lit up his face at her words. He held out his hand, an image of courtly offering, and Manon couldn't stop herself from taking it, playing into his regal charade as he led her though the aerie, exchanging excited glances with her along the way.

Soon enough they reached the opening in the mountainside where Abraxos had landed earlier that day, now empty and quiet, but lit with a few torches still burning on the walls. The surrounding peaks were just dark shadows against a midnight-blue sky, but the vista was gently lit by the stars and moon above.

Dorian spun Manon once they reached the centre of the large hall, so that she suddenly found herself only inches away from his chest. This certainly feels familiar, she thought, smirking to herself. Dorian smiled, as if he could read her mind, and then placed his hands on her waist, pulling back a bit. "Typically, you'd start a dance like this," he began to explain, "facing your partner. If we were in a more private setting - more private than a wedding, I mean, we could probably just stay like this..."

Manon narrowed her eyes, sensing a however.

"However," he continued, "given that we will be dancing in front of others, I should probably show you everything."

Slowly, he led her through each step, explaining patiently and showing her exactly how it had to be done. She studied every move he did, listening to his advice, and gradually, gradually, getting the hang of it. In a weird way, she realised, it was slightly like fighting. Careful, perfected moves that you could use again and again until you didn't need to think about it anymore. "Do you want to try without me instructing you?" Dorian said.

"I would hardly call that instructing." She replied, images of her grandmother teaching her fighting tactics appearing in her head. But she took his offer anyway, eager to try again.

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･''･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

As Dorian led Manon into a dance again, he looked down at her, studying her face. She was looking back at him, but her golden eyes seemed elsewhere, and he could tell she was focusing on the dance, no doubt committing each move to memory.

When they spun, her ivory hair was lit by the moon, and backed by the view of the mountains, Dorian thought she resembled some sort of celestial image, an immortal being, with immeasurable power. She was like a painting come alive, a living muse, as a rare, carefree expression rested easily on her face.

Sometimes I love you so much, it hurts, Dorian thought, wishing he could say the words out loud, but not wanting to break the relaxed spell the queen was in. He loved the way her expression subtly changed as she thought about the dance, wishing he could crawl into her head and sift through her thoughts, to see how her incredible mind worked. He loved how gracefully her body seemed to move, despite the trained killer lurking beneath it, knowing that she was his and he was hers, and that despite all of their faults and mistakes and their broken pasts, they still fit together like two puzzle pieces that no one would have thought could match.

He dropped his hands to her waist again, as they finished the dance, with Manon (unsurprisingly) executing it almost perfectly. She smiled softly up at him, the stop of the dance pulling her out of her relaxed moment, but with a peacefulness shining in her eyes. Dorian knew he couldn't keep away her worries permanently, especially not by slow dancing in an aerie. He could tell that soon enough, her anxiety would return, and, just like tonight, he would have to coax her into talking about it, letting her speak to him at her own pace. But for now, she was happy. And that was enough.

Chapter Text

As Dorian sat in his council chamber, vaguely aware of the droning of voices, he had to suppress the urge to take a running leap at the window and let gravity do the rest.

Both Manon and Chaol, the two people closest to Dorian, were currently in Rifthold, and he was simply expected to go to meetings as usual? It seemed unfair.

"Your Majesty?" An incessant voice cut through Dorian's thoughts. "Your Majesty? Are you quite alright?"

Dorian blinked away the mental image of his dramatic exit from the meeting, locking eyes with Councillor Stovik. "Hm?"

"Are you feeling well?" She said, her eyebrows furrowed.

Dorian offered her a small smile. "Yes. Sorry. I just got lost in thought for a moment there."

The truth was, Dorian did actually feel rather bad. It's not that he meant to lose interest, and he hardly ever got so bored as he felt now, but the council had met particularly early this morning, seemingly so that Councillor Allard could air out his personal grievances about a representative from Melisande.

Councillor Stovik, who was one of the more moderate members of the body, chuckled lightly. "It happens to us all."

Across the vast circular table, Allard cleared his throat loudly, his pinched face looking particularly sour.

"My apologies, Councillor." Stovik said, but before she lowered her head, Dorian caught a glimpse of mirth in her green eyes. "Please continue."

Allard pursed his lips. "Hm. Well, Your Majesty, given you're so lost in thought, perhaps I should mention that I'm discussing the actions of Lady Wagner of Melisande. Their ambassador to Adarlan."

Dorian had to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying "As you've been doing so for the last half an hour?" So instead, he simply nodded in Allard's direction.

"You see, I met with her again last week, and she raised concerns about some of Adarlan's territory, which I wouldn't be all that opposed to had it not been for the tone she took-"

Dorian sighed. To his left, Councillor Lavigne looked up, seemingly sharing Dorian's thoughts. "Councillor," Lavigne said, a hint of exasperation seeping into his tone. "If we could perhaps speed things up a bit. I'm sure I'm not the only one at this table who's aware we've been here for rather a long time now."

Allard scoffed. "Fine, if you're in such a hurry, Lavigne. Wagner said to me that she'd heard talk from the Melisande aristocracy, particularly those involved with their military, that a few of the higher-ups have repeatedly raised the issue of Eyrith. Bringing up the argument that it belongs to them."

The word Eyrith was only vaguely familiar to Dorian. A small border village in the south-west of Adarlan, which largely served as a military post. However, based on the looks on both Stovik and Lavigne's faces, he was unaware of some vital knowledge.

"I'm sorry, have I missed something?" Dorian said before he could think to revise his words - he probably wasn't helping his image of intelligence.

Everyone at the table looked to him. After a beat, Stovik spoke.

"Eyrith has been disputed territory for centuries now." She explained, her voice suddenly weary. "It was only a matter of time before Melisande brought it up again, now that the war's over and you're on the throne, Majesty."

Stovik's answer didn't do much to aid his confusion.

"Disputed territory?" Dorian asked. "I thought it was an Adarlanian stronghold?"

He was overly aware of how clueless he must sound, however everyone at the table looked at him somewhat sympathetically.

"That's not all that surprising." Lavigne supplied. "Ever since Melisande suggested that the territory could be theirs, Adarlan insisted that all their citizens were united in the view that it was definitely part of this country. No doubt all of your tutors either didn't mention Eyrith at all, or talked of it as a historical part of our kingdom."

Lavigne (as most often was the case) was correct. Dorian did his best to take this information in his stride.

"I see. So what's the argument?"

"Well, Your Majesty, both countries say different things." Lavigne continued. "Melisande say that it had always belonged to them, and that some time several hundred years ago it was annexed by Adarlan. Adarlan maintains that it was unclaimed territory, which they had a right to."

Dorian looked down at the vast map which adorned the surface of the council table. Eyrith was a tiny speck, so close to the edge of Adarlan that it nearly blended into the border line itself. Yet again he was startled out of his thoughts by another voice. It was Councillor Desmet, who hadn't said a word, and whom Dorian honestly thought had been asleep this entire time.

"What are you thinking?" Desmet asked, her to-the-point question not entirely out of character .

"I don't quite know yet." Dorian admitted, looking back up to the four others. "It is incredibly close to the border. What is it that Melisande believes?"

Desmet glanced at the map. "They believe it's theirs. They claim to have records of it, however no Adarlanian ruler has ever been so open to the idea as to look into them. Given your nature, Sir, it's not all that surprising that they're bringing it up with force again."

Dorian frowned. "Meaning?"

"Meaning you gave away most of our territory when you ascended to the throne. In Melisande's mind, what's one more town?" Allard said.

Dorian prepared a reprimand, but Stovik beat him to it. "You'd do well to remember that that land wasn't ours, Councillor. King Dorian was wise to return it."

Allard pursed his lips again, and then went back to looking at his own beard. Everything about the man frustrated Dorian, but when choosing his council it had been incredibly slim pickings when trying to appoint people who didn't have any ties to the old court... however Allard's mention of Adarlanian territories had Dorian wondering if the Councillor still held some now-antiquated views.

He turned his attention to Stovik. "What do you think?"

She seemed to consider the question a moment, looking off into the middle distance. "I think... it's a small village. Incredibly small. And our diplomatic relations with Melisande aren't ideal at the moment."

"Does Eyrith have large population?" Dorian asked the room.

"If you mean permanent residents, it doesn't have a population at all." Lavigne piped up. "It's home to a rotating selection of troops. They go for a few months, come back to Rifthold, perhaps go North, and so on."

Dorian almost laughed at how simple it seemed. Perhaps he had misunderstood. "Right. So it's a tiny village, directly on the border, with no permanent population, and supposed records showing it was never ours. Oh, and our alliance with Melisande is slightly rocky at the moment. Is it clear what I'm wondering?"

"You're wondering," Desmet intoned, "how all those who came before you were so stupid."

Dorian stifled a laugh. "Close. I'm wondering why we don't simply... return it?"

"Well when you list all of those factors, it does seem rather simple." Stovik chuckled.

Allard coughed. Coughed again, then cleared his throat.

"Do you need some water, Councillor?" Said Lavigne.

Allard completely ignored his colleague. "I'm sorry, but have I missed some sort of unspoken conversation? Surely you don't mean to just hand the place over?"

Dorian decided he'd had enough of Allard's shit for one day. "That's exactly what I mean. It seems the majority of the council agree, so with that decided-"

"No, no, it has to be unanimous-"

Desmet looked incredulous. "Since when?"

"Since His Majesty decided to start selling off parts of our kingdom."

Dorian shook his head. "I'm not-"

Allard, seeming to forget where he was speaking (and who he was addressing), steamrolled Dorian entirely. "Is this what you want your legacy to be? Hm? Do you want to be known as the king who just gave parts of his country away?"

Desmet shot Dorian a look as the council chamber seemed to drop in temperature. Dorian pictured Allard being eaten by a wyvern, and took a deep breath.

"No, Councillor, I don't. I want to, and hopefully will be, known as the king who rightfully returned territory to those it originally belonged to."

There was a brief silence. Please, Gods, let that be the end of it.

Dorian sighed. "Now, if we've come to a decision-"

"Do you know how this appears?" Allard interjected. Dorian suppressed the urge to slam his head repeatedly into a wall. "Perhaps you haven't considered..."

Stovik leaned towards Lavigne. "Do you think he's aware it's typically considered rude to interrupt others?"

Lavigne snorted. "And near-treasonous to interrupt the King."

Across the table, Allard was entirely unaware. "...and frankly, Sir, it looks weak. It looks like you don't know what you're doing, and that you're weak. You weren't helping yourself when you signed away most of the empire, and you're not helping yourself now."

Desmet rose to her feet. "I think we're done here."

Dorian couldn't help the words that came out of his mouth. "Had I known you were such a nationalist, Allard, I'd never have appointed you."

"Yes, well, had I known you were so different to those who preceded you, I'd never have accepted your offer."

Those who preceded you? "Excuse me?"

Lavigne looked slightly panicked. "Perhaps we should-"

"Well I think we all know how those who came before you would have approached this issue. Any mention of diplomatic relations and rightful owners would have been out of the question."

Dorian could only vaguely register his breath clouding in front of him, his mind stuck on Allard's first words.

Those who came before you. Those who came before you. Those who-

"Are you talking about my father, Councillor?" Dorian's voice sounded flat and distant.

"The late king did come to mind, yes."

The late king.

Dorian said nothing. His eyes briefly flitted around the room, catching on Lavigne and Stovik sharing a silent conversation through expressions, and Desmet staring at Allard like she wanted to kill him. When Dorian looked back at Allard, the man seemed to shrink in on himself under Dorian's gaze.

Dorian considered all he could do. How he could make an example of the small man standing before him, to show that the ideal's of the old kingdom had no place in Dorian's court. Then he remembered how his father used to treat such insubordination, and he felt slightly sick.

"Meeting adjourned." He said finally. It was like the room itself took a sigh of relief. Dorian took one final look at Allard, and left the council chamber.

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･''･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

He managed to get through the winding castle corridors without punching a wall (younger Dorian would be shocked), however he still felt the ashes of the simmering rage Allard had alighted within him.

"Your Majesty?" A voice behind him echoes down the long hallway.

Dorian bit his cheek and closed his eyes for a moment. "Yes?"

He turned to find a member of the Royal Guard, panting slightly. "I'm glad I ran into you, Majesty. Queen Manon and Lord Chaol were asking after you. Last I saw them, they were in the stables."

"Oh. Thank you for telling me."

"Of course, Sir."

Manon and Chaol's friendship had seemingly come as a shock to everyone but the aforementioned pair. They had started a little off-kilter, with Chaol nearly falling off his chair when Aelin decided to mention that Manon and Dorian were together, but all it had taken were a few conversations between them, and the man and witch were acquaintances - friends almost. Aelin had once joked that they were united by a shared love for Dorian and a shared hatred for anyone who hurt him, and for all the laughter at the time, Dorian was fairly convinced that it was true.

The walk outside gave Dorian a little time to get a grip on his emotions. He wasn't quite aware if he was overreacting or not - on one hand was the fact that Allard clearly wasn't in any place to start psychoanalysing Dorian's fucked up relationship with his father (and fucked up was putting it lightly), and to compare Dorian's rule to that of a dictator didn't seem very councillor-like. On the other hand was the possibility that this was simply just part of being king. Dorian usually welcomed argument, as long as it wasn't too personal. And he supposed they were an advisory body....

Lost in thought for the nth time that day, he half stumbled over the threshold of the stables. Dorian didn't even need to look up to see if the others were still there - as soon as he'd publicly humiliated himself, he heard a snort which could only have come from Chaol.

"You alright there, Your Majesty?" Chaol asked laughingly.

"Shut up." Dorian shot back, wandering over to where they were.

Chaol, still chuckling to himself, was sat on a long wooden bench. Beside him, Manon was stood leaning against a stable gate, stroking the mane of a horse. As Dorian went to sit next to him Chaol, she smiled at him.

"Have you had a good morning?" Dorian asked the pair.

"It was nice." Manon offered, her white hair swinging against the mahogany gate.

Dorian laughed. "Nice? I'm pretty sure I remember you telling me last night I'll never enjoy horse riding - there's no flying involved."

Manon smiled. "I still prefer wyverns. But Farasha won me over. She reminds me of Narene."

"I also told you that we call Farasha Helas' Horse," Chaol added, "and I think that partially persuaded you."

Manon nodded in agreement. As she continued to stroke Farasha's mane, she asked, "How was the meeting?"

Dorian groaned, leaning his head against the wall behind him and closing his eyes.

"That bad?" Chaol asked.

"It was fine at first." Dorian answered, his tone strained. "Then Allard brought up Eyrith."

"Eyrith?" Manon's voice was curious.

"It's a small village right on the Melisande-Adarlan border." Chaol supplied, his voice slightly muffled as he leant down to unlace his boots. "It serves as one of our military bases, but it's absolutely tiny, and we have larger ones further east along the border. For centuries, it's been disputed."

"I see." Manon said.

Dorian sighed. "Well learning that, and the fact that Melisande had raised the issue again, I suggested we return it."

"You did?" Chaol said, surprised. "I have to say, this sounds like the meeting went well."

Dorian laughed humourlessly. "You'd think that. But it was at the moment that Allard helpfully decided to offer some pointers on my character."

Manon frowned. "Pointers like what?"

"Well he decided to go with a comparison to my father."

Chaol's face went slack, and Manon's hand dropped from Farasha's head. "What?"

"He... compared you... to your father?"

"Yep." Dorian confirmed, the plosive coming out particularly harsh. "He thinks that I'm too weak. That the late king, as he said, would have had a stronger foreign policy."

Chaol's scowl could have levelled cities. "Did you dismiss him? I hope you dismissed him."

"No I didn't-"

"Why not?"

"I just ended the meeting and walked out. I didn't want to overreact."

"Overreact?" Chaol squawked. 

Manon cleared her throat, uniwttingly reminding Dorian of a certain councillor. "Did you say this was a council meeting? Who in Mothers' name are these people?"

"Person." Dorian rectified. "The other three I really respect, but Allard has to be one of the most insufferable men I've ever met." 

Manon shot Dorian a look. 

"Don't blame me. It was incredibly slim pickings, trying to find people who suited the role. I can't even remember who recommended Allard."

In his periphery, Dorian saw Chaol grimace. He slowly turned to him, and Chaol looked at the ceiling.

"I'm sorry! I never would have suggested him had I known he was so unhinged." 

"That's basically what I said. I told him I'd never had appointed him if I'd known he was such a nationalist." 

Manon raised a hand, and they both fell silent. "I feel as if we've lost sight of what we were discussing. Dorian, this man, Allard, he said this to you in your own council chamber?"

Dorian bit his lip. "Yes, he did, but I tried to wrap up the meeting-"

"I'm not blaming you." Manon interjected hurriedly. "I'm just... sorry."

He huffed a laugh. "It's fine. I'll live."

"But it must have blindsided you completely, a mention of your father. I'm sorry that happened in front of your council. Mother knows it's happened to me before, and the feeling of having to keep it together - it's horrible."

Manon reached out and took his hand in hers, and with Dorian knowing how intimate the move was for her, it seemed to solidify her sincerity. 

"Thank you." He replied, shooting her a small smile. "I'm glad I walked out when I did."

"Did you say anything else to him? Allard, I mean." Chaol asked. 

"No. I thought of maybe doing so, but then I just felt worse."

"Right." Chaol said with surprising force, getting to his feet. "I'm walking back in there right now. He can't talk to you like that." Dorian opened his mouth to object, but Chaol seemed to predict his rebuttal. "And I'm not just saying that because you're my friend. It's because you're the king." 

Manon, who'd been nodding along to Chaol's words, said, "I agree. And I'm coming too."

As the only one left sitting, it felt a tiny bit like Dorian was being told off, staring up at the pair with matching expressions of barely-concealed rage. "As much as I appreciate the chivalry," He continued to look at them both, "and I mean that, I'm just wondering what you intend to do once you get there?"

Chaol furrowed his brow. "It's a good point." 

"Yes, I am known for those." 

Chaol sat down again, and Manon quickly followed suit. 

"So what are you thinking?" Dorian asked, sandwiched between the pair. 

"Public humiliation?" Said Chaol. 

"Public execution?" Manon murmured. 

Dorian barked out a laugh, the sound echoing around the high-ceilinged stabled. "Whichever you go with, can it not look like it was entirely orchestrated by you two? I'm worried they'll think I'm a coward." 

"No one will think you're a coward for putting Allard in his place." Manon said firmly. 

Dorian huffed. "They might if I walk in there behind you two." 

"We're not going to take over your council chamber, Dorian." Chaol assured him. "You can take the lead. We'll just be there as back up."

Dorian could live with that. The trio fell silent for a couple of minutes as each of them considered the situation, the only sounds Farasha wandering around her stable, and the melody of birdsong filtering through the open door. 

"Who is this Allard man anyway?" Manon said, startling the others with her stern tone. 

"To be honest, I really don't know much." Chaol replied, somewhat sheepishly. "He's a pretty prominent trade partner for most of the land-owning aristocracy. That's how he made all his money." 

"He's wealthy?" 

Chaol hummed in affirmation, and Manon's gaze went distant with thought. 

Dorian leaned forwards to catch her eye. "What are you thinking about, Witchling?"

He caught her smiling for a second at the nickname before she donned her thinking face again. "Does he own any land, Chaol?"

Chaol snorted. "Does he ever. What I know of, he has about three estates. He used the appointment to the council as an excuse to buy up one of the riverside townhouses here in Rifthold." 

Manon turned to the pair of them. "Anywhere on the Melisande border?"

Dorian had a vague idea of what she was considering.

"No." Chaol said, shaking his head. "But he does have two country estates - a hunting lodge up north, and somewhere else out west." 

Manon and Dorian grinned at each other. 

"What are those looks for? What are you both smiling about?" Chaol looked rapidly between them. 

"Nothing." Dorian said, rising to his feet with a newfound energy at the thought of getting back at Allard. Manon immediately did the same, as did Chaol, although he still had a look of bewilderment on his face. 

Chaol didn't lose his expression of confusion as the three of them traipsed back up to the castle proper. "Can you two communicate through expressions like Aelin and Rowan?"

"What? No we can't communicate through expressions you moron." Dorian replied, laughingly 

"Hey, I think that was a pretty fair question given the way you just creepily smiled at each other."

"Creepily?" 

Manon just smiled. "I didn't even know that Aelin and Rowan could do that." 

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･''･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

The meeting began much the same as the last one had, except this time, Demset was beaming like she knew what was coming, Lavigne and Stovik were sharing conspiratorial glances, and Allard looked like he wanted to sink into the floor. Although Dorian was glaring at him, he wondered if Allard looked so deeply concerned because rather than pulling up a chair, Chaol had decided to stand directly behind the councillor. 

Dorian waved a hand to tell the others they could sit, although he opted to remain standing. "I'm sorry to have reconvened, however, having discussed the matter at hand with some others, I believe there's more to be said." Dorian explained. 

"Of course, Majesty." Desmet said, seeming to speak for the rest of them. "I'm sure none of us mind." With her last comment, she looked directly at Allard, who was staring resolutely at the table top. 

"We came to the conclusion earlier that Eyrith will be returned to Melisande, despite some... disapproval." Dorian said, pacing slowly back and forth, fighting the urge to make eye contact with Chaol, knowing that he'd smile. "But after some further consideration, I thought, why not make more of this opportunity to give more of our allies the same treatment?"

"What did you have in mind?" Lavigne piped up. 

"I think I'll invite someone else to answer that question, Councillor." 

Perfectly on cue, Manon strode in, the force with which she entered a perfect balance of showing strength without being too commandeering. The others shot to their feet, although based on their faces, Dorian would have guessed it was more out of shock rather than respect. 

Manon came to a stop beside Dorian as the councillors slowly took their seats again. "There's no need to look so scared." She said, flawlessly deadpan, and Chaol released a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. "I'm simply here to confirm what King Dorian told you."

She trailed her hand along the edge of the table, her iron nails making a quiet scraping noise in the wooden top. "He mentioned to me his plans to give the border village back to Melisande, and I raised the topic of some territory along your western border. The border you share with me."

Across the table, Allard muttered something under his breath. 

Chaol leaned forward. "What was that, Councillor?"

Allard started back, as if he hadn't realised Chaol had been half-lurking behind him for a while now. "Uhm... Well, I just find it amusing that I was the one being told to get to the point earlier."

Chaol clenched his jaw. "What is that-"

"No, no Chaol, Councillor Allard has a point." Dorian interjected. "We probably should just cut to the chase. After all, I suppose said councillor is somewhat involved in our plan."

Where he'd been fiddling with his beard, Allard froze. "I'm sorry?"

Dorian turned to Manon, inviting her to answer him. "Your Majesty?"

"Oh please. You must tell your council of what you decided, Your Majesty." 

Dorian grinned. "Well if you insist. Queen Manon notified me of a region on Adarlan's western border which she believes belongs to the witches. So naturally I decided to give the Witch Kingdom this small locality. You may have to remind me of the name, Manon, but I believe it's called... Helmfirth?" 

Allard near launched himself out of his chair. "What?"

Lavigne had a comical look of confusion on his face. "Good gods, Allard. Are you alright?"

"What do you think?" Allard hissed, his voice rising when he addressed Dorian again. "You can't be serious. You can't- how can you do this?" 

Dorian pouted. "It seems you've forgotten that I'm the king, Councillor." 

"How- this can't be true. Is this some sort of punishment?" Allard sputtered. 

"Is there a problem?" Manon asked, tilting her head. 

"Of course-"

"Can someone please just tell us what's happening?" Desmet exclaimed, her powerful voice ringing around the chamber. 

"I'll tell you what's happening." Allard seethed. "The king has decided to give the region in which my estate is located over to those... witches." 

Stovik clapped a hand over her mouth, and Lavigne turned to hide his face towards her shoulder as his own shoulders shook. 

"Oh dear." Desmet replied, with absolutely no sympathy. 

Chaol stepped forward again. "I'm sure His Majesty wasn't aware of this fact, Councillor."

"Of course he was! I bet you were too! This must just be some... ploy to try and get back at me. There is no claim that the land belongs to the witches. There can't be. I'd know if there were." 

Manon smirked. "I'm sorry you weren't aware. If you want, I can introduce you to the coven who say it belongs to them. Would that help?" 

Allard shook his head adamantly, slowly stepping away from the table. "No. No, no, you can't do this. Surely this isn't allowed. What, I speak out of line once, and you give away my land to those- those monsters?" 

Dorian stepped forward. "You won't speak like that here. Not in this chamber, nor-"

"Oh, screw this chamber! Screw all of you! Like hell you're taking my estate. No, no won't let it happen." Allard stomped out of the room, shooting death-glares at Manon and Dorian as he went. They both smiled in return. 

The room feel silent. "Goodness." Lavigne said finally. 

Manon, who hadn't stopped smiling since Allard left, hummed. 

"...Majesty?" Stovik looked at Dorian. "Were you actually... serious? Not to question your decision-"

"Oh no Councillor, I'm petty, but not that petty. I think we fooled him though. Wouldn't you agree Manon?" 

The queen grinned in return. Chaol finally allowed himself to laugh, and Lavigne whipped his head towards him. "You knew too?" 

Chaol nodded through his laughter. 

Desmet still looked sceptical. "So you... didn't give his estate to the witches?" 

Dorian sighed over dramatically. "Sadly, no, despite how hilarious it would have been. Allard will return home to a letter I had delivered there explaining that whilst he'll keep his estate, he won't be keeping his job as Councillor." 

Desmet snorted. "I approve." 

"I'm glad. We briefly considered telling him that we'd give his northern hunting lodge to Terrasen, but Chaol said he might go into cardiac arrest." 

Lavigne barked out a laugh. "Well I certainly won't miss him. He'd revealed glimpses of his true character enough times before the blatant disrespect of this morning to turn me against him."

Once the meeting had ended, and the other Councillors, still congratulating the three of them on their successful tricking of Allard, Manon, Chaol, and Dorian laughed themselves hoarse. They continued to giggle to each other throughout the day - behaviour which was hugely un-leader-like, but also hugely fun.  

Chapter Text

Sorrel shoved Dorian to the ground so hard, that along with getting the breath knocked out of him, he was fairly certain he had an out of body experience.

"Ouch." He groaned, lying on the dusty floor of the makeshift sparring ground the witches had formed in the middle of their camp.

"Your form still needs work." Sorrel said, sheathing her knife and offering him a hand up.

Dorian waved her hand away. "No. Just let me lie here for a bit. I'm wallowing in my own pity and humiliation."

Sorrel fixed him with a glare. "You'll never learn anything from the floor." Her tone softened (as much as Sorrel's tone could soften) as she continued, "And it wasn't that bad."

The hint of praise revitalised Dorian a tad, and he slowly got to his feet, hissing as he did so.

Reaching up to tie back the strands of her dark hair which had escaped during their training, Sorrel explained, "Your handling of the weapon has an inherent sort of grace to it which I've never really seen before. It suits you. No matter how obvious it is that you first were taught to fight in a royal court."

Dorian's mouth twisted. "I can't help but think there's an insult hidden in that compliment. Or maybe it's the other way round."

When he handed Sorrel back the knife she'd lent him, his eyes caught on a new bruise blooming on his forearm. "You hit me really hard."

Sorrel barely looked at him. "Can't you heal yourself?"

"Yes, yes, alright. Point taken." Dorian murmured, largely to himself.

He wandered over to the smouldering bonfire, where Asterin and Vesta were sat, talking quietly and watching over the slowly roasting remains of an ox Narene had caught earlier.

"Your Majesty." Vesta greeted him as he sat across from them. The red-haired witch had taken to calling him that, with a tone of such blatant disrespect, Dorian was pretty sure it would kill several of the uppity courtiers he knew from home.

Dorian offered a smile in return. He leant into the warmth of the fire - for all of it's brutal beauty, the mountainous climate of the White Fangs wasn't particularly forgiving to someone used to the heavy humidity of Rifthold.

"How was training?" Asterin asked, leaning her chin on her palm.

He sighed loudly in response. "Terrible. It was-"

"Not that bad." Sorrel's voice behind him nearly shocked Dorian out of his skin. "As I've already said."

Vesta snorted. "Has one of you misunderstood?"

Sorrel began to slowly untie her hand wraps. "You got in a few hits. And I said your weapon handling is good."

Dorian looked side-long at her. "If not a bit too courtly."

"Based on Sorrel's expression, Dorian, she was actually praising you." Asterin interjected. "I'll mention it, since she won't say it herself."

Much to Dorian's dismay, Sorrel took this as an invitation to launch into a description of everything he'd done wrong. "It's clear that you've only ever trained with people who are too scared to hit you hard enough to do proper damage. Also, I'd say you rely on your magic to a point where you haven't considered you may have to face an enemy who has poisoned you with iron. And your form - your stability is good, but you need to learn to pair that with speed."

Dorian took a second to absorb all the information. "I don't think you've ever said so much to me before."

Sorrel just hummed, and strode off. For a few minutes, the crackling of the fire and the distant sounds of the Thirteen's wyverns was all that could be heard.

"...Well, she did say your stability is good." Vesta offered finally.

"Thanks, Vesta." Dorian replied, deadpan. Asterin laughed.

"I can't believe I agreed to do this." He complained, thinking back to when he'd proposed the Thirteen train him.

Asterin shot him a hard look. "Oh come on. It's not that bad. You realise being told what you're doing wrong is the only way you'll improve, right? And just think, after all this is over, you can tell everyone you know you were trained by witches."

Dorian appreciated that Asterin was working on the assumption that they'd all make it through the war. "I know. Right as always, Asterin. And I do think some people who would have hilarious reactions to the news that I had been travelling with a coven of witches. My mother, in particular."

He realised he'd never really mentioned his family to the Thirteen, when Vesta asked, with genuine interest, "Your mother?"

"Yes. She seems to have an extreme phobia of those who aren't from Adarlan and those who aren't human. And sadly you all meet those criteria perfectly."

"She doesn't sound like someone we'd get along with." Vesta agreed. "Is she still in Rifthold?"

Dorian laughed humourlessly. "Gods no. As soon as I became king I sent her and my brother to the winter palace near Meah."

"I didn't know you had a brother." Asterin said quietly.

He was struck by how long it had been since he'd discussed, let alone thought about, his family. "I've gotten into the habit of not telling people, since his reputation usually precedes him. Hollin unfortunately seems to have somehow inherited all of the bad Havilliard traits and none of the good ones."

"If he's still young," Vesta offered, "perhaps the war will act as a lesson for him."

"Gods willing." Dorian replied. "But I still hope they steer clear of conflict. Hollin is too young to be trained in combat, and my mother was raised on the view that fighting wasn't for ladies. There's a chance one of my mothers many enemies will take the wartime opportunity to finally get revenge, and if both my brother and mother end up dead, there's no doubt that people will start wondering if I've just had my entire family killed. Gods know that other Havilliards have done it."

Dorian didn't mention if he'd miss them, and neither Asterin nor Vesta raised it.

"Speaking of fighting..." Asterin began slowly.

Vesta snorted. "Smoothly done."

"I'd agree, that was pretty skilful." Dorian said, smirking.

"Shut up both of you." Asterin turned to Dorian. "In all seriousness, I can always help you with upping your speed. For sparring."

He inclined his head in thanks.

Vesta grinned. "And I can always teach you how to ride a wyvern, if you know what-"

Manon seemed to appear near-magically behind her. "Vesta."

Vesta jumped - as much as a member of the Thirteen could jump in shock.

Asterin and Dorian shared a grin.

"Holy Maiden." The blonde-haired witch hissed. "That was impressive, even for Manon."

Dorian chuckled. "Giving Edda and Briar a run for their money."

Across the fire, Vesta had recovered. "Manon-"

"Go check on the wyverns."

"What? I was just joking-"

"Go." Manon's tone left no room for argument, however Vesta could still be heard muttering about how she'd checked them earlier as she trudged away.

Manon turned to Asterin and Dorian so quickly, Dorian vaguely wondered if she had whiplash. "What are you two laughing about?"

Dorian coughed. "What? Nothing. Laughing?"

Asterin nodded furiously in agreement. "We weren't laughing. Not us."

Manon crossed her arms. "Asterin. Go do something."

Asterin huffed. "Really?"

Manon stared at her Second until she seemed to get the hint, with Asterin grinning her goodbye and walking off in the direction Sorrel had gone earlier.

Dorian moved over to let Manon sit next to him, and she took his silent offer, albeit slightly hesitantly, if the way she seemed to shift was any indication. The pair sat in a comfortable silence for a couple of minutes, until Manon let out a long sigh. It was as much of a show of weakness as she'd reveal to anyone.

"Tired?" Dorian inquired, nudging her with a shoulder.

She hummed. "I was up before dawn."

Dorian knew that - at some point during the night he'd rolled over whilst still half-asleep to find his tent empty, and had contemplated peeking his head out to check. That was, until he'd woken up enough to feel how cold it was, at which point he'd promptly fallen back asleep. 

"Imogen thought she'd found a lead on the Crochans." Manon continued. Given her flat tone, Dorian could guess how it had gone.

"...But?"

"But it turned out to be nothing. We'll have to pack up and leave again to keep travelling into the mountains."

"I don't mind." Dorian said. The words were true, and although he'd never say it aloud, a deeply twisted part of him wished they could just keep travelling forever. Whilst searching for the Crochans they'd become strangely removed from the war, and in his moments of happiness, most often shared with Manon, Asterin or Vesta, Dorian sometimes found himself forgetting what was happening in Terrasen.

Manon stared at the fire. "I know you don't. For someone raised in a palace you complain surprisingly little of the time."

He snorted. "You should have seen me earlier."

"Oh yes, I heard about that." Manon replied, looking up. "Sorrel and I were talking."

"About what?"

"Your sparring." She said, as if it were obvious. He supposed it was. "She said your form-"

"Oh for Silba's sake." Dorian groaned, half-smiling, half-despairing. "Is she on a mission to tell everyone?"

"Don't be foolish. I asked her how it had gone. She said that your form still needs work, but you've got strength, and that the way you move is unusual."

Dorian listened quietly.

"It reminded me of something Linnea said about you when you first sparred with Vesta."

"Linnea?" He blurted out. "Linnea hates me."

Manon raised her brows. "She doesn't hate you."

"She wants me dead."

Manon seemed to consider his words for a concerning amount of time. "Well I wouldn't know about that-"

"What? Yes you would! I knew she wanted to kill me-"

"Will you be quiet? Anyway, I was reminded of something Linnea said. That when you're fighting, you move like a dancer."

"Hm. I'd never thought about it like that."

"I think that's probably why Sorrel was so interested." Manon said. "Because none of us know how to dance, so it was like encountering an entirely new fighting style."

"You can't dance?"

She looked at him like he was an idiot. "Dorian. You really think the Blackbeak clan values dancing?"

Dorian grimaced. It had been a relatively stupid question.

"Well," he said after a beat, "maybe I can teach you - all of you. To repay you for helping me so much."

Manon smiled. "The Thirteen learning how to dance. Being taught how to dance by you. That is a sight I'd like to see."

"Don't forget Witchling, you'd be under my tutelage too."

She looked away, still smiling. "That's stupid."

Dorian chuckled. "Still. Perhaps when the war is over I'll coach you all."

"Perhaps."

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･''･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

Dorian ended up taking Asterin up on her offer to help him get faster. Sort of. He'd woken up one morning from his worst nightmare in months, gripped by fear and convinced he was still trapped in the glass castle. Stumbling out of his tent for fresh air, he'd run into Asterin, who'd taken one look at the fact that he was awake (and not that he was near a breakdown) and had announced that it would be a perfect time to do some speed training.

When she'd said it, he'd been imagining more sparring, but with her pointers being more focused on his swiftness, rather than his offence or defence. What he hadn't been expecting however, were a series of races.

Surprisingly though, unlike his usual fighting with Sorrel, he actually managed to beat Asterin once. Granted it had been because she'd tripped over a camouflaged tree root (something which she'd somehow blamed him for), but by the end of their morning session, he was neck-and-neck with her.

Their final run ended at a rocky outcrop overlooking a frozen lake, the sun, which was still just barely over the horizon, casting the ice in a golden glow. Since his discussion with Manon a few days ago, they'd upped and left their camp from before, but the environment around them was still just the unforgiving peaks of the White Fangs as far as he could see.

Dorian sat heavily on a boulder, massively out of breath. Asterin wandered forward to the edge of the cliff, kicking a few pebbles off the edge.

After staring at the view for a few minutes, the witch spoke. "These mountains are beautiful."

"I've never really been this far west." Dorian replied. "I once took a summer in the foothills, but every time anyone wanted to go hiking, I just stayed home reading."

"You should talk to Ghislaine about it. She's the only one of us who really reads."

Dorian thought of all the books he'd left in Rifthold, feeling a pang in his heart. There wasn't a huge amount he'd left in the city that he longed for, but one of the things he did miss was the library. "You don't read at all?"

Asterin smirked at him. "I can hear the anguish in your voice. But no. I can think of far better ways to spend my time."

Dorian huffed a laugh and looked away. The mist of the early morning seemed to dull the sounds of the forest around them, and the only sound was the occasional cold breeze through the trees.

"You're getting better. Even after what we just did - you make progress very quickly." Asterin said eventually.

"You really think so?" Dorian questioned. He hardly believed what she was saying.

"Definitely." Asterin went on. "By the time we find the Crochans, if they ever fucking show up, you'll probably be able to take some of them on."

He chuckled, his breath misting in front of him. "Hardly."

Asterin turned to him, the sun hitting the side of her face in striking profile. "You don't think I'm being serious?"

Dorian got to his feet to join her at the cliff edge. His vision went a bit hazy as he looked down over the decent drop. Even with the distance, the surface of the lake was stunning. "I don't think I'll ever get that much better." Dorian said finally.

A kestrel's song rang out at the first rays of sunlight, it's call echoing across the lake. Asterin stepped forward, facing him fully. "This isn't just about getting your speed up, huh?"

"I don't know." He murmured, offering the most round about response he could.

Asterin sat on the ground, her legs crossed. Dorian took her lead and did the same, but perched with his legs dangling over the edge, leaning back on his hands.

"I'm sorry if this was the wrong thing to do. Maiden knows I've got no idea how to handle any sort of emotions, let alone nightmares."

"What? No, it's fine. I enjoyed it. And you're right, the mountains are beautiful. It's- you don't need to-" Dorian pursed his lips. "It wasn't... the wrong thing to do."

Asterin retied the strip of leather at the end of her braid. "Alright."

"Don't feel like you need to... help me."

"I don't. Just because I notice doesn't mean that I'm trying to solve whatever shit you've got going on up there." Asterin said, tapping the side of her head. "We all have nightmares. I just didn't want you to be out of it all morning because of what you saw in your sleep."

Dorian shifted. "Thank you."

They both gazed out at the landscape for a few more minutes.

"I miss my friends." Dorian announced, his voice cutting through the temporary silence.

Asterin chuckled. "So do I. I mean, I maybe knew maximum three other people in the clan other than the Thirteen, but still. They were nice enough."

He'd never thought about that. If the witches knew anyone other than the rest of the Thirteen. How they would feel fighting their former clan on a battlefield.

Dorian sighed. "I miss my books. I really miss my books."

"I miss hunting."

"Hunting, like my kind of hunting, or...?"

Asterin laughed. "Yes, we'd go out with dogs and on horses. No of course not. I miss hunting with other witches."

"You know what I miss? I miss chocolate."

"Well I've never had that." Asterin replied, ignoring how Dorian's jaw dropped in shock. "But I really miss wine. Good wine."

He nodded, although was still slightly confused by how she was over a century old and had never had chocolate.

"You're going to make fun of me for this... but I miss baths."

"Are you kidding?" Asterin grinned. "Why would I make fun of you? What I wouldn't give for a bath. If we were to stumble upon a hot spring upon our travels, I'd fall to the ground and kiss it."

Dorian barked out a laugh. "I miss... parties."

Asterin made a face. "Actually?"

"Well, honestly not really. But they were more fun than war."

"I imagine that's true."

Dorian thought back to all the parties he'd been to in Rifthold. It felt like a lifetime ago.

"I miss home."

Asterin sighed. "I do too."

They watched the rest of the sunrise in a peaceful quiet, until Asterin jumped up with an energy that made Dorian want to scream, and proclaimed that they'd run back to camp even quicker than they'd done before.

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･''･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

When Asterin and Dorian wandered back into the camp, Manon made a direct beeline towards the pair. Dorian looked relatively worn-out, but his expression of exhaustion was far better than the haunted, distant look he'd had in his eyes when he'd woken up, panting for breath and clawing at his neck.

Manon had comforted him the best she could, but it had felt like talking to a statue - Dorian had been completely unresponsive to her, and she'd practically begged Asterin to take him out, if only to get him talking again. She saw him murmur something to Asterin as she approached, and although they were undoubtedly talking about her, Manon was just heartened that Asterin's approach had worked.

Asterin wandered towards Manon quicker than Dorian did.

"How was it?" Manon questioned.

"Good." Her Second answered.

"And how was he?"

Asterin looked back at Dorian. "He's fine."

"Just fine?"

"Look Manon, whatever this is, can't you just work it out yourself?"

Manon frowned. "What are you saying?"

"Well obviously he has some shit he has to work through. We all saw him this morning." Asterin's gaze hardened. "But just because that's the case, doesn't mean I can be sent out as some sort of healer-by-proxy because you don't know how to manage it."

"What did you just say? How-"

"Is everything alright?" Dorian's inquisitive voice cut her off.

Asterin took Manon's momentary distraction as an opportunity to turn tail into the camp, but Manon made a mental note to reprimand her later on. She didn't care what Asterin had actually said, complete bullshit as it was, but no one, not even her Second, should talk to her with such disrespect.

Shaking her head, Manon turned to Dorian. "Yes. Sorry."

He smirked at her. "Gossiping about me, Witchling?"

"You wish Princeling." She began to walk back to the others, with Dorian immediately falling into step beside her. "Ghislaine wants to talk to you."

Dorian took the information in his stride (literally), but did sound surprised when he said, "Ghislaine?"

Manon hummed. "She has some theories on your magic. What it could be used for."

Dorian laughed bitterly. "I wish her luck. I don't have any clue what it does."

"You underestimate her. Ghislaine is the most educated on non-witch matters, with magic being included within that, amongst us. She's not often wrong."

"I meant no offence." Dorian rectified, raising his hands. "If she has any sort of breakthrough to offer, I'll welcome it." 

"Well she didn't reveal much to me other than it was related to tracking the Crochans."

"Tracking?" Dorian's brows furrowed. "Surely you'd all be better suited to that than I am. And anyway, I've already done tracking with Vesta."

Manon knew that. She remembered the day well - Dorian and Vesta had set off on what was meant to be a simple training exercise and accidentally stumbled across a pack of wolves protecting their young. The pair had managed to escape largely unscathed, but Dorian, who had seemed to be high on the rush of finally feeling alive after months of recovery from what his father had put him through, had experienced a slightly odd reaction. It turned out that all it took was a brush with death to get him to laugh, properly laugh, for the first time since they'd all left that beach the day Aelin was taken. Manon had had no idea how to respond to his threat-induced delirious laughter, and had felt (for the first time in a long time) slightly out of her depth. 

"Weren't you listening? It's somehow related to your magic. Not the kind of tracking you've already covered." 

"Magic-related tracking? I've never heard of such a thing."

Manon balked at his curious stare. "Don't ask me about it. I've got no clue what she was talking about." 

Pushing aside the flap of one of the larger tents, she and Dorian walked into Ghislaine's makeshift study. Manon had no idea how Ghislaine managed to carry so many books about with her, but Dorian's eyes lit up at the sight of the countless heavy tomes that were scattered around. 

Ghislaine, who'd been sat on the floor noting something in a journal, rose to her feet. "Wing Leader." She turned slowly to Dorian. "Your Majesty." 

Ghislaine made no further move to incline her head, but Manon understood that the use of Dorian's title was as much respect as Ghislaine would offer. Based on the small smile Dorian gave the other witch, he understood too. 

There was a somewhat awkward silence, and Dorian shifted on his feet. Manon waved a hand to prompt Ghislaine to say something, however as she seemed ready to speak, she was cut off by Dorian. 

"We used to be told stories like this all the time when we were small!" He exclaimed, grasping a book in one hand. "It was routine to have someone tell you don't get out of bed or Koschei will get you, or just naughty children get taken by Koschei."

Manon expected Ghislaine to be frustrated by Dorian's chattering, but instead she looked mildly interested. 

"You were told about him?" Ghislaine asked. 

Dorian smiled. "Mhm. Quite a lot in my case. Actually, when I turned ten, my mother's idea of a birthday present was to tell me that if you don't start acting like a king, I'll invite Koschei to move in under your bed." Dorian's voice trailed away slightly, and he shook his head as if he could expel the memory. "This book, it talks about him as if he's... as if he's real?" 

Ghislaine stared at Dorian. "Of course he's real. Or at least he was."

"Young Dorian would shit himself if he could hear this." Dorian murmured to Manon. She looked away to avoid laughing. 

"Legend says," Ghislaine went on, "that he would go from world to world, searching for the sort of entertainment that could satisfy an immortal being like him. It was that search that led him here." 

"And what? We weren't entertaining enough for him?"

The corners of Ghislaine's mouth twitched. "Well according to that book, the people he encountered didn't put up enough of a fight when he attempted to... torture them."

"Well that's humiliating for us." Dorian muttered. At that, Manon was certain Ghislaine smiled. "What happened to him after that?" 

Ghislaine brushed her fingertips over the cover of the book, which Dorian had placed back on top of the pile he'd found it on. "No one knows. Presumably he ventured elsewhere. But maybe someone tried to take him on. Maybe he just withered away into nothing. I suppose that can happen to beings that are as ancient as him."

Dorian tapped his foot rhythmically on the ground. "How old was he?" 

"That's actually an interesting-"

Manon cleared her throat. Dorian stilled and Ghislaine's voice died. 

"Perhaps, Ghislaine, instead of discussing death gods from folklore, you could tell us about what you mentioned earlier?"

"Oh. Apologies." Ghislaine picked up another book, with gold-leaf edges and an intricate spine. "I was reading about forms of raw magic last night. Am I correct in saying that is the type of power you wield?"

With her question, she turned to Dorian, who inclined his head in confirmation. His eyes had caught on the cover of the book. 

"Right." Ghislaine continued. "I read that it's been supposed that those with raw magic are capable of tracking the magic of others."

Dorian tilted his head. "Like... some sort of magical... residue?" 

Ghislaine nodded. "Exactly. Or at least that's the idea. And it had me wondering if, given that all witches have a sort of inherent magic - that being the magic that allows them to make the Yielding - perhaps that magic could also be tracked."

Manon, as per usual, was shocked by Ghislaine's ingenuity. "And presumably used to search for the Crochans?" 

"Correct." 

Ghislaine looked at Dorian. "What do you think?" 

Dorian appeared slightly caught off guard by Ghislaine addressing him directly, but he considered her question all the same. "To be honest, I'm not quite sure. I can certainly imagine that it's possible. But whether I can do it - that I'm less certain of. I don't know how it would work." 

Ghislaine didn't balk. "That's what I expected to hear."

Dorian frowned, his expression reading what's that supposed to mean? and Manon suppressed a grin. 

"Have you ever experienced anything that indicated perhaps you could sense others' magic?" Ghislaine asked. 

Dorian hummed. "There was a time in Skull's Bay, when Aelin released a huge wave of magic. But everyone seemed to recognise that." His eyes glazed over slightly, as they often did when he was remembering his past. "I suppose for a while after the castle was destroyed, I'd sometimes find small veins of residual ice around the grounds. Even once it had warmed up again. And right before Aelin was... was taken, when we'd been travelling with the her court for a while, I was able to tell which of the magic-users had been where. But it mostly felt foreign and untraceable." Dorian gesticulated, and Ghislaine took a small step back, looking affronted. "It was as if I'd walk into a room, and I could tell who'd last been there. Although only if they'd used their magic."

Ghislaine considered his words for a moment, and as she did so, Dorian shuffled on his feet, as if waiting to be admonished. Manon smirked, and when he caught her eye, he returned her smile. 

"Perhaps we could try something." Ghilsaine said. "If you wanted to."

Dorian turned back to the other witch. "I'm happy to do anything that could help."

Ghislaine clapped her hands together. "Good. Beacuse I've already gathered a couple of test subjects."

Dorian looked alarmed. 

"Don't worry." Manon muttered. 

She and Dorian followed Ghislaine back outside, where Thea and Kaya were stood, the pair adorned with similar expressions of boredom. 

"I managed to convince Thea and Kaya to help." Ghislaine supplied, and Dorian's eyes widened. 

"Really? I don't remember either of them having ever said a word to me." Dorian offered the couple a small wave, which they ignored. "Oh no," he continued, "I'm fairly certain Kaya once told me she hoped I returned to Rifthold to die."

Manon looked over at the accused with raised brows, but Kaya simply shrugged. 

"Well put that aside." Ghislaine ordered. "I want you to place some sort of magical signature on Kaya, however you would do that."

"Freeze one of her knives?" Dorian suggested. 

One of Kaya's hands drifted to her weapons on her hips, as she murmured something to Thea, but Ghislaine nodded at Dorian's proposal. 

"If that would work." Ghislaine replied. "As for Thea, leave her be. Once that's done, we'll have someone marked with your magic, and someone presumably marked with the inherent witch magic."

"And then I suppose they'll go elsewhere I'll have to try and track them?"

Ghislaine dipped her chin. "You catch on fast."

"I'm not that stupid." Dorian muttered. 

Thea whispered something that sounded suspiciously like could've fooled me, and Kaya snorted.

Ghislaine just rolled her eyes at Dorian. "What are you still standing around for?"

"Right. Sorry." He said, moving towards Thea and Kaya. Dorian raised a hand towards Kaya, prompting Thea to snarl at him, and Manon found it hugely entertaining watching the king attempt to navigate Thea's anger. 

She was distracted, however, by Ghislaine coming to stand beside her. 

"Do you think he can do it?" Manon asked. 

Ghislaine didn't look away from the other three, but answered, "This being the man who broke free from Valg control, killed his father, and destroyed most of the royal palace? I certainly think he can. But all of that relies on it being possible - that's the factor I can't be sure of."

"You can't?"

"No." Ghislaine confirmed. "Dorian just confirmed that he can trace the magic of the fae, and presumably other mortals. But witch magic is completely different. Dorian said he can tell which magic-user has been where, but only if they've used their power. Witches can't use their power... it just exists within us."

Manon hummed. She looked back over at where the other three were stood, only to find Thea and Kaya gone, and Dorian standing alone looking slightly scared. 

"What's wrong?" Manon asked as she and Ghislaine made their way over. 

"Thea just told me that if I found her she'd gut me like a fish." Dorian's expression of confused anxiety almost made Manon laugh. "I thought finding her was the point?"

"It is." Ghislaine responded. "Ignore her."

"So now what? I just... try to sense them?" 

"If you think that would work best." Ghislaine offered. "Just do what you can."

Dorian grimaced. "Alright."

He closed his eyes, and tilted his head as if he could hear some sort of phantom music. His fingers were moving just slightly where his hands hung by his side, but he remained silent. To her left, Ghislaine was watching with rapt attention. 

After a few minutes, Manon began to wonder if Dorian was making any progress, but she didn't want to break him out of whatever sort of magic-induced trance he was in. Leaning towards Ghislaine, she whispered, "How long-"

"Kaya's over there." Dorian cut her off, raising a hand to point into the woods. When he looked over at Manon and Ghislaine, his eyes seemed more bright than usual. 

Ghislaine's brow furrowed. "If you're sure." 

"Kaya!" Ghislaine yelled Kaya's name in the direction Dorian was pointing, so loudly that a flock of birds flew up from a nearby tree. 

After a few quiet minutes, Kaya's dark hair could be seen moving through the trees as she jogged back towards them, the hilt of one of her daggers still shining with a thin layer of frost. 

Ghislaine's eyes gleamed. "Huh."

Dorian turned to her. "Impressed?"

Ghislaine simply rolled her eyes. As for Manon, she was impressed, but she kept quiet. 

Stopping in front of them, her breath clouding before her, Kaya simply raised her knife towards Dorian, the blade gripped in her palm. "Fix it."

"Your conversational skills are always so striking, Kaya." Dorian replied immediately, but he did as Kaya asked. He waved a hand over the hilt of her knife, and it looked exactly as it had before. 

Kaya sheathed the dagger. "Where's Thea?"

Ghislaine just looked at Dorian expectantly. Manon was somewhat surprised by how quickly he'd taken to understanding Ghislaine's silences, as Dorian promptly closed his eyes again. 

This time, however, it took longer. 

"What's he doing?" Kaya hissed after a while. 

"I'm not sure how it works." Ghislaine murmured back. "But whatever he's doing, it didn't take this long last time."

Dorian sighed. "I can hear you." He said, in a flat tone. 

"Sorry for distracting you." Manon said loudly, not completely hiding the sarcasm in her words.

"It's fine." He said. "It's not working anyway." 

Kaya's lip curled. "Well maybe if you opened your eyes-"

"Yes, alright." Dorian huffed. This time his eyes were definitely glowing. "You know-"

Manon rolled her eyes. "Dorian. What do you mean it's not working?"

Dorian bit his lip. "I mean... I can't sense anything."

Ghislaine sighed, and Dorian looked sheepish. "I'm sorry." He continued. "I am trying, but it just feels like there's nothing out there."

"Well at least you're trying." Kaya said, largely to herself. Based on Dorian's scowl, however, he'd overheard. 

"Don't apologise." Ghislaine said, in a rare moment of near-friendliness towards Dorian. "I was largely skeptical about whether it would work."

"I haven't given up by any means." Dorian replied hastily. "If you want, I can take a look at the book which had writing on raw magic. If you're searching for more theories on magic, it may help to have a magic-user there. If not just another set of eyes."

Ghislaine almost smiled. It was a tad disconcerting. "That would be useful." She murmured. "And maybe you'll stumble across Thea in the process."

With a small smile in Manon's direction, Dorian wandered off with Ghislaine, the pair speaking quietly to one another. 

She stood with Kaya in silence for a moment, allowing herself to have a few seconds peace before heading back into the camp. 

"I really don't get what you see in him." Kaya said suddenly. 

Manon turned to her slowly. "Excuse me?"

Kaya had the good mind to just look away. 

"Well whatever it is," Kaya continued finally (making Manon supress the urge to sigh), "I don't trust him to be able to stumble across Thea, so I'm going to find her." 

Manon had an odd impulse to rise to Dorian's defence. "If Dorian couldn't, what makes you think you can?" 

Kaya looked at her blankly. "I've known where she's been this whole time." Kaya kept talking as she began to walk away. "I can't wait to see that man's face when he realises how close by she was the entire time."

Manon didn't have enough energy to properly admonish Kaya, so just watched her leave with an expression of annoyance. It felt like she only got more exhausted every time there was any glimmer of hope about the Crochans, because it never seemed to work. Sometimes, Manon would consider abandoning the whole search entirely, that small part of her mind wondering if their force would be better used on the battlefield, rather than looking for a group of witches who clearly didn't want to be found. But she always ignored it. 

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･''･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

Dorian found Manon again a few hours later, as dusk fell over their camp, and the wyverns had settled down in a near clearing to sleep. She'd inadvertently found herself staring into the fire (having been doing so for several minutes) and fairly sure she looked to anyone else like she was in a trance. 

Dorian's greeting confirmed her suspicions. "Manon?" He said, standing directly in her eye line. 

"Hm?" She looked up at him. 

"Are you alright?" 

Manon glanced around quickly, and then shifted over to allow Dorian to sit beside her. "Yes. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You just looked a bit... distant." Dorian answered, sitting. 

She sighed. "Just lost in thought."

"Oh."

Manon was comfortable enough to sit in silence, her frantic thoughts about the Crochans and the war soothed somewhat by the peaceful liminality of dusk and Dorian's presence next to her. Dorian seemed to be content to do the same, and for near-half an hour the two of them stayed there in quiet. 

Dorian's low, gentle voice hardly startled her, when he said, "I'm sorry it didn't work. The tracking."

Once she was certain no one was looking, Manon leant her head on his shoulder heavily. "It's fine. I didn't really expect it to."

"To tell you the truth Witchling," Dorian said quietly, "neither did I." 

He raised a hand and looked at it, as if he could see through his skin to the magic-filled veins beneath. "I hardly understand this power myself. I was slightly doubtful that any attempt at trying to channel it into something new would work."

Manon hummed, staring into the dying flames of the bonfire. "Oh well." 

"Don't lose hope. Something will show up eventually." Dorian murmured. 

"I'm not-" She cut herself off. I'm not losing hope is what she'd intended to say, yet Dorian's words had rung particularly true. Perhaps part of her was losing hope. The thought made her stiffen, and she felt Dorian turn to look down at her. "I'm trying."

Dorian knew better to try and calm her with any over-the-top physical touch, not where they could be seen. He'd learned his lesson when he'd attempted to hug Manon right in the middle of camp, and she'd threatened to throw him off the next cliff she saw. Undoubtedly with this knowledge in mind, Dorian simply settled for resting his head atop hers, so they fit together like some sort of puzzle. 

"Perhaps I should stay out of the process of trying to find the Crochans." Dorian said. 

Manon opened her mouth to object, but he continued, "Not because I doubt my own abilities, being both so powerful and something of a genius." He said, and she could hear the smile in his voice, "But I think a lost witch clan aren't going to be found by a mortal man. They're going to be found by other witches."

She groaned. "But that's what we've been doing."

"These things take time." 

"We don't have time, Dorian. Not everyone has the luxury of living in some fantasy world completely separated from the war as we do. People, your- our friends are out there fighting. We don't have any time."

Dorian considered her words. "Something will show up." He replied, repeating his earlier answer.

"When?" Manon knew how immature the question sounded. But she couldn't help it. 

Dorian's silence revealed the truth - he couldn't tell her. Because he didn't know. But for the moment he sat with her, and it was enough. Almost.