I've been writing this for a while now and have finally found the courage to post it! Let me know if you like it!

The Queen of Terrasen sat hunched over her fourth pint of watery ale. The ruckus of the filthy inn flushed out the thoughts swarming her mind. She'd found the abandoned cloak in her and Rowans room, though it produced such a foul odor, she traded it for the torn one she was wearing. But now the stench of it couldn't compare to the smell of her profuse sweat and the shabby pub as she sat between to mobs of drunkards.

Aelin grasped the metal tankard, the battered pewter uneven in her palm. Bringing it to her lips she almost gagged into the ale as the man on her left spewed all over his companion. The man then took the vomit from his tunic and threw it onto his friend who'd been in the motion of downing his drink.

She practically threw her ale down onto the bar, wanting to bury herself deeper into the wretched cloak.

Behind her, a continuous stream of heavy footsteps sounded against the wooden floorboards. And as the hours went by she noticed as the footsteps became even more unsteady. But the queen couldn't even feel the alcohol affecting her and wondered just how many drinks these men had had so to become this drunk.

The lighting from the candelabras was so dim the light from the moon streaming through the windows were much brighter. Aelin gazed out beyond the warehouses opposite the inn where she knew Rowan was waiting. She looked over the expanse of rolling hills and gravel roads and wondered if any those roads she took all those years ago to arrive at the once-standing glass castle.

"Looking for anyone special princess?" Aelin, despite herself, almost grinned at the sound of a female's voice as she realized she hadn't heard one since the morning.

A petite woman, but seemingly years older than her, was standing behind the bar. Her red hair was lazily tied in a knot at the top of her head. In her hands she was drying a severely beaten tankard with a haggard piece of scrap, seemingly from an old cloak. Beneath her untamed eyebrows, two doll-like eyes were seemingly examining Aelin, taking in her beaten cloak and dishevelled hair, now coloured an inky black, in a way that wasn't threateningly.

"No one in particular."

"Really?" The woman bent forward, leaning close enough so that Aelin could see a scar marring the skin beneath her eyebrow and smell the tobacco on her breath. Aelin just watched as the barmaid dumped the towel and pint on the counter. The other bartender, an older man with a tattoo of a tree covering is whole gave, gave her a killer glare from where he was pouring pint after pint.

But she just gave him a vulgar gesture, "News is one of the rebel armies who fled Rifthold after the whole thing with the king and Aelin Galanythius are headed this way. Could even be staying in our inns."

The Queen didn't see but heard the approaching rebels, they were so loud she knew everyone around her could.

Behind the counter, the barmaids eyes glinted with mischief, gold gleaming in the light of the candles. Within seconds, a herd of men and woman came around the corner and through the open window Aelin could hear, who she assumed to be the commander, calling orders to tie up their mounts and get their stuff up to their rooms.

A feline grin made Aelins cracked lips ache, "Let's hope they're handsome."

The barmaid winked, tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. A sapphire earring was pinned at the top of her ear, dull with age. Aelin watched the jewel disappear with the barmaid as she sauntered to a table of gamblers, her hips swaying beneath her ragged skirt.

A drunk then slapped her ass.

But before Aelin could rip the hands off the drunk with the bubbling rage inside her, the door of the pub banged open. An assemble of men, all hooded and with sacks at their sides, loomed in the entrance-way of the inn.

Through the musky scent of poisonous ale and rotten wood, his scent caught her out. The jasmine and wild berry soap he'd used all his life still lingered.

And Sam, her former lover who she thought to be dead, dropped his hood and came into the bar.


Aelin twirled back toward the bar, keeping her face buried in the pint of ale. She watched as small bubbles appeared on top of the drink, pretending to be submerged in the happenings in the tankard. His powerful footsteps came up behind her, stopping just feet away from her.

The heartbeat in her ears roared while she debated to herself whether she'd run or stay. Choosing the latter, Aelin growled to the bartender in a voice that wasn't hers, ordering another drink and threatening that if he didn't he'd be serving his eyes for dessert.

Sam chuckled, groaning slightly as he sat on the stool to her left, not noticing his past lover under the hood, "Tough day?"

It took the queen moments to answer, moments where her heart ached as it threw itself against her ribs. Just as the bartender threw her ale down and it sloshed all over the bar Aelin nursed the pint in her palms, "Tougher than you could imagine."


A bead of sweat stung the corners of Rowan's eyes, the dagger in his hand gleaming beneath the moon.

He'd been perched on the warehouse roof for the hours Aelin had been in the inn, weighed down under layers of coats. Under the shadows he remained in his Fae form, his hair ruffling in his eyes. Gods, he missed his long hair. Missed Aelins fingers through it.

He was brought to alert as a group of hooded men crowded the atrium of the bar, slowly integrating into the occupants inside.

The slates shifted beneath his feet as he tiptoed over to the pipes snaking up the building.

The slick of rain soaked his palms whilst he threw his legs over the side of the roof. He cradled them around the rusted pipe, pieces of dried paint flaking off. Sliding down the pipe, Rowan heard the whining of more horses making its way through the village.

His feet hit the ground and wet mud covered the hem of his trousers. He threw his hood back over his head and by the time he'd turned towards the inn his hands were shoveled in his pockets where two small blades were hidden.

Beneath his furrowed eyebrows Rowan watched a group of the cloaked men became submerged in laughter. A pile of luggage was pilled to the height of the carriages. They were a plain black, obviously used as to not draw attention to them.

He snaked through a thicket of men and he caught a glimpse of swords strapped to their sides. "If we... Rifthold... kept hidden..."

Clips of conversation caught his attention as we made his way into the inn, making himself move faster as to get Aelin out of there.

He realised who they were and practically ran for the door. Rifthold rebels which are looking for the missing Queen.

He swung the door open, the pungent smell of stale vomit hitting him. He hesitated at the threshold, scanning over the drunkards until he spotted Aelin at the bar, a rebel standing by her.