I was just re-reading Throne of Glass and I was amazed at the connection between Celaena and Dorian! Their banter was so awesome. And then I re-read the ending of Heir of Fire, and that part where she tells him she came back for him just killed me.
So here is a one-shot of what could have been, right at the end of Heir of Fire.
Dorian woke up gasping, feeling as if he was choking. His hand went to his throat, and he let out a breath when he realized that it had been just a dream, that he wasn't still wearing that horrible collar, that he didn't still have that thing in his head.
He glanced outside. It was the night before Celaena was scheduled to depart back to Terrassen, and the castle was ominously quiet. The sky was covered by large clouds, darkness thick enough to cover the stars. He felt his heartbeat accelerate and pushed the covers off of him. He couldn't breathe, the darkness threatening to swallow him once again.
There was a knock on his door and it swung open. Celaena's head peaked through, her blond hair swinging over her shoulder, as if she had felt his anguish.
"Can I come in?" She asked, walking in without waiting for his answer. She clicked the door shut behind him. "I couldn't sleep."
Dorian nodded, hoping the relief wasn't too obvious on his face. He couldn't stand to be alone now, to face everything he had done.
She strode towards him, her short nightgown bouncing, and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. "I still can't believe it's you. I can't believe you're here."
"It doesn't feel like I'm back." He admitted, stepping out of her reach, and going to stand in front of the balcony, facing the darkness. "It doesn't feel like I'm the same person."
"That's because you're not." She said simply, sitting on the edge of one of the armchairs. Her voice was soft. "We've all done things we regret, me most of all."
His face was bitter as he turned to look at her. "I killed my father, Celaena. I killed him. That blood will stain my hands forever."
There was pity on her face. She looked like she wanted to reach out to him again, but then she crossed her arms over her chest, as if to give him space.
"You're still Dorian Havilliard." She told him. "You're going to come back from this."
But he just shook his head, and she didn't know what to say. So instead, she crossed the room to sit at the edge of his pianoforte. She played a couple notes, the sound echoing echoing through the room.
"Remember when you first heard me playing the pianoforte?"
"Of course." Dorian said. He remembered that night like it was yesterday. "That was the moment I first fell in love with you."
There was no bitterness in his voice, but her cheeks flushed as she remembered how coldly she had pushed him away. She tilted her head up to look at him, suddenly looking very small. "Sit with me?" She asked.
Dorian knew he shouldn't have said yes. She was with Rowan, and he was still mourning Sorcha. But maybe that was exactly why he crossed through the room. Because everything had become so complicated, so twisted. He wanted it to go back to before, when he was still getting to know her, when neither one of them had the weight of a kingdom on their shoulders.
His legs brushed against hers as he sat on the small bench, but she didn't shift away. Instead, she began to play. The notes were slow and mournful as she poured out her grief in the music.
He didn't know how long they sat there, as she played and he listened, the music imbedding itself in his soul like an arrow.
"Remember when you asked me why I liked music so much?" She asked, her eyes half-lidded, as she stroked the keys.
"You told me that it was because you wanted to be a healer. And that was the closest thing to it." He said.
She leaned her head on his shoulder as the final notes died out. Her skin was soft. He could see the hundreds of tiny scars that marked her shoulders, disappearing into her nightgown.
His fingers curled into fists, and he fought the urge to break something. He wanted to tear something out, to yell against the Gods that had done this to them.
"Hey," Celaena reached over, prying his fist open over finger by finger, and slipping her hand inside his callused palm. It almost surprised her to see that her hand still fit so perfectly into his, even after all this time. "Talk to me, Dorian. Please."
He shrugged, but he didn't remove his hand. With his other hand, he felt his neck, reaching for an imaginary shackle.
"How did you come back from it?" He asked quietly. He could still see the scars from the shackles on her wrist, a reminder of her year in Endovier. "From being a slave?"
Her eyes darkened, the light leaking away from them. She lowered her gaze. "It was hard. I was so angry. But I had you, and I had Chaol." The corners of her mouth turned down, as she thought about how that relationship had also gone down in flames. "And no matter how far I am, I promise that I'll always be there for you, Dorian."
"You know," he said, stroking her fingers ever so softly, "I could have loved you all my life."
He didn't know where the words had come from. He had been looking into her gold-ringed eyes, at that face he knew so well, and they had just come to him.
Celaena sighed and leaned into him, inhaling his familiar scent. He had been her first ally in the castle, the first boy after Sam who let her believe that maybe she could love again, that she wasn't just a mindless assassin. He had reminded her of the good that was in her, and she had missed him so much in the past few months. So, so much.
"If things had been different." She breathed, so low he could barely hear her, "I could have loved her so much."
He closed his eyes, letting the words sink in. He had needed to hear this for so long—to know that he wasn't irrelevant, that he wasn't so easily replaceable. Then he took a deep breath… and he let her go.
He released her hand, and reluctantly, she stood up. "I should go." She told him.
She was standing on the other side of the bench. He already hated the space between them.
He got to his feet as well, tucking his hands into his pocket. He gave her a half-smile, already dreading the moment the door would close behind her and he would be alone in the darkness.
"You should." He agreed, with the ghost of his old smile. He winked at her. "You wouldn't want to keep that Fae warrior waiting."
She shook her head and laughed. Celaena stared at him for a long time, wanting to freeze that picture in her memory. The dark blue eyes, the black hair, everything, the way his mouth quirked when he smiled at her.
She knew she had to get back. She had a kingdom to get back to, and the journey would start early. So with one last look, she turned towards the door.
Her hand was on the handle when she stopped and glanced at him over her shoulder. He hadn't moved, still watching her quietly. Even after all this time, it floored her how handsome he was.
She was leaving. Who knew when she would be back. By then, everything would probably be terribly different again.
And if there was one thing she had learned, from losing her parents, losing Sam, watching Chaol become a man she barely recognized, was that you couldn't wait.
You have to take your own chances.
So Celaena Sardothien crossed the distance between them in a few strides, until she stood only a few inches from him. Close enough to kiss him, if he wanted to.
His eyes widened in surprise, but he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing against her skin. There was a question mark in his eyes.
"Celaena." His voice was warm as he said her name.
"I came back for you." She told him, their words taking all their meaning now. "I came back for you."
And with that, she kissed him. His lips were soft, but when they connected with hers, she felt her breath leave her body. She ran her hands through his hair, his hands warm as they pulled her body into his. As he kissed her back, the ice in his heart thawed, and his broken heart began to heal.
She was still leaving in the morning. And he still had a kingdom to rebuild. But for now, for the time that the darkness lasted, nothing was right, nothing was wrong. They were together, and that was all that mattered.