I was in a TOG mood, and I've had the idea forever, so here's a piece of flash fiction about a role reversal au. I also posted this on tumblr. I have to say, it feels weird writing for TOG again for the first time in over a year.

The familiar weight of the knife in Dorian's hand was the only thing keeping him sane. On the one hand, he was an assassin. A— a prince, once, yes, but no longer. He was an assassin. This was his job.

But the girl in the bed, princess of the kingdom that had refused to help his father or not, was his age. She was a child. Arobynn knew he had never liked killing children.

And yet here she was. Here Chaol was, guarding the entrance to the tower with a wary scowl. And here he was, weighing a moonlit knife in his hand and wishing for everything he'd lost.

She was dangerous, he tried to console himself with. Everyone knew it—whispers had made it all the way to Rifthold about her magic, enough to burn down Erilea and still leave the fires alight. Killing her could save thousands of lives, if she ever saw fit to end them.

But all he could remember was this: a little girl on a diplomatic trip, telling him her cousin was her only friend.

This was wrong.

This was wrong, but he didn't have a choice.

His palm was slick with sweat when he raised the knife, hand shaking; it was hot in here. Why was it so hot in here?

And her hair, spread across the pillow, glinted in light he was sure hadn't been there moments ago.

He turned. The fireplace, slumbering cold when he'd first entered, danced with a merry flame.

It didn't click until he heard the low laugh, and by then it was much too late.

He whirled, but she'd already kicked back the sheets and lunged for the blades at his belt. The metal sang as she yanked two free; he struggled to parry both at once with his measly knife—

Fire lanced down the blades, the tips growing red hot and rapidly nearing his hand—

Only for them to crackle and halt when they met a sheet of ice.

He blinked in astonishment; the Princess—Aelin, his mind whispered—blinked too. Then she looked him in the eyes.

Whatever she saw there, it shocked her. She recognised him alright.

"Havilliard," she whispered, then there was a flash of silver and white, a hard thump to his head, and he crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

His last thought was that this was one hell of a situation for Chaol to walk in on.