.20.

The next several days were absolute hell for Dorian. Despite his best efforts, he was never quite able to avoid Rowan and Aedion. It was blatantly obvious that they were both furious with him, but neither had said nor done anything about it yet. Deep down Dorian wished that the pair of them would just hurry up with their vengeance or whatever the hell they were going to do. The constant state of fear and anxiety, not to mention the dread in his heart, was taking its toll on him. He was constantly twitchy, practically jumping out of his skin whenever anyone spoke to him.

Within a matter of days the faculty had noticed the strain on him and had become increasing worried about him. The Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, Remus Lupin, had already referred Dorian to Madam Pomfrey for Calming Draughts several times. But the effects of the potion were nowhere as long lasting as Dorian had hoped. In a way, though, Dorian wasn't very surprised. Especially as the source of his anxiety was still ever present in the back of his mind.

In a way, Dorian could understand their anger, even though he hated it. His father had done some truly terrible things – terrible, horrible things. In his quest for power, his father had done truly terrible things to Aedion and Aelin. Had done truly terrible things to their family. To their kingdom.

But while Dorian understood their anger and hatred, and was able to withstand it, he was not able to understand it at the same time. He had never seen his people starve to death in droves during a cruel winter. He had never seen his people being murdered by the thousands in cold blood. Dorian had never witnessed his people being led in away in shackles after a battle to a lifetime of slavery.

It had always been other people. The people and citizens of other kingdoms. The people of Terrasen had taken the brunt of his father's brutality for so many years. Aelin and Aedion's people. Perhaps that was why Aelin had become friends so quickly and easily with Princess Nehemia. They had both come from broken, shattered, conquered kingdoms. Both princesses had understood that pain and perhaps it had bonded them. They had understood each other in a way that he would never be able to. Not even if he were to live a thousand lifetimes.

Even though Aelin had been living under the alias of Celaena Sardothien at the time of her friendship with Nehemia, she had instinctively understood what Nehemia had been fighting for. Because it was the same thing that she had been fighting for in secret for so many years. The freedom of their kingdoms. An end to the oppression, an end to slavery. And most importantly of all, an end to tyranny. Which, in essence, had meant an end to the father he had hated.

Sometimes Dorian wondered whether the rebels would have stopped at his father, or if they would have killed him and his younger brother as well. The gods knew that the seeds of corruption had already been planted in his brother, and had taken hold well. Dorian had long since begun to dread the day his brother would turn into a man. A spoiled, cruel child could be dealt with easily enough, but a cruel, brutal man, with no sense of human decency at all… How could the people of Adarlan have been raised with no sense of empathy or respect for their fellow human beings at all? How was he meant to rule such a kingdom once he had returned home? Dorian hated it here, but at least it was better than facing the scorn of his people. Better than facing the scorn of the rest of the world. He knew that Aelin had faced more than her fair share of criticism and anger, but for the first time, he wondered how she was able to bear it, and still come out grinning at the end of the day.

But while Nehemia, Aelin and Aedion had fought for their kingdoms every single day, he, Dorian, had led the life of a spoilt and petulant prince, uncaring about anything except for the life of luxury at his fingertips. While the kingdoms and people of his friends had suffered, he had profited of off their labour. Profited of off their blood and sacrifice for so many years. Thousands upon thousands of innocent people had been slaughtered, and he had not given a damn. When he and Chaol had taken Aelin out of Endovier, he had never looked at the other prisoners enslaved there. He had never wondered where they had come from, or whether they had families that were desperately awaiting their return – a return that would never come.

As long as his own comfortable existence had not been impacted, he had not cared. He had pretended he did, but hadn't cared. Not really. And yet, Nehemia and Aelin had never stopped dreaming of a better world, a world where their kingdoms weren't enslaved. They had never stopped loving their kingdoms. And their people loved them for it. It was a dream that Nehemia had died for.

It had been Nehemia's sacrifice that had spurred Aelin to drop the alias and start fighting back. Aelin might have been cowardly at times, and she knew it, but Nehemia's sacrifice… It was then that Aelin had broken completely. Because of the sacrifice of her beloved friend… It, too, had reminded of the loss of her family. Reminded her too much of the sacrifice of her nursemaid. The nursemaid who Aelin had watched die, killed giving Aelin a chance to run for it, a chance to for Aelin to live. She had not squandered it.

Dorian had always known the basic particulars of Aelin's story. But at the same time he had never really paid much attention when she'd spoken of her early years, before she'd been found by Arobynn Hamel. He had not been able to figure out who she really was, the way Chaol had done. In some ways, Chaol had always cared for Aelin more than he had. He was a terrible friend.

In a way, it surprised Dorian that he didn't miss Chaol as much as he had expected. He just missed Chaol's friendship, and the sense of companionship and normalcy that he had provided. All his life, Chaol had always been the one thing that was constant, the one person who was always there for him no matter what. He had thought that Chaol would always be there for him whenever he needed it the most. But perhaps they were too different now; the war had changed them in more ways than one.

Surprisingly enough, the one person that Dorian felt comfortable talking to about everything he was going through was Hermione Granger. He was aware that most people at school blamed her for what had happened to Feyre, but Dorian thought that there had to be more to the story than she was letting on. After all, he was an alien as well, technically speaking, and Hermione didn't seem to have a single problem with him.

A part of Dorian wondered whether or not it was because Hermione simply got along better with men than she did with other women. After all, he had hardly ever seen her with another girl, the majority of the time Hermione was rarely seen out of the company of the male students. If that was the case, than he just felt sorry for her.

"Why don't you miss your friend, if he was always there for you?" Hermione asked him one day as they walked around the lake.

"I don't know," Dorian admitted sadly. "Growing up we were as close as brothers. But after the war, we just grew apart. Truth be told, I didn't even realise that we'd stopped talking until the other day when we ran into each other and started talking again."

"Do you think that you'll keep talking now?" Hermione sounded rather hopeful.

"No, I don't think so," Dorian said. "We're just too different now."

"That's really sad. Friends are important." For a whole they just walked in silence.

"Have you ever had any friends like that?" Dorian asked her suddenly. "Any friends that you truly love, but then you just eventually grow apart?"

"Yes," Hermione said simply. "My friend Ronald. We met when we started coming to school at Hogwarts when we were eleven years old. Ronald, Harry and I were fast friends. The three of us were completely inseparable. As we grew up Ronald and I developed romantic feelings for each other. We started dating after the war, but it only lasted a few weeks before he dumped me. He broke my heart, but in hindsight, I think it was the right decision. We had both been through too much. We weren't right for each other any more. Yes, it hurt me quite badly at the time, but I've started to get over it."

"Do you ever wonder if you and this Ronald person would still be together if the war hadn't happened?" Dorian asked curiously.

"I used to, but not so much any more," Hermione said simply. Then more sharply, "Why are you asking about this anyway?"

"I don't know," Dorian said slowly, "I don't know whether I'm asking due to suspecting that Manon is about to break up with me, or because I'm suddenly looking around me and realising that all of my friendships are in tatters. And there's not a damn thing I can do about it."

"Sucks to be you," Hermione grinned mirthlessly.

"Tell me about it," Dorian moaned. "Aelin used to be a professional killer before she took up her throne, and Manon literally drinks blood as though it were wine."

"I hadn't realised that Manon was a vampire!" Hermione shrieked loudly, causing several birds to fly off in alarm.

"She's not," Dorian said bracingly. "Though I don't suppose that there is much difference between a witch and a vampire. Not in this world, at least."

It was several minutes before Hermione calmed down enough to snap at him, "Oh yeah, and what is the difference between a witch and a vampire, in your world?"

"Nothing," he said simply, shrugging. "There isn't one. Vampires don't exist."

"And all witches are blood sucking fiends?"

"Most of them, yeah."

"That sounds like the perfect definition of a vampire to me!" Hermione cried hysterically. "They're all monsters, the lot of them! Stay away from that – that – that fiend, that monstrosity, do you hear me Dorian? For your own sanity, stay away from it. If you ever valued your own life, stay away from it. Do you hear me?"

By this stage, Dorian was getting quite concerned about Hermione. "Are you sure you don't need some sort of calming potion or something?"

"My mate doesn't need anything," a new voice said. "Hermione is going to be fine. You'll see."

"Have you been following us, Tamlin?" Dorian said sharply. "Because if you have, I'll have you know that that constitutes a violation of privacy. Not to mention the fact that I'll be bringing a massive stalking complaint against you—"

"If you ever do that, I will do everything within my power to ensure that you live to regret it," Tamlin said haughtily, full of smug superiority. Clearly drunk on his own inflated sense of his own self-importance. "Besides, you don't have any real power here, do you? You're just a king with no power, no influence. You're a king that no one likes, a king that no one wants."

"So are you," Dorian snapped. "Besides, we might not have any influence here, but the Headmistress does. And I am more than willing to bet that she will take my side in this stalking case over yours. So I'm afraid to say, that you are screwed. And in case you had forgotten, in this world we are both kings without crowns. And from what I can tell you aren't any more wanted than I am. Or did you think that I hadn't heard about how badly you treated Feyre? Or about the cause of your feud with Rhysand?"

"Everyone knows that bastard and I don't get along, especially not since Feyre—"

"I meant about what started it," Dorian hissed. "Or did you think that the fact that you were responsible for the deaths of his family wouldn't come to light? I'm more perceptive than I look."

Tamlin visibly blanched and to Dorian's eternal shock, turned about and fled like a puppy dog with his tail between its back legs.

"You shouldn't have done that," Hermione said weakly.

"Shouldn't have done what?"

"Sent Tamlin off like that."

"May I ask why?" Dorian asked, confused as hell. "Besides, he had no right to stalking either of us like that. Even in this world, no one likes a stalker. I will be reporting him, don't you worry about it. I realise that he'll likely get into trouble for it, but right now, I don't really care. He probably deserves what he's going to get for it. That guy has been a complete and utter jerk for months now. I can't take it anymore. No one can. Personally, I think it's a miracle that you even like him at all. Why can't you just grow up and face the fact that Tamlin isn't any good for you? You'll be a lot happier once you have cut him out of your life. Trust me on this one."

"That doesn't matter. What does matter is what I'm about to tell you."

So Dorian listened to what Hermione had to tell him. That she had been jealous of Tamlin's obvious affection for Feyre, jealous that he had wanted to marry her. Her uncertainty about Tamlin's feelings for her, convinced – so utterly convinced – that Tamlin was still loved Feyre, and didn't love her. That she had only found out recently that her parents – whom she had grown up believing had loved her dearly – had lied to her for her entire life – that she was actually adopted. How scared she was about telling Tamlin and all her friends the truth, lest they react like Ronald had. How she was still struggling to wrap her head around the reality of her birth name being Astrid.

Astrid Malfoy, to be exact, that is.