A third part? Why yes, I hope it's a nice surprise, many of you wanted to see a continuation.

Warning: Violence and sadness await, you have been warned

Disobedience III

Granddaughter,

It has come to my attention that there has been a great misunderstanding between us.

As heir, I always expected you to understand the reasoning behind my actions.

I see now that I was wrong. Perhaps we are not as alike as I thought.

However, despite our disagreements, I would like to make amends. We can become members of the same coven once more if only we spoke.

Meet me at the following place if you wish to fix what has been broken…

A meeting. Manon's grandmother wanted a meeting.

When the surmise arrived, Manon had read it over and over again, analyzing each word, taking in the slopes of the writing, searching for signs of inconsistencies. The older witch had been intent on killing her, sending sentries after her, placing a bounty over her head.

What changed now?

"It's a trap," Asterin was saying as she, Sorrel, and Manon spoke in the latter's bedroom. Both her Second and Third had read the letter, both had come to the same conclusion.

"Why would she assume we would think otherwise?" Sorrel added.

Manon kept quiet. After the fiasco that was Morath, Manon had retreated with her Thirteen and the covens that followed her into a large cave system to the far East, far enough to not be found or tracked. Terrasen had taken over Morath, but reports came about that many of the Valg had fled, including the Duke. Manon's grandmother had retreated as soon as she heard the army come near.

"My grandmother is a coward, but she is no fool," Manon replied, circling the table between them. "This letter means something."

Terrasen had been searching for Duke Perrington's forces, but he was well-hidden and the invading army had no choice but to regroup and retreat. Not the week before, Manon had spoken to Petra, who made sure to lay clear the Bluebloods would no longer participate in this blood feud. Even when the Duke, a few Blackbeak covens and the Yellowlegs still posed a threat. Even when the weapon was still at large and very much a threat.

Manon is convinced that the meeting is a trap, but still feels like it's the only way to end it all with her grandmother. At the same time there are rumors of Perrington's experiments continuing with witches that were caught since the split began. A good quarter of Blackbeaks followed Manon's grandmother, while the others consider Manon the Matron now.

A newly recovered Asterin, Sorrel and Manon make their way toward their wyverns while still maintaining a conversation. Asterin does't want Manon to go after their grandmother without first knowing what's being planned. Sorrel is impartial but tells Manon she will follow whatever she decides to do.

Manon thinks of Adarlan and how Dorian offered to give her and her witches weapons, saddles and whatever else she might need in the fight to come. No soldiers however. Even Terrasen was keeping back, gathering troops and planning ahead.

"Perhaps we should speak with the Terrasen Queen."

Aelin would not help, not now when her country was still getting used to being ruled once more by a rightful heir. Manon shook her head. "Adarlan will provide us with what we need."

She would take down her grandmother, with help or not. None of it mattered, especially now that the High Witch still had her hands on that weapon. Asterin passed a hand through her hair. "It will be a trap."

"Then we shall plan ahead for it." Turning to her Second, Manon made sure to keep her voice steady. "If our grandmother gets that weapon to work, there will be nothing we can do."

Terrasen knew of the threat as did Adarlan, but neither seemed concerned, neither understood the calamity it could wreck across the continent, the world. Sorrel was nodding, palming her weapon like they would leave within the hour. "When we stop her, there will be peace."

"What of the Wastes?" Asterin asked.

Manon watched Abraxos stretch out his wings before laying back down. "I think," Manon began, "that those lands were never our home." Surprise lit up her Second and Third's faces, but neither made an effort to comment. "But we shall see where all this will take us."

"Do we ready for the meeting?" The Third piped.

It was a bad idea, but it was the only way to ensure-the only way to find her grandmother, who had hidden herself so well. Not a single of Manon's spies could find even a whisper of her. "We ready for war."

…

Manon stood next to Abraxos, watching from their position on the mountain side the clearing the meeting was to take place in. There were already a few sentries milling about, their stench a beacon that spread for miles. It was a terrible spot, for both parties, and Manon was sure that was the plan.

There were no signs of the weapon anywhere, but just to make sure Manon ordered a whole coven to patrol around them, to check for anything suspicious. Asterin stepped beside her, her own wyvern close by. "She's here."

Indeed, Manon spotted her grandmother from their spot, speaking with a few of the soldiers with a group of five witches guarding her. The witch was ready for war, with her signature staff at her side, her iron teeth glinting as she spoke, barking orders and issuing positions. Manon made no hint to hide away as those gold speckled eyes turned to her.

In her letter, her grandmother wished to 'make amends.'

Manon did not believe that for a second.

Still, she tried not to send animosity over, but she had learned all she knew from this witch and she was aware they were sizing each other up. Manon was sure her grandmother had thought of her as a threat from the moment Manon had been born and had a strategy to take her out if needed. Before the battle at Morath, when her grandmother had lashed out it had been an emotional attack, nothing controlled or planned about it. It would be harder for Manon to get away this time, not that she was planning to back down and run.

"We're clear," Sorrel muttered.

"Let's go."

…

"You seem prepared for a battle," the Matron commented as she surveyed Manon and her Thirteen-most of whom were spread strategically around in the form of a half-moon.

Manon didn't blink, didn't give anything away. "We both know you are no stranger to violence."

"We've all made mistakes." It was the closest thing to an apology Manon would get. Despite the Matron's uncaring nature when it came to emotional attachments, she had lost a weapon. A being she had honed and trained herself. It was hard to kill when you invested so much time and effort into someone.

The white-haired witch would make sure to play on that. "You said in your letter that you wished to 'make amends.' Prove it."

The Matron didn't smile, but her lips pulled up in disapproval. Despite the blatant disrespect, she spoke. "There is nothing to gain by being separated, granddaughter. What do we gain from an internal struggle like this when we have the power to destroy and conquer." The older witch's eyes narrowed. "All this is simply unnecessary."

If Manon had been anyone else, she would have barked out a laugh. Instead she crossed her arms, "if only you had felt the same way three weeks ago."

"Insolent-" Manon's eyes flashed, but the Matron wasn't looking at her. Trying to calm herself, the High Witch smoothed her features, her eyes going back to her granddaughter. "This 'discussion' is pointless. Let us reclaim our lands, Manon."

Asterin growled low beside Manon. "She needs us," the blonde muttered.

Manon didn't show that she heard, or even acknowledged the comment. "How can you expect to lead the Blackbeaks, if you consistently lie to your own heir?"

"What?" The Matron's hand twitched, her nails poised for a strike. Manon had never spoken to her in this way.

As an equal.

"You hid things from me."

"You cannot expect me to tell you everything that happens within every single coven-"

"I know what you did to Asterin."

There it was, Manon thought, the showing of teeth. But the rage was directed at Manon's cousin. "I should have killed you myself."

"Try it," Asterin shot back, her teeth on display as well.

Manon placed a hand in front of Asterin and her Second backed off immediately, the action a ruse made on purpose, to show their grandmother that her control over them was over. "I offer you a deal," Manon said.

The High Witch snorted, the insubordination threatening to break out her true character. If Manon or any of her Thirteen had spoken to her in this way before, there would probably be no Thirteen…or an heir. "A deal."

"Our goal was to reclaim our kingdom, but Perrington has different plans. What does he truly want out of all this?"

"Information." The High Witch nodded. "In exchange for what?"

"Our allegiance."

The Matron was stiff as she spoke. "Allegiance.' What does that mean exactly?"

"We will help you reclaim our kingdom, but once that is done, we will be free to go our separate ways."

"If these were older times you would be publicly lynched."

Manon didn't react, keeping her face neutral. "Good thing they are not."

The silence was jarring, neither witch refusing to back down, to look away. The wind changed direction, giving Manon a taste of the northern valleys. The smell of freedom beyond the Valg stench.

"Foolish girl," her grandmother said. Those gold-speckled eyes closed once. "So be it."

A screeching sound spread through the valley like a clash of swords, making all the witches step back and go for their ears. It was the first of a calculated attack that left Manon wondering how long it had been planned for. Valg soldiers burst from under the ground and sides of the ravine, dozens-no-a hundred.

This was set to be a massacre.

Since their hearing was compromised, Manon made a signal with her hand. As one the Thirteen rose, revealing weapons in smooth movements, taking up defensive positions around Manon. The mentioned one noticed how he grandmother removed fabric from her ears. It had all been a set-up. Manon wasn't sure how to feel, but she was not surprised.

Perhaps a deep, childish part of her had...hope.

Signaling her focus, reigning in her fury, Manon palmed wind cleaver as she met eyes with a number of soldiers heading her way. Ignoring the lack of sound, or the warm liquid falling from her ears, the Wing Leader signals once more. Attack.

Clashing with the soldiers was a wondrous feeling, a thrill in finally taking action against the soldiers who had lived among her sentinels, the ones who had taken Elide.

Slowly, sound returned to her, honing her already volatile temper into a weapon of mass destruction. As she slashed through limbs and black blood, she caught Sorrel beside her, and Asterin a few feet to her left. This was what she lived for, Manon thought, to hackle and slice and destroy.

The soldiers were falling left and right, not a single one could stand against her Thirteen. Not even her grandmother could stop them-

The High Witch raised her arm, slinking out of the way of Thea's blade, letting other witches protect her like the worm she was.

And then the Duke appeared-and locked eyes with Manon, smiling like he knew a secret.

…

The first of the creatures materialized as if from the mist itself, darkness seeping out of it, death incarnate despite the fact that Manon knew exactly what it was. The spawn of the witches and the Valg, creatures that were no more witch than the rock they stood on, abominations that reeked and clogged noses. A few of Manon's witches took steps back as a good dozen of them followed in. They were physically clumsy, but their power was suffocating.

Manon took charge, engaging with the spawn in a splash of darkness, easily sidestepping to avoid a swipe to her head. Honing Wing Cleaver, she grabbed on with both hands and sliced clean through the creature's body, watching as the halves crumpled to the ground. Immediately she engaged with two others, nodding to Vesta as she joined her side.

There was a grunt and a thud, but Manon couldn't afford to look away from her own opponents, trusting her witches to fight for themselves. As Manon slashed through another of the creatures, Vesta stepped close. "Look!"

The white-haired witch turned to the north, just as soon as the Duke laughed. A surge of darkness leaked out from his hands, and Briar screamed as it hit her. "Delta move three!"

As the twins took back Briar, the rest of the Thirteen formed a strategic circle around them in groups of two, Manon herself taking form beside Asterin as her cousin hacked down a creature's leg. A whistle from Sorrel was enough to alert the wyverns, who along with Abraxos, swooped down in a mix of screeches and wingbeats.

The Matron's own wyverns clashed with the Thirteen's and Manon had enough time to glance at how Abraxos engaged with a wyvern twice his size. With a growl, Manon signaled once more, having her Second and Third follow her, up to where the Duke was-to where her grandmother was.

Perrington saw her coming, but his smile merely widened. She smiled back, making sure her iron teeth were visible, letting him get a good look at the black goop on her cleaver.

"Come now Wing Leader," he told her, "let us see how powerful you truly are."

Manon didn't answer, but she kept staring, letting the Duke know that she would hack him apart the second she had the opportunity. From behind him, two Princes stood, both handsome, both wearing collars on their neck. It took Manon no time to figure out that these beings were going to attack her.

As they jumped down, others did the same. Ten if she counted right.

More than they had planned for.

The darkness ate up the whole ravine, turning day into night as screams erupted all around. Manon tried to locate the positioning of her Thirteen, to reconsider their strategy.

She dodged the attack before it came, stepping back and swiping Wing Cleaver. "Wing Leader," the Prince said, smiling charmingly as he looked at her. It took her a second to realize that there were three on her.

Asterin was forced back. "Manon!"

Grunting at the hit on her side, the mentioned one swung and weaved, glancing back in order to find backup. But she was far away, the soldiers and the other Princes pushing back at her witches, getting them away from her. This attack. This wasn't a killing mission, she realized.

The wyverns were screeching and moaning, she could tell some had retreated. The darkness was to get them out of the way first. There were also ten Princes but four were surrounding her, which meant she was a main target.

They didn't want to kill her.

Manon avoided another hit and she jumped over the shortest of the Valg, but still managed to get nicked on the shoulder by a swipe from him. Crashing into the ground, Manon rolled unto her back making a Prince miss a kick to her stomach, but not being able to do the same for the second one. Grunting, she dropped Wind Cleaver as she went for the boot and for once noticed the blue blood on her hands, the splotches she left behind on the floor.

As she struggled against the strength of the Valg, the Duke made his way toward them.

"Good job."

There is a sound like thunder and Manon thinks back, to the letter, to her planning, to the moment they entered the ravine.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Of course it had been a trap.

But when she had spoken to her Thirteen they had surmised that either one side perished or the other did. They had planned to conquer or die trying. But as the Duke looked down upon her, she knew there had been another plan brewing. A third outcome, one that did not involve the death or annihilation of a side.

Her grandmother had said that they would be in the same coven once they spoke, what had not been said was that Manon would have a choice in the matter.

"Do it now."

A quick blow to the side of the head knocked her out.

…And she woke up gasping, pain lacing up her head and arms. Manon can tell she's being dragged somewhere, somewhere dark, possibly underground. As her pants scrape against the rock floor, torches follow her movement-the shadows flickering past, helping her eyes adjust to the darkness.

With a surge of strength Manon rose up, blindly fighting against the two Valg soldiers holding her arms. Two more get on her immediately, enough to smash her face first into the ground. As she struggles, Manon hears a thick growl over the ringing in her ears. "Stubborn girl, I should have known better."

Her grandmother, and even though Manon can't raise her head to look up, she can feel and smell the Duke nearby, too. "She will do some good soon enough," he said. "Stand her up."

Against her will, with otherworldly force, the soldiers drag her forward and both her grandmother and the duke observed her closely. The older witch smiled. "You've always been too wild. Letting your emotions cloud your judgement. Just like your stupid mother."

Spitting out blood, Manon made sure to meet that gaze head on. "I'll make sure you suffer a death so horrible you beg me for it."

With a snarl, the High Witch grabbed at her face, her nails digging in so hard blood was drawn. "Soon enough, you'll be nothing but obedient."

Over her dead cooling corpse.

No more is said as her grandmother starts walking and Manon can't hold back the Valg who drag her forward once again, toward a large iron door at the end of the hall. The same door opens up preternaturally and the sound is the first thing that assaults her. Screams of pain and agony, voices begging to be released-to be killed. The second thing the Blackbeak notices is the smell, of blood, and gore and pain. The thick scent of fear and terror letting her know just how much she needed to get out.

She knew exactly where she was.

Livestock. That's what her grandmother had reduced her too.

Inside, not one of the Valg workers looked at them, continuing with their inhuman work, torturing naked witches on stone slabs, some with small bellies, others with large ones. A few, she could tell, were dead, having already given birth and not survived the ordeal. Her body iced over when she recognized one of those witches. "Imogen!"

"Hold her."

Roaring, Manon broke away from the Valg to her left, running to her sentinel, but being stopped halfway. The witch looked at her sadly, but didn't scream or try to fight back, didn't reach for Manon as the white-haired witch did to her. She had already given up the fight. And knew exactly what fate awaited her Wing Leader.

"No!"

Manon's grandmother intervened with a snarl, going up to her and grabbing her by the throat as four soldiers held her down, enough that her left wrist twisted violently. A crack followed. "Loyalty. Obedience. Brutality," the Matron tells her. "That is all I ever expected from you." Manon spit out a curse over both what was being said and her broken wrist. "That is what you will be."

As she is placed back on her feet, Manon surveyed the room, looking for others, feeling her chest clench as she recognized Kaya, Thea…feeling how her emotions burst through the cracks in her walls, cracks she didn't know existed until this very moment.

Three of the soldiers fall dead in no time, Manon moving so fast her head stops hurting, her ears stop ringing. But her broken wrist is useless, and there are too many of the Valg. They corner her again, dropping her on her knees in front of her grandmother who was surveying the carnage in disapproval. Let the High Witch kill her for it, Manon thought, let her end it all. Unable to move, Manon's grandmother looks toward the side.

"Bring in the other one. I want her to see this."

Manon groans out, in frustration and desperation, but no one looks at her and the many hands on her only grip tighter. Someone kicked the back of her legs, dropping her unto her knees making her notice how the light in front of her fixed on a single slab, a number of chains around it. She couldn't stop them, only stall, as they placed her upon it. Soon then, they will start to impregnate, unless she did something-anything.

"Manon!"

The sound caused her to let out a ragged breath and as the chains were placed, Manon found herself staring right into the gold-speckled eyes of her second. Asterin shakes her head, chained from head to toe-bloody and torn, but alive. "Asterin-"

"Enough."

The Duke himself stands before her, blocking his view of Asterin, placing a freezing hand on her forehead and another on her neck. "Let us begin."

"Watch closely," she hears her grandmother say, possibly to Asterin.

Not like this.

She was not going down like this.

"Relax," she's told and the tight chains on her arms draw blood as she pulls at them. The Duke pays no mind to her struggle, his hand now around her throat. "Bring them over."

Something clinks as the order is followed and Manon begins to feel her breathing quicken, her blood pounding in her ears. There was a way-there had to be a way out of this. With his free hand the Duke brings out something that makes Asterin yell out. A series of pleas and 'no's that Manon can't understand, not until her eyes fall on the collar in the Duke's hand.

She pauses and her grandmother moves closer. "Do you think I would reduce you to a measly breeding mare?" The witch reaches down, moving hair away from Manon's face. "You will obey me."

But Manon felt calm all over. She knew.

Those Princes, they couldn't control her. A collar would change nothing; her eyes were her power. They had a better chance at killing her-

The Duke began placing things next to her. Two collars, then four more-smaller ones. For her hands and feet.

No.

Then even smaller ones. She counted ten. For each finger.

Asterin was begging on her spot on the ground, her words a jumbled mess of incoherencies. Sobs raked her, joining in with the chorus in the background. But there was nothing Asterin could do. Nothing, Manon was realizing, she herself could do.

"This will not hurt," the Duke said as he took one of the collars and walked to the end of the slab. "Much."

The first collar snapped closed on her left ankle and Manon was immediately pulled into darkness. A male, disemboweled voice invaded her mind.

Wing Leader.

Wing Leader.

Manon.

She fought immediately and the thing screeched and hollered at her. She could destroy it, she realized, like Kaltain she could fight-

The second and third collar were placed, on her other ankle and her right wrist.

The blast of power was overwhelming and she felt herself lose touch with her legs, up to her knees. Instinct drove her, attacking the foreign entities with immortal strength as if the goddess herself was providing assistance. There was a maze of darkness, but she had been born within it, raised as a weapon-the chain holding her right hand snapped.

"Strong girl," she heard the Duke say, far away-muddled.

Another collar was placed and then her grandmother touched at her neck. "Two more."

Witchling.

Your mind is ours.

Your soul is null.

Fear settled in, deep and unforgiving and so strong Manon balked-sinking into a corner into her mind so far away the Princes inside the two collars on her neck had no trouble tearing down her walls, searching through her memories, tormenting and screeching.

You are nothing now.

A vessel.

The eyes of the Valg Kings are nothing-

Against so many of us.

A scream, she was screaming-in her head, outside she didn't know.

"Shush now," her grandmother tells her, whispered it right in her ear.

And she saw her mouth close, saw herself rise.

But she was still screaming.

…

Dorian shook his head, his heart beating furiously in his chest as the Duke smiled as he overlooked the battlefield. Three of the weapons were down, the mixed army of Terrasen and the Bluebloods doing the Wyrd's work in taking down Valg soldiers. Magicians and Fae helping in to prevent the Princes from using their mental abilities. Blackbeaks arriving in the nick of time, providing assistance where needed. No Thirteen or Manon, but Dorian wasn't worried about that.

The Duke was smiling, however.

"Perhaps it is time," the Blackbeak Matron barked and Dorian watched her jump up from the battle, landing gracefully on a platform holding one of the large mirrors next to the Duke. "My heir can turn this around."

Dorian stopped, not understanding the words. Heir? Did she mean Manon or had she named someone else? If it was Manon, had she decided rejoined her grandmother? After all the struggle from before, after the betrayal? It was true that contact with the Thirteen and good number of the Blackbeaks had been severed, no signs of the wyverns or sentinels, but this couldn't be the reason, could it?

"Come now."

A shockwave burst through the ground followed by a stream of darkness so deep, Aelin and Rowan had trouble dispersing it. The power was enormous, whatever controlled it fueled by fury so large, it was borderline incomprehensible. "What is it?!" Aelin asked as she brightened up the area, the fire she usually mastered looking more like a candle.

Rowan shook his head as he took out two soldiers. "I can't tell, it's too clouded."

There was no need to wait though, as the darkness dispersed even though the shaking of the ground continued, black sparks flying every which way. And with each step Manon Blackbeak gave, pebbles flew, leaves fell, and people backed away.

"No."

"By the Wyrd," Rowan whispered as his eyes narrowed.

Aelin took in a breath. "How many?"

"Six, but those rings."

Dorian looked her over, two collars on her neck, another at the end of each of her extremities and as the creatures controlling the Blackbeak heir raised her hand, he could see a ring on each finger.

"Get out of the way!" Rowan yelled out, his wind moving people and wyverns to the side.

Despite his effort, a thick wall of black sprouted from Manon's fingertips, cutting the ground, destroying trees and grass, and taking out a dozen soldiers in the way, witches included. Dorian fell to the ground, his knees buckling as people screamed. Manon slowly lowered her hand and her grandmother went to step next to her.

The eyes.

The Wing Leader's eyes were black as coal.

"Can we take her?" Aelin muttered.

"We need a distraction."

Was that how he looked under the control of the Valg? Hollow and…dead? Manon had circles under her eyes and the visible skin was pale, the veins on her inner wrist visible where the collars didn't cover.

The Duke was laughing, sounding nothing human and very much monster as he placed a hand on Manon's shoulder. "Again!"

The Blackbeak's eye twitched, but she followed through, raising her hand once more.

"She's in there, she must be," Dorian said, obsessively noting every twitch, every flinch she produced.

"The witch has six Valg Princes and ten soldiers within her," Rowan rebutted, while Aelin threw around orders, changing tactics to better suit this new threat.

"She helped me."

They shared a look and Rowan kept his face impassive. "It will kill you." Not a 'she' because Manon wasn't in control.

"We can find a way to break the collars."

Rowan shook his head, his anger being released into the wind to try and deflect another black wave. "There is no way."

Dorian stood up and was about to say that there surely was a way when something else caught his attention, actually a few somethings. A half dozen witches were running toward him, all of which he recognized. Dirty and looking like they received a heavy beating, but alive, Asterin stepped right next to them. "She's in there, somewhere deep, but she's in there."

Sorrel, the Third he remembered, looked at Asterin with some concern, but her voice was steady as she spoke. "There is a lot of power there, she needs to rest between blasts."

Dorian's eyes went for Manon, who had placed her hand back down and surely enough, her body swayed a bit to the side, the Duke giving her a look which suggested he was aware. "We get to her when she needs to rest," Dorian heard himself say, "then we'll take off the collars."

Rowan didn't speak, his eyes were on the witch-reading her movements, learning the patterns. Chaol, who ran up from the middle of the battlefield seemed to have heard what Dorian had said. "If we distract her we can get close and one of us can cut off her head."

A chorus of growls broke through over the sounds of the battle and the former Captain slinked back, but did not back down. "No, we'll get to her," Asterin said as she gripped the sword in her hand. "Give us an opportunity to get close and we get her."

Aelin reappeared while Rowan kept staring. "I've tried that before, even if Manon is in there, you won't be able to reach her."

"Not unless we break at least some of the collars," Rowan added, his eyes still on Manon.

Asterin groaned in exasperation, her worry palpable while the other witches looked toward the battle-toward their Wing Leader. "Aelin," Dorian began, catching the Queen's attention. "With our magic, could it be possible to burn the collars off?"

"Maybe, but I would probably burn the skin right off."

Rowan glanced at him. "Perhaps your magic. The ice might be able to break through, if you concentrate enough."

Maybe. Perhaps. Might be.

These were not words Dorian wanted to hear. Sorrel stepped next to him. "If you agree, we'll protect you while you try." He knew what she meant. The witches were aware that there was a big possibility that Manon was gone, but they were willing to die trying.

"Okay."

…

His hands were on her, getting on top as she fought against the hold from the others. Asterin was calling her name, telling her to fight back, to try and stay still. Dorian concentrated on his task, willing his power to coat his hands in ice and slowly placing them on the upper collar on Manon's neck.

A burst of energy came out of her, and Dorian felt cuts from debris rain around him. "I know you're in there," he told her while those black, soulless eyes met his. "Help me help you."

One of her hands found his wrist and Dorian yelled out in pain as her grip tightened. Sorrel tried to pry her away, but Manon was too strong. Dorian could feel the collar struggle to keep itself together as the cold became more intense. Asterin, Sorrel and the others were talking to her, sharing memories, telling her they cared-that they loved her.

Dorian groaned but didn't let go of the collar. "You can do it," he muttered, feeling the first crack in the stone, "fight it."

The first collar broke, cutting at his fingers, sending a ripple of darkness through them, pushing them back. But everyone was immediately back on track, Dorian once again placing his hands on the second collar, willing his magic to take over. Manon's other hand went for his left wrist and Dorian let out another groan of pain. The witches couldn't pry her fingers off and for the first time, Manon spoke.

"She is gone. We devoured her very soul. The witch is no more. Her spirit lies within the realms of old. The Kings feast on her being."

It was not her voice, not like anything he had ever heard before. It was something old and alien and bleak. A monster in the flesh. "Manon," he said, feeling as the bone in his right hand slowly cracked. "Help me."

The creature growled and Dorian cried out again. But the grip actually lessened and those black eyes flashed gold. Sure he had imagined it, Dorian didn't address it, but Asterin had seen it, getting right in Manon's face.

"You are stronger than they. Fight back, hold out!"

The collar broke and Manon let out a gasp before yelling out.

"No!"

The witches were on her again, while Dorian scrambled to his feet, going for the leg closest to him. A blast of darkness shot out of her hand, narrowly missing his arm, but surely causing destruction behind him. He paid no mind to the Duke or the Blackbeak Matron, both of whom were trying to get to them, both of whom were being held back by the Queen and Rowan.

It was easier to break the one on her other ankle, easier to hold her down.

"Just a little more," he heard Sorrel say, "hold still a little longer."

Someone grunted, but Manon pulled through, her body trembling at the struggle no doubt happening within her mind. As he moved to one of her hands, Dorian chanced a look at her face. Gold sparkled through, the color brightening with each passing second. Dizzy at the focus, the King grabbed the fifth collar, hoping her hand wouldn't flash out and strike him in the neck.

But the stone wasn't breaking and Dorian struggled to keep the power contained. "It's not working," he gasped as the black band itself seemed to fight back in order to protect itself. Sorrel cursed.

Once again, Dorian looked up-only to meet pitch black staring right back. "Death will be your only release."

All of them were blown back, the force so great, Dorian barely had time to send out a shield of ice to protect himself. As he fell unto his back, Manon got to her feet. Tired and drained he watched as she pointed her hand at him. "Foolish boy."

But nothing came out and Manon stiffened, the only sign of power a small spark that crackled from her fingertips. A deep groan, in her voice, sounded and Dorian found himself scampering to his feet as Manon fell on her knees. Her eyes closed as a she placed her hands on her head.

The witches went beside her, but Dorian got there first, placing a hand on the collar around her right wrist. It broke as easily as paper and he grabbed her hand, splaying her fingers in an effort to take out the rings-but they were breaking off on their own, black dust being swept away by the wind in timed motions. A look to her other hand showed the same thing, the last one breaking apart after two cracks.

Manon sagged, Asterin catching her as she crumpled to the ground. Turning her around, even Dorian sighed in relief as pure gold shown from her eyes. "Hey," Asterin whispered as she wiped away stray blood from her Wing Leader's face.

"Asterin…"

He had never heard something more beautiful, not an instrument, not a bird song, not even his own mother's voice when he was a child and had woken up from a nightmare.

"Get me up."

His thoughts stopped right there and he was beside them in an instant. "Everything's being taken care of," he told her carefully, "you don't have to fight."

Their eyes met and recognition flashed through hers, as if she knew he had helped her. "My grandmother-"

"We understand," Sorrel told her, giving Dorian a look that spoke a clear 'do not intervene' he was reluctant to obey.

Slowly, Manon rose to her feet, her witches beside her. Six of them, he counted, only six of her Thirteen remained. "Attack flank three," the Wing Leader ordered, her voice like fine iron. Feeling as the strain of his magic took his toll, Dorian watched as the Blackbeak Matron and a few Yellowleg witches turned to them.

The clash was instantaneous, and he marveled at how Manon handled herself after being in control of the Valg. She was so strong, he thought, as she slashed through an opponent with brutal accuracy. What would happen once all this was over? Once Erawan and the High Witch were gone?

Aelin and Rowan had separated the duo, letting Manon and the remaining members of her Thirteen take care of the High Witch, while they went for the Duke.

Dorian stood up as a Valg soldier approached him. Breathing out, the King palmed his sword, testing the weight as he prepared to engage. It was easy to defend himself, despite the strain on his magic, the changed tone in the battlefield gave him strength. As he took down a pair of soldiers, Dorian couldn't help but glance at the fight happening between the witches.

Manon and her grandmother were caught in a clash that would be sung about for generations, the way they moved and danced around each other a clear evidence of the same type of upbringing. The rest of the Thirteen were around them, keeping soldiers back, letting Manon take care of her grandmother alone.

It was mesmerizing to watch as nails flashed around each other, the Matron's teeth out as she tried to catch her granddaughter off-guard. But Manon was fast-and she had a score to settle, evidenced by the way she sent a blow that could cripple grown men. The grandmother collapsed, perhaps because she wasn't as trained, or motivated.

Manon moved with deathly grace, reading her opponent's moves seemingly before they happened, dodging and avoiding with the flexibility of a ghost leopard. The High Witch knew what was going on, which is why she tried to move back, why she held up her arm as the Wing Leader was about to give the final blow.

"Manon," she breathed and though Manon stopped it wasn't in hesitation. There was no emotion on her face, but calculated rage. "I beg of you, let me live."

The heir bared her teeth, stepping closer, her bloodied hand loose on her Wing Cleaver. "You would grovel for your life?"

The Matron nodded, on her knees now, her hands raised in penitence. "Have mercy."

Manon breathed out and as she got closer and closer to her grandmother, she spoke up. "Obedience. Discipline. Brutality." A pause and the Matron did not move, only muttering things. "And yet you ask for mercy?"

"Please."

Manon surveyed the battle field, the way Aelin and Rowan fought Erawan. They were winning. "Asterin."

Her Second came up beside her, her eyes and hair as wild as the wyvern she rode upon. Her eyes were on the Matron, but there was no discernible emotion there, only a mix of things that Dorian couldn't identify. Manon signaled forward. "Do what you want."

The High Witch, in her dirty-torn clothes, her hair a mess, her eyes opaque-shook her head. "You wouldn't dare."

Asterin glanced at her new Matron, waiting for a second confirmation. When Manon nodded, the blonde turned back to their grandmother. Asterin tested her sword as she stepped forward. The High Witch had no time-no way to defend herself-

As Asterin drove her blade through her chest.

So there are a few things we can talk about.

Would the collars truly work on Manon? Not sure, but I explored the possibility here. Hopefully, it sounds plausible.
Could magic break them like Dorian did here? It's never explicitly explained that it can't.
Did Rowan and Aelin defeat Erawan? Yes, and all the Valg were taken care of too. Why did Asterin finish off the Matron instead of Manon? Despite the fact that Manon has suffered under her grandmother there are a few reason as to why she would let Asterin finish it off. Manon fought and defeated her grandmother, getting what she wanted in the end in that respect. The High Witch lied to Manon, but the one who suffered 'the most' was Asterin whom the grandmother has proven time and again she does not like. It would be not only fair to Asterin, but a humiliation on part of their grandmother. So why not let her?
How did the witches escape the Matron and the Duke? I'm not entirely sure, but not all of them survived the escape and it hurt them a lot not to take Manon with them. About half of the wyverns survived too, including Abraxos, I just didn't mention it.
Did you expect this third part? No? Surprise surprise.
Will there be a fourth part? No. Also, remember that this trilogy is not connected to my other one-shots which means all of the Thirteen are alive and well outside of them. I hope I gave it a good closing.

Give me feedback please, I worked hard.

HighbornCrab – I can't say for sure, but I hope you are content with what I've written so far.

MarijaV/ Guest / Crescentclaw – You all thought she was pregnant? Haha. It was tempting to write that in I guess, but we all know how smart Manon is. She would definitely plan ahead. Glad to see you all enjoyed it.

Guest / jadegreen343 / Miranda / Guest – Really happy with all of your reviews! It's nice to write cute/fluffly one-shots and knowing people liked them! I'm glad you like my writing too!

Lady Elvira – I had the urge to write Manon a little less like marble and the only way to make it probable was to have her have a shitty period. I don't think the witches (see: Asterin) minded too much that Dorian wanted to separate himself from them which is why they didn't really try hard to break down the wall. On the case of Dorian riding alone, this isn't the first (or last) time he went to the mountain. Perhaps he was accompanied until the base of the it? And yes, Blackpeak Mountain because they are Blackbeaks, get it? I'm bad at puns.

Thank you to each and every one of you, reading these reviews really make my day!

I hope you enjoyed!