Chapter Text
Olwynn can still feel the frost from the dragon’s breath; chilled to the bone even after their time in the river and her hot bath. Shivering, she steps out of the tub, quickly wrapping a towel around herself in an effort to keep the cold at bay before gently picking up a jar of orange blossom-scented balm.
Her scars ached.
As Olwynn warms it in her hands—the shopkeeper had claimed it would soothe all sorts of old wounds—her ears perk up.
They’re in her room again. She can tell by the shuffling and muffled argument on the other side of the ensuite door. The cleric sighs, continuing on with her nightly ritual.
They’d be out waiting for her whether she liked it or not.
…
It started after she made her first boon with Savras: Clairvoyance in exchange for her right little finger. Aelin had witnessed it—the ritual… the burning. Perhaps if Olwynn had been a bit more clearheaded, she would’ve had the astral elf look away until it was over; spared the other woman from the sight of a god taking his due.
But she was already tired and shaky and anxious enough from the Hunter’s Mark Dayne had placed on her to keep them in contact and from showing the other two her hand scars, so she didn’t.
And now Aelin sneaks into her room every few nights to… well. She’s not really sure what.
Sometimes she’s obvious about it, already lying on Olwynn’s bed and twirling a dagger between her fingers when the half-elf comes out of her ensuite.
“You took a while.”
Olwynn nearly drops the balm cradled in her hands, a small luxury she’d afforded herself from the last marketplace they stopped at. It had cost most of her pay from the previous mission—nearly 20 gold—but with room and board covered by their patrons and a steady income, the cleric had felt comfortable splurging for the first time in her life.
Of course, it would’ve been a waste if she dropped the thing.
Aelin lounges casually, the smirk Olwynn knows is on her face hidden as purple eyes roam up and down her frame. “I was starting to get worried, you know.”
The cleric frowns, tugging her robe tighter around her with one hand and setting the balm onto the desk with another. Her palms were one thing, but the rest of her body… she’d have to start bringing the extra covering in with her every night at this rate. “How long have you- why are you in here?“
“You didn’t answer when I knocked.” The rogue shrugs, effortless and disinterested. “Like I said… I was worried.”
The half-elf looks over warily. “Well… I was washing up. And frankly, after today…” she sighs, rubbing her temple. Her right pinky itches. “Was there something you needed, Aelin?”
The astral elf tilts her head, regarding Olwynn once more before pushing herself off the bed and slipping out the door.
Other nights, Olwynn just feels a prickle on the back of her neck and the sense that someone is watching her from the darker corners of her room until she falls asleep.
“Please don’t break my lock,” Olwynn asks softly—pleads, really—into the dark, comforter pulled up to her neck and facing the wall.
The night is still; though if she strains her ears enough, she can hear the soft rumbles of Lorin’s snores or the quiet mutterings of Dayne’s night terrors. Somber constants in an ever-changing dungeon. She swallows.
“I know you’re good at what you do- I trust you. I trust our friends,” the cleric whispers. “I just… I don’t trust the… others… here.”
The room is silent for a long moment. Perhaps the elf had left already.
“…I won’t,” the darkness whispers back. “I promise.”
In any case, she expects Aelin’s presence in some form or fashion most nights. It’s.. comforting, oddly enough. To have someone looking out for her without judgment.
The consequence of this ‘arrangement’ of sorts, however, is Dayne.
…
Olwynn is many things. She’s a sister, a daughter, a former prodigy. But the one thing she is not is stupid.
There had been this… weird blur of time at Greg’s tavern after she stepped into the storage room and before her stomach had settled enough from the past ten minutes to let Aelin through where she’d overheard a drunken confession waft in from the barroom.
She’s shaking. She can’t stop shaking.
Staring down at her hands, Olwynn feels herself getting sick. Her right pinky, burnt down to merely a stub—blacked by the force of the deal she was making.
As she stands there, trying to pull herself together, bits and pieces of a one-sided conversation waft her way.
“I just don’t know what to do, Gregster…” she hears Dayne slur. He’s… drunk. Drunker than she’s ever seen him in their short acquaintance. “Because, if Aelin likes me… what do I do?”
Her breath catches, head swirling towards the still-closed door leading into the tavern.
“Because the girl that I like… she’s still out there, y’know?” The paladin continues, “And like, if, you know, if we were to reunite… which. That’s the whole fucking point man, if we reunite what do I say?”
The words, along with other puzzle pieces she’d collected along the way—a muttered “Aelin and I were… talking last night...” here, a sly “You’re my competition” there, their touches, their teasing—click into place like Greg’s door-lock.
Dayne, whether he knows it or not, is falling in love with Aelin.
Just like she is.Glancing up towards the scrying orb she’d created, Olwynn can feel an odd sort of amusement emanating from it, as palpable to her as its glow.
Perhaps this, too, was part of her punishment.
Her future had flashed before her eyes in the seconds it took her to let the rogue in. They’ll finish all this, whatever this really is. Maybe the paladin wins his Rose back. (She truly hopes he does, selfishly and selflessly at the same time). Maybe he doesn’t.
But in the end, none of that mattered. She’s not stupid.
There is no world in which Dayne is an option in which Olwynn is chosen first.
…
Except...
Except now when Dayne needs to talk to Aelin after a mission he comes to Olwynn’s room first.
There’s three sharp knocks at her door, one after the other in rapid succession.
The cleric’s head whips towards the noise, eyes widening. In her peripherals, she can see Aelin pushing up onto her elbows, her left hand inching towards the dagger strapped to her thigh.
“Olwynn?” A voice calls out, somewhat concerned, before knocking thrice again. “Olwynn, you in there?”
A breath of relief escapes her as she pushes back from the desk, instinctively tightening the cord around her robe. After peeking through a small crack in the door to quickly confirm her suspicions, the half-elf opens it enough to poke her head out just as the paladin attempts to knock another time.
“Dayne?” She asks, concern filling her voice as she opens the door wider to step out. “Is everything alright?”
He’s… well. Frankly, he looks a wreck; from the hair stuck to his forehead to the bags under his eyes, his expression is somewhere between dazed and sick, almost like he’s either not fully there or he’s about to throw up. It seems to take the paladin a moment to register her presence, but once he does, Dayne braces himself on the doorjamb, resting his forehead on his arm. He lets out a short, shaky breath.
“Okay, two, okay,” he mutters, eyes closed. “Where the fuck is she…?”
“Dayne?”
“Hey, have you seen Aelin?” The paladin rushes out, lifting his head suddenly and meeting her eyes. They’re frantic, scared in a way she’d never seen from him before. “Have- I checked her room she’s not there, do you know where she is?”
Olwynn feels a cold, familiar hand on her lower back and moves out of the way to just… watch. She watches as Aelin steps past her and into the hall in front of Dayne. Watches as the anxiety melts from his expression, leaving one of pure relief. Watches as Dayne lifts a hand, shaky and unsure, towards Aelin’s braid; almost touching it before his face closes off and he pushes past her back to his room. Watches as Aelin blushes—fully visible without her mask—unable to meet her eyes.
“It’s late,” the cleric states after a long moment. “Maybe you should go.”
Aelin, still flushed, nods her head sharply and closes the door.
Leaving Olwynn behind.
She doesn’t move from her spot by the door until she hears the familiar noise of a lock being picked from down the hall.
It doesn’t happen often—not as often as Aelin comes to visit—but it’s often enough that she can recognize a pattern when she sees it. It’s a strange ritual she doesn’t quite comprehend: Aelin comes searching after her, Dayne comes searching after Aelin, and neither of them leaves until…
Well, she’s not really sure until what.
But somehow, Olwynn’s room has become a base for the two of them to debrief, as though they’ve decided she is neutral ground. She doesn’t know if she likes it or hates it.
She doesn’t seem to know a lot of things lately.
It makes her nervous, not knowing herself.
Then again… has she ever?
…
Checking her robe one last time, Olwynn takes a deep breath before swinging open the door.
On her bed, as expected, sit Aelin and Dayne, who turn their heads towards her simultaneously. It would be funny, almost, if it didn’t do something funny to her stomach at how in tune they are with each other.
What isn’t expected, however, is how… comfortable… they look.
She’s seen Dayne in this outfit before—sweatpants and a compression undershirt, runes etched into his skin visible—but Aelin… well. Frankly, the first thing she notices is that the elf isn’t covering her arm. Olwynn knows she should hate the sight of it, hate the artificial magic and what it represented for their world, but she can’t help but find it… intriguing. Fascinating, even.
Privately, she wishes she had the confidence—or perhaps, was it trust?—to show her own scars so openly. But with scars come questions, questions she knows she won’t have answers for; not the ones they’d be satisfied with anyway.
The second thing she notices is that Aelin’s hair is down. It cascades freely down her back, almost golden in the candlelight. This strikes her as odd, even more so than her manaforged arm or minimal pajamas.
She blinks, trying to remember if she’d ever seen the elf without her hair braided in its intricate patterns.
“Took you long enough,” the rogue says, a small smirk on her face. “What were you… getting up to in there?”
Dayne snorts, and Aelin shoots him a conspiratorial grin.
Briefly, Olwynn considers responding—briefer still considers kicking them both out of her room—but all that escapes her mouth when she opens it is a deep sigh.
The elf’s face softens almost immediately. “Hey,” she mutters, brows furrowed. “You okay?”
The cleric shrugs, setting the balm on her desk as she sits down. Olwynn can feel their eyes on her while she thumbs through her parchment, but… what is there to say?
“I have some… reading to do,” she eventually settles on replying. A non sequitur, but the only truth she can say. “I don’t mind if you stay, though.”
Olwynn doesn’t wait for a response from either of them, instead pulling a tome snagged from the Library they’d freed towards her and opening it. The room is eventually filled with the sounds of quills scratching on parchment and soft conversations, and the cleric lets herself drift into the peace and quiet.