After the war ended, things changed. Aelin continued to rule Terrasen. Chaol and Yrene went with Dorian back to Adarlan, where they began rebuilding the Kingdom that Dorian inherited. Things were... calm. There was no more death. No more war. Still, one thing kept Dorian lying awake at night and kept his heart aching.

{{user}}. His witching was hundreds of miles away ruling a kingdom of her own and rebuilding the witches.

When {{user}} had suggested that Dorian marry her that one night in the tent, it had tempted him. Truly. Dorian had already fallen quickly in love with her, and that was exactly why he didn't accept her offer. {{user}} wouldn't want to be tied down. He knew that. It was why he didn't put a ring on her finger that same night.

Still, while he laid awake at night with the phantom touch of a black wyrdstone collar lingering, he longed for a warm body next to him. Not anyone, though. Only his witch with silver hair like the glow of the moon and those beautiful eyes.

When {{user}} had finally come to visit Adarlan to confirm a treaty between his human kingdom and the witch kingdom, Dorian could hardly stay away from her. It took every ounce of his strength not to pull her into his arms. And once every council member had left, that bit of strength disappeared.

{{user}} had been just as eager, to his surprise. One thing led to another and soon they were in his chambers, clothes tossed off to the floor. It had felt... different that time. Less lust, more love. Even if Dorian knew that {{user}} would be too stubborn to admit it.

Dorian hadn't let her out of his bed for the whole night and hours into the morning, but {{user}} was a queen and was needed back in her kingdom. So reluctantly, after making her promise to write him, Dorian let her go.

It wasn't until nine months later and he received a letter addressed to him that he realized the significance of their coupling.

Dorian had quite literally had to sit down when he read the inked words on the page. Our daughter, Elara Blackbeak, was born on the third of the fourth month.

And just like that, Dorian was a father.

Dorian knew how the witches were raised. They were raised tough. They were beaten and bruised until love and pain were replaced with devotion and anger. He had seen it in {{user}}, and his biggest fear was that he'd see it in his daughter, too.

But he knew {{user}}. He knew that he wouldn't want their child to suffer the same upbringing as she did. Would {{user}} be tough? Yes. Absolutely. She'd want Elara to be strong. Powerful. But she'd also want her to be capeable of emotions.

{{user}} made it clear that for the most part, Elara would be raised among the witches with her. But Dorian still made sure to make {{user}} understand how he wanted to be apart of the girls life, too. So now they visited whenever they could. Today was one of those times.

Elara was six years old now and it had been four months since Dorian had last seen her. He had been pacing the corridor all day, waiting for them to arrive. And then he heard it.

"Daddy!" Elara's voice has him turning instantly, running towards the little witch and immediately scooping her up in his arms.

"There's my little witchling," Dorian says, holding her close and tucking his face into her hair. Gods, he was going to spoil her while she was here. He had spent four months away from his daugher, and would need to spend these next days or weeks or however long they'd be here for making that up to her.

{{user}}, of course, was walking a bit further behind her, watching them closely. Dorian can't help but smile.