Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prologue
Aelin hissed through her teeth as she eyed Terrasen in the distance.
The once beautiful city, looked coated in shadows.
The army in the distance was standing rigidly, not moving an inch.
She knew they could see her.
She could feel the eyes of the Valg watching. She gnawed her lip as she held tightly to the neck of the Lord of the North.
She felt the absence of Rowan like a gnawing void. She shoved down the darkness inside her. Pushing it deep beneath her abyss of flames.
She could still feel the bond between them, faint though it was. As long as it was still there, there was air in Rowan’s lungs.
“Hold on,” she thought, “Don’t die before I get to dramatically rescue you.”
With that, she refocused on her people, her kingdom.

Her companions were right behind her, but Chaol and Dorian rode alongside.
The three of them had started all of this.
It was fitting they led the end of it.

She raised Goldryn high, letting the last glimmers of sunlight catch the stone shimmering in the blade, then illuminated it in flames.
The Queen of Terrasen had returned.

Aedion whooped from the castle walls, as he spotted his cousin leading a charge.
“Right on time,” he grinned, turning to Lysandra.

She smirked at him, before pointing to the west.
‘Do you think they planned this?”

Flaming cloaks caught the air, and the army whooped as Manon led her people, the lost Crochans, towards Terrasen.
Lysandra nudged Aedion, drawing his attention away.
“Sometimes I wonder if Aelin just has blackmail on all of them so they help her.” She said, her green eyes crinkled at the edges.
Aedion chuckled as he readied his shield, his first laugh, in-in a while.
“I wouldn’t put it past my cousin.”

He refocused on the shadowed army in the distance. 
They hadn’t moved since the attack at sundown yesterday. It was as if they were waiting for someone.
He glanced at his cousin, burning a like a falling star as she rode toward them.
Was she, burning the ground beneath her?

“General!” A voice called to his right, a man held a telescope out to him.
It wasn’t fire it was-.
Oh.
King’s Flame.
“Maybe Queen’s Flame now though,” he thought semi-deliriously.

“FOR TERRASEN!” His cousin roared.
“FOR TERRASEN!” They echoed.

Aelin leaped off of the Lord of the North, bowing to him as she turned to face the army.
The shadows were oppressive, even from this distance.
Dorian rested his hand on her shoulder, not bothered by the heat coming off her, his eyes fixated on the Crochans in formation above them.
“Together?”
“Together.”

One, final time they linked their hands together, and stepped forward.

“MAEVE.” Aelin demanded.
“ERAWAN.” Dorian roared at the same time.

It was time to end it all.
Manon unleashed Wind-Cleaver behind them, the only sound being the sound of her blade.

Then, the army parted.
Aelin and Dorian continued moving forward, but the charge for battle had not yet begun.
Fenrys watched the parting, his eyes yellow like a wolf.
“Aelin.” He said, his voice carrying to the Queen, “Something is wrong.”

Aelin merely gritted her jaw, her eyes blazing like twin coals, while Dorian’s eyes were as dark and frozen as a glacier.

An individual walked through the horde, coated in black.
Dorian recoiled at the sight of it.

Aelin continued stepping forward, and now everyone followed behind.

One step.
One step.
One step.

The warrior walked alone past the army. Aelin watched as it prowled toward them. There was something distinctly feral about the way it moved.
Dorian squeezed her hand in warning.
“No matter what face it wears, no mercy.”
Aelin squeezed back.
“No mercy.”

The warrior was only a few hundred paces away from them, the army flanked out behind Aelin.
Two shadows formed into Maeve and Erawan, either side of the cloaked figure.

‘Is this your champion, you Valg-fucking bitch?” Aelin spat at Maeve, who smiled viscously, her lips red.

Lorcan and Fenrys unsheathed their blades, the ring of steel a threat as much as it was a promise.

“Don’t you recognise our beautiful champion Aelin?” Maeve purred, cocking her head like an owl.
“I recognise that you murdered yet another innocent for your own fucking gain.”
Aelin’s voice was cold and harsh, but she let go of Dorian’s hand, her magic burning and twisting, fear coiling in her stomach and all she could see was an iron mask locking her away.

Erawan’s golden eyes glimmered briefly as he eyed the Queen’s Flame in Aelin’s footprints.

And with that, the warrior took off his hood.
Aelin’s blood turned to ice in her veins.

The collar.
The motherfucking collar.

Green eyes glimmered at her once, catching the last echoes of the sunlight.
No.
Aelin could feel herself ripping once again at the edges as she stared at the warrior.
As flames of white and gold coated her hands, her magic going wild.

Rowan.

Dorian watched Aelin’s minuscule flinch.
He had felt something was off.
Sure, there was the whole foreboding sense of existential dread, but he had grown up in a palace with a Valg, even if he hadn’t known it at the time. The look on Maeve’s face when she had appeared behind the warrior had clued him in.

But Aelin?
She loved fiercely, and Rowan was her- well Dorian didn’t exactly understand their relationship (nor did he want to, they seemed very horny whenever they were together), but he knew how he’d be feeling if it was Manon or Chaol in front of them.
He sheathed his hand in ice, and cool winds, and gently took her hand, lacing their fingers together.
She needed to be grounded for this.
Hell, he needed to be grounded of this.
Erawan was wearing his cousin’s face.
He hadn’t noticed him missing until he was gone.
Dorian wasn’t going to lie, at least not to himself.
It hurt.

They had been family once (always).
And for him, he would make Erawan’s death quick.

He refocused back to the matter at hand, drawing his eyes away from Roland’s face with Erawan’s eyes.
They still had to deal with the Wyrdkeys that were dangling from Aelin’s neck.
Aelin’s eyes flicked to him, then to the collar around Rowan’s neck.

“Breathe Aelin.” He murmured, eyes not moving from Rowan, “You can’t save him if you are not one hundred percent here.”
Aelin’s brow furrowed, and she clenched her jaw, and nodded tightly.

Maeve grinned wider.
And then, faster then Dorian could follow, Aelin unsheathed Goldryn, and lunged for Rowan’s heart.
Dorian immediately went for Erawan.
Aelin spared one look for Fenrys and Lorcan, nodding at Maeve.

And then it began.

Both sides broke out into a sprint, and bodies and shadows and husks collided and fell and leapt.
Dorian focused on his battle.
He just hoped Aelin knew what she was doing.

Aelin could feel the Wyrdkeys burning into her skin as she dipped into her magic, turning Goldryn from a deadly blade into a fiery death.
She had to fight Rowan.
And she had to win.
Rowan’s familiar magic was harsh and cold and lethal, the Valg Prince inhabiting him was mimicking his movements to hurt her.
He was a parasite she would rip out and burn alive, burn him slowly.
She didn’t notice how she truly became her power, the flames coating her armour, and hair, until one could no longer separate them.

But she didn’t unleash herself.
She was saving that for one Valg-bitch queen.
And she would make it burn.

She lunged and spun, not giving Row- the Valg time to get in edgewise, she knew how Rowan’s body ticked, and the Valg didn’t know her.
But then, the Valg, blew her back with a powerful gust of icy wind, lethal shards of ice blew at her, melting in her fiery corona.
He turned and ran for the castle.
It was like he was hunting for someone.
Then she saw Lysandra’s dragon, taking down wyvern after wyvern.
She was powerful.
But she didn’t stand a chance against the ancient Fae warrior now populated by a demon.
Aelin glanced around her, slicing through enemies as she fought her way toward Lorcan.
He didn’t seem to see the shadows licking and coiling around him, rendering the magical attacks useless.
“Huh,” Aelin thought, as she decapitated another Valg, slicing across the neck, “I guess those world-forsaken gods can be useful.”

She knew that she was abandoning Lysandra.
But Aedion and Gavriel were there.
They had to be.

If Maeve and Erawan got their hands on the Wyrdkeys, they would loose everything.
Lorcan’s head snapped towards her, and his eyes lightened with understanding as he moved.
She yanked the keys off her neck, and handed them to her once enemy, and now, maybe a friend.

An ally she could trust to keep these out of Maeve’s hands as long as there was air in his lungs.
“You need to take these and go.” She said, grabbing his armour and pulling him close, latching the key around his neck.
“If they get them, we loose.” Aelin refocused on the battle, but both Maeve and Erawan were pulling back, allowing their canon fodder to break them down.

Lorcan stared as his queen, trusted him with the Wyrdkey.

“May your god save you!” She hissed, “Now go!”

Lorcan.
He had never once turned his back on a battle. 
There were songs and poems praising his prowess, how he would fight until his last breath.
He turned.
And ran, shadows licking at his heels, trusting that if his God wanted anything, it would be to return home.
With that, he left the battlefield.

Aelin watched as the silvery shadows she had begun to associate with Lorcan coiled around him, and he vanished.

She then unleashed a firestorm on all those around her, burning and incinerating as the heaviness, the burning of the Wyrdkey was gone.

Then she heard a gut-wrenching scream, and turned to see Rowan impale Gavriel, before tossing his body aside to continue toward Lysandra.

Her friend.
She was bleeding, still in dragon form but-.

By Mala the Fire-Bringer.
Lysandra was missing a leg.
Aelin saw the Crochans clash and fight with the wyverns.
She saw a group of twelve take down a witch tower, with a blinding light.

But she didn’t see any of that.
She saw her love try to kill her sister.

Aedion felt his breath stutter as his father fought Rowan, trying to save his- Lysandra.
And he saw him fall.
But he was stuck on the walls, leading his men.
The roar of battle surrounded him, the clash of steel on steel, of flesh slicing flesh.
He lost himself in the bloodlust of it all. Forcing his thoughts away from his father.
His father who tried to make amends.
“I forgive you,” he thought, as the Wolf took over.
The Wolf could lead.
Aedion needed to grieve.

“Don’t falter!” he roared, his grief and anger intermixing, “FOR TERRASEN!”
With that the Wolf jumped off the wall, and slaughtered them, carving a path toward Rowan.
Or what was Rowan.
It would die.
It had to, and therefore it shall.

Aelin ran.
She could see her cousin (the only part of her once family) heading toward Rowan.
She knew that Erawan and Maeve had retreated back into enemy lines.
Dorian was holding the line like a man possessed.
She couldn’t see Fenrys.
Or Chaol.
But she spotted Yrene.
And she knew what she needed to do.

The Wolf dived in front of Rowan, holding his sword up.
Those weeks of training against the warrior, learning him. They would have to be enough.
But, as they spar-fought. He realised just how much the warrior held back on a daily basis.
And even The Wolf of the stories could not keep up with that and defend himself against the magic. Not against an ancient Fae Warrior. Not against Rowan.
Even being this close to the Valg was crushing him, his brain repeating and swirling through his worst memories.
His mother screaming.
His ribs being crushed.
The king of Adarlan.
Relishing in death.
Corpses of friends lay at his feet as he walked through the carnage of battle.

The Wolf stumbled. Aedion blinked.
And then he felt his ribs burning, cutting into his lungs. He gasped, fighting for air as Rowan knocked him to the ground. He saw Rowan glance at Lysandra then smiled sadistically. His head thunked on the ground. 
Hard.

The warriors once green eyes were now fully black. Anything human left in him was gone.
Aedion choked on the blood, lying on his back, he could’t breathe.
His ears were ringing hard, and everything was blurring.

He really wanted to close his eyes, but he couldn’t abandon Aelin.
Not again. 
Not after everything.
He lifted his sword as Rowan raised his for the killing blow.

Then a burning sensation shoved him away from Rowan, and he could hear a voice begging him to stay with her.
Those light green mischievous eyes.
“I-I pushed you away,” he choked, blood splattering her face. 
She could wear any face.
He loved her in every way, every form.
“I lost too many, and when I realised how I felt, and A-Aelin was g-gone, I took it out on you.’
She as shushing him, clutching him tightly.
“I h-have to finish,’ he murmured, his eyelids fluttering, but he was desperately focusing on her face. He didn’t want to die without seeing her face fully.
“It was w-wrong. You are strong, and beautiful and b-brilliant, and I-I’m sorry for, for everything I did to make you feel lesser.”

Lysandra let out a choking laugh, as she bent her head down.
“You can’t die,” she whispered, as her floral shifting scent filled his lungs mixing with the blood there, settled into his mind, his heart, his very soul.
“You have to make me a princess remember? I demand a fancy tiara.”
Aedion smiled, his teeth bloody.
“When this is over, you can have any tiara you want. Anything you want.”
She smiled at him.
“As long as you’re the one giving it to me.”

Aelin saw Lysandra, (oh Mala, her leg) grab Aedion.
She pushed Rowan back, blasting the shadowed winds and umbra-coated ice.
“Do you remember when we were first fighting the Valg?” She yelled.
“You were behind the barrier. I was lost in the whirlwind of the shadows. And I could hear you fighting to get to me. In that moment,” she ducked to the side, narrowly avoiding his blade, “I heard myself, fighting to get to Sam. And I told myself I wouldn’t let you go through that again.”
The Valg growled at her, his voice a raspy mimic of Rowan’s, “Stop talking you fire-breathing bitch.” He kicked her hard in the ribs.
She used the momentum to land in a flip, hearing a crack by her ankle, but the adrenaline was pounding through her system.
“Then you pushed through the barrier to get to me. And you smiled, that gods-damned smile, as we linked our hands together.” She let out a rough chuckle, “Remember on the ship? When you jumped in front of me, even though you knew I had a literal goddess inside me. You knew I wouldn’t let her hurt you. Never you.”

His eyes flickered, between the soulless black and that green, green as the pine trees that decorated her kingdom.
The green she loved. The green of home.
“And I know,” she continued, even as the Valg inside her love screamed at her to stop talking, “That even now, you’re fighting. That you are fighting every step, every moment. And, oh gods Rowan. I love you,” she could feel the tears pouring down her face as she pushed him back, as she burned him.
“Remember Rowan,” she said, “You do not yield.”
She pushed him back finally into Yrene.
And the demon began to scream once more.

Chaol was watching.
He was still astride his horse, and Aelin and Yrene didn’t notice.
But he saw the spider.
He knew they wouldn’t react in time.
But he could.

He leapt from the horse.
And attacked.
He could feel the Valg Princess pushing him back.
But Yrene needed him.
It was time to be the father, the husband, his never was.
One last time, Chaol raised his sword high.
And the memories flooded through him.
Training with Dorian. Dancing with Celeana. The shattering of the glass castle. Dorian breaking free from the Valg. Meeting Yrene. The first time he made Yrene smile. Walking into love with Yrene as his guide. His second first steps. The letters from his mother he would never get to read. Marrying Yrene. He would be a father.
He just hopes that his child will understand.

Yrene glanced at him, as he stabbed the Valg Princess.
As he was impaled through the heart.
As she saved Rowan.
He died, with a smile on his face.
He got to see those eyes on last time.

Aelin heard Yrene screaming as she shoved the Valg out of him. She raised Goldryn and stabbed that bastard through the heart.
She turned to grin at Yrene, but then she saw why Yrene was screaming.
Chaol.
“No, no, no, no, no,” she muttered, as he stumbled and fell.
She ran for his body, even as the Valg Princess died in front of them. 
Aelin wouldn’t let Sam (Chaol) die again. Not when he was finally happy.
Not when they had a chance.
But she grabbed him, and felt for a pulse, anything.
He was bleeding too much.
And there was no pulse.
She turned to Yrene.
But Yrene’s face was set. She knew.
“It was supposed to be me.” Aelin said, holding her friend’s body, staring at his wife.
“It was supposed to be me. No one else should have gotten hurt but it all went wrong and I-I.”
Yrene took her hand.
Aelin should be comforting her.
Aelin’s love was breathing, unconscious, but breathing.
Aelin would be fine. She always was.

“Did I ever tell you,” Yrene said, as she gently stroked Chaol’s hair out of his face, as her tears began to pour.
“That in my culture, we have this belief. We believe that everything that happens, has already happened and will always happen.” She let out a shuddering laugh, “I suppose that doesn’t make sense. But we will meet again. Time spins in ways we cannot imagine. The Mother deems it so. And maybe not the next life. I live this grief today, and tomorrow, and maybe forever. But I live in hope for my child as well. I have to. Otherwise my love died for nothing.” Her face snapped up to Aelin, tearstained, shuddering, her breath coming in gasps.
“I refuse to let his sacrifice mean nothing. Honour him Aelin Ashryver Galathynius.”
Aelin nodded dumbly.
Yrene took Chaol body fully into her arms, and broke.
“Go.” She said, “GO!” She screamed, and Aelin turned to the battle once more, and saw a blast of light coming from it.
She picked up Goldryn (when had she dropped it) and went to kill that Valg.
“I do not yield,” she whispered as she ran.
“I do not yield, I do not yield. I WILL NOT YIELD.”

With that, Aelin finally released her power fully.

The power of her ancestors.
Of Brannon.
Of Mala.

Dorian delved deep into his magic. Feeling for the seed of light deep within him that allowed him to break free of the Valg. That gave him hope.
He was on his knees now, before the Valg, fear choking him.
He felt empty of magic, he could feel the burnout approaching.

“But if I am to burn..” He thought, “Then I’m taking this bastard with me.”

His father loved him.
The only time the King of Adarlan remembered himself was when he looked at Dorian for the first time.
Sorscha’s smile.
Her smile that was full of so much hope and light.
Manon’s detrimination, and the glimmer of mischief and faith and loyalty that sparked in those golden eyes.
That allowed him to break free from the demon.
And finally Aelin, Celeana, Lillian.
His friend, his love, his other half.
The two of them were bound together, would always be bound together. She was fire, while he was ice.
Two sides of the same coin.

A power to rattle the stars.

He rallied his power behind that light, even as Erawan cut a line from his jaw diagonally across his face.
As he fought shadows with ice. As he stumbled but his magic never stopped.
He thought of his father, of Celeana, of Aelin, of Manon, of Chaol, of Rowan.
He let his power burst out of him, a holy light that would burn the darkness. Wipe Erawan’s very existence.
His power drained of every drop. His soul empty.

Dorian stumbled as the energy faded, as he saw one a black void where “Erawan” had stood.
He fell once again, worn.
Erawan, who had worn his cousins face.
Erawan, who had killed Kaltain, Kaltain who he never really knew.
Elide.
The witches.
Manon.
Aelin.
His father.
Himself.

He was going to do this, kill this monster.

“This,” he said, “Is for me.”

An unearthly scream came, and at last.
Erawan was gone.
Everything went black.

Aelin followed the flash of holy light, of lightning.
For a moment she thought that a god had come down to help.
Then she saw Dorian.
Wreathed in light.
Her breath caught. He looked unearthly.
And then he let out one more blast.
She felt a gentle breeze skim her ears. It was as if the world let out a heavy sigh.
Erawan.
Dorian had-won.
She felt relief spread through her.
She saw him fall though, swallowed by the crowd.
Then a singular broom swooped down, a shock of white hair.
Dorian’s body was lifted from the battlefield, Manon’s arms clasped around him.
Fear for him and gratitude fought inside her.
Then, the battlefield before her cleared.
Maeve, anger coating her features, pointed at Aelin, darkness spreading across the ground towards her.

Maeve’s reign was ending today.
Here and now.

Fenrys saw his queen, his friend.

Like her counterpart, wreathed in light, in gold.
She truly was Mala’s Heir.

And then he grinned, spitting blood out of his mouth. 
For the first time since his brother’s death.

Fenrys teleported to his queen’s side.

Aelin bared her teeth as Fenrys came to her side.
He was coated in black blood and ash, and was bleeding from his temple and a stab wound in his leg.
“Are you ready?” She asked.
He dipped his head.
“I’ll follow you, Queen Aelin. Let’s put this bitch in the ground.”
Maeve stood waiting, her shadows darkening the world around her. Coiling and twisting into a crown.

“Your little friend may have taken part of my power,” she purred, “But I can still destroy you.”

Aelin shook her head. 
“You still don’t get it, do you?” She asked, cocking her head.

Maeve summoned a blade of umbra and wyrdstone.
“I’ll make it quick, for my dear-departed sisters.” Her voice was mocking.
Aelin smiled.

“And I’ll make it slow, for Mala, and Brannon, and Rowan.”
Maeve hissed at Brannon’s name, before she lunged at Aelin.
Fenrys and her swirled, taking turns to slash and stab at Maeve’s weak points.
But Maeve had been alive for centuries.
She was well-trained, especially when using her full powers.

“You foolish girl.” Maeve spat, missing Aelin’s eye by a breadth.
“Haven’t you realised yet? I have controlled your entire life. Every choice, every step, every loved one? I controlled it all.” Maeve let out a laugh as she hurled shards of darkness at her.
“Sam, and Arobynn, your dear-departed parents, Chaol, and Dorian, and of course, my dear little Rowan.” Aelin lunged for Maeve, flames shooting and burning at her, burning her arm seizing it like a whip and cracking it.
Maeve retaliated, a web of darkness reaching for Aelin’s neck, choking the air from her lungs.

Aelin head snapped back, blood streaming from her temples.
“I was the reason Arobynn ran out. I am the reason Sam’s parents left him. Why he became an assassin. I placed the idea to retrieve Celeana Sardothien from the mines into Prince Dorian’s mind. I magnified Chaol’s feelings of fear and disgust until they overwhelmed everything else. YOU ARE MINE.”
Aelin scrambled for air, slashing at the darkness around her.
The battle cry of the witches who had sacrificed themselves to save Manon. To save her kingdom flickered in her mind.

From now until the darkness claims us.

The darkness was swirling around Aelin, choking her, drowning the light. There was no light, just this never ended darkness.
This darkness will not claim me.

Aelin felt blood pour from her nose, her eyes, her ears.
But she pushed herself up.
Flickers of herself pushed through the darkness.

Princess Aelin Ashyrver Galanthinyus, of the Wildfire.
Celeana Sardothien, the assassin.
Lillian Gordania, the King’s Champion, Assassin of Adarlan.
Aelin Ashryever Galanthinyus, Heir of Fire. The Queen who was Promised.
And she saw herself.
Queen of Flame and Shadow. Light-bringer, Queen of Terrasen, heir of Mala, Faerie Queen of the West.

Fireheart.
A fire so deep inside her it will never stop burning.

She saw the versions of her smile, and bow.
She is Queen Aelin Ashryever Whitethorn Galanthinyus.
She felt the fire in her, rise.
“For Rowan,” she thought, “For Chaol, For Dorian, For Yrene, Manon, Elide, Fenrys, Lorcan, Brannon, Mala, Aedion, Lysandra, Nesryn,” 
She felt the fire rise inside her.
“Haven’t you realised yet?” Aelin asked, blood pouring from her face.
“I will never yield.”
With that, she shattered Maeve’s darkness.
Replacing the darkness with her own glorious light.
Maeve screamed.

They now stood, Aelin on one side, Maeve on the other.

Then, she saw a pair of familiar yellow eyes.
She stretched her hand out, pointing Goldryn at Maeve.
Fenrys reached for her, teleporting to her side, grabbing Goldryn from her outreached hand, golden flames wreathing the blade.
A crown of flames graced Aelin’s head.

Maeve laughed, “It’s too late, I OWN-,”
Aelin stepped forward, her flames funnelling forward.
“You own nothing. You did all of this, to try and break me. But you made me stronger. You gave me reasons to keep fighting.” 
She raised her eyes.

“You failed. You forgot. We live for those we love. My parents, and Sam, Chaol, and all those I’ve lost? They live on. IN ME. Arobynn trained me to be strong enough to fight you. Your own cadre turned their backs on you because I offered something worth fighting for. I am more powerful than you will ever understand Maeve. And I will beat you, every single time, because you keep underestimating me. Like you underestimated Brannon, and Mala.”
She summoned a blade of pure white flame.

“And now, in the name of all those who have come before me and all those who will come after. You will die.” 

Maeve grinned, her purple eyes, now fully black and gold.
“You will strike me down?”
Aelin laughed.

“Not me.”
She threw the sword up, and a hand caught it.
“Him.”

With that, Rowan stabbed Maeve right in the heart.
The Valg Queen screamed as she burned from the inside out.
As the weapon she had seized turned against her.

A void remained. The remnants of Maeve.
Aelin turned to Fenrys, offering him the handle of Goldryn.
“Together.” He said.
She nodded. Together.
With that, what was Queen Maeve let out one final scream.
Aelin and Fenrys stabbed down, a column of fire so bright and brilliant it almost blinded those around them.

Aelin turned to Rowan, and offered him a smile. Feeling for the well of magic that was almost depleted.
But she had just enough.
She picked up Goldryn.

Rowan watched as Aelin, Queen of Terrasen, his wife, his mate strode forward, met in step by Manon. They unleashed themselves on the army, gold and white swirling together in a dance of death.

Fenrys came over as he stumbled.
“Welcome back birdbrain.” He said, as Rowan leaned on him for balance.
Rowan shuddered.
Fenrys became solemn as he turned Rowan’s face to look at him.

“Not your fault.” He said.
“Repeat it. Not your fault.”
Rowan mumbled it as he watched Aelin.

Fenrys chuckled.
“You got lucky with her. She’s a real spitfire.”
Rowan nodded, a faint smile gracing his mouth.

Aelin turned to see Fenrys supporting Rowan, and saw Aedion and Lysandra close together.

Yrene had clearly healed him during the battle, but he was now unconscious. 
Probably from blood loss.

The sound of a broom turned her head toward an unfamiliar witch, Dorian behind her.
He stumbled as they landed, rocking into her.
“Got a,” he paused, eyes fluttering, “Brief shot of energy. Long enough to see your performance.” He let out a rough chuckle.
“Forever showing me up, Queen Aelin.”

Oh, Dorian.
How she loved him.

She held him in a hug, the two bloodlines destined to stop Erawan.
After centuries of blood and pain and suffering, it was almost over.

“Dorian.” She replied, glancing up at him, then down again, “I have to tell you-,”
He turned to look at her, those blue eyes capturing her own.
“It’s Chaol.”

Dorian’s face paled.
He seized her in a hug.
‘It’s just us now, huh?’ He asked, and she could feel his tears.
She buried her face into his neck.
“I guess so.”
He looked at her once. Then promptly fell over.
“I think this is magic burnout.” He said.
She stumbled too, adrenaline fighting the burnout.
She looked to see Elide walking toward them, Aedion, was propped against the walls, and Lysandra-
Her leg.

From her upper thigh down.
It had been cut off.
The wood looked cauterised now, but the agony.
She remembered how it looked on her dragon self.
Elide put her arm around Aelin as Manon came down, her face drawn.
She promptly lay on the charred ground next to Dorian.
Not touching.
But close by.
And Nesryn had her arms around her, while Yrene still held Chaol’s body.
Rowan wasn’t looking at anyone.
She could see the guilt.

“Where is Lorcan?” Elide asked softly.
Aelin turned to look at her, eyes wide.

Elide’s eyes widened, “He’s not..?”
Aelin shook her head, but she couldn’t seem to speak. Too much had happened. And everything was getting fuzzier.
There was a shout from the battlements, and Aelin turned to see the Lord of the Wild in the distance, on a hill.
He bowed in her direction, and from him, blankets of flowers and grass spread over the battlefield.
Flowers covered the final resting place of the Thirteen.
And the Queen’s Flame coated the bodies left behind.
Aelin bowed back.

Then her eyes fluttered shut and she collapsed.

Lorcan opened his eyes in a clearing on the edge of an unfamiliar forest.
He had been on the battlefield at Orynth, and now he was, somewhere else entirely?
His only thoughts had been getting as far away from the battle with the Wyrdkeys as possible.
It was night now, and a drifting of snow was coating the ground beneath him.
He look up at the sky, but he couldn’t recognise any constellations.

Something felt different about this place.
He saw a snow covered mountain, with three stars shining brightly above it.
“Where am I?” He wondered aloud, turning slowly.
Then he felt it again.

A presence.
Not unlike Aelin’s presence, in that it was vastly magical. But instead of a burning feeling it was, different.
A second presence came too, this one was swirls of flames and claws and water and light.
Lorcan unsheathed his blade, sinking into a ready stance.

Whoever, whatever, was coming towards him was powerful. They could be more powerful than Aelin.
That thought shook him.
Aelin was incredibly powerful, even for a Fae.
For two individuals alone to be more powerful then her was a fearsome thought.

“Who are you?” He called.
“Where am I?”

A male Fae appeared from the shadows, purple eyes swirling with constellations, dressing in a all black with swirling silver embroidery appraised him.
A female, with honey brown hair, and eyes that reminded him of clear pools of water, or of wind. Maybe even of an arrow being drawn for some unknown reason. She was dressed in a form of training gear, a leather tunic, breeches, and clearly expensive boots. They were mostly silver, black and blue.

The man put his hands in his pockets.
“Both very good questions.”

“This is Pyrthian,” the female said, eyeing him like a huntress did her prey.
“The Night Court.” The male continued.

“We are the High Lord and Lady of this place, the rulers, if you will.”
The male eyed his extended blade distastefully.
“Now, I would like to know, what is that brought you here, Lorcan of Erilea.”

Chapter Text

Rhys was confused.

It was unusual for him.
Feyre was torn between laughing at him, worry and being swamped with duties from the Illyrian’s scouting the continent, and of course, leading the teams to track, and re-capture creatures who had broke free during the war against Hybern.

And of course, the Court of Nightmares.
In the seven years since the war, the Court of Nightmares had been completely changed.

“Well,” he thought generously, “Not completely changed, but vast improvements had been made.”
Mor and Azriel had, taken care of the worst members.
Rhys had fully supported this, and judging by how drenched in blood his cousin was afterwards, only closure had come for it.

But he hadn’t interfered. 
They had been fighting for the Fae who were bound in chains, like they had been.
It was his Third's battle, and he respected that.

Now, there was seat at every table.
The Court of Nightmares hosted their undercover operatives, many of which were scattered in Courts throughout Pyrthian.
The more blood-thirsty, they helped in subduing the creatures the Illyrains were unable to capture.

Rhys continued strolling the streets of Cedaen, a city to the north of the capital.
He eyed its rebuilding progress, judging where more supplies would be needed.
The alliance between the Courts still stood, and it did make life much easier.
He had implemented governments to take care of the day-to-day running of the cities, whilst they were mainly located by the mountain that decorated their flag, and the riverside estate.

Rhys was proud of the interconnecting roads between the Night Court now.
Ever since revealing Velaris, the Night Court had blossomed.
And now.

Rhys rubbed his temples as he winnowed to the Moonstone Palace.
They had a “situation” at the moment with an interloper.
He had appeared in the forests outside the Court of Nightmares, a powerful energy source surrounding him.
He hadn’t tried to shield his mind at all.
Which was odd.
Everyone in Pyrthian knew of Rhysand’s powers.
But when he had delved into the Fae’s mind, he had seen images of another world.
Lorcan wasn’t from Pyrthian.
But he had brought something that would make every creature with magic sit up and pay attention.
The echo of the source reminded him of the Cauldron.

He marched toward one of the guest rooms he had shielded, trapping the Fae inside.
Azriel had appeared a few minutes after, close on his heels.

“Notice anything unusual about our guest?” Rhys questioned, an eyebrow ticking up at the strained look on Azriel’s face.
In fact, he could clearly see it. 
Where were Azriel’s shadows?

“There is a presence about him,” Azriel said hesitantly, his voice slightly raspy, “My shadows, they coil around him. Drawn to something. But I can’t make out what. I don’t think even he knows,” he glanced at Rhysand as they approached the door.
“He is of another world Rhys. Be careful.”

Rhysand nodded.
“Leave your shadows outside Azriel. Let’s not scare him anymore than we have to.”
He reached out to grab the doorknob, the twin of Feyre’s tattoo greeting him.
Rhysand inhaled deeply, then pushed the door open.

***

Lorcan wasn’t panicking.
He was a legendary warrior, beheld by the ages.
So, he was not panicking when the two Fae (but they didn’t feel like Fae normally did), somehow teleported themselves and him into this stunning guest room.
He didn’t panic when he realised that he couldn’t leave the room either.
No.
Lorcan of Erilea was scheming.
That is why he had his head in his hands.
He was planning his incredible escape so he could return to Elide. He would not abandon her.

He turned and stood as he heard the door open.
As the scent of shadows, citrus and the sea hit him.
“It was very odd here,” Lorcan decided, settling into a ready position.

The male from earlier, Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, entered, and a man in scaly armour entered behind him.
“A guard?” Lorcan wondered internally.
The Fae reminded Lorcan of a statue, a cold distant beauty. His armour was sleeveless, displaying swirling tattoos on his biceps. 
His hair, short. He had these weird gems on his hands, breastplate, and knees.
“Gaudy and impractical,” Lorcan thought, “Any enemy would know aim there first, definitely a structural weakness.”

The-Rhysand chuckled.
“You would think that, wouldn’t you?” He asked, his voice low and dark, and sort of soothing?
“I suppose from a stranger’s perspective, they are quite ornamental. But make no mistake, Azriel could kill you very, very, easily. You find ornamentation normally has a purpose here.”

Lorcan took the name Azriel, and filed it away before he paused, pupils dilating.
He had not said any of that aloud.
How had-?

Rhysand smiled at him, all teeth.
Lorcan hurriedly tried to erect a wall in his mind, shoving the Wyrdkeys, Aelin, Manon, Rowan, the cadre, the Valg, the Lock, Elide.

Elide’s face flickered behind his eyes before he shoved it hurriedly away, hoping that Rhysand hadn’t seen it.
But Rhysand’s smile was gone.
His tan face, pale.
His purple eyes, like the stars above them darkened.

“Who is that?” He asked quietly.
Lorcan didn’t respond, panic and fear piling on top of each other in his gut.
“I will not ask again offworlder.” Rhysand’s voice brokered no argument.
‘Tell me, or I will take the answer by force.”
Azriel stepped forward menacingly.

“Elide!” Lorcan cried, throwing his hands up.
“Elide Lochan!”

Rhysand froze.
Azriel glanced at his High Lord, a shadow curling over his ear before it vanished.
Lorcan felt like throwing up. He had given up Elide’s name.
But if he hadn’t, who knows just how much he would have given away.
He looked at Rhysand’s face, before turning away, shuddering.
Rhysand already looked too much like a Valg. He would not be handing him any more power.

Rhysand took a shaky step back, one hand grasping the other wrist. Clenching and unclenching repeatedly.
Lorcan watched that with narrowed eyes.
“What do you want with Elide?” He demanded, fear for her overpowering his common sense.

‘Show me her face again.” Rhysand demanded back, ignoring his question.
He felt a soft night spread over his mind, as Rhysand broke down his mental wall, searching for glimpses of Elide.
He was powerless to stop him.
He could feel Rhysand in his mind but he couldn’t get him out.

Lorcan didn’t realise he was screaming until it was over.
Rhysand spared a glance for him, his purple eyes haunted.
“Send for Nuala and Cerridwn. I would speak with him alone.” Rhysand told Azriel.

The armoured Fae looks at Lorcan again, but he nodded, placing his hand over his chest before departing the room.

“Elide Lochan,” Rhysand said, rolling the syllables on his tongue.
Lorcan longed to cut it out for daring to say her name.
“Daughter of the House of Lochan. A Lady in her own right. Witchblood runs in her veins. And she is very close to the throne of Erilea,” Rhysand gestured for Lorcan to follow as he sat down.
“She gives you this feeling like you can trust her. She’s kind, but won’t let you push her around. Every time you try to push her about her past, she re-directs you. Tell me Lorcan, what do you really know about this girl you claim to love?”

Lorcan was silent.
Did he really know that little about Elide?
He tried to recall their conversations. He talked in those. But he never got that deep with her. They knew of her uncle, her ankle, the death of her mother.
But those were things everyone knew.
Where were the hushed secrets told in the dark?
He stamped out those thoughts. 
Rhysand must be influencing him somehow. He knew Elide. He loved Elide.
She couldn’t be a traitor. If she was, they all were.

“Helloed Cain,” Rhysand says, eyes distant, “The One Who Waits in the Night. Tell me, do you have that wives tale where you come from?”
He turns to Lorcan.
Lorcan feels wings brush his mind before he has a chance to answer.
He pulls out the chair across from Rhysand.
“No, you don’t.” Rhysand tuts disappointedly.

“In our world, the tale features fae children who played in the sky. They each had a powerful magical artefact. But one, grew jealous of the others, longed for all the power. They stole the artefacts and ran, but they dropped one of the artefacts. That artefact fell down, down, down, to Earth. The Greedy One ran down to get it, leaving the sky. But,” Rhysand continued, “The other Fae had noticed by then, and ambushed the Greedy One, stealing back all the artefacts. All but one of the other Fae were destroyed by the Greedy One, splitting the world into two. The remaining Fae sealed the Greedy One away. But, the others in the clouds were horrified, and blamed their Saviour for the separation of the worlds. Using the artefacts, they trapped the Saviour in the space between day and night. Between life and death. The Saviour grew bitter, and angry, and swore that one day they would return, and spread the injustice across all the worlds. Until the day the Saviour is set free, the two worlds that were once one will forever be kept apart. There are stories of those who live between the day and night, who she sinks her claws into and becomes, or for lack of a better word, possesses.”

Rhysand laced his fingers together, and leaned forward.
“Helloed Cain, is the name of the Saviour. And that story is a favourite of my Court.”
Those purple eyes stared into Lorcan’s soul, his mind, almost branding him. They seemed familiar. Not like Maeve’s eyes, which were deep and dead to the bone. Glimmering and alive like stars.
Where had he seen them?

Rhysand raised a finger, and the name Helloed Cain appeared in the air in front of the them.
It glowed silver.
“Helloed Cain,” Rhysand said, then flicked a finger, the letters moving and swirling around until they formed a new name.
A name that Lorcan knew.
That he loved.
His chair clattered to the ground as he backed away, the silver letters gleaming and taunting him.
“No, no, no, no,’ He muttered, “It’s not possible. I would have known.”
Rhysand looked at him pityingly.
“Elide Lochan. ”

Chapter Text

Feyre stared at the pile of paperwork on her desk.
She was surrounded by her generals and spy-captains, all burred in reports of re-building, of insider intel.
But by the Cauldron.
Could she not hire someone to take care of this.
Feyre loved her people, loved her work, especially now.
But she hadn’t been sleeping well, and there was an intruder that Rhys was currently dealing with, alone.

Feyre reached out for the edges of their bond, then paused.
Rhys’s side was clamped down tight.
She could feel a vague sense of panic and fear and hope?

“Rhys,” she tried, “Everything okay?”
Silence.
‘Rhys?” She said, panic rising now, “If that warrior got the better of you I’m telling Amren. And Mor. And Cassian. And we’ll drink all your wine.”
She felt a soft brush of acknowledgement from him, but no words yet.
Feyre gnawed her lip, scanning over the latest report of the storm on the other side of Hybern.
It stopped all passage on that side, and there was this dip in the ocean apparently.
Like something was ripped out and hidden away.
Feyre massaged her temples.
“Right,” she said, standing up and straightening the cuffs of her black and silver embossed jacket. It had wing like designs on the back, the swirls mimicking Illyrian tattoos. She had asked for a team of Illyrian seamstresses to set up shop in Velaris and she was their main customer.
The jacket nipped in at the waist, then mimicked a dress with a train, but left her with plenty of mobility. She wore leather breeches, plain to compliment the exquisite jacket, and matching boots.
Her hair was braided around her head like a crown.

She pulled on the leather gloves from her jacket, before making eye-contact with her generals.
“I have to go see to some other business, but please feel free to finish here. We will reconvene at Cerane tomorrow.”
The other woman stood, placing their wrists together and bowed.
Feyre mimicked it, before winnowing away.

She landed on the Moonstone Palace, and took a moment to appreciate the stunning way the Moonstone cut the sky, before turning on her heeled boots toward the guest room the otherworlder was in.
She followed the bond to Rhys.
He was standing outside of the door of Lorcan’s room, hand leaving the door.

He looked worn.
“Is everything alright,” she asked, reaching a hand to place it on his cheek.
He leaned into her palm.
“I-I don’t quite know.” He tried for his regular tone, but Feyre could read right through that.
“Is it something you want to share, or will we sit and watch the sunset for a bit. It’s stunning this time of year.”
Rhys looked at her, gratitude marching down the bond.
There were things that they couldn’t always share right away. Cauldron knows she has those. But secrets deserved respect. Rhys deserved time to think.
She took his hand and led him to their table, overlooking the Night Court.

She started talking about her Generals, how improvements were being made, and the Illyrian women were both joining the male legions, but also creating businesses, become healers, helping with the re-building.
She knew that it mattered to him.
For his mother.
For his sister.

Feyre had dinner with them last week, and found herself becoming friends with them. 
“I hadn’t known what to think of them,” she said, “I knew they were passionate, and brave but they are so much more too.” She turned to look fully at him, smiling, “I just feel so proud of how far they’re coming.”
Rhys smiled faintly back.
“Remember the histories of the Night Court?” He asked, his voice quiet.
She nodded, letting him speak.
“There was the story of Helloed Cain.”
Feyre paused, her eyes widening.
“It was my sister’s favourite tale. She would ask for it to be told over and over again,” he said, eyes fixated on the distance.
He shook his head.
“I think the idea of this other world existing is giving me undue hope. Hope that things, that there are ways-,” he cut himself off.
"But in that world, there is one who goes by Helloed Cain. And the Fae, Lorcan, showed me images of her. And there are flickers where she looks different. He carries things of the Cauldron, and he’s so desperate for help. And Helloed Cain is of our world. I don’t want to drag us into another war, but hearing what his people have gone through..” He trailed off, still not looking at her.

“It doesn’t mean another war Rhys,” she said, taking his hand in her own, tracing patterns in it. “Maybe, in helping him, we could secure an alliance. Help all of us keep safe.” She looked up at him.
“It’s worth a shot.”
Rhys nodded, eyes on her own.
“I’m going to talk to him now,” she said, rising.
“I think you still need to puzzle things out in that brain of yours. Just don’t get too lost in there, for me?”
He nodded, and Feyre turned to the door where Lorcan awaited.

***

Lorcan sat in the corner of the room.
He didn’t look up when the door opened. He was reliving every minute, every moment with Elide.
Could it be true?

“I hope I’m not intruding,” a lilting voice asked.
A-The High Lady stood there.
She gave Aelin a run for her money in that outfit. Lorcan hoped they never met to compare notes.
The fear of never returning home clutched at his heart.
She walked over to him, her gait like a prowling lion.

“You aren’t the first to be shocked by betrayal, you know?” She said, sitting down next to him.
“The people we trust, we love, can hurt us the most.”
Lorcan snarled at her.
“You know nothing of Elide, of me!”
She looked at him, the sunset reflecting in the clear pools of water that were her eyes.
‘That’s true. I don’t.”
She sat in silence next to him. Watching out the window.
“We will be helping you return home,” she said, before standing up, brushing off her coat.
She turned to him and offered a hand.
“Take my hand.” She offered.

Not ordered.
Lorcan reached up and took her hand.
She pulled him to his feet easily. A light female like that was deceptively strong.
“Would you mind telling me of your friends, of your Queen?” She queried.
“I would love to know what they have down to inspire such loyalty in you.”
Lorcan started.
She asked.
He wondered how herself and Rhysand matched. They seemed very alike, but so very different as well.
“It started with the heir of Ash and Fire, who would bow to no one. And a promise, to never yield..”