This is a new famfiction about Heif of Fire, when Aelin is told of the slaughter of Callacula and Endovier. I hope you enjoy!
DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of these characters, all belongs to Sarah J. Maas and her amazing series Throne of Glass.
Heir of Fire, Chapter 48, page 418, paragraph 6.
Aelin/Celeana POV
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Nehemia's people, the people of other kingdoms, and—and my people. The people of Terrasen. The other people my father and mother and my court had loved fiercely. There had been rebels in Endovier—rebels who fought for my kingdom when I…when I had been…
There were children in Endovier. In Callacula.
She had not protected them.
The kitchen walls and ceiling crushed her, the air too thin, too hot. Rowan's face swam as she panted, panted, faster and faster—
He murmured her name too softly for the others the hear.
And the sound of it, that name that had once been a promise to the world, the name she had spat on and defiled, the name she did not deserve…
I had failed them. Every last one of them. All the slaves in Callacula. Endovier. The unmarked graves. The gentle kindness of the slaves, how they helped each other. The woman who had cleaned out my lashings that first day. The children who were not yet broken, only ten years of age. None of them spared.
I had been too late. I was always too late. With Sam, with Nehemia. I am always too late.
I could distantly feel Rowan gripping my shoulders, shaking me. Trying to get me away from the edge of the black pit of despair. The one that, If I were to fall into, I would never climb out of. Hope was fake. An illusion. It was just a cruel joke the gods played on us.
I shoved out of his grasp, my movements stiff. I walked out the door.
If I had helped Nehemia, the slaves might have still been living right now. They might have been free. She might have been alive, and I would still be with Choal. But I was a coward.
I bearably registered Rowan walking behind me. Following me, to make sure I didn't kill myself, probably. He should have let me die at the hands of the skinwalkers.
Nehemia would have already freed the slaves. But she was murdered, and the world has left with my broken soul.
I didn't know where I was headed until I got there, lost in my dark train of thought, falling deeper in to the abyss. Suddenly I was back at our room. My feet made no sound against the floor, and it didn't sound like I was breathing.
How many of those slaves had worse whippings then I did? How many slaves are in the unmarked graves, forever forgotten from the world? Why am I still alive, but they are all dead?
I sat down on the bed, crossing my legs. I was starring at the floor, but not seeing it. I was seeing Nehemia's broken, mangled corpse. I was seeing the cut open children at the whipping block. I hoped I would die in the oncoming battle. That was one thing I could hope for.
Aelin. Rowan repeated. Or it might have been in my head. It sounded far away, and muffled, like I was underwater.
Water. There was so little of it at Endovier. At Callacula.
Rowan walked over to where I sat, standing right above me. Starring down at me. I hoped he would leave—would remember that I was not worth the effort. I was shattered into so many pieces at this point I don't think I could ever be put back together.
"Aelin," Rowan's voice was think with worry.
His scent wrapped around me, and I dragged my eyes to stare into his. I wasn't seeing his face though. I was seeing the Chief Overseer when I spit blood in his face. Instead of Rowan's pine green eyes, I was seeing dark brown, almost black, with hints of scarlet. The eyes of that creature in the library.
I forced myself so take a long breath. I could do this battle. This last one, and fight until I die. Hopefully the demi-fae will win. Then the world will be free of me, and people like Galen Ashyver can rule. The darkness, the sweet oblivion. It would be such a relief.
Rowan shook me again, reading the expression on my face. I hadn't even realized he was touching me.
"Don't ever think that," He snarled in my face. Maybe he didn't hate me as much as I did. He should. They all should.
I have nothing left.
"Aelin, it's not your fault," He says gently. Oh, but it is. There were so many ways I could have saved them. And Nehemia, Sam, my parents— all of them. The many people who I had been too late to save, or that I have killed. The scar on my hand was just another promise that I couldn't keep. I had nothing left.
I had nothing left.
The voices. I hear them. I hear Nehemia calling me a coward, her voice hard with rage. I hear Lady Marion's panicked screams. I hear then as clear as if I just heard them yesterday.
Rowan's calloused hand scrapes my neck as he drags it up to my chin. he tips my head up with heartbreaking gentleness, his face just a hairs width away. And then he is holding me, and I am tucked into his warm chest, my chin over his shoulder. He holds me tight, and I wrap my arms, slowly, around him too. I needed him.
I shook with tearless, panicked sobs, burying my face in his shoulder. He doesn't mind, though. All he does is hold me tighter.
We stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other's embrace, me stealing his stability. I don't know how much time passed, only that it was now dusk, and a cold breeze was wafting in from the windows.
"Aelin," He tries again. This time, when I look at him, I see him. I studied his expression closely. He looks— sad. And desperate. And worried.
I needed to do something, anything, to take my mind off of this. I need to bottle it up and save it for the battle. Anything that would give the demi-fae a chance. We still held each other tightly, the only change being me looking up at him.
He knew what I was feeling. Knew the despair and the rage and the sadness. He felt the same thing. And he was trying to hold me together.
"Let's go for a run," Rowan whispered. I knew he was grasping at anything he could to try to get me to have a reaction. He was trying so hard, because whatever was between us, he cared, And he shouldn't. Because when people care for me, they get hurt.
When I care for people, they get hurt. When I care for people, they die. My eyes were glazed. I must have whispered the words aloud, because his face tightened. But he did not move away.
Slowly, I nod. Because I needed something. Anything. A run, with the wind rushing against my face and hair. It would be perfect.
He moves, slowly, away from where I was perched on the bed, tugging me with him. I extend my legs, muscles barking.
Aelin. You need a clear head if you want to fight.
I was in too deep for one of our sparring matches. The abyss was swallowing me whole. I could hear his hidden words— Come on, play with me. Because he had fallen into that pit before, two hundred years ago, and he was still climbing out.
But if I climbed out, it wouldn't be me. It would be a heartless person that climbed out. It would be only some of the shards of my soul.
Fire danced around my fingertips, crawling up my throat, fraying that veil over my magic. I needed to get out before that veil was burnt to a crisp. I start to tunnel into that well, needing all my power for the battle.
I started out the door. Rowan followed.
My footsteps were silent, quick. Rowan was a shadow behind me. My eyes burned. My spine locked up. I need to run.
Then we were outside, and it was Lady Marion, screaming at me to run run run. Away from Adarlan. Away from that pit. Run run run.
And so I did. That fire in my blood, my bones, my soul, edging me faster. I could scarsly keep track of Rowan running beside me through the wood. Faster, faster my bones groaned. Because I have never been fast enough.
"Aelin," Rowan growled. I was going fast, faster then I ever had before. If only I had been this fast to save Nehemia. If only I helped her. So I pushed myself harder. And I ran myself into the ground.
Thats all for now! Please tell me if you want me to continue this. I am thinking I will rewrite up until the meeting with Meave. Thanks for reading!