I've had this idea for a quick Yulemas oneshot for a while now, so, enjoy.
Disclaimer: I don't own any aspect of Throne of Glass.
Orynth always looked beautiful, Aelin thought, but never more so than in winter, blanketed by the snow swept in by the Northern winds from the Staghorns. As cold as it was, there was a certain glamour to that cold, the well an icicle resembles a diamond in a certain light.
And indeed, everything was cold. The Eyllwe host that rode through the city gates was all bundled up in wolf pelts and furs, and the King and Queen of Eyllwe riding at the front kept close to one another. The queen held a baby in her arms, and another child, barely more than a toddler, rode in front of the King in the saddle. The only child of theirs who rode alone was the Princess Nehemia, whose young face was nevertheless curious as she studied the people lining the streets, and the soaring elegant buildings of the most prosperous city on the continent.
And that wasn't just Aelin's patriotic pride surfacing: Convoys from Melisande and Adarlan and Fenharrow had genuinely described her home as such, much to the chagrin of their own monarchs. Of course it still had the taverns and the black markets and the venues of debauchery and sin - but so did every city, even Varese, as Aelin's mother reported, that shining city over the sea.
Aelin had always wanted to go there, and visit her cousins, but every time she brought it up her mother would shared a look with her father and carefully steer the conversation away to a different topic.
Aedion stood behind Aelin as she leaned out of the window, her freshly pressed golden curls falling around her face like that of a plump smiling cherub. He was the first to jump, a hand shooting to the elaborate sword he kept sheathed at his waist, when Lady Marion hissed from behind them, "Aedion! Aelin! Get up on the dais!"
Aedion scowled, but Aelin just smiled prettily up at her nursemaid, and took note of how, though the woman's face remained stern, her eyes softened a little. She'd long since learned that though she had to sort of face that would one day grow into one of remarkable and intimidating beauty - as she was frequently told, at least - but until then she knew she was considered insufferably cute. She'd found that doing certain things, like looking up at adults through her lashes, or smiling beatifically at people, was an effective way of getting to stay up late, or get an extra slice of cake at the dinners.
Lady Marion ushered them off of the balcony and into the throne room, where Aelin's parents relaxed. Her uncle, Orlon, was already seated on the antler throne, and he spared a moment to smile fondly over at her. Orlon's lover, a grave man named Darrow with greying hair and a permanent frown, stood a little off the side, not quite on the dais, but on the stairs leading off it. He didn't smile at her, but he gave her an assessing look, and then a nod of approval. She tried not to glow too much.
Her parents were standing to her uncle's right. Rhoe Galathynius gave her a cheery smile, and Evalin a wave. She smiled back, and climbed the steps to stand in front of them, feeling the comfortable, familiar weight of her mother's small hands settle on her shoulder. Aedion took up his place to the side of the steps to the dais, and he exchanged pleasantries with Quinn, who stood on the other side of the steps. Both warriors wore swords sheathed at their waists, but she knew it was only for show; Aedion had been complaining to her earlier about how the balance on his sword was wrong, how the amount of finery and embellishments on it made it impossible to use, how though the blade gleamed, it's edge was dull.
But it was just there for show, she knew. The royal family didn't expect to engage in any sort of aggression.
After all, why would they? Terrasen was a long standing ally of Eyllwe, and had been ever since King Orlon had first risen to the throne and had established trade routes through the eastern sea between their two countries. They had all heard the stories of the long lost Mycenians and how they'd refused to help Orlon's grandfather in a long ago battle that nobody neither remember nor cared about, and Aelin had always gotten the feeling that her grandfather's using Ilium as a vital trade port in the agreement was his way of showing that the banishment of the Pirate Lords was a serious matter, and that there was no lifting it.
So even though there was a sense of urgency humming through the room, the courtiers were also significantly more relaxed than they had been during Adarlan's latest visit. Aelin was grinned at by several of her father's closest lords and advisors, including Lord Lochan of Perranth, whose dainty, dark haired daughter trailed him determinedly.
When the grand doors were flung open, however, and the royal family of Eyllwe walked inside, everyone was in their correct places.
The King of Eyllwe was a tall, broad man, with ebony skin and straight, decisive eyebrows. His finely stitched tunic and trousers were without creases, and of deepest purple, limned with gold. His queen didn't wear a dress, and instead wore a similar outfit, except it was the rose-lilac of a dusky sky. She seemed to shine from within with her own personal light, and when she stepped aside to reveal her young daughter of about Aelin's age, it was clear that her daughter had a sliver of that light inside her too.
The King introduced her as the Crown Princess Nehemia of Eyllwe. She was a small, slight thing, and the delicate structure of her face greatly resembled that of her mother's. But she held her head high as she was introduced, and the fact that Aelin knew what it was like to stand in a foreign hall with her name being pronounced, when the weight of her crown became stifling, made her admire the girl even more, for her unwavering strength in the face of this new environment.
Orlon greeted them graciously, and Aelin's parents stepped down from the dais to offer to show the royal family to their rooms. It had been decreed that they would be staying with them over Yulemas, in an attempt to foster even better relations between the two countries than there already were, so Evalin and Rhoe had decided to get the week's holiday off to an amiable start.
Aelin numbly followed after them, and almost cringed back at the terror in the eyes of Nehemia's little brothers as they beheld her walking with them. She knew - she had always known - that the weight of her immense power was one even greater than that of her crown, but seeing it in action, seeing the disgust and fear that had been instilled into people so young. . .
Yes, she had accidentally incinerated a shelf of invaluable scrolls in the Library of Orynth. Yes, she sometimes woke to nightmares of screams of terror, and scorching infernos swirling over the Staghorns, and found herself naked, having burned through the bedsheets and her pyjamas until they were nothing but smoke and a fine layer of ash. Yes, countless emissaries had hissed at her parents those vicious words that had burrowed into her very heart and featured in her deepest fears: "A child to burn this continent to the ground. . ."
But that didn't mean she was used to it. Didn't mean she'd looked for a way to make the best of it. Didn't mean she didn't hate it.
She could have cried with relief when the Princess Nehemia had slipped out of her mother's grasp and fallen into step behind her, at the tail end of the group. The girl's voice was low as she held out her hand and said softly, "I'm Nehemia."
Aelin took her hand gently, and though she felt the tension in the muscles beneath, like the princess though her touch might burn her or something, she gripped it firmly, and shook it. "Aelin." Her voice was a thread of sound.
Nehemia glanced ahead at her mother, then back at Aelin, and admitted slowly, like she was tasting the words in her mouth, "Orynth is. . . very beautiful."
Aelin smiled a soft smile, and felt it illuminate her face. "Yes. I remember Grandfather was telling me about the architect who designed it after the old war, and how he took inspiration from the Staghorns themselves in creating some of the older buildings."
Never mind that the stark grandness sometimes made Aelin feel even smaller in the face of her crown - of her heritage, from Mab and from Brannon. Never mind that the towering stone buildings of elegant grey stones cast her so deeply in her shadow that it left her clueless as to how she, a mere figurehead, was meant to defend this powerful structures from the world. Never mind that sometimes her crown felt like a shackle on her brow, like her ancestors had set an example far too high for her to surpass.
But she voiced none of this, if only so she didn't silence the quiet joy in Nehemia's face.
Instead she continued, "If you like, I could show you the city over the next few days. . ." She trailed off, and before Nehemia could respond, hurried on, "Well, obviously not all of it, as there're places we're not allowed to go, and Orynth is too big to cover in a few days anyway, but. . ." She peeked sideways at the Eyllwe princess shyly. "Would you be interested?"
Nehemia smiled, and said, "I'd love to."
And that was that.
The next morning, the sky was the opulent shade of grey that shimmered with the pearly iridescence of one of Aelin's mother's necklaces, and the air was crisp and cold as Aelin flung open the window to her tower bedroom, and breathed in the frosty bite of winter's grasp.
She gasped when she looked down, and saw her world swept with a thick dusting of snow. Snowflakes trailed from the sky, and Aelin leaned out of the window and tilted her head up, catching one in her mouth. It melted on her tongue and she shivered in delight at the feeling of the trickling water, and the pricks of numbness from where the flakes landed on her face.
"Aelin?" Her mother called. "Come inside, sweetheart; you'll get a cold. You can go outside once you're dressed up nice and warm."
Indeed, she was beginning to grow cold and damp in her thin nightgown, so she dutifully trailed back into her bedroom and let her mother help her change into a heavy (but exquisite) dress, mittens, a hat, scarves, and dozens of other items of clothing that seemed pointless, but Aelin knew that it would be futile to refuse to wear. Her mother was stubborn like that.
Finally, Evalin was finished, tucked a final scarf round her daughter's neck, and pressed her palm to her rosy cheek in a quick, caring gesture. "Alright, Fireheart," she said. "Get out there and have fun."
When Aelin had skipped down the corridors, she wasn't surprised to find Aedion waiting for her by the side door into the garden. He grinned at her as she rushed out, and hurriedly pressed the snow into a ball, and threw it at him with as much force as she could muster, not particularly caring as it fell short.
This was first snow they'd seen since March; it had come unusually late this year. Already, December was tipping into January, and soon the Staghorns and their mountain passes would be blocked up and frozen over until spring again. If the Ytgers still planned to travel by boat from Ilium down to Leriba or Banjali, they should be fine, providing they took the roads as far south as possible before veering east, but anyone trying to reach Orynth, Perranth, or Allsbrook through Oakwald forest would find themselves freezing to death, and not even the most foolish or the most hardy would brave the mountains in this weather. Orynth was tucked in the corner of a fairly sheltered valley in the mountains, but the winds that raged around the peaks were ones to be feared.
Aelin was proud of herself for paying enough attention in her geography lessons to know this, even if her snowball throwing skills were woefully lacking. Hen, one of Quinn's men, had to stifle a laugh from nearby as she turned her glare on him.
The crunch of footsteps in snow behind her alerted her to the approach of the King of Eyllwe, and Nehemia trailing behind him, her dark eyes bright. Aelin let herself fall back, and landed with a thump on her back amongst the snow. A giggle fought its way out of her mouth and she closed her eyes briefly, savouring the feel of it against her skin, against her face, and letting the ice crystals muffle the laughter coming from her mouth.
"Oomph!" She cried, as a clump of snow whacked her in the face, and rained down around her. She sprung upwards with a feline grace that lingered from her Fae form, and wiped the water out of her eyes to see the Princess Nehemia standing in front of her, grinning, with another fistful of snow. She threw it, and Aelin barely had the chance to duck with a shriek before it went barrelling towards her, and sailed clean over her head.
The laughter chimed between them, even as Aelin retaliated, this shot actually finding is mark in Nehemia's stomach. Her friend doubled over, and shook with the force of her chuckles.
They went on like that for some time. Aelin wasn't sure when the King of Eyllwe left, trusting the Terrasen guards to look after his daughter, but eventually it was just her and Nehemia giggling amongst the expanse of white, now churned up with their footprints. Even Aedion had left, as they flopped down on the doorstep, soaked to the bone, and laughed together.
"I've never actually seen. . . this, before." Nehemia admitted.
Aelin's breath caught. "You've never seen snow before?!"
Nehemia nodded. "It's too hot down in Eyllwe."
Of course, Aelin realised, mentally face palming. She should surely have realised that. "So. . . What did you think of it?"
Nehemia considered it for a second, then said, "Cold. But fun to shape. And to throw."
The Eyllwe princess shivered then, and Aelin furrowed her brows. "Are you cold?" She chided herself briefly; of course she was cold. They were out in the snow and soaked to the bone, for Wyrd's sake!
"A little," Nehemia said honestly, rubbing her bicep with her hand.
Without thinking, Aelin clasped Nehemia's left hand in her right, and let a little of that inner fire seep through.
Nehemia gasped, and Aelin looked down, worried she was hurting her. The flame Aelin had produced wrapped round their hands like another glove, and though she knew it did not crackle, and did not burn, it sent heat soaking up through their limbs, until the gentle heat had dried their clothes and their shaking faded to mere tremors. Even then, they didn't release each other, ad instead staring out into the snowy landscape.
They seemed to sit on that doorstep forever, just two young princesses, for an instant free of all the expectations pressing down on them, adjoined hands wreathed in flame that did not harm, framed by a landscape of quiet tranquillity.
Happy Holidays!