Shadows and Tails
achieving elysium

She didn't bother drawing Goldryn from its sheath on her side. Not yet. It would be too easy then, she mused, far too easy. If she drew Goldryn, the guards wouldn't even have a chance; they'd fall to her blade like a row of corn under a sickle, weak and unsuspecting.

Her hair, dyed darker, would throw them off. So would the crowd of people in the pleasure hall, all drunk merchant boys and rich young lords looking for a good time - either that, or a good fight. She preferred the latter.

But her eyes were the one thing she could never change. The heirloom eyes of the Ashryver line - brightest blue ringed with gold - and the same ones of her cousin. Aedion; how she missed him, the bond that bound them together hacked at by years of blood and lies, poison of the most terrible kind. It was the bond that she still treasured after all these years, even if he didn't. Even if he looked her in the eye after she would save him and called her a liar, a murderer, a traitor.

She was all of those tonight. Those men would not leave the Vaults alive.

She stomped up the stairs, ignoring the drunken men who grabbed at her and sneered, beckoning as if she were a lowly courtesan whose body was nothing more than a prize. The cloaked figures, careful and as quiet as whispers of wind, had attracted attention. It was no surprise, not to her, for they bore Adarlan's crest in plain sight. The new uniforms were meant as a message to anybody who saw them: the king was in control, and it would stay that way.

They paused, blocking the door, eyes raking up and down her form to check. She kept her eyes adverted so the guards wouldn't see them; let them think her to be fearful and cowardly. She'd teach them. Satisfied, the one on the left stepped away slightly so she could reach the door. In her journey, she rudely pushed past him, feeling satisfaction as her shoulder slammed into his chest.

"You bitch," the guard hissed, angry. She turned slightly, looking back as he stalked forward.

Aelin Galathynius smiled smugly and caught his gaze, dark eyes, almost pitch-black with her own. She could see the cogs turning in his mind as he matched the description to the one he'd been given, but before he could act, she melted into the shadows to wait.

A minute ticked by slowly. She watched with an amused grin on her face as the men searched the area, combing every nook and cranny for the woman who'd disappeared so suddenly. They found nothing, of course. These men - no, but they weren't men anymore, these monsters - were likely used to heightened senses and great power. To having the upper hand, hunters trapping their prey.

But the king, as cunning as he was, had made a foolish mistake. He used mortal men, human men who could not distinguish one smell from another, who could not pierce the darkness with weak eyes, who could not move as quickly or as efficiently. Men who would die far too easily.

Her eyes darted to the alleyway. Chaol had gone that way, followed by his guard. He had to be meeting with someone - an ally, perhaps, or an informant. Even Chaol couldn't be stupid enough to go in some dark alleyway in the Vaults, where thieves ran rampant and fights were not stopped but encouraged.

And even though Chaol wasn't her favorite person at the moment, or the most important one... he'd still helped her, in a way, by sending her to Wendlyn. Well, depending on what part of the story one was looking at; she'd gained allies, become an even more lethal weapon, and met Rowan, but on the other hand, she'd failed in the assassination of the Ashryvers and therefore was being hunted at the very moment.

Chaol Westfall had always seemed to mess things up and make things better at the same time.

If she strained her ears, she could just barely hear murmurs of low voices, the exchanging of information. And if it was this important to him... well, it was rather convenient for her that they were likely looking for the Captain as well, as it appeared he'd finally made a choice about what side he'd stand on.

Aelin dropped to the ground a bit away from the alley, her boots making the softest of sounds. She knew they'd heard it, though, when four heads snapped her way.

"Come out, little girl," one of them yelled, and the others laughed, loud and ugly. A spark of anger ignited at the comment, and the flames spread through her. She gritted her teeth. "Come out, come out, wherever you are."

She darted past them, her cloak flapping as the wind caught it. As a whole, the four of them turned, four deadly and dangerous guards, even as weak as they were compared to their usual forms. Aelin fingered one of the daggers strapped to her thighs, even as other weapons pressed against her, concealed under her cloak, her clothes, and in the familiar weight in her boot. She couldn't just kill them; no, she wanted a fight. She wanted to goad them, to draw them out until she struck, standing over their bodies in dark triumph.

The first dagger went through the soft, unprotected skin of the throat. It killed the man instantly, and she smiled. A warning, something to keep them on her toes.

"Three," she whispered, but the word echoed. Metal hissed.

Swords were drawn, and the remaining three grouped together, back to back as they inched forwards, looking for their target. It would be harder to separate them like this, but no matter. It was a welcome challenge.

"Show yourself, coward!"

She moved forwards until pale moonlight spilled between the buildings, illuminating her figure. To their credit, no one hesitated. She slipped under the swing of a sword, the blade an inch away from her head. An arm grabbed her; she jabbed her elbow back and connected, whirling to duck under the guard of and aiming a blow of one of the men.

"Bitch," the man growled, staggering back as she slammed her fist into his jaw, then his nose, drawing blood. "You'll pay for that."

"Of course I will," she told him sweetly before his sword was wrenched out of his hand. The anger consumed her, fire licking at her insides. She snarled, twisting the weapon in her grip before driving it in between a chink of armor and into his gut. His dark eyes flickered for a moment, changing to pale blue for a second. Then she ripped the sword out, tossed it to the side, and ducked.

"Two," she said, turning to face her opponents.

Before they could attack, she melted back into the shadows. One of the men, burly and broad-shouldered, growled. The other one, lanky but well-built, spoke up. "Drop your weapons, girl. It's no use trying to fight us. This is a fight you cannot win."

"You wanted my weapons?" she crooned into the quiet world.

The smaller man stalked towards her with a predatory gait, much like Rowan's. He shifted the sword in his grip, eyes gleaming as he smiled at her. "Surrender, and the king may be merciful." She laughed when he said that; Aelin couldn't help it. Merciful? The king? Never.

"Come and find me," she said, taking a step back, then another, then another. Metal sang as she finally drew Goldryn, the bright red eye in the hilt glinting in the light as if it were a blood-red jewel.

He lunged forward, his companion watching from the sidelines. His sword pressed against hers, and they were fighting. Clang. She blocked a blow, wincing at the sheer force put behind it. Clang. She side-stepped, catching him off balance, and struck, using years upon years of training. Swiftly as an asp, just like she had been taught, Aelin sliced at the man's ankle. His legs were not guarded, either, and this was an unconventional move.

He let out a ragged cry as the sword sank into flesh, his foot no longer able to support his weight.

"And then there was one," she said softly, staring at the large, burly man. He had an advantage over her in his strength, just as Cain had. But she was smaller, faster - and of course, trained by the best.

"Fire breathing bitch," he snarled, and she had a feeling then that the king knew exactly who had been living in his castle, killing who he wanted for him - though none of his targets had ever died, except for Archer Finn.

She smiled pleasantly as their weapons crossed. "You forgot queen," she reminded him. Their eyes locked, and she could feel the faint tug of a familiar darkness. Warmth rushed to her face. She willed her strength to fill her, to help her stand fast.

"I'll kill you," he hissed, striking. She barely had time to dodge, much less to block. He roared, letting loose a barrage of blows that was hard to keep up with. She wasn't strong enough to continue like this, drained and absolutely starving.

A movement in the corner of her eye startled her - the emergence of a dark head and a familiar face, the one she knew so well. He still looked the same, of course, something she'd realized when she'd seen him talking to Arobynn. But this time, he was looking straight at her, with those conflicted eyes she'd fallen in love with.

And then she couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe, because-

because there was a hand wrapped around her throat, crushing it.

"Celaena!" Chaol roared, drawing his sword. No, she noticed, not the eagle-pommeled one she remembered, but Damaris, Damaris-

The world darkened as the creature grinned at her, applying more pressure. "And then there was one," he mocked, his tone cruel. She clawed at his hands as he choked her, Goldryn slipping from her grip. It clattered against the ground. "My Lady." He laughed.

My Lady. The darkness beckoned again, and this time, it was stronger. More powerful. Blood dripped from her nose, red pooling on her face. My Lady.

For a second, it was not one of the king's men in front of her but Aedion instead. His eyes were the same as hers, Ashryver eyes. The same eyes as her mother's, so kind and patient and beautiful. And Aedion, her brave, too-loyal cousin was gripping her throat with hate-filled eyes. She stopped struggling, sagging in his grip.

She wouldn't mind dying by his hand. It was a punishment, a payback, for all those years she had turned her back on her kingdom and slaughtered the innocent until the streets of Rifthold had run red with blood.

There was no magic to save her now, no Rowan to come sprinting from the barriers to join her, to will her to cut herself again so their souls might join, the blade digging into her palm right over the scar she'd given herself as a promise to Nehemia.

Something in her flared. Some half-forgotten thought, lost in the darkness. A fire - not the magic that had been extinguished but the fire of her own soul, the light in the corner of her slowly mending heart - a heart of flames, Fireheart -

She met the dark eyes of this creature, this monster, this man - not Aedion. He'd stilled with shock as she pulled herself from his power.

"No," she cried, and it was a promise and a battle cry.

Aelin twisted her body in his grasp, her feet slamming into his unprotected stomach. He dropped her, groaning, and she gasped for air, desperately trying to recover before he did. As he got up, she slammed her fist into his face. He fell back, swearing as she retrieved Goldryn, the blood in her veins simmering.

She stalked around him, a hunter assessing its prey. Then she struck three times, quicker than most eyes could see. His head toppled to the ground, severed. Another strike had driven her sword through his gut, and the last one had been directed at the hand gripping his sword tightly.

Someone whimpered. The anger still not tamed, she whirled on her heel to see the man she'd left alive trying to crawl away. No.

"Did you like the little trail I left you?" she crooned. His face contorted in horror as she squatted next to him.

"A trap," he whispered furiously. "I swear-"

He screamed as she stomped on his fingers, her heel shattering the bones of his fingers. The sound cut off as she flew onto his chest, using her weight to keep him from moving. "Now tell me," Aelin whispered, the tip of her blade resting underneath his chin. "What do you know of the king's plans?"

That man had been useless, she realized, wiping Goldryn on her already dirty pants, grimacing as red bloomed across the cloth. That man had been completely, utterly useless. Her interrogation had gotten her nothing, had wasted her time - time that could be spent pooling in favors as Celaena Sardothien, calling people to her aid, finding the resources to save Aedion, because she wasn't going to leave him behind again, time that would allow her to eventually kill the king.

Also time that could've been spent finding a plate loaded with freshly-cooked food, or a place with hot water to get rid of this grime - what she wouldn't give for a shower

She let out a sigh. "Do you at least carry money?" she grumbled to the corpse, kneeling down next to him and searching for a coin purse. There was one; the gods must have felt generous today, or perhaps this was to make up for the fact that her cousin had been taken, she had no magic, Tern was an ass...

"Celaena." A voice interrupted her train of thought. She ignored it, irritated. "Celaena. Are you alright?"

She moved to the next body, pulling her dagger from his throat and tucking it back in its place. He, too, was carrying a pouch full of coins. Gold and silver pieces, no less. It would pay for supper - warm bread and a steaming stew, perhaps, and a piece of cake - as well as a new set of clothes and a hot bath. Oh, that sounded good.

"Celaena," Chaol prompted, and she glared up at him.

"That's not my name," she told him stiffly, her emotions rolling inside of her like broken glass. Despite having the time - and Rowan, who had greatly helped, seeing Chaol in person brought up too many unsteady emotions, too many thoughts she'd long put away in favor of being who she was.

He hesitated as she stood. The coins jingled in the pouches. She would have to be careful; she wasn't out of the Vaults yet. Aelin could feel his conflicting emotions, struggling as he wondered if he should truly trust his two companions - but the other man had no such ideas.

She froze as she recognized him. He'd been there the night... the night Archer Finn had set his trap. He'd been in the room, had been an ally of Archer's, had worked with him to capture Chaol so he could lure Celaena away. Celaena, not Aelin.

"You," she snarled, drawing Goldryn.

"Aelin," Chaol suddenly cried, the name bursting from his lips. She paid it no mind; it was her rightful name, and she had a score to settle with this man. He'd been a part of the rebel movement, one who believed the lost princess - queen - of Terrasen was still alive. And yet unknowingly, he had attacked her, his queen.

The man stopped. "You're Aelin?" he ground out, eyes widening. "But that means..."

"Ren," Chaol said in warning. His tone turned into a pleading one. "Celaena, uh, Aelin... he's from Terrasen. The Lord of Allsbrook. He's an ally, please."

Allsbrook. She remembered Allsbrook, near the Staghorn Mountains. She'd gone once when she was younger, perhaps seven or eight as a diplomatic trip. There had been the Lord of Allsbrook, yes - a man older than her father, or at least it had seemed so to her eyes. Murtagh, though she was told he'd soon to retire to allow his son and daughter-in-law to become king and queen.

Ah, Ren; they'd been sent off together. She hadn't liked him one bit during their stay in Allsbrook, and she certainly did not like him any more eleven years later.

"Fine," she spat. "Very well. We've much to discuss, if you will join me for dinner." Or perhaps she would feast tonight, lamb and stuffed birds and fruit. The two men relaxed. The female, however, Chaol's guard, did not. She was smart not to, though even if they fought, she wouldn't have a good chance against Aelin.

"Thank you," Chaol said awkwardly. "And we will." He briefly made eye contact with her before looking away, dark eyes ashamed. A moment of quiet as she wondered what to do next. There were so many things she had to do, so many messages to send and friends to talk to and still blood left to be shed. This time, it would be the slaughter of those who were not innocent, and she did not have a master now.

In time, Aelin would claim what was hers - the dinner and bath she had yet to take, her cousin, her friends, her heirlooms, her magic, her people, her kingdom.

But for now, she settled with the action of darting forward and slamming the heel of her hand into Ren's nose, hearing a sickening crack as blood began to gush. He stumbled back, stunned, and Aelin allowed herself a smile.

Heads or tails. The cruel king or the lethal wyvern. There was still some bloodshed left tonight.

So... who doesn't like Aelin bashing up a couple of people? This is based off of the three chapters I found today due to a little birdy telling me just what I needed to know. I was too curious about what would happen next seeing as the last line of that chapter was something that screamed bloodbath.

Agh, I wrote this all today, and I'm so excited!

I hope you guys enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please tell me what you think; I'd love to know!

achieving elysium