Hi guys thanks for choosing to read my story! This is my first attempt to write something for throne of glass so I hope you all like it! This idea came from an idea I had after reading a ton of headcanons about Aelin being pregnant while with Maeve. All of those stories always ended up happy because it inspired Aelin to escape, but I had a different idea. This fanfiction is also on tumblr under the username: firebreathingbitchqueen26. Anyway, here is the story!
The rain pelted against the walls of the ruins, as cold and unforgiving as the people who had once lived here. The stone walls towered above the tiny camp, the only source of colour in the otherwise grey landscape. For many moths of the year, this ground was covered in snow, but the melt had caused any of that pure white to vanish and be replaced by the frozen turf.
Despite the pounding rain, all was quiet and still.
Until a hawk burst through the clouds. Its wings slicked with water, it lets out a cry as it swoops over the ruins of the once large mine. The mass graves, despite the lack of marking, are still visible as Rowan Whitethorn Galanthyius swept over the ruins of Endovier.
Endovier Salt Mines. The place where his beloved had been imprisoned for a year. The place where they had whipped and degraded her. And now, the place where she had been imprisoned once more. He swept closer and closer to the small camp, imprisoned by the ruins. Two figures were visible, stepping into the pouring rain. He shifted as he reached the ground, feeling the rain suddenly falling onto his head instead of the bird's wings. Gavriel, shielding his face against the rain, reached out to him in greeting but he stepped around the outstretched hand. Lorcan stood in the entry way to the small tent, his face impassive.
"Has she awakened?" Rowan glanced behind him, looking to Gavriel for the answers. Gavriel shook his head, moving back towards the safety of the tent.
"Fenrys?" Another headshake. Rowan stepped past his old commander, taking a moment to relish in the warmth as he shook the water out of his hair. Gavriel, a step behind him, did the same and carefully stepped to the side of the warm tent. It was small, filled with weapons and other essentials strewn along the walls. Tucked in a corner, a single bed roll with a small figure curled up in it. Rowan covered the distance to the bed in two strides, and froze. He remained still, looking at his mate. His Fireheart. Her gold hair had been shorn, her face was paler and there were new scars decorating her thin frame.
She hadn't woken up yet. Not since they had found her and Fenrys, abandoned in the ruins of Endovier. Some very small part of him, the part that sounded suspiciously like the queen who had taken his wife, whispered that she might never wake up. He refused to listen to it, but every day she remained asleep, the voice grew a tiny bit stronger. He reached out a hand to brush against his Fireheart's cheek. What he wouldn't give to see her laugh and call him buzzard. To see her bright and mocking smile. Those bright Ashryver eyes.
Looking down at her face, at his hand brushed against her cheek, he felt the ache of her absence even more keenly then when she had first been taken from him. At least, he knew she was safe now, but she could be suffering. Locked in the caverns of her own mind. He was so entranced in his thoughts, that he didn't register any form of movement until a thin hand covered his open. His eyes met those bright ashryver eyes that he so loved.
"Fireheart." He breathed, hardly wanting to move in case he shattered the perfect moment of his wife looking up at him. What if she didn't remember him? What had Maeve done to her? She took a moment, her throat fluttering, but the she spoke in a hoarse voice.
"Buzzard." He could have wept with relief. He almost did but instead he sunk to his knees, wrapping his arms around her. She leaned her head against his and he focused on the scent of her, the familiar feeling it evoked. His Fireheart. His wife. His Mate. But ether was something else. A different scent this time. Something strange, yet oddly familiar that was interwoven with Aelin's. He released her to look back at her, checking her over for signs of blood, anything that could be causing this odd smell. For a moment, she glances back at him in confusion, and then her eyes grew wide.
"Lyria." He recoiled briefly at the sound of the name, why would she mention his deceased love? A love that he now knew to be orchestrated by Maeve but that in no way changed the way he thought of her. He stroked a hand down Aelin's back, stifling a snarl when he felt her spine stick out under his touch, to calm her from whatever had upset her. But she was having none it. He felt her brush his shoulder as she swung her legs out from under the blanket and lurched forward of the cot. He caught her before she fell, Gavriel and Lorcan moving in to help hold the queen if necessary.
"Lyria!" Aelin screamed, scrambling to get out of his hold.
"Fireheart, stop, you're safe. Everything is fine!" He groaned as he scrambled for purchase on the slippery tent ground. But still she continued to struggle. She broke free, knocking him to the ground and dashed out into the pouring rain.
"Lyria!" Her screams echoed off the ruins as she glanced around frantically, the rain soaking the thin dress she wore. Rowan bolted into the rain, any dryness he had regained gone in an instant as the rain soaked him to the bone.
"No, No, No" Aelin sank to her knees, rain pouring all around her as she sobbed. Helpless, Rowan knelt beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. Aelin did nothing, sobbing into her hands but leaned into his touch all the same. He sat with her, in the rain, until her sobs eased.
"Fireheart." He whispered, barely audible over the rain pounding against the ground. She turned to look at him, her eyes wet from the rain and tears. A fire had been lit within in them, the embers smoldered in her wide blue eyes.
"We are going to find her and kill her. And we are going to get her back." She whispered, her voice hoarse. He didn't speak but the question must have been written on his face, the confusion at her outburst.
"Lyria. We are going to get her back. Maeve will pay for this." Her voice shook with emphasis. The confusion must still have been clear as Aelin placed his hand on her stomach. A slow dawning entered his mind.
"No." He hissed.
"No" he repeated, shaking his head, "No."
"Lyria is our daughter." Aelin whispered, eyes filling with tears again. "And that bitch has her."
"No." He could only say as he stared at his wife.
"No." Aelin fell against him, her sobs matching his own.
"We will get her back, Fireheart. I swear to you, we will get her back." He promised, voice thick.
"I know." She whispered. "I know." And so, they clung to each other, in the pouring rain, in the ruins of Endovier, grieving for their lost daughter.
Sixteen years later
The dark queen sat, as ornately as she would upon a throne of gold. Her skirts fell around her in the dark of the dungeon.
She recognized her surroundings of course, some sort of poetic justice. Whitethorn always was a sentimental fool. He stalked in to the room, with the warrior's gait that she knew well. Hell, it had been she who had encouraged him to become the warrior. Along with him, members of her fallen court. All turned out to watch her perish, she supposed.
The queen was the last to enter. Her golden hair had grown back since the last time Maeve had seen the girl, sobbing on a cold dungeon floor. She had heard of her exploits in the past few years, the slaughter of Erawan forces. The closing of the lock, she and the Havilaiard King had done it together, both surviving, but only just.
Yes, the Queen of Terrasen had become all she had promised that fateful day in Doranelle. Even without the keys, she had become an empress in her own right, content to rule Terrasen but never quite letting the world forget of the power of Aelin Wildfire. All turned out together to watch her die. She supposed she should feel honoured but a dark cloud of malice swum around her.
They will pay. They will all pay.
"Last requests, Your Majesty." The wolf snarled, his eyes wracked with pain. He must have located his brother then, the dark one who had died begging at her feet. She smirked and leaned back in her chair, ignoring the iron biting into her pale skin.
"I have one." The Queen stepped forward, her golden hair glinting in the dull light of the room.
"Where is my daughter you bitch!" She snarled, leaning closer to her. If anything, the smirk painting her face grew even bigger.
"What an interesting question." She purred, leaning against the iron chair as if it were a throne. The Queen punched her, the pain a distant echo in her face, overwhelmed by the pain in her chest.
"Where is Lyria?" Another strike. Her face began to burn but she relaxed against the chair, hiding the pain that racked her body.
"Lyria is dead." She snapped, relishing in the pain that flashed on the faces of all the children in front of her. For they were but children compared to her might. Children playing as gods.
"No." The queen hissed, recoiling as if Maeve had reached out and slapped her. The look of horror in her eyes, made her heart sing.
"No." She repeated, reaching out to her mate behind her. The horror was echoed in Whitethorn's eyes as he embraced his mate.
"Years ago. What use did I have for a child that only fought me every move I made?" She threw her head back in laughter. "Oh, but don't worry, I let Cairn have his fun with her before I gave her mercy. He seemed enjoy that."
The queen started forward, murder flickering in her eyes before her mate caught her around the waist. His face, oh she had only seen this kind of pain once before. When he had come to her after Lyria's death. Now he had lost another child.
"And you weren't there to protect this one either." She let the words pour out of her mouth, knowing full well what they would lead too. This time there was no one to stop the wolf and the rest of her court as they leapt forward to tear out her throat. She shut her eyes, a memory springing to life in her mind.
…
"Cairn." The command echoed from her lips. The throne room lay in shambles around her, the dead body of the wolf sprawled at the foot the dais. The throne was still burring. She stood beside the window, the night breeze brushing through her dark hair.
"Your majesty." She turned to see him, her only loyal guard, kneeling at what was left of her throne. She turned back to the window, staring out at the dark woods.
"I have a request of you." She murmurs, her voice the only sound amidst the cracking of flames.
"Name it." He swore, not moving from his position.
"In three days time, Aelin Galanthyius and her army will arrive." Cairn shifted nervously behind her and she stared out at the stars a slight smile curling her pale lips into a smile. "I want you to gather our forces and take them away. Move to a different city, a different state. Somewhere far away from here."
"Yes, your majesty." He murmurs, head still bowed.
"You are dismissed." He got to his feet tremulously, looking at her back intently. She could feel his gaze burning through her.
"What?" She snapped, not quite in the mood for his hesitancy. Today had not quite gone to plan.
"Will you be accompanying us?" He asked. She turned back to him, back to the ruins of her throne room. It had once been gorgeous. Not quite as ornate as her room in Dornelle but acceptable. "Let me tell you something, Cairn. Aelin will hunt me until the ends of the earth. Wont it be better of us to let her think she's won?"
"Your majesty?" Confusion etched its way across his harsh features, his whip still wet with the blood of the wolf.
"If I could let myself die, she would let you go free."
"Your majesty!" He snapped forward before he realized who he was in the presence of. Her dark power latched onto him, dragging him to the ground. "You forget yourself." She spoke in a deadly calm voice, killing calm.
"I apologize." He whimpered, locked to the ground by her power. "I just don't understand." She released the power, making him slump in relief at the pressure relaxing.
"Aelin will kill me and leave you alone as long as you vanish with our army. I have one thing I require of you."
"Anything." He gasped, "I'll do anything for you." She turned back to the window, her black skirts sweeping over the ground. The sky was black, with no stars to break its shadow. Her kind of night, the eerie stillness that led her spies to be able to report back to her under the cover of perfect darkness. Unfortunately, it had been wasted on this.
"Kill the girl." Her voice had gone cold, unable to conceal the rage she felt.
"What?"
In irritation, she swept back over to where he was standing. "You don't need to understand" she crooned, "All you need to do, is find her and kill her and I shall return for you. And we can rule. And you can have Aelin Galanthyius all to yourself." He nodded, shakily exiting the room.
She surveyed the broken remnants of her kingdom, a kingdom not one but two Galanthyius had taken from her. Her hands ground into fists as she stared at the scene around her. She brushed her fists down her dress and flinched as they met the wound. The massive wound that extended from her hip, all down her back. It had gone deep, she knew it.
Deep enough to kill. Aelin would just be hastening the inevitable future. The act of a child throwing a tantrum. Yet it had been enough to catch her off guard. It was no matter though. She would be dead soon
…
The memory fades as they lunge for her throat. The dark queen smiles to herself, thinking of her return. And she would return. More powerful and triumphant than before.
She was trusting Cairn with this task but she wasn't worried. A young girl, alone in the world, wouldn't be hard to find. She shuts her eyes a second before the sword hits her chest, the image of the fragile girl springing to mind. Her back as she ran through the flames of her own making.
Yes, Lyria Galanthyius was long dead.
She was never going to allow her new charge to keep that sentimental drivel her mother tried to shove onto her. She had renamed her.
And you can run, she silently sent to the young girl. You can run and you can hide but you will die.
Maia Ashryver Whitethorn Galanthyius will die. And as the sword cuts into her throat, the secret smile bursts onto her face.
Maeve, the Queen of the Valg, Queen of the Fae, Queen of Dornelle, dies with a smile on her face.