The Queen of Shadows excerpt made me cry so this is a mostly Dorian-oriented chapter. Besides working toward Aedion and Aelin's eventual meeting I also want to write a proper healing process for Dorian after his rescue and Rowan's situation in Wendlyn. There will be more details in later chapters but this is just a heads up.
Note: This fanfic will not follow the events of Queen of Shadows. Most of the plot is mine, but everything else by the beautiful Sarah. J Maas.
...
The sewers were different in the morning. Though no light could penetrate its murky blackness, it was somehow less threatening, less dense in its malevolence. He kept his sword out, his sense alert for the scrape of claws against stone and the swirl of a dense dark cloak.
That woman– and the ridderak was long gone. Aedion shoved his disappointment aside; it was expected and he hadn't come for her anyway. He stopped in front of that bronze knocker the captain claimed possessed the strange ability to converse with others.
Aedion didn't bother entering the tomb– he doubted Elena would stoop so low as to talk to him anyway. The face of the knocker was set in a perpetual grimace and Aedion's mouth curved at the ridiculousness of the situation. "Hello," he said.
The knocker didn't respond. "I'm sorry if we interrupted your sleep last night," Aedion continued. "You wouldn't happened to have seen my cousin pass by recently, have you?" He paused, but the knocker didn't move. Feeling rather foolish, Aedion sheathed his sword. Chaol had said the knocker never spoken to him. What made him think he would be any better than the captain anyway? Perhaps the bronze knocker only conversed with Brannon's descendants. Sighing, Aedion turned to go.
"How rude," it sniffed.
Aedion whipped around, relief loosening his harsh features. "So you do talk!" he exclaimed.
The knocker couldn't look anymore disgusted. "Clearly," it drawled, "but you knew that already. Hurry and get your question over with. I don't particularly want to waste my time exchanging pleasantries with some soldier."
"I'm a warrior."
"That's not a question."
"I know that," Aedion said trying not to get irritated lest he scare the knocker back into silence.
"I would certainly hope so." Its mouth cracked with a yawn.
"My cousin, is she back?"
The knocker ignored his question. "One thing is certain: Your cousin clearly has better manners. At least she asked me for my name. But of course that is a minuscule difference. You growl and huff and swagger about your glory just as much as she does."
Aedion was mildly fascinated. "She does?"
It snorted again. "And of course that's what you fixate on." It clucked. "Ask your question."
"I already did," Aedion said with exasperation.
The knocker opened its eyes and smirked coyly. "Is it? I believed you were going to inquire about some black cloaked beauty."
His breath caught on an inhale and Aedion almost choked. "How–"
"Ask your question," the knocker said.
"Who is she?" Aedion breathed. "Why is that woman so familiar to me?"
"You know her," it said as if it was more than obvious.
That's it. If another non-answer came out of that smartass bronze mouth, Aedion was going to tear that door down. "How?" he pleaded plainly.
"That's for you to find out. It is not my place to tell you."
The knocker didn't flinch as Aedion punched the door in his frustration. The wood splintered under the force of his fist but held. "Do more than that you can be sure Gavin will go after you for disturbing his queen's rest."
Aedion bared his teeth in a fearsome snarl. "Gavin has been buried for half a millennium."
The knocker gave him an inscrutable look. "So they say."
"You are useless," the general breathed, fury bathing his features.
"I'm a door knocker," it said drily.
Aedion spun away, his fists clenched. "It was a mistake to come here."
"It was," the knocker agreed. He scowled.
"You won't find that woman, your queen here. She is where she is needed and that is among the living. Where her allies are– where her warriors are– that is where she will stay."
"Are you talking about my cousin or that woman?"
The knocker smiled shrewdly and Aedion's fingers twitched, itching to punch that damn expression off its smug face. He had to sense to curb the urge, however, knowing it would hurt his hand more than the bronze knocker. "You already know how find that woman you so desperately seek," its eyes fixated on his tunic. "The answer is on you."
His hands flew to the calling card, hidden beneath his shirt. "If I seek out Mistress Brackyn, will I find my cousin as well?"
Its eyes closed with a sigh of irritation. "Perhaps."
Knowing it was the best answer he was going to get, Aedion changed tactics. "Are they in the city?"
"Don't waste my time by asking me questions you already know the answers to," the knocker snapped.
"Waste your time? You are attached to a door–"
"You are not going to find that woman if she doesn't want to be found," it spoke over him, "and judging by how frustrated you look I'm guessing you haven't had much luck. Your cousin... She doesn't want to see you–"
Aedion' stomach dropped, and he swayed as if he had taken a blow. The world tilted under his feet and for a moment there was nothing but the rushing of blood in his ears, the pounding thrum of his heart. Aedion braced his arm on the doorjamb and whispered, "What did you say?" He had to have been mistaken. Because the alternative–
"She doesn't want to see you," the knocker said again, flatly. "Aelin will find you when she's ready. Your cousin lived in the heart of Adarlan's empire for years. What she has learnt, what she has heard–"
The general's face was wiped of expression as he stared at the knocker without truly seeing. What she has heard–
The king smiled, a cruel thing to behold. "You have done my empire a great service this day my dear Northern Wolf."
Aedion bared his teeth into a feral smile and bowed his head even as his instincts screamed at him to slaughter them all and splatter their innards onto the pretty walls.
Aelin would have loved the dresses, the carefully coiled hair and all the glittery adornments. It would be his reminder–all this debauchery– the product of the toil of his people. Aedion would never forget what he was made into– what the king had forced him to do. He would never forget himself– who he was: warrior, cousin, protector–in his enemy's house.
"It was my duty and honour, Your Majesty," he said. "I am yours to command."
The king's grin widened."What can we bless you with, Aedion Ashryver. You have the love of your people, the unwavering loyalty those under your command..."
That familiar rage pulsed again and Aedion held it close to his heart, riding that reckless wave to provide him the courage for his next words. "I want the Sword of Orynth," the eighteen year old Northern Wolf declared to the dead silence of the court.
To dare demand a gift from the king and interrupt him so... The court waited for the execution order with bated breath, but their sovereign merely laughed. Slowly, as if that was a sign of approval, the court tittered along with him.
The king waved a gracious hand. "Then you shall have it."
He didn't allow his shoulders to sag in relief, but let his smile take over his face, dark glee replacing his bland expression. "Thank you for your generosity, my Liege."
Thank you. Northern Wolf. Adarlan's Whore. Aelin shouldn't want to see him. Of course not. Adarlan's Whore. Aedion was a fool to have thought otherwise. He backed away from the knocker, his features set in unguarded grief.
It was surprisingly sad as it watched him. "I'm sorry," it said sorrowfully. And that was when he snapped. Aedion was filled with her– her screams, her cries, her pleading.
"No," he whispered. He covered his ears and backed away. The walls pulsed around him and he spun around, almost stumbling over his feet as he ran to the exit, to the light.
Aedion had the audacity to called himself a warrior– a protector– but when his very reason for being did not need him... what purpose did he have anymore? He had failed her: working for their enemy's house, spilling the blood of their people. Aelin must hate him for what he was, what he had done. His people's resentment would pale in comparison to seeing the loathing and disgust in her face.
But it didn't matter if she hated him, didn't matter if she cursed the very dirt he walked on, he would serve her any way he could even if she killed him for daring to show his face to her. He let out a long, bitter laugh so cold he scarcely recognized himself in it. How ironic, to be slaughtered by the very one you were sworn to protect.
Aedion barely remembered to shove his hood on before he grappled with the gate, fence, the forest beyond and disappeared into the city.
...
Aelin nudged her bedroom door with her hip, a breakfast tray neatly balanced on her arm. The door swung open to reveal Dorian struggling to his feet. She set the tray on the vanity and hurried toward the bed, easily propping him up as he swayed haphazardly. "You shouldn't be out of bed," she said in a clipped tone.
"You left," Dorian rasped. "I–I got worried."
She softened, raking a concerned gaze down his slouched, shaking form. Meeting his darting, fearful eyes, she gave him a gentle smile. "I was out taking care of a few things. Here." Aelin sat him down on the bed before lifting his legs to the mattress. "Don't try to go out again. You are very weak right now."
Dorian settled back on the pillows. "But your room–"
"I have empty cells in the dungeon downstairs if this room is not to your tastes," Aelin offered. "Maybe you can keep the rats company."
He flinched and Aelin winced, inwardly cursing herself for her callousness. "I'm sorry, that joke was in bad taste."
He shook his head and snuggled into the covers. "No– it's just– you've already done so much. I shouldn't be here. I'll just stir up more trouble. You should be lying low right now, not catering to me. My father is going to be after you for not killing the Wendlyn royals."
Aelin gave a half-shrug. "He can't track someone that's already technically dead."
Dorian struggled to sit on the bed, grimacing. Aelin's hands flitted helplessly, uncertain as to where to touch him to avoid hurting him further. Finally, she slipped her arms around his waist to help him recline onto the pillows behind him. "What do you mean?" Dorian demanded weakly.
Withdrawing, she sat herself stiffly beside him on the bed. His hands were shot through with tiny tremors and Aelin watched as Dorian fisted them into the silk sheets to hide them.
She chewed on her lip before saying, "Celaena Sardothien was executed last week in Varese for attempted assassination of the Wendlyn royal family during their Solstice Ball. Wendlyn is using it as an excuse to declare war."
"But you're not dead," he pointed out.
"It was easily enough to fake the hanging with another dead girl," Aelin explained quietly. "And since Celaena was in their dungeons for weeks before the execution, nobody questioned why that assassin didn't look much like a woman if you know what I mean."
"That was smart," Dorian said grudgingly. "But to kill the girl..."
"Nobody killed the girl," Aelin said vehemently. "They took the body of a similar girl from one the their sick houses."
"Oh," he said, "then the war–"
"One of my emissaries–" she smiled at the word Rowan was reduced to. He was probably gnashing his teeth somewhere in Varese, brooding. I am a warrior, she could almost hear his voice grumbling in her head emphatically. "–helped me negotiated for Wendlyn's aid in the impending war."
He just stared at her flatly. "They didn't come ten years ago."
Her smiled faltered and Aelin resisted the urge to shudder at the cool, irrevocable misery in his face. Dorian looked as if he wouldn't care if the King of Adarlan himself strode in the room.
She had been like that... before Mistward, before Rowan, before the Valg. Aelin reached out to take one of his hands still white-knuckled, wrinkling her sheets. Dorian stiffened, fear flashing across his features– not fear for himself, but fear for her, what he could do to her.
Aelin looked straight into those familiar sapphire eyes, usually bright and gleaming, now dulled with defeat, pain and barely concealed grief. What had happened in the weeks she was away to dim such a brilliant, golden soul?
"The Ashryvers will help as they swore they would. They had no reason to give assistance ten years ago when they believed the Galathynius line to have died off– when they had believed I had been killed–but it will be different this time, Dorian. I will help you regain your kingdom. I can free the others that have been enslaved–"
"Why?" Dorian hissed. "Why after the monster I've become–"
That was what this was about? Aelin threw her head back and laughed, the sound pealing out of her like a bell. "You? The monster? Impossible." She swung a hand, cutting through the air as he protested. "You were a victim of your father's schemes, Dorian. I know what it is like to be a monster. I am the monster," she raked a derisive gaze down his body, "and if you think being trapped in a collar, controlled by something that should not exist in this world is equivalent to what I have done fully conscious in my own body, I think your morals have twisted in an irreparable way."
Dorian shook her head. "You weren't there. I should have saved her– I–"
"I don't know what really happened that day in the glass castle," Aelin said softly, "but it was not your fault." His eyes grew wet and he shook his head soundlessly. Taking his other hand, she said it firmly, almost shaking him as she said, "It was not your fault– all the things that happened before and after that point and you know why?"
Dorian eyes were locked on her, as if she was the only thing that was keeping him afloat in the roiling seas of his consciousness. "You know why?" she repeated. "Because you were stuck in a husk of yourself for months. One of the Valg possessed your body and you were able to stay sane. You fought it, your magic fought every minute, every second of your body's capture. Your magic resisted it. Why do you think you are so sick right now? Your magic– you fought so hard you ended up on the edge of the burnout. What happens when your magic goes past the point of return," Aelin said to Dorian's unspoken question.
"What happened in the castle–" Dorian broke off with a cough, sweat beading on his brow.
"Reserve your strength," she said gently. "Everything will be clearer soon. You are safe here."
"Where," Dorian whispered after his coughing fit subsided.
Aelin smoothed his hair back with a cool, calloused hand, a sharp contrast to his burning forehead. He closed his eyes, leaning into her hand with a sigh. "The Assassin's Keep."
Too drained to move or speak, Dorian merely raised an eyebrow. "I'm queen of assassins now," Aelin said. "They won't ask questions if they know what's good for them. Oh, I almost forgot." She headed back to the vanity to take the tray. "Your breakfast."
Dorian stared at the heaping plate of food, then gazed back at her helplessly. "I can't finish that," he rasped.
She gave him a knowing smile. "You will finish and you will learn to eat even more when we start to train."
"Train?"
Aelin sighed. "I have a lot to catch you up on and, well, I'm sure you have a lot to tell me of what went on after I left. Things certainly got... interesting." She gave him an unreadable look.
Dorian wrapped his arms around himself, as if it were the only thing keeping him from falling apart, his expression a bleak wasteland. "That's one way to put it."
They went quiet, tacitly understanding each other's need to collect their respective thoughts. The silence was breached only by the quiet clinking of Dorian's utensils as he ate haltingly. Aelin kept her eyes on the thick scar on her left hand– a constant reminder of her promise to Nehemia and her eternal bond with Rowan.
She rubbed it absently, longing for the calming scent of pine and snow that always blanketed her warrior. It ached sometimes when the need for him was particularly strong, when the yearning honed to a point where she almost believed her heart would rend in two from his absence. But it was useless. Rowan was needed in Wendlyn and if he was here he would most likely wallop her for focusing on such causeless thoughts. She should be planning for her return to Terrasen, the war, anything else but him.
And Aedion. Aelin wasn't sure what to do with him, wasn't sure what he would to her if he saw exactly what she had become. But inciting a war, winning it, becoming queen, won't erase the failure she had been, the failure she still was.
Scooting back against the backboard, Aelin drew her knees to her chest. It was better for him. Better for Aedion, Chaol and the rebels to stay far, far away from her. If they were smart, they would keep from seeking her out for a long while. She had eyes and ears everywhere in Rifthold. She would be able to protect them if the need arises.
"So..." Dorian said, breaking the silence. Aelin lifted her head. A grim smile played around his mouth. "Aelin Galathynius, hmm?"
She hated the glassy brokenness in his expression. It reminded her too much of what they had lost, what he had suffered. How had it come to this? "Yeah," she said, her voice gravelly. Aelin cleared it, then forced a thin smile. "Yeah," she said again, softer.
Dorian watched her with preternatural stillness. The Valg prince had left his mark on him that was certain. Aelin even didn't want to think about the kinds of things he had seen, the things the monsters had made him do.
She resisted the urge to fidget as his eyes roved over her face and lifted her chin staring right back. He frowned. "You're different," he said.
So he's finally noticed. "My hair," Aelin said, reach up with a hand to tugged at a blonde strand. "One of the Valg princes' cut it. But let's not talk about such nasty topics at breakfast."
He was still frowning. "Your face is bruised." Dorian seemed about to reach forward to touch it, but thought better of it, retracting his hand. Aelin knew exactly how it looked: a smattering of yellow and green along her jaw and cheek. It had been weeks since her altercation with her former master, but still the bruise remained.
"Courtesy of Arobynn Hamel," she said and to his wide eyes continued, "He wasn't about to cede his title over to me without a fight."
"Did you kill him?"
"He's rotting in the morgue right now," Aelin said with a shrug, "so I hope so."
Dorian cracked a smile, and Aelin's heart danced at that small victory, but he continued to gaze at her. "You are different," he said again. "And it's not your hair, or your face which is radiant as usual," she smirked at that, but Dorian continued. "Whatever happened in Wendlyn... it ... changed you. You," he groped for a word, "are better. You shine brighter. Celaena was an ember, but you are a flame."
Aelin smiled, suddenly shy. "I didn't think the servants would have dared to drug you, but now I'm rethinking that possibility."
"I am perfectly alert," Dorian said indignantly, even as his mouth cracked open with a yawn. He immediately winced, hands going to his face.
"I know you meant what you said," she nodded toward his face, "and that will hurt for quite a while. I ordered the servants to make a painkilling tonic for you." Aelin lifted the tray away from him and placed it on the bedside table. She pulled the covers over him as he eased down to the mattress laboriously.
"Thank you," he said. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to repay what you have done for me–what you saved me from."
"You are my friend, Dorian. There is no repayment except for you to rest and heal." Aelin took the tray and turned to leave. A weak, feverish hand caught her arm and she glanced back.
"Don't," he got out. "Don't leave. They will come for me."
Aelin didn't need it to make sense. She had lost count of how many times have these kind of nightmares plagued her. His hand slid from her arm to clasp her hand as his sapphire eyes pleaded at her.
Her voice was gentle as she said, "I won't leave you, I promise." Placing the tray down again, she lay down stiffly on top of the covers, careful not to jostle his tender, burnt-out body. His eyes closed with an breathy exhale, tensed muscles relaxing bit by bit until he yielded fully to his weariness.
"You keep your promises," he mumbled. "You came back for me."
"They won't dare come near you with me here," she murmured. Clasping their hands to his chest, Dorian curled his body into her warmth.
"Scary fire-breathing bitch-queen," he mumbled.
Aelin chuckled softly, brushing his hair back from where it dangled over his eyes. "You are safe here–with me. Even when you forget everything else, know that." Dorian murmured into the covers. She watched the perpetual frown around his mouth ease, but there were shadows under his eyes. Shadows that spoke of too many sleepless nights and terrible ordeals she could only imagine.
Soon Dorian's easy breathing led her into sleep and her dreams were not of a green-eyed warrior across the ocean, but of an eight year old girl and her doting protector playing in the fresh fallen mountain snow.
...
It was hours later before Dorian awoke, and by that time, the afternoon sun was streaming through the opened curtains. His slumber had been blissfully dreamless. Lavender scented blonde hair tickled his nose and he blew it away with a huff. Mindful of his sore body, he turned his head toward the warm weight that lay to his left.
The princess was still asleep, motionless and innocent, the sunlight setting her gold-spun hair alight. If it not for the slight rise and fall of her chest, Dorian would have thought her to be dead. His chest tightened and he gripped her hand harder. Aelin shifted, and Dorian froze as she murmured something too soft for him to catch. She settled again.
Her hands were not the soft golden doves he was used to, but Dorian found himself taking comfort in the strength and steel running through the veins and hollows. They were the hands of a seasoned warrior, the scars and calluses marking them a testament to her endurance and training.
Nehemia had once told him Celaena and Chaol would never understand their burdens, and she was not wrong, but Celaena was dead and the woman that had taken her place... He marvelled at the trust she had unwittingly put in him. Lying so close even though she knew what kind of danger he possessed. His eyes burned again, tears pressing against his lids and Dorian cursed himself for becoming such a sap. The Valg she mentioned was gone, but couldn't she see the darkness in him? The taint that monster had left on his soul?
But of course she understood. I am the monster, she had said. All those years enslaved to different masters, what she must have sacrificed... They were not different, Dorian decided. Not different at all.
"Why are you staring at me?" she mumbled, one lazy blue-gold eye peering at him. "I didn't sleep at all yesterday night. Don't judge." With that, she closed it again. Dorian felt a laugh rumble through his chest, an almost foreign sensation after so long. The thought sobered him, but glimpsing a responding smile on Aelin's lips, brought it up again.
"I was thinking about the future," Dorian said.
Mildly interested, she languidly blinked open both eyes, propping her head on her hand. "What of the future?"
He smiled slightly. There will be time to think on what had happened, what he had lost, but now... "Only that it's going to be bright."
...
I really hoped I did Dorian's struggle justice. Don't worry, this is not the end of it, though this chapter ended on a hopeful note. People don't heal like that. And for anyone who's going through tough times let me give you a hug. My ask box is always open.
Thank you for all your lovely reviews.
-Silverleaf