THIS IS THE FINAL INSTALLMENT OF Clash of the Armadas! I hope you have enjoyed reading it; I'm sorry the whole thing has been so short, but I really just wanted to see a Rowaelin reunion and decided to write it myself. (I wasn't even originally planning on a full-length story). But rest assured, ToG7 will likely be coming out this fall, which is not so much longer to wait. I hope this story has helped tide you over.
HOWEVER
THIS IS AN IMPORTANT NOTICE. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE READ. AS A HOPEFUL, ONE-DAY-AUTHOR, I'M REQUIRED TO WRITE A REALISTIC ENDING. I KNOW THAT SOME OF YOU WOULD PROBABLY RATHER NOT READ THIS, SO I WILL LET YOU KNOW AT WHAT POINT YOU SHOULD STOP READING. FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO CHOOSE TO FINISH THE STORY, JUST KNOW, YA GUNNA HATE ME AND YOU MIGHT CRY BECAUSE I DID WHILE WRITING IT SOOOOOO HAVE FUN.
Lorcan could smell her. Lorcan would know that scent from thousands of miles away. He knew it almost better than he knew Elide's.
Aelin.
But he would never say something. Not when he could risk getting Elide's hopes up only for it to be Lysandra with some major improvements to her costume. What was most confusing being that Rowan—brooding and depressed as always—couldn't seem to smell her. Maybe Lorcan was simply better at this than he was.
But Lorcan knew better. Either Rowan was not telling him something, or he'd been working on the smell thing with Lysandra and already knew about. Lorcan decided on the latter option, because if it was the former, you would assume that he would be happier.
Aelin's court stood solidly as a wall of support behind the podium, microphone attached. They didn't really need the microphone. If Lysandra was going to speak as Terrasen's queen tonight, the people would be silent.
Surprisingly, nerves were starting to build up in Lorcan's gut. He knew that the reaction to Whitethorn's speech a while back was almost unanimously positive, but he still worried that these people would be able to sense that the person standing before them was an imposter. Lorcan knew that if Maeve showed up right this second, he would be able to tell if it was really her.
He took a deep breath. Dorian had stressed how important it was that they appear united, loyal, and 100% positive in their "queen." They were lying to the public, and Lorcan thought this was not the way to go, but he would do it, for Elide.
As if on que, she briefly squeezed his hand from her spot beside him. He looked to her, and his predatory instincts immediately narrowed in on her, on making sure she was alright.
"You look tense," Elide whispered.
"I am," Lorcan said, and Elide's loose smile brought joy to his own lips.
She trailed her fingers down his cheek, and Lorcan closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, but she pulled away quickly. Neither of them knew when exactly the cameras would go live. "Don't be," she whispered. "Everything will be alright."
Lorcan couldn't say why, but he believed her without a doubt.
. . .
Lysandra stood, wringing her hands in front of her. Not her hands. Aelin's hands. A shiver ran violently down Lysandra's spine. She dragged air into her lungs, but her breath quivered as she released it.
"Hey," Aedion said, his voice unexpectedly gentle. He put a hand on her shoulder, his fingers rubbing comforting circles on her neck. "You'll do great."
Lysandra narrowed her eyes at him.
Aedion chuckled, as if he was—she daresay—happy. "Don't look at me like that," he smiled. "I can say nice things."
"Yeah, but you haven't," she emphasized. "Since you were born."
Aedion threw his head back and roared with laughter. "That," he said, waggling a playful finger at her. "is not true, and Aelin can attest-."
He stopped. And then the lights turned on.
. . .
Aelin just could not control her smirk. She had unbelievable fun imagining the faces of her remaining court members when she proved who she was. She wondered if any of them would figure it out before she ended her speech.
Besides, there were things more important than scaring the hell out of Lorcan Salvaterre, and that was her speech. Rowan had told her that the public's support had been in her favor, but she really wanted to make a good impression on them herself. Not through Rowan.
But Rowan was still the greatest.
The lights dimmed, and Rowan strode out to the podium, and ran his fingers through his hair. The smile on his face was truly contagious.
Smile.
. . .
The words Rowan spoke were basically useless. He knew that. He wasn't the main spectacle. His mate was. Aelin. He took a deep breath and ran through the speech that had already been prepared for him. Most of it, he recognized as bits and pieces of the words he'd spoken not one week ago. About Aelin herself. Halfway through, he glanced to his left and he saw her, smirking like a cat, and he was ready. He nodded once, minutely, and footsteps echoed across the stage.
. . .
"I have to say," Dorian commented to Aedion. "That Lysandra has certainly mastered the Aelin walk."
The golden-haired warrior smirked in a way that made quiet, mortal fear coil deep in Dorian's stomach. He cast a glance to Manon, on his other side, who mirrored the smirk and opened her mouth to tell him, but just then Lysandra's voice rang out into the mic.
All well. He should've been paying attention anyway.
"My name is Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, and I am the Queen of Terrasen," she paused, to let the shock ripple through the crowds watching. Outside the castle, Dorian could still hear gasps echoing throughout the square.
"As you've been told, I was recently kidnapped by my so-called Aunt, Maeve. I was tortured, mentally and physically, until only telling myself who I was and who I had to protect kept me moving. And now I've made it here. I outsmarted Maeve, out-forced her. I made my way home. I'm here, and I've brought armies ranging into the millions. We have evils to defeat, and that's exactly what I plan to do. Put your trust, your faith in me, and Terrasen will rise again."
It was meant to be a short speech. That way, she would leave the public hanging. Leave them wondering. She would've wanted her people to make their own decisions and assumptions about their queen and their own loyalty. But this…she had barely spoken fifty words to them.
But that was no longer what had Dorian's attention snagged.
Not when he tore his gaze from Lysandra-Aelin still standing at the podium only to see Lysandra in her own form standing behind the curtains looking stunned. Not when Aelin was back.
. . .
The moment the lights were off, Aelin was ambushed. Not—as she had expected—by Elide or even Gavriel, but Dorian. She'd known he was observant, but he had somehow managed to figure it out before both a full-blooded Fae and the most watchful human Aelin knew.
He crashed into her with a scowling embrace, muttering sentences Aelin could barely decipher.
"Why didn't you tell me you were back—,"
"How many people have you seen before me-,"
"Are you hurt?"
When he finally pulled away, Aelin smirked and answered all three questions at once, "Because it would be fun to see the look on your face, five, and not fatally."
Dorian looked shocked. "Five?" he asked, and Aelin—for the first time in a long time—really wanted to burst out laughing. But then Gavriel was shaking hands with her and congratulating her on her escape and a spectacular reentrance, and then a surprisingly impatient Elide pushed through the crowd to crush Aelin to her, and even Lorcan gave her a respectful nod, but she suspected it was mostly for Elide's benefit.
Aelin kind of wanted to pummel Lorcan for what a jerk he'd been, even though he'd done exactly what Aelin had planned on and hoped for. Elide deserved better. But she looked genuinely happy, and it was lucky for Lorcan because otherwise Aelin would've followed through on her first plan.
Lysandra came up to hug her, though she too looked rather put off that she hadn't been informed of Aelin's return.
"At least I don't have to pretend to be someone I'm not any longer," Lysandra sighed as she hugged Aelin.
But she pulled away to face the girl. "I know," she said. "I'm so sorry. I never wanted that for you. But you understand…"
"I do," Lysandra nodded, "But I do require one favor from you."
"Anything."
Lysandra smirked devilishly. "For the love of the Gods, help me get back into Aedion's good graces. It's too tiring being out of them."
Aelin smiled, but it was more of a mischievous baring of her teeth. "I'll get you so far back into his good graces you'll end up in his bed," she snickered.
The shifter wacked Aelin on the arm and looked around as if to see if anyone heard (which someone likely had; the room was more than half full of Fae or demi-Fae warriors with preternatural hearing) but still looked as if she were holding in laughter.
When Rowan came to stand behind Aelin, clicking his tongue at her to prove he most likely had heard their not-so-hushed conversation, Lysandra simply whispered, "It's good to have you back, Your Majesty," and walked away.
The "Your Majesty" was not necessary and both of them knew it, but Aelin really thought she'd like the sound of it. However, coming from Lysandra's mouth, it made Aelin feel as if she were taking her as her willing servant. Almost like when she had begged Rowan not to take the blood oath because she didn't really want that kind of complete submission.
Aelin turned to Rowan relishing in the way he looked back at her, enjoying the fact that either of them could look at each other. He smiled—such a bright, beautiful look on him. Aelin, before this point, was a firm believer that Rowan never smiled. Even when he was happy. He grinned, smirked, and bared his teeth. But never smiled.
Aelin had a feeling she'd spend the rest of her immortal life always trying to get that smile out of him. It didn't sound like a bad life at this point.
But they had to make sure, first, that they could still have a life. There were still a few key people that Terrasen had to demolish. And this time, it would be just Aelin at the front. She would allow her court by her side. She had refused and would continue to refuse to stay back and let her willing warriors take the brunt of the brutality. But if they wanted, this court to rattle the stars…they could fight with their queen. Not for her—with her.
Yes. That's it. That was the way things were supposed—
Words stopped forming. Thoughts stopped rising. Emotions stopped flowing. Everything halted. Even time itself. Aelin tried to breath, but even her lungs would not expand or contract. But she realized that the things around her were not stopped, only moving so slowly she could barely feel it. She felt—however—the centimeter-by-centimeter flow of her blood, expansion of her lungs, ticking of her mind, pumping of her heart.
And when she finally had enough air in her lungs to scream, she did.
. . .
Rowan had been one inch from touching Aelin when the scream shattered out of her. He wouldn't have been able to see the moment just beforehand when everything changed on Aelin's face had he not been used to watching so closely.
"Aelin!" he shouted, though he knew it obviously would do nothing to help.
She fell, and in seconds, he had her in his arms, gently lowering her to the ground. He sat, with her head in his lap, searching her desperately for whatever could be wrong.
Fixfixfixfixfixfixfixfixfixfixfixfixfixfixfixfixfix.
Protectprotectprotectprotectprotectprotect.
Matematematematematematematematemate.
Then Yrene was there. She reached out, hands facing downward toward Aelin. Rowan knew, logically, that she was trying to help, but his instincts didn't stop him before releasing a feral snarl. Chaol, now also by her side, placed his hands up in surrender.
"She's going to help," he promised. "She's going to see what's wrong. She won't hurt her." Rowan, of course, already knew this and forced himself to nod in confirmation and to give permission, and yet every single cell in his body was alert and clawing through Rowan's walls in an attempt to attack anyone who touched his mate.
Now, mind you, this is something Rowan never thought he'd think, but he was immensely grateful when Aedion showed up at his side. Instead of going for Aelin like Rowan expected, the golden-haired male took out his dagger and pressed down on the skin of Rowan's wrist. The pain was nowhere near enough to distract Rowan from Aelin, but it did distract him from Yrene, moving her hands around Aelin's body, searching, searching…
"Oh…oh, my Gods…" Yrene groaned, slumping backwards into Chaol—who now asked a nearby servant to bring him a crutch, because Yrene's use of her powers under so much pressure had put enough stress on their bond that his injuries were returning—as he caught her in his arms.
"What," Rowan growled, not a question, but a demand. Aedion echoed the sentiment, though slightly less deadly.
Yrene looked Rowan in the eye, pushing away from Chaol so that she could stand tall and confident. "She should be fine," the breath rushed out of both Rowan and Aedion in a relieved sigh, though neither of them missed that one word: should.
"It looks like…she's Settling," and just like that, with the completion of Yrene's thought, Rowan's chest tightened once more. Even incredibly strong Fae males sometimes didn't survive the process. Most healers said that if the warrior fought the change, it fought back, causing serious damage to that male or female's body. And Aelin…
She certainly was a fighter.
He could only pray that she had the sense to know the difference between a well-meaning thought pain-inducing friend, and a true foe.
With the help of Aedion, Lorcan, and Gavriel, Rowan carried Aelin's writhing form back to her room. The bed, through the magic of the palace, had been remade, though Rowan saw flashes of the shambles it had been in after…
What foolish teenagers they'd been.
He carefully placed her on the bed while someone went to get ice and warm towels—they didn't know which would be better—and Rowan clutched Aelin's hand like he could pull her through the transformation. And he waited.
That was all he could do.
All, he realized, he'd ever been doing.
Waiting for a Fireheart.
Well, damn the Gods. He wasn't about to let her get away that easily. Aelin might be a fighter, but Rowan sure as hell was too.
. . .
Yrene said the Settling could take days. It differed for every Fae, but usually, with the stronger ones, it took longer. For the smarter ones, apparently, it took less time.
"The shortest I've ever heard of was twelve hours," Yrene explained to Aedion as they stood outside Aelin's closed door.
Aedion had been playing bodyguard to not only Aelin, but Rowan as well. Or, anyone who tried to get close to either of them. Aedion had felt the exact moment when Rowan's control snapped and the creature inside of him was released. He knew that someone could show up now with a simple push-button solution to all of their problems and Rowan would unleash hell upon them and their gods-damned button. So he stood.
Yrene had wanted to give this news to Rowan herself, but after Aedion had told Yrene of how Rowan had once attacked a demi-Fae for simply making a joke about Rowan's wingspan in hawk form, she'd agreed to relay the message through Aedion.
"Thanks," Aedion said. When Yrene turned to leave, however, he asked her one more question. "Do you think Aelin will survive it?"
Aedion didn't know if you wanted the truth or for her to just say yes, no matter what.
Yrene smiled warmly, and responded, "I think that Aelin Galathynius can survive anything."
Adarlan, Arobynn, Cain, Erawan, gods-damned Rowan, and Maeve? Yes, he believed she could too. Aedion nodded with a tight-lipped smile in return, and she headed off.
Seconds later, Lysandra rounded the corner. She placed her back to the wall and slumped to the ground. Despite Aedion's protective instincts, he followed suit just moments after her.
"Is that story really true?" she asked with a devious smirk on her face.
Aedion nodded, but she wasn't looking at him, so he continued, "Apparently, some long ago ancestor told a few people that a Fae males wingspan correlates with…" He grimaced, but it was more like a smile.
Thankfully, Lysandra wasn't the giggle-and-blush type. She only put on a fake pout, looked Aedion in the eye, and said, "It's too bad you don't have any wings."
Aedion's jaw dropped. "I…b-but…I…wha…" he sputtered. Silence followed for a few moments, Lysandra keeping up her mocking face, Aedion jaw's slowly opening enough to touch the floor. It was so tense…
And then she burst out laughing. She braced herself on her knees and cackled loud enough to wake the King of Adarlan from the dead. He could almost hear Rowan growling at them from deep inside Aelin's room.
He'd started hesitantly laughing along with her, but the thought process he was rapidly following in his head was not funny at all.
Aedion prayed to whatever useless gods let this girl be so mistreated that he would remember that sound for the rest of his mortal life. Her laugh was…as unbelievably beautiful as she was. Not in her human form, sharp angles, stunning eyes, countless assets and all…
No, what came to mind instead was Lysandra in her ghost leopard form. When she looked happy and ferocious and terrifyingly captivating. Her laugh…
He understood. He understood Rowan, now.
Aedion forced himself to laugh along with Rowan to cover the epiphany he was going though internally.
"Well, Lysandra, darling, we could just put wings on you," he pointed out.
She looked appalled. "But I'm a woman, you bat-headed fool!" she choked out between remaining howls of laughter.
Aedion tipped his head dangerously close to hers, "Are you?" he asked with a tone that said, Come on, now.
And with that, they were doubled over laughing once again.
. . .
It felt like so long in the writhing darkness before Aelin began to see stars in it. Stars that were more than that. Stars that were people. People who were long gone.
Nehemia.
Her parents.
Sam.
Marion.
Even Sorcha.
They whispered stolen words to her. Some were heartbreaking.
"You're a coward. You're nothing more than a coward."
Some were heartwarming.
"I love you. I have for years."
All of them fueled her and broke her and sacrificed her and convinced her until she was standing again. Still in that hurting, healing place. But standing in front of Rowan.
How was he here?
Obviously, she didn't know or care. Not as he pulled her into her arms and whispered some more stolen words. "You can't fight. I will bring you home. Do not fight. Just lie down. Fireheart. Mine. Mate. Love…"
As she drifted back into darkness, his words faded into fragments.
But, she realized. They were not stolen words. They were her words. Given to her willingly.
Mine, she thought. Mine to keep.
The darkness pulled, trying to reclaim what it had stolen from her in the first place. But for Rowan, she would not fight. She let him fight for, like he'd been begging to do all this time. She let someone else have the reins.
Just for a moment. As Rowan carried her towards light, she suddenly knew. But it wasn't sudden. It was floating, bubbling, something she had always known. Everyone told her to stand tall. But it was okay to lean on someone else for a while.
In Rowan's arms, she could relinquish power. In Rowan's arms, she could do anything.
WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNIGN WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING
AT THIS POINT, THOSE OF YOU WHO WOULD PREFER NOT TO PERHAPS DAMAGE WHATEVER DEVICE YOU ARE READING ON AND OR BURST INTO SCARY, UGLY, SJM-INDUCED TEARS, I INVITE YOU TO STOP READING NOW. FOR YOU, THIS WILL BE THE END OF THIS FIC. THANKS FOR READING.
AS FOR THOSE OF YOU WOULD LIKE TO REMAIN, CONTINUE AT YOUR OWN RISK.
I WARNED YOU
The darkness pulled at her, one last warning. The light at the end, it seemed to be getting smaller. And Rowan…he seemed to be getting colder.
No.
Wait.
STOP.
PLEASE.
Don't…
no
They had entombed her in darkness and iron.
I CAN FEEL EVERYONE WHO DECIDED TO KEEP READING HATING ME SO MUCH THAT I'M STARTING TO HATE MYSELF FOR YOU. I'M SO SORRY. A WRITER MUST REMAIN REALISTIC. IT'S THE ONLY WAY THIS WORKS. ANYWAY, I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THE FIRST EIGHT AND A HALF CHAPTERS.
P.S.
Try ice cream. It helps with the sadness.
