Disclaimer: I don't own the Grisha Trilogy and its characters – it belongs to Leigh Bardugo. I do not own the Shadow & Bone TV series, which was developed by Eric Heisserer for Netflix and based on Leigh Bardugo's books. Any recognisable dialogue is from the books or TV show – some lines may be included verbatim, others in an amended form.
This is AU from the end of Siege & Storm, following book canon except I'm using show Ivan/Fedyor and they're still alive.
Basically, Alina loses the fight at her end of S&S and her memories of the last year.
Warning for dubious consent. Alina consents to everything but it isn't informed consent because of the amnesia and the fact that Aleksander is lying to her about certain things.
Amnesia
Alina wakes slowly, head aching.
Wakes to a man sitting at her bedside, handsome face contorted in worry.
She's never seen him before. Cannot explain why her heart beats faster, why every part of her feels drawn to him.
She doesn't remember hitting her head, only falling asleep in her tent, hoping she'd get to see Mal when her unit reached Kribirsk.
"What happened? Where am I? Who are you?"
There is a flash of something in the man's eyes, but then he only looks sad.
"There was an accident," he explains gently, "you're in the Little Palace Infirmary."
The Little Palace? In Os Alta? But why …
"I'm not Grisha."
He looks at her, the penetrating gaze of someone seeing into her soul, and she suddenly remembers the rush of power she had firmly pushed down the day the testers came.
"Who are you?" she asks again, because it somehow seems the most important question.
"Oh, milaya," he sighs forlornly, "I'm your husband."
A year.
She's lost a whole year.
One in which she has discovered she is the Sun Summoner, fallen in love with and married the Darkling ("Aleksander," he corrects her, "I want you to have my true name, the one I was born with") and then found herself Queen of Ravka.
It's rather a lot to take in.
She screams the first time she looks in a mirror, when she sees shining white hair in place of the dark locks she remembers.
An accident with merzost, Aleksander tells her.
"You were ambushed at the Little Palace by some Shu Han assassins," he says, "your power was a little out of control after you claimed your second amplifier and you ended up tapping into deeper power than you planned when you were fighting. Your hair was like this when I found you – we've tried a number of different methods and remedies, but I'm afraid it looks like it's a permanent side-effect."
Aleksander is endlessly patient with her.
He explains her Fold crossing, the light that had burst out of her after their skiff was attacked by volcra.
"You'd been suppressing your light for years," he tells her sadly, "it's why you were always so ill."
Alina flushes, thinks of pushing down her the spark of power she'd felt when the testers came, sure that she wasn't Grisha but desperate not to give them any reason to separate her from Mal.
Saints … Mal.
"I'm so sorry, milaya," Aleksander holds her hand, rubbing his thumb over her wrist, soothing her, "there was a skirmish near the border, about a month ago. He didn't make it."
He wraps her in a warm embrace, cradles her in his arms as she weeps for her oldest friend. She knows she will have already grieved, but it feels fresh to her now and Mal deserves all her tears.
Thank the Saints for Aleksander, holding her close, soothing her tears.
She doesn't know what she'd have done without him.
Later, he gives her textbooks, takes time out of his busy schedule to go through the theory she has forgotten, to coax her power out of her and show her how she can call it herself.
There are plenty of training accidents in the small forest clearing they practice in, but he never seems to get angry when she accidentally destroys a few trees with her light.
"You claimed two legendary amplifiers in less than a year, Alina. It's a huge power boost that takes some getting used to."
He compliments every little victory she has, every new skill she masters, and she can't help but preen at his praise.
"Muscle memory is a wonderful thing," he smiles at her, "you're picking things up so much quicker than you did when you first came to the Little Palace."
The first time she successfully performs the Cut, she finds herself jumping into his arms almost without thinking about it.
She blushes furiously when she realises what she's done. Her husband is a very dignified person, after all, always so cool and poised in the court sessions where she sits and observes from a golden throne next to his obsidian one.
He doesn't seem to mind, though, keeps her close, presses his lips to her hair.
She remembers, suddenly, that she is his wife.
They will have been intimate, she thinks.
This is a love match, after all, not an arranged marriage.
Alina has been thinking of all she has lost – her memories, Mal, her former control over her summoning – but Aleksander has lost his wife.
She is in front of him, but she isn't who she remembers. Maybe she never will be.
"I'm sorry," she whispers, "I'm sorry I can't remember … sorry I'm not her."
"Oh, milaya," he shakes his head, "you are still my wife. I can be patient and we've both got the time."
She'd almost forgotten that revelation. That Aleksander is centuries old, likely to be eternal. That she is like him.
It had been a difficult conversation, when he had admitted the truth about the Black Heretic.
She is ashamed to say she'd felt the urge to flee, some bone-deep desire to run, run, run.
It's silly, really, when she thinks about it now.
Aleksander explained it all to her. The betrayal by a king he had trusted and called friend, the deadly danger faced by the Grisha he loved, an accident borne of anger and desperation.
She understands, know now why they need the Fold, why it is the best protection they have against their enemies.
And soon enough, he tells her, they'll bridge the gap between the east and west by driving a pathway through the Fold with her light, a gift to their people, the start of a new era.
For now, though, he will hold her tight and she will pray that one day she can be the wife he remembers, the woman he clearly adores beyond measure.
Slowly, Aleksander introduces her to the people she has known and forgotten.
Ivan and Fedyor are Heartrenders, often tasked with assisting the oprichniki in protecting her when Aleksander is away from the palace.
Fedyor is cheerful and warm, putting her instantly at ease and always making her laugh. And if, sometimes, he looks at her with sorrowful eyes, she thinks he simply feels bad that she lost both her best friend and her memories in the space of a month.
Ivan is trickier. He watches her suspiciously, as if he believes she is somehow dangerous. He seems to be Aleksander's confidante, though, and she knows her husband would prefer it if they got along. So, she makes an effort, works hard to re-learn everything she has forgotten from the past year, tries to show a dedication to training that matches Ivan's. And, slowly, Ivan's severe expression softens slightly and he watches her with some approval, even complimenting her every now and then.
Genya is a Tailor, wearing a unique red kefta with dark blue embroidery. She works mostly to disguise and help train their spies, but she also assists Alina whenever she needs to prepare for an event.
Poor Genya, Aleksander tells her, is the survivor of an attack in the Fold, the scars crisscrossing her beautiful face unable to be healed or tailored away even by her own skilled hands.
She never speaks, not a single word. Alina figures she must be traumatised – there are few survivors of incidents in the Fold, and those who miraculously manage to escape are never the same again.
Still, Genya is a friendly presence, her hands gentle as she tailors Alina's face and makes her white hair shine.
She grimaces, when she sees Alina put on her kefta. Alina rather thinks the black and gold combination suits her, but maybe Genya believes otherwise.
Fedyor tells her that Genya has a lover named David, a Durast whose social skills are distinctly … lacking. Alina has seen David in passing but never actually met him. He apparently spends most of his time in the Materialki Workshop and often forgets to talk to people for days on end.
A girl named Nadia helps her practice her sparring under Ivan's watchful eye.
"We were friends," the Squaller explains, "we were in some of your classes, me and … and Marie."
Marie, it turns out, died in a battle Alina can't remember, the one that happened when the old King's actions threatened the safety of the Grisha and the security of Ravka. The reason that Aleksander had to take the throne, with Alina by his side, to ensure Ravka did not fall to their enemies in Shu Han and Fjerda.
Nadia doesn't like to talk about Marie, which is entirely understandable. She's also nervous around Ivan, stuttering and unsure.
"I'm glad you're alright," the Squaller hugs her tightly when the Heartrender is out of earshot, "I was worried … I didn't know what he'd do to you."
Nadia is gone before Alina can question her, can ask why in the Saints name she was so worried. After all, Alina has Aleksander to look after her.
Alina is walking down one of the long corridors in the Grand Palace with Fedyor one afternoon when she looks out into one of the courtyards and sees three people dressed in dirty rags being tied to posts.
Aleksander is there, easily spotted in his black kefta, with Ivan standing beside him.
She frowns. It's an old custom, to have particularly dangerous criminals executed in the heart of the Grand Palace, but it is a rarely used punishment.
"What's happening?" she asks Fedyor, "who are they?"
She doesn't recognise any of the three prisoners, although they are far enough away that she can't get a good look at their faces.
They all look to be in their late teens or early twenties. One is a man with golden hair. The other two – a man and woman – seem to be Shu, with bronze skin and dark hair.
For a moment, Fedyor freezes, his face going blank.
Alina frowns, concerned, "is something wrong?"
He shakes his head, tries to smile and doesn't quite manage it, "nothing, just thinking about something else. They … they are traitors. They attempted to enter the palace. Our interrogations of them suggests they planned to murder the King and kidnap you, moya tsarita."
Kidnap her! Alina shudders as she wonders what they might have wished to do with her. Aleksander has told her of the mad Apparat, now dead, and the way he had stirred people into some kind of cult dedicated to her, one that seemed to think that the martyrdom of the Sun Summoner would destroy the Shadow Fold. Or perhaps they would have taken her to the Shu labs or Fjerdan Ice Court that her husband so rightly despises.
Still, she feels a little sorry for them. She's never particularly been a fan of the death penalty, has heard too many stories of innocent men and women wrongly killed for crimes they did not actually commit.
Surely, though, Aleksander wouldn't execute anyone unjustly. He has denounced the corruption and excesses of the Lantsov regime, promised her that their rule will be different, better.
Besides, he has Heartrenders, able to detect truth and lies in their interrogations.
Yes, she thinks as she watches Aleksander gather the shadows into a blade in his hand and slice that blade easily through the prisoners, those three must have been guilty.
Aleksander kisses her softly.
It feels familiar, and though her memories are still a blank, she knows for sure that they have done this before.
Of course they have.
He is her husband, after all.
It's nice, the kiss. More than nice, really.
Aleksander goes to move away, a quiet apology for getting carried away.
He's always so considerate, knowing she isn't necessarily comfortable with the level of affection he had been used to before she lost her memories.
This time, though, she holds onto his shoulders, pulls him back towards her, slants her lips over his.
She likes his kisses, likes the feel of his hands roaming across her body.
He laughs, "full of surprises, aren't you, mila moya."
And then he's kissing her like a man possessed and she feels like she's floating.
Alina is half-asleep in an armchair in Aleksander's private library, her book on the history of Ravkan agriculture having been abandoned for the moment, when she hears voices coming through the slightly ajar door leading to the War Room.
"Nazyalensky is still on the run," Ivan says, "our last intelligence report suggests she may be in Kerch, trying to drum up some support."
"She won't find help there," Aleksander responds, "we've just finalised a treaty with them that they will not wish to break. What about Baghra."
"Nothing," Ivan reports, "it's as if she's vanished into thin air."
"That old woman knows too well how to hide. We're not likely to find her unless she wants it. Focus on Nazyalensky for the moment, and any others who might be inclined to assist her."
"Yes, moi tsar."
Something about the names mentioned give Alina a jolt, as if she should know them.
She doesn't, though.
Other memories lost, it seems.
Alina briefly wonders who they are, what they might have done to warrant being pursued in this way.
She's tired, though, and the room is so cosy and warm.
Within five minutes, she's dozing in her chair.
Every now and then she has dreams she can never remember.
The images slip through her fingers like sand, leaving nothing behind.
At times, she feels like she's missing something.
It's not exactly a surprise, since she knows she's lost a whole year.
Still, she gets the feeling that there are things she can't get back. She's re-learning her summoning, getting to know Aleksander and her Grisha friends again, but she thinks there are maybe things that are gone for good.
It makes her sad, if she thinks on it.
But soon enough she finds herself distracted. The sadness never lasts long.
Aleksander brings her to watch the young students and meet the combat instructor, a former Shu mercenary named Botkin.
Botkin nods respectfully but doesn't really speak with her. When he looks at Aleksander, she thinks for a moment that there is hatred in his eyes, but when she blinks it is gone and she assumes she just imagined it.
The children swarm around her, begging to see her power and squealing in happiness when she indulges them and summons a few orbs of light for their entertainment.
One of the older students, a boy wearing an Inferni's kefta, shrieks when Aleksander comes up behind Alina, wailing and crying about shadow creatures.
Her husband pulls her away before she can try to comfort the boy, leaving Botkin to crouch down and speak quietly to him.
"Some of the children are a little wary of me," Aleksander tells her as they walk away, "my powers can be a little disturbing."
He sounds almost used to it, resigned to the fear after centuries of gossip and slander about Grisha, painting them as monsters and shadow summoners almost as demons.
It's terrible, really, after all he's done for Ravka.
When she glances back at the children, they are playing together, any tears wiped away.
Botkin, though, is watching her and Aleksander.
As their eyes meet, the combat instructor just looks sad.
There is a strange incident in the Throne Room the next week, when they are seeing petitioners for the morning.
Alina doesn't speak much, knowing she still isn't entirely caught up on everything she has missed and not wishing to make a mistake. Instead, she watches and listens and occasionally offers a whispered opinion to Aleksander.
The last petitioner brought in is a peasant woman, apparently having an issue with a neighbouring farmer who is encroaching on the land she cares for on behalf of her son, who isn't yet of age.
When she stands before their thrones, however, they do not hear a tale of agricultural woe.
Instead, the woman begins to shout about a shadow demon, how the Sun Summoner has been brainwashed, that their new king is sending shadow creatures through the land to kill anyone who speaks out, that there are grey-clad soldiers dragging away innocent people, never to be seen again.
She turns to Aleksander, sees his expression is colder and harder than she has ever seen. He looks absolutely terrifying.
He stands from his throne, shadows darkening the room and extinguishing all the candles.
There is a glint in his eyes. Dark and furious and absolutely menacing.
"Aleksander," she whispers, a little scared of him.
The shadows rush away, an audible sigh of relief echoing through the room.
He nods to Ivan, who twists his hands, the woman collapsing to the floor unconscious.
"This session is over," Aleksander says, and there is practically a stampede as courtiers flee the room, some of the oprichniki picking up the woman and taking her out through a side door.
Aleksander lifts Alina's hand to his lips and kisses it, "I apologise for scaring you, milaya. I lost my temper a little."
"I don't understand, Aleksander. She said the oprichniki were kidnapping and killing people."
"The ravings of a madwoman," he tells her, "don't alarm yourself, mila moya."
He rubs circles on her bare wrist, sending a wave of calm through her. She feels tired all of a sudden.
"The oprichniki wouldn't hurt innocent people, would they?" she asks through a yawn.
"What odd ideas you have, Alina," he chides her gently, "what possible reason could I have for arresting innocent people? Everyone is safe in Ravka as long as they follow our laws."
"Mmm," she mumbles, eyes fluttering slightly as he lifts her into his arms.
"You're exhausted, Alina," he says, "sleep now, I promise I'll wake you for dinner."
Alina and Aleksander walk through the gardens, enjoying the sunshine.
In one hand Alina holds a bouquet of blue irises that Aleksander had presented to her when they ate breakfast together.
He knows all her favourites, is always surprising her with little gifts. He's thoughtful like that.
Alina stands by the lake and cups her hands together to call the light.
She shapes it first into the image of a stag, then the sea whip. She can't remember what they look like, her memories of the claiming of her amplifiers gone, but she'd looked in one of the library books a few days ago and seen some illustrations.
Aleksander watches her with wide, awed eyes. He's always delighted with her summoning, looking at her like she is some kind of goddess.
It makes her feel warm inside, makes her smile.
Four months after she has woken up, Alina decides she is ready to join her husband in his bedchamber.
She spends most of her time with him, has learnt a lot about his life before the Little Palace, the various guises he has adopted over the years, and his frustrating years serving under the desposed Lantsov king.
She knows he takes his tea with more sugar than is probably healthy, that he is fluent in old Ravkan, that he can play the violin, that he is a voracious reader.
They've gone from brief embraces and holding hands to soft brushes of lips to deep, lingering kisses.
Alina is ready for more, ready for this final connection to be resumed between them.
She asks Genya to help her find a suitable nightgown, blushing as she explains that she wants to look as alluring as possible.
The Tailor goes white, her hands clenched into fists. For a moment she looks like she is actually going to speak, but then she just deflates, brushing a single tear from her scarred cheek.
Alina asks what is wrong, worried the red-head is ill.
Genya only shakes her head, goes to the wardrobe, rummages through it and then hands Alina a silky black nightdress. There is a smile on her face now, but it doesn't seem right, one step away from a frown.
She remembers what Aleksander had said once, about how the old king had abused his position by having his way with some of the ladies in his wife's household. And Genya had once been the Queen's tailor.
That must be it, Alina thinks. Genya is remembering her horrible ordeal at the hands of the old king.
She squeezes the Tailor's hand gently, suggests that maybe Genya should have the afternoon off and go to see David.
"I'll talk to Aleksander, make sure you don't get in trouble," she promises.
More tears fall down Genya's face as she nods, packs up her kit quickly and leaves.
Alina thinks she hears a howl – of anger or sorrow, she doesn't know – as the door closes, but she can't be sure.
She wraps herself in one of her keftas and makes her way to her husband's rooms, where she imagines he will still be working on the never-ending paperwork that comes with ruling the country.
He is very happy to see her, especially when she shyly removes her kefta to reveal the nightgown underneath and asks if she might spend the night with him.
The way he touches her is everything she ever dreamed it would be.
She'd had only one experience when she was in the army, a rushed, vaguely pleasurable encounter with Alexei.
This is an entirely different experience.
It's different when it's with someone you love, that was always what she heard and she thinks it must certainly be true.
Light and shadows intertwine around them as Alina writhes and moans beneath her husband.
"You are radiant, moya lyubov," he murmurs to her as they lay together afterwards, "my Alina."
She snuggles closer into his side. She has always felt connected to him, since the moment she woke up, but the sensation is even more heightened now.
"I hope you know I intend to have you here every night from now on," he presses his lips to her cheek, his fingers stroking the skin around the antler bones of her first amplifier.
"I don't think I can complain," she giggles in response.
"I'm happy," she tells him, a little sleepily, after a few minutes of silence, "so happy, Aleksander."
"I'll make you happy forever," he promises, an arm thrown across her body as they settle down to sleep, "my perfect Alina."
She falls asleep with a smile on her face to the sound of his steady breathing next to her.
Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.