Disclaimer: "Throne of Glass" series, settings, characters, lines, etc. are the talented Sarah J. Maas'.
A/N: This is the longest chapter I've ever written in my life. Please enjoy!
Chapter 9:
Dripping candles held in the palms of well-polished golden candelabras lined the grand hallways in the palace of Wendlyn. The flames capping them cast an inviting glow against the ivory walls. Sheer iris drapes hung loosely over every window. The sleep-still space gave off a peacefulness the Fae prince rushing through them was unable to feel. A millionth glance down at the silent bundle cradled in his arms spoke of the reason.
Rowan followed their guide—Wendlyn's Captain of the Royal Guard— closer perhaps than comfortable, judging from the side-eye glances and an increase of speed from the captain. The olive-skinned man led their group as swiftly as possible to a guest room that had been prepared for their arrival.
The Little Folk had been trustworthy in leading them out of Maeve's lands earlier that day. They travelled undetected via a cavernous passageway under the mountains. The first opening of the cave had been set up by their hosts with twinkling lights and handmade moss beds atop natural stone alcoves. Pillows and three floral crowns of descending sizes for the royals were crafted as well. Yet, despite the hospitality, Rowan told the creatures they couldn't delay; They needed to reach Wendlyn as quickly as possible. The little folk understood well enough and scurried off to retrieve their next mode of transportation.
As they waited, Gavriel set the still mourning Rhoe down to explore. The four-year-old retrieved the crowns and donned the smallest one with bright green leaves and tiny budding berries.
Rowan used the time to carefully set his mate down and wrestle with the stubborn irons again—pausing only to accept his twig and blue-jay's feather woven circlet from an insistent Rhoe. When Lorcan called attention to a nearing boat, he hadn't made any head way.
His comrade verified the boat wasn't manned and began to load the others onto the vessel.
In a last-ditch effort Rowan laid the chains connecting his wife's hands and feet onto a jutting rock and swung his broadsword down onto the links with all his might. They broke in half with a satisfying snap.
Rowan's relief was marginal while he wrapped Aelin back in his cloak and carried her to the boat. Now at least when she awoke, she would be able to move unhindered. But he still needed to figure out a way to remove the iron encasing her. He didn't want Aelin to still be trapped in the metal's clutches when she awoke. If she awoke…
They'd moved down the cave's waterway in a timely manner and landed on Wendlyn's western shore just after midnight without event; save for Rhoe's at first timid then bubbling amazement at the glowing creatures that illuminated the cave's dark tunnels.
Upon entering the war-emptied kingdom, Rowan led them to an inn to procure a messenger hawk. The quaking young clerk running the front desk inside had tripped over himself to fetch the animal— not once turning his back on the large warriors.
Once the boy returned, Rowan had Lorcan write a brief message to the king. It read:
Your Excellency King Glaston Ashrver,
We have returned from our search successful.
Refuge, your best healer's attention, and utmost discrepancy are our requests.
On behalf of Her Majesty, Queen Aelin Ashyrver Whitethorn Galathynius,
Prince Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius and company
They exited the cozy inn trusting the teen would get the message off without delay.
Rowan stood in the cool misty air and tucked his mate closer. The last thing she needed was to get a chill. Following the thought, he glanced over to where his son was fast asleep against Gavriel's shoulder; content to see his companion's own cloak wrapped snugly around the two.
Lorcan stood beside him, adjusting his own cloak before asking, "What if the king won't grant us aid? Do we continue onto Terrasen tonight?"
Rowan looked toward the direction of the Ashyver's-now his uncle's- palace then inward to the fraying mating bond. "She can't wait for Terrasen."
Elide's glare cut through the mist to Lorcan. "Galan answered Aelin's call for aid. Why should his father refuse us now when his men are fighting in our land? We're allies."
Gavriel supplied in a whisper, "Glaston is not his son."
Despite the late hour, Rowan's eyes were honed and bright when he said, "He won't turn us away…" His boots were soundless down the stairs onto the damp brick road. "I won't allow it."
Except for a few stray guards, a stumbling drunkard, and a yowling tabby cat, the streets were entirely deserted in every town they passed through. The lack of traffic was a godsend, speeding their journey along. The closest square's clock just began to bong three o' clock when they entered the heart of Varese.
The Captain of the Guard- A clean shaven man underneath a weather worn helmet— waited for them at the palace's gates. With a respectful bow the guard said, "Welcome to Wendlyn, Your Highness. His Majesty received your message well."
The clock finished tolling in the distance and the captain nodded toward a side entrance. "Please, come with me."
It'd now been almost thirteen hours since the rescue and Aelin hadn't shown any sign of stirring. She remained far from reality's reach.
Rowan continued to glance down at his wife's iron covered face as they walked. His stomach twisting in tighter and tighter coils. Why wasn't she waking up? What had they done to her? And why leave her in this state? He knew from when he served Maeve that she kept healers in constant rotation when she had prisoners interrogated. She wasn't one to let a prisoner come close to the escape of death. Not until they lost their usefulness anyway. Had Maeve decided Aelin was of more use to her dead? How long had she been laying there hurt, dying, in that cell? Why hadn't he found her sooner? He should have, he should have.
The Captain jarred him from his thoughts after they turned another corner in the seemingly unending halls. He spoke in a soft rumble, "His Majesty has shared word of your arrival and situation with myself and the handful of healers he selected alone." He peered down out of the corner of his eye at the unresponsive queen, "We understand your need for discretion."
They didn't understand. But their secrecy and hospitality were a relief. Rowan said, "You have my gratitude for it, Captain."
"No need, Your Highness. You are the King's family, and dire circumstances or not, you shall be treated as such." The captain began to slow his pace and announced, "Here we are."
The guest room's golden detailed door was closed like all the others they'd passed. However, when the captain rapped on the wood, this one was pulled open to reveal an elegant, chandelier-lit, room with several white aproned healers bustling within.
"Do you want to get down?" Gavriel murmured from behind Rowan. Little boots lightly hit the floor and fingers soon buried themselves in the side of Rowan's pants leg.
The captain stood to the side and said something to the others that didn't reach Rowan as he entered the room.
The canopy topped plush bed had already been covered with sterile linens. Bowls of water and herbal mixtures, stacks of clean white bandages and cloths, and additional folded sheets covered the surfaces of the nightstands and side tables scattered about.
Rowan lowered Aelin onto the mattress as if she were made of the finest glass. The chains within the cloak clinking—unwilling to let him forget their presence. Her head leaned to the side limply, chest just barely rising.
Several sets of hands appeared in his line of sight, spreading open the cloak. Rowan looked up to the healers while they conversed urgently. Cloths and bowls leaping from hand to hand around him. Some closed their eyes, concentrating, when they laid their hands on Aelin. Skin glowing as they scanned and then gave of their magic. A few met his gaze first; eyes flat. Grim.
Rowan tried to ease the tension in his neck, rubbing uselessly. In the flickering candle light, it almost looked as though her eyelids were fluttering. Leaning heavily against the bed, he stroked his thumb lightly over the soft skin of her closed lids. "I need you to wake up, Fireheart. Please." He breathed. "Will you open your eyes for me?"
Small struggling breaths were her only response.
His hand slid over to cradle her head, tracing the delicate shell of her—currently rounded—ear. It felt wrong. It felt incomplete. He could touch her. She was here, actually here now. He'd found her. But she was still so far away and, it seemed, drifting further. This was wrong. She had to wake up. She had to. Not only for his sake, but for their son fidgeting beside him.
Following the healers every move and word, Rowan vaguely noted Gavriel coming beside him. Quietly, the lion took Rhoe's free hand and said, "We don't need to be in here right now. Let's get some food."
There was a short tug on Rowan's pant leg as Rhoe resisted Gavriel's leading. Rhoe whined, "No, I don't want to."
Gavriel sighed and bent to pick him up but Rhoe threw himself, limbs and all, around his father's leg resolutely. His voice rose in a panicked cry, "No! I'm staying with mama!"
Rowan startled and twisted to reach down to Rhoe's trembling form. Brushing his fingers through his hair. He saw the apology written in Gavriel's furrowed brow and surrendering palms as he backed off. Rowan shook his head dismissively at the apology. "He can stay."
Gavriel exited into the hall, saying to no one in particular, "I'llgo get some food alone then."
A sheet whooshed as it was tossed by a healer over Aelin, covering from the shoulders down.
"Careful, Rhoe. Mama's still hurt."
"I know." Rhoe pushed away his father's hands and continued hoisting himself onto the bed. His dirt crusted shoes leaving black streaks on the mattress' edge. Knees sinking into the cloud-like mattress with every gained inch around his mother's head to her other side.
"Your Highness, if it pleases you…?" The head healer caught Rowan's attention, directing to a rigid, armless chair.
Rowan blinked owlishly for a moment trying to remember when someone placed the furnishing behind him. How had he missed that? He slid the chair closer, dropping into it and adjusting the poking hilt of his dagger. "Thank you."
Rhoe laid snuggled against his mother's arm and scrubbed at his face. Placing a hand lightly on the part of the sheet covering his mother's arm. Running his fingertips over the soft woven threads. His bleary blue-gold eyes observed the people moving about the room and under the cover. He propped himself up on his elbow, trying to see what they were all looking at. "What are you doing?"
A woman with wispy grey hair swaying about her forehead said kindly, "We're healing your mother."
"With magic?"
A twitch of a fawning grin, "Yes, prince."
Rhoe lifted his hand close to his face, going almost cross eyed. He singled out his index finger and extended it in the air toward the group. "I got this when I was coloring."
The healer lifted her head to find a rose-red paper cut spanning from the tip of his finger to the nearest knuckle.
"The paper was very mean." Rhoe's bottom lip jutted out in a pout. "I was coloring with Ribbit and Prince Button and Wooly. We were making a tree, like the one out my window but better."
"You sound like quite the artist. My son loved to draw horses when he was your age." The healer wiped her hands off with a moist cloth before extending a hand toward the child, "Is it okay if I look at your boo-boo?"
Rhoe tucked his knees under as he sat up, holding out his wounded digit; one hand steadfastly keeping contact with his mother.
The healer gently took his hand and examined the cut closer. It was already on its way healing naturally, but she'd speed it along. "Mmm, I can tell that was a mean paper." She placed her thumb over the cut and let a tendril of her magic out then released his hand. "There, how does that feel now?"
Rhoe drew his hand back and squinted at his finger, turning and flexing it all around. "It feels disappeared."
A ghost of a smile passed over Rowan's face and the healer laughed. "Well it went away! Do you have any other boo-boos?"
Rhoe shook his head, but let the healer check him over briefly. He said, eyes alight with hope, "Will mama's boo-boos go away soon too?"
Rowan's smile vanished.
The healer glanced at Rowan then said, "As soon as possible."
Rhoe accepted the answer with a grin and flopped back into his spot at Aelin's side. Cheek now pressed against her shoulder. He looked at his healed finger again then tilted his face up toward hers and asked the room, "When will mama wake up?"
"When she's ready." The healer directed her attention back to aiding her supervisor as he went to step around to the side of the bed, muttering to her. She nodded in understanding and set to her new task back under the sheet.
Rhoe stared up at his mother and laid his hand on the mask. "Mama…" He whispered. He traced the suns and swirls in the metal. "Are you ready now?"
Rhoe pulled his hand back to her arm when the head healer came over. The man's furry and age spotted hands probed tenderly at the base of her neck. Up the sides—avoiding the horrid collar. Under, behind, and beside her head—avoiding the equally horrid mask.
Rowan watched the man's trained-unreadable expression and examining closely. The man spent the same amount of time in each place until he reached the top of Aelin's head. His hands lingered three seconds longer there. The unforgiving chair groaned as Rowan leaned forward.
The healer's wrinkled brow creased deeply; eyes closed in concentration. He slid his touch down to either side of Aelin's temples.
The healer's magic glowed a bit brighter then faded.
Rowan shifted nervously. "What is it—?"
The healer released his grip on Aelin and waved to one of his apprentices, "Kuart. Fetch some fennel herbs, enough for three cups, boil them and make it into a poultice for me, please. See if we still have some of the passion flower grounds too."
"Yes sir." Came the apprentices reply, already on his way out.
"Prince." The healer beckoned, walking away.
Rowan's heart was in his throat, the need to know his mate's condition had been killing him. But now he feared maybe knowing would be worse.
"What is it? What's wrong?" Rowan asked in a clipped manner once he'd joined the healer in the back corner of the bedroom.
"Let me first assure you, Your Highness," The healer said, "Your wife should wake up quite soon."
Rowan felt inward to where their bond was for confirmation. And sure enough, it was steadily strengthening now. Growing back stand by strand.
Rowan's breath rushed out, tears stinging his tired eyes. He placed a hand on the smooth wooden wall, not trusting his knees to hold him at the moment. They'd gotten here in time. "Thank you."
The healer humbly ducked his head, the soft candlelight shimmering off his bald scalp. He said, "Don't thank me, your wife's the one who held on."
Rowan tucked the comment away.
The healer continued, "She will live and that's the most important part. But I do have some bad news…" He rubbed his hand over the bit of scruff on his cheek, staring at the wall while he gathered his thoughts. "It's her eyes. By the extent of damage, I would assume a chemical burn was the cause. There appears to be substantial pressure in the optic nerves of both eyes resulting in what is known as glaucoma. Her corneas show signs of an entire reconstruction yet with full cataracts over them now—like someone began to heal her eyes only to stop at forming them back then glossed them over."
Rowan's stomach churned violently. The healer's words echoing in his mind: Damage. Chemical burn. Substantial pressure. Full cataracts. He sought out his mate across the room, surrounded by their child and the healers on the bed, still oblivious to the world. He struggled to voice it, "You're saying she's…"
The healer nodded, corners of his mouth downturned, confirming the unspoken conclusion, "She's blind."
Blind. The word circled the prince. Wrapping tighter and tighter around his neck as comfortingly snug as a noose. "Blind." The word tasted like mud in his mouth. "No. It can be restored though. You—" Determination shoved its way through his haze. "It's not permanent. You can reverse it?"
"It is possible, but there's no guarantee of a full return of her sight. Any improvement will take months—at best—of sessions with an experienced healer." The man said, "The eyes and their nerves aren't like a flesh wound. They're incredibly delicate, especially in their intricate connection to the brain."
Rowan combed his fingers through his hair, cursing under his breath.
The healer threw out a hand, continuing, "I'm not saying it's permanent." He continued when Rowan looked at him again, "As I said, Your Highness, it is possible she'll regain some sight. I'm only preparing you for her condition when she wakes and for the immediate future—however temporary it may be."
"I understand." Rowan took a deep breath. He reminded himself that she was going to wake up. Aelin would live. Her eyes, those beautiful windows to her soul he loved to peer through… having them shuttered from the world would not stop her from living. She would live—just with a new challenge. "What can I do to help her?"
"Once she's well enough to be up and about, just—if you would—be her eyes." He went on at Rowan's prompting look, "Getting around may be difficult for her—especially in new environments, eating a meal, letting her know who's in the room. Undoubtedly, there will be many things that come up. Let her tell you what she needs, don't take her control away. Let her be the one to decide her limits." He tucked his hands into his apron's base pockets. "And even those will change and become less as she gets used to depending on her other senses. I don't know how long it's been since she lost her vision so I'm unaware of how adjusted she may already be to compensating."
Soaking in the slew of information, he pressed, "And currently? When she wakes…?"
"Just be with her." The healer said simply.
The conversation lulled and Rowan pushed off from the wall to head back to his family's side.
"Also, your highness…" The healer lifted a finger to his mouth, looking down at the diamond patterned rug, "There were physical signs that she was recently… taken advantage of." His tone was somber, unable to meet the prince's gaze. "Sexually, I mean."
Ice crackled as it raged through to surround Rowan's fists. "I know." He bit out through his teeth, flashes of the localized bruises and mingling scents rushing through his memory, "I saw."
The healer's eyes widened at the flare up of the prince's magic. Backing away a step, he cleared his throat and said, "I'm sorry."
Rowan reclaimed his vigil beside the bed, watching Rhoe innocently distract the healers while they worked.
He mulled over everything the Head healer had said about Aelin. His mate's loss of vision, her assault, how the man suspected she'd been blinded. What it meant for the war. What it meant for her… for them.
An hour before the sky began to turn to it's pre-dawn gray, Aelin's breathing changed.
Her limbs slightly stirred beneath the sheet. The motion making the irons still on her re-announce their presence.
Rowan sprang to his feet, chair wobbling in his wake.
Rhoe popped up too, delightedly greeting first, "Mama!"
Rowan cupped her shoulders, heart frantically beating away. He'd been waiting so long—too long—to hear her voice.
A sharp intake of breath left her and she flinched away from the heavy hands, stiffening. Her eyes snapped open.
Rowan's stomach plummeted. Oh gods, her eyes. The healer's talk hadn't prepared him enough for this.
"Aelin, you're okay. It's just me."
She stilled but remained tense, chest heaving now. Unseeing eyes darting about in vain.
"Just me and Rhoe. You're safe now. You're safe." Rowan moved to stroke the side of her neck then pulled back as she jerked away again.
"I'm here, mama!" Rhoe affirmed, "You slept so long! I've been waiting and waiting and waiting!" The bed bounced with every repetitive word.
Her hair brushed against the linens as she turned, seeking out his voice. Her arm haltingly lifting from under the sheet in silent offer of a hug that Rhoe fell into immediately.
Her eyes. Tears choked off Rowan's words while he took them in. Gone were the dazzling oceans he loved to get lost in. The golden core that framed the fire he always saw burning there, magic or passion—gone. Now taken over by a large, unnatural, bluish-white, splotch on each. A cloudy glaze coating it all. Like a veil, hiding her from the world.
"Where—?" Aelin's rasp was cut off by a harsh cough.
Rowan's head swiveled to search for a water pitcher. A glass was placed in his hand instantly by a healer. He sniffed it discreetly, verifying the safety of its contents.
"Aelin," He stroked her frazzled hair, fighting his anger at her former captors when she flinched again. "Will you allow me to lift your head? I have a glass of water for you."
Seconds ticked by before the chains holding her mask clanked with her reluctant nod.
After she finished drinking, Rowan gently let her head back down and set the cylinder glass by his feet.
Aelin cleared her throat and tried again. Tone devoid of any emotion, "Where are we this time?"
Rowan's brows cinched, "What do you mean?"
The gauntlets encasing her hands clicked as she fisted them, testing. She whispered tiredly, "I don't want to do this right now."
Rowan shot a glance at the quiet healers gathered at the foot of the bed. All of their faces pulled in the same confused concern. "Don't want to do what?"
"You already got what you wanted, Maeve." Aelin said, "Just leave me alone."
Understanding filled Rowan, alongside heartbreak; She thought this was an illusion. "This isn't an illusion, Fireheart. We're in Varese, in your uncle's palace." Rowan explained, "Gavriel, Lorcan, Elide and I got you and Rhoe out yesterday."
"Varese," Aelin snorted, lifting her hand to stroke through Rhoe's hair, "That's a new one."
Rhoe sat up, his mother's hand sliding down to his back. "And mama, I don't have Ribbit! Papa wouldn't let me get him."
A cough covered laugh broke from a healer while Rowan winced.
The young queen's caressing faltered. "Oh Starlight."
"And Wooly and Prince Button and Fenrys too!"
Aelin was silent for a moment before she swallowed and murmured faintly, "You've really out done yourself this time, Maeve."
Rowan knelt down and sent a faint breeze over his wife, reaching out thorough their bond, 'Did she ever fake this?'
Aelin jolted, and turned her head toward him. Shock saturating her response, 'No.' She edged a shaking hand out.
'This is real, Aelin.' Rowan took her hand in his ever so gently, reading the belief sprouting in her. 'This is real. You're safe."
Moisture pooled in her eyes, her trembling spreading up to her parted lips.
Rowan affirmed his mate, his queen, 'You're free.'
A loud sob tore out of Aelin.
Deep, relief-filled, heaving, cries shook her to her core. They'd really come for her.
Rhoe gasped. "Don't cry, mama!" He turned her face back to him. "We can get my friends when you're all better!"
A trembling smile made its way through Aelin's tears. She stroked his hair once more before hugging him back down to her chest.
Both of them: Together for good. Finally safe, finally free.
A part of her still couldn't believe it was true. A greater part of her told her doubts to shut it.
Rowan drew her hand up, brushing a kiss against her new skin. Just above where the gauntlet ended.
Still crying, she flinched at the unexpected sensation.
Rowan pulled back quickly, assuring her again out loud, "It's just me."
The overhead candles glinted off the ornate mask when she turned back to him. Links jingling along. Aelin squeezed her husband's hand. She figured he already knew, but she needed to tell him herself. She explained through her crying, "I can't see." More tears humidified the interior of the mask. "They—Cairn—"
Rowan lifted their joined hands over his bleeding heart. "I know—"
"He blinded me months—months ago."
"The healers and I are going to do everything we can to bring your vision back." Rowan promised, tears of his own now spilling over. "The Healer on High from the Torre and her apprentices are also in Orynth. I'll get them to help too when we get there."
Aelin closed her eyes at the mention of her kingdom's capital. She mouthed the word, home. The doubt reared its ugly head again and so she asked through their bond, 'This is truly real?'
Rowan looked to where their precious son lay contently held to herside then to the curtain clad window beyond where the dawning sun was glimmering through. He replied, 'This is real. You're here and I'm here. I've got you. To whatever end, Fireheart."
A/N: Ta-daaaa! Let the "yay-ing" and "Aww-ing" commence! Tell me your favorite (or least favorite) part in the reviews! Chapter ten will be up as soon as possible. Until next time ~V