A/N: SPOILERS AHEAD! LOTS OF SPOILERS!
Anyways, guess who finished Kingdom of Ash? That's right. Your favorite (or not, I won't hold it against you) fanfic author!
I realized my fic "and I can do nothing but watch" (which I didn't post on Tumblr, but it IS on Ao3) isn't exactly canon-compliant anymore. So I took it upon myself to write another because Fenrys and Aelin have the best friendship.
Fenrys knew Maeve was tiring.
Not of torturing Aelin- no, Queen Maeve of the Fae, ruler of Doranelle, could watch her scream for hours.
But of losing time. Of spending every waking hour by Aelin's side.
Maeve had a country to rule; he supposed he could respect her for keeping it safe.
Now the coffin was in Doranelle, and now one of his orders was to remain as a wolf. On top of the ones to stay. To be still. To watch.
A wolf's mouth could not speak. A wolf's mouth could not whisper small comforts to Princess Aelin when he heard her shaking in the iron coffin.
(But when had he ever had the time to do that anyways? She was always screaming or asleep or he was being watched, and now that she was out, now that she spent much of her time chained to the pedestal they used to torture her rather than in that coffin, with that mask, he had no ability to tell her.)
She tugged futilely at the chains, in a silent answer he tugged at his own. As with everything Maeve, both held firm, the physical and mental constraints impeccable.
She shut her eyes and twisted slightly. Embarrassed. Afraid.
Not afraid. Fenrys had seen fear. Eons of fear. And she had none.
What she looked like was... hopelessness. A female downed and with nothing to raise her up.
Fenrys barked once, hating it was all the sound he could make.
Slowly, ever so slowly, Aelin lifted her gaze to his.
She held him without laying a single finger upon his fur, her turquoise eyes powerful, the fiery ring around the pupils blazing.
The face of a queen.
But then she sagged, then her eyes went dull, and it was the face of a queen no longer, but the face of a broken teenager promised a home and left with a prison.
That was what she was, wasn't it?
This woman had done unspeakable things, had allied with kings and fought battles, had circled all of Doranelle with her flame.
This woman was nineteen years old. Too young to have to be with any of this.
Fenrys leapt up, he had seen death before and she couldn't die, not now, not now, but Aelin Ashryver Galathynius only faced the White Wolf with empty, dead eyes.
She spoke quietly, her voice rusty from disuse. "Was it real?"
The torture. Most recently Cairn had broken each of her limbs, had used the small, sharp knife to make art on her skin, painted with her blood, set with cuts and burns and bruises.
But none of it remained. Aelin's limbs had been smoothed over with magic until they were pristine. Untouched.
A slow blink; the only answer he could give. Yes.
"One for yes," she whispered, and spoke no more.