The moment he entered the room, Aelin blinked at him from where she kneeled, chained to the pedestal.
One. Two. Three. Are you alright?
That was their new routine. One asked the question. The other answered. Switch roles. Repeat until the day's… exercise, for lack of a better word, began. Sometimes they lied, sometimes they didn't. But it didn't matter, because they both knew that no matter what happened, whether they lied and said yes or whether Lady Luck shone upon them that day and they were able to sleep, the underlying answer that hung over both their heads would always be no. There was never anything that was able to overcome the fact that they were both in a gilded, golden prison that held in both their screams. Silent or otherwise.
They asked anyways. Neither of them had anything better to do.
Aelin asked again, silently, pleadingly. Are. You. Alright. Fenrys hadn't even realized he was lost in thought. But Aelin had seen.
No.
He didn't feel like lying today.
Are you?
Aelin hesitated. No.
It looked like neither did she.
He stared her down, doing his best not to falter. She stared him back, and a ghost of a wry smile crossed her face. So this is how we're playing today, is it?
A slight shrug from him. I suppose so. Fenrys focused on her eyes, despite how much it hurt to see how dead they were. She grimaced, as if realizing how she looked, how both of them looked, but she glared back.
That was how they remained, each anchored to this world by the sheer will of the other, until Cairn finally entered the room.
He knew she was tired. He knew that she needed at least a few days of rest. He knew from the way she shook and cried out before the small blade had even seen the light of day.
And still he could do nothing. Could only stand there and growl, as tall as possible, and refuse to lie down and be cowed. And Cairn would never try it on him, anyway.
(He did once, but not only did Fenrys refuse to scream, Maeve was furious that he was cut at all. Cairn stuck to Aelin after that.)
Aelin's voice had already grown hoarse- she truly was tired, if she couldn't muster up the energy to scream, only to writhe.
The clearing was quieter. Fenrys didn't know if that was better or worse.
Aelin turned her head, and her eyes landed on him.
What could he say, what could he do-
There were a hundred things he wanted to do. He wanted to take a cannon and raze Doranelle to the ground. (It had been home, once, but never again. Not anymore.) He wanted to shift back and run and punch that bastard into the wall. And then leave him alive only because it was Rowan's job to exact revenge.
But in the end, there was only one thing he had left.
He blinked four times.
She went still.
They would speak of this later. They would decide on what exactly it meant.
But for now Fenrys kept blinking. One. Two. Three. Four. Wait. Repeat.
Because it calmed Aelin, and it seemed to dull the pain, if only a little. Because as long as Aelin kept his eyes on him, she kept breathing.
Small comforts, he supposed, were better than none.
They'd healed her, but it had taken much longer than usual. Perhaps because Aelin fought to stay awake for half of it, and perhaps because she was clearly fighting to wake up for the other half.
And the moment they disappeared, she succeeded, and snapped her eyes open.
He'd laid down for the entire healing, but he jumped up now. What was she doing, she needed every bit of sleep she could get-
Fenrys froze when she said the first word. "Are-" She coughed. Too much screaming. Too little water. "-you-" She took a deep breath. "here?"
Are you alright?
She shook her head; she wanted him to answer the question. Of course she would want to know whether he was real.
He didn't hesitate. Yes. Absolutely, yes.
"With-" She cried out at the word.
Stop speaking! Can't you see it's hurting you?
"-me?"
Yes. Four blinks. I am here, I am with you.
"Even- after?"
She let the question linger in the air. Neither of them dared say (or blink) a word.
By the time he'd sorted out his thoughts and gathered the strength to respond, she was already gone.