Hello and thank you for clicking into my story! I haven't written in a very long time and the last time I did, I wasn't very good - so here's to hoping I've gotten better! The first two chapters will be posted back to back, but please expect slower updates after that. I know how I'm ending the story and vaguely how I will get there, so please be patient with me and I hope to contribute a nice long, multi chapter fic. I have taken some liberties with canon events, as this is a canon-divergent fic, however I have tried to stay as true to the events in canon as possible.

Thank you again, and please say hi!

CHAPTER ONE

Yrene Towers was a 's all Rowan could think over and over again as he scanned over the Wyrdmarks along the pages of one the books she had provided to Aelin upon their meeting in Anielle.

He was thankful that Aelin had thought to teach him and the other cadre to start to read Wyrdmarks on their trip through the seas. Rowan had made sure to spend any extra time he had studying, pouring over the scrolls that Aelin had managed to scratch out with their limited supplies. The language was clunky and meandering, but so was the Old Language, and picking up the patterns felt like a familiar lesson to him as he listened in earnest while his mate went over the essentials.

Upon receiving the books, Aelin distributed them amongst herself, Rowan, Fenrys, Lorcan, and Gavriel. Rowan received the most to review as he felt the most comfortable aside from Aelin herself, who often had to pause her own reading to help interpret more complicated pages and passages. They were all beginning to give up when Rowan stumbled upon a passage that almost looked like it was talking about the gate. His curiosity peaked, but the words being a bit more than he was able to interpret on his own, he looked up. Aelin was already occupied with Gavriel, fingers running along the markings as she considered what they might say with the Lion.

Instead of interrupting, he announced his departure from the rest and stalked to the tent set up for Aelin and him to grab a few of the scrolls. Once he arrived, he quickly located the scroll that he recognized to be specific to unlocking and opening portals and brought the book side by side the scroll atop the bedroll. Rowan looked over the Wyrdmarks slowly, carefully, as he read over the page that had caught his interest once more. His calloused finger brushed the fragile page of the book on a mark that, as he thought, was so similar to the symbol for gate, but ever so slightly altered.

Huffing a breath, he reached to grab for another scroll, this one with the verbs and preposition words. He recognized travel, through, and jump. Grabbing a third scroll that helped to explain what could be considered the basic alphabet, he scanned and looked for the pattern in the book that made the most sense to him before freezing. Time. He was reading what he was sure was something referencing time. Was this book spelling out something that would let them jump through time? If so, he absolutely needed to know exactly what this passage was describing.

Rowan started on his way out of the tent to where the rest of the group were still sitting and then paused in thought. Aelin had been through so much and her magic was still spent from the massive wave of fire that had saved Anielle and the soldiers marching up to Terrasen with them. She had given so much already, schemed and put herself in danger too many times. Was Rowan really about to throw her into another scheme blindly and hope for the best? Would she allow him to follow her, accompany her? Could he?

Too many unknowns, and he would be damned if he was the next person to put Aelin in a life threatening situation. So Rowan paused, and he thought, and he made a decision. That night, once everyone was sound asleep – he had been sure to work Aelin extra hard during their physical sparring today so she would not wake up easily – he slipped Goldryn from the table it was set on and padded quietly out of the tent and into the trees. He walked until he couldn't hear anyone around, assured that even the Fae senses of his companions wouldn't hear what he was about to do.

Slipping the dagger from its' sheath, the male dragged the sharp edge along the fleshy part of his left palm, watching the blood pool to provide a well of ink. Rowan knelt onto the cold dirt and dipped a finger into the center of his palm with his right hand. He had taken extra time to review the scroll that Aelin had scrawled up depicting how she had summoned Elena back at the Ocean Rose. The circle of Wyrdmarks was slowly completed in Rowan's life essence, with care and precision, before standing again and plunging Goldryn into the center. If he was going to interpret these lost books, older than memory, he would need the help of the ancients, of the Old. The circle flashed with the spark of magic in his blood before an unfamiliar face appeared before him, Athril.

"My my, how very presumptuous of you, young warrior," it had been an age since Rowan had been called young, but he supposed he was next to the ancient Fae warrior before him. The prince fell to his knee once more, this time in deference, hoping to garner any favor he might receive after calling forth a long slumbering male that had not been involved in this fight for a very, very long time.

"Athr - your Majesty," he corrected, internally wincing but face remaining serious and grave. He didn't know much about the dead male, only that he had been partnered to Maeve and then betrayed by the same person. He was entirely loyal to Brannon, however, and Rowan hoped that being Brannon's heir's mate awarded him some adjacent leniency and understanding. Although, if Aelin could barely get any help out of Elena, what hope did he have to get help out of Athril? Still, he had to try.

"Your majesty," Rowan began again, "I apologize, and I know we don't have much time, so forgive me for my insistence, but I desperately need your help to save my mate, Brannon's heir, Aelin Galathynius."

The younger Fae waited, holding his breath as Athril looked deep into Rowan's eyes, assessing him, deciding. And then.

"What have you there?" Athril asked, gesturing to the book that Rowan had been holding, white knuckled, since plunging the sword into the ground. He brought the book forward, grateful for the moonlight despite his distaste for the goddess herself, and opened it to the page that he had discovered earlier that day. The ancient warrior sucked in a sharp breath.

"Where did you get this?!" He asked urgently, eyes wide in disbelief and brows furrowed. "This was given to Silba herself…."

"A healer from the Torre Cessme, a training center for some of the most gifted healers in the world, brought this to us from there. It and the other books are as ancient as anything I have witnessed, but we do not know where they come from truly," He started, gauging the apparition's reaction to the information he was sharing, face a careful blank mask. Athril was listening with rapt attention, eyes fixed on the book and the page open to him.

"As I mentioned, we are in desperate need of your help," Rowan continued, "Everything went terribly wrong during your time, as I'm sure you are well aware, and a burden that is not Aelin's has been passed on to her. I cannot allow this without doing everything under Mala's sun to try and alter this fate. If there is something in this book, which I believe there is right here, that can help Aelin – I must do it. I don't care what the cost to myself is, I just – I can't let her pay that price."

Athril was quiet then, watching Rowan now as the prince clenched his jaw, eyes imploring, the slightest bit of fear slipping through. Fear of the reality that was facing them if he couldn't find another way.

"…It is very risky, Prince," surprising Rowan that Athril would be aware enough of who he was to address him as such, "You can accomplish your goal using the information this page spells out, but it does not come without great risk to both you, potentially this entire world, and the people you love in it. You might set off to fix this problem, only to create another unfixable one…Do you know what this is?"

Athril pointed to that symbol that had caught Rowan's eye earlier. The not gate. The living male shook his head and Athril sighed a heavy breath before continuing.

"This describes a Wyrd Window and how to open one. From what I understand, once you go through, very little can get you back," Rowan clenched his jaw tighter at that, digging the stubs of nails into his bloody palm in a tight fist. Athril kept going when it was clear that the younger male wanted to hear more before deciding on further questions.

"This here," he pointed to the symbol that Rowan had recognized as 'time', "is referencing the multiple timelines that our souls experience in these worlds."

Rowan's brows pinched together and he cocked his head, considering the words. He didn't have to guess, as the ancient Fae explained further.

"If Wyrd Gates allow you to world walk, Wyrd Window's allow you to timeline walk. Worlds hold entirely different realities, different souls, different laws of being, different creatures. Timelines, however, are our worlds in different circumstances. We exist among all these timelines, simultaneously, living out the same lessons and attempting to repay the same debts in different ways. The Old Gods showed us that the only way for a debt to disappear is if it is paid, we do not have another choice."

Rowan's fist clenched further, mouth opening to protest before Athril held up a hand, and the prince's teeth clicked together painfully as he restrained himself from shouting in frustration. These gods damned ancient souls never made sense, they always skirted around the answer, they never just helped.

"That does not mean you cannot save her, Prince."

Rowan's breath caught, unable to stop himself from glaring now.

"What. Can. I. Do."

Rowan ground out. Athril's image was getting thinner, and Rowan could kill the male in front of him if he weren't already dead and fading. Athril continued, quickly, thank the gods.

"You must use these symbols here," the whisper of the ancient warrior pointed at a lone line towards the bottom of the page, "it will open a Window and you will have to jump in and hope for the best. The situation may be easier, it may be harder, but no matter where you end up you must solve the debt there if you wish to solve the debt here in this timeline."

Maeve's old partner was almost entirely gone now, appearing to will his face and voice to be the last shreds of his presence before he disappeared once more.

"It will be hard to return…if you succeed however, all should fall back into place...locking the gate will push you back through the right door…"

And with that, he was gone, the last of his words only heard because Rowan was able to collect the whispers left to the wind with his magic.

Rowan knelt there for a long time, barely feeling an ache in his knee as the frost covered dirt dug into his bones. He tossed every word Athril had given him around and around his head. Thinking, strategizing, combing through the potentialities. The horror and the wonder of the chance he had been given. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself thanks that he had kept this from Aelin. Who knows what she would have done, what he was slowly steeling himself to do.

What would happen when he left? They were still weeks away from Orynth. Would time move forward? Would his body stay here? Would Aelin find out how to follow him?

The warrior memorized the line that Athril had pointed to, deciding to return the book with the rest of them. He returned Goldryn, and silently walked over to the edge of their bedrolls. Getting down and bending over his wife, leaving a tender kiss on her temple that had her sighing gently in her sleep, Rowan resolved and vowed that he would come back. He would find a way, and he would not let Aelin give anything else up. It was his turn to take the risk, and gods help him if any of them were at all the benevolent beings that the world had once believed they were. He had once told Aelin he would go into the gates himself if it meant saving her, and he had not lied. There is nowhere he wouldn't go to ensure that she did not meet this fate that was handed to her from an impulsive ancestor.

Rowan stood again, still silent on his feet as he left the tent to go to a nearby cliffside. The wound on his palm had already closed and healed in the time that he had been kneeling on the frozen ground. The male took the dagger out once more and sliced into his palm again to produce the spring of red liquid he would need to complete the first steps of his task. His face was as cold and hard as the stone he would be writing on as he dipped a finger and started scrawling out the Wyrdmarks onto the wall in front of him.

Again, the marks flashed as the magic worked itself. An iridescent ever changing window bled through the stone into a solid shape Rowan could only describe as a portal. He couldn't comprehend the images that were flashing through the Window and he was suddenly so unsure this was the right choice, taking a step back.

Just then, Rowan felt a gentle warmth on his back, Mala's sun starting to peak up into the sky. The Fae steadied himself on his feet, steeling his resolve, and he heard the goddess's voice once more.

Go Prince, now!

Without another thought, the male immediately let himself fall forward, not having the strength to step, but close enough to know he would easily go through.

He felt like time itself slowed as he gave into gravity and closed his eyes, his eyelids moving so, so slowly. He could vaguely see and feel individual hairs moving around his face as he started to pass into that indescribable mix of colors and shapes and images and sounds.

Then everything suddenly sped up too fast, no time to understand what was happening and where he was going and his mind went blank as his body was lost to the Window.

Back along the cliffside, the Wyrd Window slowly seeped itself back into the stone, the blood erased from where it had been painted. No sign of Rowan or where he had gone.

The Year 200

Maeve surveyed the new world that she had stepped into, in wonder at the warmth that hit her cold, pale skin. Immediately cautious as she was unused to light in her dark existence. However, she had observed it in this domain and others as the gates had showed her world after world in that fragment of reality she had been able to lift. She had felt it too, the dull warmth through the looking glass of space. Maeve hadn't been sure what to expect from the light, but decided all was well.

The queen stalked into the lush field that she had found herself in, a nearby village visible and what looked to be a larger structure further out from there. A castle, she pondered with some amusement. This was perfect.

And so, Maeve did what Maeve does best. She started weaving her way into the creatures' minds, first to learn what they were, and then who they were. The Valg queen, satisfied that she understood and could outwit her prey, then started to spin the web of reality to suit her. Walking into the village, people stopped and recognized her as their village leader. They would bow in respect as she passed through. Some coming to ask questions that she would only sometimes deign to answer, not caring too much for the particulars as she started to immerse herself with the benevolent creatures she learned were called Fae.

Maeve knit together an illusion for herself next, more complex than the mere glamour she had worn initially. Binding herself to a Fae body, she had violet eyes, blood red lips, and hair as dark as the world she hailed from. The Queen made herself look every bit the royal she intended to be.

The Year 600

Maeve gradually worked her way into the nearby castle, running it, and allied with the nearby small kingdoms throughout the last 400 years. The Valg queen was unrecognizable from the creature she had been born as, now known as a sister to the two other Fae Queens Mab and Mora. She herself being the third, of course.

Things had been peaceful, she was in full control and satisfied with what she had accomplished. Content to live and rule the piece of Erilea she had carved out for herself.

That was, until her husband and his two brothers arrived. The news of dark lords, ravaging the land they stepped on, reached her corner of the kingdom. Allegiances, strengths, and weaknesses being evaluated from kingdom to kingdom as the Valg kings brought darkness to this land of gentle light. They started an empire – a concept foreign to the gentle hearted Fae who preferred to live in peace with the lesser humans. Really, Maeve didn't understand that, but she tolerated it.

Her husband, Orcus, and his two brothers Erawan and Mantyx, quickly took control of the Southern Continent, clearly on their way north to continue the siege of these lands. Maeve used her spies to get more intel, to find out how they were here, and she discovered that predictably, they had found she had left their world and sought to learn the secrets of world walking for themselves. However, they had found something she had not, something she missed.

They held three objects, Wyrdkeys they were called. All powerful, truly reality bending, world altering, tools. Her own meager illusions paling in comparison to the power that those keys held. She had to have them.

With a small group of her most powerful allies, not one to put herself in harms way unwittingly if she could help it, she infiltrated the Valg armies once they neared. She was known for her visions, her sights, so no one questioned how she knew of these foreign creatures, their innerworkings and weaknesses. In and out, she stole the keys easily, and quickly worked to banish Orcus and Mantyx. Not seeing Erawan yet, but fully intending to send the third brother back to their realm, banished back into the darkness for daring to follow her here.

It was too simple, really.

That overconfidence is what caused her to slip, apparently. Brannon, the fire wielder and partner to Mala light-bringer, two of the most formidable beings she had come across in her time, turned on her along with her own partner, Athril. They had somehow figured her out, they knew or at least heavily suspected what she was…and they stole those keys she had barely had the chance to hold.

Without the keys in hand any longer, Maeve retreated within herself, waiting it out knowing her time would come again.

Since Brannon had stolen the keys from her aunt Maeve, Elena watched as her father subtly but surely changed. The small kingdom that was once struggling to fight back against the last remaining Valg King grew much more powerful. Its' battles were turning tides, her father reclaiming land that had been lost these past years during the war. It was supposed to stop there.

But then, her mother Mala, a corporeal God, was suddenly gone.

Elena didn't understand what happened. Brannon was winning, how did she, why did she die? There wasn't even a body left behind, her father had mourned. He spoke of a sacrifice that Elena didn't understand. Brannon had the power now to stop Erawan, so why wasn't he? Why did her mother have to die? She watched as her dad sunk into his pain, expanding their territory into new lands and not returning the conquered kingdoms to their previous owners. Instead, building his own empire.

The princess couldn't watch this, she couldn't let her dad become and emperor, the first Fae emperor. He was not Erawan, he was not Valg.

Elena found the lock, she had snuck into her father's war tent while he was busy negotiating the new laws of the land, taxes, duties, to the previous ruler of the latest kingdom they had taken back. They were no better if they were imposing their will, if her father was imposing his will, on these war-torn people that needed aid more than anything else.

The princess also found two glittering black stones, heavier than their size would indicate, not breathing as she could barely register what she was slipping into her dress folds. Quickly, she left her father's tent, not quite understanding what she had done.

Gavin found her that night, holding the two stones and the lock, and cursed.

"What are you doing, Elena?"

Elena's head snapped up, looking pale.

"I….," she started, "I need to stop my dad. Stop….I need to stop all of this."

Gavin and she argued that night, he called her foolish, rash. He didn't trust this. The demi-fae princess looked at her partner then, pleading.

"Please Gavin, I do not make this decision lightly…but this, this lock, I think I can use it to stop Erawan and…and I need to try and stop my dad too. He has become something I do not recognize."

Gavin looked at Elena warily but conceded. He would trust his mate. Still, he said, "And the keys?"

She shuddered, feeling their weight deep within her.

"I do not know where the third key is, I do not even know what to do with them, but I do know that we cannot use them."

Gavin slowly nodded. So, it was decided.

Brannon went mad looking for the keys over the next week. Elena held the lock, but she had sent Gavin away that night with them, back home and away from the war camp.

As fate would have it, Erawan's troops met to descend upon their camp, ambushing the troops and boxing them against the cliffside. The princess watched as she rode in on horseback, as Erawan approached a fighting Brannon, unaware of the dark king behind him.

Before she could second guess her decision, Elena took the opportunity in front of her. Not fully registering who she was condemning as she brought the lock out and invoked its' power. A bright light burst from the eye of the lock, creating matter to form a tomb made of stone she had never before seen in its' blackness. Against the cliffside, tucked into a crevice on the mostly flat face, went her father along with the Valg King, locked away for the foreseeable future. The world around her went quiet and a crackling filled her head as reality seemed to bend and shift and Elena was suddenly aware of the Wyrd Gate she was peering through. Had she made that too?

No.

Twelve gods, twelve including her own mother's face, were staring back at her with quiet rage.

What have you done?!

She heard the words in her head, but those gods just remained still, staring, damning her.

"I…he, they….," Elena's chest was seizing. What had she done exactly?

The princess could feel fate forming, twisting, in a way that horrified her as the gods explained to her the fool she had been, the debt that was owed them. Elena could feel it fracture – the future, her line's future. Across time and space and couldn't help but feel dread pool into her every pore, learning of the mistake she had just made.