Archive of Our Own ^beta

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It’s terrifying how Aelin’s memory fades in and out over the months. She tries to hold onto the people she knows… Rowanaedionlysandraelidedorianchaol…but the names slip out of her grasp and she’s a blank slate, memories gone. When they return and her mind is coherent for a fleeting moment, she clutches them to her heart, afraid they’ll disappear, afraid they’ll slip away like everything she loves. And they always do. Until one day they’re all gone and she doesn’t know who she is anymore.

 She’s far away from her body, mind numb as Cairn leers at her, as Maeve watches and blood slips down her side… As flesh tears and bones crack. She never fights anymore. Starts to wait for death. She doesn’t know who she is. She is truly nameless, a girl held together by skin and bones and dust. And she wonders if there are people out there who care about this nameless girl, looking for her. It doesn’t matter. It’s too late. She was lost months ago, and nothing can put the pieces together.

There’s such emptiness inside her at times. There’s something missing inside of her. Someone missing. But no matter how hard she tries to remember what it is, who it is, nothing comes. At times, she feels like she is hollow and it makes her feel pain beyond what her captors could ever dream of.

And she dreams. Oh, such terrible nightmares she has. Of a cold body, maimed and unrecognisable, lying in a dark stone room. Of a king of darkness, swallowing her up until she ceases to exist. But sometimes… sometimes, the dreams are good. Strange, but good. Silver hair and green eyes, flickers of flame, a great white cat that pads along the ground. Sometimes, she dreams of a young girl, with blonde hair and blue eyes ringed with gold.

Waking is hard, but dreaming is harder. Dreaming makes the emptiness gape wider, makes her heart ache for something beyond words. Her mind starts to slip from the thin ice of sanity it is currently on, and she starts to fragment. Sometimes, she swears that she smells a hint of pine and snow. She doesn’t know why that makes tears stream from her eyes, tracking through the grime on her face.

It’s hard to feel anything now. She has lost track of time, doesn’t know what time is. Pain is a constant companion, tearing through her body until she screams, voice raw. No matter how dead she is inside, her body still feels pain.

The pain… she wishes that she could dissolve into a million stars, wishes that she could burn to ashes, wishes that she could do anything to escape this existence. She wouldn’t call it death, no, she’s already dead, and all that remains is to kill her body.

There is nothing worth living for. Not anymore.

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Time creeps by. The nameless girl doesn't scream anymore, not even when her captor yells and the crack of a whip falls on her flesh. Every sight is grey, every sound is muted, every smell is faded, every sensation is dulled. She's losing control of her body. Losing feeling, and all that connects her to the world.

Her captors don't appear for a long time, until she almost—almost, but not quite—starts to crave company, something to remind her that she exists. Is it possible to die of loneliness? she wonders, and hopes that the end will be quick. That maybe she might go peacefully into the night. There is no light where she is, no voices, no sound.

Then one day noise does come to her dark cell, and light flickers. There's a flash of colour—green and silver—which quickly fades back into grey. A faint scent of pine and snow that she vaguely recalls from some long-forgotten dream. People enter her cell, but she closes her eyes and withdraws into her mind.

It’s the only defence from insanity. Despite that she wishes to cease existing, she discovers that she does not want to go insane. Perhaps a hint of the person she used to be. Of course, that person is long gone, stripped away by pain and loneliness. Voices float over her head. They swirl around her like ropes, wrapping onto her flesh and gripping tight. Oh, gods, is she alive? Hold on, Aelin. I'm so sorry. You'll be safe soon, they say. And someone else—shit, she looks bad.

She doesn't know who they're talking to, can't find meaning in their words. Doesn’t bother to move or react. It’s been too long. Then hands are prying at her manacles and arms are lifting her up and she’s rocking as the person who’s carrying her hurries through the tunnel and out into the sun. Stay with me, someone whispers.

She whimpers at the feel of sunlight—the first touch of warmth in ages. It had been so cold in that cell, a chilling cold that had crept inside her and leeched the warmth from her bones. The sunlight releases something in her. It’s painfully bright outside, and she squeezes her eyes shut, moving weakly. The arms holding onto her tighten, and they move faster now, through branches that brush by her body. She can hear other footsteps moving along with them.

It’s peaceful here, she thinks. There’s warmth, there’s light, there’s noise. Unfamiliar, but comforting. It brings strange feelings that move inside her, things that she doesn’t recognise. Feelings, hope, that she wishes had come earlier, when she had not been so broken, so irreparable. When she had not been lost.

She drifts asleep to the rhythm of pounding feet.

Chapter Text

It’s been months since she was set free. Months of staying with people who are strangers but act like they know her. A man who looks like her, with gold hair and eyes like hers- blue with rings of gold around the pupils. A woman who constantly shifts shape, from a beautiful woman with black hair to a majestic ghost leopard that prowls around the palace. Several fae men that emit power… and there’s him.

The man called Rowan. Silver hair and green eyes, the scent of pine and snow, the arms that carried her out of that cell. The man who seems to be fill the hole in her heart with his presence alone, the man who never talks but affects her most.

Everyone calls her ‘Aelin’, and she catches them looking at her with some indefinable emotion in their eyes when she doesn’t answer, doesn’t talk to them. They treat her like fragile glass, and she knows that they are expecting her to wake up some day and say I’m fine, I’m back. I’m Aelin again. To recover her memories unexpectedly.

She doesn’t.

But at times, when a blue-eyed prince visits with a white-haired witch by his side, when a man with brown hair and brown eyes visits, she feels memories stirring up in her, just out of reach. It’s beyond frustrating. Sometimes, she wants to scream, wants to break down and rage at the world. At these times, she feels something rising up inside her, something dark and monstrous and it terrifies her. What would happen if she released all her pent-up sorrows and fears and angers and nightmares?

It’s nothing good, she knows. Especially since flames frequently spill out of her hands and burn things when she sleeps, flames that can wreak havoc and destruction.

So she floats around the palace like a wraith, a palace everyone insists is hers and where she doesn’t really belong. She avoids the servants during her travels. She goes days without eating, days without seeing anyone. But then the hunger, for food, for company, becomes too much and she visits the places that she knows everyone is.

Aedion, who is apparently her cousin, is always with Lysandra, the shifter-woman. It’s always uncertain where they’ll be, and she usually doesn’t seek them out. She always feels confined by their expectations, by their disappointment that she isn’t Aelin, might never be again.

She prefers Gavriel’s company, the golden warrior who shifts into a mountain lion. He’s quiet, peaceful, kind—he doesn’t push her to heal, to remember, and sometimes they just sit together in silence. She finds him in his room, the training room, the armoury.

Then there’s Lorcan and Elide who visit occasionally. Lorcan, with his ever-present scowl and black mood. She avoids Elide, who always looks at her with such grief-stricken guilt in her eyes. It makes the girl feel uncomfortable. Lorcan isn’t exactly a great person to be around, either.

Fenrys is too loud. But the nameless girl has a few memories of her time with her captors, and he was one of them, for a brief time. It may have not been his fault, but he brings up memories of fear and pain and it is best not to see him. And sometimes he seems haunted by his own ghosts and the girl has enough of her own.

Of course, there’s Rowan, who also lives in the palace. But she actively attempts not to see him, unsettled by the way he makes her feel. But sometimes the craving is too much and she hides in the shadows of the room he’s in and just watches him. She knows that Rowan can scent her, but he never acknowledges her. However, at times, she feels his eyes on her. Still, they never speak.

The girl keeps on roaming the halls silently. Following the routine that she has unconsciously fallen into. It’s a fairly meaningless life, but enough for now.

Chapter Text

“Tell me about who I used to be,” she says one day, as she leans against Gavriel’s table. Gavriel looks up from where he’s polishing his weapon.

“I didn’t know you for very long,” he tells her, after a pause. “You will have to ask the others. But, I am glad that you asked.” He kisses her on the cheek, and she doesn’t shy away from the contact.

It’s been a year since the girl’s rescue. She has decided to go by the name ‘Aelin’. It had seemed easier. Not for her, but for the others in the palace, the others who seem to care about her. Aelin isn’t as withdrawn anymore, starts to come out of her shell.

She’s grown more familiar with Gavriel, who’s less stifling, more patient than the others. He’s like a father figure, confidant and friend in one, and Aelin doesn’t know why but she tells him everything. It’s now a common occurrence to see her sitting on a couch in his room, or talking to him. The others are better now. They seem to have accepted that she’s a different person now, and they quit being so careful. There are still times when someone slips up in conversation, or when guilt and sorrow shows in their eyes, but it’s good enough.

Aedion and Lysandra… Aelin finds herself in their company maybe once a week. She likes Lysandra, who is witty and funny but cares for Evangeline like a mother. Lorcan is still a prick, and Elide and Fenrys still look at her with unbearable guilt. So, nothing has changed there. Rowan…

She keeps on watching Rowan, and sometimes when he doesn’t know she’s there, she sees such agonising heartbreak on his face that it breaks her own heart to see him like that. At those times, she wishes to know what caused such sorrow, wishes to go to him and help him heal. The draw between them is painful now, and they exchange brief words that don’t mean anything but company is just enough.

Now Aelin attempts to talk to him more and more, and she doesn’t know the reason why. She holds onto those short moments, and wishes for more. It’s like an obsession she can’t rid herself of, and well, she doesn’t wish to either.

Aelin can feel herself healing in the company of these people. But she still remains fractured in places. Her memories don’t return. Oh, one or two scattered memories do, but Aelin can’t make sense of them. She suspects that her shattered mind may never heal fully.

And at times, she feels phantom pain in the scars on her body, the whip marks on her tattered back. There are a few odd black stripes left on the mass of scar tissue that is her back, and she wonders what they are. Whenever she looks at them, she feels as if she is on the brink of remembering something, but it never comes.

In the night, nightmares still come. Nightmares from both before and during her captivity. She wakes up screaming, from pain that seems so real, from bone-chilling terror. Some of her nightmares are memories that slip away when she wakes up, but the feelings linger. Loss. Fear. Pain.

It is at these moments, waking up from nightmares, sitting in the burnt remains of her sheets, that life seems hopeless and she feels like dying would be so much easier than going on living. But then Gavriel will be at her door and Rowan will come as silent guards against her nightmares, and it comforts her greatly to know that she is not completely alone.

Chapter Text

Aelin finally summons the courage to ask someone else about the past, a week after she asks Gavriel. She starts with Aedion, who’s bound to have known her the longest.

She approaches him in the kitchen, from which he (and pretty much everyone) regularly filches snacks, and asks bluntly, "What was I like?”

Aedion drops the tray of food he’s carrying and quickly snatches it up with inhuman speed before it hits the ground. He’s half-fae, and apparently Gavriel is his father. When Gavriel had told her, she’d seen the resemblance, but it had never occurred to her before. Aelin is part fae, she knows. Gavriel says that she can shift into a fae form, which she never attempts, and she knows that she has fire abilities. How can she not, when she frequently burns things?

He sets the tray down a nearby table, where it’s promptly taken by one of the cooks, and turns to her. “Do you really want to know?” His voice is both disbelieving and hopeful.

It’s too late for Aelin to back out. She nods, and Aedion pulls her out of the kitchen to somewhere more private. They settle on the library, a place only Aelin ever visits, and Aedion immediately sprawls on the single comfortable seat in the library, leaving no space for Aelin, who glares at him as she decides to sit on the floor.

“Well, you’re an extremely complicated person,” Aedion starts off, rather dryly. “I missed most of your life.”

He decides to begin with tales of her as a child, a time when they were inseparable. A princess and prince with a loving family. Aelin listens, rapt. She doesn’t recognise the child he’s describing, can’t imagine being spoilt and comfortable and happy and cherished. But it must have happened. And his stories stop when she’s eight, and she asks him what happens to separate them.

The brokenness inside her cries tears for the princess she used to be, little Aelin Ashryver Galathynius. A girl long dead before Queen Aelin Galathynius ever died. And Aedion tells her a bit more, about a king and a storm that brought death to Terrasen.

“I can’t tell you what happens after. I don’t know. But Lysandra was there for some of it, and I assume that you told Rowan most of it.” Aedion kisses her on the cheek, eyes still sorrowful from his memories.

“Why?” Aelin looks at him. “Why would I have told Rowan?” Why do I want him so badly? Why do I trust him? It’s a question from deep inside, and a question she hasn’t acknowledged until now.

But Aedion only smiles gently and tells her that it’s not his story to tell. Then he leaves, and Aelin is left with more questions than answers.

Chapter Text

The mood around the palace is grim. Even Aelin notices. She doesn’t usually think of herself as clueless, but she is.

She finally starts seeing—actually seeing what is happening, and it casts the world in a completely different light. She thinks of the various visits, the way that the people in the palace disappear for weeks or even months. Minor injuries she’d noticed but dismissed. The way Rowan only appears in the evening. How could she have been so oblivious?

She doesn’t ask about her past anymore. She’d prefer to discover it on her own, or not know at all. So she studies the occupants of the palace.

Aedion, who leaves the most, returning less and less.

Fenrys, who leaves with Aedion and comes back in short visits.

Lysandra, who is almost never at the palace anymore.

The others start going out more and more, until at times it’s only her and the servants in the palace and she doesn’t know whether to feel wretchedly lonely or relieved.

She finally musters the courage to go out of the palace a fortnight later. She doesn’t want to leave her safe haven—and somehow that palace had become exactly that—doesn’t want to come out of hiding. And that’s what she is doing, wasn’t it? Hiding. Hiding from her fears, memories, nightmares.

No more hiding, she promises herself as she filches a cloak from Lysandra’s room, drops by the armoury to grab a few weapons. She slides a knife into a sheathe by her side, driven purely by muscle memory, and is surprised at how familiar it feels. Taking an experimental swipe with a sword, she stumbles slightly but regains her balance. Her arms are too weak. She is annoyed at herself for not exercising, for not regaining her strength. For not preparing herself for danger. She should have known better.

Scowling, she follows Rowan as he departs from the palace. After her week of observing everyone left in the palace, she has noted the times of arrivals and departures. Rowan always leaves at dawn and returns an hour after sundown.

She slips from shadow to shadow, some long-forgotten training returning, making her pause just before Rowan turns, eyes narrowing as they sweep across the forest. His eyes focus on where she is, and she chants silently to herself, he can’t see me.

Then he speaks. “I can see you, you know.”

Damn it. Aelin reluctantly steps out of the shadow. She swears that Rowan’s eyes are almost amused.

“If you wanted to leave the palace, all you had to do was ask,” he tells her.

“Why don’t you ride a horse?” she blurts out.

“Why ride when you can run?” Rowan gives a shrug. He starts to move forward as if he expects her to follow. When she doesn’t, he turns and raises an eyebrow at her. “Scared?”

Aelin bristles, throwing him a glare, and storms past him.

She can almost feel him smirk as he follows.

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After one hour of travelling with Rowan, Aelin has absolutely no idea why she’d ever been obsessed with the prick. He’d managed to make her see red—something that hadn’t happened since her captivity—within ten minutes. She has no idea who this jerk is, but she decides she doesn’t like him. At all. Remembering how she’d longed for more moments talking to Rowan, she scowls. Now, she would give anything for the distant Rowan who’d been detached but polite.

Now Aelin trudges forward, too tired to do anything but glower at Rowan. She resentfully notices that he isn’t even winded. Noticing her glare, he looks at her but doesn’t comment on her lack of fitness. He’d already done so—several times—earlier. “We’re almost there,” he says.

Rowan’s version of ‘almost’ appeared to different from Aelin’s. They run for another half an hour before Aelin spots anything. They’re out of the forest now, and running through several fields. She squints. “Are we going to that city over there?” she asks. He nods in agreement.

Aelin groans. The city is still ages away. She says as much to Rowan, who merely tells her that it isn’t that far.

“You can shift into fae form,” Rowan says conversationally ten minutes before they reach the city. It isn’t a question.

Aelin is too breathless to reply immediately. “So?” she wheezes a minute later.

“If you shifted you would be able to run much faster. You might even be able to keep running for ten minutes straight. Why not shift?”

She wonders if she can shoot fireballs out of her eyes and set Rowan’s silver hair on fire. “For your information, I can run for more than ten minutes.” Shifting… she’s tried shifting. It never works, and each time she can’t shift fully, panic rises in her throat and threatens to choke her. It’s like her fae form is trapped inside her, and it makes her feel panicky and unsettled.

Rowan raises his eyebrows. “If what you’re doing is considered running, then I suppose that you can run for ten minutes.”

Aelin changes her mind. She wants to shoot fireballs out of her eyes and roast Rowan to death.

“You can’t run away forever.” Rowan’s voice is different, more serious. Aelin looks at him, but he averts his gaze and looks at the city.

“We’re here.”

Aelin looks up, at the city walls. They enter, and despite the obvious disrepair of the city, it still holds an elegant dignity. It would be stunning if not for the broken buildings, the dirt and dust streaking every inch of the place. “It’s beautiful,” she says grudgingly.

Rowan gives her a look. “Interesting way of describing it.”

“Well, what would you describe it as?” she snaps defensively.

“In need of repair.”

Aelin shrugs. “Who says broken things can’t be beautiful?” The words are out of her mouth before she truly thinks about them, and she freezes, because the words could apply to her. Broken things. She was—is—broken, and Aelin can’t bear it. She sees Rowan’s expression change, his mouth open, and she can already see the sympathy, the pity, and she doesn’t want to hear it all again. She wants Rowan to be different, to make her feel better and… not broken.

She doesn’t know why she craves this from Rowan of all people, who’s just thoroughly proved how much of a prick he can be.

But she does.

Chapter Text

They walk through those broken streets, and something stirs in Aelin when they reach the castle sitting in the middle of the city in all its ravaged glory. There’s a faint feeling of sorrow when she thinks about how the castle must have looked, before it was ruined by war.

She pushes her feelings deep down, and tries to distract herself. Asks Rowan where they are.

His answer is clipped. “We’re in the capital of Terrasen. Orynth.” He watches her face, as if looking for a reaction. There isn’t one. Aedion may have told her about this place, but she doesn’t recognise it. There’s no feeling of belonging.

“Aedion told me about Terrasen. I grew up here.” She says this as if she wants to confirm it, wants to hear it out loud and maybe that will make it seem more true. She looks at the palace, tries to imagine living in its walls. She had cried for the Terrasen, the young Aelin that Aedion had described, but the place itself…

They enter through the gates, and Aelin tugs the hood of her cloak, uncomfortable. She doesn’t want anyone to recognise her. She notices that the guards at the gate discreetly monitor them as they pass, until Rowan gives them a nod and their attention moves away.

Rowan leads her through several corridors, through different rooms. They run across a few people, and everyone stops to greet Rowan deferentially. Aelin frowns, curious as to his role in this palace. Rowan comes to a stop at what Aelin assumes is the ballroom.

“Aelin. There will be a lot of people in there, and most of them know… you. None of them know you’ve been missing—Lysandra has been impersonating you—and won’t expect you here, as you’re meant to be in one of the other bases, with Aedion. If you want to come in, keep your hood on and don’t let anyone see your face. No one should notice you.”

Aelin bites her lip, torn. Her heart tugs her towards to the ballroom, tells her to be impulsive and to actually live. In the end, however, she chooses the coward’s way out and asks where she can go. Aelin knows that she is a coward for wanting to hide, to escape from her problems. And she will have to face them eventually. Just not now.

Disappointment. The emotion flickers over Rowan’s face before it disappears, and Aelin somehow feels guilty. She tells her it isn’t her fault, that she has no reason to feel as if she let Rowan down. But she does anyway.

“You can go anywhere in the palace. Just don’t leave, and I will find you at the end of the day. You won’t be bothered.” His green eyes are analytical, detached. All emotion has fled from Rowan’s face, and it makes Aelin acutely uncomfortable. 

Aelin nods and leaves. As she reaches the end of the corridor, she looks back. All she sees is a flash of silver hair before Rowan moves out of sight.

Chapter Text

Aelin is staring at a portrait, ruined by time and war, when Rowan finds her. It’s sundown, and she is vaguely aware of the soft light seeping into the room, the sun’s dying rays.

“They’re my parents, aren’t they?” Aelin’s voice is quiet. The woman in the portrait looks like Aelin, but softer, gentler. Possessing none of the cold, broken fire that Aelin sees when she looks in the mirror. Except, nowadays, the fire has dimmed, into flickering embers. Dull. The man is tall and handsome in a rough way, with a strong build and a jawline that resembles Aelin’s.

“Yes.” Rowan looks at her, gauging her emotions.

She feels numb. She stares at the portrait some more, wishing so hard that her memories will come back, that she might know who her parents were, what they were like. It’s such as childish dream, but such an important one.

“I don’t know them,” she says. “I can’t find them. I don’t know anything.” She turns at these angry, despairing words, pounds her fists into Rowan’s chest. He’s the closest thing she can reach. Something solid, stable in a place where everything is changing and crumbling. She hadn’t known how much the loss of her memories had bothered her, not until now.

To her mortification, tears start sliding down her face, born of frustration and anger that her life has been taken away from her. Rowan tugs her away from the portrait, takes her into his arms. She melts into his solid warmth for a moment, pretends she is safe. Then reality crashes in, and she pushes out of his hold.

Rowan’s voice is soft, gentle. “Aelin… about what you said earlier…” Broken things.

“Shut up. I don’t need your pity,” Aelin snarls, dashing away angry tears.

“Is being broken such a terrible thing?” He reaches over, gripping her chin and turning her head to face him. Aelin jerks out of his grip.

“I was broken once,” Rowan says softly. “That’s the past. Broken things can be beautiful. And being broken is not being beyond repair. But people don’t stay broken, Aelin. They heal or they die. You’re stronger than that. People are what they believe themselves to be.” He wipes away her tears. “You’re not broken, Aelin,” he repeats.

And she breaks completely, collapsing into Rowan as if he is her fortress against this storm, this storm of fear and self-pity and pain and hope, and she’s never felt so safe.

Chapter Text

It makes Aelin uncomfortable to have someone know her soul, to just look at her and see her secrets, her monsters, her nightmares. And Rowan… well, Aelin isn’t quite too sure about him, either.

She disappears as soon as they return to the palace, eager to get away from him. She spends hours hiding in the library, attempting to lose herself in books, but her mind is too distracted to read. After she realises that she’s been staring at the same page for ten minutes, she gives up and pushes the book away.

She finds herself outside Rowan’s room sometime later. Knocking at the door, she waits for his reply before pushing it open.

She takes a few steps into the room before pausing.

Rowan’s sitting at the table, pouring over a stack of papers. His room is soldier-neat, bare. There’s a bed, a table, a chair and not much else. The other furniture in the room has obviously been stripped, and even though the carpet and walls are colourful, the room just seems so… stark. Lonely.

Rowan looks up at her approach. “Done hiding, princess?” His words are quiet, but Aelin can feel the disapproval in them. She fights the urge to bristle.

“Not quite,” she says, honestly, and Rowan gives a huff that could be a laugh before turning back to the papers on his desk.

She feels her walls coming back up, walls that had been slowly thinning. Rowan is an irritatingly confusing person. There is no hint of the kindness, of the gentleness that had been evident before. Or even the mocking prick from this morning. This man is rigid, hard.

“At least you’re not lying to yourself. About this, at least.”

Her lips thin. “Oh, really. And what am I lying about, then?”

“You tell me.” It’s a challenge, and one Aelin can’t ignore.

She falls silent, actually thinks about it. She’s never said she’s fine, never said that she isn’t broken. “I’m not lying to myself. You don’t know me. Don’t presume to.”

Rowan’s lips pull up in a self-mocking smile. “No, I don’t.” The words are hard. “But neither do you. And you do lie. You lie when you say you’re irreparable, when you say you’re broken. Broken isn’t a state of being, Aelin. It’s a belief. You’re not dead. You’re living, aren’t you?”

“Death isn’t hard,” she snarls. “It’s living that takes effort.”

His eyes gleam. “Exactly. You want to live. No broken creature would.”

“And you?”

“Not broken anymore. But back then… I wished for death. I am glad to have lived. There are things that are worth living for.” The words are bare, honest.

“Did you find something worth living for?”

“Yes,” he says, green eyes watching her intently, “I did. I found the centre of my world.” He’s looking at her with such longing, the hardness in his eyes still there, but somehow different, and Aelin feels the same emotion stirring in her. She sucks in a breath at how strong it is, the raw, vicious longing that plucks at her heartstrings.

She wonders who was—is—Rowan’s reason, and there’s a pang in her heart as she thinks about it.

She knows something for certain, though. She’s found her reason to live.

Chapter Text

She’s reading a book, lying on the carpet with her head propped up on her arms, when a shadow falls over her. “I don’t understand why you always hide in here.”

She looks up to find Rowan standing over her. Looking back to her book, she pats the floor beside her absentmindedly. “You don’t have to understand. Want to keep me company?”

“Why can’t you read in your bedroom.”

“That wasn’t a question,” Aelin says, not really paying attention. Rowan growls—short, sharp—and snatches her book.

“Pay attention,” he snaps.

“Give it back,” Aelin snaps back, just as irritably. “This is precisely the reason why I read in the library. Less people to disrupt me. Do you have a problem with libraries?” She finally manages to get her book back when Rowan lowers his arm.

She goes back to her reading, completely ignoring Rowan, and after a while, she hears him sigh and leave. His absence leaves something missing, and Aelin can’t settle. He returns a few minutes later, with a stack of papers and sits at a nearby desk. His mere presence fills the hole, calming her down. Aelin feels her heart warming.

“Decided to hide in the library as well?”

“Be quiet,” Rowan grumbles.

Aelin feels a smile tilt the corner of her mouth, and she looks down, fighting the warmth in her heart.

***

“Rowan.” Aelin nudges him gently.

It’s been a month since Rowan first started joining her in the library. They’re in the library, curled up in the corner. Well, at least Aelin is curled up comfortably on a cushion, while Rowan sits rigidly at a table next to her, writing something down in a language that Aelin can’t read.

They spend a lot more time together now, though mostly in silence. Rowan has taken to training her when he’s in the palace and has time, and all he does is bark orders. Her body is sore from all the training, and she’s received a thorough education about the fact that Rowan Whitethorn was a merciless bastard as a teacher. She supposes that she should have guessed, though. Rowan is hardly an easy-going person.

“Hm?” Rowan doesn’t look up.

“Rowan,” she repeats, and there’s something harder in her voice. He finally pays attention, setting aside the pen and pushing the paper away.

“What?” He’s looking at her now, and those green eyes make her feel… something.

“I… I want to know.”

“Know what?”

“Everything.”

“Why are you asking me?”

“Well… I don’t know,” she admits. “Before, I thought I’d rather get my memories back myself, after a while of asking people. I didn’t want to ask you. But now… I want you to tell me.”

Rowan hesitates.

“Never mind.” Aelin stops him. She knows he’s going to refuse, and truthfully? She’s afraid of what he’s going to say. She’s still afraid, after all this time. “I want to know about you.” She’s been curious about him—how he can be kind and infuriating and distant and cold at the same time.

“Fine.” Rowan takes her hand and pulls her up to the chair next to him. “What do you want to know?”

She falls asleep to the sound of his voice.

Chapter Text

She wakes up in her bed, blankets tucked around her, completely disorientated. She remembers falling asleep in the library, listening to… Rowan? Aelin jumps out of bed. She’s still dressed in the clothes from the day before, fabric rumpled.

“Rowan,” Aelin said sleepily. Rowan had been talking for an hour, and had stopped for a break.

He looked at her. “Yes?”

Aelin voiced the question that had been bothering her for a while now. “Do you still love me?”

He froze. Aelin could feel the tenseness of his arm under her hand. Then he slowly slumped, as if in defeat, before replying. “Yes. I do. I don’t think I could ever stop loving you.” His voice was vulnerable, his feelings laid bare for Aelin to see.

“Why should you stop?” she mumbled, snuggling closer. Lost in the warm haze of sleep, she said, “I think I may love you too.”

She remembers Rowan’s voice… so bleak. As if he had already given up on her. The thought makes her irrationally angry, and she starts pulling clothes on, ready to find Rowan and confront him. She pauses at a knock on the door. “Come in,” she says, and her heart stops when she sees Rowan peering in.

“Can we talk?” His voice is tentative, and despite the lingering anger from earlier, she feels herself softening at the hesitant way he enters the room. She feels him studying her, and she wonders what he sees. Does he see her as she is now? Those flashes in his eyes are almost gone now, the look he gets when he’s remembering the Aelin from before, and she wonders if it’s irrational to be jealous of her former self.

Stop, she tells herself mentally, ordering her brain to shut up and focus on Rowan. “Go ahead,” she says neutrally.

“Aelin… about last night… I…” He stumbles, and it’s a novelty to see the arrogant warrior unsure of himself. It’s endearing, actually. He stops to collect himself, and continues. “I’m sorry if I pushed my feelings onto you,” he says clearly. “I—”

“No. Stop right there.” Aelin looks him in the eye, tired of dragging her feet and staying passive. “You didn’t push your feelings onto me. I already knew that you used to love me, and I’m already developing feelings for you. Can’t you tell?” She pushes onwards, feeling the words spilling from her mouth like they’d been waiting for this moment.

“I might not ever remember.” She looks into his green eyes, and finds herself feeling this powerful sense of belonging, something that is right and wonderful and something that she’s felt like she’s always wanted. “But,” she says when Rowan goes to open his mouth, “I don’t need to. I may not remember what I used to be, what we used to be, but this is enough. Isn’t it enough that we’re creating new memories, right now?”

“Aelin—”

“And we can go on from here. I—” She yelps when Rowan pulls her forward, into his hard chest.

“Aelin. Stop talking. I know.” His emerald eyes are happy, bright. “I know,” he repeats. Leaning down, he kisses her, making her heart beat faster.The feeling in her chest grows and grows, until she’s light-headed and giddy, and the world feels right. She’s not lost anymore.

Rowan pulls away from the kiss first. “I love you,” he says plainly.

Aelin smiles, complete peace in her heart. “I know.”