Chapter Text
The bards of Terresan never really got the story right. They liked to ignore and gloss over the countless months of rebuilding, solely focused on the kingsflame that bloomed all over Terrasen when the harsh winter months finally fell away and spring came on the wings of orange flowers and the snow and pine scent of the Staghorns.
Through the green of the Oakwald to the plains of Theralis, to the Staghorns themselves, the grass bloomed with kingsflame. The queen of Terresan held onto her husband and cried the morning she woke up to see it. Bells rang and people shouted while Rowan held onto Aelin. The princess whose kingdom had burned to ash now was a queen more than worthy of the land she had abandoned for ten years.
Ten years of scars and calloused palms. Not just for the young queen, but for her court of fierce warriors with feline smiles & wicked grace. The shouts and cheers below plummeted through the fog of early morning darkness, chasing away the shadows of the night sky just as surely as Aelin’s court below chased away their own shadows and nightmares in order to revel in Brannon’s last gift to his heir who had survived against all odds. The court who had all fought out of darkness themselves. They deserved to share in the glory of the kingsflame just as much as Aelin did.
So after she finished wiping her tears and finishing calling Rowan a buzzard for fussing over her for a moment too long, Queen Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius swaggered down the stairs and marched into the throne room of Oryth’s palace. And there she found her court of outcasts and ostracized bastards, grinning with hands full of kingsflame. Fenrys, Lysandra, Aedion, Ren, and Rowan, all tired but elated. Elide and Lorcan had left for their own lands already, back to the home that Elide had only seen from a locked window for half her life.
But Aelin had eyes only for one male, holding fiercely onto the gift of the kingsflame with familiar golden-ringed turquoise eyes aflame with righteous joy and vigor. And while the fire in Aedion Ashryver’s eyes was no blessing from Mala, Aelin found herself thinking it was more beautiful than any fire she could have summoned.
All she had to do was look at Aedion, at the general-prince with sleep mussed hair and Lysandra’s arm around his waist. The shifter wisely let go of him in the seconds it took Aelin to meet her cousin’s eye. He offered out the kingsflame to her and watched with those burning eyes as Aelin took it, newly calloused fingers curling around the orange flower. “Only a single one grew for Orlon. I know I’ve done some incredibly spectacular things that would take all day to list. Although, I like the idea of making someone name all my feats. Maybe I’ll make Lorcan do it.” Aelin trailed off. “This feels unreal.” She finally admitted, bluster gone.
Aedion just smiled, even more, eyes still aflame with that precarious mix of pride, joy, and determination. “It’s real.”
Then the two fell onto one another in a heap of choked-out sobs, weeping for the Terresan of the past and laughing for their kingdom of the future. At some point, a stoic but resigned Ren Allsbrook was tugged into the undignified royal heap of a hug with a hissed out command not to look so horrified over being so close to his queen. The three children of Terresan held onto one another and neither male protested when Aelin rose and smiled impishly. “They’re for all of us. Not just me. For all of us.” She promised softly before offering her hands for the males to take.
And that was that.
Children collected bouquets of kingsflame and presented them to Aelin. Even Darrow smiled at her. But Aelin suspected he was smiling more at Evangeline as she bullied the other children of Orynth into giving Aelin more flowers to parade around. Aelin wore a dress of vibrant green for her homeland and danced underneath the stars, bare feet carefully darting around kingsflame scattered in the grass. She collected flowers with the children and gave them away, handing the lords of Terresan kingsflame flowers. She sent Manon, Dorian, Chaol, and all the rest of their allies little kingsflame flowers too with notes attached, explaining what the flowers represented and the fact that Terresan would always welcome back its allies― its loyal friends, who meant more than peace treaties ever would.
And when night fell and Orynth slept, Aelin snuck out into the wilds with nothing but her sword and a basket of twelve kingsflame. She traveled through the night and toward the newly finished monument on a battlefield that would never quite heal, placing twelve bright orange flowers on the ground where the thirteen had taken their lives. “For a better world.” Aelin had told the crater and the witches who had given so much away. In the Wastes, Manon rebuilt. She hadn’t sent any letters to Aelin. They were not that type of friends. If they could even be called friends. But Aelin knew the witch-queen was rebuilding her own kingdom, just as Aelin herself was. Just as they all were.
Elide and Lorcan came back much sooner than expected; unable to wait for Aedion and Lysandra’s wedding when there were kingsflame flowers dotting the hills of Perranth. Elide had run limping into the palace, too giddy to ask Lorcan to help with her leg. She had eyes only on Aelin, who was cleaning debris from the main hall. Most of the debris mysteriously ended up swept toward Aedion instead, making him have to clear more of it. The cousins stared at one another as Aelin smiled innocently before turning around to see Elide limp into the castle. Elide smiled at Aelin and Aelin beamed back, repeating what she had said to Aedion and Ren. “For all of us.” The queen told the lady, touching two fingers to her brow in a sign of respect meant for an ironteeth witch to receive.
For Elide’s Blackbeak mother, who had told Aelin to run so long ago. For Elide herself, whose blood ran blue as any witch with iron teeth and sharp claws. There would be no more running. When Aelin put a hand on Elide’s shoulder and squeezed, her touch was warm as a cleansing fire and just as comforting.
Lorcan had the decency not to scowl as his wife and queen smiled at one another. Which was practically a grin in of itself. An amiable expression from Lorcan was about as rare as a quiet day in the castle. Not when it came to Elide. He looked at the woman with such bottomless affection. They weren’t mates. Even as Lorcan rid himself of his immortality to stay with Elide forever, they both knew they weren’t mates. They were bonded together by something more. They had chosen one another. Not because of any bond. Which was why Lorcan stood in the foyer. Why he nodded to Rowan and then looked back at Elide, magic working to correct her limp.
Luckily, there were never any quiet days. There were loud days and hard ones, but they were always gloriously full of life and the living; as if everyone in Aelin’s court was determined to make things even just a tad brighter and more vibrant for those they had lost. The war was won and the court of assassins, warriors, and courtesans fully intended to make every damn day count. So they flung themselves into rebuilding.
Rebuilding a kingdom was just as hard as rebuilding one’s self. Rowan found Aelin somedays, frozen in front of the roaring fireplaces of Orynth’s royal castle. Aelin of the wildfire, Aelin fire-bringer. She stood, pathetic sparks jumping from her fingers and rising into the air. Her sparks and flame danced through the air, trying to vanish into the pull of the larger fires. But all Aelin could summon now were little sparks. The roaring pits of fire that once might have been hers to command, might have taken no more than a thought to control, merely flickered and swayed before dimming to embers.
Unbothered by her feeble magic or her flames.
Aelin was a fire-bringer no more.
Once, she had wanted nothing more than to be normal. To be blessed with a small gift instead of the staggering well of power inside of her. Now, Aelin found that she missed the fire. She missed it more than her human body. She even missed the strain of trying to contain the magic. She missed the dreamless slumber of power exertion. Aelin missed all of it.
The pain in Rowan’s fierce queen’s eyes never goes away. Later, years down the line, he still finds her in front of fires with a wistful expression. But years have not yet passed. She hides it well. Her usual swagger and bravado is a crutch to fall back on. But at night, Rowan mutters promises against her skin and holds her. “To whatever end, Fireheart.” The fae prince mutters to his queen, as if it can erase the haunting past that is just as impossible to forget as their scars and tattoos. “You are not your power. Your fire is here.” He says, placing a hand against her heart.
Lysandra occasionally flitched away when workers brushed too close against her, when males she doesn’t know accidentally brush against her skirts. She even sometimes flinched when Aedion wrapped his arms around her, remembering his harsh words. A mating bond does not justify cruelty. But Aelin and Rowan were happy, weren’t they? Lysandra reminded herself of that and tried to love Aedion. She tried to get over the lingering pain. But sometimes, all she could think about was the freezing snow against her cold body when Aedion kicked her out. But he proposed and she accepted, trying to believe that this was happily ever after. Pain was far behind them. But after a lifetime of pain, Lysandra was not sure how to be happy. Lysandra was a hero. There was nobody who could look at the fierce lady and think otherwise. But she had not always been a lady. And even though there was peace in Terresan, that did not mean there was peace in the fierce shifter’s heart of hearts.
Aelin and Lysandra sometimes spent hours just looking at the kingdom and at the children playing with Evangeline in the streets. Until Aelin suddenly knocked her shoulder against Lysandra’s and smiled, wicked and feral. “At least none of them are throwing daggers at each other.” She joked, remembering their joint upbringing.
No child would have to be sold in their new kingdom. No child would have to break their own arm or sleep with seedy individuals.
Lysandra understood what Aelin meant. Even though Aelin just winked and sauntered off, rushing toward Ren. Ren had adjusted to her position in her court. Even if he was confused by the familiarity and the powerful men and women. He was silent. But not meek. Like the rest of them, Ren was starting to learn what peace felt like. He made jokes and smiled at Aedion more often. He grinned when Aelin sauntered up to him, laughing at her joke. They both stuck their tongues out as Lysandra stared off at the children. Until the shifter finally turned around, inspecting them both before laughing. “Both of you are just as awful as the children outside.”
Constantly in motion, the Queen of the Staghorns never did finish up that conversation with Lysandra. Not that she needed to.
By the time Aelin looked back, Lysandra had plunged into her life at court.
Fenrys spent some days not speaking at all, curled up by the fire as a giant wolf. Until finally, Rowan of all people, had insisted they needed to do something to lighten up the mood. A mood that was somber and often melancholy as the remaining cadre gathered to honor Gavriel.
Rowan of all people, came up with the perfect solution.
They name a cat Gavriel.
A strange tawny cat, who Rowan brings inside one day and throws on Fenrys’s back.
Fenrys demands to name a dog after himself and somehow they end up doing so. Fleetfoot is not pleased.
But Fenrys does not spend his days by the fire, dull and broken. He comes back to himself, followed by the cat and his dog. And occasionally by an annoyed Fleetfoot, who nips at his heels and is bribed with treats to stop doing so. Fenrys will never have a brother again. So he surrounds himself with animals, with wild things that remind him of Connall as he was, not as the broken male who he watched die.
All three animals become ridiculously overweight. Fenyrs fauns on them so often that they all are the size of whales. But Fenrys loved them. So Fenrys trots around with his animal companions. And then he begins to eat dinner with the court again. He begins to tease Rowan again, usual snark returning.
But he blinks and Aelin blinks back.
I am here.
I am with you.
They are here.
And they remain here as the years pass. As miracles and tragedies alike impact their lives. And through all the love and grief, they remain here and alive. Truly alive.