Aelin Ashryver Galathynius; the Fire-breathing queen.
This is a remake of one of the first fanart pieces I posted here. I wanted to see how much I’d grown in a year of working on my digital painting skills :D
Rereading Heir of Fire and read the first time Manon says “from now until darkness claims us” let’s just say I’m in tears. Had to close the book and put it down, I need a moment.
If she hadn’t known better, she might have thought he was fussing. Worried, even.
Yet when he’d seen [Aelin’s back], his heart had clean stopped — and for a moment, there had been an overwhelming silence in his mind. He felt his magic and his warrior’s instincts honing into a lethal combination the longer he stared — howling to rip apart the people who had done that with his bare hands.
And when she awoke before dawn, warm and safe and rested, Rowan was still holding her hand, clasped to his chest. Something molten rushed through her, pouring over every crack and fracture still gaping and open. Not to hurt or mar — but to weld. To forge.
Emrys and Luca visited once to see if she was alive, took one look at Rowan’s stone-cold face, heard the ripple of a growl, and took off, saying she was in more than competent habds and promising to come back when she was feeling better.
She didn’t open her eyes, but she breathed in the smell of him, the pine and snow, and her pain settled a bit.
And while she knew Rowan was aware of her early morning practicing, he never lightened her training, though she could have sworn she occasionally felt their magic … playing together, her flame taunting his ice, his wind dancing amongst her embers.
Rowan made her feel … better. As if she could finally breathe after months of suffocating.
She was not a queen. She had no plans to be one, and even if she had a kingdom to give him if he were free … Telling him all that was useless. So she left Rowan in the hall. But it did not stop her from wishing she could keep him.
And when she grasped the dagger, its weight lighter than she remembered, Rowan looked into her eyes, into the very core of her, and said, “Fireheart.”
And though she knew he could read the words on her face, she said, “To whatever end?” He nodded, and she joined hands with him, blood to blood and soul to soul, his other arm coming around to grip her tightly. Their hands clasped between them, he whispered into her ear, “I claim you, too, Aelin Galathynius.”
He was helping. And he was willing to meet a horrible fate in order to keep her alive. He hadn’t left her alone. She hadn’t been alone.
this is literally the moment their dynamic changes because aelin realises that he — though having seen her worst sides and unbearable manners — has stayed and hasn’t left her to fend for herself like all this girl ever needed was for someone to simply stay
Aelin: Because if someone were to break in here in the middle of the night wanting to murder us, they’d attack this bed first. So, I need that bed.
Rowan: So, you’re saying that you want me to get murdered first? In front of you? And then what would you do? Would you just run away and leave me to bleed out on the floor?
Aelin: That was the plan. I was hoping your screams of agony would alert me to the intruder’s presence so I could escape.
This fic is about Aedion’s mom and Evalin going to Doranelle to speak to Meave about Demi-Fae rights. Instead of meeting her nieces, she sends Gavriel.
“So,” started Evalin, still holding a knife, “you met the Lion of Doranelle. Glaston will die with jealousy!”
“My brother was the last thing on my mind, Ev. Trustme.”
Emrys chuckled. “The Lion is quite handsome.”
Eleanor hummed in a dreamy agreement. “And the rest of the blood-sworn? All I’ve heard of them are war stories from my father.”
“They all are. Some more than others – or at least, in different ways.”
“Who did Glaston like the most?” asked Evalin.
“Whitethorn. He and father used to argue who was better – he or the Lion.”
“You take after your father then,” smiled Emrys.
“I have yet to meet Whitethorn. Though, we are cousins…”
“Distantcousins.”
“I can’t listen to this argument again, girls. Chop your vegetables.”
They prepared the food in silence, but Eleanor’s mind kept going back to Gavriel. She’d had crushes before – tones of them. And not one of them had been as inappropriate as this one. Partly because of the age difference but mainly because she was now betrothed to another man. Lord Flavian Baldor was a close friend to the crown and one of the biggest food suppliers in the kingdom – he was ambitious enough to rise even more in the hierarchy, and Eleanor had no doubt that he would use their marriage to achieve just that.
Emrys seasoned the food as it cooked over the slow fire and Evalin nudged her with her shoulder. “Still thinking about the Lion?”
“Lord Baldor.”
“Ah, the fiancé… What about him?”
“Nothing in particular. Just… wondering what it would be like when I marry him.”
“I’d like it better if your thoughts of him didn’t make you frown.”
Eleanor attempted a smile. “I like him. I’m sure I’ll grow to love him as I get to know him better.”
Evalin squeezed her shoulder and went back to chopping.
Gavriel was sharpening his knives when his senses alerted him to someone approaching. He sniffed, trying to make it out. It was the same scent that was still lingering in him from before, mixed with the smell of food.
He placed the knife he was holding on the bed and reached for his shirt – he’d taken it off while he was training. There was a gentle knock and he crossed the short distance to open the door.
“I didn’t chop vegetables all day so you could skip on a meal I helped prepare!”
Gavriel tried to resist a smile. The princess was standing in his doorway with a tray full of clumsily cut steamed vegetables, roasted meat and a goblet with ale.
“Hello,” he said.
She seemed confused for a second, then her beautiful face twisted into a sly smile. “Hi,” she said and leaned against the doorframe, spilling some of the ale onto the vegetables. “Oh, damn it!”
Gavriel chuckled and took the tray from her. “I always like my vegetables soaked in ale.”
Princess Eleanor stared at him for a moment before curtsying. “And that is why I did it.”
He laughed again. “Thank you for that, and for bringing me this food. You did not have to do it, princess.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “Like I said, I like to see people appreciate my effort. Can I come in?”
It was uncustomary for noble women, let alone princesses, to be alone in the company of a male they were not related to, especially in his sleeping chambers.
She rolled her eyes. “If you’re warried about what-”
“You can come in.”
She smiled and went inside, taking a seat on the table chair. Gavriel put the tray down on the other end of the small table. “It smells delicious.”
The princess nodded. “Emrys is a very talented cook.”
Gavriel plunged his fork into a half-circle of a carrot that had cut lines in several places. “And you are a very talented chopper.”
Eleanor crossed her arms. “Evalin chopped that one.”
“Of course.”
She smiled at him – a smile that lit up her entire face, and could light up more if he allowed himself to look at it.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”
“Boredom, mostly. I usually listen to Emrys’ stories after dinner.”
“He is the Story Keeper, yes?”
Eleanor nodded. “I’ve heard most of them from the Story Keeper in Wendlyn. But hearing them from Emrys… they sound very different.”
“In what ways?”
“Well,” the princess leaned into the table, “your queen, for example.”
Gavriel stiffened, but the girl said nothing of it. “What about my queen?”
“In Wendlyn, all the stories of her are filled with glory. She saved the world and now rules peaceful, happy lands from her stone throne in her stone city, waiting to protect us all again.”
“And what do they say here?”
Princess Eleanor angled her head. “Are you asking me to snitch?”
He laughed. “You are the one who brought up the subject.”
“They say… They say the same things, but in different ways. In Wendlyn, my aunt’s disdain of half-breeds is known only to those in the king’s inner circle. The people believe her armies are consisted of full-blooded fae because they are stronger, not because she believes them to be the only one worthy. In Wendlyn, when we speak of the battles she fights, the fallen soldiers are sacrifices for freedom. Here… it sounds like she does not care for her people.”
Gavriel gulped. The horrors of his last battle, those young boys – barely even males, the city she had made them turn to ash still clear in his mind.
“But you care,” the princess said with a nod to the inked names on his neck. “For the soldiers you command.”
“Every fallen soldier is a cause of great mourning for queen Maeve.”
“I’m just saying…” her voice was light and teasing again. “The people of Wendlyn like you and your group of warrior-friends a lot more than they like her. If you were to pledge your loyalty to someone else, your admirers would follow.”
Gavriel offered a smile, but it was not sincere this time.
“What is your opinion of the demi-fae?” she asked him.
“There are many things that define a person’s worth, but blood is not one of them.”
The princess smiled, lighting up the room. Gavriel tried to ignore the roaring in his veins that pushed him to get closer to her.
“Then you wouldn’t mind my company for the rest of your meal.”
“Of course not,” he smiled – this time for real.
“And you will listen to the concerns my cousin and I have regarding to your queen?”
“That is why I am here,” he bowed his head.
“It is why I am here, too. One of the reasons.”
He wondered if asking her to elaborate would be pushing a boundary in their still-new acquaintance. The princess was young, her spirit was wild. Gavriel’s had long been honed by pain, sorrow and battle, and barely remembering joy.
“Vere is a beautiful city, and the castle there offers a lot more pleasures. Why would you want to leave it?”
She scoffed. “Yeah, it offers the pleasure of my overbearing mother, annoying brother, infuriating sister-in-law and a hundred courtiers that are dead bound on making my life hell!”
Gavriel chuckled at the scowl on her face. “Now I wonder how you will ever want to go back there.”
Princess Eleanor sighed. “If every day here is like the ones I’ve already had, I would never want to leave. I would miss only my nephew, and some of the more handsome young lords. Although…” she trailed and Gavriel raised an eyebrow, asking her to continue. “Well, with you here, those handsome young lords are put to shame.” Despite the confidence in her posture and words, the princess turned a deep red in the cheeks.
“I am flattered by your words, princess.”
Female attention has never been unfamiliar to Gavriel, and there was a time when he’d been ready to give his heart to another, but now… Maeve had demanded he ended so many affairs in the years he had spent as her bloodsworn that at some point, he had stopped offering his heart.
“Don’t worry about it. Occasionally I must compliment someone other than myself as to not get a reputation,” she winked.
“Would not want that,” he agreed. “You said you would miss your nephew?”
“Galan,” said Eleanor and smiled – for the first time without a devilish side to it. “He’s my everything. He’s the sweetest boy ever! He has these big beautiful eyes that are always looking around and he rarely ever cries! But when he does… his voice is so cute I could listen to it all day!” she cooed.
“I am sure he will be a source of great pride to your family,” offered Gavriel.
Eleanor made a shaking motion with her head. “His mother whines every day that he was not born a girl so she could dress him up, and my dear brother is trying to turn him into a miniature version of himself.”
“I’ve known many Ashryvers through the years, and it is hard to make you into something you are not. Still, the young prince is lucky to have an aunt like you.”
“What about your family?”
“My father is a lord, and my mother comes from a noble house, as well.”
“Any siblings?”
“Two brothers.”
“Ah,” she clapped her hands. “Then you know my pain.”
Gavriel chuckled. “They are older than I am – and by the time I was born, both of them were wed. I grew up with their wives as my sisters as much as I grew up with them as my brothers.”
“I am sure all of them were proud when you swore the blood oath to my aunt.”
He nodded but said nothing. “Tell me more about your family. From the letter your father wrote to your aunt, I understand you and your cousin are the only ones… carrying concerns.”
“Oh, well… yes. My family holds your queen in the highest esteem. My brother has many responsibilities as crown prince, so I guess Evalin and I are the only ones with enough time on our hands to reach out to these causes. Speaking of, when are we going to get the chance to address said concerns?”
“Tomorrow morning?” If he took the princesses on a ride through the woods and showed them how peaceful they were – how peaceful Maeve kept them – perhaps he’d assure them there was nothing to worry about.
“Perfect.”
Evalin was enjoying a book in bed when Eleanor burst into her room with a huge smile adorning her face.
“Did you bed the Lion at last then?”
“Not yet, but I still come with great news.” She plumped herself on Evalin’s bed and sighed. “He has invited us to a ride in the morning, to talk about the demi-fae.”
“Do you want me to fake an illness?”
“What?”
“So that you can get the lion roaring.” Evalin winked at her cousin.
“Evalin! These kind of jokes are why mother won’t let me out of her sight!”
“Wyrd, she is strict! So is mine, sadly.”
“Do you think it’s one of those things where you age and think ‘My mother was right’?”
“No!” Evalin laughed. “I can easily see your kid and mine trying to get each other laid!”
I bought the e-book last night and stayed up until morning to read it.
Words can’t express how much I love this series. Was this book everything I hoped it would be? No. That doesn’t mean I didn’t love it.
I am so grateful to Sarah J. Maas for writing this series, for letting me be a part of the incredible world she created, and for the characters that I grew to love so much.
Seven years of tears, laughter and joy. But no longer.
Aelin Ashryver Galathynius from Throne of Glass series, Feyre Archeron from A Court of Thorns and Roses series and Bryce Quinlan from Crescent City series by Sarah J. Maas
