If Maeve trained AelinâŚ
Five-year-old Aelin was confused at first. Why did her parents leave her with tears streaming down their faces, and why did they keep saying theyâd come back for her? Why did they take so long to come back for her?
The first few months were full of a childâs tears and tantrums, but eventually Aelin became accustomed to Doranelle. After all, Ro would pick her up and spin her in the air whenever she cried, and how could she keep herself from laughing when she felt like she was flying?
Aelin stopped missing Terrasen. Her favorite feeling became the sensation of her fingers tugging on Roâs hair, braiding all sorts of mismatched flowers into the silvery strands of moonlight- whenever she could convince him to take her out to the hillsides of Doranelle. Her second favorite feeling was the soft pillows of grass that she rolled over when she was able to persuade Ro to roll down the hill with her.
Those were the days Aelin lived for. Auntie Maeve always told her that Rowan woulld become her equal, her beloved- whatever that meant. But Ro was only her friend. Her best friend, who taught her how to climb trees. Even better, he taught her how to fall from trees. The first time she tumbled out of a small pine tree, Rowanâs wind casually gusted underneath her and set her on her feet. Touching a hand to the ground and then staring up at him with pure adrenaline coursing through those Ashryver eyes, she went absolutely wild. She grew braver and braver, until it was a common sight in the countrysides of Doranelle to see a young girl falling from the tallest and oldest trees in the forests, letting out screams of pure elation.
When Maeve forced a pre-teen Aelin to slam her right hand in a doorway to become ambidextrous, Ro was there to bandage her wounds and become her instructor in dealing with all of the inconveniences of being a leftie. Sometimes, heâd use his right hand while eating and clumsily drop food in his lap, making her smile. It wasnât until later that she found out he had perfect control over both hands.
When Aelin was a teenager, Maeve gouged out the eyes of Aelinâs best Demi-Fae friend because Aelin wouldnât set a prisoner on fire. Rowan was there that night to hold her and keep the nightmares at bay. He was there every night after that, at her request.
When Aelin wore that gold nightgown soon after she turned nineteen, Rowan was there to groan inwardly at just how screwed he was. He took the lashings from Maeve the next morning with a grin, recklessly baiting Maeve into whipping him more for such impudence.
And when Aelin was caught trying to escape and was locked up in a muzzle and chains, it was Rowan who took the blame for the plan and took most of the punishment from Maeve.
It was her mate who took so much of Maeveâs punishment that Aelin screamed through the muzzle and burned straight through the iron when she felt their bond shatter. Maeve halted the whip in the air, gaping in awe at how the gold ate away at Aelinâs eyes and her hair stirred with some unseen wind and it seemed that Aelin herself had become the fire. No one had ever burned through iron before. Ever.
But it was too late. Rowan was gone.
Aelin could only process the scene in brief flashes, her mind breaking apart and yet somehow still hopelessly tethered to this world- this world without her mate.
A wicked queenâs ugly smile. A pool of red blood defiling the silver hair that Aelin had so deeply loved.
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