Pianoforte - A Throne of Glass Fanficton

Pianoforte

Aelin Ashryver Galathynius wandered the quiet, lonely halls of the White Palace. Ten years. It had been over ten years since she'd roamed the deserted passages, Aedion by her side - Quinn, her uncle's captain of the Guard usually too close behind. Ten years since she had spent her days with stuffy old tutors in a small, faraway room in the White Tower as they tried to teach her to control her abilities. Ten years since she'd spent her evenings wearing pretty dresses and attending banquets, her parents seated either side of her. Ten years since her mother sang her to sleep with a sweet lullaby, her father standing by the door, gazing at them with such love in his eyes. Ten years since the King of Adarlan and his retinue rode up the Mall of Orynth, hoping for a young girl to burn the blackness from his soul. If only she had known then.

The Palace smelled wrong. Not just stuffy and damp but - wrong. A lingering smell. It was not a strong smell, but nonetheless it was still there. Aelin didn't like. It was a violation, her palace smelling like that. The scent was woven into the decor, the walls, the carpets, the curtains. It was faint, but it was everywhere.

Aelin shifted into her mortal form to avoid the cloying musk. It had been weeks since she'd done so, and her senses instantly dulled. She felt clumsy, all too aware of the weakness of her human body. It had surprised her how used to her fae form she'd become in the past days and weeks. While travelling through the wilds of Terrasen, it had been essential - not just to help with the travel but incase anyone happened to see her. Word had spread like wildfire through Terrasen about events in Rifthold, and Aelin could not afford to show weakness. She was the fair fae warrior queen with golden hair and Ashryver eyes - a leader of a nation. Now was the most crucial time in her ascent to power. She hoped that she would be welcomed as a saviour, a hero for freeing her people. But maybe she had come 10 years too late.

She banished the thoughts from her head. She was here now - and that was all that mattered. Aelin continued walking down the white stone passageway, bright light spilling through the skylights above her. She marvelled at the solid stone under her feet, appreciating it far more than the vertigo inducing floors of the Glass Castle. Former Glass Castle. There wasn't really that much glass anymore. Gods, so much had changed.

She came to the end of the corridor and before her stood large double doors made of pure white marble. Engraved upon it was a gentle fae male, delicately plucking a harp for all who gathered to hear his music. Little folk, woodland creatures, sprites and faeries surrounded him. Aelin lightly traced her fingers over the carving. They traveled over a pair of antlers, a white crown of flames placed between them.

The Stag of Terrasen. Standing tall and alone behind the branches of the Oakwald Forest. One had to know he was there in order to find him. Hidden amongst the trees, noticed by no one but still - watching over them. Aelin had seen the stag once, on her journey to the Salt Mines of Endovier. She remembered it's eyes, staring directly into her soul. She felt both elated and utterly depressed at the same time, seeing that symbol from times past at one of the lowest points of her life. She screamed for it to run, to escape the guards of Adarlan and their bows and arrows. And run it did.

She kept an eye out on the weeks of travel, hopeful.

She did not see the Stag.

Aelin slowly pushed open the heavy doors, surprised by the lack of resistance. They left tracks in the thick dust that coated every surface of the palace to reveal a wide bright room with a white marble floor and a high wood beam ceiling. Light poured in from the huge south facing windows and the many skylights scattered throughout the wood beams. In the centre of the room stood a large object, it's familiar form covered by an old sheet.

Aelin slowly made her way toward it, moving around the few chairs and low tables, leaving a trail of footprints in her wake. She reached the lumpy form and paused, letting the memories she had kept so closely under her guard for ten years flood her. She pulled back the sheet, a cloud of dust enveloping her. She let out a sigh as the dust cleared and revealed the pianoforte.

It was a beautiful thing, bespoke and shining white. It's ivory white legs were covered with intricate carvings inlaid with stone of cerulean blue. The lid shone like the surface of the many crystal clear snow fed lakes they had passed on their journey. Aelin undid the latch at the side and lifted the lid sideways, propping it up to reveal the veins of taut strings that flowed through the body of the pianoforte. She slowly walked around it, taking in the sight. She could see her reflection now in the gleaming lid. She looked... different. Warped in the blue-white surface, her figure hauntingly ghost-like. She cocked her head slightly to one side and stared, her golden blonde her falling just past her shoulders in tousled waves.

She didn't look like a Queen, she thought. She was still in her dusty travel clothes, her tunic creased and worn, her boots caked with mud, Goldyrin slung at her hip, it's red ruby winking strangely in the jewel-like surface. Aelin thought of her mother, who had always looked so regal no matter what she wore, be it ballgown or bed clothes.

How could she do this? How could she rule like her mother, her father, her uncle, like Elena, like Nehemia? What would the people think of her? She could hear the question being whispered across the land, in bedrooms, in bakeries, in kitchens, in taverns.

"Where has she been for the last ten years?"

Aelin looked away, bowing her head - and then stopped. Who was she to bow her head? Caeleana Sardothian, Lillian Gordaina, Elentia, Fireheart, Aelin Ashriver-Galathinius daughter of Rowe and Evelyn, of Pirates Bay, the Western Wastes, Ellwye, Wendalyn, Doranell, Adarland. Of Terrasen. Slave freer, freedom fighter, fiercesome assassin, fae warrior. Firebringer. She bowed her head to no one.

She turned and pulled the small wooden bench out from beneath the pianoforte. She gazed down at the ivories, remembering the last time she had played. An utterly normal day made memorable by the simple happiness she had experienced. Wandering the streets of Rifthold, Rowan by her side. She smiled as she remembered what might have been one of her last days of blissful anonymity and freedom. Aelin closed her eyes, letting the memory fill her, selfishly taking pleasure in the remembering. She reached out her hands and played.

A horrible, broken, earsplitting noise resonated from the pianoforte. Aelin snapped out of her memories, eyes flying open. She heard a loud twang as a horrible series of notes was sounded, not by her, but by the snapping of the strings, each one resonating within her. The chorus gradually stopped, it's death song reverberating around the room, cruelly stealing the use of the acoustics.

Aelin pushed the bench back slowly, dragging it against the floor, the silence slowly filling the room - filling her. She had been stupid to play. What had she expected after ten years of disuse. Nobody tuning it, nobody playing it, nobody giving it the love it had cried out for. It may have looked beautiful, so beautiful on the outside. Pure white, shining, meticulous, without fault. But on the inside it was off-key, damaged, stretched to the breaking point. Now, it was broken.

Just like her.