Burning Wildfires (Abandoned)

~1~

Carnage. Bloodshed. War. It surrounded  the Mala Fire-Bringers descendants. Their loved ones had fallen one by one and they were desperately trying to salvage anything, anything at all that could help them win the war. Aelin's fire had long since sputtered, most of it going to the Lock, she was now fighting with her signature hunting knives, Goldryn somewhere in fields. Dorian was badly wounded, his magic also drained, barely being able to stand up. Everyone else was dead or dying. Manon and Rowan were standing back to back in the same position as Aelin and Dorian, fighting fiercely, never showing a flicker of weakness.

Aelin was using the little water affinity she had to strengthen herself, her immortal fae body moving elegantly through the air, the hunting knives slicing through her foes. Dorian was exhausted and it showed. He was using what little magic he could gather to gain the slightest advantage over the Valg. Damaris was a warm comfort in his hands, easing his burden a by little.

The Crochan Queen was a whirl of limbs and white hair. She refused to yield. She had to live to see the Wastes one more time, for the Thirteen, for Asterin, who had sacrificed themselves for her. Her golden eyes flashed, iron nails and teeth fully protracted as Manon cut down one enemy after the other. The Terrasen King's magic had lasted the longest as he used it sparingly to try and suffocate the enemy and shape-shift back and forth, from hawk to fae. 

A sudden blast knocked them all over, a wave of darkness descending over the war-ridden fields.
From the shadows, a tall male walked over to them, victory set in his terrifying features. Erawan let out a low laugh, dark energy swirling around him as he prepared a final magical attack. 

Aelin and Dorian locked eyes, turquoise and gold meeting sapphire blue. In sync, they started to draw a set of Wyrdmarks, trying in vain to set up a shield. The dark magic collided with them just as they finished the final set. In acceptance of their fate, the royal quartet linked their hands.

The magic did not hit them. Instead it started to swirl, a mixture of orange and blue. Confusion took over every face. The dual colored magic encased the four battle-worn fighters and when it cleared, they were gone. 

Erawan let out a scream of rage.

~

Aelin awoke to darkness. Her back ached with scabbed wounds. Shackles bound her feet to the ground, the coolness of iron a nice contrast to her heated skin. She didn't know where she was, but she felt a faintly familiar with this place. She smelt salt, blood, ash and dust and heard the constant sounds of a whip and the clank of a pickaxe. Endovier. She was in Endovier again. How did she get there? Her head was throbbing, the last thing she remembered was Rowan, Manon and Dorian in a circle around her, magic encasing them.

Aelin nearly let out a sob when she remembered the battle. Aedion's broken body, Lysandra near him. She didn't know what happened to Evangeline and she wasn't sure she wanted to know. She hadn't seen Elide and the Cadre were gone.

And Rowan. Her beautiful mate. She tried to tug on her bond with him, but there was no answer, no heat. This time she really did sob, her mate was gone and she was sure of it. Aelin knew that Manon and Dorian would be dead by now too. And there was nothing she could do about it. 

Reaching up to grasp at her blonde hair, her hands brushed past her ears, expecting to feel the pointed tip. Instead she felt the rounded tips of human ears. Human, not Fae. 

Forcing down panic, she reached inside her mouth, searching for her fae canines, but they were gone, and she was in her mortal form. She tried to shift and failed.

As the beginnings of anxiety began to crowd her brain, a bell began to toll. Aelin started, falling back onto the hard rock ground. Recognizing that bell, she sat and looked around, realization creeping on her. She was in Endovier, in her human form and she could not feel her magic or shift at all. There was only one time when this was possible and that was when she was eighteen years old and in the salt mines of Endovier, during the reign of Dorian's father. 

The door to the darkened room banged open, one of the guards shackling her hands and handed her a pickaxe. Aelin scoffed in her head. It would be so easy to kill them and figure out which day it was, and whether Dorian had made it back or not. She couldn't find Manon and Rowan, not if time-travelling was the case.

On reaching her designated mining spot, she started hammering her axe into the ground, muscle memory fueling her movements. 

She hoped she had travelled to the time when Dorian had ordered for her to participate in the Champion's contest. The Queen of Terrasen didn't know if she could stand not knowing, and the possibility of going berserk again was looking very inviting. 

Ashryver eyes swept the area, cataloguing everything, mentally checking if everything was how she remembered it to be.

Hours passed and she had a sinking feeling that she had travelled a long way back, possibly to the day she was imprisoned. All possibilities had crossed her mind, even the troubling thought that she was the only one who had travelled back.

And then salvation arrived in the form of the Captain of the Guard, in his ridiculous black hooded outfit. Overwhelming relief filled her body, although she was careful not to show it and instead look indifferent. Aelin clamped down the urge to hug Chaol, having last seen him dead, his organs spilling out with Yrene next to him, completely dismembered. 

Using her acting skills, the walk to the shining building, where the Endovier's overseers and officials were housed was exactly how it happened before. 

Bantering with Chaol was oh so pleasant and calming a conversation to have, after long hours of strategizing, plotting and arguing. Courtroom was horrible and she didn't know how anyone could stand it.

The echoing hallways brought her out of her thoughts and she smirked at the Captain who ignored her.

The scenery changed to crispy cool air, mountain tops showing through the windows of the towers. Terrasen. She missed it like a when a person lost a limb. She fought the urge to cry again when she thought of the life she would have if they had won the war.

Shaking her head, she looked up to see a familiar set of thick red-and-gold glass doors. Chaol jerked his chin at the two guards standing on either side of the doors, and they stomped their spears in greeting. The captain's grip tightened until it hurt. He yanked Aelin closer, and on reflex she pulled against him. "You'd rather stay in the mines?" he asked, sounding faintly amused. "Perhaps if I were told what this was about, I wouldn't feel so inclined to resist.", she snarked back, feeling amusement instead of terror. 
"You'll find out soon enough."
The doors groaned open to reveal a throne room. A glass chandelier shaped like a grapevine occupied most of the ceiling, spitting seeds of diamond fire onto the windows along the far side of the room. Compared to the bleakness outside, the opulence felt like a sudden light was shoved into her eyes. She still felt like this was a" profit from the slaves' labor.

"In here," the Captain of the Guard growled, and shoved her with his free hand. Aelin had to shove down the battle instincts from the war she had just been magicked from. Her heart began pounding at the thought of seeing Dorian again, this time not with all the years of his pain on his face. She wondered if he even remembered. 

Lightheaded and feeling immensely heavy all at once, Aelin faced the room.

On an ornate redwood throne, sat a very recognizable and handsome young man. Her heart sped up and slowed and relief rendered her completely lightheaded, as she saw a hint of recognition in his sapphire blue eyes and slight tilt of his head in respect, not seen by anyone but her.

She then tilted her head in respect to the King and now Crown Prince of Adarlan.