Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, Princess of Terrasen, 6/?
Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius from the Throne of Glass series by @sjmaas
Let’s go rattle the stars
Don’t repost without credit
An insider’s Guide to Throne of Glass: the Crown of the Queen of of Terrasen, 1/?
Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius, Queen of Terrasen, 20/?
throne of glass vs. crescent city: a similarity i noticed while reading that probably doesn’t mean anything, but that i found interesting anyways
aelin of the wildfire, fireheart, lover of books: “she was aelin ashryver galathynius – and she would not be afraid.”
lehabah, fire sprite, guardian of books: “i am a descendent of ranthia drahl, queen of embers. she is with me now and i am not afraid.”
From the Royal Vaults of Terrasen, 4/?
Back when I was some Fire-Breathing Bitch Queen ❤️
Aedion Ashryver, Wolf of the North, 2/?
Lysandra, Lady of Caraverre, 17/?
Chaol: I’m pretty sure that’s illegal, Aelin
Aelin: I’m pretty sure I’m the fucking queen, Chaol
*uploading on my phone. Might have to click for better version*
Hello lovely people, here is chapter 8 of immortals. This chapter is kind of rushed, so I apologise for the below average chapter. Its long and I’m not happy with it, but I’m going to post it anyway. Unfortunately, I am going on holiday by Monday 3rd, so I won’t be able to update for about another three weeks! Unless I somehow go on a writing spree this weekend. I should be able to write on holiday, however, so I will update as soon as I can!
You can find the link to my master list along with the rest of the chapters of this fic here.
Let’s make this fight worthy of a song.
-Aedion Ashryver, Kingdom of Ash
Rowan’s shirt was slick with sweat, and he was panting heavily. He and Aelin had just reached the edge of the treeline, with Mistward just visible from where they stood. After running twenty miles, Rowan had stopped, giving them both time to recuperate before entering the demi-fae fortress. Taking a long drink of the water skin he’d brought with him, he silently passed Aelin a hunk of bread, that she promptly tore into.
He sliced another piece for himself, then grimaced. He preferred bread toasted. It was one of his few food requirements. But, he was a warrior. He could, and would, eat the fucking bread. He let out a sigh, and raised it to his mouth. All of a sudden, he felt warmth seeping into his hands. Rowan looked down, and sure enough, he was holding a perfectly toasted slice of bread. He looked up at Aelin in surprise, to have her shaking with barely suppressed laughter.
“You. Prince Rowan Whitethorn, are picky about bread.”
Rowan willed his cheeks not to redden as he met her gaze, her turquoise eyes filled with mirth.
“As if you’re any better, Miss Where-Is-My-Hot-Bath?”
Aelin let out a short burst of laughter and lamely threw a twig at him, “That’s Queen Where-Is-My-Hot-Bath thank you very much.”
“My apologies, Majesty.”
“Not at all, Highness.”
Rowan rolled his eyes, flashing her a grin. It felt nice, to have someone who he could throw anything at, and they’d just throw it right back at him. He hadn’t had that with someone in a long time. Everyone had always been too intimidated, if not outwardly afraid of him.
“What’s your favourite food, anyways?” Aelin asked him, a curious expression on her face as she chewed on her food.
“I suppose yours is some useless piece of confection.”
“Sweets aren’t useless!” Aelin protested, “and why would you say that?”
“That time in Doranelle, after our initial meeting” Rowan replied, “you were looking for some chocolate but you gave away the money to that youngling instead.”
Aelin’s face suddenly dropped, so Rowan hastily continued, “and they are useless, they don’t benefit your body at all.”
“So you only eat things that benefit your body’s health?” Aelin’s face was screwed up in distaste, “they aren’t supposed to benefit you, they’re just nice to eat!”
Rowan grunted, and Aelin continued, “So you don’t have a favourite food?”
“There’s a vendor in Doranelle who sells meat on a stick.”
“Meat. On a stick.”
Rowan nodded once in confirmation.
There was a pause, then Aelin burst into laughter. Real, genuine laughter. The kind that made your belly ache and cheeks hurt. Rowan hadn’t seen someone laugh like that in a long time. In Doranelle, it was all affected laughs and polite chuckles. But not this. Tears started forming at the edge of her eyes, and her mirth made Rowan start to smile. She took a couple of deep breaths, then was off into another peal of giggles. It made her seem… young. Innocent. Carefree. Even if that couldn’t be further from the truth.
After a while, she calmed down enough to talk to him. Rowan’s eyebrows were halfway up his forehead, and he was giving her his best unimpressed gaze. Still, his lips were twitching.
She stared at him until he finally broke,
“It’s really good!” He almost whined as she started laughing again.
“I’m sure it is, buzzard. You’ll have to show me when we get back to Doranelle, although,” she frowned, “I really should be leaving soon after we return.”
Aelin shrugged, “It suits you.”
But her reply settled in him, show me. He had no business taking her anywhere beyond what his queen required of him. She was a powerful foreign queen, a threat, a danger to his monarch and his people. And Rowan could not let himself forget that. Even- even if, for a moment, the icy walls around his heart had begun to melt.
As they approached Mistward, Rowan could see the door to the kitchen’s open. He led Aelin down to the door, as he was sure she wasn’t one for an official entrance. He walked through the door, and was hit with the roar of the fire and the smell of fresh bread. There were three males in the kitchen, two of whom Rowan knew the names of. Emrys, the fortress’ cook, his mate, Malakai, the head of the guards, and a young demi-fae who he’d seen working in the kitchens before.
As Aelin walked in behind him, and shook off her hood, for it had started to rain, a barely audible gasp came from Emrys. Rowan walked further into the kitchen to watch this scene unfold.
As soon as the demi-fae showed the slightest hints of bowing, Aelin immediately waved them off, a small smile playing about her lips as she stuck out her hand.
“Hello. I’m Aelin.” Was all she said as the chef shook her hand. A human custom, he assumed.
“Yes, Your Majesty, I’m-” was all the male got out before Aelin interrupted,
“Just Aelin, please.”
Emrys nodded, and introduced himself and his husband, as well as the young male, Luca, who turned scarlet when Aelin nodded to him.
After a couple of minutes of polite chatting, Emrys said,
“I was distraught to hear of Eval- your mother’s passing last year. She spent a year here in her youth, not that She was a good woman and an even better friend. ”
“She spoke so highly of you both, always telling me stories of her friends at Mistward.”
Emrys smiled at that, squeezing Aelin’s arm. “Did you ever find out who killed them?”
Aelin tensed just slightly, her breathing barely hitching before she replied, “I have a few theories.”
Rowan looked up at that, eyebrows pinching before smoothing into an unreadable expression.
Emrys simply nodded gravely, and started telling a story involving the late Evalin Ashryver, a sponge, a misunderstanding, and a male from the East.
After two hours, Luca was tasked with showing Aelin to her rooms, Rowan already knowing his way around. Aelin was given the finest guest room they owned, complete with its own private bathing chamber, despite her protests. He supposed she could finally enjoy a hot bath.
As Rowan settled into bed that night, he realised how exhausted he was. His dreams that night were filled with musical laughter and swirls of embers, laced with the soothing scent of jasmine.
The next morning, Rowan headed down to the kitchens to see how he might be of service before he had to accompany the queen back to Doranelle, he stopped short, blinking. Standing next to Luca, chopping potatoes, was Aelin. The Queen of Terrasen. In a kitchen. Performing duties assigned to a scullery maid. It was barely dawn. She was laughing the same laugh that had haunted his dreams all night, before they had turned to screams and Rowan had woken with a start, sweating.
Three hours later, Rowan had just finished checking the fortress’s magical defenses when the scent of jasmine, lemon verbena and crackling embers filled his nose. He lifted the hem of his shirt, wiping his face clear of sweat before lowering it and looking at Aelin. He tried not to notice how her eyes lingered on his bare abdomen for a split second before they snapped up to him. She was dressed casually in a billowing white shirt tucked into high-waisted, tight black trousers and polished, finely-made boots. Her hands were on her hips and she was frowning slightly.
“You wanna show me the sights?” She said.
Rowan frowned at her and cocked his head.
“Is there anything notable around here? Anything cool? Anywhere exciting I can still tell people I’ve been in two hundred years?”
“Well, The Sun Godess’s temple, Bald Mountain’s lake and the healer’s compound.” Rowan listed off a few of the sights, as she called them.
“Bald Mountain near enough to be back for dinner?” She asked.
“Sure, Princess. Let’s go.”
A little way into their trek to the mountain, Rowan’s memory caught on something Aelin had mentioned earlier.
“Two hundred years? So you’re confirmed to Settle?”
Settling was the long, painful process a Fae went through in their youth, that froze their body into immortality. Rowan had settled when he was twenty-four, and only had hazy, pain-filled memories of the ordeal.
“Nothing is confirmed, but it’s always been predicted, and I think with my amount of power, it would be natural for me to settle.” It wasn’t a boast, just a simple fact of her power.
“Do you want to settle?” A harmless question, Rowan thought.
“I used to. Still do, in some ways. In other ways.. no.”
“What changed?” Now that was a dangerous question.
Rowan didn’t push any further, simply nodding and letting out a breath, happy to trek the rest of the way in silence.
A great lake stretched into the gloom before him, the mountain protecting it from the harsh glare of the sun.
“We’re here.” Rowan stated dumbly.
“I can see that, surprisingly. It’s almost like we aren’t under a giant mountain facing a giant underground lake.” Aelin’s voice, laced with sass, echoed around the chamber, and Rowan watched as she walked over to one of the walls, trailing her hand over the age-old stone.
“You think the creature is still in there?” Aelin spoke again.
“Oh come on, the supposed one-eyed creature that lives in the lake, killed by Athril, your queen’s supposed former lover? You know, Goldryn was his sword. It’s the most famous bedtime story in Terrasen, aside from maybe a couple about Brannon.”
Rowan frowned, before the memory of the story resurfaced.
“I shouldn’t think so, the story was probably invented by some traveller.”
“At least we’ll have this to defend us,” with a wicked smirk, Aelin withdrew her hand from where it had been rooting around in some nook. Clasped in her hand, was a gleaming golden sword, the ruby in it’s hilt gleaming like a small sun.
Let me know if you want to be tagged!
Aelin Galathynius — “Her journey began with a blade… and ended with a crown.”
I ASPIRE to be a badass, fire-wielding Queen like Aelin 👑
Major warrior queen Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius of Terrasen feels 😍🙏
I literally got goosebumps
Don’t mind me spending the rest of my week rereading ToG 🤗
Lorcan: i am darkness. i am death.
Fenrys: you are wearing a sparkly pink apron that says “kiss the chef”
Erawan: I have an aerial legion
Rowan: did you mean: thirteen witches, their mounts and a few toothpicks?