Hope in the Ashes

Chapter I

Hey, there. It has been a LONG time since I've written a story on this account. (If you read my other stories, FORGIVE ME I was young and cheesy! Lol) This is a Throne of Glass fanfiction I am making in collaboration with @chloel911l , she is a lovely person, with a great deal of talent, you should follow her! I hope you guys enjoy! <3

(possible trigger warnings)

I do not own these characters, all of them in their sassy glory belong to Sarah J Maas

"I am Aelin Ashryvver Whitethorn Galathynius, and I will not be afraid" Her mantra. Sam's mantra... It has been close to two years since her imprisonment in Endovier. So long since those words have been her only solace. Even in the castle in Rifthold she had found allies in Dorian and Chaol. Yet, here she was, completely alone again. In pain. In the dark. So, so, dark.

Her iron coffin was suffocating. The lightless pits had been more pleasant, they had been spacious enough for her to pace, beat on the walls, and most of all breathe. This wretched box and chains left her room for almost no movement, it pressed against her wounds, burning them, and the air was stale, forcing her to breathe in the smell of her own pungent blood.

Aelin bit in a moan of misery... she'd never give them the satisfaction of hearing her pain.

Time passes slowly when all you can do is writhe in pain and contemplate your existence. Aelin reached toward that little bright light in her mind. That cord that soothed the fire slowly filling her well, but being beaten back by iron. A cord, of snow, and wind, of endless trust and unconditional love. She brushed against it, basking in the moment of comfort, not willing to pull too hard less Rowan feel her pain.

Rowan.

Even the sound of his name was comforting. That beautiful, strong male, who she didn't deserve. In her dreams she could feel him, sometimes. Hear the rhythm of his heart, even though she was so far away.

Unfortunately, those dreams were fewer and further between,

It had been who knows how long since her last session with Cairn. Thanks to him, her dreaming and waking were starting to blur together, like awful cords being composed into a symphony of cold, endless, unpleasantness. She'd almost hoped they had forgotten about her, as unlikely as that was. Until the creak of the lid being taken off the coffin roused her from her daze.

She squinted as torchlight assaulted her weak eyes. Her muscles, her eyes, even her blasted voice were weak... Aelin hated being this vulnerable.

"Hello, Princess." Cairn's hands shot into her space and roughly pulled her up. His hands felt like repulsive and she held back a cringe of disgust. Scabs on her back ripped open and warm blood dripped down in rivulets. Pain was a constant companion now, she wanted to scream so badly...

"It's Queen," Aelin growled.

Cairn pressed her against a wall, forcing the rough texture of the wall to dig into her back. She had no idea where they were located. For the days they traveled, they had left her trapped in her coffin in complete darkness. No food, water, or light for many days, is what she guessed. When they arrived and completed her whipping, she had been more then half delirious. All she remembered was Fenrys shouting, and being silence by Maeve, the blood, then darkness again.

"Slave is more accurate right now. I was being kind." He grabbed her by the collar around her neck, and dragged her from the small chamber that was her prison. She went limp, no energy to keep her destroyed back from dragging across the unforgiving ground. A blood trail in her wake. "I am Aelin Ashryvver Whitethorn Galathynius, and I will not be afraid." This was all a part of the torture. She would endure this, too.

It was an eternity before they got to the room where Cairn kept his tools. Bloody Maeve had equipped him well... She was prepared for the beating. The whips. The chains. She had witnessed many "sessions" before, and had carved many a man in Arobynn's name. Grave and Archer could also testify to that from wherever they rotted now.

It was Fenrys' face horrified face that gave it away. That this would not be routine torture. Maeve's expression was a dark sort of glee, as she opened the door for them.

"Please, Majesty. I'll do anything...don't do this...you can't-" Maeve shushed Fenrys with the toss of a hand.

"I can do whatever I want, boy." The Dark Queen leaned down and whispered in the Heir of Fire's ear, "This is for hiding the keys. I expect you to be much more complacent after."

Aelin was dragged into the musty room with all the awful instruments displayed on the walls like trophies. Maeve followed them in, obviously hoping to witness the breaking of her spirit. Unfortunately, her will power was its own kind of magic. She would not break for this monster, not after having kept herself together for so long.

If only she knew.

Fenrys banged and howled at the iron door, savage unhuman sounds. Maybe she did have a friend here. He was relentless, Maeve didn't bother to send him off, it was possible she thought his cries might unnerve her. Aelin had long ago learned that to have someone to cry for you was a small blessing. It meant someone cared.

Cairn approached Aelin slowly, twirling a slender blade between his fingers. A memory tickled her, Sam, his lovely face mutilated and his kind eyes brutally carved out. Vanity had always been one of her many sins, she had always worn her scars like they were fine necklaces or silk. Never was she ashamed of the story that had been painted on her skin, they were payment for all the lives she cost. Her pretty face though, it was her crowning jewel and she had gone to great lengths to prevent it from being ruined...

The moment of weakness must have been made known in her expression, by the enlargement of the sadistic smirk on Cairn's face. Quickly her mask of indifference was in place again. No satisfaction. Aelin would not let him reap joy from her cowardice.

He brought the knife to her cheek bone, his rancid breath fanning her face as he leaned in close. She braced herself for the first cut. The first cut was always the worst. "I am Aelin Ashryvver Whitethorn Galathynius, and I will not be afraid." Aelin kept her eyes open, praying that he wouldn't mar her too badly.

Instead of a stinging pain on her cheek, it was a brush of air as Cairn lopped of a lock of her hair. Surprised, and growing increasingly weary from her many wounds, and the heavy chains, she could do nothing as he cut off her hair. When he finished, the golden strands only came half way down her cheek bones, at very uneven lengths. She told herself that it was just hair. It would grow back, but traitorous tears still burned the back of her eyes without consent.

Cairn was howling with laughter, "I prefer my slaves with shorter hair. It makes it easier to see my work," he said, staring at her neck where Rowan's mark still lay on her.

A blow came from behind as she was knocked to her knees. Maeve watched her from the corner of the room, that merriment still dancing in her eyes. As she watched her only true rival be ripped open and humiliated. Another blow came from the left, and the right, until she could no longer tell from whom or which direction they came. At some point her clothes had become more torn, and the blows became something different.

That night Maeve watched as Aelin was stripped of more than her dignity. A painful reminder that there were things, much, much, worse than death. She could not stop it... never had she felt so ruined. Not even that cord in her mind could offer her relief. For the first time, she let herself weep in front of her captors, as she was broken to pieces she couldn't put back together herself.

Rowan I'm sorry.