Rising Flames | Throne of Glass

56

Even though it was practically the midst of winter, Aelin found herself cloaked head to toe in sweat, drops of perspiration clinging to her brows which were possibly powered white with stray dustings of snowfall.

After only a few days in Terrasen, Aelin had found herself training gruelling hour after hour with Rowan once more.

The majority of their sessions were training with weapons and magic. Once, Aelin had managed to persuade Nesryn to demonstrate her sharpshooter skills with the bow and arrow - but once she'd left, Aelin was convinced her self-confidence had taken a huge blow. She never asked Nesryn to join her again.

There were hand to hand combat sessions with Enya and Connall, still, but the fact that neither they or Rowan were present that day was strange.

Aelin had stood at the head of the barren piece of land at sunrise, tapping the sword's hilt with her fingers where the large blade was sheathed at her side. She had been almost ready to act upon the consideration of finding Rowan and ask what the hell he was doing - until Dorian had come into view.

'Where's Chaol?' she'd asked.

'I got rid of him,' Dorian had replied. Always with a sparkle in his eyes, as if the world wasn't going to hell in a matter of time. 'I told him I could make it out of the tent without dying. And now, to keep my promise, you mustn't kill me, or Chaol will throttle me.'

Aelin wasn't quite sure how that worked, but she'd grinned and said, 'Let's begin training, then.'

And so they sparred from dawn to noon. They exchanged playful banter and conversations, all the while assessing each other. Aelin didn't deign to share her skills or tactics, but Dorian was gracious enough sometimes to point out her flaws and improvements.

When Aelin had asked whose swordplay was better between him and Chaol, Dorian had replied mischievously, 'Me, of course.'

So far, he'd lived up to his word.

Aelin struck low and Dorian parried, pushing their swords over in a large arc from the momentum. The grating of metal on metal sounded, sending temporary chills down Aelin's spine.

Rowan was Fae, and therefore had trained her the way a Fae soldier would be. Nevertheless, Dorian was admittedly a great opponent, and aside from Enya (who possessed similar sword skill to Aelin), Aelin hadn't enjoyed herself this much in decades, even if she wasn't showing it with her narrowed eyes and clenched teeth.

Dorian flashed her a grin as he twisted the blade, unlocking the two before sweeping a blow across her torso. Aelin leapt backwards and threw her sword forwards, forcing Dorian's blade away.

Another part to the exercise was to help Aelin grow in fluidity and grow comfortable with her new weapon. Rowan's sword was heavier than all the swords she'd had before, but there'd never been a finer blade she'd wielded.

Dorian shifted his weight, thrusting the blade low. She saw the change in his stance a second before he threw the kick, and she twisted, leaning back. Both blade and boot missed by a dagger's length and Aelin closed the gap between them as the peak of Dorian's attack passed, swinging the sword down. He dodged, but it was futile.

Aelin brought the blade to a halt at the joint between his neck and shoulder.

Dorian looked at her, then the blade. Then he smiled, and lowered his sword. 'Congratulations.'

'Don't tell me you were a milestone of some sort. There's no need to congratulate me.'

They straightened, drawing in deeper breaths to recover. Their cloudy breaths mingled in the fog-heavy air.

For a while, neither said anything. And then Dorian asked, 'So, how are you finding Cerulean Eyes? I wouldn't have pegged you as the type to read romance.'

'You certainly seem like the type who dreams fantasies after reading all those romantic novels,' Aelin scoffed. 'And Cummingham is an absolute bastard.'

Dorian made a pensive noise. 'Perhaps.'

'Perhaps?'

It was true to say they were already friends, bonded through their love for reading. The concept that they were a prince of Adarlan and a princess of Terrasen was a little strange even to Aelin, but it was a welcome thing that neither of them cared about their status.

Aelin was truly glad for it, and the tiny moments she spent with Dorian helped her forget, even if it was just for a moment, the reality that had been bestowed upon her.

~

'Aelin.' Aelin paused as she rose from her perch where she had been eating a late afternoon meal. Sam gazed at her, brown eyes unreadable. 'Can we talk?'

It surprised her enough that Sam had been willing to approach her first after all that time, to push away his pride and speak to her.

Stood behind a tent on the outskirts of the camp where the wind buffeted wildly, Aelin stared at Sam. She was unsure of how to address him. As an ex-lover, a mere friend, or simply just a stranger? Undoubtedly, as Celaena had changed, so had Sam. Neither were the same as they had been a year ago, blinded by their own hopeless dreams and stupid ambitions.

Two assassins, one whose entire existence had been tangled with deceit - there really wasn't much hope for there to be a sturdy future.

In a voice barely louder than a whisper, Sam said, 'Remember those words I told you a long time ago?' His voice was soft yet not weak, and the winds carried it to Aelin's ears. 'My name is Sam Cortland, and I will not be afraid.' He pursed his lips. And it hurt - a fraction of Aelin was hurting at how indifferent his manner was. 'I repeat those words to myself a lot nowadays. I tell myself I will not be afraid, but I am. I'm afraid of what's happened to us, and I know it would never have worked. From the moment you revealed yourself as who you truly were, I knew I was just living a fantasy. Aelin, I was and still am afraid. I was harsh because I didn't want to lose you so soon.'

And suddenly, it was as if the indifference had melted, a barrier turned transparent. Sam spoke in that same brusque tone, but the weight of his words rang clear, each like a blow to the gut.

Sam chuckled. 'I've been thinking. I think... today is the day I let you go.'

Aelin swallowed, blinking hard. Her stomach was churning all of a sudden.

'In another alternate universe, I do hope we find a way to be together. But I know in this one-'

'Stupid bastard,' Aelin whispered. And then she was crying, hot, stupid tears rolling down her cheeks uncontrollably. 'I'm sorry,' she sobbed. 'I'm so, so sorry.'

Sam moved closer, an arm clutching her tightly to his chest and the other tilting her chin with his familiar, calloused fingers to connect their gazes. His warm brown eyes were brimming with pain, but they softened, and he allowed Aelin to bury her face in his shoulder one last time.

After a while, once Aelin's shoulders had stopped shaking, Sam laid a hand on either of her shoulders and stepped back. He pushed her back firmly so that there was a suitable distance between them.

'Aelin,' Sam said, voice raspy, 'can we be friends?'

She stared at him and he stared at her, and neither said anything for a long while.

The ghost of a smile flitted across her face, the face which held the most bittersweet memories for Sam Cortland, the face which he'd fallen in love with. 'Of course we can, you rutting idiot.'