A Visitor from Terrasen [Indefinite Hiatus]

One Hell of a Climb

Not getting any sleep was a bad idea, but it was too late now. She spent the next day trying not to fall over and pass out, as she neared the base of the cliffs leading up the mountains. Aelin knew if anyone asked she would say participating in the Blood Rite was a breeze, but in honesty, living off no food and walking all day in her human form, where she couldn't access any of her powers was exhausting and she would willingly sign up to do it again. If anything the whole thing sounded stupid. She spent that day going over the information she had learned about this world, specifically the Inner Circle of the Night Court. Rhysand and Feyre, the High Lord and Lady were meant to be the most powerful in history.

Aelin just found that funny, so had she once upon a time, only she had given up her power in order to free her land of the gods, whoopsie.

When she awoke the next morning she already knew she had slept too long, but it was too late to do anything now, she couldn't exactly go back in time and wake herself up earlier could she. So on the 6th day in this strange new world, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius started to climb. Scaling cliffs, dragging herself up by her fingertips in the freezing snow. This was by far the worst part of the whole Rite, Aloysius had warned her, and had she listened? No.

Mid-afternoon, Aelin found a narrow track that seemed to lead round the mountain, up towards the peak, but she stopped for a short break, the wind near flattening her against the flat rock as he took deep breaths, difficult at this altitude. She was no longer afraid of heights, never could be after Arobynn beat the human fear out of her very soul. Now she only felt the cold as she stared down into the woods, the could see other shapes on the cliff now. Aloysius had told her the Blood Rite was a week, and so most people would start scaling the mountain today, from all sides, and that fighting was very common on the narrow ledges. It was the ultimate test for winged Fae, fighting and for once knowing they would not survive the fall.

After her few minutes reprieve, Aelin started up the track and heard a noise behind her. Spinning, barely staying on her feet as the stones skittered, she came face to face with another huge warrior. He seemed more sure of himself than any of the others she had encountered. "Hey sweetheart, may I ask what the fuck you're doing up here?"

Aelin forced a grin and cocked her head, assessing, "I'm trying to get to the top of course! Isn't it just lovely up here?" Her voice dripped with sarcasm and the warrior narrowed his eyes.

"Sorry sweetheart, I don't have time to play." Then he dived for her, weapon in hand. Aelin leapt back, sure of her feet and then, when he paused in confusion, she threw punches. He raised his arms to defend himself, and then grabbed for her. Aelin was thrown over his shoulder, and she knew the Illyrian was simply trying to throw her off the mountain. The drop was enough for her stomach to clench at the solid rocks below, but she hadn't been a top fighter in the Pits for nothing.

As she slid over his back, past his wings, she brought out her shank, still annoyed that her suit blades weren't working, and cut the ropes binding one of his wings, then she kicked the back of his knee and dropped in a crouch behind him.

The male lost his balance almost immediately and she gave him another shove, on instinct his wings flared out to catch him, but one was still bound, and just as he did another horrendous gust rattled the world and flung him off the mountain, a single wing spread trying to carry him, the other trapped horribly by the rope. His weight was too much for a single wing to support and he started to plummet down, down, down. Aelin watched him fall, then shook herself. She did not have time for this.

Then she kept climbing.

Aelin was not stupid enough to think she would find somewhere to sleep that night, she could tell others had tried, and failed, as she kept walking, climbing to the top of the great mountain. The steepest part was nearest the peak, where her muscles strained to stop and shook with the cold and the effort of climbing.

She had decided the reason the cold, which Aloysius had emphasised was often the biggest problem, didn't effect her too badly, was because in her world she lived in the north, a place almost colder than here, and because her body had always been adaptable.

The sun started to rise and it warmed her bones, Aelin paused for a few moments, admiring the view and enjoying the warmth. She continued scaling the last part of the mountain, glad she had confirmed reaching the top wasn't a death trap and that she could infact escape.

Just as it reached mid-day, the sun reaching its own peak, Aelin reached the peak of the mountain and spotted the monalyth.

Her fingers were frozen in place and she knew her human body would not cope with this altitude for long. She had to touch it now. Get out of here now.

That pull that had directed her when she first arrived hummed gently in her chest, content, and she knew this was not a place live Endovier, where pressing her hand to the ground would free her, it would simply waste time. And so, she stepped over the snow, seeing 2 sets of large footprints before her own, and pressed her hand firmly against the monalyth.

Then she was spinning through space, and her feet hit mud. Her vision cleared and she saw several Illyrian faces staring at her. But the one she locked eyes with was by far the largest. 7 red stones, one on each shoulder, the back of each hand, each knee and the centre of his chest, where she had seen gaps on the Illyrians she had killed. His long hair was pulled back in a man bun and he stared at her as she stared right back, and smiled.