One shot of Rowan's POV leading up to Chapter 27 in QoS. I don't own any of the characters. It all belongs to Sarah J. Maas.
The sound of heavy footsteps boomed overhead as muffled curses were barked out from various ends of the ship. Rowan tried his best to tune them out as he focused on breathing, slowly, through his nose. He sat at the edge of his makeshift bed- a pile of old nets and canvas sacks, hidden behind a wall of wooden crates- and braced his elbows on his knees, his head hanging loosely. His eyes were pinched shut as he focused on getting air in and out of his lungs. The rocking of the ship certainly wasn't rutting helping. Just a few more days. Only a few more days of this and you'll be with Aelin.
Aelin. Aelin. Aelin.
Her name had become Rowan's mantra for the past weeks as he adjusted to her absence at Mistward, as her scent slowly dissipated from his room. Despite his best attempts at touching nothing that smelled of her for fear of masking the scent of smoke and kindling and sunlight, most of her smell was gone from where he stayed, the last dregs of it clinging to the pillow she had slept on once he had moved her to his room after she'd reached what she thought was her burn out point.
He'd tried as best as he could to keep himself occupied, rebuilding walls and buildings, barricading the passage that had been compromised; better to not risk someone else sneaking through and catching them unawares. Unfortunately for him, everything was repaired quickly and he was again stuck in his own head, worrying about Aelin, unprotected and in the most dangerous city in the world for her. When there was nothing to rebuild, Rowan was in the forest chopping wood; he'd probably chopped enough to last the fortress half a year and didn't stop until Emrys had given him a stern talk about being useless to Aelin if he couldn't move his hands without blisters ripping open. So he had started hunting, he'd spend the entire day in the forest, bringing back as many animals as he could to the fortress so they could be frozen or cured or cooked. Even that stopped after a while, once the fortress had more meat than they knew what to do with. When he wasn't thinking about Aelin getting hurt he was chastising himself for even worrying about such silly things. She was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius for gods' sakes. She could handle herself. Rowan could only imagine the things she'd yell at him if she were aware of what he was thinking. The way her brows would narrow and the turquoise in her eyes would darken in exasperation. How her lips would look, pursed, after ripping into him for questioning her capabilities. Gods, her mouth. Rowan had lost track of the number of nights he'd fallen asleep thinking about her mouth, and not only the foul words that often came spewing out of it. No, he thought of the softness of her lips, how they had felt when she'd snuck a thank-you kiss on his cheek for the chocolates on her birthday. How they would move slightly while she slept, as if fighting to say something; a selfish part of him imagined she'd been saying his name in her sleep.
Aelin wasn't here though, not her mouth or her eyes, not even the glorious fire she commanded. While the pain of missing her was nearly suffocating, he supposed it was a good thing she wasn't here to see him now, nothing more than a pathetic child with seasickness.
It wasn't the sea that made him sick though, no, he'd commanded many ships in his time working under Maeve. This sickness was from his complete and utter vulnerability without magic.
The ship had crossed the invisible border a couple days ago and since no one was aware of it, Rowan had no clue it was approaching until it smacked into him, full force. At first his magic had tried to fight it, this foreign enemy, only to fail. Snuffed out like a candle from a cool evening breeze. He'd been on the side of the ship, a few hours passed midnight scanning the horizon for anything, listening to the salty wind tell him of what was out there, when his power was ripped from him so suddenly that he'd stumbled, catching himself on the railing. He sucked in a deep breath and was stunned for a moment at how different the air felt, at how unsteady his feet were on the wood beneath him. His knees buckled as a splitting ache tore through his head and he fell to the ground, taking laboured breaths to steady himself. He knelt against the railing for what felt like hours- but was probably only a few minutes seeing as the sailor on watch hadn't made his second round to that side of the ship yet, before he was finally able to drag himself to his feet and make his way to his sleeping quarters, hood pulled low over his face. It was one thing to be on a ship full of men who would do anything for the right amount of money as a Fae, it was an entirely different thing to be a Fae without his powers. Could he fight his way out with swords and blades? Of course. He'd fought in battles that had thoroughly drained his magic and still come out alive, but that was different. This was a part of him that had been ripped away wholly and swiftly, with no chance to adjust or prepare.
Instead, he had been forced to endure his weakness, the pain and sudden exhaustion that over took him as his body frantically tried to regain some sort of semblance of control.
Rowan stilled as he heard two of the sailors discussing the first things they would do once the ship docked in Adarlan, his lip curling as they mentioned the most well known brothels in the city and complained about having to pay for what should be theirs in the first place. Rowan was no stranger to bedding females, he'd had his fair share after sacking cities and conquering empires for Maeve, but all those females had wanted it just as bad, if not more. They hadn't been bought and sold. Despite his powers being gone, he could still smell their scent. Sweat and liquor and salt and tobacco; and humans thought of the Fae as savages. They mentioned docking in only a few hours and Rowan almost groaned aloud in relief, almost. It wouldn't do to be discovered after this long of hiding, especially not when he was only just regaining his strength.
The two men shuffled back up to the main deck and Rowan spend the remaining hours going over his plan to find Aelin again in his head.
The sun was beginning to set when Rowan felt the ship slow down and ease to a stop, thumping lightly against a dock. Impatiently, he listened to the men above call out orders as they tied themselves to the dock and began unloading the few pieces of cargo that were being dropped off here before the ship departed in two days time to continue dropping off shipments. When it sounded like enough people were going and coming that Rowan could blend in, he pulled his hood over his face, ensuring that most of his tattoo was hidden, and made his way to the top deck. The smell of carrion, smoke and human excrement greeted him when he stepped out from inside the ship and he had to pause to adjust to the disgusting scent; it wasn't as bad as the corpses he and Aelin had seen in Wendlyn, but it certainly was not pleasant. He supposed that with his sense of smell being slightly weaker it could have been worse.
Near the end of her training, when Aelin no longer looked at him with hatred and he could no longer look at her while she slept without his thoughts turning to the impossible, she had mentioned living in a warehouse in the slums of Rifthold.
Rowan reached into a pocket inside his surcoat and fished out a few coins in search for a vendor that sold something other than stale bread or soft apples. He found a butcher shop that sold various kinds of grilled skewers and bought several, not waiting for the woman to give him his change before inhaling the first skewer of meat and heading towards the poorer part of the city. As he meandered through the streets, he caught a familiar scent, a scent that angered him. The men from the ship who had been boasting about the number of women they would be purchasing as soon as they arrived, the men who bragged about what exactly they intended to do to get their money's worth.
Rowan changed directions and followed the two men to the nearest brothel they had gotten directions to from a slave working at the docks. Rowan had slid a coin into the slaves hand after the men brushed him off and began walking to their prizes. They were less than a block away when Rowan decided he couldn't listen to them talk about the disgusting things they planned to do when he approached them. He cleared his throat, getting their attention and couldn't help but grin when they clumsily reached for the rusted and dull daggers at their sides. Before they had a chance to say anything to him he dispatched their weapons and had knocked the first one out cold. His companion had looked at Rowan with terror in his eyes and Rowan realized his hood had slipped down to reveal his pointed ears, giving away his heritage. Rowan advanced towards the man and smirked as the man soiled himself before, like his friend, being roughed up and knocked unconscious. The Fae warrior reached into their pockets, pulling out the small sacks of coins and counted them. The two men certainly didn't have enough for what ever it was they had planned to do to the women, which only angered Rowan further. He pocketed the money and made his way back to where he had started and headed towards the area he assumed Aelin would be. On his way he dumped the coins into the hands of a boy who couldn't have been older than seven, who was covered in dirt.
Rowan wished he could have done more, but nothing he was planning on doing could involve a small child. He only hoped the boy was smart with the money.
A few hours had passed when finally, up on a roof that looked over a main avenue that was thoroughly run down, Rowan caught her scent. His heartbeat picked up its pace and he bit the insides of his cheeks when he realized he was grinning, fully. Aelin. Aelin. Aelin. He smelled the air deeply, cursing his inability to listen for her laugh in the winds. The scent disappeared for a moment as the wind changed directions and he was able to figure out where it had been coming from before. Scaling down the side of the building he was on, Rowan tried to temper his emotions. He was blood-sworn to her, to a queen. He had no right to feel the way that he did about her. His job was to protect her and on occasion, and much to her chagrin, to provide insight and opinions on her plans. He continued to follow her scent as he made his way through the dilapidated neighbourhood. Rowan kept reminding himself exactly what he was to her and what he needed to be for Aelin, the gods knew she had more than enough on her plate; the last thing she would be thinking of was taking a lover, much less taking Rowan as her lover. All he had to offer were his blades and his heart. Nothing less, nothing more. He had left anything and everything he could have offered in Doranelle that day he swore himself to Aelin for the rest of his life.
Rowan was about to turn the corner of another alley when he scent hit him full force. The fog was so thick he could hardly see five feet in front of him, but he didn't need to see to know it was Aelin. Kindling, burnt embers and to Rowan's immense pleasure, the smell of snowy pine, entwined within all of it. He froze for a moment, listening as footsteps approached. Three pairs shuffled down the road; clearly they were not worried about being heard. He didn't recognize the scents of the others, but his instincts remained calm, nothing seemed amiss. His queen couldn't be more than fifty feet away from him. He stopped breathing for a moment at the intensity of it all; the realization that she was here, that he was here, he would be able to touch her and smell her and hold her. He began to think of the way she had tasted that day he had bit her, that day he was so frustrated with her he had contemplating throwing her off a cliff to just be done with her. Clenching his teeth until his jaw ached, Rowan chastised himself for the thousandth time. She is your queen. You are blood-sworn to her. That is more than enough. More than you need. More than you deserve. He schooled his face, calmed his racing heart and stepped towards her scent.
Fireheart.
The heaviest pair of footsteps halted suddenly and the two accompanying quieted and stilled as well. Rowan stepped out of the thick fog and his gaze settled on her. He completely ignored the man in front of her, holding his arm out, as if to block her. Her hood was drawn over her head, the same as his was, but he saw the golden wisps of hair that stuck out and clung to the thin sheen of sweat along her neck and collarbone. His eyes dragged from her hair to her jaw that he had thought of tracing with his mouth dozens of times, to her lip that was pulled between her teeth. Rowan watched has she took a slow step towards him and he didn't know if he wanted to laugh or cry or roar. The man's hand dropped as Aelin gently pushed it away from her and she barrelled towards Rowan, his hands shaking as he forced his feet to stay still. The alley was too long though, she wasn't fast enough, she wasn't in his arms yet, she was too rutting far still.
And then she wasn't.
Her body slammed against him, every inch of them pressed up against each other so tightly not even the gods could separate them and his arms were wrapped around her waist, lifting her off the ground so he could pull her even tighter to him.
He could feel Aelin shaking, hear her crying, laughing as she sniffled. Rowan's instincts told him to look at her, check for injuries, make sure she was unharmed. But he couldn't pull his face away from the crook of her neck. Couldn't stop inhaling her smell, memorizing it. Her tears tracked down her cheek and dripped onto the side of his face and he couldn't stop smiling. She was in his arms, safe, alive, here. They were together and this wasn't one of his dreams that forced him awake and left his lungs constricted and his hands fisted in the bed sheets. He squeezed her tightly to him once more and swore to himself he would never leave her side again.
It didn't matter if the King or Erawen or the rutting gods themselves tried to take over the entire world.
Rowan held his heart in his arms, his Fireheart.