I would recommend reading the following AN because though it may be long, it will probably answer quite a few of your questions.
AN: Hello. This one-shot is very graphic and I would not recommend reading it if you're not in a very wretched mood and wanting to kill someone. I've written a very detailed and very explicit version of a part of Kingdom of Ash that Sarah J Mass chose to write about very briefly. That wasn't enough for me so I added to what she wrote.
I started writing this one-shot about 3-4 months ago when I was angry and probably losing my mind because right now there is not a single reason that I can think of that would've caused me to even think about writing this let alone writing it at all, other than that one of the screws in my brain had come loose and seriously damaged another part. But anyways.
No, I'm not a sociopath and don't take psychiatrist help, though after reading through my one-shot a few times while editing has made me wonder whether I should seek help from a shrink because what I've written honestly scares me too. Me, the writer. This stuff came from my mind. Like, WTF! What is wrong with me!? But still. I want you to read it, of course at your own risk. I'm not forcing you to read this in any sense, but I would really appreciate a review or two giving me some feedback on my writing, and maybe a couple more assuring me that my writing is not as insane as I think it is.
I don't know what else to say except that I am sane. I am not mentally or physically disturbed in any way that could've caused the following to come out. I just... I don't know. I just don't know. There's just something about the way my mind is wired that I decided to write this and then post it on FanFiction.
It just occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, the writing isn't as graphic as I think it is. If that if the case, please ignore all of the above.
Thank you, have a great day.
Disclaimer: I, in no world or sense, own the TOG world or its characters. Sarah J Mass very spectacularly imagined all of it and put into seven wonderful books for us to read, and I'm very grateful for that. The first part, which is in italics is basically a copy paste of the part in Kingdom of Ash where Rowan asks Gavriel to heal Cairn. The part starting from the non-italics to the beginning of the actual torture is a loose summary of what Sarah J Mass wrote before Rowan actually began. After that is all mine. That's where my work starts: When he starts hurting Cairn. Everything before that is not my words. They're SJM's words put into a different form, or at least the non-italics are. Please know that, and don't come for me saying I copy-pasted her work and took credit for it. I gave her credit, just now, in the past few sentences.
If you have any other questions or worries, feel free to contact me however you like.
Ok, this is actually getting really long. I'm gonna stop.
Rowan didn't know where to look first.
At the wolf and Fae male sprawled on the floor.
Or at the iron coffin across the tent.
The iron box they'd locked her in.
Had to reinforce it seemed, from the sloppy welding on the thick slabs atop it.
The box was so small. So narrow.
The smell of her blood, her fear, saturated the tent. Emanated from the box.
A metal table lay nearby.
And beneath it…
Rowan took in the three unlit braziers set beneath it, the chain anchors at the head and foot off the table.
Rowan turned his head to look Gavriel who was healing Fenrys, in his wolf form. And beside him, he lay. "Heal him," Rowan said with lethal softness. The Lion looked up to find Rowan's gaze not on Fenrys but instead on Cairn. Chunks of flesh had been torn from his body and a lump was forming on his temple. It was the blow that had knocked him out. A blow that had been inflicted by Fenrys. Right before he collapsed himself. But not from his wounds, instead of from… Rowan started. What had happened here, what has been so terrible that the wolf had done the impossible to spare Aelin from enduring it? Though Gavriel's eyes were wary, Rowan pointed at Cairn again, "Heal him." There wasn't much time left. Not for what he wanted to do. What he needed to do.
Drawers had been pulled out. Polished tools glinted inside. A pouch of them had also been set on a piece of black velvet beside the metal table.
Her blood sang to him of pain and despair, of utter terror.
His Fireheart.
Gavriel's magic shone golden as it settled over Cairn.
Rowan surveyed the tools Cairn had laid out, the ones in the draw. Carefully, thoughtfully, he selected one: a thin, razor-sharp knife. A healer's tool, meant for small incisions. Rowan turned to look at Cairn as unconsciousness gave way. By the time, Cairn was fully awake, Rowan had him chained to the metal table. Cairn beheld Rowan, as he stood over him with the tool in his tattooed hand, others laid out beside him. He began thrashing, but the iron chains binding him held. Then he saw the frozen rage in Rowan's eyes. He understood what he intended to do with that sharp knife. A dark stain spread across the front of Cairn's pants. Once Gavriel was out, Rowan wrapped an ice-kissed wind around the tent, blocking out all sound, and began.
Rowan started at the bottom. He twisted and broke the bones in Cairn's ankles, giving himself easy access to the bottom of his feet. Though Cairn tried to keep his mouth shut, the pain was too much. And so he screamed. He shrieked loud enough that Rowan's ears ringed with it. But despite that, he savoured Cairn's screams as he first peeled off the skin at his toe pads. Slowly, mercilessly. Then his heels. And then the arch of his foot. Through the ringing, Rowan thought about her. About Aelin. What had she gone through? How had Cairn tortured her these past months? Had she screamed like Cairn was now? More?
He looked up to see Cairn's face. It was streaked with tears. His nose was running, face pale. It wasn't enough. No amount of pain Rowan inflicted on him would be enough to challenge what Aelin must've gone through. Maybe, Rowan thought, I should lock him in the iron coffin. Take away his air. Make him feel what my wife felt. Later, Rowan. Later.
Hemoved on to Cairn's lower leg, letting his blood drip, drip, drip on to the floor. He picked up a slightly bigger knife. It was equally sharp if not more, as the last one. Rowan put it against Cairn's shin and carefully made a horizontal cut, starting about an inch below his knee and ending at his ankle. Then the other leg. The screams grew louder, wilder. A haze had entered Rowan's mind and only one thing, one word was able to get through it: Revenge.
The lone word burned within him, with each heartbeat, with each intake of breath.
Revengerevengerevenge
It was all he could think about. He wanted revenge. He wanted to hurt Cairn. He wanted to destroy his body, then his mind. He wanted to kill him. And he didn't care about himself, about how he might feel regretful—or even disgusted with himself—when he finished, even though he doubted he would ever regret this. Cairn deserved everything he got. Every scream, every nightmare, every time he felt even a shred of pain or fear. He deserved it all. And so that is why he asked softly, "Cairn." The shrieking halted. "Why am I hurting you? Do you know?"
"Because you're a sociopath, that's why." Cairn spat, panting.
Rowan turned his head to look at Cairn… and smelt more urine. "Wrong answer." He moved so that he was closer to Cairn's left thigh. Put the knife's tip against it, right in the middle. He knew, one hard plunge down and he would crush right through the bone. Cairn wouldn't be able to walk then. But then again, he wasn't able to right now either what with the chains and his unfortunate injuries. Eh. Let's do it anyway. And down went Rowan's knife. He heard the crack of the bone. He felt the splinters graze the knife. He felt the rage in himself when he turned the knife making a full circle. He relished the shrieks that emanated from Cairn's throat. Miraculously, Cairn was still alive and conscious. Rowan planned to change that. But first, he had to tell Cairn the right answer. "The right answer to my question, Cairn, is because you hurt my mate. You tortured her. You mistreated her. You laughed at her. You did all that and more. And now, I'm going to make you pay for it." And with those words, he took the knife out of Cairn's leg and jabbed it into the other. Harder. He heard the point of the knife clang against the metal table under Cairn. The screaming was getting hoarse. But that wasn't what Rowan wanted.
Rowan took the knife out. Looked at the dark red blood staining the blade, tilting his head to the side, contemplating. His bright green eyes turned to look at Cairn's blue ones. Turned back to Cairn's bleeding leg. Rowan put his finger into the small hole his knife had made. He angled skin back and made a short horizontal slit, tucking his knife into the small flap. He moved his eyes to see Cairn looking at what his fingers were doing. Cairn began to tremble. He saw in Cairn's eye fear and anticipation of what was to come. The agony he knew would come. Rowan didn't give him enough time to mentally prepare before he yanked. As if he were no more than a butcher pulling off the skin of his dead prey. He watched as Cairn's body arched in pain, as his mouth opened in agony and gurgling noises came out. They sort of sounded like stop! stop! Rowan processed them as to keep going! keep going!. So he did.
"Ahhhh!" Cairn's voice was getting hoarse with each howl. It wasn't enough for Rowan though. He wanted Cairn to lose his voice. Then he wanted Cairn to regain his voice, so that Cairn could scream even louder and then lose his voice again. But he was going pale now. Rowan took the knife out of Cairn's skin and ripped back the skin above so that he had two flaps off skin opening up and down his leg. He, then, did the same torture to the other leg, just much faster. Cairn already knew what was going to happen. There was no pleasure in dragging it out twice. By the time Rowan finished, he had been pulled to oblivion. Rowan stared at Cairn's face. It was toned with muscle. Sharp and angled. It would be a pretty one, if not for the permanent arrogant smirk on his face, even in oblivion. Rowan had had enough of staring at his rutting face.
Rowan moved his hands so that they hovered over Cairn's bleeding legs, and healed him. And slowly, Cairn came back to conscious, groaning because though Rowan had healed him enough that he was no longer unconscious, he still had the injuries. And they still hurt very much.
Rowan moved his eyes to look at Cairn's sharp face. There was a smirk on his face. "Feeling arrogant, are we?" Rowan asked Cairn.
His smirk grew, "No matter how much you torture me, you'll never be able to forget that you", he lifted his head, jerking his chin at Rowan, "failed her." Rowan flinched. "That's what hurts, doesn't it. You think hurting me will make you feel better. And it might. But you'll still always ponder over it, what I might've done to her. Did I rape her? Did I cut her? Did I burn her? Did I drown her? No one knows… but, wait. Aelin would know. I know. But you don't. I'm not going to tell you. And I don't think the bitch"—Rowan slapped Cairn for that, causing a spray of blood to come out of his mouth—"wants to relive those memories either. They're pretty brutal if I remember correctly." Cairn shrugged as if accepting the fact that no one was going to say anything. But Rowan hadn't decided anything yet. Half his mind was demanding he torture the information out of Cairn, but the other was saying that he wouldn't be able to bear it. Hearing about what Aelin went through would kill him. He believed that side. And anyway, it didn't make a difference, whether he knew what happened to her or not, it would be equally painful. Either way, Cairn wasn't going to see the sunset today.
"Picking up the smallest and sharpest knife Rowan had in his arsenal, he slit Cairn's shirt in half. Turning and playing with the knife, Rowan said, "I don't know what you did to her, Cairn, but I can still label you. Murderer, sadist, torturer, abuser. There're so many words. Which one should I use? Tell me. What word do you want me to use." Cairn's nostrils flared with anger but he didn't say anything. Rowan sighed. "You speak when I don't want you to but lose your tongue when I want you to talk? How inconvenient. I guess I'll just have to choose the word for you." He took a few seconds to himself before he told Cairn, "I can't decide, Cairn," he huffed, amused. "I suppose we could use more than one word. Let's start with… coward? Is that okay with you?" Cairn just glared, nostrils flaring. Rowan gave him a small smile, before putting his knife point against Cairn's skin. And so he began, once again. Coward, sadist, betrayer. He carved out all these names and more, some of the more ancient words in the Old Language, on to Cairn's torso, all the while savouring his screams. They were worse than before, and soon Cairn's voice was hoarse and he was struggling to get his voice out. But Rowan didn't stop. He didn't want to stop. He needed to keep going. He needed to give himself this. He couldn't have avoided Maeve taking her away on that beach, all those months ago. He didn't even know what was happening until she was taken away, and he saw that blood-soaked shirt staining the sand red. Aelin didn't tell him anything and Rowan couldn't help but hate her for that. For taking herself away from him. For taking away the greatest honour of protecting and keeping his queen safe. She took that away from him, and he hated her for that. But more than he hated her, he loved her. He loved her more than anything in this world and he could bring himself to forgive her but only because he had the opportunity to maim and kill the man who hurt his wife. His mate. His reason for breathing. Because there was no reason to live if she was not breathing alongside him. To whatever end. They had said that to each other many times before. To whatever end. That included death. If she died, Rowan would happily follow along, with her.
But Aelin was alive. She had escaped. His Fireheart had braved everything and escaped. She would be okay now. Rowan would be able to take care of her. But he needed to kill Cairn first. He needed closure. And so he only stopped with the carving when there was just one small spot left above his hip, where the skin was not split and bubbling with blood. The rest of his torso was just a slab of ruined flesh and blood. Just like Aelin's must've been after the whipping she got in her first month off Endovier, and on the beach at Maeve's orders. But that spot. He would come back to that spot. Later. He had to do some other things first.
As Rowan put the knife down, Cairn's shrieking died down too as he once again was pulled into oblivion. He made sure Cairn's wounds had started clotting and that he wouldn't die of blood loss, before going to a small bucket full of water and washing the blood off his hands. His clothes were splattered with blood, too. He would have to throw them away because of the staining that was sure to happen.
Taking his hands out of the water, Rowan looked at them. His fingernails and fingers were also stained red with blood. They would be stained for at least a day or two before the blood came completely off. He was used to this. After all the wars he'd been to and come back from, he'd gotten used to it. He'd gotten used to the sticky feeling of it before he could wash the blood off. He'd gotten used to the metal stench of blood and the feeling of the phantom blood that never seemed to get off his hands. Instead, it just seemed to cake on even more with each war he returned from. He'd never really cared for any of these things before he met Aelin. Blood was blood—something to be washed off and forgotten about. He hadn't cared about the blood or who it might've belonged to. He still didn't, especially if it had the black colour and reek of Valg blood. He wanted his hands coated in Valg blood. But this wasn't Valg blood staining his fingers. This was red blood, Fae blood. Cairn's blood. And still, he didn't want to wash it off completely. He wanted the reminder. He wanted the reminder of the pain he'd inflicted on Cairn. He wanted to remember the feeling of his flesh squishing under his fingers and hands, and the feeling of his hands being icky and sticky with blood. He enjoyed the feeling of it. He was distantly aware that his thoughts were not right, and that if anyone heard what he was thinking they would call him a psychotic killer who very badly needs some help, but he couldn't care less about them. Cairn had hurt her. And Cairn would pay for it now. It was as simple as that.
Drying his hands, he walked back over to Cairn. His face was contorted in pain, leaving little space for the usual arrogant smirk. Not one to waste any time, Rowan moved his hands over Cairn's body and gave him a little energy boost, still leaving the pain there and wounds open. Once Cairn was relatively awake and aware of his surroundings, Rowan picked up a medium-sized knife. Inspecting it, he said to Cairn, "Cairn, doing good? I hope you're okay. I want to be alive for the rest of this. I want you to feel it. I want you to experience the pain you put my wife through. You deserve to feel it, for what you did to her and I'm sure countless other people, too. You enjoy it, don't you? You enjoy their pain, their screams, their tears. Well, I enjoy yours, only yours…And I guess other people who hurt my Aelin and our court, too. You, who put my wife through misery. You, who made her cry. You, who took her away from me." Rowan was getting tired of talking, so he put the knife at Cairn's shoulder and just started peeling the skin of his upper arm, moving it around here and there to get to the more hidden-from-him spots. Cairn didn't scream this time. Instead, he just moaned and groaned in pain, which was expected at this point after all the pain he'd already been through. His body and mind had probably entered a place where he was accepting the pain rather than trying to fight it, which was completely fine with Rowan as long as he could keep hurting Cairn. He kept speaking over Cairn's groaning, "You did so much, Cairn. Do you remember when I was trying to train you? You were so difficult. You wouldn't listen, always got into fights with the others. Why? Why did you always need to keep fighting?" He moved down to Cairn's forearm. "Why do you enjoy it? Isn't it sickening to you? Have you ever puked after torturing someone? Do you have any conscience at all?" Cairn didn't reply, so Rowan just moved on to Cairn's other arm, and before long, Cairn was once again pulled back into his mind, but not before Rowan cut off both of his arms. That procured a shriek from Cairn's throat, which made Rowan smile in the sweetest delight. He drank a glass of water, swallowing the minor disgust at his own thoughts. He walked over to the small fireplace on the side of the tent and lit a small fire. Then picked up the first knife he'd used and put it beside Cairn's head, freeing his hands so that he could bring Cairn's back to consciousness one last time. While Cairn was blinking away the last dregs of unawareness, Rowan said, "I have nothing to say to you, except that your whole life, everything you did, led to this point. You and your actions are why I'm here standing here, holding this knife. You hurt her and now I will kill you." Cairn trembled as Rowan picked up the small knife used for precise incisions. "Please, please. Make it quick." Cairn begged in a small squeaking voice. Rowan slowly shook his head, bringing his mouth close to Cairn's ear. "You don't deserve it." Coming back up, Rowan brought the knife down to Cairn's crotch. "You didn't actually think I'd let you keep your manhood after what you did to my wife, did you?" And with those words, Rowan castrated Cairn. His mouth widened in horrified terror. Rowan imagined that he was so much in pain that he couldn't even get his voice out to express the pain he was going through. It was so painful he couldn't even scream. His hands presumably come up to hold his crotch but he couldn't because of the iron holding him down. After he'd carved out impotent on to the small spot he'd reserved before, he moved to Cairn's forehead. Starting just above his bushy brown brows, Rowan dug his knife into the skin and peeled it back until half of Cairn's scalp was just hanging off the table edge. Rowan didn't blink an eye at the bits of brain spilling out, as he went to the other brow and did the exact same thing. During all this, he also very reluctantly healed Cairn just enough so that he wouldn't die of blood loss or suffocation or any of the shit, as Rowan basically destroyed Cairn's mind, physically and mentally. He moved on to the cheeks, peeling the skin of then the nose and ears, also slicing the skin away and then cutting the body part of altogether. Then he took his knife and jabbed them into each of Cairn's eyes. He screamed at. Loud and clear, his voice rang through the tent. Soon Cairn's once permanently-arrogant-and-smirking-but-handsome-at-the-same-time face was not a permanently-arrogant-and-smirking-but-handsome-at-the-same-time face. Instead, it was a slab of meat, blood, squishy shit, and just overall, waste. No one would be able to tell who he was, anymore. No one would see that arrogant smirk again. Aelin, though she would most likely see him in her nightmares for years to come, will never again be tormented by him and his face in reality.
Before Cairn could die out on him, Rowan peeled the skin off Cairn's neck, before picking up his axe and slamming it down. Cairn's head fell and vulgarly rolled around the tent floor before Rowan picked it up and threw the head into the fire that he'd kept going with his magic. He watched it burn for a couple of minutes before going to the rest of the body. He cut it up into smaller pieces before throwing those into the fire too. His nose prickled at the scent of burning flesh but he kept watching. He wanted to make sure that not a single piece of that male lived. He wanted to make sure that was Aelin safe, or at at least as safe as she could be at the moment. Ten minutes later, the fire was finally starting to die down, leaving the ashes of Cairn scattered on the floor.
Cairn. He was dead. Good riddance, was all Rowan thought before he exited out of the tent, his magic blowing the scent of the burnt flesh away from the tents.
In the chaos of Aelin's escape, Rowan was easily able to walk out of the camp without attracting any attention. He had only taken a few steps away from the camp entrance gates before he ran. And ran and ran and ran. When he was sure no one could see him, he stopped and just let it all out. He has been feeling sick at himself and his actions the whole time he'd hurt Cairn. But he'd kept it buried deep in his soul. He knew it was important that he give himself that closure. He'd needed to hurt the person who hurt his mate. It gave him a little solace that her tormentor hadn't died an easy death. He's experienced pain first, then died. He'd needed to give himself that satisfaction. And so he gave it. But that didn't mean he couldn't be sick. And so he vomited. Everything he'd eaten in the past couple days spilled out of his mouth. And when it was over, he gagged dryly. It was his way of physically getting it all out. All the anger and hopelessness he'd felt in the past few months—it all came out and he was glad of it. Once he was sure he wasn't going to puke anymore he stood up, took his hawk form and flew around until he found her scent. Her normal scent of jasmine and lemon verbena was laced with fear and blood and misery but there was also a slight undertone of happiness and pride which Rowan guessed was because of her escape. Of course, she would be happy and proud of herself. She'd been through so much and come back alive and aware of her surrounding if not completely pleasant. But they could work on that. Together. Together they would heal.
AN: Well that was quite the journey. Yes, I'm still sane. I hope you are too, and I also hope that you liked my one-shot. Let me know if there are any other ideas you might have and would like for me to write about, and remember to leave a review. I always find those quite nice and interesting to read. Thank you. And have an amazing day.