Disclaimer: All the characters, the storyline, the names of locations, etc. from the "Throne of Glass" series all belong to Sarah J. Maas. And that is not moi.

A/N: Hey readers! Time for another update! So this chapter is going to realllyyyyyy go AU in that the war between Morath and Terrasen (and everyone else really) is going to be dragged out for the remainder of the time Aelin is with Maeve in this story. Also this chapter will be with Rowan and others, we'll be back with Aelin next chapter. If you have any comments, tips or questions, let me know in the reviews please! Enjoy! :D

Chapter 3:

10 months, four days, and 17 hours. That's how long it's been since Rowan's wife was taken by his former queen. Every time they found a lead, heard something in the gossip of a town, saw a soldier of Doranelle, they pursued.

But no luck. Aelin was simply nowhere to be found.

The thought causes a snarl of frustration to roll out of Rowan as he slashes down a trembling branch blocking his path.

It was as if Maeve were keeping Aelin hidden under some enchantment causing them to search in endless circles. And that certainly seemed the case, for there were hardly any cities, any crevices, left that they hadn't already searched. Is it possible Maeve has moved her to another realm? Well if she has, he would follow. Rowan would go after his mate to the furthest corners of every realm until she was back home. Until she was safe, Rowan would never stop.

"We need to stop." Lorcan sighs.

Barely sparing him a glance as he steps over a moss-covered rock, Rowan replies, "If you wish to leave, be my guest."

"I don't mean looking for her, Whitethorn," Lorcan growls impatiently, swatting at a fly that's been pestering him for the past half hour. Fool thing can't seem to take a hint. "I mean we need to stop in a town again for awhile, regroup, gather intel."

"What intel?" Rowan seethes, having now spun to face his reluctant comrade, "There's nothing to go off of, in case you haven't noticed. Maeve's told no one, left no trail to follow, I can't scent her, there's nothing! And I'm wondering for how much of that do I have you to thank."

Elide steps to the side of their path and leans against an unforgiving bamboo trunk. Uncorking her water pouch, she tunes out the argument. It's become almost a daily occurrence that the two go at each other. And quite frankly, she had no issue with the possibility of Rowan attacking the other male.

Gavriel stops at her side, silently observing the pair. He speaks up just as a muscle begins to twitch in Lorcan's jaw, "Rowan, we know there's no leads on Aelin right now. But it's been weeks since we've had any correspondence with Orynth."

Back at around the five-month point of Aelin's absence, the group had been in Bellhaven. A day before they were to depart the hub of the city, they found and followed a lone foot-soldier of Doranelle's army into a rickety tavern.

Sitting under the shadows of their hoods and back table, they observed their prey. The hunt was interrupted, however, as two stout men's conversation had been overheard, "I say, did ya hear the news about the Terrasen army?" the brown haired one asked digging into a soft wheat roll.

"What, 'bout those Mycenians returnin' from legend? Ack, I heard 'bout tha months ago," the red haired one with a sleek beard that brushed his chest replied.

The brunette gossip shook his head, leaning in, "No this is new news! Just three days ago, a sixth of Terrasen's army practically fell on their own swords they did. Said to be somethin' that influenced 'em from those demon creatures Morath keeps throwin' at 'em."

That was all Rowan had needed to hear before he discreetly left the inn in search of a messenger hawk.

The exchange in the following three days had been short and simple. Rowan's message had read,

"I heard the news, Aedion. Do you require our aid?

-Rowan W. G.

Her Majesty's consort"

Aedion's message had responded,

"We're in much more need of my delightful cousin at the moment.

Bring her back to us. Fast.

-Aedion A.

General of Her Majesty's army"

And that had been that.

Ever since that time, Rowan had made it a point to get a status update every two weeks.

Now it was nearing a month since the last contact.

Mouth set in a firm line, Rowan steps back and says, "Ten months. It's been ten months. And everyday that goes by is another day she is..." Rowan looks at them all sullenly, throat bobbing, "Ten months..."

He turns sending out a gust of his wind as he stalks ahead on the path, "We'll head into a town soon. But not yet. Not yet..."

In another weeks' time, at an inn of Banjali, a reply is sent back to Rowan's newest message that only reads,

"Morath has pushed us to the gates"

Without a word, the group immediately left for Terrasen.

PAGEBREAKPAGEBREAKPAGEBREAKPAGEBREAKPAGEBREAKPAGEBREAKPAGEBREAK

"If you hadn't gotten here when you did, I don't know what— Your appearance gave the men the boost they needed. Just— thank you for coming so soon," Aedion shook his head in disbelief.

They had come so close today to having to fall back to the palace's walls. Aedion had been about to call the command when the left flank of Morath's garrison had been felled before anyone could blink. With a smile, the command had died on his tongue. They would not be retreating today.

His brother in arms now strode at his side down the bustling hall and replied, "We should all be thanking Manon. Her coven and the Crochan's' reinforcements ensured our relief lasted."

Aedion pushed a large oak door with ornately carved leaves open leading into a warm room. A small layout of food rests on a nearby table surrounded by dozens of cushions and mildly dusty sofas. Elide and Aedion swarm the food instantly but Rowan walks past them to the crackling fire. Lysandra enters behind Lorcan and Gavriel, closing the door.

"Still no luck?" Aedion asks the room.

Elide shakes her head in answer, picking at her bread, "None so far."

Lysandra, in her own form, tiredly sits on one of the couches. She looks to Rowan's brooding figure, "Have you tried Doranelle?"

Gavriel answers for him, "Yes twice now. But Maeve hasn't been back there since she took Aelin it seems."

Aedion frowns, "Could she be hiding her under some type of illusion? Maybe herself too?"

"I've been thinking that for months now," Rowan growls lowly, grabbing everyone's attention, "And if it's the case, how're we supposed to get around it?"

The room falls painfully silent, contemplative. The soft ticking of the clock beside the door is the only answer.

"I want to go with you this time." Aedion says suddenly.

Rowan turns to look at the scraped up demi-fae, "Aren't you still needed here, General?"

"Killian can take my place for a bit. And Darrow's the one calling the shots at the moment anyway." Aedion replies, taking a bite of overcooked pheasant.

"Aelin told you to stay here." Rowan says with an air of finality.

"She told you the same thing, but I don't see you listening to her." Aedion shot back, setting the plate aside.

Rowan bared his teeth, shoulders tensing, "She's my wife. I'm not going to just leave her to—"

"No one's expecting you to, Rowan," Lysandra cuts in quietly, staring at her hans that have borne her queen's skin too many times, "But you're not the only one who misses her."

Aedion deflates, looking at the dancing flames of the hearth, "We all need her back. I know it's different for you, but I need her back too."

Gavriel leans forward, elbows on his knees, and volunteers, "I'll stay behind. To aid the troops here, if that's alright?"

Aedion nods his acceptance of the offer dismissively.

"Gather what you need, Aedion, and get some sleep. We'll leave before dawn." Rowan orders tonelessly, leaving the room and everyone to their thoughts.