Disclaimer: All rights of the "Throne of Glass" series belongs to Sarah J Maas.

Chapter 10:

"Rowan."

The small metal-clad fingers laced through his, tightened gently with the call pulling Rowan from his light dozing.

With travelling from where they'd been south of Mistward to the palace and planning and executing the rescue, he hadn't slept for over thirty hours now.

And he hadn't slept well for years.

Five years, three months, ten days and twenty hours to be exact.

From his seat now leaned back against the papered wall, he hummed his response.

"Tell me again." Aelin muttered, muscles refusing to relax despite the lack of danger in the quiet guest room. "Tell me this isn't fake. Not just another rutting illusion or dream."

Rowan turned to see his wife worrying her bottom lip and clutching their son—who was quietly doodling stick figures on a pad of paper—so tightly to her side as though he would vanish at any second.

He stifled a yawn and reassured her, "This is real."

Aelin slid her hand from his to her neck; grasping the menacing collar. The gauntlet screeched slightly as she rubbed at the chaffing band. She released it to move up to the mask, the broken chain dangling from the cuff on her wrist clanked softly, dragging across her chest. She huffed out a shaky breath through her chapped lips when her tugs on the masks chains resulted in nothing.

Rowan understood before she questioned silently, 'Then why am I still in irons?'

'I've tried everything, but don't know how to get them off.' He lifted his head off the wall and glared at the stubborn metals. 'They won't break, they can't be picked—'

'You need blood,'

His chairs front legs lowered back onto the floor with a solid thud. 'Blood? Why would that—' He stopped himself and breathed into the room's peaceful space, "Wyrdmarks."

Rowan unsheathed the silver Doranelle crafted-dagger at his waist and looked to his wife laying tiredly beneath a baby-soft blue quilt. "I don't know the symbol."

"I do." Aelin brushed her thumb soothingly over Rhoe's shoulder. "But I won't be able to know if I'm drawing it accurately."

"Just tell me how it's supposed to be. I can guide you." Rowan went to cut his palm but Aelin lifted her hand.

"I want them off." A short laugh burst from her that bordered on hysteria. "Now. But unless you want to risk sending me through a portal, you should probably practice without blood first."

The dagger dropped back into its sheath.

He glanced at the stubby pencil and papers in Rhoe's hands.

"What if I sketched it on paper? Could you describe the shape in degrees?"

For the next hour, Rowan sketched the marks to Aelin's directions, tracing her finger over them to check his work.

Over.

And over.

And over.

And over again until she deemed it accurate.

"That's perfect," Aelin said, pulling her hand back from the page. "As far as I can tell at least."

Rowan frowned. "That's not exactly comforting."

"Well it's the best I can offer."

Rowan simply stared at his wife.

The morning glow had settled into steady daylight and now seemed to only draw greater attention to the menacing restraints. They were a stark contrast to the surrounding elegant room and humming child at her side.

They needed to come off now; should've never been on in the first place.

He studied her tightly pressed pale lips, her shallow breaths. The quiet groaning of the gauntlets as she flexed her fingers.

She needed them off. Now.

He wondered if it was only for their hyper-aware son's sake that she wasn't more upset about their presence.

Over five years she'd been trapped within them. Her fire as well as her body contained, muzzled by the iron.

Unfortunately, having them off wouldn't relive the pressure of her magic just yet.

The healers told them earlier that the high amount of iron currently in her blood stream—though they had been able to deplete some of it— would still suppress her magic for some time.

Rowan had had his magic suppressed for short periods at a time in his life but he couldn't imagine what it would be like long-term.

How she hadn't gone insane from it, was a miraculous mystery.

He wouldn't make her wait any longer.

Rowan drew his dagger once more and turned in his chair, putting his back to Rhoe. He quickly cut the tip of his finger.

"Where do you want me to start?"

Aelin turned her head toward the window, baring the mask's complex lock.

The chair creaked in protest as it was scooted forward and Rowan held the drawing up for reference as he began to trace. "Don't go anywhere."

A nervous exhale. "Come with me if I do?"

Rowan's lips quirked as he drew. "Only if it's a nice realm."

"If it's a sunny, woodland, peaceful one but tattooing's banned?"

"You're on your own, princess."

Aelin snorted then gasped in unison with Rowan when the lock sprung open and the mask fell sideways onto her white satin pillow.

The humming filling the air dropped off and Rhoe sat up.

"Yay!" Rhoe cupped his mother's cheek, wide toothy grin in place. "Your soft-face is back!"

It was hard for the two royals to choose then which sound that filled the air was sweeter: Their som's squealing laughter from the kissing onslaught of his mother, or the final clanking of the restraints as Rowan continued to unlock them.

One by one.

Days passed quickly from that moment—but not quickly enough for Aelin.

Over the course of three weeks she had to learn how to navigate life again from scratch.

This resulted in many table-height bruises, a thousand belated cries of "Careful, mama! There's a chair there!", being unsure if any of her outfits even matched, and mystery meals.

The times Rhoe had whispered to Rowan, a crinkle in his nose, "Eww, what's that?" never failed to whisk away her appetite.

Of course, Rowan took the lead in helping with everything: Guiding her around furnishings and the unfamiliar rooms and halls. Telling her the time of day. Telling her what was on her plate. Calming her with his soothing voice about who was walking by or around her. Offering to help her dress. Reading to her. Always holding her hand or offering his arm. Bringing everything to her that she needed. Brushing her hair for her. Offering to play with Rhoe when he asked Aelin to play something she couldn't— although he was always sweetly rebuffed with a shy, "Um, no thank you, papa".

He was always there.

And Elide—whom had clung to her for a good hour, crying, upon their reunion— had offered to help Aelin bathe as well as do her hair and babysit Rhoe should she and Rowan want some time alone. All of which had been declined, although Aelin had thanked her every time she'd offered… and offered… and offered.

Elide had also assured Aelin that her clothes were from her room in Mistward, so at least Aelin didn't have to worry about the chooser's taste in style—she knew they were impeccable.

Lorcan and Gavriel—whom Aelin had given the blood oath to after a lengthy tense discussion about where their allegiances (particularly Lorcan's) were in this war— were also doing their part to help by guarding, keeping correspondence with Orynth and constantly updating her on the war's ever-changing status. They were the only ones who—aside from Rhoe—weren't annoying her.

It wasn't that Aelin didn't appreciate Rowan's desire to help or Elide's offers.

But they were starting to suffocate her.

Then there was the matter of training.

They started out slowly; just some target practice and simple exercises to regain her lost muscle mass. When she ended their pre-walked laps around the mats soaked through with sweat and then shaking too much to complete five pushups on their first day, Aelin was thankful Rowan was taking it easy on her. However, she found herself snapping at almost everyone who breathed in her direction when after two weeks went by and He kept their pace slow and easy.

The only one who benefitted from this frustrating pace was Rhoe. Who was also the only person being clingier than Rowan. Which with the painful squeezing in Aelin's chest that occurred when she couldn't hear his voice, she didn't exactly mind. In fact, she reveled in the new closeness they were now able to share.

Uninterrupted.

But being her talkative shadow, he didn't miss anything.

So, when she and Rowan—finally—began to add mild sparring to their routine, Rhoe went from being her cheerleader from the wall benches to completely silent.

The first time that Aelin fell, having had her legs swept out from under her, Rhoe made his distress known.

"Mama!" He'd cried, voice breaking. He jumped from his perch on the wooden bench, dodging Elide's consoling arms, and run to Aelin.

He glared up at Rowan's towering figure.

Aelin sat up, holding her quaking baby. "Shh I'm okay, Starlight."

"Papa kicked you!"

"We're practicing, Rhoe. Play fighting." Rowan knelt, meeting Rhoe's narrowed eyes. "I would never hurt your mama. Ever."

"But you did." Rhoe said, clutching Aelin tighter. "I saw you."

Though they were eventually able to help Rhoe understand in part what they were doing, it was still clear he was too young to watch more of their sparring.

From then on, Rhoe waited in the hallway with Elide until they were done. This too was hard for him at first as he couldn't see Aelin and could hear her occasionally cry out. But with enough distraction from Elide and shouting back and forth with his mother to check-in, it worked out well.

Which was more than Aelin could say for their training.

Their combat drills were all about depending on her remaining senses since it was unknown when— or if, in Aelin's opinion— she'd recover her vision.

She had to essentially learn how to see without her eyes.

It was all about focusing on what she could hear, smell, and feel. Focusing on the break of the wind from the swing of Rowan's practice sword. Focusing on his nearly non-existent shifting steps on the padded mats. Focusing on which direction his scent drifted to her.

Focus, focus, focus. She was going to singe his eyebrows off the next time she heard that word.

"Aelin, you're not focusing." Rowan said, sitting up after having pinned her to the mat for the seventh time that hour.

Oh, he was pushing his luck.

"It's funny," Aelin pushed herself up and took the towel that Rowan tapped her shoulder with. "How that's typically a word reserved for those with working eyeballs."

She dabbed at the sweat running down her face, the back of her neck.

"Focusing with your eyes isn't what wins battles."

Aelin yanked the string of leather from the end of her messy braid. "Well it definitely helps."

Aelin jumped as Rowan's fingers came over hers, gently pushing her out of the way and dividing the hair into three strands. She grabbed her hair and yanked it over her shoulder, braiding it quickly. "I can do it myself."

She heard his clothes rustle as he stood back to his feet. She felt the towel start to lift from her lap.

Did he think she couldn't take it to the hamper herself? The hamper that was three feet away?

She grit her teeth. "I can do that too."

"I know you can." Rowan shot back, dropping the towel. "I'm just willing to do it for you."

"Well don't." Aelin tossed her braid back over her shoulder. "I'm not an infant."

She snatched up the barely damp towel and set to pushing herself to her feet, abdomen trembling from today's workout. She only got one foot under her when Rowan's hands were at her waist, lifting.

"Rowan!" She quickly stood, shoving him off. "Just—stop!"

She turned and took a step, toeing the hamper to make sure, before throwing the towel inside.

"You want me to stop helping you?" Rowan asked, "Just stop entirely?"

Aelin took one, two, three, four, five steps to the wall bench where she'd left her belt with the twin plain daggers and her jacket with four small throwing knives, two of which she'd removed from her vambraces for their sparring.

All the weapons had been with the clothes Elide had first brought her weeks ago— along with Goldryn which remained secretly stashed in their room.

"Yes." Her belt went on first. The blades were shoved into her arm guards next.

"You may not remember, Aelin, or maybe you don't want to," Rowan closed the distance between them and turned her by her shoulder to face him, releasing at her small start. "But we're still bonded in about every way possible. I only exist now to help you."

"I didn't realize we were bonded as nursemaid and child too." Aelin turned back to the bench and stuffed herself into her jacket.

Rowan stood silently, watching as she bent to check the laces on her boots. A new habit of hers developed four days ago when neither of them had noticed they'd come undone from running and the resulting fall had left her snapping at him and flushed bright pink for hours.

"I don't need as much help as you seem to think." Aelin straightened, scowling.

"I don't think you're as independent as you think."

Although she still couldn't access her magic, Rowan could've sworn the room leapt to the temperature of a furnace.

Aelin bared her teeth but held her tongue, choosing instead to storm around him toward the door.

"Aelin—" Rowan started, an apology on his lips, and took her bicep tenderly.

Aelin jumped at the surprise touch and ripped away from him. She spun on her heel, voice shaking despite her anger, "Stop touching me!"

Rhoe ran into the doorway, wide-eyes going straight to Aelin, charcoal dust streaking his hands and nose.

Elide limped into view behind Rhoe in the hallway and handed the drawings they must've been working on down to him.

She looked between the pair and cleared her throat. "Aelin," She said quietly, "It's almost noon now."

At noon today was when Aelin's uncle, King Glaston, had agreed to meet with all of them for their first war council. That was the official reason at least, but as he hadn't been able to stop by to see Aelin since they arrived, Rowan didn't think the meeting would revolve around battle strategies.

Aelin wrapped her arms around her middle and took a deep breath.

"Thank you," Aelin dropped her arms back to her sides, turned sharply on her heel and walked into the hall, "Are Gavriel and Lorcan already there?"

"No," Elide said, "They asked me to come get them when you two had finished."

"We'll meet you there then." Rowan said, following behind Aelin a few paces.

He missed what Elide said in parting to Aelin, too busy watching Aelin pass the hallway they were supposed to turn down.

Where was she headed?

They had practiced the route to the council chamber the day before. They could still get there this way but it wasn't as direct.

Her steps, while cautious, were clipped and her grip on Rhoe was firmer than usual.

It was clear she hadn't let go of their argument yet, but Rowan was unable to keep silent as she was quickly approaching the top of a staircase, he asked through their bond, 'Where are you going?'

She ignored him.

She may hate his help, but he wasn't about to just sit back and watch her get hurt.

'Aelin,' Rowan said, 'There's stairs about ten feet ahead of you.'

Her shoulders leapt up and she halted. Fingers twitching for the nearest blade at her hip.

The air held its breath before she released hers ever so slowly with a reluctant nod.

Rhoe gazed up at Aelin, slowing his swinging of their joined hands, eyebrows pinched in question.

Aelin continued ahead with a slower gait to the top stair.

It took all of Rowan's immortal patience to keep himself from just picking her up and carrying her down the steps as she reached before and around her, seeking out the marble banister.

It was only a foot more to her right.

She needed to do this herself, he reminded himself. Independence was important on a number of levels for her. She could do this, he told himself but grimaced when she started reaching further to her empty left.

He forced his hands to stay at his sides.

Silently, Aelin leaned back to her right, taking a side step, and grabbed hold of it.

Now to descend.

Rowan rubbed at his temples. He wondered how many males could say they were more worried about their wife than their four-year-old on the stairs.

Not many, he'd guess.

The worry skyrocketed as he watched Rhoe gleefully hop down the first step and Aelin start forward at the momentum, clutching even tighter to the railing.

"Rhoe," Aelin said, "I need my hand right now. We can hold hands again at the bottom."

Rhoe let go and was surprisingly careful as he went down the flight on his own— even grabbing onto the opposite rail.

"Go ahead." Aelin said over her shoulder, standing still as a statue.

Rowan opened his mouth to object before he realized being ahead of her would be better in case she fell.

He passed her and stopped a couple stairs down. He turned to face his mate. "I thought you didn't want my help."

Aelin extended her leg stiffly, feeling out the length of the first step with her foot. "I can get around without you holding my hand like a child," She bit back lowly, mindful of the little ears listening.

Rowan backed down a step as she made it down the first.

She planted both of her feet firmly before feeling out the next one, running her hands down the banister in unison.

She picked back up, "But, I don't want to break my damn neck." Another hesitant step. "I'd be even more useless to my kingdom then."

From the bottom of the staircase, Rhoe's voice echoed up, "You only have eleven steps to go!"

Rowan stepped backwards again with her next stair.

"You're not useless, Aelin." He snapped his gaze up to her face. "Don't talk like that. Don't even think it."

Aelin's top lip curled. "I'll talk and think however the hell I please!" She took two steps not bothering to feel them out. "Don't you dare give me orders, prince."

Rowan reeled back a couple steps. "I didn't mean it like that—"

"What did you mean then?" She dropped one hand to her side, gaining another stair, increasing her descent. "That you know my new limits better than I do? That keeping from saying what everyone in this entire castle's thinking out loud will make it less true? That I'm not blinder than a rutting bat—?"

Aelin gasped as the heel of her boot caught on the edge of a missed stair.

"Aelin!" Rowan instantly jolted forward, catching her at the waist at the same time she caught herself.

Her knuckles as white as the stone railing, clouded eyes wide. Panting, she settled the rest of the way onto the step.

Rhoe gasped and raced up to his parents. "Are you okay, mama?"

Rowan knelt on the stair before her, pulse racing. He reiterated the question silently, 'Are you okay?'

Rhoe sat beside Aelin and hugged her waist above Rowan's still steadying hands. He ignored the hard-silver toggles of her jacket pressing into his face.

Slowly, Aelin pushed Rowan's hands away, and returned Rhoe's hug. She answered their son, "Yes, I'm fine."

"You scared me!" Rhoe's words were heavily muffled as he clutched at her tighter. "You gotta be careful!"

"I'm okay." Aelin reassured him, stroking his back. "Just missed a step."

Rhoe pulled back to look at his mother, his face lighting up with an idea. He scooted to the side. "Why don't you try this?"

He placed his hands on the step beside him, feet both on the step below and lowered his bottom to each step. "Just sit and scoot down the stairs."

Rowan's lips twitched fondly.

Rhoe continued scooting and called back to Aelin, "It's fun and there's no falling down!"

Rowan asked him, "Have you ever tried sliding down a banister?"

Rhoe stopped on the last stair and looked over his shoulder at his father, head tilted, "No, how do you do that?"

Rowan winked at him. "Remind me to show you sometime."

Facing the railing, Aelin asked through their bond, 'Did anyone else see?'

Rowan glanced around them to the empty hallways above and below. 'No, we're alone.'

Aelin nodded and pulled herself back to her feet; Rowan following suit.

They took a few more stairs, before he explained, "I hadn't meant what I said as orders. I said not to think like that because your mindset is half the battle."

Their progress halted again and Rowan looked up to see an unreadable mask on her face. "Even with your loss of vision, you're far from useless. You can still lead our people in this war."

"Is that why you finally decided to come for me?" Aelin asked. "The troops weren't following your lead so you needed me to guarantee the victory? As a—a –a weapon?"

"What?" Rowan's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "No, gods no. I'm not her, Aelin. You're not a –" He took in her stubbornly set jaw and sighed. This wasn't the time to push that issue. "You're missing the point."

He collected his thoughts, reaching out to brush her hair back behind her ear. "I'm saying that it's what you believe, Aelin, that you will be."

Aelin jerked away from his hand and pushed past him. "I believe I told you not to touch me."

She was unable to see the deep hurt that flashed across her mate's features.

Another week passed by and Aelin pushed herself in getting around—Alone, save for Rhoe.

She pushed herself in exercising. She pushed herself in studying the brail books Elide had managed to find in the royal library. But above all, she pushed herself hardest in training.

Each time she hit the mat with Rowan still standing, missed her target and her knife got the wall instead, got the direction of a sound Rowan created via his wind wrong, she simply insisted, "Again."

Only when Rhoe couldn't stand being in the hallway anymore would she take a break.

Not stop. No, only take a break.

It was nearing the—recently agreed upon— end of their stay there in Wendlyn, when Aelin and Rowan sequestered themselves in the training room once more.

She'd come a long way since their first match when she couldn't even tell that she was facing away from him. Now she matched and parried his every swing and thrust of his sword. Their speed had increased enough to where Rowan's normal running instructions and corrections had tapered off in his concentration.

While it was unmistakable to Rowan how much progress she'd made in such a short time, she was still nowhere close to where she had been five years ago. Glancing at where there would normally be a cocky smirk adorning her face, now Rowan saw only grim determination. Tension. No, she was nowhere close to where she'd been, in form or in spirit.

The air whooshed as her sword swung for his neck forcing him to lurch backwards.

She was actually standing a chance of winning her first of these matches—that is until she focused too much attention on blocking where his sword was swinging for her side and not on where he still stood.

He held his blade against hers and grabbed hold of her free arm, making her jump. "You're narrowing your senses too much."

Aelin gritted her teeth and wrested out of his grip with a grunt, turning out of the lock of their practice swords. In doing so though, she hadn't paid attention to his foot slipping behind her knee.

Rowan threw her off balance with the hook and smacked the sword out of her loosened fingers. Aelin growled and lunged for his jaw with her elbow only for Rowan to snatch her wrist and twist her arm behind her back.

Rowan stilled and expected her to as well but instead she grabbed at his wrist and pressed into his joints to break the hold.

"Aelin."

He had to dodge the open palm strike she threw at his chin and twist her around. He pulled her tighter against him, now gripping both wrists with one hand. Heart dropping as she remained unaware.

"Aelin."

She bent forward as much as the position allowed and let out a cry of frustration. She pulled her leg back, preparing to focus her escape on his lower half.

"Aelin, stop." Finally, he brought his practice sword from where it hung in the air before her exposed throat, to gently tap her there.

Her struggling ceased instantly.

The only sounds that filled the room for a few heartbeats was their panting breaths.

Rowan looked at his wife's blank expression in the mirror on the adjacent wall and battled with himself on what to say. How to feel.

She's planning on fighting in the war in less than two weeks… and she didn't even know for a full minute that his blade had been at her throat.

Aelin straightened with a predatory stillness and whispered, "Let. Go."

Rowan did so instantly and stepped back.

Aelin didn't move.

"You did really well," Rowan ventured, his voice too loud in his ears. "That was the best—"

"I still lost."

Rowan expected tears. Anger. Another put down of herself or snapping at him. But instead her voice held a far-off quality and she said nothing more before slowly making her way to the door. A hand extended before her.

She called out the door, "Rhoe?"

A quick shuffling sounded from the hallway and their bright-eyed son and Elide soon appeared in the doorway. Rhoe skipped the distance to Aelin and took her offered hand.

"Have someone send the Head Healer to our room." She said to her old friend, "I want to start the sessions for my eyes. Right now."

Four argument and healing filled hours later, Aelin was bent over the bowl in their bathroom. Retching. Rowan knelt beside Aelin, holding her hair back.

"If you'd have listened to the healer," He said, "You'd be out there scarfing down chocolate cake with Rhoe right now."

The healer had told them that one session most likely wouldn't bring about any sight, only after a second one would it be possible. And even that he couldn't guarantee. Nor could he guarantee how much of her sight would be regained—at any stage.

What he had guaranteed was serious side effects.

Every stage of her healing would be long, risky, and painful. Migraines, eye pain, nausea and vomiting, among a few of the resulting symptoms.

Aelin hadn't been deterred though. She demanded that the healer do as much as necessary, immediately, and not to stop until she'd gained back her sight. Any amount of it.

Aelin hadn't been awake to hear the healer when he'd finished tell Rowan he'd done as much as he dared do in one sitting.

But she'd been awakened by the pounding ache in her head and the intense urge to empty the contents of her stomach.

And now, as she leaned over the now foul-smelling latrine, a smile of relief graced her features. For she didn't regret her decision one bit.

Not when—blurry and heavily shadowed as they were— she could just make out the outlines of her hands and the bowl before her.

A/N: I was so stuck on this chapter, and by adding all that I did here it's put us back a chapter. So as of now this story will be about 25 chapters long. Might possibly be longer. I apologize for taking so long for this update, I'm battling a serious chronic illness currently and that's also added to my taking longer so please be patient with me. As I said in my authors note of "Outtakes of a stay-at-home male" (WHICH PLEASE CHECK OUT GUYS! I am able to update that one sooner than this one cause theyre one shots and they do include Aelin! Also I put NOTIFICATIONS OF UPDATES FOR THIS STORY in those author's notes!), I'm enjoying this story and I won't abandon it so don't worry about that. As always, thank y'all for being so awesome! Your reviews make me smile, give me more motivation, and ideas! Know I'm paying attention! I'd love to hear what you thought about this chapter too! Your thoughts on the tension between Aelin and Rowan? Until next time~ V