FALLEN | rowan whitethorn x oc

CHAPTER ELEVEN - kisses, interruptions and tears

Isabella was dreaming, of that she was sure.

She often had nightmares, but, occasionally, she was able to dream.

So she dreamed.

She was not precisely sure of her location, but something inside of her told her that she was facing a land of magic. A land where their citizens did not age, where water was as precious as any glowing stone, where mountains protected the surroundings from unwanted visitors, where every creature inhabiting the land was dotted with immeasurable beauty, where the elements could be controlled and the magic of the place followed its course.

It was, unmistakably, the most magnificent place she had ever seen. Kids played in the streets while their parents conversed with each other. On the other side of the city, a band played peculiar instruments with such agility that Isabella felt goosebumps rising in her arms. But that was not where Isabella was going. Her feet were moving on their own accord, it was instinct and memory guiding her in her dream. She walked through the city, through stone pillars, and extravagant buildings; passing wolves running through green fields, until she stopped in front of a big house.

The building was enormous. It had rows of big windows with white curtains that Isabella knew –somehow- that were as soft as the clouds in the sky. There were no bars circling the property, and she had the drifting feeling that it was because no one would dare to disturb the owners of the house. Isabella felt drawn to the house, for all of its size, it still sent a wave of homesickness as she gazed at it. She entered it through a set of high, white wooden doors.

Inside, the house was full of colors. Different paintings –of sceneries, of people whose faces disappeared from Isabella's memories even as she looked at them, of moments in someone's life- hung everywhere, bookshelves with many, many books were glued to two walls, and signs of a happy, inhabited home were everywhere she looked. The sight made Isabella feel immensely happy for some reason.

The sound of a child's laughter erupted from somewhere in the house, the sound joyous and bubbly. More laughs followed it. Isabella heard footsteps before a small girl appeared. The little girl ran as she giggled. Isabella was only able to recognize the odd but beautiful lavender color of the girl's hair before she disappeared through a door. From where the little kid had come from, a small white bird flew past Isabella, following the path the girl had taken mere seconds ago. As the dream began shattering, she heard heavier footsteps coming from where the girl and the animal had appeared, but it was accompanied by the sound of a baby laughing. Isabella was only able to recognize the figure of a tall, unknown man carrying a baby in his arms before she woke up.

Isabella gasped as she rose from her bed, leaving the sheets scattered all over where she had slept. She paced from one side of the room to the other, running her hands through her already tangled hair as she tried to recall her dream. It was already fading from her memories, leaving only the remaining feeling of happiness in its stead. But she wanted to remember it, it certainly did not seem important, but it had been beautiful. And it had been so long since Isabella had felt so light after a dream. It was already too late, the images conjured by her mind while she slept had already vanished from her mind. Only the lightness in her heart was the only thing convincing Isabella that she had dreamed at all.

She tried to go back to sleep, but she could not. She tossed her sheets as she tried to find a comfortable position on the bed, but her mind had already begun to work its way, so she did not fall asleep again. Instead, she decided to put on her black, dirty boots and comb her hair before throwing all of her –few- scattered belongings on her bag and leaving her room. Quietly, she walked through the corridor outside of her bedroom and searched, inside of her memories, the path leading to the front door of the inn.

She took one step after the other, trying very hard not to make a sound, knowing very well that her fae companions had a hearing sense sharper than those like her. She went down the stairs, hunching her shoulders and keeping her gaze on the floor while looking, imperceptibly, under her eyelashes to the path in front of her. She tried to disappear and bend herself to the shadows, ignoring everyone she encountered on the tables, and stepped outside after walking right through the front door.

She took a deep breath as soon as she was outside, breathing the air of the town. She turned to the back of the building, following the direction of the sun, and stopped when, through the high trees surrounding the back of the inn, Isabella saw the first signs of dawn.

There were very few clouds in the sky while the shiniest stars were still visible despite the changing colors in the sky. There were spots where the blue was darker than others, and spots where the colors were a stunning mix of light purple and red. She grasped the strings of her bag tighter as she marveled at the image in front of her. For years, she had been unable to see the sky, much less dawns or dusks, and she had missed it. She had missed it so much that she was not able to contain the sigh that left her mouth as a knot worked its way in her throat.

"Thinking of running away?" A too familiar voice said behind her. She flinched at the sound, turning around to look at the figure that had startled her.

Rowan stood a few steps away from her, with his arms crossed over his chest as he narrowed his eyes at her. He was wearing the same clothes as the night before at dinner -white linen shirt, the same black boots as her, and brown pants-. His long hair was tied back, his pointy ears being more noticeable than ever with that hairstyle, and he looked so utterly beautiful even so early in the morning that Isabella felt the sudden urge to hit him in the face. And then hit herself for noticing his beauty when he was such a jerk.

"What would you do if I were?" She asked him, raising an eyebrow at him. She had not planned to escape, she had no idea where she was, and she was not strong enough to survive on her own yet. She had only left her room because she had wanted to see the sky, and she had brought her bag with her because she tried not to go anywhere without it.

Rowan pretended to think about it, bringing one of his hands up to cup his chin while he looked at her from head to toe, "Stop you"

His words surprised her, it appeared she was more needed than she had assumed if they would take the time to stop her or look for her if she decided to run away. She tried not to show the surprise on her face, she did not want him to notice anything she felt. "And I assume you would be able to stop me"

"Your assumption is correct" He said, nodding.

"And how would you do it? In your animal-form or trying to trace my steps in your fae-form?" She asked while toying with her bag, trying to look as if the answer did not really matter to her.

Rowan snorted, "Good try" He told her, looking bored by her failed attempt to discover his ways of tracking, to try to know what to do if she escaped, so that he wouldn't be able to find her.

She blinked at him, innocently. "What do you mean?" She asked him, the tone in her voice a bit higher than usual.

He rolled his eyes at her, "Stop it. I will not tell you anything"

She dropped her innocent act at his words, "Oh, I already know that. Neither you or your friends ever tell me anything" She said, her words coming out more harshly than she had intended. She turned to look back at the sky before she could see if her words had any kind of impact on him.

She did not hear him move, but she felt his presence besides her, keeping his distance but still close to her. Close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, the strong and harsh aura around him. She glanced at him sideways, feeling strangely nervous by being alone with him after everything. He was not looking at her, but rather up at the sky. She could have sworn she heard his intake of breath at the sight. They stood together for minutes as the color of the sky turned from purple to a clearer light blue.

"You would do the same," He said, suddenly. She frowned at his words, confused by them. She did not want to give him the satisfaction of asking him what he meant by his words, but she found herself opening her mouth to ask, anyway. He interrupted her before she spoke, "If you had information you thought was important, -or information you thought a naïve, innocent person shouldn't know- you would not speak, either" She parted her lips in surprise and anger, had he just called her naïve? "In fact, I know you have kept information to yourself. There are things you have not told us, so why would we tell you everything when you have not done so with us" He finished, still not looking at her.

It was true that there were things she had not told them, things they had no right to know, things that were too private that even she refused to think of; but she was not like them. They never told her where they were, or the direction of their journey, they never told her of Sarah J Maas or how they knew her, they never told her of the world she had found herself in, they never answered her questions unless they felt like it. And it was maddening. She often felt like they were playing with her, that they were just using her when she knew that they needed her. But it was not the simple act of keeping things from her that bothered her; it was that she felt like they did not respect her. She had been treated as a piece of dirt for years, had suffered it, and the only thing she wanted was respect. She yearned for it, to be treated equally, to be treated like a person: not as if she had no right to know things that concerned her. And she knew, she just knew that they had realized what she wanted.

At the trail of her thoughts, she pursued her lips, her frown deepening. "I would never do the same things you all do" She told him, and she did not mean just keeping secrets to themselves. It meant to be used and kept in the dark as if she meant nothing, it meant neglecting her healing until they had a use for her, and it meant acting like a jerk and ignoring her after they had got what they wanted.

Her words caught his attention, for he turned to look her in the eyes as soon as the last word had left her lips. He studied her expression, looking for something Isabella did not know. He gazed at her for a long time, just studying her expression, looking into her eyes as if he could see right through her. She hoped he could, she hoped he could see how angry she was, how she felt, how broken she was, and how little she needed. He took a tentative step closer to her, as if he could not hold himself back. He had dropped his arms, and they now hung at his sides, his hands in fists. He clenched his jaw, and she tried not to look at the perfect line it formed. Isabella did not want to back up, so she did not step back. She raised her chin, looking at him, defiantly.

"We are allowed to keep things to ourselves" He said, finally.

"Of course, we are all entitled to secrets. We are humans, Rowan" She saw him flinch at his name in her lips, and she wondered why he disliked her so much.

"I am not a human" He said, his tone matter-of-fact.

"No, that is obvious" She responded, cursing herself for forgetting such obvious facts.

He tilted his head to the side, the gesture reminding Isabella of a bird. "Does that mean that, in your eyes, I –we- are not allowed to keep secrets?"

Isabella thought about it, considering his words. She had not spoken with the idea of them being a separate being, as if they really were completely unconnected to the idea of humans, and what it meant to be human. But fae did not only have sharper senses, they were also immortal. They lived for centuries, they contained more memories and experiences than any human ever could. So how could they be tied to the same laws of those whose lives were timed? Isabella was not even sure it was possible for someone to live for so long and remain intact; to feel the same way, to think of the world the same way...

"I think," She started, and stopped to lick her lips, nervously. She saw him following every single one of her movements with his eyes, his gaze appearing slightly dazed for a moment, his pupils big. She started, again, "I think it means that those who are not human, who do not consider themselves as humans, could never feel as a human does. Therefore, they are not entitled by the same laws"
She felt him go tense at her words. He staggered back a step, as if her words had gotten him out of his trance. "How do we feel, then? What are we entitled to, huh?" He asked her, his tone harsh, his words sounding more like a growl than real words.

She thought of her life, of all the happy memories she had, and how easy and fast they could be ruined by sad experiences. She thought of her short life, of everything she had endured, and tried to think if she could tolerate an immortal life full of memories she wished she could bury under water. She thought of the weight of an immortal life, and the unbearable weight that memories had on one's soul. How could someone tolerate that? How could someone live centuries with that weight? How could their way of living, of feeling, of seeing the world itself be the same after carrying such a weight? She came up with an answer. "You do not feel at all" She breathed, the words more to herself than to anyone else. It made sense, for Isabella, to come up with that. She thought of herself, and the weight of her soul, and she wished she could not feel at all. It would be so easy, so light...but even if she lived to be one hundred, it would never be enough time for her to disentangle herself from her emotions.

Isabella saw, with surprise, Rowan taking several steps away from her. Looking at her with a blank expression, proving her words. She envied him, for a moment, to be able to detach himself from the world of emotions like that. But then her gaze caught on the tattoo that covered half of his face, that went on to cover half of her upper body, written in a language she would never be able to understand, telling a story of tragedy and pain; serving as a reminder of everything he had lost, and the weight that loss had on the heart. Isabella did not know if the story behind his tattoo was the same as the one she had read about in the books, but if it was, had he detached himself from feeling after the events that led to his tattoo? Or was his mark just a proof that no matter the time, a soul never forgets?

She opened her mouth to speak, to apologize, perhaps, but no sound came out. She was unsure, nervous around him. She had taken it too far with her words, she wanted to explain herself, but she was not sure how. She was not sure she would ever be able to speak of the parts that made a soul, and how those parts were made of experiences and emotions, and the weight they settled over the owner of a soul. She wanted to explain that the weight of her feelings was unbearable, that they had broken something inside of her, and that she would give anything not to feel; even if that made her soulless.

But Isabella did not know how. She tried again, she opened her mouth but no sound came out. She saw something change in his expression, she saw him move closer to her, saw him bring his hands up to grab her by the shoulders while his lips moved, but she could not hear him. She could not hear pass the pounding in her ears, pass the pain in her heart. He cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to focus on him while he kept speaking, but she still could not hear him. There was a knot in her throat, and she felt the tears on her cheeks. When had she begun crying? She had not noticed the wetness in her cheeks. She was panicking, she knew. And, once again, in front of him. What was it about Rowan and her panic attacks?

He kept her at arm's length, even as he kept his hands on her face, even as he breathed in and out, pleading with his eyes for her to do the same. She tried, but it was so hard, so hard and painful, she did not want to feel anymore. Then, she felt the air. Air inside of her, and then out, as if she was breathing. But she was not, she could not. A kind of statistic surrounded her, and though it should have been startling, it felt like a welcomed caress.

The air kept coming, she felt herself calming down, her eyes swollen but dry, and the pain still there with her, but kept in the dark. She relaxed enough that she breathed normally, without the help of Rowan's magic. She did not know how, she had never seen him use his magic, -she hadn't even been sure until minutes ago if he had the same kind of magic that book-Rowan had- but she knew that he had been the one helping her breath. She was still not sure if she felt grateful or not.

Rowan kept his hands on her arms, grabbing her, steadying her with his strong, big hands. She knew he was the only reason why she had not fallen on her knees while her attack took hold of her. She kept breathing with her eyes closed, she did not want to see him in the face. She did not want to see him looking at her and for her to try to decipher the emotion –or lack of it- behind his gaze. But she could feel his eyes on her, though, his whole focus on her. She was hyper aware of it, somehow. So she tried to focus on her breathing, and tried to regain control over her body and mine.

Isabella did not know how long they stood like that, Rowan holding her, breathing with her as she tried to recover. It could have been minutes or hours, but Rowan did not complain, he did not mutter a word, he was just there. And, for some reason, his mere presence was better than if he had tried talking to her. Sometimes people did not need reassuring words, sometimes people just needed to feel someone there, to feel the heat and presence of another person, anchoring them to the world.

She was grateful after all.

She took one last deep breath before opening her eyes and immediately locking her gaze with Rowan's. His gleaming pine-green eyes locked on her, something sparkling behind his gaze. Like a flame burning, but whatever it had been, it disappeared before Isabella was able to decipher what it was. It had come and gone so fast, that she convinced herself she had imagined it. His brows were slightly curved into a frown as he surveyed her, his lips set into a thin –almost worried- line, and his hands were strong but not painfully so on her.

She sucked in her breath at the sight of him. No matter what kind of Rowan he was (if the real one or the one from the books she loved), he was always a sight to behold. He was pure muscle, and yet his grip on her was gentle. He was so, so beautiful. He had gotten closer in between times, and he was close enough that she could detect his scent. He truly did smell like snow and pine. He reminded Isabella of winter, her favorite season.

She saw him looking down at her lips as she sucked in another breath, she felt him go tense at the sight, his grip on her slightly tighter than before. He had to duck his head to be closer to her eye-level due to their height difference, but he did not seem uncomfortable.

"Are you feeling better?" He asked her, his voice raspy and thick.

Isabella was not sure if words would not fail her if she tried to speak, so she just nodded. He nodded back, getting vaguely closer to her. She felt herself going warm, her cheeks flushing red, the places where his hands made contact with her skin were burning under his touch. They were close enough that they were almost sharing breath, and she cursed herself for not washing her teeth before going out to see the sky. But if Rowan noticed it, he did not show it. His pupils were dilated, turning them almost to black. She felt the sudden urge to close the short distance between each other, she wanted to kiss him, to feel him all over her; no, she needed him. The realization of her need was startling, she had never felt such a way before, the urge was too strong, and she could feel it dazing her. If only they could be closer...

Rowan must have realized what she wanted, because his grip tightened, and she heard him whisper a word in the Fae language, probably a curse. She felt every word on her body, the tone of his voice sending an exciting shiver running down her spine. He leaned closer, she closed her eyes, and not daring to move, scared of breaking whatever spell there was in the air...

"ROWAN! ISABELLA!" Fenrys' voice pierced their giddy bubble. They both flinched at the sound, stepping apart from each other as they turned at the sound of the unwanted male's voice. Isabella saw Fenrys close to the inn's back, but still very far away from them, waving one of his hands in the air, trying to get their attention.

She felt herself burn red with embarrassment as she cleared her throat and stepped further away from Rowan. She looked sideways at him –because she did not dare to look directly at his face, partly afraid of what she would find, partly not trusting herself- and saw him looking at Fenrys with a murderous expression before wiping away from his face any kind of trace of emotion. She looked back at Fenrys when she heard his footsteps coming closer to where they were. The younger male looked from Rowan to her, assessing the situation, before directing his attention completely to her. He smiled brilliantly at her, "There you are, we have all been looking for you"

She cleared her throat again, resisting the urge to run her hands nervously through her hair. "Were you?" She asked, distractedly, still too aware of Rowan's presence.

Fenrys chuckled, as if her words were so dumb, he found them funny. "Of course we were, we are about to have breakfast. Well, Lorcan already started but Gavriel is still looking for you" He told her, and then his gaze fell on the bag in her back. "What were you doing here?" She opened her mouth to respond, but he interrupted her, directing his next question at the male she had been about to kiss. "And what are you doing here?"

Rowan crossed his arms over his chest, the movement flexing his muscles, and making him appear taller than what he really was. He towered over Fenrys. He did not even glance at her as he spoke, "She was trying to escape, I caught her before she could leave" He shrugged.

Isabella's mouth fell open, she wanted to protest and defend herself –and also hit Rowan with a baseball bat- but Fenrys smiled at him as if his words made sense. He did not look mad, though. "Good job, Rowan" He told the taller male, and then his gaze went back to her, "I assume you have decided to stay, so let's stop wasting time and go inside to have breakfast. There are no eggs this time" He teased, and Isabella felt herself forcing a smile.

"Sure, let's go" She told him, not waiting for an answer before striding back to the inn. She did not look back at Rowan.

She could explain that she had not been trying to escape, but then how would she explain the reason behind Rowan holding her, of them being so close to each other, without revealing what had almost happened between them? She felt cold all over. She felt like an idiot. Like a young girl who did not know how to control her hormones at the sight of a man like Rowan in front of her. She was so angry, so embarrassed at herself for behaving like that. She did not even want to think why Rowan had followed her, why he had almost kissed her. He probably was just playing with her, internally making fun of her in his mind as he realized that she had fallen for him just like all the females did.

She hated him. She hated herself. She just wanted to forget what had happened.

She kept walking to the inn, with Fenrys by her side.

-----

Rowan Whitethorn followed the sight of her until she disappeared as she went the inn's front with Fenrys by her side, talking animatedly about something –probably- stupid. As he closed his eyes, the memory of her face so close to his remained in his mind, repeating itself over and over.

He ran a hand through his hair, over his face, flinching as he felt the ink of his tattoo on his face. He sighed. He was in so deep shit. So, so deep. And their journey had only just begun. He had almost kissed her. Almost. He would have if it had not been for Fenrys' interruption. He knew he should be glad the male had stopped them from doing something they would both regret, but a part of him, a most primal, animalistic part of him, wanted to break Fenrys to shreds. That was a part of him he had believed would always remain dead. He did not know how to behave, how to deal with her, how to deal with the whole situation now that he knew that that part of him was not only alive, but buzzing with need.

He thought again of her, of how she hated him, of how he did not know what to do to get closer to her, how to make her forgive him for doing whatever had made her hate him in the first place. But he knew he had to wait.

That was all he could do. Wait and be patient.

With his eyes still closed, he tried to readjust the boner in his pants. He used his magic to conjure cold wind to wash all over him, to calm him down. He would have to do something with such a burning need inside of him. Even if she felt it, too, she was not ready. She had suffered so much, she had been treated so badly, depraved of freedom, that she deserved to be able to enjoy her new life. To find the beauty in the world and life again. She deserved freedom. Damn, she deserved the whole world.

She needed time, she needed to heal, he needed to heal, they both had to find a way to recompose themselves and stop walking around as if they were nothing but broken glass.

Because how would he help her, if he was just as broken as she was?

He looked up at the sky, the same sky she had been gazing at with so much wonder and happiness in her eyes before he had been unable to stop himself from talking to her. He should have known better. She hated him, thought of him as a monster who could not feel, as a creature with no emotions, as someone who wanted to keep secrets from her...

He was not even sure he was not just as she had claimed; he surely behaved as if he could not feel at all, sometimes he truly could not feel. Unlike her, who felt too much. But whenever she broke down, he felt himself breaking down too at her sight. Those two times with her had been the first time in two hundred years when he had felt enough to be shaken with the strong force of it. He was not so sure it was a good thing.

He sighed, and as the waves in his mind dispersed, he forced the memory of her to vanish from his mind.