FALLEN | rowan whitethorn x oc

CHAPTER THIRTEEN - my before and after

Rowan and his friends travelled non-stop for two days. Isabella's horse was left at an inn in a town close to Bellhaven.

The animal had flared its nostrils at the male when he had grabbed its bridle to guide it while Lorcan carried the unconscious girl.

"I know" Rowan had told the animal -which he had no idea if Isabella had even given it a name-, trying to relax the horse by massaging its neck and muzzle. "I know very well you prefer her presence, rather than ours, but behave until we are back"

The male didn't know if the horse preferred Isabella just because she fed it and shamelessly spoiled it, or if just because of the animal's personality.

Maybe both.

During their journey, they didn't stop to eat or rest. Fae were fast, and the group of four males was adept. Exemplary. Stupendous. They were faster, stronger, and more powerful than the ordinary folk. That had been why they had claimed such high ranks in their military. Because their superiority was undeniable, and their wits and willingness to leave everything on a fight utterly scintillating.

So they ignored their bodies' demands, and instead focused solemnly on the most important task: getting Isabella to Kilax.

They succeeded.

And in record time. A fact to which Lorcan was unbearably pleased with.

They found the ancient healer's residence due to the fact that they had known him before. The male was almost as old as time -though his appearance had frozen in youth, like most immortals did- and could will magic unknown to most creatures who wandered the earth.

Rowan had met the healer, by pure luck, almost two centuries ago, when he had been struck by a poisonous arrow and abandoned to die by his cowardly fellow soldiers. Kilax had found him almost dead, lying on the grass stained with his blood and those who had bled and left their lives behind before Rowan.

Miraculously -and still unexplainable- the old male had surveyed Rowan's condition, and decided to help him. He'd taken him to his house, and healed him. And when Rowan had awoken from his close call to death uninjured, the male'd presented himself.

"My name is Kilax" He had offered, his voice gruff, as if he didn't use it often. "You should rest, Prince Rowan, even if your body is not bleeding anymore, it still needs to acclimate"

Rowan hadn't spoken his name, but the male had known it, anyway. Perhaps he shouldn't have been surprised by that fact, since he was one of the five members of the royal family in line to the throne of one of the most powerful kingdoms in their world, but Rowan's lips had parted in astonishment, regardless.

Shortly after that, Kilax had introduced himself entirely to him -or as much as the male tended to- and notified him that if he ever needed his assistance, he would be willing to help.

So he had asked him why, for Rowan was still wary of the strange male, but the healer had left his question unanswered. Instead, his eyes had hinted a glow -of mystical, powerful magic that stirred something primal in Rowan: fear. And respect- and his had merely said, "You will need me in the future. And I shall welcome you in my home, when that happens. My existence is unknown to most beings, but now that you know me, your magic will remember me. That will guide you back to me when the time comes. Do not disturb me before that"

And that had been that. Rowan hadn't seen the healer since that only time, but had shared his experience with his trusted friends, for he had often wondered if they had encountered the timeless male, too.

None of them had even heard of his name before Rowan had mentioned it. But they all knew that he was the only option they had of saving Isabella, for the poison in the arrow shot at Rowan centuries ago should have killed him. It was incurable. Neither Fae, or Witches, could have healed him from the venom that had burned in his veins.