Rowaelin Oneshots (Throne of Glass)

The Second Reunion

It was like seeing Aelin for the first time all over again, not only due to the time they had spent apart, but how much of her had changed. So many new scars and burns he hadn't been there to protect her from, and though the loose clothes she wore concealed her form, he could tell she was deathly skinny. From the fingers that wrapped around the dagger she held, the sharp points of her shoulders, the delicate column of her neck, and her hollow cheekbones, gone were the curves he had worshiped those blissful weeks. Rowan raised his gaze to her eyes, they were the same eyes, but they weren't, like she had built a solid divide between her and the base instinct to survive. Rowan had seen it before in his soldiers and comrades, and Aelin had welcomed it like an old friend, but it still was a punch in stomach when she met his eyes and nothing happened, her eyes didn't light up, or glint. Her lips didn't twitch upwards, or fall open, and her feet didn't move an inch. For a second Rowan thought she was going to back away from him. In that second all the fantasies of their reunion were erased, that just them being together again would solve all the problems.  And the reality settled in, a reality that he had always known but never accepted, she had been tortured, tormented, and violated for almost a year, and she would forever be affected by what had happened and she may never be the same. It would be like starting all over again, she may not even love him anymore and she may never love him again. Rowan accepted this the best he could, and slowly stepped forward. He steadied his ragged breathing, holding her gaze. When she didn't bolt or shy away like he had half expected her to, he approached her cautiously, until her head had to tilt up to look at his face.

"Aelin?" he whispered, her scent flooded through him and he was overcome by the urge to wrap her in his arms and just hold her forever and never let her go. But he didn't, because he no longer knew her- he did not know this Aelin, and he didn't know how she would react, or what memories his touches would stir. 

In the moment Rowan waited for her reaction the only thing he could feel and hear was the pounding in his chest. Aelin stayed still and emotionless, until one eyebrow slowly raised up. He could almost hear an echo of her amused, lovely voice whispering buzzard back. It was an action so familiar, so like the Aelin he knew, he couldn't help the relief the flooded through him, his lips twitching up into a full blown grin. For a second.

He reached between them, brushing his hand against her cold fingers, and gently took the dagger away from her. Rowan bent down, keeping her gaze, and set the dagger on the grass- To give her time to analyze, to adjust to him, and just to show that he wasn't a threat and she didn't need to fight anymore- he would never let anyone touch her again. Rowan rose to his full height, and reached towards her again, latching his fingertips to Aelin's. He swallowed. 

"Do you want to go home?"

She mindlessly nodded, the alert leaving her eyes, replaced by layer upon layer of weariness. Rowan guided her a step forward, pulling her by her fingers.

Aelin's legs moved but they were shaky and weak, he wondered how she could stand at all. Rowan stepped backwards, he slid an arm across her back, bringing her arm around his neck. When she didn't protest Rowan grasped her legs and plucked her up. She rested her head against his chest. He felt his heart sink further at how light she was, the rough bumps of skin on her back that imprinted his flesh, and the bones he could feel dig into his chest and biceps.  

He carried her to the pathetic excuse for a safe haven, a run down inn. Luckily no one was in the inn's bar when they entered, Aelin had fallen asleep but Rowan could feel his fae instincts taking control. In his arms, he held his injured, helpless, mate. Though he liked to think he had more control than most fae males, he knew he could perceive the slightest glance in Aelin's direction as a threat. 

Rowan padded up the stairs to the room, his feet not making a sound. His body was tense, ears perked up, and eyes darting at every creak of floorboards. He could not remember a time where he had ever been this alert- this on edge. He glanced down at Aelin who was limp in his arms. She seemed so fragile. He was afraid to hold her too tightly lest she crumble to ash, or to hold her too softly, afraid the light draft would carry her away. Her head lolled to the side, and fell over his arm, exposing her throat. For a horrid moment it looked like Aelin was dead- not sleeping, and Rowan gripped her tighter just to reassure himself. He didn't let himself take her in, didn't give the wrath the time to bubble up at the sight of the scars and burns, the purple bruises in the shape of hands that covered every bit of exposed skin.