Of Witches And Wolves | M. Helvar ✐

05 | Let Me Help

Rowan lifted their head and saw genuine curiosity in his eyes. They shrugged and took a deep breath.

"Those things on the walls-- those trophies --are what make Grisha who they are." They found it hard to explain this to Matthias. "Most of us don't have real families, so we make them. Those crests represent families torn apart." Rowan didn't want to talk anymore.

It was painful to talk about something so sacred, so deeply woven into the culture at Little Palace. Despite all the petty fighting and gossip, Grisha are loyal to a fault. Entire groups will die just to protect one another.

Memories of their family came back to the surface, their older brother happened to be in the group Rowan was placed in. And of course, that was used as leverage to playfully poke fun at Rowan. They loved their brother but he was quite annoying. Even if Jensin raised Rowan.

They called themselves the Sem'Ya, one of the older groups in Little Palace. Hence their name literally meaning "family" in old Ravkan. Many powerful Grisha were assigned to that group, even Zoya Nazyalensky herself. Rowan adored Zoya in every way possible.

It was childish, sure, but Zoya was so admirable. She was powerful and not to mention drop-dead gorgeous. Rowan remembered growing up looking up to the Squaller. Sure they were different power-wise, but they were Etherealki all the same.

So was Rowan's older brother, he was a Tidemaker like them, and a talented one at that. Jensin was no more than four years older than Rowan but he was more like a parent to them. A lenient one but he was the one who taught Rowan how to handle their tidemaking.

Rowan wasn't the best... at tidemaking, so to speak. Hence doing recon missions that didn't really require their powers. They hated how terrible of a Grisha they were whenever shows of power came into play but they were good at everything else.

Picking up languages was like breathing, memorizing hymns for ceremonies, reading through material in the Little Palace faster than any of their peers, and being decent at close-combat. But whenever it came down to using any aspect of summoning, Rowan's powers seemed to sputter out.

Their entire life, they've been embarrassed by their lack of strength. Rowan spent endless hours with Baghra or Botkin Yul-Erdene, trying to master their skills. Years of practice lead to mediocre power at best. So instead of suffering, Rowan begged Botkin to train them in more combat-based fighting.

Rowan was destined for the First Army from the moment they were born. Military parents will do that to you.

"You never told me they were..." His voice trailed off awkwardly.

"How would I have said that without--"

They sighed deeply and shook their head, "You just don't understand, Matthias. When I say that I'm not calling you stupid, I'm stating a bloody fact." Rowan saw how Matthias rolled his eyes at them, "I know you hate it when I say that, sorry but it's true and you know it."

Matthias began rolling his shoulders before he winced. "Let me help." The words were out of their mouth before they could think, their eyes met his, that tension and distrust were still present. "Don't even start, Helvar." He closed his mouth.

Rowan moved slowly, not wanting to startle him. They both met halfway across the cell due to the fact that one of their ankles was chained each. "Sit up straight," Rowan lifted his arm and held it out straight in front of him, lining it up as neatly as possible, "This might hurt," They shoved his arm back into place.

He howled and reached up to grab his shoulder. The sound of the pop told Rowan it should be in place right. Matthias moved to pull his arm away but Rowan shot him a dirty look, "Stay fucking still." They ordered.

He froze, "Thank you," Rowan felt around his shoulder and pushed lightly into some places in case of any serious injury.

"You didn't need to kick me so hard," He mumbled.

"You shouldn't try to choke me then, Helvar."

He hissed through his teeth, "Why do you keep calling me that?"

Rowan shrugged and leaned back, "Would you prefer Drüskelle or?" He glowered at Rowan. "I'm kidding... kind of." They tilted their head and looked at his shoulder. They reached out and pulled it forward and moved it around a little bit, "Hmm, seems fine."

"It hurts," He complained, rubbing the muscles around his bicep.

Rowan forced their smirk down, "Good, maybe you won't try to kill me again."

"I wasn't trying to kill you."

"Liar." They refuted.