Rowaelin FanFic: Real Nightmare

A Broken Prince

Rowan held Goldryn carefully in his hands, the ruby on the hilt gleaming like fire in the sunlight, a trapped flame in a cage. Just like his Fireheart.

He sighed and gripped the blade harder, drawing thin lines of blood on his palms which trickled down his arm like red rivers. His hands were peppered with these cuts, some of them fresh, some of them now scars. Thousands of them, in punishment for not being there to protect the woman he loved. Day after day he'd done this, the pain never enough to dull the guilt in his heart at knowing he's failed her. Day after day trying to suppress pain of not knowing where she was on the line of life and death.

Day after day for 3 years, 4 months and 16 days.

3 years, 4 months and 16 days since he had landed on that beach, seen the pool of blood and the torn shirt and felt the world fall from underneath his feet and left him tumbling into a black abyss. 3 years, 4 months and 16 days since he had held a knife and Lorcan's throat and screamed at him the words that had changed everything.

Where is my wife?

He had made a vow that very moment to never stop looking, never stop searching for the woman to held his soul and body in her firey heart.

3 years, 4 months and 16 days and he still had not fullfilled it.

He no longer wept, or sobbed or screamed himself awake in the night, roaring her name as he thrashed in the dark, pinned down on the floor by his friends. He had slipped into the killing calm, when he could not remember. The ice in his heart and veins had been melted by the queen but now that she was not here, it had returned along with the desire to murder anyone who got in his way. To kill anyone who tried to stop him from finding Aelin.

It was the only thing that had kept him going these past years. He never felt the bond of the blood-oath anymore. He knew it was there, just... ignored it. If he was going to find Aelin he had to do it on his own terms. Yet it was that bond that stopped him from toppling over the edge that loomed so dangerously close every single day.

That and the unfailing loyalty of his companions; Elide, Lorcan and Gavriel. The four of them had travelled all of Erilea, searching in places so lost, no one knew the names of them. They had stumbled upon abandoned kingdoms, destroyed either in Adarlan's reign or some other war that was beyond the memory of even Rowan. They had searched the skies and the sea, the caves underneath Erilea's land and the forgotten forests and jungles of the Red Desert. But she was never there and day by day he lost hope of ever seeing his Fireheart again.

There was a soft hand on his shoulder as Elide crouched in front of him, worry laced with pain in her eyes. That look was in all of them, settle deep and true in their souls. The pain in Elide's eyes were not just for him, but for all of them, and most of all for the woman locked in the iron coffin.

"Rowan," she whispered his name so softly, "Rowan stop that." he glanced at the sword and was shocked to see that it was covered in slick blood where his hands gripped it and his arms covered no longer in rivers but ruby red waterfalls. He didn't try to hide his dismay as he looked at the weapon.

"Rowan this is not what she would want. Give me the sword." she tried to gently prise the blade from his fingers but he refused to let go, "Rowan," her voice was sterner now, "Please."

The word snapped something in him. Aelin had said those words to him many times, with the same stern softness, a guiding persistent light. He dropped the sword and it clattered to the ground. Elide reached and lifted it up with careful hands, "I'll put this away for now, you go and clean up, we'll be leaving in a few hours." to start all over again, were her unspoken words.

Rowan nodded numbly as she left, Goldryn, still covered in his blood, laid flat on her palms as if she were presenting it to someone.

He stumbled over to the trickling stream and knelt down in the wet mud. He dunked his arms into the crystalline water over and over again until all the blood was washed away. Then he began to heal the cuts, these ones larger this time, but making sure to leave a thin scar on his hands. A mark, to prove that he regretted not being there and that the guilt that writhed inside him like a snake was not going ignored. He had once said as much to Aelin.

"You collect scars because you want proof that you are paying for whatever sins you've committed." that's what he had said to her, all those years ago in Mistward. Now he truly understood why she kept those scars on her back, on her hands, arms and legs. He would now pay for his failures and she would know that not a day went by that he didn't think of her.

"Rowan lets go." a gruff voice said and Lorcan pressed a small slice of bread and a few berries into his hand. Rowan thanked him but as soon as he was out of sight behind his horse, he chucked them away, feeling to sick to even look at the food. He knew he ought to eat, his mind was a wreck and his body was slowly deteriorating too - the thick muscle of 5 centuries of training was no longer a powerful as it used to be - and his magic was becoming weaker and weaker by the day. He could barely summon a gust of wind or shards of ice without feeling nauseated and shaky.

He hopped on the mare and clicked his tongue and they were off, the early morning light shining through the trees and dappling the muddy ground with golden rays. The dew scented air hung heavily, clinging to his body and shirt like a second skin. He loved mornings like this - they were one of the few things he still found some joy in these day - and cherished every breath of nature. His Fae senses heightened the crisp smell of grass and wind and the scurrying of animals in the bushes. He spies a pair of glowing golden eyes in the shadow of a tree and broke into a rare smile.

The Little Folk had been watching them all these years, following in the shadows, hidden escorts. He had no doubt that they knew how important this party and its goal was and he guessed that what they knew about what was going on in Erilea was far more detailed than his own knowledge. He hadn't heard much about the plans of Erawan who resided in Morath. No big battle had arisen in years.

It was like the moment Aelin was captured, the world had stopped dead.

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