#rowanwhitethorn

[acourtofmishapandmistakes]

Rhysand: Know why I called you in here?

Azriel: Because I accidentally sent you a dick pic.

Rhysand: *Stops pouring two glasses of wine* Accidentally?

[tomtenadia]

Of Ice, sneezes and libraries....

Happy Yulemas @goddess-aelin. It took me a while to find an idea for your present and then yesterday it it. I hope it's any good. I just wanted to write a bucket load of fluff and put some babies in it because I love Rowaelin as parents. At the end I play with the carranam blond because I love the idea but in the books is not as used so it appears to create some more magic.

Wishing you happy holidays and I really hope you will love this ❤️

King consort Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius, an immortal warrior who had faced armies, battled countless foes, conquered lands, deposed despots, was exhausted. 

With a deep sigh he let his heavy body collapse on the comfy chair in the library he had built for his wife, in the castle.

His wife, Aelin Whitethorn Galathynius, Heir of fire and a long string of other titles he would playfully call her during adult times. Aelin the love of his life. The woman with whom he had walked out of the abysm he had created for himself.

Lazily his head moved, taking in the vast quantity of books she had collected in the ten years they had been mated. Ten years in which both had worked hard at rebuilding Terrasen after the war. Aelin, while building alliances with foreign lands and him out, on the ground helping their citizens rebuilding what had been destroyed. He was not a man for political intrigue and courtly nonsense. He needed to use his hands. Be active, do something that involved physical labour.

On that day he had finished training some of the new recruits and now he just needed a bit of peace until his wife was free again from the meeting with an ambassador for a faraway land. He was impressed by how she had stepped up to the task of being Queen. With time the council had fully accepted her and slowly, Terrasen had started healing.

He was about to doze off when his keen fae ears picked up a noise a few doors down and with the speed of an immortal he rushed to the room.

Once inside, he started breathing again when he noticed that everything was okay, then his gaze shifted to a specific point where the crib was. There he found a set of eyes as green as his staring back at him.

His smile widened at the sight. Their daughter Aisling was standing up and calling him.

Aisling was born a year before and was his carbon copy, something that Aelin loved to complain about. “You carry them for nine months and they they look like the father.”

It had taken Aelin a while to get pregnant but the moment he felt the spark of life in his wife, he had fallen to his knees and cried while holding her. He was going to be a father. 

“What is it my love?” With long strides he covered the distance quickly and a moment later his daughter was in his arms with her head tucked in his neck. “Did you had a bad dream?”

She sniffled louder and he realised that there was something wrong with her “Are you sick?”

Not a second later a sneeze left her and the room around them plunged into winter.

He looked around with interest “Do you have ice magic like your dad?” A deep grin broke on his face “oh you and I are going to have so much fun with mum.”

Aisling moaned and he woke from his revelry. When she sneezed a couple of more times and the room turned in an icy box he realised something was wrong. He grabbed a warmer cloak and wrapped his daughter in it “let’s go and see the healer before you freeze the entire castle.”

With Aisling tightly in his arms he rushed out of the room and sped up to the wing where the healer resided. Along the way Aisling sneezed a few more times causing patches of ice to decorate the walls. He made a mental note to go back and fix it, but first he needed to look after his daughter.

With his huge form he stormed in the infirmary and demanded to see the healer.

“Your majesty, is everything all right?”

“Aisling is sick she is sneezing and creating ice and she is warm at the same time.”

The healer motioned for Rowan to place his daughter on the bed and Rowan obeyed but hovered close by like the protective buzzard his wife liked to call him.

The healer made his daughter laugh and a few icicles sprouted from the ceiling.

“Curious,” added the man “usually fae kids start to show sign of magic around five but I am not surprised that the daughter of two powerful fae is showing signs this early.”

“Will she have ice magic?”

“It will not settle for a while longer but it looks like for now that’s where she is going. Your majesties will have to start magic training for the princess quite soon.”

Rowan nodded in silence “is she okay?”

“Yes, it’s just common flu.” The man gave the king a bottle with a blue liquid “this should help her. She needs rest, perhaps some milk with honey at night before bed and she will be fine in no time.”

Aisling kept giggling and Rowan picked her up “let’s go back to your room and see if the magic ice is gone.”

While they walked Aisling kept babbling and he loved the sound. Sometimes she used real words that she was picking up from them but others it was total gibberish and he was there for it. He loved to imagine that she was telling him stories of crazy adventures in faraway lands.

After Aelin, Aisling was the second love of his life. Nothing matter when it came to her. Not even the long sleepless nights when he looked after her to allow Aelin some rest. Aisling had been the most perfect of gifts.

“Dada!” Another sneeze and another patch of ice appeared on the tapestry.” Rowan laughed “let’s go and get you your medicine”

“Ice!” She pointed out with het chubby finger

“Yes my love, you have ice magic like dada and I am so proud.” he slapped a loud kiss on her cheek and the girl snuggled close to him.

Ten minutes later they were back in the room, Aisling in bed with no intention of sleeping. A bad bout of sneezing had plunged the room into the ice age. Aisling was now crying and fussing and Rowan had ran out of ideas until he decided to use his favourite trick. In a pop of light he transformed in his hawk form and flew inside the crib and Aisling stopped crying. She studied his form and then patted him babbling happily “biddie!”

He was enjoying his daughter patting his wings that he did not notice his wife stepping into the room.

“Now buzzard, do you miss me so much that you have to turn into a bird to have your daughter cuddle you and stroke your ego?”

Bird Rowan let out a shriek and with his head he nuzzled his daughter’s hand and Aisling hugged him tight “Dada biddie!”

“Come on old man,” Aelin extended her arm and Rowan flew on it. He stared at her with his head slightly tilted in a silent conversation between the two.

Then a pop of light and he was back in fae form at her side.

“Hi wife,” he kissed her, while pulling her to him with a hand landing on her still flat belly “How are you both?”

“Fine, but why is the nursery covered in ice?”

Rowan turned and his head tilted to point at their daughter. 

“Was it her?”

“She has a cold and when she sneezes well…” his arms pointed out at the result.

Aelin squealed and grabbed Aisling in her arms “of course, not only you look like your dad, now you have his magic too? You ungrateful little thing.” A loud kiss on the girl’s cheek “This one better be like me and have fire,” she joked while caressing her belly.

“Mama ‘ove you.” Aisling wrapped her tiny arms around Aelin’s neck.

“I love you too, my baby.”

Once their daughter was in bed, Rowan accompanied his wife in the library. He let her take the big comfy chair while he sat at her feet with his head leaning against her belly, while Aelin scratched his silver hair “what’s wrong with Aisling?”

“The healer says it’s just a cold. He gave her a tonic that will make her feel better, but for a few days we might want to make sure the castle is extra warm,” he looked up “good thing we have a fire fae…”

Aelin smirked “try not to get too close to my flames if you don’t want to sizzle those pretty feather of yours, buzzard.”

Rowan in response kissed her belly “I love your fire, you know that.”

Aelin leaned forward and kissed his head “you were never afraid.”

His piercing gaze met hers “how can I, Fireheart?” A kiss on her hand “you are my equal, my heart, my everything, your fire completes me. My carranam.”

Aelin smiled and slid down, sitting near her husband “what else, my king?” Her tone suddenly changing. Rowan pulled his wife to him and kissed her deeply “maybe we should tell your citizens how naughty you like to be, my Queen.”

Aelin pushed her husband flat on the carpet and straddled him “oh old man, I’ll show you naughty.” Their hands joined together and sparks flew and magic engulfed them. The power of the carranam bond coming alive around them.

“I am yours.” An ancient promise whispered against her lips.

Later that evening they went back to check on their daughter and found the nursery completely covered in ice. In panic, they both ran to the crib and found Aisling deeply asleep under the thick blanket with her arms around the soft toy uncle Aedion had gifted her.

“She is fine.”

Rowan kissed his wife’s head with tenderness while Aelin with her magic dispelled the ice.

“Come on Fireheart, it’s late. Let’s go to bed.”

Aelin threw him a wanton gaze and Rowan lifted her in his arms and carried her to their room  “I’ll show you who is the old man.”

And as they joined in the flesh and soul once again the carranam power spread through the castle and farther out and the first snow of the season fell on the Staghorn mountains. 

taglist

@rowaelinismyotp @swankii-art-teacher @whimsicallyreading @elentiyawhitethorn @aelin-bitch-queen @bruiseonthefaceofhumanity  @mis-lil-red @thegreyj @sailorsassley @leiawritesstories @clairec79 @morganofthewildfire @sv0430 @heartless--aromantic @autumnbabylon @rowanaelinn  @susumaus98  @gracie-rosee @mybloodrunsblue @tanvee1231 @avenrebekah @whoever-you-choose-to-love  @theywillnotsingforme @universallytreepost @black-daisy-water @goddess-aelin @whispers-in-the-darkest-heart @lovely-dove-zee @athena127 @mariaofdoranelle @yashiw @renxzs  @aelin-gods-killer

[magicnaanavi]

Aelin

[bookspine-lux]

🔪 Truth-Teller from ACOTAR by Sarah J Maas

[azrielsbxtch]

[heyovivi]

𝐂𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐚 & 𝐀𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧 | 𝐌𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧

.

.

.

🏷: #throneofglass #tog #togfanart #kingdomofash #celaenasardothien #aelingalathyniusashryver #rowanwhitethorn #rowaelin #rowaelinfanart #sarahjmaas

[aelin-fire-bringer]

#rowanwhitethorn

what do you mean hes fictional. i need him

[nateliert]

One of my favorite scenes in Tower of Dawn, Chaol and Yrene are superior in every way and I’ll die on that hill

[whimsicallyreading]

“The King and his men stole a queen from her bed, and bound her in her bones-“ Colm R. McGuiness

CW- Blood, Mentions of drugs/herbs

Part Three

After an hour of slogging through the sodden forest, Rowan finally comes across a trail, and a sigh of relief escapes him.

Inland roads weren't a thing amongst the Northman. They proffered to travel through the watery canals of the Terresan fjords. The canals were treacherous, a labyrinth of water that even his Queen's best cartographers didn't quite understand. It's what made Terresan so impenetrable and the Earl Rhoe's offer so tempting.

If Aelin were conscious, perhaps he could fashion a raft and put more distance between them and Hajmel. But with her limp form still in the throes of fever, he couldn't risk it.

Sooner than he expected, the smell of smoke filled Rowan's nose, and the trail he walked on showed more signs of frequent use. It was a risk to enter an unknown Earl's territory, especially as a Saxon, but Aelin desperately needed tending and a dry place to rest. Rhoe wouldn't uphold his bargain if she died, and his Queen would not be pleased. So, it was a gamble he was going to have to make.

Rowan assures that the cloak covers her face as the trees thin into fields, and he sees a small cluster of farms. They aren't the neatly built buildings of Doranelle or the stout strongholds of Hajmel's village- just simple shacks of wood and thatched straw with animals grazing about.

"Aelin," he jostles the woman on his back. "Can you hear me?"

A small whimper sounds from his shoulder, and her fingers clench against his tunic before going slack. "I'm getting you help."

Rain begins to trickle from the skies as if the Nords sensed his presence and he was unwelcome. Aelin twitches, and he wonders if he should carry her in his arms but doesn't want to hinder his movement if he has to fight or run.

Rowan really hopes someone will sell him a horse.

He approaches the tiny hut and notes the lack of a front door. Shifting awkwardly, he knocks on the wooden frame, "Well met, is anyone home?"

Silence.

He makes to step inside but finds the end of a thin hunter's knife at his throat. Rowan freezes and raises his hands to show they are free of weapons, Aelin's weight sagging fully into the sling without his grip on her legs.

A slender brunette woman with eyes the color of grass is at the other end of the blade. Behind her, a young girl with a face full of scars cowers near a pile of animal hides. "Saxon," the guttural word falls from her lips with a growl.

"I mean no harm," Rowan says slowly, uncertain how well she was acquainted with his language. Rhoe had informed him Aelin was fluent in both, but he should have considered that the rural villagers would speak the old language. "My companion and I are only looking for a place to rest."

Clever eyes took in Aelin's cloaked form, and the blade to his neck dug a little further, drawing a bead of blood. "That is a woman. She does not look like your companion but your prisoner."

Her heavily accented voice speaks his language with a confidence that surprises Rowan. "She's been hurt. I'm looking for a safe place to tend her wounds."

"There is no safety for women in these lands." She lowers the blade and steps away from them. "You may bring her inside, but if you cause trouble, I'll feed your body to the crows."

"Evangeline," the woman beckons the cowering girl forward. "Go across the way and see if our neighbors have any spare yarrow root." The girl nods and sprints across the field, golden-red hair trailing in her wake.

She beckons for him to lay Aelin down on a pelt, but Rowan hesitates. "The girl's not going to bring armed men back with her, I hope."

"Her name is Evangeline. Use it. And no, she's not. You are a lucky man to happen across me. I've had practice tending wounds." She gives him another stern gesture, and Rowan yields.

Carefully, he maneuvers Aelin to his front, then down onto the pelt. A hiss of pain escapes her as Rowan eases her onto her stomach. There are bloody patches on the cloak where the gashes leaked through the makeshift bandages. Laying a hand on her head, Rowan feels for fever, but they are both too chilled for him to tell after spending the night outdoors. She's a ghostly pale, and he fears that maybe help came for her too late. That he had been too late.

The woman kneels next to Aelin and begins unwrapping her from the cloak. "Make yourself useful and start a fire. She needs warmth."

Silently, Rowan finds himself obeying her orders, his inner soldier clinging to the assuredness in her voice. If this woman could help Aelin, he wouldn't stand in her way. "What's your name?"

"You may call me Lysandra, and what of yours?"

Before responding, he considers the question a moment, "I am Rowan." His name meant nothing in these lands. There was no hiding the fact he was a Saxon, so he may as well use his proper name.

"And hers?" Lysandra pressed as she gathered Aelin's sodden hair and laid it over her shoulder. There was a glint in her eyes as she took in the blood and signs of malnutrition.

"Elentiya."

"That's not a Terresan name," Lysandra sets a kettle over the newly made fire and gathers clean strips of cloth.

While Rowan could hide behind his name, Aelin's was recognizable across the lands. She was a mythical figure, a minor deity to the people of Terresan, and he didn't need word of their location to travel back to Hajmel. "She was given to me as a bride. That is the new name I have gifted to her."

Lysandra's hands freeze, and she looks up at him with furrowed brows. "A new name?"

"Yes," Rowan pulled from a grain of truth. When foreigners defected to Wendlyn, it was customarily to take a new name, especially wives. He never saw a point to it, but it made for a convincing cover story to conceal her identity.

It doesn't have the desired effect as Lysandra seems to deflate, and she lays a protective hand on the back of Aelin's head. "You steal her from her people and take her name away."

"She is willing," Rowan assures, but a pang of guilt throbs in his chest. He has to remind himself that he is not the person who stole Aelin, but the one tasked to return her home.

Nonetheless, she had been stolen. It was the first time in this journey that fact sat with Rowan.

Hajmel had raided Aelin's village and taken her- away from her father, her family, from the people she was destined to lead. It wasn't just Maeve who was invested in the outcome of this mission. There was a man who'd gambled everything to a foreign enemy to see his only child brought home safely. Aelin hadn't known he was coming. She'd been prepared to die when he first saw her upon that dais with Hajmel's ax raised above her head, eyes full of living flame.

He'd lost family in his lifetime. Memories of his first wife, swelled with child, lying broken and bleeding flooded his mind. Images of his sweet mother rotting away on her death bed and cousins sent off to far-off wars never to be seen again. Rowan couldn't stop the frown as he recalled Selene's shattered face as he road away to Terresan. It's a different realm of pain to know someone you love is suffering.

Aelin had family waiting for her.

Rowan swallows thickly, and Lysandra looks down at Aelin, refusing to meet his gaze again.

When Aelin's wounds are uncovered, his stomach drops. The cauterized cuts are no longer stuck together, and the burned edges weep blood. It's a grizzly sight accompanied by the purple blooms across her broken ribs. Lysandra's hand sweeps across her skin tenderly. Poking. Inspecting. Her face is grim.

"There is an infection, but her body is still fighting. Hope is not lost. When Evangeline returns with the yarrow root, I'll make a salve. I'll start on some apple bark tea, and maybe we can give her a fighting chance."

Evangeline arrives at that moment, clutching a bushel of stems with white pail buds. "Modir, I have it."

She hands the yarrow to Lysandra, who strips the roots from the stems and hands them back. "Use those and start on making a tea, then come help me dress the wounds. It's time you practiced."

Evangeline is careful to skirt around Rowan as she follows her mother's orders, her scarred face cast down.

"Thank you for your help, Evangeline." Rowan lowers his voice to address the girl. "We are grateful for your help. The both of you."

Evangeline acknowledges him with a nod, stems clutched tightly in her hands. "Are you taking her south?"

No. "Yes," Rowan says. "To the coast of Wendlyn. Where it never snows, and it's forever summer."

The little girl nods solemnly, then, for the first time, she meets Rowan's gaze fully, and he can perfectly see the claw marks on her face. No, not claw marks. Fingernails. Her voice is sad, and she speaks soft enough so that Lysandra can't hear, "The people here are different. They aren't meant to be pretty and nice. They are supposed to be free. If you mean to be her companion, remember that."

"I shall," Rowan inclines his head in a slight bow, respecting the child's bravery.

It was an astute observation. The Northmen he'd met were rough and haggard, but they walked as if the mountain winds followed at their backs. They had the presence of wild things that while cunning, weren't quite tame.

Aelin exuded it on an entirely different level. He'd witnessed it as they escaped Hajmel's village when she tossed the torch into the oil and set her captors ablaze. It was a bold move. A violent one. But despite her injuries, Aelin had looked like a being of lore amid the battle, a flame incarnate. He'd been entranced by her.

Even now he has to shake his head to banish the memory and focus on the present. Lysandra had mashed the roots into a paste and mixed a little water into the bowl until it turned into a thick salve.

He watched Lysandra rinse the wounds with fresh water and pack them with yarrow. They discussed rewrapping them but decided the bandages wouldn't be of much use to her ribs laying down and her gashes needed to breathe. His shoddy attempt at cauterizing had at least kept them from festering.

"Is the tea ready?" Lysandra peeks over her shoulder to where the girl was filling a hollowed-out horn with hot tea.

Evangeline hands it over, and Rowan starts when Lysandra passes it to him. "Be careful. It's hot."

"What am I supposed to do with this?" Rowan looks between the horn and the sleeping Viking.

Lysandra's lips pull at the edges smugly. "You are her companion. You should have an easier time getting her to drink than I. Make sure she consumes it all. There is some powdered poppy milk in it to help with the pain."

She rises to her feet and gestures for Evangelin to follow her. "We must go tend the animals. Don't steal anything or I will have your head on a pike."

They exit through the open doorway and leave a stunned Rowan behind. The horn is smooth and hot in his fist, and the smell wafting from it is pleasantly herbal. He takes a tentative sniff, and the familiar scent of poppy hits his nose. Milk of the poppy was a potent pain killer, usually reserved for nobility in the south. It was curious that a young peasant woman would have a supply. He wasn't even sure the flower it derived from grew this far North.

Rowan glances at Aelin. Even in sleep, her face is pinched with pain. His eyes rake over her prone form, marking the abuse she'd endured, the bruised and battered flesh. She deserved relief.

It was awkward getting her situated, but he finally managed to prop her up in a sitting position with his arm wrapped loosely around the least damaged portion of her back. Her blond hair cascaded over his shoulder like dirty silk. He'd never seen a Saxon woman with hair as long as hers, and he could only imagine that it would resemble strands of spun gold when clean.

Rowan tips her head back in the crook of his elbow and raises the horn to her lips. He pours it into her mouth, some dribbling from the corners of her lips. Tucking the horn between his knees, he kneads the column of Aelin's throat softly, urging her to swallow.

"Come on, princess." He mutters, raising her head slightly. When he feels the muscles beneath his fingers contract, he smiles victoriously.

It takes a considerable amount of time to coax all of the tea into her, but Lysandra and Evangeline are still nowhere to be seen when he finishes. Aelin is now lax in his arms, her body no longer stiff with pain as the poppy milk takes effect in her body. Rowan's eyes scour her for any sign of discomfort and once again land on her long sheet of hair full of blood and filth.

That's something he can fix, Rowan decides. He scours the hut for supplies, sets a water kettle over the flames to warm, and gets to work.

~~~

Aelin fades in and out of consciousness, a blessing and a curse.

With awareness of her surroundings comes the pain. It radiated from her back, her knees from where she'd been forced to kneel for days. She knew as one knows an old friend, but never had it ever been so all-consuming. Every part of her body protested.

When her awareness left, it was like a shroud between her and her agony. It offered her reprieve, but every moment she spent sleeping, she put herself at the mercy of the Saxon.

Rowan.

He claims that her fadir sent him. That Earl Rhoe the Ironside begged at the feet of a foreign queen for her safe passage. Aelin didn't want to believe it of her stalwart sire. The man who'd become a living legend before crossing the bridge to Valhalla would never beg. But a small part of Aelin knew he would. For her.

She was his weakness.

Lochan had told her when her Modir died that it almost broke him. He'd locked himself in the great hall with her body, unable to let the woman prepare her body for the journey to the afterlife. Many tried to break him from his stupor, but it was like his soul had split into halves, and the emptiness around him was palpable.

It was only when he broke the door down and his wife, Aelin's aunt Marion, strode inside and forced her into her Fadir's arms that things changed. Lochan said that things were different the moment he laid eyes on her.

Thor struck his anvil the moment of her birth, and when she was rested against her fadir's chest, Marion said the flames burned hotter, wilder throughout the village. The people named her blessed, but he had named her beloved, and the emptiness vanished.

He hadn't raised her like a daughter. Aelin wasn't trained to be a shieldmaiden like the other girls her age. Her fadir pushed her harder and kept her close to his side. She learned with the boys and accompanied him on voyages, raids, meetings. Rhoe was preparing her to become his true successor, and their people welcomed her eagerly.

They saw the way the flames danced in her presence, the flare of gold in her eyes when lightning filled the skies. Those who didn't welcome Aelin feared her power. But no matter how wild the fires burned or how violent the skies became, she was the center of Rhoe's adoration.

His Fireheart.

And just like the seer had told her so long ago, she had become his folly.

So perhaps the Saxon wasn't lying, and that irked Aelin more. All of the work she'd done to prevent that prophecy from coming to pass was all for naught.

Aelin rose to consciousness a few more times. First to burning pain and then a deep chill as pouring rain saturated her to the bone, but this final wakening felt different than the rest.

Aelin wasn't cold. It was the first thing she noticed. She was no longer wet, and wind no longer kissed her skin. Instead, the warmth that could only come from fire encased her. It was a heavenly feeling, even with a fever.

Then she realizes that her initial observations weren't entirely accurate. Her scalp was damp, and something firm props her head up. Water pours over her—fingers card through her hair, massaging the strands from her skin down to the ends.

The pain is blissfully dull. Only a numbed ache that Aelin shoves to the back of her mind. Peeling her eyes open, she sees the Saxon's face peering at her. He is focused and serene, with green eyes as bright as the plains of Theralis. Her rescuer is handsome, Aelin appreciates for the first time. Rowan is the image of a warrior, tall, with a chin as sharp as a blade's edge and brimmed with muscle. Not even Aedion could match him in size.

Her head is resting against his thigh. The dense muscle supports her while her hair hangs back into a bowl of warm water. It's Rowan's calloused fingers washing the grime from her. Aelin leans into the warmth as another cup of water is poured over her hairline, a whine escaping her throat.

Rowan chuckles warmly. "No better than a cat."

The words aren't spoken meanly. Normally, Aelin would spit at such a comparison, but the atmosphere around her is airy. It calms her. Whatever was easing her pain was slowing her mind as well, making her docile. And she was laid out on his lap like a house cat. So maybe he wasn't far from the truth with such a comment.

He pulls the water bowl from under her head and uses a swath of cloth to ring the water from her hair. She winces as he roughs the top of her head with it, imagining the tangles it will cause.

"Are you going to braid it too, Saxon?"

"That is not something men do down south, Viking."

"It is a warrior's tradition anyway," Aelin mumbles, eyes falling shut as his fingers break up her clumps of hair.

"Am I not warrior enough of for it? I am considered a knight in my homeland, a soldier of honor."

"You are not a warrior like a Northman is a warrior." Aelin's cracked voice tries to match his unoffensive tone. "You are too restrained. A Viking is born with the song of war in their blood and a call for glory."

Rowan is quiet as he considers her words. "You speak my language very well for someone who lives so far from the south."

"Orynth is a hub of trade. Maybe people gather there who speak many languages. It doesn't hurt to know a few of them."

Aelin doesn't know why she is sharing so much with Rowan. Perhaps it is the drug, or maybe it's the fact she'd woken to him tending her. If his job was to return her to her fadir alive, then she understood why he mended her wounds. She couldn't die. But she was warm. Dry. He'd taken care to wash the remnants of her ordeal from her skin.

It meant something.

"Where are we?"

As if fate had heard her speak, a woman and child come stumbling into the hut where she lay. The woman is Viking. Beautiful in a feral way. Her brown hair is braided into careful rows and gathered into a knot at the crown of her skull. She wears simple clothes, but Aelin can see the fighting spirit writhing behind her eyes.

"You are awake? Good."

The young girl leans over Aelin and frowns. She is petit, with strawberry hair and a face more scarred than any of her fadir's men. "What did he do to your head?"

"That bad?" Aelin coughs heavily, a shooting racing up her back and stealing her breath.

Rowan sits her up slowly, and Aelin is ashamed of how much she has to rely on him to support her. A hand presses to her forehead, "She's warm."

The woman tuts, "It's good you washed her, but having wet hair won't do any good."

"I'll braid it," the girl offers eagerly. Aelin is almost intimidated by her enthusiasm.

"Good. I'll make some more tea for, Elentiya." The woman gages her reaction as she uses the name, but Aelin keeps her features schooled. "The Saxon can go collect more water for our dinner."

Rowan grunts and helps Aelin onto her stomach. The fur pelts beneath her are decadent compared to the hut they resided in, wolf and bear pelts. Not something a woman could come by easily alone.

The little girl is upon her as soon as she's settled. "I'll make it pretty. I promise."

"I'm sure you will," Aelin croaks, and the woman by the fire snorts.

~~~

When Rowan returns to the cabin, a yoke over his shoulders with a bucket of water on either side, he is pleasantly surprised.

Aelin is asleep once more beneath a pile of furs. Color is slowly starting to creep back into her cheeks, and Evangeline has gathered her hair into a single elegant braid.

Lysandra is cutting strips from a hunk of meat, the knife she'd had pointed at his throat effortlessly severing the bones and sinew. She doesn't scowl upon seeing him, which Rowan considers progress.

"She fell asleep while Evangeline was doing her hair. All of her strength is going into combating the infection. Was she wounded like that when you collected her?"

"Yes," Rowan doesn't want their host to think he was in the practice of harming women.

Lysandra purses her lips. "She won't be able to travel. Her body is in a fragile state. It could be weeks before she's strong enough for a long journey. I know you had yourself set on bringing home a bride, but you will be toting a corpse south if she isn't given adequate rest."

Rowan sighs, trying to word his response carefully. "She has family waiting for her. They are expecting to see her soon, or they may think something bad has befallen her."

"Is that not the truth?" Lysandra challenges. "Leave her here. Tell her family what happened and then return for her in the spring."

"I can't do that."

"Isn't it better she arrives late and alive than on time and dead?" Lysandra's voice raises. Evangeline peeks her head towards them, a garment in one hand and a needle in the other. But a glare from her mother has her minding her work again.

Rowan swallows his frustration and lowers his voice. "I am grateful for your help, but you don't understand what you speak of. She is strong. We will rest here long enough for her to battle the infection, and then we must be on our way.

He can tell Lysandra is biting her tongue, aggression lining her features. Rowan wonders why she is so protective of a woman she hardly knows. She was determined to remove Aelin from his care, unaware that Rowan truly had no ill intentions and was trying to save her himself.

"Then may Freya watch over your travels," Lysandra says gravely.

A mournful echoing pierces the quiet of the cabin. Three heads perk up at the sound, and Rowan recognizes it as the sound of a horn. Lysandra swears in the language of the Northmen, and Evangeline's face pails with terror.

"We are under attack."

Thank you so much for reading! I just had my wisdom teeth pulled, so this isn’t the most edited 😅 but I was tired of waiting to post

Let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my tag list!

@morganofthewildfire

@tomtenadia

@westofmoon

@thestoriesyoutell

@larisssss

@jorjy-jo

@live-the-fangirl-life

@stardelia

@shyvioletcat

@mynewdreamwasyou

@swankii-art-teacher

@arwenbk3

[territorial-fae-insta]

You know what would solve all of my problems? A Fenrys Moonbeam book.

[acourtofmishapandmistakes]

Cassian: Can I ask a dumb question?

Nesta: Better than anyone I know.

[tomtenadia]

My new fic

Hi all,

So, I am trying to gather all the possible courage and post the Prologue of my Hockey fic. I still don't have many chapters, but I am hoping that posting it for the public will give me the push I need to write more.

So, Rowan is a Pro Hockey player in the THL (Terrasen Hockey League) and Aelin in an ex pro figure skater now working as instructor. Rowan has suffered a serious head injury in a game and has been off for a few months and is now dealing with his healing. Aelin plays tough girl but she is still dealing with the accident that destroyed her career.

A very small part of Rowan's injury and recovery is inspired by "Unsteady" by Peyton Corinne (which I recommend to everyone if you love hockey romance) and also just a smidge of Icebreaker.

Also, Rowan is a single dad to a lovely 5 years old tornado called Maya (yes, I know always the same but I love it.)

The title.... Check my heart.... a play on the concept of cross check. Not the greatest but I am bad at titles.

Anyway, I will leave you to it.

CW: mention of injuries, panic attacks

PROLOGUE

The ice rink was empty and quiet on a Saturday afternoon.

Rowan slowly walked the familiar path that took him from the changing rooms to the ice, the feeling of walking in skates still strange after two months off.

As he finally exited the tunnel, the coolness of the stadium hit his face as he sat down on the home team bench. His team’s bench. Hockey had been a huge part of his life. He had started playing as soon as he had learned to walk. His dad had been a great champion in the Wendlyn Hockey League, leading his team to many championships and countless other major victories. His dad, Alasdair Whitethorn, had been the hero for many kids. Under his guidance, Rowan had learned to skate, and to get better. He trained, he played, he breathed hockey. In high school people had started to call him his father’s heir. He signed up for uni and graduated in aeronautical engineering. Aircrafts being another passion of his. At uni he played in the team and made captain and in his final year the offers from pro teams started to rain.

His first year as a pro in Doranelle he showed the world his skills and lead the team to a cup victory. Rowan thought he was at the top of the world, until the THL, the Terrasen Hockey League, found him and got his first offer. After three years in Doranelle, Rowan was called by Perranth with an offer that was impossible to turn down. Rowan’s career exploded, brought him across different teams in Terrasen until he landed in Orynth as captain for the Hawks. Together they won a cup and other teams kept begging for trades but Rowan always refused saying that he had finally found his team.

His career had been on a trajectory for more success until the last season. 

Until the final game in the championship when they battled the Skull’s bay Pirates for the cup.

Until…

A deep breath and he stopped as the usual wave of nausea hit him and the fuzzy memory of that night threatened to surface and break him.

If he closed his eyes he could still hear the sound of his body colliding with violence against the boards. The pain. The terror and then the darkness.

Still on the bench, Rowan shook his head, trying to chase away the memory. His team had won, after Lorcan had led the Hawks to the triumph while seeking revenge for his captain.

Even with his team mates chasing minor penalties to avenge him. Even with Lorcan getting a five minutes major for roughing after he thumped Rolfe, they still had won.

Rowan had been in a hospital bed when they told him. He should have been elated, but all he had felt was emptiness.

He blamed it on the bad concussion. His team had explained him that Rolfe had checked him from the back, pushing violently against the boards. His head had taken a bad hit as he collapsed on the ice.

All Rowan remembered was the sound of Lorcan’s voice calling for a major penalty on Rolfe, the feeling of ice under him and the taste of blood.

Another shake of his head to clear his mind and finally Rowan stood, gripping the edge of the gate. That was progress. He had made it a bit farther than last time. This time, the gate was actually open and his right foot was on the ice. He took a deep breath and the left foot joined his companion on the ice. Gently, he pushed himself away from the boards and stood there. He stared at the Hawk logo painted under the ice and then took a tentative skate towards the middle. But when he paused and took a look at the empty stadium, memories betrayed him and the screams and the noise of a game hit him. His head started pounding and a moment later he found himself sitting at the centre of the rink, his chest tight and his breathing laboured. A panic attack.

“Are you okay?” A voice called behind him.

He heard the distinctive sound of blades scraping the ice but did not turn until he saw a woman kneeling in front of him. Even in his confused state he could not fail to notice that she was the most stunning creature he ever saw. Her hair was blonde and tied in a tight high bun and her eyes. The woman in front of him had deep blue eyes with a ring of gold in them.

Was he dead? Had he actually died on that hockey game and this was finally heaven? Was she an angel?

“Hey, you okay?”

She touched his shoulder and felt real. No. He was still alive.

“You fell?”

He nodded lightly.

“Come on big guy, get up, I need the ice.”

“Oh.”

“I have a class coming and I have the rink booked up.”

Rowan stared at the woman, she had black leggings and a jumper. Her body was definitely the one of an athlete but at the same time he could see elegance in the way she stood on the skates in front of him.

“Come on, off the ice.”

“Hey, I can use the rink too. How much space are you going to need?”

“The whole of it?”

He scoffed “I just need a small part.”

Aelin snorted “The ‘learn to skate’ class is tomorrow morning.”

Rowan stared at her aghast. Did she have no idea who he was?”

“I can skate.”

“You fell and look unsteady. I doubt it, big boy.”

“What, you never fell in your life?”

Something strange passed in her eyes and Rowan had a feeling it was hurt.

“You really have no idea who am I?”

The woman folded her arms at het chest “Should I?”

“Captain Whitethorn of the Hawks.”

She snorted loudly “a hockey barbarian, I should have suspected.” Her tone dripped disgust.

“I assume you don’t follow it.”

“What, watch a game where ten men skate on the ice like brutes and pound each others just for the sake of it?” She protested, not moving from her stance “the only thing I know is that you oafs destroy my ice and it takes the Zamboni a lifetime to repair the mess you make.”

He was about to reply when he heard voices and saw a group of kids entering the ice “Well, princess, your class is here,” he touched his head in salute and in a powerful move he skated to the opposite side of the rink, well far away from the woman.

*

It was later on when he finally left the venue with a sliver of hope. It had been his first day out on the ice since the accident and he had gone through some basics exercises that coach Gavriel had recommended. It had not been easy and being back on the ice had felt alien all of a sudden. A few times he had stopped to watch the strange woman teach young kids figure skating. He had watched her demonstrate some basic moves and he had been totally enthralled by her.

Now he was finally home and a smile appeared on his face when a little tornado crashed against his legs “dad, you are back.”

Rowan kneeled and kissed the girl who was his clone “I am, muffin, did you have a great time with grampa and nana?”

“Yes, we baked.” She grabbed his hand and dragged her father in the kitchen where on the table lay numerous trays of chocolate biscuits.

“Did you bake for an army?” He asked his mother.

“We are taking some of them for her friends at skating classes.”

Aside from hockey, Rowan had another big love in his life. His daughter Maya. His life. His everything. Maya had been born five years earlier from his first marriage. He had met Lyria still back in Wendlyn. Lyria was a rising star in the world of figure skating. He had fallen hard for her and a year after dating he had asked her to marry him. Not long after they got married he got drafted in the THL and Lyria refused to move due to her busy competition schedule. One of the biggest championship was happening in Wendlyn that year and Lyria wanted the win. 

Lyria’s dream got destroyed when she discovered she was pregnant. Rowan had gone back to Wendlyn to watch one of her competitions but Lyria never turned up. She gave birth to a baby girl a month before the world championship.

The day after she had been discharged she had served him the divorce papers and a letter in which she renounced to all her rights as mother. Lyria had left the house the following day. No goodbyes, no last words. Just a a note on the bed reading You ruined my dreams.

Two days later he was back in Terrasen with a newborn baby and a career as pro hockey player. He had tried to find some information on Lyria after he was back. She had moved to a land very far across the ocean and had tried to restart her career but eventually gave up and became a trainer.

“Were you on the ice?” Asked his father sitting at his side on the sofa.

Rowan closed his eyes and nodded.

“How did it feel?”

“Alien,” the answer barely a whisper “I hated being on the ice, dad.”

“It takes time.”

“The team will be back from summer training camp in two weeks and then we need start preparing for the season. We have the first friendly game at the beginning of September against Perranth. I don’t have much time.”

Alasdair placed a gentle hand on his son shoulder “I know, but recovery takes time. Especially after such trauma.”

“I am the captain and I am letting my team down.”

Alasdair was about to reply but Maya came running and screaming for her father’s attention. “Dad, nana says that dinner is ready. Wash your hands.”

The girl was about to run away but Rowan stood in a powerful motion and lifted his daughter upside down on his shoulder. Maya laughed freely and patted his back screaming to be let free.

Rowan deposited his daughter on her chair and inhaled the scent on his mother’s cooking.

Being a famous THL player came with perks. He had signed a very good contract with the Hawks that allowed him to live a very comfortable life. He had bought a beautiful house in the outskirts of Orynth near nature. While all of his team mates had modern luxury mansions in the centre, he had gone for a cottage that he had slowly expanded and fixed up. It was cozy and, most of all, Maya loved it. They had a lake at the back that in summer was used for swimming and in winter they would use to skate together. Most of his money went to make sure his daughter had a good life. When he came back from Wendlyn with an infant, his parents had flown to Terrasen to help him and Rowan would be forever grateful to his parents for the help they had given him especially when he was away for his games. 

His mother’s voice woke him from his thoughts “Are you taking Maya to the rink tomorrow morning? It’s her learn to skate class.”

“Yes. I need to go and train anyway.”

“Rowan, you should not push yourself too much.” 

He sighed. His mum was a sports doctor and she saw his situation from the point of view of a physician. His hand curled in a fist and took a deep breath, he knew his parents were just looking after him “Mum, I am just getting again familiar with the ice.”

“Nana, can you skate?”

Rowan mentally thanked his daughter for the interruption.

“Yes, my love. Your grampa taught me to skate a long time ago.”

Maya smiled happily.

“Once the lake is once again frozen we can go you and I so you can show me all you have learned.”

The girl’s grin spread and her green eyes brightened in happiness “my teacher said I am good.”

Eiddwen lifted the girl on her legs and stamped a kiss on her cheek “of course baby, you are a Whitethorn.”

The dinner eventually finished and after his parents left, he took his daughter upstairs and helped her get ready for bed. 

She climbed in bed and grabbed her soft toy “dad, can you tell me a story of when you won a cup?”

Rowan smiled and sat at her side. Maya had grown surrounded by hockey. Her grampa, although retired, was still an important personality in the hockey federation. He would take Maya to the games if possible and would explain what was happening. She loved listening to some of the stories of his victories from both her dad and her grampa. 

“You don’t want a story from the last book we bought?”

Maya shook her head “not tonight.”

Rowan sat properly with his back against the board of the bed and pulled Maya against him “It was the third period of the cup final and we were down by one and down one man….”

taglist

@rowaelinismyotp @swankii-art-teacher @whimsicallyreading @elentiyawhitethorn @aelin-bitch-queen @bruiseonthefaceofhumanity  @mis-lil-red @thegreyj @sailorsassley @leiawritesstories @clairec79 @morganofthewildfire @sv0430 @heartless--aromantic @autumnbabylon @rowanaelinn  @susumaus98  @gracie-rosee @mybloodrunsblue @tanvee1231 @avenrebekah @whoever-you-choose-to-love  @theywillnotsingforme @universallytreepost @black-daisy-water @goddess-aelin @whispers-in-the-darkest-heart @lovely-dove-zee @athena127 @mariaofdoranelle

[libraryinthecountry]

★ What do you think of the new Throne of Glass covers? I really like them, especially the US ones! I feel they clearly identify the books as epic fantasy, which the series certainly grows toward throughout. I will forever love the old covers though, and you can be I’ll be cherishing my original set. I might just have to get another set of the OG covers so I can have them on display—right now they’re hidden by the incredible @nerdyink dust jacket set! I’m rereading the Throne of Glass series now (my first reread since Kingdom of Ash’s release! 😭) and am all up in my feels reconnecting with the characters. I’ll gladly take any love Bloomsbury is willing to show the series! ★ HASHTAGS // #throneofglass #sarahjmaas #bookstagram #nerdyink #fantasybooks #bookstack #aelingalathynius #rowanwhitethorn #dorianhavilliard #chaolwestfall #manonblackbeak #kingdomofash #bloomsburypublishing #booknook #bookshelves https://www.instagram.com/p/Chcb_rsLYZc/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[bookspine-lux]

🌋 Amarantha from ACOTAR by Sarah J Maas

[romance-me-up]

How many editions of the same book do you have??? Throne of Glass Ebooks on ibooks Paperbacks Hardcovers (recently acquired) Mini Editions Everything Audible book Special Edition Throne of Glass Lol #throneofglass #throneofglassseries #bookshelf #bookshelves #bookshelvesofinstagram #bookrecommendations #booklover #bookstagram #books #sarahjmaas #sjm #aelingalathynius #rowanwhitethorn #manonblackbeak #dorianhavilliard #elidelochan #lorcansalvaterre #chaolwestfall #yrenetowers #fenrysmoonbeam #lysandra #aedionashryver https://www.instagram.com/p/CqHi7DJgsgR/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[alexandracurteart]

❤️Aelin and Rowan❤️