Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius had been searching for too long. The days had passed in a blur of thoughtless motion-- no, not thoughtless. For there had been one thought on his mind since he'd started looking, and everything had narrowed down to that thought, that purpose: find Aelin. He would not rest until he had. And if the unthinkable happened, and the flame that kept him tethered to this gods-damned world flickered and died... There was be no words that could describe what he would do to Maeve and Cairn before he joined her.
He had shifted long ago, a little before the sun had fully risen, and was now perched on a tree branch, sharp eyes searching for even a hint of that fire. Maeve had made it very clear that she wanted Aelin to be used as a weapon, and a weapon he'd look for.
Smoke in the distance. Something like hope made the pain in his chest ease a little, and Rowan dove back into the skies on his own wind, pulling himself through the air as fast as he could go. Buildings and fields swept by under him, and he kept his eyes fixed on that dark cloud. The smoke edged closer until he was right beside it, the black smog curling and gathering like storm clouds.
Rowan's heart dropped to his belly when he found the source-- a celebration of some sort, preformed by the mortals in the village. Disappointed and in more pain than before, Rowan swooped to the ground, out of sight of the villagers. When he was sure nobody was watching, he shifted again and sighed silently, shoulders drooping.
Six months. Six months had passed since that bitch had shoved Aelin into a box of iron and taken her away from him. He'd gone through the Staghorn mountains and went as far as Oakwald in attempts to find her. He'd even returned to Wendlyn, but Maeve wasn't there, and seeing the places where he knew Aelin had been hadn't proved to ease any of his suffering.
Rowan had spent every moment of his search planning out just what he'd do to Maeve if he ever got the chance. But his first priority was Aelin, and the rescue would be a bad time to get revenge. So Rowan spent his time fantasizing about clawing out her eyes with his talons, or sucking the air out of her lungs for the fun of it. Child's play, really, compared to what he'd do if Aelin was killed. Either way, he planned to spend many, many nights with his former Queen and show her just how angry he was, when he got the chance.
Rowan began walking down the mostly-empty path, a hand on the sword strapped to his belt, and prayed to the gods that he may find her.
The few people on the path skittered out of the way upon seeing him. He didn't know if it was the Fae features, the dark tattoo covering one side of his face and neck, or the weapons strapped to his body that intimidated them. Maybe it was all three. The silver-haired warrior didn't care either way. He couldn't look at a person without comparing them to Aelin. The woman who took four steps back upon seeing him had the same color hair as her, if not a few shades darker. The boy who'd met his gaze and didn't look away had that boldness he'd found so infuriating.
It was difficult. Waiting. Difficult to not fall out of that focus that had been trained into him, and fall into some frenzied state that he'd never claw his way out of. His Queen, who'd been so afraid of the darkness from Endovier that she'd had nightmares, even after she'd come back to Terrasen-- his Fireheart was shut in the dark again.
But no matter how long it took, no matter the rules he broke... He'd find her. He'd bring her back to him, to hee court, to Terrasen. And then he'd gut the bitch that took her from them in the first place.
With that thought, a grim, near-smile played on his lips, and he left the village and smoke behind.