#rowan whitethorn x oc
Hawk & Sparrow [Rowan Whitethorn x OC] - Chapter 4
WARNINGS; Fantasy violence, cursing, Mirima doesn’t have self-control and that leads to her burning out a Lot, Rowan avoiding his feelings, Mirima having no idea about her feelings, there’s a lot of feelings being avoided, power dynamics in the relationship.
Her fingertips felt electric. She felt as though the hurricane inside of her was aching to get out, as though she were drowning in her excitement and her fear. Today was the day. Rowan was bringing her a new plaything, a new training partner. It hadn’t happened since she had almost, quite by accident, drowned one of the demi-fae that had come to Mistward.
Apparently she wasn’t supposed to do things like that.
Mirima had gotten up earlier than usual. Her time had been spent at a small pond on the eastside of the fortress. The pond itself was hidden away behind tall trees and dense underbrush. She doubted anyone else knew about it. The only reason she had found it was because the water had called to her. It had sang a soft lullaby that only she could hear. Pulling her to it until she had claimed it as her one spot of solace.
She trained there when she could not stand to be around Rowan and the others, or when Rowan could not stand to be around her. It was the one place she felt at peace. The one place where she didn’t have to worry about losing control. Although, if she did, she would certainly be dead. The pond that was her safehaven could easily became her tomb. She just didn’t think about that sort of thing.
She sat on the banks, not minding the mud’s coldness seeping through her breeches. Her eyes were closed, her legs crossed, and her breathing focused for the first time in quite a long time. Mirima could feel the currents in the pond as though they were the breaths in her lungs. She felt as though she could hear each movement, feel the ripples whenever the wind blew. She was connected in a way that should’ve been impossible. Perhaps it was and she just didn’t realize it.
As she focused, water began to lift slowly from the pond. It formed a shield around her, droplets occasionally falling on her head. She didn’t notice them, didn’t notice anything but the way it felt as though she was protected.
The water began to float away from the protective shield, forming shapes in the sky. Mirima always loved to have fun with her power, Rowan often scolded her for it. He never wanted her to be wistful, never wanted to watch as she dreamed her life away. Maybe that was a part of being in the cadre. There was no time for dreaming, only time for destroying the parts of yourself that couldn’t be changed. Maybe there was a good reason why he didn’t want her following his path.
But Mirima could not believe that. She could only believe that she was destined for something more than this. More than sitting around and behaving like a lady, more than watering plants or acting as though she was something other than a weapon waiting to be crafted. She knew that she could be useful. She knew that she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life hiding in Varnsway. She wanted more. Wanted romance, adventure, love, lust, and being whoever she was meant to be. She wanted to be the person in her father’s stories. The hero who set off on adventure, not the damsel who was left behind.
If Rowan had it his way, she would be locked in a tower never to see the light of day. She didn’t understand why he acted as though she were nothing more than a spoiled brat. Why he treated her as though she needed protection and as though she was not smart enough to wield a blade. Maybe it was just because he was a pompous idiot. Or maybe he didn’t want to see her hurt. Although, the latter was far too ridiculous for Mirima to ever truly believe.
Rowan cared for no one but himself. She knew that firsthand.
“Mirima Floros!” His voice rattled the trees, sending ripples through her pond. He was angry at her and it wasn’t even eight in the morning. “Hellas, where are you?!"
Mirima’s concentration broke, the water falling. It soaked her to the bone but she stood and hurried from her hiding spot anyway. She hadn’t realized how late it was getting. She hadn’t realized that she was late for her training session. It was perhaps the fifth time it had happened in all the years she had been working with him. She knew that he would not take any excuses. All he would do was make her run laps until she vomited or give her that look that killed her. He’d be disappointed in her. That always seemed to hurt more than his anger ever could.
"More like where were you,” she kept her voice casual as she slipped out from her hiding spot. “I was waiting for hours, but you know how bored I get.”
Rowan gave her a look, his eyes half-closed in anger while his lips were thinner than she had ever seen them before. His fists were clenched, his tattoo standing out as he went pale with his anger. She wondered if she needed to be afraid of him. But Rowan wouldn’t actually do anything to her. He never had before at least.
She may have just humiliated him in front of someone quite important though.
A woman stood behind Rowan. She was Mirima’s height, with blonde hair that was a few shades darker than Mirima’s own, and eyes that were the shade of turquoise ringed with gold. Mirima didn’t need to be a genuis to figure out the secret that the woman was hiding. Her Ashryver eyes were a dead giveaway to her heritage. Even if she was not the lost princess, she could be someone very important to the lost kingdom of Terrasen.
“Is this my new partner?” Mirima questioned, quickly taking control before Rowan could start berating her for being late or for her appearance. She would hear it later, she knew it. But for now, she would be the perfect little soldier. Well, as perfect as she could be after already disobeying enough to earn more than just a tongue lashing.
“Lillian,” the woman said casually enough. She didn’t seem to care about Mirima’s appearance. If anything, she seemed to be uninterested in Mirima entirely. It was slightly insulting.
“Mirima Floros, at your service,” she gave her new partner a dramatic, sweeping bow. Droplets of water flung from her head, landing on Rowan and Lillian.
“Mirima,” Rowan’s voice was tight, his anger so close to the surface that she knew she should be at least a tiny bit concerned. “Might I have a word with you, in private?”
A warning bell sounded in her mind. She wasn’t sure what she was going to say or do if Rowan decided that he’d had enough. What if he told her that she was done? That she had to go back to Varnsway. She was certain that she wouldn’t. She’d run straight to Doranelle and beg Maeve for another trainer, for someone else to give her a chance that Rowan wouldn’t. But she didn’t know if she would be able to truly do it or not. His dismissal may just crush her and keep her from ever coming back.
She followed after him, having to jog to keep up with him. He stopped at an outcropping of trees. Lillian stood some feet away, still in eyesight but not in hearing distance. Mirima could only hope it would stay that way if he were to yell.
“What in hellas were you doing?” Rowan’s voice was deadly quiet. She hated it when he got that mad. It always made her feel as though she was going to to tear her hair out. She’d much rather him scream at her, to make her feel as though she was actually in trouble instead of just acting as though she had disappointed in.
“I was practicing,” she knew she sounded like a child. Mirima hated herself for it. “I just … I lost track of time. I know it was a rookie mistake, but I was doing it, Row. I was actually shielding myself like you want me to.”
Rowan’s brow twitched. The only sign that she had said something that he either did or didn’t like. She could never tell what those little brow twitches meant. Even if she’d been trying to learn for years. She had been trying to learn the secrets of Rowan Whitethorn as though they were the world’s greatest mystery. Perhaps he was a mystery that was just for her to solve. No one else could ever come close.
She knew that she infuriated him. That she got under his skin more than most people did. She knew that she was everything he had ever hated about people. But she knew that he loved her. Maybe not enough to admit it to himself, but he’d had to of grown fond of her in all the time they’d spent together. They were more than just a trainer and his trainee. They were friends.
At the very least she thought so.
“You know better than this, Mirima,” Rowan growled out, his teeth clenched and his eyes dark with anger. She knew that she had messed up, but she had figured it would be nothing to get so angry over. “What would have happened if you had burned out? What would you have done had you lost control with no one around to save you?”
This was their problem. They both knew how to make the other see red, how to keep the other from relaxing. Mirima had always been able to get under his skin but she had never thought that he would turn her tricks against her. She should’ve. He did it more often than not. They were like fire and ice when they were together. Nothing they could do or say would change this.
“I don’t need anyone to save me,” she snapped, her eyes nearly glowing with the rage she felt at the accusation. “I’ve never needed your help before and I certainly don’t need it now."
"Except to get into the Cadre,” Rowan replied smoothly. “Except to gain control of your power, or to keep yourself from dying when it becomes too much.”
She didn’t know why they were doing this. Why they had picked today of all days to air out any grievance they had. Rowan must have been under an extraordinary amount of pressure if this was what he chose to do with his morning. Mirima doubted they’d be fighting otherwise. Although, she was normally quite wrong about those sorts of things.
“If you have something you wish to tell me, you should say it,” Mirima’s fists clenched at her sides. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t begin to imagine all the things that Rowan Whitethorn had not yet said. What would she do if he decided that she was not worth his time? What would she do if he decided that taking her on had been a mistake? She knew that he already felt as though it were a punishment. He had just kept her on longer than anyone had expected.
“I just wish you would grow up,” Rowan stated, his anger receding enough for him to speak calmly. Perhaps that was why it felt as though Mirima had been slapped in the face. She wasn’t sure where this had come from. She didn’t know why she even cared about what he thought of her. It’s not like Rowan was important, besides being the only one standing in the way of her dream.
Mirima stared at him, unblinkingly. She had no words for what he had said. No way to prove that he was wrong and that she was more than what he saw standing before him. She had no witty comeback, no words that could say that she thought he was the worst person on the planet. All she had was the knowledge that she had controlled it. She had done what he assumed was impossible. All without ever blinking an eye.
But Rowan would not know this. She found it so difficult to do when he was watching her. She wanted to show off, to show how powerful she was. She didn’t know if she was trying to impress him or if he got under her skin to the point where she just no longer wanted to do anything he told her. But she had to stop. She had to be better. To prove herself to the man who would never let her become who she wanted to be. She wasn’t stupid. She knew that Rowan Whitethorn would sooner die than say she was good enough for the cadre. She just didn’t know why he thought this way.
She straightened her spine, looking him dead in the eye. Maybe once she would have been afraid of him. Maybe she would have told him off and kept him questioning what she would and wouldn’t do. But this time, she was determined to shock him in another way.
“Fine.” Mirima did not wait to be dismissed, instead turning on her heel and marching back over to Lillian. He could hope she’d become someone else. She might even fool him into thinking that she had. All of the impossible fighting had to stop. She would prove that she did not need him, that she was fully capable of taking care of herself. She would do what she had to do. If it meant getting as far from Rowan Whitethorn as possible, she would do it. There was no way she could continue to live like this. Within his shadow, never being the person that she was destined to be.
Within the year, she decided, she would be welcomed into the cadre. Rowan would be unable to keep her from it. She would prove herself to everyone. Gavriel, Lorcan, Fenrys, anyone who would listen to her. Anyone who would see her as something more than just a girl with too much water in her brain.
Mirima had no idea if any of this was possible. But it had to be. She had to be able to stop this from continuing. Rowan would end up having her waste the rest of her life in this horrible way. Fighting him, day and night, for the chance that he would let her do something. Anything.
It was time for her to stop listening to him and to do what she did best. Create a scene. One that would capture Queen Maeve’s attention and make her realize that she was the perfect person for the cadre. She’d do anything, be anyone she had to be. But right now, it just meant stifling herself to fit Rowan’s perception of her and how things were supposed to go.
“Lillian,” Mirima said cheerfully, all evidence of the fight wiped from her. She wouldn’t let anyone see that Rowan had gotten under her skin.
She could feel his eyes on her, could feel the heat of his glare. It was almost like a warm breath of fresh, summer air. Or like a kiss on the forehead from someone who had once promised to protect you. Mirima often felt this way when Rowan was angry with her. She knew it shouldn’t have felt like she had done something right, but it often did. It was just another thing that was going to have to change. After all, she couldn’t allow Rowan’s anger to be the thing that kept her from her goals.
“How much training have you had before?” She questioned, leading the woman to her favorite place to train. Well, favorite was perhaps the wrong word. It was filled with rocks, looking more like a shrine than anything. Something haunted those lands, made it more dangerous to be there. Rowan had only trained her there once. Her first ever day training to be a member of the cadre. She’d seen her greatest fears brought to life but still she had decided to stay, to fight.
She’d nearly drowned herself in the process.
It briefly occurred to her that Rowan had kept doing things that tested her mettle. His training was more than just physical. She had been turned into a weapon of war mentally a long time ago. Well, perhaps she was on her way to being one. Her temper needed more work, she needed to care less about what others thought of her and actually work towards her goals.
“Enough.” Lillian was not a talkative woman, that much was for certain. Mirima had always believed that a princess would do nothing but talk. She’d assume they would be bubbly and bright. If this truly was Aelin, she was not what Mirima had ever imagined. Perhaps that was a good thing though. After all, she had an entire lost kingdom to save.
“Good,” she replied with a slight smirk. “Rowan might be the most horrible thing in existence, but I won’t deny that his training is sufficient.” Kinder words could have been said, but Mirima was still angry with him. She would stay angry.
Lillian watched her carefully, as though she were an animal. She thought that was quite unfair. Lillian didn’t even know her. How could she begin to judge her for anything that she may or may not have done? She could only imagine that Rowan had spoken about her. That had to be the reason for the instant distrust. It had nothing to do with the fact that Mirima had been soaking wet upon first meeting.
The two women stopped, Mirima stepping away to give her some semblance of space, waiting for Rowan. She said nothing as he followed after them, nor did she look at him when he began to explain what he wanted from the other woman. Mirima was somewhat curious why he did not have a challenge for her. Hadn’t she needed more training? Hadn’t he been concerned about her in some capacity? Or was his new project going to take up too much of his time?
A coldness began to spread in her stomach. It felt as though she could not draw enough breath. She didn’t understand why. It wasn’t like she hadn’t expected something like this. She didn’t understand why she felt this way. After having decided that she no longer cared for him, how could she begin to feel as though he was abandoning her? Maybe he had a reason for saying she needed to grow up. She didn’t know, nor did she understand how to work out what the feeling growing in her chest was.
Rowan had never been someone she was interested in. She didn’t know anything about him other than the moments they spent together training. How could she begin to think that he owed her any of his time? It was stupid. She was being stupid.
But seeing him with Lillian set her teeth on edge.
“Rowan,” she blurted out his name before her thoughts could wander further. “Can we spare while we wait? I’m worried my swordsmanship isn’t up to par.”
Rowan gave her a look that would freeze Hellas. She knew that a smart woman would have backed down from this gaze. However, Mirima was a reckless woman. She was still smart, but her impulses often got the better of her.
“The only thing you’re going to do is sit there,” Rowan stated, looking away from her. “You need to learn patience and impulse control. You’ll sit there until I tell you otherwise.”
It stung to know that he didn’t trust her to do anything else. That he wanted her to just waste her life sitting in the background. Now, he was officially making her do it. She found that she could not focus on Lillian and her trials. Despite the fact that Rowan seemed to have eyes for nothing else.
She felt sick knowing that he had lied to her. He had said that her training would not be pushed to the wayside and yet, already it was. Mirima knew that it was potentially her own fault. But that still didn’t make it alright. Rowan knew her. He had known her longer than anyone at Mistward. Surely, he would have known that she hadn’t been able to sleep the night before. Surely, he would’ve known exactly what she did when things weighed heavily on her mind. But he didn’t.
As much as she liked to pretend otherwise, Rowan did not know her. They weren’t friends. She was nothing but an assignment to him. She had to fight to keep herself sitting there. Had to fight to hold back the rage-filled tears and the feelings that were twisting her from the inside, the ones that said it would be better to run Lillian through with her sword. She said nothing. She did nothing. She sat there just as Rowan wanted.
She watched as he allowed Lillian to leave. She watched him as he watched his new student. She watched him walk away without once looking back at her.
As night began to fall, Mirima realized what that feeling was. She was jealous. Jealous of a girl that she would never know about a boy that she would never have.
WARNINGS; Fantasy violence, cursing, Mirima doesn’t have self-control and that leads to her burning out a Lot, Rowan avoiding his feelings, Mirima having no idea about her feelings, there’s a lot of feelings being avoided, power dynamics in the relationship.
Her body ached, her mind ached. While she had not done anything as horrible as burnout, Fenrys had put her through her paces. She had never known how hard just keeping her control could be. She had never realized just how badly she suffered from control issues. Rowan had told her time and time again that she needed to control herself. But she hadn’t realized how hard it was actually going to be.
She trudged into the kitchens, slumping onto a stool that sat just before the fire. Normally, Emrys sat there but he was at the countertop, forming some type of dough that had what appeared to be raisins in it.
"Hard day?“ The older man questioned, his eyebrow quirked up slightly.
Mirima scowled slightly as she slipped a dagger from her belt and a whetstone from her pocket. "It didn’t seem to be until this morning,” she admitted as she dragged the blade along the stone.
"Rowan goes easy on you,“ Emrys teased her, causing her scowl to deepen. "I haven’t seen you this exhausted in twenty years.”
"I’m used to Rowan’s tactics,“ she sat down the dagger once she was certain the point was sharp enough. She took care of her blades ritualistically most of the time. Sharpening the blades calmed her, oiling them helped ease her mind. Normally it was saved for a pre-bed ritual, but the night before she had crawled into her bed and fallen into a hard and heavy sleep. She hadn’t dreamt. Instead, she had been blissfully at peace. For once in her life, she had not been aware of the dangers surrounding her. She had been aware of the pillow beneath her and the blanket on top of her.
It had been peace she didn’t know she craved.
"Of course,” Emrys’ eyes twinkled as he looked away from her. Mirima knew he meant well. But it was hard to know that he was well aware that she cursed Whitethorn’s name half the time and still assumed Rowan was kind to her.
The man had made it abundantly clear that he didn’t want her there. He had told her time and time again that she was not ready for any of this. Mirima wanted to prove him wrong. She wanted nothing more than to be welcomed into the cadre. Although, at this point, she was unsure if it was because of her own dreams or if it was just to spite Rowan Whitethorn. Anyone with half a brain would know that spiting him was unwise. The man was more of a monster than anything. It was one of the reasons that Mirima admired him.
Even if she didn’t admit that fact to anyone.
"I am! He’s been putting me through Hellas and back since I got here,“ she nearly snarled as she began to peel the potatoes for breakfast. She wasn’t normally on breakfast duties, but she had figured it would be best to help out. At least while she was complaining to Emrys.
"Have I?” His voice caused her spine to straighten, her grip on the dagger tightening just slightly. “Considering you’re still here, I haven’t done a good enough job.”
Mirima looked up then, her eyes catching Rowan’s long white hair before anything else. Her throat felt dry, her stomach knotted up as she glanced once at the expression on his face. He looked as though he was either amused or furious. With Rowan, it was hard to tell the difference. Especially when it came to her and her training. She knew that he didn’t want her there. She knew that he thought she wasn’t good enough.
That or he really hated the cadre. She couldn’t actually tell.
"I thought you’d be gone for a week,“ Mirima stated, her tone casual despite the racing of her heart. At least her training had taught her how to keep her composure.
"I never said how long I’d be away,” he stated as he leaned casually against the wall. Rowan never looked casual. Something was off. Mirima did not know what it was or what it potentially could be, but she was determined to figure it out. If she didn’t it was likely to drive her mad.
"You’re normally away for a week,“ she shrugged her shoulders, turning her gaze back to the potato in her hand. She focused on how the skin felt gritty underneath her calloused fingers. She focused on the way the blade slid across the potato, the slight bit of force it took to begin the initial peeling process. How it felt to focus on something other than Rowan Whitethorn and the stare that always made her feel somewhat nervous. "I assumed that it would be the same.”
"We have something to discuss,“ Rowan said before she could ramble about his usual schedule. "In private.”
She knew his meaning. She wiped her dagger off on her breeches before she stood, sliding it back into its sheath in a graceful movement. “I’ll be back by dinner. Tell Luca to stop taking the good jobs,” she said cheerfully to Emrys. Neither man would be allowed to know how nervous she was.
Rowan had met with Maeve. He had told her he would be. He had also said he’d be away three days but had barely been gone two. Maybe she had been declared unworthy. Maybe Maeve had given up on her. Or maybe it had nothing to do with that whatsoever. This could be something completely different, she just had to trust him.
Easier said than done.
Mirima followed Rowan up the steps and towards his quarters. She had been a fair amount of times. He would patch her up in his rooms, often snapping at her for whichever stupid choice she had made. She had been allowed to watch as he tattooed Gavriel once. She had been silent the entire time, her eyes never left his hands.
His rooms were grander than anyone else’s. She wondered if it was because he was a Prince or if it was all to do with the fact that he was part of the cadre. With his dark, wooden furniture and his grand fireplace, it felt cold. Uninviting. Rowan clearly hated Mistward. He had never made it into his home, unlike Mirima.
She had turned the fortress into her own personal safe haven. She had spent so many years there that she would have gone mad if she had not. There was no reason for her to feel cold, alone. Not when the forests sang with the early morning sunlight. Not when she could smell the sea whenever a fresh breeze blew through the fort, always making her ache with need. The need to control it, to harness it. To be part of it. She knew there was a lake hidden somewhere nearby, she had been able to sense it from the moment she had stepped onto the grounds. Yet, she’d never had the time nor opportunity to go off and search for it.
Rowan was not fond of letting Mirima near large bodies of water. He seemed to believe it would be the quickest route to a burnout. Mirima thought he was too cynical. The water was part of her. As much as the air was part of him.
She stood in front of his desk while he took up space in front of the fireplace. The fire crackled, albeit not merrily, spreading slight warmth through the cold room.
"What did you want to discuss?“ Mirima’s voice came out softer than she had expected it to. She hated sounding small around him. Hated that he might see her as someone meek, vulnerable. She knew that she was a warrior. Someone who would one day stand beside him in battle. She couldn’t let him see her as anything else. It would risk the only future she could see for herself.
"I didn’t speak to Maeve about you,” he didn’t look at her as she spoke. Despite his words, she did not feel relieved. “I didn’t have the opportunity to.”
"What happened, Ro?“ Normally, he would have glared at the use of the familiarity. He would have told her how inappropriate it was. When he still didn’t look at her she realized just how horrible things must be. Rowan never missed a chance to show his disapproval.
"We’ll have a visitor during our training sessions,” the words seemed forced. She could practically taste the tension in the air.
Mirima worried her lower lip as she took a cautious step toward him. “What do you mean? Is Fenrys going to stick around for a bit?”
"No,“ his voice was clipped. At least that was normal. He wasn’t dying or sick. Mirima hated to think that he would never get to see her successes. She didn’t know why she wanted his approval, why she aimed to please him in some fashion. Maybe it was just because then she would know she had done it. She’d beaten the odds and become the member of the cadre she had always wanted to be.
"Tell me,” she rested her hand on his shoulder. He flinched away, causing her to drop her hand. It felt as though a shock had gone up her arm from the brief second her fingertips had brushed against his neck. But that was stupid. It was probably just her being far too familiar with her trainer.
"Maeve wanted me to train another girl.“
"For the cadre?” Mirima’s eyes grew hard as Rowan finally turned to face her. There was something in his eyes. Something that dulled the forest green to a grassy color. She wondered what that emotion was but found that she did not care. Anger coursed through her body. It burned too brightly and too quickly for her to care about whatever Rowan Whitethorn was feeling.
"Hellas, Mirima, no,“ Rowan snapped at her. The anger that had flared so brightly quickly calmed. "I wouldn’t train another damned soul for the position you want. You’d gut them than me. No, this is just a little demi-fae who never got control over their magic.”
"Who can’t control their magic?“ Mirima did not see the irony in her own question. She had always assumed her own control issues were rare. She had no idea where they stemmed from, just that no one else in her village had ever had trouble doing what they wanted with their magic. Neither had anyone else in Doranelle.
"Someone who’s afraid of it,” Rowan stated bluntly.
Mirima gave him a mock glare. She wasn’t sure if he was completely wrong about that. It brought forth a question that she had never had to ask herself before. Was she frightened of her magic? Did she know what to do with it? She thought she did. She thought that it was as much a part of herself as breathing. But could there be something deeper? Rowan had never brought up this idea before. It was enough to temper her tongue, to make her sit and think for a moment.
"I’m not afraid,“ she stated after thinking for a few moments. She didn’t know if she was telling him the truth or not. But it felt like it. She felt as though she would know if she truly was afraid of the power that lived within her.
"You’re not afraid of anything,” Rowan sounded as though this were not a compliment. “You’d sooner get yourself killed than listen to reason. That isn’t bravery, Mirima. That’s foolishness.”
His words stung her more than she cared to admit. Is that why he didn’t want her fighting alongside him? He thought her nothing more than the village fool? Perhaps it made sense. Mirima had lived her entire life in the same small village. She had been stifled there but that didn’t mean she had belonged elsewhere. Maybe she was just a foolish girl from Varnsway. Maybe that was all she would ever be.
"Tell me about my new friend,“ she moved then, sitting on top of his desk as though it were her own. Rowan seemed not to notice, too lost in his thoughts as he stared at the mantle above the fireplace. "Will I have to play nicely?”
"Maeve will kill you if you drown her,“ he said bluntly. "Besides, Terrasen would be left without a queen.”
That caught Mirima’s attention. Her spine straightened, her eyes turning into the blue of a crystal sea. “So it’s true then? Aelin did survive the massacre?”
"It stays between the two of us,“ Rowan warned as he finally looked away from the mantle. Upon seeing her on the desk, one of his brows twitched slightly.
"Why?” Even as she asked, she realized that it would be safer for the woman. “I mean, wouldn’t she be better off with a guard surrounding her at all times? I’ll volunteer for a shift.”
"Mirima,“ he snarled, causing a slight smile to cross her features. "She’d be in more danger if anyone knew. Adarlan is after her. If they manage to kill her, you know they’ll have some advantage over Wendlyn. It’ll break their spirits.”
"Which means we’re next.“ One didn’t have to be a military strategist to understand the risk the wrath of Adarlan. Mirima was not afraid of anything, Rowan had not been wrong about that, but the idea of bending the knee to the tyrant of Adarlan.
"You’ll help me train her. You know what it’s like to be uncontrollable. Help her get used to life here,” he looked older. His eyes darker than she had ever seen him, lines beside his eyes showing his half-century of life. She wanted to make things easier for him. She wanted to give him a moment’s reprieve. But she couldn’t. Mirima knew that they needed to keep some sort of wall between them.
Even if she gave him nicknames.
"Ro,“ she picked at her fingernails, "are you certain that’s a good idea? I could drown her. Or you. Or I could accidentally kill her during swordplay or something.”
"I trust you.“
He’d never said that to her before. Rowan had never made her feel as though she could do anything she wanted. Half the time, he was trying to get her to abandon her dreams. Half the time, it felt as though he wished he could snap her neck and be done with her. Having his trust was something that she had never dreamed of. She had always thought that he would turn his back on her the second he was done training her.
Maybe there was hope for them yet. Maybe Mirima would be able to prove herself to him through this whole damned thing. Or maybe it would just ruin whatever trust she had managed to build. Maybe she would never truly be able to live up to her expectations of herself. But that was okay. Rowan trusted her and that was all that mattered.
At least for now. Mirima knew she still had a very long way to go when it came to proving herself.
"So what’s our plan?” She looked him in the eyes, ignoring the way her stomach knotted when the forest green met hers. It had happened every single time her eyes met his. Thirty years, thirty long years of feeling something odd whenever he looked at her. It was no wonder she tried to force that away, to tell him jokes when she shouldn’t and to make light of things when she was terrified.
"I don’t know yet,“ Rowan admitted as he stepped over to her. His steps were light, never making a single sound. She wondered how often he had prowled around, silent and always listening. How many times had he caught her talking about him with Luca and Emrys? How often had he heard her curse his name?
Despite both of them having the heightened senses of a Fae, Rowan had always been more of a predator. For years, he had been walking that line by himself. He had been alone with only the bloodlust and the killing that Maeve had made him do. Mirima saw it as glory, despite not knowing the truth of any of it. It was Rowan’s business. She knew better than to ask him about any of it.
She would take the stories told by others over the haunted look in his eyes whenever he pinned her any day. She didn’t want to relive her own moments of glory. She supposed it would be the same for him.
"Rowan Whitethorn not knowing something?” Mirima teased, a gleam in her eyes as she looked up at him. Her head tilted back, blonde locks cascading down her back in a waterfall while a playful smirk found a home upon her lips. “Now that is something I never thought I’d see.”
"When will you learn how to talk to a superior?“ His brows furrowed slightly as he looked down at her. She had to ignore the overwhelming scent of pine and snow that clung to him.
She hated that stupid scent. Hated how she dreamed of it at night, how she felt both enraged and comforted by it. None of it made sense to her. Nothing about Rowan Whitethorn would ever make sense to her. He was horrible and kind, the worst and the best. He was everything to her and nothing all at once.
It was a miracle she had managed to keep his name out of her letters to her parents.
"When will you learn that I’m not inferior to you?” Mirima turned her head away from him, wanting to break free from his gaze and that disgusting scent.
"No one said you were,“ his fingers twitched. She wondered briefly if he wanted to run his fingers through his hair or strangle her. Either option seemed reasonable. "But you can’t hope to make it any further if you don’t listen to your commanding officer. They’re not all as friendly as me.”
"Or Fenrys,“ Mirima interrupted.
"I heard that he made you nearly flood our practice space,” he snorted. “That doesn’t seem as friendly.”
"So I’m not great at breathing exercises,“ she shrugged her shoulders. "I still managed to go without burning out.” She was surprised that Fenrys had not told Rowan of her disappearing act. She would have been made to run laps until she vomited, would have been reprimanded hundreds of times had she done the same to Rowan. He would never have let her just walk away. Perhaps Fenrys had taken pity on her, perhaps he had seen something that Rowan did not.
That or she had looked as though she were on the verge of burning out.
"Don’t joke about that,“ his voice hardened as he stared down at her. She looked back at him, hating the way he stared at her as though she was nothing more than a piece of glass. "Your burnouts are serious. If you die on my watch, I …”
Mirima didn’t want to know what he would do. She didn’t particularly care either.
"I am not going to die, Rowan. I know myself better than any of you seem to realize,“ she crossed her arms in front of her chest, looking more like a petulant child than she realized.
"You’re not invincible, Mirima. You never will be,” he told her, looking down at her with a gaze that she could not comprehend. Rowan Whitethorn gave her several incomprehensible looks. She often wondered if he hated her based on those looks, wondered if he even knew the fire that blazed in his forest.
She doubted it. Rowan was too busy with his own problems to worry about how he looked at her. That wasn’t something either of them thought about. It was always about training, always about Rowan teaching her everything she needed in order to be part of the cadre. Part of everything.
"I’m capable though,“ she breathed softly, her voice barely a whisper. "I’ll help you train her. Just … Just don’t let my training fall to the wayside. I expect to be in the cadre by the end of the year.”
Mirima shoved herself off of the desk, brushing against him as she did so. Rowan quickly backed away, his spine stiff and his gaze hardening to one she knew so well. She began to leave. Her gait smooth and steady unlike the pounding of her heart.
"You’ll never be ready,“ he called after her. "Lorcan would eat you alive just from your recklessness.”
"Then I guess you’ll have to enjoy the show,“ Mirima stated without ever looking back at him.
She kept up appearances as she headed back out of Mistward, a smile on her lips and a gleam in her eyes that normally meant trouble. If Rowan thought she was nothing compared to this would-be-queen she would just have to prove him wrong.
She slid a dagger out from the sheath on her thigh, twirling it between her fingers as she headed deep in the forest. If Rowan was giving up on her, she would train herself.
Hellas save them.
WARNINGS; Fantasy violence, cursing, Mirima doesn’t have self-control and that leads to her burning out a Lot, Rowan avoiding his feelings, Mirima having no idea about her feelings, there’s a lot of feelings being avoided, power dynamics in the relationship.
A crooked smile stretched on his lips. She could see his sharp canine teeth, see the feral look in his eyes as he peered down at her. There was a bite of cold steel against the tender flesh of her neck. She could feel it digging into her pulse point. The coppery tang of blood in the air.
“I was right,” his voice was a whisper. “You weren’t good enough. You’ve never been good enough.”
“Rowan,” she hated the pleading tone in her voice. Hated the way her eyes burned with tears that she refused to shed.
His forest green eyes peered into hers, a look of malice and something else. She hated it, hated to know that Rowan was looking at her with anything other than his normal cool indifference. This wasn’t her Rowan. Not the man who had pushed her and pushed her but a monster that she didn’t know.
“Goodbye Mirima.”
There was a hot stinging sensation at her throat, his hands on her shoulders like when she was burning out. He shoved her and she fell. Over and over, falling down into the darkest abyss. One that she couldn’t see the bottom of.
It was then that she realized what else had been in Rowan’s eyes when she had pleaded with him. When he had killed her.
Joy.
Mirima shot up from her bed, gasping for breath as her left hand went to her throat. Nothing. No blood. She wasn’t falling off the edge of something. She was still alive. Still in Doranelle, waiting for her one and only opportunity.
The nightmares had been happening more often. She hadn’t spoken to Rowan about them. Hadn’t wanted to bother him with how useless they were. He would have been too concerned or acted like they were another reason to keep her out of the cadre. He wouldn’t have been kind or understanding. Hardass Whitethorn would have been annoyed. Yet, for some reason, the knowledge had calmed her. She didn’t feel as though she had to say anything about her problems.
His training was harsh enough that she often forgot whatever was bothering her besides what muscle hurt the worst.
How was she going to deal with any of it while he was away? She had never had to train with someone else. Never had to think about how someone’s training might differ from Rowan’s.
She had met Fenyrs in passing but that didn’t mean she knew him. She thought he was funny and much kinder than Rowan, which wasn’t saying much, but she doubted his training would be anything like what she was used to. There was a high chance that he wouldn’t know how … Prone she was to overdoing things. What if Rowan had left that key information out?
Mirima tried not to focus on her anxieties as she readied herself for the day. Her hands were shaking as she brushed out the white blonde of her hair. Her eyes focused on the scar on her left arm as she slid her tunic on, counting each breath as she stared at it. One of the ways Rowan had tried to teach her control. One of the ways that had only worked to calm her mind and not her magic.
She would end up dying by her magic. It would drown her, it would take her under and never release her from its grasp. She didn’t mind that. If she was going to die she wanted it to be from her lack of control rather than an enemies’ sword. If only so she knew she wasn’t a completely hopeless fighter.
She swallowed once, letting it take all of her worries into the pit of her stomach. Another technique of Rowan’s that had never actually done more than making her feel stupid. She sometimes wondered if all his techniques were just ways to make her look like a fool.
Mirima slipped a few knives into her belt before making her way out of her bedroom. Her head held high, a haughty smirk on her lips. Everyone in Mistward was used to seeing her as the cocky would-be-warrior. There had never been a reason to let anyone see her differently.
The morning sun had yet to rise over the hills. The clearing that was normally used for her training was flooded with the grey light of early dawn. Before the world changed and turned into something beautiful, something better. The grass was dewy and wet, the world looked as though it had been reborn that morning.
Mirima loved being out there before anyone else. She loved it when she could breathe in the fresh air and not worry about it being polluted by other people yet. Everything felt fresh, clear. She could clear her mind for once. Let go of everything that bothered her. She didn’t worry about not being part of the cadre when she was focused on how beautiful the morning looked, how she wanted nothing more than to just be present.
She took one of the knives from her belt, flipping it once in her hand. It was a perfect weight. She could balance it on the tip of her fingers. Rowan had given it to her years ago, on a birthday. One that he’d actually remembered.
The blade itself was made of steel and was almost as long as her forearm, just lacking an inch and a half. The hilt was the most stunning feature. Gold and onyx entwined to create small flowers with tiny rubies making up the center of each. Rowan had said nothing when he gave it to her but she liked to think that it had just reminded him of her in some way. Wishful thinking but Mirima didn’t care.
She had to be making some impression on Rowan.
She gripped the knife, her hold mimicking the one Rowan had been trying to drill into her head for years. He often grew frustrated with the way she would go back to what felt natural, showing her just how wrong she was with a sharp tap on her wrist. At that point, she was certain that she was fucking it up if only to see the annoyance in his eyes. She liked that look on him. When he regretted ever giving Mirima a chance when he debated throwing her in a lake because of her mouth.
It was better than when he was fully angry with her.
Her body moved in the fluid motions that Rowan had taught her. Her eyes closing, her knife another part of her arm, her breaths even, the world right for once in her life. Her thoughts were no longer cluttered, just going through Rowan’s instructions in her mind had been enough to calm her. She’d never tell him so. He would have been proud of himself or annoyed with her.
Up. Down. Guard your left. Right. Dodge. Roll. Again.
She heard his voice in her head almost as though he was standing right beside her. She relished the feeling, the sensation of knowing that she was doing something right. Something that she would do every single day of her life when she was in the cadre. She would have to thank him one day.
It just wouldn’t be any time soon.
A low whistle brought her back to reality. She did not know how long he had been watching but she knew he had seen enough. Mirima straightened her spine, a smug look painted on her face as she turned on her heel.
Fenrys was more handsome than Rowan had ever dreamed of being. His hair was pulled up, with two strands falling pleasantly into his face. His skin was dark and he was slight of build, but the muscles on his arms were well-defined and she could imagine them in the middle of a killing field. While Rowan’s face was covered with his tattoo, Fenrys’ was mostly clear, his eyes sparkled with mischief and he looked as though he was part of an inside joke with himself.
Mirima hated how much she wanted to impress him. Hated how fun he seemed to be with just that one look.
“I don’t see why I’m here,” he stated as he peeled himself off of the tree he had been leaning against. “Rowan’s got you training on your own already.”
A slight blush crossed Mirima’s cheeks at this. “Actually, he doesn’t know how early I start my day. I didn’t think he’d like knowing just how much I tend to … overexert myself.”
“Trust me, Rowan already knows everything that you do,” Fenrys stated as he stepped towards her. His eyes trailed from the top of her head to her feet. He was scrutinizing everything that had ever made Mirima. She tried not to think if he was impressed by what he saw or if he was certain that she was useless. A waste of his and Rowan’s time. She often feared that they would all see her as a fraud. As someone who would never be welcomed into their ranks. “Rowan’s told us all about you. How quick you are to anger, how you refuse to listen to him and go home. He said you’ve had more burnouts than anyone he’s ever met before.
"I know that he thinks you’re reckless and that you don’t have any sense of self-preservation,” Fenrys walked around her, his eyes never once leaving her, as he spoke. There was a tension in him that she didn’t expect. “I’m sure that he’s found every single weakness of yours and used it against you at this point. Am I correct?”
She bristled at the accusation, her spine straighter than what should have been possible. “He has. Multiple times, in very different ways.”
Something sparked in his eyes, something that she had seen once before. When she had looked in her mother’s eyes before she had left to deal with the raiders all those years before. It was a mixture of pride and determination. Mirima had never been sure what it meant. She still wasn’t.
“Good,” Fenrys stopped circling her. “That tells me you don’t scare easily. If you can handle quality time with Whitethorn, you’re bound to be something. Perhaps not a fit for the cadre, but something we need.”
Need. That one word brought forth a strong feeling of hope in her breast. She had never been told that she was needed before. Not for anything that mattered. Doranelle would need her. Maeve would need her. Hellas, even Rowan would need her if what Fenrys said was true. She was going to be exactly what they needed, who they would look up to. Mirima would be the hero that would be in all the stories. She’d show everyone just what a woman could do.
There had been warrior queens and lost princesses but there had never been someone that other girls could look up to. All her life, Mirima had heard tales of men gaining glory and victory. They saved damsels, fought wars in the name of what was true and just. Queen Maeve had always celebrated those men while ignoring the women who could do the exact same. She knew that she could be just as good as any of those men. She could rise up from the bottom and show just who a girl could be.
It was the only thing she’d ever wanted.
“However,” Fenrys brought her back down to the world with just one word. “We do need to work on your control. Burning out in the middle of a battle will do you no good. We can’t have our sister dying on her first outing.”
He grinned at her. Not the feral dangerous grin that she had come to associate with Rowan. It was kind, bright even. Something that made her feel as though she were at home. She wondered what Rowan would say if she told him that she preferred Fenrys’ smile. It was perhaps better to keep that conversation in her head.
“How do we do that?"
"Stand in the middle of the clearing,” Fenrys instructed her, heading back to his tree. He sat down at the base of it, still and unblinking as though he were just another part of the forest that surrounded them. “I don’t want you to do anything. Just stand there and listen. Take in every wingbeat of every insect, every beat of your heart. I want you to try and focus on your heartbeats while you’re doing this. Slow, steady. You should be able to make yourself still.”
Mirima looked at him for a moment. What in the hell did any of that mean? It sounded like nonsense. Focusing her heartbeats? Slowing them down? How was any of that supposed to help her with her control issues?
While she did question the whole thing, she knew better than to question her trainer. If he told Rowan, she was certain to have a punishment of some sort. Probably laps. Rowan knew how she hated them. She took a deep breath through her nose, disregarding her thoughts of Rowan Whitethorn and the laps he could potentially make her run.
Her eyes fluttered to a close. Every part of her body felt as though this was wrong. She shouldn’t have just been standing there. She could have been working on her swordplay. She could have been working on the footwork that she was supposed to be learning. Listening for the bees that were fat with the pollen from the summer flowers was not something she had wanted to do. Why should she care about any of this? She was a warrior, not a farmer.
“Don’t think negatively,” his voice seemed to float through the air to her. “I can feel it from here. Just relax your mind and do as I’ve told you.”
Mirima did not answer him, knowing it was not what he wanted. She focused on the sound of the wind in the trees. The way the leaves gently rustled together, the branches making a soft creaking noise that she normally wouldn’t have noticed. She could hear the sea. So far away, yet always calling to her. The waves crashing along the shoreline. Pebbles scratching against each other when the water moved them. Sand turning to mush, the cry of a seabird. Mirima craved being there, craved feeling the water on her bare feet. Not a day went by that she didn’t crave the ocean.
Her fingers twitched, her knife falling to the ground beside her. The water rushing in her ears and making it hard to hear the insects busying lazily by her head or the trees swaying gently in the breeze. Her heartbeat followed the motion of the waves. She could feel it slowing to match the lazy tide of the early morning. It was not an uncomfortable feeling but one that she welcomed.
She had often felt as though her home was the sea. The ocean breathed life into her. She had been blessed with the gift of water and yet, she still didn’t know how to control it. Perhaps it was because one could not control water. The sea did not like to be tamed. Just as Mirima hated for anyone to try and control her. It had been so hard to learn to listen to Rowan. To learn to do as she was told. She still hadn’t learned that lesson.
A voice spoke softly from somewhere. Her name, softly as though it was poetry. Rowan’s face flashed briefly in her mind before being drowned out by another crashing wave.
Her fingers twitched once more. Something cold crept through the leather of her boots, touching her toes.
None of it mattered though. All that mattered was the way the sea was calling to her. The currents dancing for her and her alone. She wanted to be in the middle of it all. She could control the ocean. She could feel it in her bones. She ached to use the power that was deep inside of her. It was as though she could not breathe unless she was in the water, as if her lungs craved water instead of oxygen.
“Mirima,” that voice again. Persistent this time. Repeating her name again and again. “Mirima."
"Rowan,” she breathed out as a hand grasped her arm. It was not tight enough to be Rowan. It was loose, as though they were afraid of touching her.
“Mirima, come out of it.” The voice didn’t match Rowan’s. Didn’t match the person she had put all of her trust in.
It was too much effort to open her eyes, to break her connection to the sea. But she did it.
Fenrys stood in front of her, his hands on her arms and his face more amused than concerned. Her feet were freezing, the breeze smelled differently. The sky had begun to lighten, pink marking the sky in the place of the grey that had filled the valley just a few minutes before. Had it only been minutes? She felt as though she had been there for days.
Slowly, she glanced down to see what was causing her feet to be so cold. Water had seeped up from the ground, a few inches covering the ground that surrounded her. Mirima had no clue how she had done it without thinking. She had no idea what she had done.
Maybe Fenrys was right about something. Maybe his techniques just worked better than Rowan’s.
“Well, you weren’t supposed to do that,” he said, one of his brows quirked upwards. “But I can’t say I’m surprised. Maybe next time Rowan makes you do something stupid, you’ll be able to channel it.”
Mirima rolled her eyes, her arms crossing in front of her chest. “Rowan’s training isn’t stupid.”
“You’re making shields of water, aren’t you?”
“Yes. But that’s integral to keeping control!” Mirima protested. Fenrys only shook his head.
“We don’t use our abilities as shields. Well, Lorcan does on occasion but Lorcan’s also the worst,” he stated as he led her away from the drenched grounds. “Rowan’s trying to prepare you for something but I doubt it’s the cadre. He has your interests in mind, don’t think otherwise.” She watched as he grabbed a low-hanging tree branch and hauled himself up. “But that doesn’t mean he’s going to actually help you get what you want. No one should strive to be one of us.”
“What is with the two of you?” Mirima demanded as she hoisted herself to sit on the branch beside him. “It’s like neither of you can deal with the idea that a woman can be just as good as you.”
“This has nothing to do with your gender. You’ve got more fight inside of you than most soldiers I know,” Fenrys stated as he looked at her. His expression was too full of pity for her to stand. “You could do so much better than all of this.”
“No, I can’t,” Mirima stared out at the clearing, watching as the water drained away slowly. “My gender has everything to do with this. When they see me, they see a woman who should be at home. Having children and mending socks. They don’t see a warrior. They don’t see me.”
He looked at her then, looked at her as though she was something other than a woman sitting beside him on a tree branch. It was an uncomfortable feeling. Mirima had never felt exposed before. Rowan certainly had never looked at her as though she were anything. Fenrys was making her quite anxious, scared that he would run back to the others and tell them all about the woman who assumed she was good enough to be welcomed into their ranks. She doubted any of them would find it within them to want her after her show.
“I should go,” she cleared her throat as she moved to drop down from the tree. Mirima landed on the balls of her feet, the squelching sound revealing that the ground had turned to mud. “Kitchen duties.”
Mirima did not wait to be released from her training. She turned on her heel and headed back to the fort. She spent the entire walk thinking over everything that Fenrys had seen, everything that he had heard. She was mortified. Speaking like that in front of Rowan was one thing. But Fenrys? That was another. She knew better than to speak her mind around her superiors. She knew better than to leave before her training was over. Yet she had done both. She’d never live this down. She’d just proven that she would never be the type of person they welcomed into their ranks. Fenrys had said they didn’t want her.
What was the point of continuing to fight? What was the point of trying to be someone she wasn’t? Would Rowan even notice if she was gone when he came back? She doubted it. He’d probably use her absence as an excuse to return home.
As the would-be-warrior walked away from him, Fenrys watched her closely. Even with the sting of humiliation, she never let her shoulders droop. Her hand remained on the hilt of her blade. Her head was held high, no one would ever be able to tell that she was spending her day questioning herself and her choices.
“I see you.”
Rowan; sometimes you aren’t the main character and that’s okay
Mirima; exfuckingcuse me
