To all who meet him, Rowan is the warrior, cold and hard (that way to in other circumstances), and uncaring. No one, it seems, can pierce through Rowan Whitethorn’s touch exterior. That is until he meets you.
Imagine as you see the silver-haired warrior, ordered by the Queen of Doranelle to journey to your land across the seas as a protector to her emissary and report the current state of her alliances. He’s broad shouldered, a hard look in those pine green eyes as he studies the land and people he was sent to, committing everything to memory as ordered by his Queen.
Knowing his fame as a warrior, you see the fear and respect in the faces of your people as they see him and though at first you treat him with the respect you give to state officials, the longer you stand in Rowan’s presence the shorter your patience snaps and one day it does snap.
As you travel through the famed forests of your land where you will make camp before finishing your journey to the northern plains with both Emissary and Warrior, at Rowan’s sneer of your soldiers’ actions you stop the whole party as you turn back to yell at the Fae prince.
Surprise fills Rowan’s eyes at your outburst, one that’s quickly masked as he apologizes. But its an apology you won’t take.
“You have been nothing but rude the moment you stepped into my gates and I don’t even care whether you’re part of her Cadre or that you’re a warrior that my soldiers fear!” You yell, fuming as you throw your hands around.
Fire in your eyes, you glare at the Emissary beside Rowan who is all to glad to turn away and leave the warrior to your fury as you continue on your rampage. “You’re being a self-righteous bastard and you act as if everyone is below you when here’s the news, Rowan Whitethorn, you aren’t!” Each word is met with a sharp and hard jab at his chest as you poke him.
You’re panting when you finally finish and glare up at those green eyes. “Are you done?” He asks in that drawl of his.
Grinding your teeth together your hand closes into a fist as your Second grabs onto your arm pulling you back in time as you continue to glare at Rowan. “Yes, they are done, my lord and we apologize for the outburst.” They rush out and you open your mouth to argue back though at the look in their eyes you realize otherwise and nod before stomping away, muttering obscenities beneath your breath that you know all to well that Rowan will hear.
Stomping your way through the forest you soon find yourself at a field near a waterfall. You stay there for what feels like hours, sitting on the grass as you calm your anger and just think - though for some reason whatever you think about always ends up returning to Rowan Whitethorn and his green eyes.
You lay it all on the fact that his visit to your lands is hugely important, though you know and would deny it to everyone that you’ve lost yourself too often in those green eyes those green eyes and more ;).
Your party reaches the fortress in time for the summer solstice the next day, roars of laughter and merriment sounding from the forest as Fae and mortals alike celebrate the solstice that evening. You’re sat on a column away from all the reveling, exhausted from the journey to join in the feast.
Instead you watch and listen to the music played by soldiers and the Fortress’ aid. You smile at the joy you hear and hum along in tune to the melody.
Startled, your reflexes jump into motion and you stand with a dagger held up to Rowan’s neck. Though an apology is quick to leave your lips at the realization of who it is, that’s suddenly taken over by annoyance as you spot the grin on his lips.
“What are you doing here, Lord Whitethorn?” You say with a roll of your eyes and ignore him to lean back onto your column.
Blocking your view as he stands before you, you raise a brow at Rowan awaiting his answer. “I came to apologize for how I have treated you and your people thus far.”
He sounds sincere, enough so that you step off the column as you cross your arms. “Rowan Whitethorn apologising. Now I’ve heard it all.”
He scoffs, shaking his head as he takes a step closer to you. “I apologise and you can’t event act mature about, I should have known better from a child”
“Child!” You exclaim, nostrils flaring as you poke his chest again. “If there’s anyone mature here it definitely isn’t you!”
He grabs your hand, stopping your hand from poking as he says, “fancy that coming from you”
“And what does that mean?!” You demand, so lost in the argument you don’t notice that you’re stuck between the column and Rowan (but lets be real there’s no other place you’d like to be).
“It means that you act like a spoilt child and the moment someone doesn’t act the way you want them to you get upset!”
You’re fuming as you stare up at those pine green eyes. “You’re an arsehole Rowan Whitethorn.”
“Yeah and what are you going to do about it.” He bites back watching you as you both inch closer to each other.
The music is loud as it plays, laughter and conversations mixing into the melody into a song of celebration all the while you stand staring at Rowan Whitethorn both panting in your annoyance of each other.
In a sudden you’re in each other’s arms, Rowans snaking around your waist and your hand tangling into his silver hair.
You let out a moan as you nip at his bottom lip, Rowan pushing his hips against you as he holds you against the column, your legs locking around his waist as you press back into him.
“Rowan~” You moan as he lowers his lips to your neck, leaving marks as he goes.
Roars from the crowd as they clap for the musicians has he pulls away from your lips, a hand snaked around your waist as the other rests at your rear holding you up.
You’re both still panting - though now for different reasons as your eyes drift down to his lips now red and swollen, all because of you. “I-” Rowan starts only for him to let out a growl as you press yourself against his need for you.
“Shut up and kiss me” You order, breathless.
Rowan is more than happy to oblige and you moan as you feel him (all of him).
