Warrior and Mage AU (Because Canon #8)

1. Chapter 1

Rowan

Rowan had traveled down to Goldguard for several reasons.

The first—and most important—was to escape the house.

After being holed up inside his family’s fortress all winter because of the insane snow drifts, everyone had gotten an extreme case of cabin fever and was using any excuse they could think of to escape for a while.

Even the duke and duchess had boarded the first ship out of the still-thawing harbor, muttering something about new trade contracts with a desperate look in their eyes, leaving Rowan’s eldest sister and brother-in-law in charge.

Now, it being early spring also meant it was tax season, and while paying said taxes wasn’t his job as captain of the guard, Rowan had volunteered to report to the capital and pay their dues.

Since he was going down to the capital anyway, his eldest sister had slapped him with a second task—escort their new mage up to Gravegarde upon his return.

Which, on the surface, sounded like a simple escort duty, but…well, Rowan.

Basically everything breathing feared Rowan upon first sight.

He couldn’t really blame people. He didn’t mean to give off barbaric killer vibes; it just sort of came with the territory of being huge, muscled, gruff, and having a resting bitch face.

His ever-present greatsword, paired with his thick mane of windswept hair and full beard, tended to make people assume he was a mercenary for hire or a bandit on the prowl for his next victim.

Rowan had made small children cry just by standing too close, and men with weak constitutions had scrambled for the other side of the street rather than pass by him.

He’d grown used to such extreme reactions, and honestly, people’s fear worked in his favor part of the time.

As the captain of Gravegarde’s esteemed guard, intimidation was part of his job.

Hell, drunken brawls inside the fortress and the abutting village had decreased by half after he assumed the role of captain a few years ago.

Even having known Rowan all his life, the citizens of Gravegarde weren’t willing to anger him.

So looking scary wasn’t bad, per se, but in this instance? When he had to escort a stranger across rugged, deadly terrain to the far north? For FOUR DAYS?

Well. The trip wasn’t going to be pleasant, to say the least. For either of them.

Who was he fooling? This would be downright painful. The silence between them would inevitably be awkward as fuck because most people were so scared of him, they clammed right up. The tension between Rowan and this mage would be lethal. There would be no escaping the forced proximity, either.

Four days of walking on eggshells around a stranger.

Of trying to play nice and somehow convince the mage to not run away in the middle of the night.

Rowan’s fears weren’t painting this bleak picture on a whim.

He had, unfortunately, been through this exact scenario multiple times, as he was occasionally tasked with bringing the Council’s chosen mage back.

Every single time, though, the trip back north had been highly uncomfortable and problematic, which may or may not have led to Rowan having to rescue at least one mage after they foolishly injured themselves by stepping too close to the road’s edge.

Apparently, standing along a steep drop-off was more appealing than standing even an inch closer to him.

Rowan had been of two minds about traveling south.

He knew it would be an unpleasant trip back, but this year, the allure of escaping Gravegarde for the first time in months had been too much.

Also, given the time of year, he was the one person the fortress could spare.

This wasn’t ego talking. Rowan was essentially a small army all by himself and could sufficiently guard both tax money and a mage.

Even bandits thought twice before crossing Rowan.

Few others could inspire that kind of fear on first glance.

If he sent his men, he’d have to send four people, at least. Time wasn’t on their side right now, so they couldn’t afford the delay of an attack, and he didn’t want to risk injury to one of his men.

Which led to the other reason Rowan wanted to get the mage to Gravegarde as quickly as possible.

Thanks to the drove of incompetent mages Gravegarde had seen recently, the fortress’s magical ward had grown alarmingly thin, and he didn’t think it would hold much longer.

The previous mage assigned to them had quit right before winter truly hit, claiming in a huff that he “couldn’t bear to stay another gods’ forsaken minute in that brute-filled wasteland.

” Rowan was glad to see him go. The whining mule of a man had hardly lifted his wand in the five months he’d stayed with them, constantly claiming burnout after casting a single spell.

But due to his early departure and Gravegarde being unable to get a replacement mage in time before the snowstorms hit, the ward had now battled months of brutal weather with no one to bolster it.

Based on what Rowan and his family had deduced, the ward might hold another month or two, but he had to get this new mage up there to fix it before his family and their people came under attack by the Drachifel.

They were on the cusp of breeding season, the Drachifel just now rousing from their underwater dwellings after months’ long hibernation, ready to feast on all they came across.

And if this new mage wasn’t up to the task of fixing the ward, Rowan would march straight back down to the capital and raise hell. Surely someone on the godsdamned Council could string together a thought and get him someone who knew what they were doing.

It was time someone remembered Gravegarde was a first line of defense for the realm, otherwise Rowan might just point the Drachifel in their direction.

All that said, Rowan had to somehow befriend this mage so the trip up wasn’t one long, strung-out disaster. Gods forbid actual danger find them, because the mage would run from him and the danger.

Fuck, never mind. He really shouldn’t have come.

Either of his sisters would have been a better choice.

Raina and Riley were just as tall as he was but managed to look friendlier.

His best friend/brother-in-law would be an excellent choice too because everyone liked Troy on first meeting, and he’d certainly charmed Raina with his affable personality.

And while his brother Ruben might flirt his way into the mage’s bed first, he’d get them to the fortress eventually.

Maybe Rowan should take a page from Ruben’s book and greet the mage with a smile, try to get them on a better footing?

Oh, wait. The last time he’d tried smiling at someone, the man had fainted, so…maybe not a good idea.

Resigned, he let out another soft sigh and looked about.

Their meeting place was the southern foot of Silver Banks Bridge.

Rowan had expected to pick up his new colleague in the capital but received word to meet here instead.

It was fine, either way; they had to cross the bridge to start their journey.

Goldguard was overcrowded anyway, and with the duchy’s taxes paid, he’d gladly escaped the capital.

Just because he wanted out of the house didn’t mean he wanted to be around people. Because people.

But that brought him to his latest conundrum: Rowan had no idea what the new mage looked like.

He didn’t know gender, name… He knew nothing.

The woman who worked for the Council had been supposed to tell him the information, but had kept stammering and tripping over her words and finally just shoved a note into Rowan’s hand before skedaddling.

Rowan would be worried about finding the right mage, except he was fairly certain the mage had at least a description to go off for him.

And with Rowan’s height, you could always spot him in a crowd.

People crossed the bridge into the plaza, a steady stream going both ways.

Squealing children, chattering adults, merchants hawking all sorts of wares, carts, you name it—it all passed by, always maintaining a healthy distance from Rowan’s stationary position.

His nose reported some kind of sizzling smoked meat from nearby, which tempted him, but he didn’t want to miss the mage because he was stuffing his face.

His warhorse kept giving these weary sighs, as if to say why are we still standing here?

Rowan absently patted Stan on the neck, the coarse mane a familiar texture beneath his fingers.

He kept his eyes peeled, though. It was midmorning now, and he’d really prefer to get on the road.

Thanks to this late start, it seemed he might need to account for this turning into a five-day trip instead of four.

Something caught his eye and he turned his head again.

A man had just entered the plaza opposite Rowan, making his way toward the bridge, and Rowan raised his brows in pure bafflement.

The man had two trunks trailing behind him, snaking along the cobblestones as if pulled by invisible ropes.

Even more impressive, though, were the oversized bags, one slung over each shoulder.

Rowan wasn’t sure how his lean frame supported their weight, but at a glance, it seemed a struggle.