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daydreaming-nerd · 8 months ago

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I’ll Crawl Home To Her (Azriel x Reader)

AN: This was supposed to be based off But Daddy I Love Him but it morphed into something else but I'm kinda happy about it.

Summary: The story of how the princess of Velaris and the shadowsinger came to be.

Warnings: blood, injury, dickhead dads, bit of smut but it's not too descriptive (It's for the plot), angst, fluffy ending.

Word count: 8053

As a princess I was told that “hate” is a very strong word. Consequently, there weren’t a lot of things that I hated. For example, I greatly disliked when my tea came with too much milk, and I absolutely despised corsets. But if there was one thing I hated, and I mean truly hated, it was my father.

If it wasn’t for the way he treated my mother and older brother then it would be the way he treated me. How he kept me from my beloved, my brother's best friend, the shadowsinger, my Azriel.

Azriel had been mine long before my father ever knew about it. When I grew to be 207 my mother finally convinced my father to let me go to Windhaven with her to visit Rhys. I hadn’t seen my brother in years, as he had begun training with the Illyrians.

He wrote me letters of course, detailing friends and enemies he made along the way. Two of which stood out to me, Cassian and Azriel. However these letters never made up for him in the flesh, which is why during my first trip to Windhaven I had never been so excited. To this day I still remember it…

The winter wind stung my cheeks as snow clung to the furs of my cloak. It was as if no matter how many layers I wore the wind found its way to barrel through and nip at my skin.

I found myself walking along the edge of the camp, where the light of the fires couldn't reach me and only the moon gave me the ability to see. When my mother and I arrived at the little cabin Rhys was not there, after speaking to Devlon we found he was on assignment and would be home soon.

After a few hours in the cabin I began to feel claustrophobic, so I took a walk around the heavily wooded area. There was something magic about the first snow of the season. The way the snow covered the ground and crunched under my boots. White capped trees that looked like they were frosted by the gods, and the still silence that came from the insulation the blanket of white provided.

“It’s a little cold out don’t you-” a voice crooned behind me and stopped abruptly as I turned to face him.

Standing frozen just a few feet from me was an Illyrian male with his mouth agape at the sight of me. He was large, his wings the biggest I had ever seen. Inky black hair framed his carved face as his hazel eyes frozen in shock as if he had just seen a ghost.

“Forgive me,” he said, shaking his head a bit, as if to clear the fog from his mind. “It’s just that I don’t see many beautiful things up here, you startled me.”

My cheeks flush and I pray he thinks it's from the cold and not the butterflies in my stomach.

“I find that hard to believe when this is your view,” I smile, gesturing to the snow valley below us. “There’s nothing more beautiful than the first snowfall of the year.”

Footsteps crunch behind me as he comes up on my right, “Perhaps, but it pales in comparison to you,” he smirks and this time I know he can tell he’s the reason my cheeks are pink. “Might I have the honor of knowing your name?”

I turn to meet his gaze once more but before I can answer back I hear a shout coming from far away.

“Y/N!” my brother shouts charging towards me.

“Rhys!” I call back running into his embrace.

He lets out a groan as I leap into his arms, a pile of furs and wool as I pull him into me. The scent of sea salt and citrus filling my nose, the warmth of him seeping through my clothes.

“Ahh little sister I’ve missed you,” Rhys says, setting me down to get a good look at me.

“Little sister?” called the male behind me, his snow crunching footsteps coming towards Rhysand and I’s side.

“It seems you’ve already met her, this is my little sister, y/n.”Rhys beams, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Y/n this is my very good friend, Azriel.”

“Azriel,” I blink, holding out my hand for the shadowsinger to shake. How had I not realized? Rhysand’s letters spoke of his shadowsinger friend, now that I looked at him, and I mean really looked at him, I could see the dark matter swirling around him.

“Princess,” he says, bowing his head and pressing a kiss to my hand. “It is an honor to meet you. You’ll have to forgive my previous informality, I didn’t know who you were.”

Rhysand let out a hearty laugh behind me, “Azriel my friend there is no need for such formalities, in fact my sister detests them.” he smiles.

“It’s true, you can just call me y/n, I’m sure that we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other in the years to come.” I smile hoping I was speaking the truth into existence.

“Come, mother has made dinner for all of us and you have yet to meet Cassian,” Rhys said enthusiastically, throwing an arm over my shoulder.

From that day forward I found myself spending more and more time at Windhaven, in hopes of seeing Azriel. Sometimes I would see him for only a minute or so, other times he would be able to stay and have dinner with my mother, myself and of course Rhys and Cass.

Those were always my favorite nights when he and I would share stolen glances across the table. Sometimes we might brush hands reaching for the carafe of wine, other times I would feel his boot brush my ankle under the table. Both of us danced around the other like flickering flames.

It wasn’t until a few years later when all three of them conquered the blood rite that Azriel and I were finally able to admit our feelings for one another…

We stood behind one of the many rows of cabins, the sound of laughing warriors celebrating their victories or mourning their losses ran through the camp. Before he even spoke I knew why he asked me to meet him back here, I could feel the tension between us both.

“I’m tired of acting like I don’t care about you. I’m tired of saying “nothing” whenever Rhys and Cassian ask me what’s on my mind. I’m tired of trying to hide that everytime I come back to camp that I’m looking for you and hoping I can see you for just one second. I’m tired of pretending I don’t love you,” Azriel confesses, caging me against the back wall of a cabin.

“Azriel I-” I begin but he cuts me off.

“When we were on the mountain, there was a moment where there was a dagger to my throat and I thought I was going to die. I thought I would leave this world without telling you how much I loved you. If it wasn’t for Cassian that would’ve been the case. I won’t make the same mistakes twice,” he finished.

“Azriel, I love you too,” I shuddered a sigh, aware of how close he was to me.

The second the words left my mouth he was on me, large hands encircling my waist as I felt every inch of his body pressed against mine. His breath was hot on my face, contrasting the bitter cold of the night air.

“Can I kiss you?” he breathed, lips mere inches from mine.

“Please,” I begged, but once again the word hung in the air for mere seconds before his mouth was on mine.

Every part of it felt so right. His hands on my waist, my fingers in his hair, his lips on mine claiming me in a way that made my head spin. My arms pulled him as close as possible, needing to feel him, smell that scent of rain, leather and whatever intoxicating cologne he was wearing. I was so drunk on him that I was shaken when I heard a hearty laugh ring out through the camp.

I pulled back immediately realizing what was happening, “Oh my gods, we can’t do this here, my brother he-”

“Shhh, shhh,” he cooed, brushing a stray hair behind my ear. “I talked to Rhys about it, I have his blessing to court you. He took it rather well, he actually seemed excited.” Azriel laughed, pressing a kiss to my forehead as he held me closer, his body blocking the wind from seeping into my clothes.

“Oh Azriel,” I smile, kissing him hard as I feel him lifting me into the air, my head spinning just as fast as he spun me.

We spent the rest of that night lying on a blanket in a field away from the world. The sound of distant celebrations making us laugh every now and then. At some point I could’ve sworn I heard Cassian singing a tale of an old drunk warrior.

I had tried to tell Azriel that he should join his brothers in their celebration but he insisted that he would much rather spend his few moments of peace with me. It was one of the best nights of my life.

Our relationship was kept secret from everyone but Rhys and Cassian. Even my mother, who always accompanied me to Windhaven, was kept in the dark. No one with close ties to my father could know. That being said, it was hard for Azriel and I to find quiet moments together.

Most of the time we met in the woods behind camp. Azriel would go away and bring me little trinkets, pretty rocks and feathers he found while in the mountains. In the spring he always came with a freshly picked bouquet of wildflowers. We always ended up making out and getting carried away, on more than one occasion I tried to take things further but he never let me.

“I won’t have the first time I bed you in the woods. You’re a princess, you deserve a soft bed to be worshiped on.”

Was what he always said to me. While I appreciated the sentiment, I couldn’t help but wish for more.

It wasn’t until a few months later that I finally saw an opening. Father and mother were going to be at a meeting in the Winter Court, leaving Velaris in the care of Rhys. More importantly the cabin at Windhaven would be empty. That night was truly the best night of my life.

My back hits the warm sheets below me as Azriel looks at my bare body with hungry eyes. I had never been with a male before, my father and mother dead set on having me intact for whatever husband they shackled me to. But Azriel would be my husband, even if he wasn’t noble or the son of a High Lord he was mine, and I was his. I didn’t care how many rules I had to break to have him.

“My beautiful, beautiful princess,” he murmurs, pressing kisses to my neck.

His hands wander the expanse of my bare skin, both warming and leaving goosebumps wherever they trail. I arch my back into him, needing more, needing the very essence of him branded into me.

“Azriel I need more,” I breathe tugging on the ends of his hair.

He had already stripped me bare and kissed every square inch of me before falling to his knees and feasting on me like I was his last meal. I had read about such sinful touches before, dreamt about experiencing those sensations with him at night. None of it compared to the real thing.

“Are you sure about this?” He asks me once more, brushing the hair from my face.

“I’m sure, I want it to be you,” I nod running my hands through his hair again.

The wild twinkle in his eyes was enough to make my toes curl as he smiled at me, “I promise to be gentle, to make you feel good,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to my lips.

“I trust you Az,” I nod and his lips kick up again at his nickname.

I feel him nudge and my entrance and my breath hitches as he inches himself inside. The stretch was painful, but the sting faded as he peppered kisses all over my face, whispering sweet nothings to me.

“Shh you’re doing so well princess…”

“You’re so beautiful…”

“Can you feel me? Can you feel us?”

“I love you…”

I must’ve seen stars a million times that night. His gentle nature only made me fall deeper in love with him. It wasn’t the brutal fucking I had heard about in taverns and from drunk men at balls. He had taken his time, and been even more gentle than he had promised me.

We made love a dozen times that night. Kissed and touched and worshiped until I fell asleep, bathed and warm in his arms.

The next morning was hard to face. Knowing we had to leave the cabin and act as if we didn’t spend the entire night exchanging souls, and tangled in eachothers arms.

Az especially was on edge, so much so that when a younger male offered to tie my boot for me Azriel marched over and pushed him into the mud before pulling my foot onto his bent knee and tying it himself.

Of course I yelled at him for being an Illyrian baby while Rhys and Cassian laughed and poked fun at their friend. Azriel just huffed and shot a warning glance at the poor male who had tried to tie my boot.

From there on out we spent every possible moment together. I would tell my father that I was visiting friends in other courts just so I could see Azriel, which wasn’t often. As the war between humans and fae grew more iminanent I saw less and less of the shadowsinger. Our meetings became more fervent, and well…passionate. We became careless and it’s what ended up tearing him away from me for good.

My back was pressed against the cabin wall, my hands pinned by my head as Azriel’s lips consumed mine. We had no longer than an hour together before he would be set back to scout for Hybern’s troops, but we intended to make the most of it.

“I missed you,” he breathed into my neck.

“I missed you too, two weeks is too long,” I murmured, breathing in his scent. He always left me one of his many shirts to sleep in but it never did compare to the real thing.

“I don’t have much time, they’re sending me to the border to scout for Hybern’s troops,” he says in between kisses.

Scarred hands drift over my waist and graze my bum as I feel him collecting fist fulls of my skirt. Before my dress can be pushed up much further than my knees the door to the cabin barges open, startling both of us. Azriel placed his hand on one of the daggers strapped to his side, but not even he could defend me from who stepped through the threshold.

“What the hells is going on here?” My father’s voice boomed from the doorway, the cold air from outside seeping into the place that was once our own.

I peek out from behind Azriel’s shoulder to find not only my father but Lord Devlon standing before us. My fathers eyes locked on mine, and white hot fear seared my nerves.

“What are you doing with my daughter?!” My father roared, his power slamming Azriel aside.

“Father no!” I scream, clinging to his arm to interrupt his antics.

Devlon screamed for backup to come as Azriel’s feet hit the floor again. The commotion outside beginning to stir.

“My lord, I-” Azriel starts to explain but my father cuts him off.

“You will not speak unless spoken to, you bastard born brute!” my father screams as Devlon’s men come to detain the Shadowsinger.

“Father stop it! He didn’t take advantage of me, we’ve been seeing each other.” I plead with my father as tears start to well up in my eyes.

“What?!” he scoffed, looking at me like I was a common whore. “You are promised to one of the sons of Spring and yet you soil yourself with filth of his kind?”

“He’s not filth. He’s Rhys’ friend, and he’s good, brave and kind.” I beseech him as I hear Azriel struggle against the men who have him bound.

My father takes a deep breath and turns his gaze from me. The sound of his boots crossing the wooden floors to stand before Azriel are the loudest most impending sound I had ever heard. He stands before my shadowsinger before raising his hand and letting his fist collide with that beautiful face I had spent so long kissing.

My gasp reverberates through the room but Azriel doesn’t make a sound, as if he’s challenging my father, or proving his worth.

“What should we do with him?” my father asks, not taking his eyes off Az.

“The boy has completed the rite, we can send him to one of the battalions on the border. Perhaps the trash will take itself out,” Devlon laughs. I had known that the Lord had a chip on his shoulder for my brother and his friends. But sending him to the slaughter?

“Father please I love him!” I cry falling to my knees before my father, grasping his hand. I would never beg my father for anything, never fall to my knees for anyone. But for this I would… for Azriel, I would die on my knees.

Despite my pleading my fathers gaze never falters from where it is fixed on Azriel. As if he’s trying to decide if he should slit his throat now or let him die on a battlefield. Azriel’s face remains steadfast and strong, showing no signs of weakness, like he will accept whatever punishment befalls him with the grace of a warrior.

“Send him,” he says resolutely before turning away.

“NO PLEASE!” I beseech as my father hauls me to my feets again, but my knees are giving out under me.

“It is done,” his gruff voice says in my ear as I watch them haul Azriel to his feet. “One day you’ll thank me.”

I watch as they pull Azriel toward the door. Dragging him unnecessarily letting his wings drape across the ground. It was all happening so fast and could be the last time I ever saw his face.

“Let me say goodbye! Please let me say goodbye!” I shouted thrashing in my fathers grasp. Needing to touch Az one last time, needing one more moment with him.

Azriel’s eyes were frantic as he heard my screams, as he watched my father use his strength to detain me.

“Listen! Listen!” he called trying to get me to stop my frantic blubbering, the guards pulling him out the door. “You have to be strong princess. I love you , and I will find you again, if not in this life than in the next!” he shouts as he is hauled past the threshold of the cabin.

“Azriel!” I scream, my voice cracking under the weight of my tears.

“I love you!” he shouts again from the outside of the cabin.

“I love you!” I call back to him, not knowing if I’ll ever get another chance to say it.

That was six months ago...

Since then the war had gotten more and more bloody, and unavoidable. As far as I knew Azriel was still alive. I hadn’t seen him since the night he was ripped from my arms, a night I often had nightmares about. I sent him letters whenever possible and every so often I would get one back.

I could tell he had tried to send more, as every date on the ones that did make it through were skewed. The most recent one, dated two months ago, burned a hole in the pocket of my dress. The folds were so worn from reading that I feared they may fall apart the next time I opened it.

My love,

I am alive and well, though my battalion has suffered great losses. More and more Illyrians are sent to the frontlines every day to take the place of the dead. There are times I wonder if a wide eyed recruit will ever take my place…

At night I lie in bed and dream of you lying next to me, your warmth. Or the way your hair looks sprawled in swirling over the green grass when you’re under me. The sound of your voice calling my attention. The softness of your hands. The night you came undone for me in the cabin.

My only consolation is that when I look up at the night sky. I know you are looking at those same stars. And if what I’m doing is keeping you safe. Keeping you fed and swathed in those blue silks that drive me crazy. Then I will sleep in this tent and fight alongside my peers happily. My love is safe and warm because of me.

I love you, and I will return to you.

Yours eternally,

Azriel

I fold the tattered parchment with gloved hands and tuck it securely into the pocket of my dress. The shouts of men and the clash of swords outside my tent drown out the peace I had struggled to preserve.

Hybern’s army had marched on Velaris and while the border hadn’t been breached, my father decided it was unsafe to leave my mother and I there. My mother was sent to a camp with my father where he would watch over her, I was sent to Rhys’ camp.

The flap of the tent is thrown open, my brother charges in wearing his leathers, his hair disheveled and a letter in hand.

“What is it?” I stand upon seeing the worry gracing his face.

Armies had been marching upon another camp a few miles away. If they had breached the encampment that would mean they were coming for us next. We would have just minutes to evacuate and find a safe place.

“The men were able to hold the front lines,” he says, setting down his swords with a sigh that told me that there was still news to be revealed.

“Then what is it?” I asked quietly, unsure of whether or not I wanted to know the truth he had to say.

Violet eyes met my own, in them, a sorrow and worry I had not yet seen from my brother, “It’s Azriel.” he said.

My heart stopped and my world quieted as I perched myself on a nearby chair, not trusting my legs to keep me upright. Not when my heart lay in the balance, the very reason I was alive.

“He was injured, severely. He may be dying y/n.” he said sadly, coming to stand before me.

May be dying. Which meant he was alive, which meant there was still a chance.

My head snaps up to him, a new fire in my gaze that no one had seen in six months.

“Take me to him,” I ordered my brother as I stood to collect my cloak.

“You’re asking me to take you, my sister, to the front lines. I won’t do it.” Rhys shakes his head.

“I am going with or without you Rhys,” I say firmly, wrapping my cloak around my shoulders.

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair before picking his swords up again and strapping them to his sides. With my hood over my head and my brother's hand at my back we made our way out into the night. Once we reached the wards at the edge of the camp we winnowed to the encampment near the frontlines.

Immediately as we walked through the rows of tents and campfires I could tell that these males had seen hell. All of them looked significantly worse than the males at the camp we had just come from. Most of them were caked in mud and blood, some were drunk on whatever filled their cups. All of them were loud and rowdy and most likely celebrating their last nights in this life.

Rhys led me through the camp, until we arrived at a lonely tent in the center. It was large and from the outside I could practically smell Azriel. I bolted for the entrance and threw open the flaps, my heart racing, unsure if I would find him alive or dead.

But there he was, breathing. Leaning against the back of his bed with a large bandage over his left thigh. He was awake and refreshingly himself, as if nothing was truly wrong and most importantly he was alive.

I run to him throwing my arms around his neck, “Oh Azriel,” I coo breathing him in.

“Y/n?” he says, his mind clearly still foggy.

I pull back to cup his face, whoever had healed him has cleaned him up, the small cut above his eyebrow already starting to heal, “Az,” I breathe.

His hand comes to cup my face, “How are you here? This can’t be real,” his eyes search my face as if to try and wake up from a dream.

I place a kiss on his lips, “I’m real, I’m here,” I assure him as tears spill from my eyes. “They told me you were dying.”

“I am well, it was a deep cut but the healers say I’ll be okay,” he assures me as his eyes continue to take me in.

I let my eyes do the same, taking in every cut and bruise on him, even the patched holes in his wings no doubt from arrows piercing the beautiful, leathery flesh.

“Faebane?” Rhys’ voice croons from the entrance of the tent as he watches us, it seemed that his nerves were also settled upon seeing Azriel well.

“Yep,” Azriel said nonchalantly, but his eyes told the truth of how happy he was to see my brother, or maybe how relieved.

“Hurts like a bitch doesn’t it?” Rhys chuckles stepping into the tent and closing the flap.

My eyes widened at his causal tone, “How can you both be so docile about this? He could’ve died.” I exclaim, looking Azriel over once more in case I missed any lingering wounds.

Azriel's chest rumbles with a chuckle, “Shhh my love. Everything will be alright.” he says, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “But what are you doing here? It isn’t safe.”

“The border of Velaris is almost breached,” Rhys started from behind me. “We couldn’t leave her and my mother there, it wasn’t safe.”

“Mother is with father and I’m with Rhys. We found out you were injured and just a camp away and I asked him to take me to you.” I continue Rhys’ explanation.

Azriel cuts Rhys a somewhat harsh look as if to say ‘why the hell would you take her somewhere so dangerous?’

“You needed to see each other,” Rhys explains further. “If anything were to happen to you and I didn’t let you two say goodbye, I would never forgive myself.”

Azriel’s shoulders softened in understanding before turning to me once more, “You have to go princess,” he said, eyes full of sorrow.

My breath hitches as I stumble back a little from where I sit next to him, “What? No, I won’t leave you,” I say resolutely.

He cups the side of my face, “Please it’s not safe here,” he eyes pleading as his voice falters.

I go to argue but Rhys speaks up behind me, “He’s right y/n, It’s the most vulnerable camp we have.” my brother says, his words solemn.

“I don’t care!” I exclaim turning back to brush Azriel’s hair from his face. “I’m not leaving him Rhys, we will be okay.”

Azriel’s eyes flare, “Look at me!” he shouts gesturing to his leg. “I can’t protect you here,” his voice is laced with frustration, not at my unwillingness to leave, but his inability to do the one thing he swore to always do, protect me.

“Then I’ll die here with you!” I proclaim, fiercely. “If you cannot protect me, then you cannot protect yourself. Please Azriel, please don’t make me leave.” I cry lying down on his chest, gripping the leathers there, as if it might keep my brother from ripping me away.

“I can’t,” I sob as my words get caught in my throat. “I can’t lose you again I-”

“Shhh,” Azriel coos, his hand stroking my hair as he pulls me into his chest. “You’ll stay here in my arms.” he assures me and I’m finally able to relax into his touch.

“Y/n, I can’t stay here. I need to go back to my own troops and prepare them for tomorrow,” my brother said softly, not trying to persuade me to return, but to inform me of the increasing danger.

“I understand,” I say standing to say goodbye.

“I’ll come back for you tomorrow morning, before the troops march,” he said, his words tinged with sorrow.

I take in the sight of my brother looking defeated, a look I so rarely saw on him. It broke me to realize I might never see him after this. If the enemy marched on this camp there would be no one to keep Azriel and I from the slaughter given his injury.

“Okay,” I whispered, my voice cracking as I threw myself onto my beloved brother.

Rhys said his goodbyes to Azriel, both of them not wanting to get too deep, say too much, for fear of manifesting defeat on both sides. When my brother exited the tent I took my spot next to Azriel on his large cot and waited for either death or the sunrise.

Later in the night, the raucous from outside got louder and louder disturbing my sleep. When I raised my head from Azriel’s chest I found that his eyes remained open and fixed on the tent entrance, like he was ready to challenge anyone who dared to walk through despite his inability to walk.

“Hey,” I smiled weakly, my voice shaky from sleep.

“Hey,” he smiled back, pushing a hair from my face.

I moved back the blanket to check the gash in his thigh. Lifting the white bandage, I could see that it was almost completely soaked through, if I left it that way he would never get better.

I throw my legs over the edge of the cot and search for my discarded cloak, “You need fresh bandages or you’ll get an infection. I’m going to go get you some.”

“Y/n don’t you dare leave this tent. There are war bound men out there looking for one last lay before they leave this world,” he pleads, reaching for my hand that’s just out of reach.

“I’ll only be a moment Az,” I assure him before raising my hood and slipping out of the tent.

I can hear him shouting my name as I exit, but his protests are quickly drowned out by the sound of drunken men. Azriel was right, these men were drunk and not in their right mind. But if that wound got infected and he died I would never forgive myself. So I kept my head down walking towards the medic tent I passed on my way in, ignoring rambunctious cheers and stumbling men.

The light of the medic tent comes into view and relief washes over me swiftly before the rug is pulled out from under me and I run smack into a broad chest.

“Well what do we have here?” laughs a drunken male. I can smell the sweat and alcohol on him.

“Looks like we have a little birdy who lost her way,” laughs a male from my right.

My feet take two steps back before bumping into another mountain of a male. His hand comes up to rip the hood off my head, if all three of them recognized me as their princess they didn’t show it. My pulse began to race as I frantically looked for a way out of this hell.

“What’s a beauty like you doing out here?” crooned the male behind me.

I put on a stoic face, “I’m leaving if you’ll excuse me,” I state, but before I can even take my first step I feel large hands grasping my shoulders holding me in place.

“Whoever bought you for the night must’ve paid a pretty penny,” jested the man to my right.

“What do ya say darlin? Are you gonna give these brave men a proper send off?” the man behind me says low into my ear as he grabs me around the middle, plucking me off the ground.

I start kicking trying to break free, my screamed muffled by his hand over my mouth. All the trashing in the world wasn’t enough to break their hold as the other two males descended upon me, as if they were willing to take me right there in the middle of camp.

“I’ll thank you to take your hands off my princess,” drawled a voice from behind me.

The eyes of the three men surrounding me went wide at whatever figure stood behind us, all three of them scurrying off to gods knew where. I turn slowly to face whoever my rescuer was, and I’m met with a mountain of sheer muscle and bright red siphons.

“Cassian!” I cried running to throw my arms around the burly warrior, I hadn’t seen him in over a year.

He hugs me tighter, the kind of bear hug only he could provide. It was clear to me that he missed me just as much as I had missed him. When he releases me he bends down to cup my face, and wipe away the tears I didn’t know had fallen.

“Princess, what are you doing here? Where is your brother?” he asked, brows furrowed.

“Rhys brought me here but he’s gone now, he’s gone back to his own camp but he’ll be back tomorrow,” I say as Cassian continues to wipe away the fresh tears, this time tears of happiness and not fear.

Cassain stands up as if to assess for danger before tossing an arm around me, “Stay with me, I’ll keep you safe. Where is Azriel? I was told he was injured,” he asks, remaining vigilant.

“He’s okay, I was just getting him fresh bandages,” I report, pointing Cassian towards the medic tent.

“He let you leave his tent?!” he balks corralling me inside the tent.

“Uh, no. Not really,” I laugh nervously.

He rolls his eyes and grabs a few armfuls of bandages before shoving them into my arms. We weave through drunken men who do a good job of staying at least three feet away from me, no doubt seeing The Lord of Bloodshed trailing me.

I throw open the flap of Azriel’s tent, running to his side at once.

“Oh thank the mother,” he sighs in relief upon seeing me.

I laugh at his fussing and begin dressing his wound, “Look who I found,” I say nodding my head to where Cassian stands behind me.

“I believe I found you,” Cassian corrects me, sheer amusement in his voice.

“Cass!” Azriel beams as his brother gives him an affectionate smack on the shoulder.

“Brother you look a little worse for wear,” Cassian chuckles looking at the wound I was currently cleaning.

“I’ve been better,” Azriel winces as I wrap the wound in a clean bandage.

“I heard what happened and came as soon as I could. Ran right into your princess here, causing trouble as usual,” the warrior chortles beside me making me roll my eyes.

“What?” Azriel asked, more alert than he previously was.

“You were right, the men out there are assholes,” I scoff, tying off the fresh bandage.

“Did they touch you?” he inquired, his eyes ablaze.

“Az it’s fine Cass was there,” I assure him placing a hand on his shoulder feeling the palpable tension there, like he was ready to pounce.

“Y/n did they put their hands on you?” he asks again, this time more unyielding than before.

“Yes but look at me, I'm fine!” I say with an exasperated sigh.

Azriel’s eyes flit to Cassian as he extends his hand to his brother, like he needs support.

“Cassian help me up,” he orders, already scooting to the edge of the cot.

“Azriel don’t you dare!” I shout smacking his chest. “Enough with the territorial, Illyrian nonsense! You’re injured, you’re going to get yourself killed!”

The shadowsingers body slumps back into bed in defeat with a huff, clearly upset he couldn’t pummel the shit out of a couple of lowly males who weren’t worth it in the first place.

Cassian’s chuckle reverberated through the tent, “Good to see you two picking up right where you left off,” he joked, remembering all the times we had similar quarrels.

It was the early hours of morning, and while the sun was still hiding behind the mountains, it would be rearing its ugly head soon enough. The partying and cheering from outside the tent had died down. Men either passing out drunk or choosing sleep over thoughts of what might happen tomorrow.

Cassian snored softly in the corner of the tent in the chair he took up. He had elected to stay behind and watch over us at Azriel’s request and I was smart enough to not argue with two Illyrians.

I layed on Azriel’s chest, waiting for sleep to claim me but it never came. Sleep didn’t find Azriel as well, his hand twirling through the strands of my unbound hair as we sat in silence.

“You know what kept me alive out there on that battlefield after I was injured?” Azriel whispered into the night.

“A healer that I’ll be paying a very handsome bonus to?” I laugh squeezing my arms around him a bit.

“No, you” he said seriously rubbing my shoulder

“Me?” I gawk, sitting up so I could look him in the eye.

“Yes, you,” he smiled, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “When I was downed they thought I was dead. Horses and men clamored over me. It was all so loud, such a blur but then I closed my eyes and there you were.” he said looking at the canopy of the tent, as if remembering the event.

“It was a memory from the first time I saw you, before I even knew who you were. You were standing in the snow waiting for Rhys and your mother and there was snow all over your hair. It was the first snow of the year and you were entranced just like you always are.” He chuckles, pulling me closer. “But I knew then and there that I had to open my eyes. Had to get up. Even if it was just to see your face one more time, kiss your lips, tell you I love you. I woke up in this tent reeling from it. I could’ve sworn you were here, in the vision I felt your touch. And then hours later you storm in here with your fussing and worrying.” he says.

I feel a tear roll down my face as I cup his face, pulling his gaze from the canopy to me. I pulled his letter out of my dress pocket, the paper flopping about from how many times it had been folded and unfolded.

“I kept this letter with me every single day. I must’ve read it a hundred times, hells I might even have it memorized.” I laugh, shaking the paper in my hands. “I never once gave up hope that I would see you again. No matter what happens after tonight I still won’t give up hope. I know I’ll find you again.”

Azriel chuckles, pressing his forehead to mine, “I’d crawl home to you if I had to princess,” he says resolutely.

I wake the next morning to the sound of men moving about outside the tent and an empty cot. The covers before me are still disheveled from where Azriel slipped out from under me. I threw the blankets off the bed and pulled my cloak from where I set it last night, fastening it to my shoulders.

When I toss open the flaps of the tent I’m momentarily blinded by the bright sun before the sight of men collecting their weapons and armor come into focus. My eyes darted frantically for a trace of Azriel, surely he couldn’t have gone far, surely he wasn’t going to fight today.

“Azriel!” I call out roaming around looking for a flash of a blue siphon.

Heavy footsteps come up behind me grabbing my arm and I turn around to be met with Cassian. I looked back to the tent and realized he had been keeping watch outside.

“Cass, where is he?” I ask him, but all I’m met with is a heavy gaze from Cassian.

“Y/n?” calls a voice from behind me and I turn to see my father, mother and brother walking towards us.

My mother runs over to me taking me into her arms and holding me close. It was clear to me that they had found Rhys and instantly questioned why I wasn’t under his care.

“Thank the gods,” my mother breathed taking in my unharmed appearance.

“You smell like that Illyrian brute,” my father sneered and I knew right away he ment Azriel.

“He could have been dying,” I reply with equal venom, my gaze narrowing at the man who went through such great lengths to keep us apart.

“Of course, why do you think I sent him to the frontlines again today?” he scoffed, already turning his attention to the hordes of men preparing for battle.

My blood turned to ice in my veins and my heart plummeted.

“What?” I cried looking at Rhys who wore a solemn look on his face. “Rhys, you knew?”

My brother lets out a shaky breath, “I knew before we even arrived last night. When he tried to get you to leave I used daemati to tell him he was being sent to the front lines. He knew it would be the last time he ever saw you.” he confessed.

He knew.

Haste clouds my mind and I turn to run in the same direction with the rest of the men, my father and brother joining their ranks without another word. My mother catches me around the shoulders and pulls me into her embrace as my knees hit the muddy ground beneath us.

“No, no, no, no no!” I scream trying to run to the front, as if I could keep Azriel from death myself.

“The battle is not yet over sweetheart, he may still live,” My mother coos stroking my hair.

“He was injured mother,” my words come out as sobs as I cling to her cloak.

“Have faith,” she pleads, kneeling on the ground with me, trying to calm me as best she can.

“Azriel,” I cry. “My Azriel.”

I give into my mothers embrace and after a while she ushers me toward a tent. She wipes my face with a cool towel trying to calm my swollen eyes, but it’s no use. Every war cry, and ear rupturing blast feels like the one that takes Azriel’s life. Each one sends me back into a mess of shallow breaths and tears.

Only when the battle cries fade, and the blasts of siphons and raw power cease do my tears stop. Soldiers and Illyrains come filtering back to the camp, some whole, some being carried by their peers. My brother and Cassain are the first to find us. Rhys was unharmed, but Cassian was wheeled to a healer immediately. Thankfully, she claimed he would be alright.

I took to the masses, weaving through men making their way back occasionally running into some as my eyes were focused on the skies. Searching amongst the hordes of Illyrians flying in. If Azriel was anywhere it would be there.

“Azriel!” I shouted, my voice going hoarse from the screaming I had been doing.

More and more Illyrians fly overhead, not one of them resembling my Azriel. If he was amongst them he would see me standing out like a sore thumb amongst the rabble, going against the grain of everyone before me.

“AZRIEL!” I call out even louder, cupping my hands around my mouth as if it will help.

“Y/N!”

I hear my voice being called, not from the skies, but from the ground. My eyes snap to the crowds before me before I see a pair of wings over the top of a million heads.

“AZRIEL?!” I call out moving in the direction of the voice that called to me.

Then I see him, my Azriel. The wound on his leg is split open and his wings are pierced with a dozen arrows which explains his inability to fly. But he’s there, and he’s whole, and alive.

“Y/n!” he calls out to me again.

I pick up the skirts of my dress running to him, my shoulders bumping into all the men I weave around. I jump into his arms feeling him pick me up, pulling me impossibly close.

“Oh Az,” I breathe running a hand through his hair as my feet hit the ground again, his eyes assessing me for any injury. “My love, I thought I would never see you again,” I cried.

His thumbs wipe away my tears as he cups my face, “Death, nor a thousand evil men could keep me from you,” he smiled before pulling me into his chest.

As we hold each other, the chaos around us fades into the background. For a moment, time stands still, and all that matters is that we are together. He was here, in my arms and he was alive. Both of us were, and there were many more years ahead of us. Many, many more years.

Epilogue: third person pov

Rhysand and Feyre stood in the living room of the townhouse. The world outside was near silent as Velaris slept, having spent the day celebrating solstice. Even the faelights in the home seemed to have dimmed. Members of the Inner Circle worked to clean the dessert plates off the table where they had their magnificent feast.

“And that’s their story,” Rhys finished saying to his mate, rubbing her shoulder as they continued to admire the scene before them.

On the large couch before them y/n was asleep on top of an even sleepier Azriel, his arms, legs and wings all but draping off the edges just to keep her comfortable.

When Feyre stumbled into the adorable scene it had occurred to her that she had never heard the story of how the two came to be. Rhysand was more than happy to tell her the tale of forbidden love and near death experiences.

“They’ve been through so much,” Feyre said, leaning into Rhysand’s touch.

“They truly have,” Rhys nods, pressing a kiss to his mate's temple. “But now they get to eat too much turkey every solstice and skip out on dish duty so I think it worked out okay.” he chuckles.

Feyre slaps him on the chest playfully but laughs right along with them watching as the pair lounges on the couch, mouths open and completely and utterly relaxed. The High Lord and Lady turn from the living room to rejoin the rest of their family in the kitchen. There would be time to make fun of the princess and the shadowsinger tomorrow.

They had all the time in the world.

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rune-writes · 1 month ago

Text

Snowdrops

Fandom: Final Fantasy XVI

Word Count: 8053

Rating: T

Pairing: Clive Rosfield/Jill Warrick

Summary: Jill was a slave of the Iron Kingdom. A girl barely of age who had just awoken to a power larger than herself, she was subjected to cruel treatment as befit a Dominant in Haearann. She'd lost everything: from her home, to her family, and the people she loved. And when she thought she would lose herself too, light called out to her.

Notes: written for Moongazers: A Clive/Jill Fanzine! tw: canon-typical violence, slavery.

Read on AO3.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Her carriage jostled from side to side—although, to be more precise, it wasn’t a carriage per se. An iron cage held her, hoisted over a wheeled, wooden platform and pulled by two beasts of burden. The first thing Jill sensed was the heat. It emanated from everywhere around her, as though she had been shoved inside a box of burning hot coal. Sweat beaded her forehead and she could feel the dampness of her clothes. She groaned, quiet, barely above a whisper. Her neck was stiff; cold metal bars bit into her back. As her consciousness slowly rose to the surface, the backs of her eyelids glowed in a dim orange light.

Heavy iron cuffs weighed her collar, wrists, and ankles…

Fetters—

A half-formed thought emerged in her mind, but it was enough to jolt her awake and inform her of where she was now. No— She scrambled, desperately grasping at the retreating darkness. Take me back! Take me back to—

Where?

She couldn’t recall where her mind had been, only that it had been warm, and light. Sunny. Her heart had soared as she rushed across a field of flowers, trying to catch up to…

The carriage jolted to a stop. A low guttural voice ordered her to wake up. She stayed still, pretending to be asleep. Her senses were returning and she could hear distant chatters and murmurs, the clanging of metal on forge; felt the heat of fire.

Feet shifted on both sides of her, and Jill fought against the tremble. She recognized those heavy steps. They approached her, stopped right next to her. Foul breath filled her nostrils.

“I said,” the Commander breathed into her face. His thick Haearanni tongue made her skin crawl, but Jill remained silent. “Wake. Up.”

He yanked open the door and shoved her off the cage, off the platform, until her shoulder banged against the hard, rocky ground and her body skidded several steps away. The force of the Commander’s shove should have pushed her further, but the chain around her neck stopped her short, gagging her. She gasped for breath. Jeers erupted from the soldiers as Jill coughed and reached for her collar.

“That is why you wake up when I tell you to, witch.” The Commander kicked her hand away, then kicked her chest for good measure. Tears welled in her eyes as Jill groaned and wheezed, feeling the fetters tightening around her neck like a noose.

“That is enough.”

When a bone-chilling, familiar voice boomed from across the hall, the chatter immediately died. The fires and forges went still. Jill froze, her coughing ceasing as her eyes whirled then fell on a black robe swishing around bony ankles. Primordial fear gripped her heart and she kicked her feet, pushed her back as far as she could away from this predator of a man; but she had no strength. Her kick was too feeble. Jill cursed herself for the weak whimper slipping out of her lips as Imreann stopped not far from where she lay. Jill averted her gaze, but even then she could feel his repulsive eyes rake through her body. She felt filthy.

“Congratulations, Commander, for your victory in battle,” the Patriarch said.

The army commander bowed at the waist. “You are too kind, Your Excellency. The battle would have been won far quicker if not for the witchling’s impudence.”

“Pray, explain.”

“She refused to prime. We had to make an…example of what it means to disobey us.”

“I see.” Another glance; this time with mild annoyance. She heard the click of a tongue. “I would have thought killing her handmaid,” —Jill outwardly flinched— “had taught her a lesson, but it seems that wasn’t enough. I should’ve kept her alive as a hostage.”

Jill shut her eyes. She didn’t want to imagine what he meant by that.

“Take the fetters off her neck. She can’t breathe like that. Remember, Commander: she is our weapon. I will not have her dying so soon.”

Feet shuffled then rough fingers slipped through her hair and reached around her neck. She felt them brush her raw, sensitive skin before she heard the clink and the metal ring fell off. Jill didn’t dare breathe a sigh of relief, not when the monster was still in front of her. Perhaps he knew what she was thinking, because then Imreann scoffed.

“Take her to her cell,” was all he said before he, along with his entourage, turned on their heels and headed back inside the mountain. The moment he disappeared, activity around the hall resumed. The Commander barked orders at two of the soldiers, who then grabbed Jill on both arms and lifted her to her feet.

“Walk,” one of them said.

As if she could, with her ankles still clasped and chained. Ice pierced her body, but she wasn’t sure whether it came from her magick or the dread of being cooped up far beneath the surface again. But perhaps, that was better than here, better than Imreann, better than outside where her weakness had cost her another child’s life.

***

Some people thought she was a lifeless doll—a puppet, made to move only under the beck and call of her master. They’re not wrong, Jill thought.

In a lonely dark cell, Jill lay, bone-weary, on the cold stone floor. No light dared disturb the darkness here—the farthest glow came from a dim torch nestled into the wall some handful yalms away. Not even sound could perturb the stillness.

Her gray eyes gazed unseeing at her small diamond-shaped pendant clasped in her hand. It had been a gift, or perhaps a memento. When the decision to send her to Rosaria had been made, her father had gone to her room to slip the necklace around her neck. A family heirloom, she was told. To remind her of home.

A faint hum of a melody drifted into her consciousness, along with a remnant of a familiar voice.

What’s that song? Someone had asked. That song you just sang.

On a quiet night, Jill had stood on the balcony of a castle. A boy had been with her, looking at her with stars in his eyes.

This? she’d asked, humming the melody again. The boy had nodded. It’s a song from my hometown. My parents taught it to me.

A memory of bygone days penetrated her mind, drifting aimlessly before it was pulled back into the blanket of obscurity.

It told of Shiva the Ice Queen. They say she would come to her people in their time of need and deliver salvation.

But Shiva had come and no salvation had been delivered. Part of Jill wondered if the legend had been nothing but a bedtime story meant to lull children to sleep. She had certainly fallen asleep to one of Shiva’s tales, dreaming up the Ice Queen and her legion of crystalline armies.

Perhaps even her necklace was a fraud—

Jill stopped herself.

She closed her eyes. Even the utterance of an apology to her father, her mother, her ancestors, took too much energy that she failed to muster. The pulsing warmth she had always sought in her necklace was nowhere to be found. It lay cold in her palm, offering neither solace nor reassurance that everything would be alright.

How could it be when everything had gone up in a blazing inferno three summers past—all her dreams, all her hopes?

She had no one else…

Chill seeped into her skin. Jill barely registered the cold—barely registered the fever that was settling in her bones. Her thin, ragged robe hung in tatters, barely covering her ankles that were covered in blisters and now chained to the wall. Yet still, her chest rumbled as the tune so familiar to her heart fought through her parched throat and dried lips.

I like that song, Clive had said. Will you sing it again?

Her thumb brushed over the dim onyx jewel nestled at the center of her pendant. In the stillness, Jill hummed, though she sounded weak and broken.

***

“There you are!”

Jill looked up. Clive stood at the door, half-turning, the tips of his raven hair painted silver under the moonlight.

For a split second, Jill couldn’t remember where she was or what she had been doing. A faint recollection of heat and pain shot up her arms, but the sensation quickly faded. A headache persisted, but it, too, disappeared after a brief shake of her head.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Clive crouched in front of her. “What’s wrong? You disappeared soon after dinner.”

Jill blinked then gazed around. She was at the Rosalith castle garden, concealed in the shadows of a shrub just outside the castle wall. It wasn’t quite hidden per se. The entire garden was swathed in moonlight that night. The otherwise dark corners were lit by magick-infused torches. If Jill had sought to hide, she could’ve looked for a better place.

“It’s nothing,” she eventually said. She shook her head, though her smile didn’t reach her eyes. Clive’s concern turned into a frown.

“If it’s nothing, then what are you doing here drawing circles on the ground?”

Jill dropped her eyes.

“Tell me.”

The softness in his voice prompted her to speak but when Jill opened her mouth, the words wouldn’t come. So Jill shrugged, then continued drawing circles. He sighed.

Jill didn’t stir when his shadow moved and settled next to her. While distance remained between their shoulders, she could still feel the heat radiating off his body. It calmed her, grounded her.

“Joshua was worried,” Clive began. “You seemed down and then excused yourself early from dinner. Did something happen?”

Jill didn’t say anything, and neither did he. The silence stretched for a while, until Clive spoke:

“The moon’s beautiful tonight.”

Unwittingly, Jill looked up—

—then realized halfway that, again, Clive had managed to coax her out of her shell. She cut a glance at him when she heard his chuckle, finding one corner of his lips tugged into a small smirk. Jill’s own features fought between a frown and a sigh before settling on a little wry smile of her own.

“How do you do that?” she asked.

“Do what?”

Jill remained quiet for a moment. Her gaze flicked from his face back to the circles she’d drawn on the ground. The stick she’d used lay loosely in her grip. She dropped it, then folded her arms around her knees.

“You always know,” she said. “When I’m feeling down. I never say anything, but you always know how to cheer me up…how to make me talk.” She giggled softly. “Like that time you took me to Mann’s Hill.”

“I would take you there again if it would brighten your mood.” She glanced at him, and he smiled, shifting his eyes upward. “Except it’s already night, and Mann’s Hill is nowhere near the castle. It wouldn’t just be Murdoch who would flay us this time.”

That prompted a quiet laugh from her. Clive brightened at the sound. In the periphery of her senses, she sensed him reach for her, stopped, then changed course to her head. His gentle pats felt like a salve that soothed her wounds. Jill’s breath shuddered in contentment.

“Will you tell me what troubles you?”

She pursed her lips and closed her eyes.

An image of a cold, dark cell flashed across her mind. She lay alone, shivering, with chains on her neck and around her blistering ankles. For a fleeting moment, her heart seized. Her throat closed and she struggled to breathe.

“Jill?”

The image dissipated as quickly as it had come. When Jill blinked, she found herself back at the garden with the full moon and a worried Clive sitting next to her. Warmth radiated from her hand, where Clive was holding it, anchoring her to the present.

A dream, she told herself. Or a nightmare. Would he laugh if she told him she was afraid of boogeymen?

“Can I ask you something, Clive?” she asked instead. “Why did you want to become First Shield?”

She knew part of the reason was because of Lady Anabella. The Duchess’s scorn for her firstborn was not a well-kept secret—not that the Duchess had done anything to keep it secret. Everyone knew—from the handmaids to the kitchen hands, the stableboys and even the soldiers. Jill had also been on the receiving end of such contempt on more occasions than one. Perhaps, that was why they were drawn to each other: two children seeking their place in the world.

Yet despite all the derision he received, Clive still aspired to become First Shield—the Phoenix’s protector—and had been training for it throughout all the years Jill had lived there.

She lay her head on her knee, gaze locked at their connected hands. “How did you find the strength to stand when all others expected you to fall?”

Clive stared at her. “Did Mother say something to you again?” he asked, and Jill almost flinched. His hard gaze bored into her. It was one thing, it seemed, for his mother to disregard him, and another when the same thing occurred to Jill. While Jill couldn’t deny that the Duchess Anabella had made more scathing remarks, that wasn’t the reason behind her question, so she shook her head. It took a while before Clive could be convinced.

He let out a frustrating sigh and slumped back against the wall, withdrawing his hand in the process. The absence of his warmth made her skin tingle uncannily in the cool evening air. She curled her fingers and tucked them closer.

“While it is true that I had hoped to earn Mother’s approval,” he said, “the reason why I wanted to become First Shield is simply because I wanted to protect my brother. The Phoenix is our symbol of hope. While Joshua safeguards our people, I shall take my place beside him and shield him from harm. That, at least, is what I hope to achieve. Come what may, I train so that one day I may have the strength to do just that.”

“You’re already strong, Clive,” she said.

Clive scoffed under his breath. “If I seem that way to you,” he said, then paused. A furtive glance at her followed by a sheepish smile and a clearing of his throat before he looked away again. “I think that’s because I have you with me.” He scratched the back of his head. “You’re always there to pull me up and hold my back.”

Jill blinked, stunned.

Before she could comprehend the meaning of his words, Clive had already pushed himself off the ground. He gazed at the star-speckled sky, where the moon hung low and bright.

“When things start to go dark around me, I look to my light to show me the way.” The moon lined his profile in silver, and for a moment, Jill thought he looked ethereal. Then he turned and held out his hand. “So when you find yourself in a similar predicament, Jill, look for your light.”

***

Sharp, piercing whispers penetrated the barriers of Jill’s consciousness, along with a pounding headache that almost jolted her awake. She groaned.

The owners of the voices didn’t seem to hear her. They kept arguing, their frustratingly loud yet hushed voices grating on her ears.

Jill cracked open an eye and found the rim of a crude bowl next to her face. Odd, she thought. Odder still when she spotted a glass and a tray behind it. Her eyes traced the edges of the tray to the gray stone floor, farther still until they rested on what looked like metal bars standing on their side. The word “cell” came to her mind, but her sluggish brain failed to follow it with a meaning. Her thin drenched garment barely kept the chill away. Jill shivered.

Ah…I want to go back.

The thought came unbidden. It made her pause. Back, she asked herself. Back where?

Back there. To him.

Him…who?

The boy. With the blue eyes.

But he’s…

Gone.

A sob tore out of her, except—her body was too weak to let out anything louder than a whimper. So Jill lay on the floor, a crushing weight pressing down on her ribs as she took one deep shuddering breath after another.

Look for your light—

But there was no light. The cell stood dark and dank. Freezing. The only heat came from the guard’s torch, because yes, that was a guard. She was in prison, deep in the bowels of Mount Drustanus, where they housed the cruelest, most wicked of their felons: a Dominant.

Jill’s senses were slowly coming back to her. Fetters bit into her skin and cold stone pressed hard against her bony cheek. She tasted salt. Another odd thing. But her jaws moved; she lapped her lips. They…weren’t as parched as she’d thought. She eyed the bowl. Gruel? Was that…dinner? But who…? No one should’ve entered her cell and placed her dinner inside, let alone feed her.

She lifted her head just in time as the voices finally made sense to her:

“I am telling you that your precious weapon is ill. If you do not treat her and she dies, whose head do you think will roll?”

The torch lit the speakers’ faces just enough that Jill recognized the messy bun, brown smock, and plump features.

“Lady Marleigh…” Jill croaked.

She hadn’t meant to call—she didn’t even realize she had strength to speak—but her voice was heard, and Lady Marleigh gasped. Marleigh turned, eyes brimming, then pushed past the guard and entered the cell. “Oy—” The guard attempted to grab Marleigh’s arm, but Marleigh was too quick on her feet. Her already feeble energy spent, Jill fell to the ground just as Marleigh arrived at her side.

“My lady.” The older woman reached over and pressed a hand to her cheek. Even in the dark, Jill could tell how the lady frowned.

Marleigh reached to her pocket then withdrew a small, thin packet.

“My lady, please drink this. ‘Tis medicine for your fever.”

“Hey—” The guard pushed his way inside the cell then grabbed Marleigh’s arm before she could administer the drug. Big as he was—like all other Haearanni—he easily pulled Marleigh up in one swift motion. Jill watched the medicine spill out of the packet as it fell. Marleigh wailed in agony. “How did you get that medicine?” the guard demanded.

“Let me go, you big brute! That was for my mistress and you made me waste it!”

“Answer! Where did you get the medicine?!”

“If you won’t treat her, then I will—”

He shoved her down. Lady Marleigh’s shoulder connected with the floor with a sickening crack, enough for Jill to fight through her pain and languor and scream—cracked though she sounded—“Lady Marleigh!”

“Thieving rat! Did you steal from the Patriarch’s storage?” The guard spat. He made to reach for Marleigh again, but a command from Jill made him pause. The guard looked over his shoulder.

Jill had propped herself on her arms. Ice surged through her veins—ice that fought and wrestled against the crystal cuffs that kept it at bay. For one split moment, fear washed over the guard’s face as he took a trembling step back. Then the magick abated, and Jill gasped, slumping onto the ground.

The guard barked a hideous laugh. “You have no power here, witchling! Not as long as you wear those fetters.” He might have thought to give her a kick, but whatever power Jill had about to unleash remained in the air, and it was enough to make him reconsider his next move. The guard ended up grunting under his breath, hoisted Marleigh by the arm, and dragged her out kicking and screaming as the lady attempted to return to Jill.

“Shut it, you!” The guard hissed. He closed the cell, clicking the lock into place. “You’d be lucky if I didn’t report to the Patriarch.”

With as much bravado as Lady Marleigh could muster, she looked the guard square in the eye and said, “Try me.”

The guard pushed Marleigh forward. Jill watched them leave along with the light and the heat. Once, Lady Marleigh dared to look behind her shoulder before the guard shoved her forward again. Jill closed her eyes, listening to the patter of their footsteps, growing weaker and weaker, echoing in the empty chamber. Faraway, a door creaked open. A distant bustling cacophony slipped out before the door closed once again, shutting Jill away from the world.

***

Sometimes, when Jill closed her eyes, she would find herself back in Rosaria: the hustle and bustle of early morning preparations, the chatters and laughter in the servants’ quarters, the shouts and warm camaraderie of the barracks. She might not have been born there—she had only been a simple ward—but the Archduke had treated her like a daughter, and everyone—or, most of everyone—had welcomed her in kind.

See, that was what most people probably didn’t know. She remembered light. She remembered kindness.

She remembered the first day she arrived there.

The sun had risen high and the trumpets had blared. The grandest of welcomes if Jill had ever seen one. While the Archduke and his knights had been the most hospitable, being in a strange land all by herself had given Jill nothing short of apprehension, least of all with the Duchess’s disdain following her every step. Savage, she’d called her. Jill had shrunk into herself. She probably would have locked herself in the room designated to be hers if Clive hadn’t come and asked her to play.

‘Play’ might not be the exact word, though for a six year old, being taken on a tour of the castle then playing hide-and-seek with the servants had counted as playing. The handmaid assigned to her had looked so disgruntled as she asked Jill not to disappear like that.

A distant memory surfaced: of a body, broken and spent, tossed in front of her like a limp ragged doll. It left as soon as it came before Jill could make sense of what it was, and then she was back at the castle hall with her handmaid staring down at her. Jill cast her eyes down and shifted on her feet.

“She’s not harmed.” Clive, his hand holding hers, stepped in front of her. “See? She’s alright. I was just taking her out to see the garden and—”

“My lord—” Her handmaid plastered a strained smile, but before she could say anything else, a hand flashed and smacked Clive on the head—lightly. Clive yelped, then whirled around, ready to fight. Only, a glaring Murdoch stood behind them, looking stern, and Clive paled.

“I heard your lordship skipped his lesson,” the general said.

“Murdoch, I—”

General Murdoch dropped his eyes to their linked hands and let a quiet sigh slip through his nose. “I appreciate your lordship’s efforts in welcoming our new guest, but you do have your studies to attend. Or do you not wish to be First Shield any longer?”

It wouldn’t be until a couple years later for Jill to learn the reason Murdoch’s question had provoked Clive so, but back then, she remembered the guilt she had felt for taking much of Clive’s time when he should have been somewhere else. Clive seemed to notice it because then he promised to see her again after his lesson. Perhaps during dinner, or—

“Or you could come to the barracks—”

“Clive,” Murdoch warned. “Barracks are no place for a young lady.”

Clive shut his mouth, then promised again that he would come see her later. Later on, when Jill was safely back in her room and her handmaid was brushing her hair, she apologized for making her worry, and her handmaid told her she had nothing to apologize for.

“I should have expected he would come visit your ladyship. The young master is quite… sociable, if a little unpredictable. Truthfully, I’d feared he might have taken you out to see the town unguarded.” Her handmaid offered a wry smile. She set down the brush and patted Jill’s now-sleek hair. Then she took a step back, hand neatly folded over her lap. Not a speck of dust on her dress or strand of hair out of place, even when it seemed she had turned the castle upside down in search of Jill. “Would you like some refreshments, my lady? I brought you bread, and some fruits.”

But Jill couldn’t think about snacks at the time. Instead, a growing curiosity gnawed at her, so she asked, “What kind of person is the young master?”

Her handmaid blinked, before a smile bloomed across her face. “Aside from the small unpredictability of his actions, he is a sincere and hardworking boy. Kind, and caring, above all else.”

Kind and caring. Surely that was it. Surely that was why, time and again, Jill had felt her heart stir every time he directed his smile at her—the steadfastness of his gaze, his unwavering conviction…

In the first few months since her arrival, he would spend every spare moment he had with her. He kept her company, brought her to all the places within and without the castle grounds—of course, with a healthy entourage keeping watch. He did all that and more until Jill could say with all her heart that Rosalith was home.

If Jill thought about it now, she could remember everything fondly. Like through a rose-tinted glass: the light warmer and the smiles brighter. Walking down the pavement of the castle town with Torgal in her arms, she’d watch merchants holler their wares and a boy her age running down the street, trying to catch his chicken that’d just fled its coop. Men swept the stairs in front of their shops and women tended to their gardens. Once, she heard someone call her name and saw that it was the flower lady from whom she’d bought a bouquet of blooms just the other day.

“Out by yourself, milady?” the flower lady asked. “I see Ada’s not with you today.”

“No, Clive is here—” Jill turned, but her supposed escort was nowhere to be seen. They were older now, so Murdoch had given them leave if they’d wanted to explore the town themselves. Her handmaid, Ada, hadn’t been so relenting, until Clive assured her that Rosalith was probably the safest place in all of Rosaria. No harm should come to them.

“Besides,” he’d added, “I’m pretty good with the sword now.”

Or so he had said. Now the boy had disappeared and part of her wondered if she had gotten lost and not him. She exchanged a glance with Torgal, who only whined quietly and cocked his head to the side in confusion.

The florist giggled. “You two make such a lovely pair. Why, I remember just a few summers ago when the two of you would come to my stall escorted by a guard each. And Lady Ada too, of course. You wouldn’t let go of his hand even when I handed you a flower.”

Jill flushed red, then cleared her throat. “We’re not children anymore. It is not proper for a young lady to hold a young lord’s hand.” She attempted to change the subject—to the snowdrops she had bought the day before. But the florist was still grinning and Jill had to abandon the idea of moving the topic along. As much as it made her giddy to hear that she and Clive looked lovely together, a part of her knew they could never be. Talks had been made to marry her off to another House. Jill had always been just a pawn here. The place she had finally come to call home was never truly where she belonged. Her time here had always been fleeting. She should spend it the best she could with the people she loved.

“Ah, speak of the devil.” The florist’s quiet exclamation broke through Jill’s reveries. Her teasing smile sent a thrill fluttering in Jill’s stomach. “His lordship is here.”

Jill turned in time to see Clive break free from the crowd, looking extremely unsettled as he scanned the street. When his sapphire eyes found her by the flower shop, the lines of his face crumbled in palpable relief. But he kept his posture and strode to her side.

“There you are!” A soft reprimand, though he looked more pleased than angry. “I was looking everywhere for you.”

“You’re the one who disappeared.”

“You should have stuck close to me. Imagine what Murdoch will say if he finds out I actually lost you.”

Torgal, for whatever reason, growled at him. Clive looked surprised; the pup had never shown his fangs at him before. But Torgal quickly lost his irritation when Jill petted his head.

“See?” she said. “Even Torgal said you’re at fault here.” Clive pursed his lips. Jill laughed. “Clive, you said so yourself. We’re still only in the castle town. What could possibly go wrong?”

Except, everything did go wrong.

On the night after Clive, Joshua, and the Archduke had gone to Phoenix Gate, the castle burned.

For the most part, Jill had purged the memories of that night from her mind. In fact, if she were to recall, she would fail to recount every detail that had happened between then and now. All she remembered were the screams and the fire—the flashes of steel—the blood.

And Lady Ada—

The image of a body sprawled on the ground flitted across her eyes. Jill lurched forward and gasped.

Hot, glaring light pierced her eyes almost immediately. Jill had to blink several times before she could see where she was. She looked around, but the sight she beheld made her pause.

She wasn’t in her room, nor was she anywhere near a town. A swath of white flowers blanketing the entire land as far as her eye could see, undulating under a brilliant gilded sky. She shook her head, then shook it again, but the thick impenetrable fog that shrouded her mind refused to lift.

Where was this, she asked herself.

Jill rose to her feet, rather unsteady at first, but soon found her footing on the firm ground. She wore no shoes. Her toes curled on the damp earth. How long had it been since she last felt the touch of soft grass? Jill felt her skin prickle, her body seeming to whisper, Hello, old friend.

Like a response to her greeting, a gentle breeze came to kiss her face. Hello, it said.

A shiver ran up her spine. Jill crouched and held her palm to the little blooms sprouting on the ground. White teardrop-shaped petals hung like pendulums from thin green stalks. She recognized them. She’d seen them before—

Home.

A vanguard of spring, her mother used to say. One that braved the bleakness of winter as it heralded the coming of change. They’d called them snowdrops for the petals that looked like drops of snow. Jill remembered picking them and weaving them into a crown. They rarely grew in Rosaria, so when she’d spotted them in a stall at the market, she had instinctively bought them for herself as another memento of her homeland.

Jill expected the flowers to fade or for her finger to pass through them, except she found them solid and somewhat fragile—soft to the touch, yet real nonetheless. As real as the ground she was standing on or the dress she was wearing.

Yes, it was a dress she wore, not the ragged robe they’d haphazardly thrown on her. A simple white sleeveless gown that fell to her ankles. She had no blisters, no fetters, no lithification. Nothing that bound her.

She was…free.

For the first time in years, Jill felt an all-encompassing giddiness that made her bounce on the balls of her feet. Along with it was a familiar freezing heat that surged from within her, burning every tether, every vein until her chest swelled and magick brimmed just beneath the surface of her skin. And then it burst, showering her in a million tiny crystalline snowflakes that glinted silver in the light.

Jill’s quiet gasp sounded more like an exhalation of the breath she had been holding. The icy crystals landed on her palm and didn’t melt at her touch.

How—

This couldn’t be real. She’d cast magick and yet no stiffness crept up her flesh. She looked at the snowflakes still floating around her. Then she looked at her hands. From the deep well of her power, Jill drew another trail of magick, letting it manifest in a stream of icy fountain from her open palm.

She felt no pain. No petrification.

This place wasn’t real.

A place as beautiful as this, where one could evoke magick without prompting its excruciating rebound effects.

A place very much like a dream.

The thought had just settled in her mind when Jill caught a voice drifting in the wind. Familiar, but not quite so. It sounded deeper, rougher, as though the owner had grown out of his boyish tenor.

Jill turned, and her world stopped.

Clive stood a few yalms away in a loose white shirt and dark pants. For a moment, she couldn’t recognize who he was. His hair was longer, somewhat more unruly than the last time she had seen him; a stubble had grown around his jawline, and he was taller—much taller—with a broader chest and sharper features. Yet those eyes: the same stark blue she had always loved looked at her so kindly.

“Jill,” he called, soft. The edges of his mouth quirked into a familiar easy smile that pulled at her heartstrings.

Before she knew it, the dam she had been holding back for nigh on four years burst. A sob tore out of her in a sky-shattering wail. Jill kicked her feet against the ground, skipped over rocks and undergrowth, and leapt into Clive’s open arms.

And she wept.

Jill wept and wept, one shuddering sob after another. The solid thrum of his heartbeat drummed against her cheek; his breath fanned her ear as he whispered her name again and again.

“You’re alive,” she murmured. He was real. “They told me you died.”

The moment she heard that the two princes were lost in the fire, Jill’s world had turned upside down. She couldn’t believe it—didn’t want to believe it. For a time, she had refused to give in. Clive wouldn’t have wanted her to. He was alive somewhere in the world, biding his time to reclaim his rightful place and set everything right again. But being a prisoner of the Ironbloods put a toll on both her body and mind. The light she had religiously relied on slowly dimmed. When a broken body was tossed in front of her, the light sputtered out.

Jill’s arms tightened around him. Warm leather and sweet cinnamon—his familiar scents washed over her. He was here. He was alive.

If she could only stay—

But then Clive called her name, and his tone carried a sense of foreboding that made a tiny crack form on the surface of her dream. Memories flowed fresh into her mind. She clung onto him, digging her fingers deep into his back and refusing to let go.

He tried again. “Jill.”

Jill shook her head, pressed herself deeper into him. She wanted to disappear; wanted to leave that awful world.

Let me stay, her heart begged. Let me be with you.

But Clive held her shoulders. With one gentle push, he dislodged her from him. He peered into her face, but Jill looked away.

“Jill.” The tenderness in his voice threatened another sob to break free from her. “Jill, your place isn't here.”

“No.”

“Jill—”

“No! Don’t make me go back.” She whirled her eyes at him, found him pained, saw him grimace. “Don’t make me return. Not there. Not to him.”

A muscle twitched along Clive’s jaws.

“They killed her, Clive; right in front of me—Lady Ada…” Her breath hitched. She remembered: the sight of her handmaid’s broken body in the bowels of Mount Drustanus.

Heat coalesced in the large circular hall of the inner chamber. They’d brought Jill in, cuffed and chained. Jill couldn’t have guessed why they’d taken her there, but when she noticed the figure on the altar, her blood had run cold.

Lady Ada had lain motionless on top of the slab of stone beneath the crystal mound. Her clothes had been bloodied and torn; her empty eyes gazed almost unseeing. As Jill approached, she’d sworn she saw a flicker of recognition cross her handmaid’s features. Through her parched, cut lip, Lady Ada had whimpered.

Jill had realized then what they’d been about to do. She screamed; kicked her guard and attempted to run—toward Lady Ada—but the guard yanked her chain and Jill fell back. In one fell swoop, the Patriarch’s blade pierced Lady Ada’s chest. A deafening cry erupted from Jill’s throat.

Should you fail to follow my command, the Patriarch had drawled, such is the fate that awaits every woman and children from Rosaria.

Her breath now shook. She could still see their faces: the children who'd been taken as hostages to make her comply. Their fear was etched in the lines of their faces—their utter horror before the blades slit their throats.

“It would’ve been better had I died with you.” A fervent wish she had never dared to speak aloud, yet it now slipped from between her lips in a whisper so weak, so strained…

Jill’s knees buckled from under her. Clive held her upright; his strong arms the haven she had always remembered them to be. He patted the back of her head—a familiar gentle touch, stroking her hair.

“I have no one else, Clive,” she whimpered. “I have nothing else to live for.”

Silence fell between them, a comfortable sort that enveloped her like how she imagined a parent’s embrace would feel like. The wind picked up. The petals rose and danced around her—idly, intoxicatingly—carrying a sweet scent that brought her back to a time of peace and tranquility.

“Then what about Lady Marleigh?” Clive spoke. “Or the other women and children still trapped under that mountain. Do you not have them?”

“They would be better off if I died.”

“You know that’s not true.” Clive’s voice was stern. Jill dropped her gaze. “Had you died, the torment they go through would have been far greater than whatever they have to endure now. But you’re alive, and you are blessed with the power of Shiva. Do you remember, Jill? When you asked me for my reasons to become the First Shield, do you remember what I said about the Phoenix?”

Jill wished she had forgotten, but the memory was seared into her mind, it was impossible to forget. But she refused to speak it. She didn’t want to make it real—to make her hope in a world where hope had perished in flames. Yet Clive was looking at her so imploringly. He cupped her face and stroked his thumbs across her cheeks.

So she said, “You said it was a symbol of hope, that it gave us the power to safeguard our people.”

“And is that not why Shiva has chosen you? To protect yourself and the women and children in captivity?”

No, she wanted to say, but part of her knew that Clive spoke true. Of all the people in the world, why had the Ice Queen chosen her—in the precise moment when her future and the death of her soul would have been secured? Had she been more pious, she would have thought it was a message from the Gods; and perhaps, that had been her thinking, for a while. But there was only so much a person could endure. The strongest man in the world would break under an endless onslaught of despair.

She looked into his eyes, so bright and alive. Jill reached out and touched his temple, trailing a line down to where his stubble had subtly grown. Real, but not real.

“But you’re not there anymore,” she murmured, even as she felt her heart hardening into resolve. “How am I supposed to look to my light when I can’t find you?”

He chuckled then. He took her fingers and held it between his hands. “Light…doesn’t always have to come from one source.”

A quiet sob escaped her lips. Clive drew her into his arms again.

“You are strong, Jill. You have strength in your heart—unfettered and unseen. If you cannot find that light in yourself, then look for it in the people who believe in you, the way I found mine in you.”

For the briefest of moments, Jill felt the featherlight brush of a kiss on her forehead. She closed her eyes, held onto him, and willed him to stay, but like every dream, she felt him slip and fade. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

I’m always with you, Jill.

A gust of wind tugged at her dress, flapping it around her ankle and pushing Jill off balance. As her feet fell a step forward, she opened her eyes, and found snowdrop petals fluttering on the space where Clive had been.

***

Jill wasn’t quite sure what roused her. It could be the quiet footfalls dragging against the floor that her ears picked. It could be the unfamiliar warmth flickering beside her. As her consciousness returned, Jill found that her hair was damp with sweat, as well as the thin robe that covered her body, and she realized it might as well have been that too.

She groaned, then the shuffling feet fell into silence. An unfamiliar ceiling greeted her eyes when she peeled them open. Stone ceiling, still, but it wasn’t the dark and dank cell that she remembered. A warm brown color, lit by torches set in intervals. A lantern lit the cell on a table beside her. Jill stirred and realized she wasn’t on the floor but on a cot—hard, but covered in bedding still—with a blanket over her and a towel on her forehead.

“She’s awake.”

“Lady Marleigh—”

“Should we inform the Patriarch?”

“Shh!” A voice rose above the whispers. Footsteps approached her and Jill looked to see a familiar figure crouching beside her bed. Lady Marleigh’s features broke into relief, pulled tight by a cut in her lip and a nasty bruise above one eye. “My lady Jill,” she whispered. “How are you feeling?”

“Lady Marleigh…” Jill croaked.

Her throat hurt just to speak. Marleigh reached for a glass and helped Jill to a half-sitting position, bringing the rim of the cup to her parched mouth. Jill downed the water in large gulps. In the periphery of her senses, she heard sighs and a quiet sob which the others shushed.

“Thank you,” she said, settling back onto the bed. “But where are we, Lady Marleigh? What happened? Why are you hurt?”

Marleigh didn’t respond. She only smiled as she took the towel off Jill’s forehead and pressed her hand to Jill’s face. “Your fever’s gone down a bit, but you’re still not fit to be up.” She waved her hand and one of the other women stepped forward. “This is your physicker, my lady. The four of us have been taking turns keeping watch.”

“Keeping watch?”

The physicker—a woman who seemed to be a handful of years younger than Marleigh—grimaced. “The Patriarch did give us leave to tend to you, milady, but we cannot trust those brutes to guard, not when you’ve been out for several days—a week, at the most.”

A week…

Seeing her confusion, the physicker smiled. “Truth be told, I was afraid we couldn’t save you, milady. Thank Great Greagor that you decided to return to us.”

“Hush,” Lady Marleigh hissed, “don’t speak of such nonsense.”

The physicker bowed. “I shall get your meal.” She excused herself and, along with the other two women, stepped out of the cell quietly. They looked right, then left, before heading away.

Jill looked at Marleigh, who was already dipping the towel in a bowl of water and wringing it dry. The older woman dabbed Jill’s face and neck, wiping the grime and the sweat away. “Do you suppose you could take some dinner, my lady?” she asked. She pulled the blanket away and began washing Jill’s arms, one after the other. “If not, we could start from something light. Soup, perhaps?”

“Am I still dreaming?” Jill couldn’t help asking the question. Marleigh’s brown eyes flicked to hers, perplexed. Jill sighed then looked at the ceiling. “I was never allowed such an extravagant meal, Lady Marleigh. Tell me true: did you plead with the Patriarch? Is that why you have a bruise on your face? Did he hit you?”

Lady Marleigh didn’t respond. After finishing with Jill’s arms, she went on to offer Jill a change of clothes—drenched as they were now in her sweat. “A new set of robes has arrived. And don’t worry, I did not swipe them from the laundry.”

Lady Marleigh attempted to laugh, but her joke fell on deaf ears. Jill looked at her, worried and fearful for the kind lady’s action. Marleigh pressed her lips together, and then sighed. She went on to dip the towel in water again, wringing it before dabbing at Jill’s face.

“‘Tis nothing for you to be concerned of, my lady,” she said. “My actions are my own, and if they would see you hale and whole, then there is nothing more I would ask for.”

“Lady Marleigh—”

“I have nothing to lose. My family is dead. I was brought here under the cover of night along with dozens of my people. I thought I would die within the first week if not the first day. But then I saw you, my lady. Terror etched on your face but you refused to back down. You may not know it but a lot of the girls here look up to you.” She smiled at Jill’s apparent astonishment. “Take Ella, for example—the physicker you just met. She was heavily pregnant during the capture and soon lost her child. You soothed her and offered a flower made of paper for the non-existent grave. Beatrice, one of the other girls, once tripped while bringing a meal to the Patriarch’s chambers. She would’ve been beaten to death had you not stepped in and quickly handed her a new tray. She was inconsolable when she heard you’ve fallen ill.”

“There are more stories to share and I would regale you each and every one of them had we the time, but you see, my lady,” Lady Marleigh went on, “you are not alone.”

Jill blinked, felt tears already welling in her eyes, felt her throat already closing. Her breath hitched, and she looked away, burrowed herself deeper into her cot, but there was nowhere she could hide. The blanket was paper thin; it could not cover the quake overtaking her body as a sob slowly broke out of her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. She closed her eyes, brought her hands to her face. “I’m sorry, Lady Marleigh.”

She’d wanted to die—had wished to disappear. She’d prayed for it so fervently in the depths of her dream, for death to come quick and silent in the dead of night. And perhaps then, she would be free.

Free…like how she had been in the field of white snowdrops—flowers that now gave her strength the moment she thought of what had transpired there.

Clive was right. Shiva came to her and blessed her with the power to protect these people from harm. Even should she be bait to keep the Patriarch’s attention on her, if that allowed her countrywomen another day to live, then she would do it.

She held out her hand and grasped Lady Marleigh’s fingers. “Help me get up, Lady Marleigh.”

“But, my lady, you’re not yet fit—”

“I shall have the change of clothes, and I shall have what dinner my stomach can tolerate.” Despite the quiver in her voice and the tears streaming down her face, she sounded firm—firmer than she had ever felt before.

She had strength in her, burning and unbridled. If she should sacrifice herself so her people could live, then so be it.

I will find my light.

~ END ~

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